#pulling over somewhere as if hes determined to kill us all jesus i hate him

[vosquitransitis]

stupid idiot pissbaby likes being in the trunk only if I'm not on the goddamn autobahn. literally the second i got on it he went "hmmm parkour" and climbed up into the backseat you stupid idiot.

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 5)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5458

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Full Masterpage | Part 4

After you had made the mistake of outing to Captain Rogers about your plans to avenge your parents, he had wandered off somewhere, leaving you behind and alone with your thoughts.

You weren’t too sure if he was upset with you or if he sided with you.

It was really difficult to tell.

For all you knew, he could be preparing an arrest for you.

The longer you stayed in this clean tent, the more you started to suspect if this was some kind of new avengers compound. It was obvious this wasn’t a normal place looking for refugees, because there would be a lot more people.

But again, you knew so little. The only thing you were certain of is that you would milk your stay there as long as you could before continuing your trip back south. Not even the earth’s mightiest heroes would stop you. You would stay until your wounds healed and until you had enough strength.

You wished they hadn’t taken your pack away from you, but they had told you that it wasn’t of need.

That anything you needed they could provide you with.

You wanted your compass, the one Will had given you, and you wanted your damn spear.

It had only been a few hours since you arrived and you were already bored out of your mind.

As much as you wanted to wander around the camp and discover more of this mysterious place, you weren’t too sure if you were allowed that liberty. They hadn’t told you much of what you could and couldn’t do.

So you laid on your cot, playing with your bottle of antibiotics.

How had the Avengers manage to lose everything yet still keep certain things safe? You examined the opaque black bottle, noting that there was no writing on it anywhere. For all you knew, it could be some other kind of drug.

But they wouldn’t lie. They had nothing to gain from your death. Plus, you knew they weren’t infiltrated by Hydra like S.H.I.E.L.D once was. Hydra now only resided in The Capitol.

You’re twisting the bottle up and down and side to side when a motion from your peripheral makes you look up. Someone had entered the tent again.

Your eyes narrowed at the figure and your stomach lurched.

The man wore a black T-shirt, a leather jacket, jeans, and boots. If it weren’t for the silver sliver of metal as he rummaged through the medkit, you wouldn’t have known who this man was.

You always thought Bucky Barnes had longer hair.

This man didn’t look like the hot brainwashed assassin you had always seen on the news or in pictures. He looked younger, normal, dare you say; hot.

You felt a tight burning in your lower stomach as your eyes trailed down the bridge of his nose and along his perfect jawline; it was covered in a light layer of dark stubble.

You don’t know why you suddenly feel so attracted to him. You always harbored a small crush for The Avenger, almost every girl did, but it was always Steve that everyone wanted to kiss.

But now, after seeing both in person, you couldn’t fool your heart to not feel the way you were.

Bucky Barnes was exactly your type.

You felt your cheeks heat up and you forced yourself to look away from him. You tried your best to maintain your eyes on the bottle between your fingertips until the rummaging through the kit stopped.

When it did, you lift your eyes back up, thinking he had finally left so you could let the smile break out through your face.

Instead, you were met with piercing blue eyes.

Your eyes met for a long second. His face was blank and yours was surprised, but you knew you looked absolutely flushed. You felt it all over your body.

Thankfully, he quickly looked away again, and he seemed to have finally found what he was looking for.

He took it in his hand and turned the other way, walking out of the med tent.

Steve had stopped by later that night and handed you a pair of crutches and he asked you to follow him. Who were you to say no to Cap?

You followed him close behind as you walked through dead foliage and passed some of the fire pits. It was obvious most of the agents (you weren’t even sure if that’s what they were) had gone to bed, so the sound of cicadas and crackling fire echoed in the cool air.

You both must’ve passed about seven larger tents until you ended up in front of a large black one.

Steve opened the entrance for you, pulling it to the side so you could go in before him. You looked at him hesitantly before managing your way inside. You were careful to not trip as you entered the heated area.

You heard a commotion, a husky and deep voice.

“I don’t want to be tied to a fucking child, it’s a joke. I spent two years, two —” the voice stopped as the source of it looked up from Fury and to you.

Bucky Barnes.

You felt the tent swing close behind you with a soft breeze and he snarled, his eyes meeting Steve’s above your shoulder.

“Bucky,” Steve greets his best friend.

You felt the tension heavy in the air as you looked away from that heavy blue gaze.

Jesus.

You heard rummaging of papers and then the heavy waft of air that smelled way too good. You looked back up only to see that Barnes was now gone.

Your eyes met Fury’s and it was then you noticed the others in the room, too.

If only Will could see you now. You felt the heavy tears deep in your throat as you remembered him.

If only he had survived just a few more hours, he would’ve been right there with you.

It almost seemed like some weird dream, but it wasn’t.

You were, in fact, in a room with Steve Rogers, Nick Fury, Sam Wilson, Wanda, and Bruce Banner. You were mildly disappointed, wondering where the others were. You felt slightly selfish for it and then you felt that pang as you remembered Black Widow’s and Tony Stark’s sacrificial death for humanity.

This tent was definitely a lot fancier than the others you had seen. From the outside, it would be hard to tell, but this one even had a large table and some tech you hadn’t seen in years, or even at all.

Now, you knew your gut was right, this really was the new Avengers Compound. How have more people not walked upon it?

“Miss, Y/L/N,” Banner says, motioning towards the large table, “Please take a seat.”

You maneuver your way to a random seat near the end of the table and lay your crutches on the side of it. Everyone else takes their appropriate seats, except for Fury who continues to stand, his hands in the pockets of his long coat.

You weren’t intimidated. No.

“So you want to go into The Capitol,” Fury says, pacing around the room.

You cross your hands on the table in front of you.

“What happened to your hand?” Sam asks, eyeing your bandage.

You clear your throat, feeling interrogated.

“I cut it while spearing for some fish.” Your eyes dart back to Fury and you wonder how much you should tell him. You had a plan, you didn’t want it to be ruined. This was your fight to win, “Yes, I do.” You tell him quietly.

“You’re quite ambitious to think you can take on a hundred thousand Hydra operatives on your own. You do realize that wall is guarded by eight hundred tanks, six fire missiles, two nukes, and five thousand men?” Fury says it like it’s the most factual thing in the world. You swallow thickly, not actually knowing that. He leans on his arms in front of you, “And what were you planning to do when, or should I say if, you got inside? How far did you have this planned?”

You wouldn’t let him scare you. You were bigger than this interrogation. “Please, mister Fury,” it sounded weird, but you didn’t want to be rude, “I respect you, but I don’t want to be taunted for my lack of cowardice.” You slip in, flustered.

His one eye trembles.

“Tell me.”

You take a deep breath.

“My family wanted The Capitol to be a place where people could depend on for survival. Hydra knew about it for years and they had it planned for years to take over. They made sure of that when they had my parents killed, right in front of me. I know the man that did it, and for years, all I’ve wanted to do is take back what my parents wanted, however, that is, and by doing whatever it takes.”

He looks at you, bored.

“So you never had a solid plan?”

Your shoulder slump over, embarrassed.

“No.”

A heavy laugh leaves his mouth and the other avengers also look simultaneously unamused, and slightly bored.

Steve, on the other hand, looks a bit more upset and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“She knows what he looks like,” Steve says, strong and determined.

“That’s not enough, Steve.” Sam mumbles, pushing his chair away from the table, “She’s just a normal girl, she doesn’t have anything to offer us that could possibly hold a guarantee that she could take on an entire city dictated on Hydra. There is nothing concrete about this,” you try not to take any offense to Sam’s tone as it angers you, “She didn’t even have a plan. Her motives are reckless." This ticks you off.

“My motives are reckless? My parents were killed in front of me. That is my motive.” You snap, “I’m not some child, I know what I want to do. I want to kill him.”

Wilson gives you a hard look.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but that’s called revenge. We don’t do that here. We can’t just run in there and start shooting people up.” Sam explains.

“I’m not trying to shoot people up, Mr. Falcon,” again, it feels weird, “I want him killed. Especially if that means the rest of that place falls down with him. You think I was just going to —” you curse yourself for giving away most of your plan, but damn it, “You think I was just going to barge in there, find him, and kill him? Of course not. I would take the information I needed first.” “And by doing what exactly? And for what?” Fury asks. He turns to Steve, “She has the drive, the determination, and she knows what he looks like, but she’s just a normal young girl. She’ll die in seconds of stepping foot in the place if she were to run into a bad face. She has no skill, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, she’s not an agent, she’s not superhuman.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we need to win this,” Steve says as he stands up from next to you. You hear the heavy gravel under his chair as it scoots back/ His finger is down on the table as he continues, “she could be the mole, she could get the insight we need, she’d fit in perfectly because she’s not enhanced. I think you are looking at her lack of abilities as a disadvantaged when it could be the exact opposite. We have all the other extra accessories, everything else Bucky and I have been working on for the last few years, and the materials Tony left behind. We have the plan, she would just be the chess piece. We can train her just enough to where if she needs to use certain tactics, she will be prepared. It’s obvious she isn’t afraid.”

“Bucky’s plan —” Wanda starts, retaliating.

“—is a good plan,” Steve cuts her off, “I know he worked hard on it. But this, this is better. And she knows who he is. This is an advantage that we need.” Steve’s eyes go back to you as they soften, “we can train you. Bucky can train you,” his eyes go back to his teammates, “It’ll be them both. It’ll be a dual mission.”

Your heart falters at the mention of Bucky’s name again.

Everyone considers it, mumbling pros and cons among each other until finally, it’s settled.

They were going to discuss it farther and then Bucky would join to see if it’s a go.

For some reason, you had a feeling it wouldn’t go down smoothly. Steve’s expression only confirmed that.

They let you have your backpack back, which meant you could have your spear again. Its been two days since your talk with the team and you were starting to feel a bit excited.

It was like your fear of losing your fight for your parents was diminishing.

You had gotten close with Steve, which is something your old self never would’ve believed. He always seemed to seek you when you were alone or looked bored. It was his idea of building trust and communication with you. He was the one that handed you your backpack as you sat near the fire chewing on a piece of bread.

He sat next to you as he watched you sharpen your little weapon, amused.

You told him about Will that night and his face fell. You both started sharing stories.

He then started to tell you about how everyone here has lost someone that means a lot to them. You don’t know how it ended up in the general direction of relationships, but he let it slip that Bucky missed someone from his past, a woman.

This surprised you as your movements on your spear faltered.

He didn’t tell you much, just that her name was Daisy and she died when he had been drafted to England. Bucky was only twenty-three.

She was killed by Hydra. You asked him why he was telling you this and he smiled softly and told you that you should know that Bucky is also human.

You didn’t really get what that meant, but you nodded anyway.

“Look, Bucky’s tough. He’s got some issues when it comes to trust. He’s also got some inner demons. Very dark ones. He thinks he deserves less than this. He can be a bit brutal at times, but it’s his defense mechanism. I’m just saying this so you’re not afraid, but he’s a good man.”

“Okay.” Is all you can say to that.

You haven’t really met Bucky one and one yet, only sharing glances that made you feel things similar to what you felt in your teens.

A crush. You knew you were crushing hard the second you saw him. There was just something about him. The mention of Daisy made you a bit jealous, even if she was gone.

You also felt really bad for Bucky. It couldn’t be easy.

“I want you to do me a favor,” you look at Steve, intrigued, “when you both go over there, I want you to keep an eye on him for me. I want you to try your best to ease him into loving himself again,”

“I’m not a therapist, Mr. Rogers.”

“But you’re normal. He needs normalcy. Take it easy on him, be a friend. He’s been thinking about nothing but this mission for the last few years. When he’s there, I want him to think about the present. I need your help with that, too. Please.”

You give him a sympathetic look, his eyes are pleading and you feel for him.

“I’ll help you.”

Whatever that meant. Couldn’t be that hard, right?

Part of you wanted to help them, but part of you also wanted to still follow your own plan and tackle this whole thing on your own.

+ + +

That next morning the sun shined a little brighter over the camp. You had been left a note on the table next to your cot to meet the team in the same tent from the other day.

Days of the week didn’t exist anymore either.

There was no Monday, no Thursday, no Saturday. It was simply “day”.

You brushed your teeth (yep, they had it all) and before you knew it you were on your crutches, waddling your way over to the large tent.

There was loud talking before you even stepped foot inside, and you already knew this was going to be fun.

You took a deep breath and went inside.

Unlike last time, everyone was already sitting down. Their eyes shot up to you and their talking stopped abruptly.

Steve looked ecstatic to see you.

Bucky was sitting to his left, completely and totally unamused. Pissed, even.

“Sit here,” Wanda said with a small smile, motioning to the chair next to hers, directly in front of Bucky.

You gulped as his eyes trailed from you and to the chair.

You took your seat in front of him and tried to avoid contact, your cheeks already feeling hot just by his presence.

You smiled at everyone as a greeting and lastly, you decided to give Bucky one, too.

But he was turned away, his eyes looking down at the pen in his flesh hand.

Your smile fell, but you shook it off.

Steve said your name and began to speak, “We already briefed Bucky on the plan so we don’t need to repeat anything that was already said with you the other day.” He looked over at Bucky with a darting eye, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, “and he promised he would cooperate with the changes made to the mission,” you watched intently as Bucky aimed the point of his pen down on the table, “and agreed that we will go through with it.” The ballpoint of the pen snapped in half from the force of his hand and you flinched for a bit.

Steve’s face became stern as he watched his best friend.

“So we wanted to go over what exactly the plan is and then from there, we’ll start your training. You’ll train for two weeks, under my supervision and Buckys'. We’ll provide you your equipment and everything you will both need, then you will start your travel down south. That should be about three days. The mission itself when you get into The Capitol will take about six months.”

Jesus.

“Are you sure, we can’t stick to the original plan?” Bucky snapped, “Not that I’m not fucking ecstatic about spending half a year with a kid, who could possibly screw everything up.”

“Bucky —” Bruce’s tone was a warning.

“and what the hell is that on her neck?” He spat like venom.

Suddenly very self-aware, you brought your hand shakily up to the back of your neck, “It’s — a tattoo.” You stuttered out.

Bucky scoffed.

As your eyes met his, it was like the crush you felt towards him quickly changed.

You still felt undeniably attracted to him, but now you felt hurt at the fact that he obviously looked at you like you were scum under his feet. What did you even do to him?

You felt your real side begging to jump out of your mouth, the one that could show him how strong you actually are. You wanted to snap at him.

But some reason it was so hard, especially when he looked at you like that.

Like you were dirt. It hurt your feelings.

His eyes turned away from you and he looked up at Fury.

“Think about this.” He says to Nick.

“Take it up with Rogers, Barnes. This is how we’re doing this.”

Bucky practically seethed through his teeth.

“If she dies, that's on you,” Bucky spats, his voice strong, “If this mission is jeopardized, that’s on you. All of you.”

You try to keep your tears and dignity at bay, but it’s almost physically impossible when you start replaying the second you saw him for the first time and when your eyes met across the med tent in your head.

There was something there.

You couldn’t shake it, you weren’t crazy.

Among the rushing doubts and questions and different emotions swirling in your brain, two things were for certain:

One, you and Bucky would go undercover together for six months inside The Capitol. Alone.

And two, he couldn’t stand you.

                           + + +

Year: 1938

New York, NY

To an outsider, the way he went about it at times appeared shallow and womanizing. Although, to the contrary, he didn't want them for a night of lovemaking and then later throw them away like scrap.

It was rare that he would ever consider a girl interesting enough to actually bring home. (Rare to a man-whore, that is.)

It was seeing the joy on their face while they had a great time that brought him a feeling of satisfaction. He loved to show them a wonderful time.

Bucky loved sex, and he'd root to have it as much as he could, it was one of his favorite things. But he respected it.

He genuinely enjoyed that mental break when he was around them, not having to speak of the war.

He just wished Steve was similar and not always thinking about them damn nazis.

He loved seeing Steve relish in patriotism for his country and he definitely loved and respected how courageous he was, but if not being careful and without being realistic, he was bound to get himself killed. He wished that just for a second, Steve would lay back and have some fun like a normal young man.

He didn't understand why Steve didn't know that you don't always have to fight back.-

“James.” He answers low, in a husky voice.

It takes a moment for her to register that that is his name.

“James.” She whispers back like it’s a prayer.

She’s silent as she stares at his face as if she was allowing this moment, this feeling, and his name all to sink in at once at its own pace. She could feel herself trembling underneath his gaze and she wanted it to never stop.

He wasn’t batting an eyelash, but just staring into her blue orbs. It was as if the tremor that left her somehow entered his own heart because he pulled her in closer with a small gasp.  She hadn’t realized their hands were still tightly intertwined, and she swears she feels him squeeze when she pulls away.

Don’t.  

She wasn’t pulling away to get away but just leaning back on her heels to take a deep breath. She blinked wildly, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his lips and back again.

His eyes were pleading. This couldn’t be over. She pulls her face away just far enough to where she can finally take in a deep breath.

Bucky is about to pull her in close once more since their hands are still attached, but her hand is sharply removed out of his, leaving them both cold and empty. It was a harsh slap and what was once the sound of just their breathing and heartbeats, was now a yelling and the loud commotion of the club on an average night.

She literally feels like she was ripped out of his arms. Bucky’s eyes quickly dart up to the intruder and he’s about to say something when Daisy quickly backs away from her brother, her gloved hand going straight to his chest and pushing him away.

She takes a moment, but her gaze finally adjusts.

Her brother takes her hand and holds it against him, “Robert’s a sleazing liar, Daisy. If dad finds out about this, we’re both dead. Les’ just get out of here before they get onto us.” Daisy’s silent, her mouth still agape. Emotions from moments ago are still washing through her system and she barely has anything else left to react to her brother’s statement.

She could honestly care less bout what was supposed to go down tonight anymore.  

She looks over at Bucky. Her brother follows her eye flicker and looks back at Bucky and then back to her. He lets out an exasperated chuckle and points at Bucky with his thumb, “Who’s this? Another one of them twits, Daisy? Imma lay a hand on him. You know these guys want nothin’ but one thing. Let’s go. Now.” Her brother pulls her behind him.

Once he’s about to pass Bucky, he shoots him a dirty look.

“Suggest you get out of here, pal,” he says.

Daisy looks like she’s about to cry as she pulls up the side of her dress to not trip behind her brother.

He’s rough as he pulls her behind him towards the exit.

“Jimmy, you gotta wait. You’re gonna’ make me fall!”  Jimmy rudely lets go of her and watches as she takes a deep breath and dusts off her dress.

Bucky is still voiceless, trying to process his heart’s emotions and what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, Daisy runs back to a table by the lounge where she was sitting at previously and grabs a random straight pen that she remembered had been carelessly left behind by someone else.  She silently thanks heaven for it. Both Bucky and Jimmy look at her speechless as she grabs Bucky’s limp hand in hers and starts writing quickly.

Bucky winces at the object’s sharp edge against his soft skin.

“Hell. Come on, Daisy.” Jimmy rolls his eyes.

She closes Bucky’s hand and gives him one last emotional look that said too much yet not enough before she runs out with her brother.

Bucky looks down at his closed hand, heavy emotions still crashing through his body.

Slowly he opens it up revealing 5 small yet powerful words that he knew would change everything. He smiles softly to himself.

Brooklyn. 8.

-

His feet took him to a place he’d been to every day since he’s lived in Brooklyn. Although this time, this day, it was insanely different.

He couldn’t imagine that he had been awake right now. Everything felt too surreal. He couldn’t believe that he had the balls of steel to actually walk up to her.

Thank god he did because whatever was felt between him, he knew it was what he was looking for his entire life.

Daisy.

The sides of his lips twitched as he let out a long sigh. He walked back and forth between the same building in dumbo and ran a hand through his soft hair, pulling slightly at the ends.  He was trying his best to calm down even though he knew he had a good hour until it was eight. He wasn’t sure he could wait.

He didn’t know what to say when he would see her again. This was probably a stupid question, but did she like him? What was the commotion back at the club with her brother? What was she planning on doing with him when she met up with him?

There were so many questions going through his head and not nearly enough answers. He didn’t know if he was scared or anxious, all he knew was he wanted it to be 8 o’clock already. He was thankful that the rain had stopped a while ago; the pavement was now mostly dry but some mist was still dangling through the air by it being pulled up from the puddles by the wind. He found the driest corner of a building that he could find, and he sat there. He rested his arm on his knee and looked around.

Deep in the Hudson below was soon to be the bridge, what Daisy had been referencing to. He looked at the pieces of sharp metal rising from the deep river, up into the air. It was massive and terrifying.

When the wind would blow through the iron-steel it would make a haunting howling sound that sent shivers up his arms. He didn’t get it. It was only recently that people had expanded the city upwards.

There weren’t that many tall buildings in New York until a few months ago. It was only seven years ago that they finally finished the Empire State Building, and even that was some getting used to. He thinks they even made some movie about it.

He looked at the skyline from across the river, that beautiful building standing tall, lighting up the sky. A sense of sadness overwhelms him suddenly as he remembers the events of the day.

It’s not common that he gives himself moments to allow himself to reminisce and feel. He reaches into the chest pocket of his dress shirt and pulls out a small locket with a chain. He clicks it open, revealing a small beat-up black-and-white photo of his family. His little sister Rebecca stood in the front by his side.

He admired her cute short brown hair and her brown eyes. She was always a sweet little girl, anything would make her laugh, and her laugh was always genuine and contagious. Bucky frowns.  She was so heartbroken when her mom passed away. Seeing Rebecca sad was not something he liked to think about, ever.

Bucky frowned as he passed his thumb over her picture. He hasn’t seen her since they got separated back at Camp Lehigh before returning to Brooklyn one last time. He wondered how she was doing. He wondered if she knew about dad.

He feels a tight pang in his chest and sighs.

Two out of the three people he loved the most were all dead.

He looked back at the skyline before shoving the locket back in his pocket, refusing to look at his mother and father.

He took in the cool air and let the wind momentarily flick his hairs onto his forehead. He closed his eyes tightly together and took a deep breath.

Shit, for all I knew I could be next.

He hoped things would change now that he met Daisy.

Maybe he wouldn’t have just one person left that he could love.

Maybe God was giving him another chance.Present

Bucky watches you from across the field as you sharpen that damn spear, again.

He hopes you don't plan on taking that thing with you on the mission.

That thought only angered him even more. How could they do this to him? He had everything planned, he had put together a great team that would take on this mission. But, no, instead he has been betrayed again.

Not just that, but he was being told he would have to only one partner and that that would be you.

He won't lie, the second he saw you for the first time, he knew immediately who you were.

You were pretty and you held a certain aura that he couldn't pinpoint. It was obvious that you were what the people referenced to these days - a fucking millennial, Gen Z, whatever it was.

Your haircut, your attire, the way you carried yourself, and the fact that you had killed a man straight through the chest as if it was nothing.

He remembers when he was your age, eighty-some years ago.

Things were different.

People held more respect.

Sure, things were post blip and post-apocalyptic now, so there was the benefit of the doubt, but he still knew how people your age were.

You took everything for granted; your liberty, your food, your family. You didn't know what hell was.

What was wrong with you? You would die.

You shouldn't want to kill. Not when you could wait for this to be to be over and bask in the over glow of the win, living your life like you should.

He tried not to blame his horrible view on things on Daisy. He tries not to blame her for never wanting to find anyone else ever again. He tries not to blame himself for 'killing' a girl that was so pure.

He watches you as you sharpen your spear with a small smile on your face.

His jaw tightens and his teeth clench.

He was dreading this mission.

[arse-crack-thistle]

physical touch

rwrb and the five love languages | part three

in which a young ellen and oscar make a life-altering decision

The sun boils Ellen Claremont and Oscar Diaz as they stand outside Marlene’s Diner. Even in December, the Texas heat shows no mercy. The parking lot is full of cars for the lunch rush, and as much as her manager hates it, Ellen had to take her fifteen now. Oscar is on his way home.

Seems like yesterday he and a bunch of his white-collared buddies popped into Marlene’s and sat down at a table in Ellen’s section, but it was eight months ago. She thought she was about to get catcalled and a two-penny tip, but instead she gave the table advice on how to help David Morwitz, an Austin democratic candidate for state representative, gain more votes among young people. And Oscar wouldn’t leave until he got her number—for political reasons of course. That is until she made out with him after a Young Texas Democrats rally and he discovered the blue bonnet tattoo on her lower back.

He was fresh out of law school, hoping to build his political resume so he could run for office one day, and she was just finishing up her second year, living on tips and volunteering where she could. And, like all young lovers, they spent the whole summer and fall talking about their hopes and fears, their darkest secrets and greatest dreams.

“The Supreme Court, eh? One of the justices?”

“No,” she told him, “I just want to argue a case there. Set precedent.”

He smiled, showing off that goddamn dimple on his cheek. “You could go farther—the highest point even.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m looking to help the little guy, Diaz. I can do that anywhere.”

“Then why not the presidency?” When she scoffed, he said, “Fuck you, I’m serious. I’ve seen you in action, Claremont. The protest you organized for the clinic they shut down? You’re incredible.”

That moment hugs her as she struggles to let go of Oscar’s hands. They’re rough from the field work he did in high school but also calloused from his guitar. She spent months learning the lines on his hands; she can draw them from memory, as he can with the curves of her hips.

His flight leaves in two hours. Ellen will have to watch the blue sky for planes, imagining him soaring away with his Walkman playing a worn-out Latin tape. Maybe if Morwitz won, things could be different.

But they’re not. She’s still filling coffee cups and handing out “yes, ma’ams” and “yes, sirs” like they’re pocket change. And he’s still going back to California to join an immigration law firm.

“Claremont,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say. These past few months—”

“I know,” she says. Lord, do not let her bawl in front of this man—not like she hasn’t before when the anniversary of her mother’s death came around. But still, she’s got to leave him with the image of the take-no-shit, strawberry-blond fireball she is.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. God, she’ll never forget this man even if she tries. His curly black hair swoops over his eyebrows and behind his ears. His sleeves seem permanently rolled up, his tie loosened. Oscar somehow carries the lackadaisical Cali-boy in his smile and the strength against generational oppression in his eyes. The sorrow of goodbye shows in his drooping shoulders. Ellen knows she can set them straight with one kiss on the lips and a hand somewhere else.

Instead, she drops his hands and looks away.

“Ask me to stay,” Oscar says, reaching for her waist.

Ellen can’t bear to look into his warm, brown eyes and tell him to go. She puts her hands on his chest and feels his heart beating under them. His beautiful, fighting heart. “I won’t do that, Diaz. If the situation were reversed, I’d slap you for suggesting it.”

He pulls her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “The situation’s not reversed, Ellen. Ask me to stay.”

Lord, every time her first name rolls off his tongue electricity shoots down her back, and now it meets the lightning rod that is his hand on her tattoo. It takes everything in her not to jump him in this parking lot. Damn the cars driving past them. Damn the diner patrons watching through the windows. Damn the Bible-thumper preaching from the street corner. The world should stop for her goodbye to the man that shocks her too her very core with one touch.

“Oscar.”

“Ellen.”

His forehead presses into hers, and his hand meets the other on the small of her back. She can’t help but wrap her arms around his neck, like they’re about to sway to an overrated pop song at a high school dance. He smells like he always does: cheap cologne and sweat, and holding him—being held by him—feels like taking a wrong turn on the drive home just so you can finish your favorite song.

“You don’t want me to leave, right?” Oscar asks.

“No, but this is crazy. You can’t stay here. What would you do? What would we do?”

Favorite song—favorite person be damned, too. Hasn’t it crossed his mind that his life can’t just transfer to Texas? The campaign is over, and his family and career are back in California. He’s being stupid, and she’s letting him.

Touching him makes her irrational, so Ellen lets go and steps back. “I mean, Lord help us, Diaz! Have you even thought about this?”

“What’s there more to think about? I love you and you love me! We’ll figure out the rest.”

“Oh, do not give me that ‘love conquers all’ bullshit! You’re smarter than that!” she says.

Her fifteen has got to be over by now, but fuck it. Her manager can wait. She’ll stand her and scream at Oscar; she’s developed quite an affinity for it. God bless him.

“Maybe it does—”

“Bull-fucking-sh—”

“No!” He grabs her hands, and she doesn’t fight it. “With all the shit we’ve been through, can’t you see it’s brought us here? Right now, Claremont. You and me. We’ve got something; we want the same things. Let’s do it. Come on, Ellen, let’s just fucking do it!”

And he kisses her. It’s not desperate, but gentle and resolute. Her hands find the nape of his neck again, and she tangles her fingers in his soft curls. Sunflowers bloom in her belly. Oscar squeezes her hips in his hands. Sweet baby Jesus. She can’t let him go. She’ll have to kill him first.

He pulls away—only a centimeter or two—and says again, “Ask me to stay.”

Eight months of this shit. Eight months of diner banter and canvassing and takeout movie nights and fucking in his motel room or her tiny-ass apartment or one of their cars. Eight months of law school papers and screaming matches and tequila and talking for hours until one of them crashes and the other cuddles up to fall asleep. Eight months of hands—his and hers—intertwined like they’re holding the Earth together.

“Stay,” she whispers. A car blares its horn, so she barely hears herself say it. But she does.

“Stay with me, and we’ll change the fucking world.”

As stubborn as she is, so is he. They match in some weird way, and Ellen can’t remember the last time she found a person like that. Fucking Oscar Fucking Diaz. She’ll get on her knees for him or step on his neck if he asks nicely enough. She’ll spend hours critiquing his debate strategies or peering over his shoulder while he proofs one of her assignments. She’ll bake him peach cobbler or devour his mole and anything it touches. Oscar’ll play the guitar, and she’ll sing along.

“Good because I already accepted a job with Representative Acosta. He’s from 54.”

“Fuck you!” Frustrated, angry, and smiling, Ellen shoves his shoulders. “I know where he’s goddamn from! But what the hell were you pulling my leg that far for?”

He puts on that Diaz smirk and trails a finger down her hip. “Pretty legs though.”

“I’ll fry you up and serve you for dinner if you ain’t careful,” she deadpans.

“Promise?” Oh, good Lord.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Ellen grabs his jaw, rubs a finger over that fucking dimple, and pulls him to her lips.

“I do,” she says.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part two, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so yeah it’s fairly obvious that i have a hard time keeping to a schedule BUT i think this turned out very cute (even if it’s not actually set during valentine’s) and even if i go past v-day, which will probably happen, i’m determined to finish romance week! anyways, thanks for all of your support! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[spaceskam]

there’s no use trying, it’s like denying the sun

ao3

warning for temporary character death, blood/gore all over the place, being drugged, guns, invasion of someone’s mind, and vague mentions of The Event in 2x06 (ps this isn’t intended to be anti-maria or anything, I did my best to be fair to her, but she isn’t portrayed in the BEST light. I like to think it was more of a human-error in the context of this fic, but also just a warning)

“Closing time.”

Maria smiled as she looked up at Michael who strolled a bit closer to her, locking the front door with his mind. She would forever find that impressive and yet she didn’t have the right words to express that. So, instead, she rolled her eyes. 

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked. She took a deep and cocked her head to the side.

“Well, you could wipe down tables for me.”

“I got you,” he said boldly.

And it should’ve just been that, but Maria gasped and her mind warped. Suddenly, she wasn’t in her bar. She was somewhere else entirely. She didn’t know where, but she was there.

In front of her, Michael was on his knees and holding someone while he cried.

“I got you,” Michael said, sniffling harshly as he rocked that person back and forth, “I got you. It’s okay, I got you.”

Maria hesitantly moved closer, curious to see who he was holding. She was suddenly in front of him now and it was plain as day as he cradled Alex in his arms in a pool of blood. His hand was pressed over Alex’s chest, but it didn’t seem to stop the bleeding. Alex wasn’t conscious anymore, he wasn’t breathing. The sight was horrific.

“It’s gonna work, I promise,” Michael said, voice breaking as he sobbed and pressed down a little harder on Alex's chest, “Any second now, I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna heal you, just gotta hold on ‘til then. I got you.”

Maria’s entire body ached and she didn’t know how to tell him that Alex was dead. There was no healing. He was too late. He wasn’t strong enough to heal, much less a full blown resurrection.

But then she was back in the Wild Pony, bracing herself against the bar as she tried to breathe. Michael was staring at her, worry etched on his face.

“What just happened?” he asked, “Did you see you something?”

Maria steadied her breath and stared at him, more than a little lost. Should she tell him? Would that make it worse? Kyle’s thing was different and so were the few other bad things she’d seen. She saw signs, she knew where they were. Alex, though... She had no fucking idea how they’d get in that situation. She couldn’t just tell him that Alex was going to die in his arms when she couldn’t prevent it.

She shook her head, swallowing hard and trying to manage a smile.

“Yeah, it was just, uh, it was just Alex getting a package,” she lied. Michael furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, like, was it a bomb or something? Don’t you usually see bad stuff?”

Maria scoffed, trying her best to act normal, “I don’t always have to see bad stuff.”

“I mean, okay, but maybe you should text him to be careful just in case,” Michael said.

Maria forced a laugh and nodded. Now what?

-

“Liz. Liz, I did something bad.”

Liz looked up from where she stood behind the counter at the Crashdown. Maria hadn’t been able to sleep the entire night before, tossing and turning beside Michael as she tried to rationalize the lie that she couldn’t go back on. If she told him, he’d hate her.

“What happened?” Liz asked softly. Maria just looked at her as urgently as possible, chewing on her thumb nail like she hadn’t done since she was a kid. Liz seemed to notice and she quickly flagged down the other waitress, telling her she’d be right back before she led Maria to the back of the house and then into the stairwell that led to the apartment. Once they got there, Maria couldn’t hold back her tears anymore.

“I had another vision when I was with Michael last night and I lied about it and I shouldn’t have lied because something bad is gonna happen and I know and I can’t stop it and I don’t know what to do,” she rambled. Liz instantly moved in, grabbing her arms to steady her. Maria latched on.

“Well, what was it? I can fix it, just tell me,” Liz said. Maria shook her head. The words were too horrible to say. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s Alex,” Maria whispered, bowing her head as she thought about it. Liz clutched her a little tighter.

“What about Alex?” Maria whimpered softly, shaking her head. “Maria, you’re scaring me. What’s going to happen to Alex?”

“I should’ve just told him, he’s going to hate me,” she said, gasping for a breath through her tears, “I just got him to myself.”

“Maria, forget about him, what did you see happen to Alex?” Liz said, chasing Maria’s gaze. 

Maria put her hand to her mouth as she choked on a sob, shaking her head.

“Someone’s going to kill him.”

-

“Alex!” 

Alex turned to the sound of his name, seeing Liz running towards him still in uniform. He gave a confused smile and gave her his full attention as she ran up to him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked playfully. Except, as she came to a stop in front of him, he realized she wasn’t playful at all. In fact, she looked terrified. “What happened?”

“What are you planning on doing in the next two days?” she asked. He tilted his head.

“Um... Nothing? Why?”

“What do you mean nothing? Like, details on nothing,” Liz told him. Alex just stared at her like she’d lost it. “Just humor me.”

“I don’t know, Liz. Work, home, work, home. That’s it, same old, same old. Research in the middle probably. Why?” he said. She let out a big sigh, her shoulders dropping.

“You don’t happen to have any plans to go anywhere alone with Michael, do you?” Liz asked. 

Alex felt discomfort brew in his stomach at the man’s name. He hadn’t seen him in nearly three weeks, both of them avoiding each other like the plague as they tried to move past everything. However, it was definitely hard to move past when every time he slept, he got a new, better version of that stupid night. His subconscious seemed determined to erase Maria from the equation and, honestly, he found it hard to try to fight that. 

“No, why would I?” Alex asked, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt at the mention of him. Last night’s version included him getting stabbed and Michael immediately appearing and punching the guy in the face before carrying Alex off, patching him up in a way that was straight out of a raunchy erotica. Definitely hard to feel comfortable with that on the brain.

“No reason,” she said, shifting as she clearly debated something in her mind, “Just, um, stay away from him for awhile, okay?”

“Have been,” Alex said, feeling more confused by the second, “What’s going on, Liz? Is something wrong?” 

She stared at him, eyes betraying her guilt. Worry slowly but surely started to fill his entire system. Was he hurt? 

“No,” she said, “Just... stay away from him, please?”

“Okay,” Alex agreed. She stared at him for a few seconds longer before coming close and hugging him. He froze for a moment before slowly hugging her back. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” she promised, slowly letting him go, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, of course,” he promised. Liz nodded and slowly backed away. 

The whole thing was weird and, by the time he made it to his truck, his worry had sky rocketed. Had something happened to Michael and they didn’t want him to know? Did something happen between him and Maria and they were saving Alex from the heartbreak? That was unlikely.

As he turned the key, Alex decided that stopping by the junkyard couldn’t hurt. He could make up a lie about his truck and just see for himself that Michael was okay. He just... he needed to make sure.

Sure enough, as Alex pulled up, Michael was leaned over an engine and talking on the phone. He looked fine. That gave him a little bit of solace, but Alex couldn't help himself. He just needed to be sure that he was okay. And maybe on an embarrassing level, he just wanted to hear his voice again.

Alex got out of the truck and slowly made his way to him, reciting his excuse in his mind while Michael seemed to get increasingly irritated with whoever was on the other end of the line. He did his best not to eavesdrop, but, well, he was talking loud.

“No, I haven’t been practicing... Who the hell would I practice on? Do you know someone who likes to get hurt repeatedly for my own personal power trip?... No, Maria, I’m not mad at you, but–... Okay, fine, I’ll try to work on it, Jesus, you don’t have to lecture me.... Not mad!... Sorry, fuck, I’m working... Yeah, bye,” Michael sighed. Was it petty of Alex to find joy in his irritation?

“Hey,” Alex called. Michael looked over at him, back straightening as they locked eyes. 

“Hey,” Michael said, voice uncharacteristically kind, “Um, how are you?”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows and he gave a soft laugh, overwhelmed with confusion at Michael’s body language and tone. He didn’t act like that literally ever. It seemed like Alex’s renewed presence had drained him of all his cocky behavior.

“Uh, fine,” Alex said awkwardly, “How are you?”

Michael looked him over and licked his lips, seeming like he was trying to find his words. Which was, again, uncharacteristic. What the hell had happened since he saw him last?

“I’ve missed you,” Michael admitted bluntly. Alex blinked and his eyes went wide, feeling thrown even further off course. Was he in the wrong universe? Was this why Liz didn’t want him to go anywhere near him? “I kinda got used to you being around–platonically, of course–and I didn’t realize how much I would miss you when you weren’t bothering me every day. I’m sorry I fucked things up so badly. Again.”

“I think that was a compliment and an apology?” Alex said, laughing slightly as he shifted. This was weird. What exactly did Liz give him? “Um, are you okay? You’re being weirdly honest.”

“I just... You ever feel like something bad is gonna happen and you have no basis for why you feel that way, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling like it? Because I keep feeling like something bad is gonna happen to you with no basis and it’s really fucking annoying and then you just showed up, so it felt like a sign,” he rambled. Alex gave a soft smile as it clicked that Liz didn’t give him anything. This was him just being human for once.

“Anxiety,” Alex filled in. Michael licked his lips and shrugged.

“I guess...” he said. He shook off the weirdness. “Anyway, what brings you ‘round here if it’s not life threatening?”

“Um,” Alex started, considering using the excuse he’d concocted on the way here, but decided against it. Michael was being honest, why shouldn’t he? “Anxiety, too, I guess. Liz told me to leave you alone and I was worried.”

Michael’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion, genuinely taken aback by that statement.

“She told you to leave me alone? What the fuck?” he asked. Alex shrugged. “Man, first Maria’s acting weird, now Liz.”

“And you,” Alex teased. Michael rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe the planets are aligned in some type of way.” Michael huffed a laugh.

“I don’t know, just seems weird.”

“Yeah,” Alex sighed, looking around and trying to find an excuse to stay. Liz said to leave him alone, but if it was just because he was feeling anxious, then he wasn’t about to do that. He missed him too. “So, I heard you need someone to practice healing on.” Michael tilted his head.

“You eavesdropping now, Private?” Michael asked. Alex shrugged and took a step closer, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Alex said, “Why not help a friend? Platonically, of course.”

Michael’s face split into a smile. “Okay.”

Which is how Alex found himself sitting outside the airstream and cutting open his palm with a sterilized knife like he was in Supernatural and planning to activate some kind of sigil. Michael looked at him hesitantly as he scooted closer, taking Alex’s hand between his.

“Have you ever done this before?” Alex asked.

“Uh,” he laughed awkwardly, “No. So, sorry if this takes a minute.”

“Take your time, I’ll be fine, just focus,” Alex encouraged. He nodded and licked his lips, his eyes closing as he focused really hard.

In fact, it might’ve been too hard because his face was going red instead of his hands.

“Are you breathing?” Alex asked, trying not to laugh. Michael groaned and separated their hands for a second, wiping his bloody and sweaty ones on his jeans. Alex didn’t do that if only because his hand was still bleeding. “Breathe and focus. Just imagine it healing.” 

“I am.”

“Don’t imagine your hands glowing,” Alex told him, not having to even get confirmation that’s what he was doing. He knew Michael well enough for that. “Imagine my skin coming together.”

“Right,” Michael said, nodding and grasping Alex’s hand between his own again. They sat there, palm to palm, and waited. After a couple minutes, Michael sighed. “You’re still bleeding and it’s not working, let me get a–“

“Hey,” Alex said, mindlessly reaching out to touch his chin gently with his non-bloody hand. He wasn’t quite sure why he did that, but he would blame it on the fact that they’d been holding hand for ten minutes. But he still immediately dropped it when it effectively got Michael’s attention. “I’m okay, it’s not gushing blood or anything. You can heal it, you just need to focus.”

Michael stared at him in the eyes like he’d just told him the most confusing thing in the world. There had to be something going on because this was weird. Alex loved it, but it was weird. Michael didn’t just look at him like that for no reason.

“Hey, are you okay? For real, like, is something going on?” he asked.

“I mean, no,” Michael laughed weakly, “Just... you sound like you believe I can actually do it.”

“I do believe that,” Alex said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re literally biologically capable of it,” Alex stated simply, “You just need a little bit of positive reinforcement.”

“Positive reinforcement?”

“Yes,” Alex confirmed, layering his other hand on top of Michael’s, “You can do this. I believe in you.”

Michael huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he turned his focus onto their hands. “Gonna make a man melt, Manes.”

Alex smiled easily, shaking his head. Sometimes he wished he could know exactly what he was thinking. This was one of those times. He didn’t exactly know how to read what he was saying or the way he was acting. Yes, he was being uncharacteristically nice, but how long would that last? Was this simply self-sabotage? Was this just another way for Alex to get his hopes up before Michael went back to Maria?

But, more importantly, how much more touching did Michael want to green-light before that happened?

They sat there for awhile, Alex trying to hype him up while Michael tried his best to focus. Eventually, though, the sun went down and the blood was starting to dry and their palms were sticking together in a way that burned a little bit. Alex hissed slightly when Michael pulled away a little and it stung.

“Let’s take a break,” Alex suggested and Michael nodded easily. He pursed his lips as he checked Alex’s cut, holding his hand closer to his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Realized I didn’t wash my hands after handling that engine, making sure there’s no dirt or oil in your cut. Don’t want it getting infected if I can’t heal it,” he mumbled more to himself than than to Alex. He eventually dropped his hand though. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Alex agreed, watching him in an almost mesmerized fashion as he got up and went into the airstream. What the hell had happened over the last three weeks that made him so nice? Is that really what Maria was doing for him? Maybe she was good for him. The idea hurt him a lot more than he was willing to admit. 

But Michael came back with two beers, a small flask, and a wet rag. Alex watched as he plopped down in the old chair and pulled his hand back into his grasp. Then he opened the flask and poured it directly onto Alex’s wound.

“Oh my g–What the fuck, Guerin?!” Alex snapped, yanking his hand away as it started burning.

“Vodka,” Michael said, flashing a teasing little grin, “To sterilize it. Give me your hand, here’s your beer.”

“You don’t use vodka to sterilize someone’s hand,” Alex scolded, but he still gave him his hand back. Michael started carefully wiping away the dried blood with the rag.

“Didn’t have any rubbing alcohol.”

“Everclear’s close enough, I guess,” Alex said dryly. Michael flashed a smile and popped the caps off the beers with a simple nod of his head. Alex laughed and reached for one. “Alright, show-off, we get it, you’re cool.”

Michael looked up at him through his eyelashes. “You think I’m cool?”

“I mean, you’re a telekinetic alien, that’s a given,” Alex told him before taking a sip. Michael smiled and continued cleaning his hand. “So... you and Maria.”

“What about it?” Michael asked. Alex licked his lips. This wasn’t exactly his favorite topic, but he was trying to figure out where he stood. He’d missed him for three weeks and now suddenly he’d gone to see him and it was basically something out of a dream. Something had to have changed.

“You seem... happy,” Alex noted, “Together.”

“I guess,” Michael said, shrugging as he gave Alex’s hand one last look before letting him take it for himself, “We’re not really together though.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, his eyebrows furrowed. Michael sighed and took a sip of his own beer.

“We’re not dating, not her boyfriend or anything.” That didn’t confuse Alex any less. If that was the case, then what the hell had been going on? Why did he choose Maria if they weren’t even going to date? “I’m doing my best, though, to be a good whatever. I’m looking through files to try to help her and her mom, try to communicate, try to fix all my stupid mistakes I’ve made.”

Alex nodded, swallowing even though his mouth was dry. He knew it made sense and he was happy that Michael was aware of his mistakes and was trying to fix them, but he couldn’t help but feel a little burned by that. Wasn’t it cliche for a woman to swoop in a fix all the damage?

“Well, I’m glad she’s good to you,” Alex said. Michael shrugged, picking at the label of the beer. 

“Can I be honest?” Michael asked softly, “And you not take it personally?”

“Yeah, of course,” Alex agreed, shifting in his seat.

“Sometimes I think she feels like this is as good as I get. Like, no matter what I do, the bar is so low for me that she expects nothing of me and so I always meet it. Which, which is cool, I like not being pressured and stuff, but... I don’t know, I kinda like the way you always thought I could be cool and smart. Miss the way you challenge me,” Michael admitted, huffing a laugh, “I feel more useful than I’ve felt in weeks and I didn’t even fucking heal you.”

“Ah, so you missed my Drill Sargent mouth, not me,” Alex teased. Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, I missed you,” he said sincerely. Alex smiled a little sadly and nodded. Why couldn’t they admit that when they still had a chance?

“I missed you too.”

“Hey, uh, you got a package lately?” Michael asked. Alex’s eyebrows met in the middle.

“What? Why?”

“Nothing,” Michael said, putting the beer to his lips. Alex stared at him in confusion for awhile, but slowly let it go.

They sat there for awhile in silence, just drinking and enjoying each other’s company. It was easy to slip back into this despite all the bullshit from before. Because, at the end of the day, spending so much time away from someone you love while knowing they were right there was harder than it seemed. Alex wasn’t quite sure where Michael stood, but he liked to think the feeling was mutual still. Why else would they be sitting here like this?

“You still feel anxious?” Alex asked after awhile, using his good leg to reach out and kick him. Michael scrunched up his nose, shrugging his shoulders.

“I got eyes on you, so it’s easier to remind myself you’re not gonna die,” Michael said with a soft laugh. Alex smiled at him and nodded.

“I feel that.”

Easy silence came back over them and Alex knew, logically, he’d have to leave soon. He couldn’t stay all night even wanted to. They couldn’t fall back into old habits now matter how appealing it was. However, he could make excuses to stay longer.

“Wanna try to heal me again?” Alex asked as he finished his second beer, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. Michael smiled and nodded, scooting to the edge of the seat.

“You know, if this works, you’re gonna have a hand print on you, right?” Michael said.

“I’ve got gloves.”

“No, I mean... You’ll be able to feel my feelings and I’ll be able to feel yours,” Michael said, glancing at him hesitantly, “And I’ve never done it before so I don’t know if I’ll be able to, like, respect your privacy.”

“Michael,” Alex said, “I know. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” he clarified.

“No. I mean, you already know everything about me. Maybe it’ll actually click how I feel about you too,” Alex said. He meant it to be a little teasing and it was definitely influenced by the lighter feeling the alcohol gave him, but Michael just stared at him with a blank expression for a concerningly long time. “Scared?”

“No,” Michael said. He almost sounded like a determined little boy and, for a moment, Alex got nervous that he would react badly to feeling the way he felt. But Alex had already hit rock bottom when it came to Michael Guerin, he’d already ripped himself open for this man over and over, so, honestly, he wasn’t scared to get a little clarification on his end. Maybe Guerin was right, he needed to really make it feel over. “No, I can do it.”

“Mhm,” Alex said, holding out the hand with the cut. Michael took it into his own carefully, grazing his fingertips over his sore skin before pressing his palm against his again. It was warm and still stung a little, but Alex didn’t flinch. 

Alex wasn’t sure what changed from the first dozen times they’d tried that afternoon. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that it wasn’t bleeding anymore or the fact that the sun had gone down or maybe it was just that Alex had assured him that he didn’t mind the mental invasion, but that low glow started to emit from his hand as it shook with concentration. 

Alex opened his mouth to praise him for it, but was immediately just hit with a wave of pleasure. His jaw dropped even more than intended and he clutched the stupid lawn chair with his free hand so tight he knew it would be sore later. His breathing got heavier and his eyes closed, a strained moan vibrating low in his throat without warning as that euphoric feeling only seemed to get stronger and reach every inch of his mind and body.

But then everything went black.

-

“He’s not answering his phone.”

“Neither is Alex.”

“Fuck.”

Maria found herself crying all over again, guilt pooling in her stomach. She should’ve just warned them. Even if it meant losing Michael, she should’ve just been honest. This was karma at its finest. 

“Maria,” Liz instructed sternly, grabbing her arms again, “Calm down. I’m gonna call Max and Isobel and Kyle and we’re gonna find them.”

“Alex is going to die and it’s my fault,” Maria said, bowing her head as she cried harder. It was hard to just calm down when her not-quite-boyfriend and her best friend were in danger. It didn’t seem to matter that Alex had stayed away from Michael, maybe this was supposed to happen all along and she just didn’t know.

God, why was she so stupid?

“Maria, stop,” Liz said, “We’re going to find them and it’s going to be okay, but we can’t do that if you don’t keep it together. You’re the only one who has seen the building they were in, even if it was only for a second, we need you.”

Maria sniffled, swallowing harshly as she nodded. She took a few grounding breaths and raised her head. She needed to focus and remember. She refused to let Alex die.

-

“Alex, hey, wake up.”

Alex groaned, his head throbbing. A pair of hands were on his shoulders and shaking him awake, not letting him sleep even though he wanted to. When he reluctantly opened his eyes, Michael was above him with wild, panicked eyes. Alex looked around the small room.

“Where are we?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Michael helped him sit up. He stayed ridiculously close, his hands never leaving his arms.

“I don’t know,” Michael whispered like he was scared someone was listening. They might’ve been. “Last thing I remember was I was healing you and then something hit me and I woke up here. Didn’t even get to finish and you’re still all hurt.” 

Alex lethargically looked down to his hand to see the cut was indeed still there, but he could feel Michael more than he normally could and it made it clear that he’d gotten at least partially done. He didn’t know they could actually do half-way things like that. Still, he didn’t have time to dwell on that, so he looked around to try and figure out where they were.

“Whoever they are, they know who we are,” Alex noted, his hand going up to rub the back of his head. The room was small and didn’t seem to have a door, just four walls Michael could probably reach across both ways if he laid down and stretched. It was empty except for them. “They waited until we were distracted and then they knocked me out first so I couldn’t fight.”

“Oh,” Michael breathed. He scooted a little closer even though he was already nearly on top of him, reaching out to feel the back of his head. “Are you okay? There’s a knot, but it’s pretty small. Are you nauseous? Dizzy? Your responses are a little delayed, but I can’t tell if that’s because you just woke up or because you have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Irritability is a symptom of a concussion, are you–“

“Michael,” Alex said, putting a hand over his and looking at him with a gaze that seemed to fix him in place, “I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion. Do you?”

“No, but I knew something shitty was going to happen. I knew it and I let my guard down and now you’re in pain,” he said. Alex shook his head, grabbing his wrist gently.

“Not your fault. But we gotta get out of here, so I need you to stay calm and use that brain of yours, okay?” Alex instructed softly.

The hand print, as dull as it was, still had him feeling all that secondhand anxiety that seemed to be filling Michael to the brim. He wondered if they were just feeding off of each other’s negative emotions and making shit worse. He pushed his bad feelings down as far as he could just in case, sending all the supportive ones through the connection instead. 

“Do your powers still work or are they dulled?”

Michael looked around for something to fuck with as a test, but considering there was nothing to move, he focused on Alex. With a little clever wiggle of the nose, Alex’s hair smoothed itself out in a very detailed manner. He smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, you’re incredible,” Alex said, knowing that the extra little compliment would help them out in the long run. For the first time, though, he could feel how Michael took that little word to heart and cherished it. He gave a small smile to make it that much more meaningful.

“I can feel you,” Michael told him, eyes still wide and a voice hardly making a noise at all. He almost looked like he did when he got a little too high and that worried Alex, but he decided not to question if they’d been drugged on top of kidnapped. 

If he was on drugs and still ached the way he did, well, he had bigger problems. 

Michael leaned closer, his nose pressing into Alex’s cheek before he slowly rubbed against his face like kitten. “You’re in so much pain, I hate it. You think about pain too much. Pain and math, too much pain and math.”

Well. At least he knew for sure that Michael had definitely been drugged.

-

“Alex’s truck is at the junkyard.”

“What?” Maria asked, more than a little horrified at the information Kyle was giving them. “Liz, I thought you told Alex not to go to him.”

“You act like that wouldn’t make Alex immediately go to check on him,” Kyle scoffed from the other side of the phone. Both women pressed their hands into their face, stressed to hell over this ridiculous revelation. What the hell were they going to do? “Listen, Isobel is on her way. When she gets there, try and see if you can stir up any triggers that’ll tell us where they might be.”

“Okay,” Liz agreed, looking over to Maria who nodded in agreement.

“If you think of anything, call me. Max and I are gonna scope the place out, see if there’s any clues. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

The call ended too quickly and they sat in silence for a moment. Maria had a billion thoughts running through her mind, but the main one that stood out was Michael sobbing as he tried to heal a lifeless Alex. It was horrible and she was terrified that it was going to come true if they didn’t find them fast enough.

“Who would take them?” Liz scoffed, shaking her head, “I don’t understand.”

“Alex’s dad, maybe?” Maria suggested, “He’s all evil and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, but this feels weird even for him. Why would he specifically try to get just Michael and Alex out of the picture, not the rest of the aliens?” Liz asked. Maria shrugged.

In that moment, Isobel strutted in like she was in a TV show that no one else had been informed of. She took off her sunglasses with a dramatic flare and set her sight on the two women.

“Alright, DeLuca, let’s find my brother.”

Before Maria could even agree, she was warped into her mindscape.

-

“You remember how you said you thought it was gonna be us?”

Alex sighed, stroking Michael’s hair as he laid against his chest. It became very clear that whatever was in his bloodstream had made him weirdly touchy for the time being and Alex just had to ride it out with him. Besides, Alex had already scoped every inch of the room over and over and couldn’t figure out where a door might even be. For right now, there was nothing he could do but try to make sure they’d both be aware enough whenever they got the chance to escape. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Alex said, trying not to get too accustomed to the way Michael was rubbing his chest. As soon as they were out of this situation, things would go back to normal. That meant no more I miss you’s and no more cuddling.

“I’m still kinda scared it’s not,” he whispered. Alex sighed, his head still aching. This felt extremely unfair. Not only was Michael drugged and he wasn’t, but now he had to listen to him talk about them as if it was an option. And, while Alex could feel that he still loved him, he could also feel the complete fear Michael had when it came to them. Alex didn’t know if he could ever be with him in good conscious knowing that.

“It’s probably not,” Alex admitted, “But that’s okay. You and Maria are good together.” Michael made a wounded noise and pressed into him even more. It made his back ache, but Alex didn’t say anything. Michael just pushed his head into his chest more, the movement more akin to an angry cat than a human being. “Hey now, you’re the one who fully admitted to being more mature and communicating more. That’s good.”

“It’s easy to be honest when you don’t care what they think about you. I care what you think,” he grumbled, the heel of his palm pressing down as his hand slid down. Alex stopped it before it got too low, sighing.

“You’re not in your right mind,” Alex told him, using his other hand to comb through his hair in a veiled attempted to soothe him a bit more. Michael just gave another whiny, sad noise. “Once we get out of here, we’re gonna go back to the way we have been which is okay.”

“No.” Michael moved in closer, his leg moving on top of Alex’s and his knee wedging between his thighs. Alex sighed as he let him invade his space completely and kissed his head. Yeah, this had to be a very specific brand of torture.

“What did they even give you?” he whispered against his hair, eyes scanning the room again. 

Not only were there no signs of a door, there wasn’t really any sign of a camera either. However, there had to be something. It didn’t feel like they were losing oxygen, so it wasn’t sealed, and whoever put them there must’ve been watching them. What other benefit would they get from shoving Alex in a room with a drugged Michael? That’s when that very specific brand of torture sounded less like a joke and more like reality.

“Someone’s targeting me,” Alex noted, furrowing his eyebrows as he sat up a bit straight. Michael whined in protest, but Alex just kept his hand on the back of his head to keep him in place as he thought hard. 

Whoever had done this had to have known Alex would only let his guard down enough to be captured when he was with Michael. Not only that, but they had to wait until he was in the middle of healing to do so. Then they chose to drug Michael, but not Alex. It left Alex feeling all of his pain, but also let him taking care of an emotional alien. What the fuck?

“Ow,” Michael whined, nearly kneeing Alex in the dick as he scrunched his whole body up, “You’re thinking too loud.”

“I’m thinking too–They amplified your powers,” Alex said. The fact that he could feel Alex more than Alex could feel him, him being able to do something as specific as flatten his hair in all different directions without even straining, him being able to hear his thoughts. He pulled Michael’s head away from his chest and looked into his eyes. His pupils were still blown. “Why the fuck would they amplify your powers? Wouldn’t they want to make you less of a threat?”

Michael stared at him instead of answering. It was very similar to the look he’d given him back in the junkyard, but far more open and admirable. He slowly started leaning forward, going in for a kiss that Alex dodged at the last second.

“I don’t understand,” Alex murmured as he held Michael’s head against his shoulder again, keeping him from doing anything stupid, “Why would they make you more powerful?”

“Maybe it’s a test,” Michael whispered against his neck, soft enough that even if the room was mic-ed they wouldn’t hear it, “Seeing what it takes to break you. Maybe they expected me to be mean.”

Alex’s jaw set as that seemed even more plausible than ever. It had him wondering what kind of drug they could’ve concocted that was intended to make Michael angry but instead made him emotional and clingy while still boosting his powers. The first thing that came to mind was a weird alien hormone that he’d been given an extra dose of. As dumb as that sounded, Alex couldn’t rule anything out. He took a deep breath to prepare himself. 

“Thank you for that big brain of yours,” he said and kissed the side of Michael’s head for good measure. Michael gave a happy little hum and nuzzled closer. As much as Alex wanted him to keep holding him, though, he realized he needed to get on his feet so he wouldn’t be caught off guard. “I need to stand up.”

“Why?” Michael whined.

“I just do,” he repeated more firmly. 

It took a moment, but he eventually got Michael to get up and to help him to his feet. He was a little unsteady for a moment from both not standing for long and also having his prosthetic on for so long. The moment he got stable, Michael looked over him and checked the bump on the back of his head, still gazing at him with a look that was far too overwhelming.

“How are you feeling?” Alex asked. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

A few seconds later, an alarm sounded one of the walls in it’s entirety started moving. Alex’s eyes widened in confusion and Michael placed himself firmly in front of him. This was the first time that Alex actually trusted him to be there. He was powerful right now, Alex could feel that, and he was protective. He knew damn well whoever was behind this couldn’t have predicted that.

A man slowly walked into view, so distinctly not his father that it actually shocked Alex. What the hell was going on?

“Hello, Captain,” he said.

“What do you want?” Alex demanded. The man grinned and took a step closer. Michael held his hand out in front him, locking the man in place. He still smirked.

“Come closer to him and I’ll kill you,” he said. Alex gently touched his hip and moved to stand to his side and a step closer to the man.

“Play nice for a minute,” he whispered. Michael’s jaw clenched, but he let the man go. His smirk got wider and he continued to saunter closer, not seeming phased by Michael’s power. What the fuck? “What do you want?”

“Where to start?” he asked, “Ah, I know where. I talked to your father. He said you had a peculiar attachment to a specific extraterrestrial. Who would I be if I didn’t quickly get you both to be apart of the experiment?”

“Experiment?” Alex repeated. He could feel the waves of irritation waft off of Michael. His switch from caring to angry had flipped so quick, Alex felt more sure than ever that it was hormones. 

“We’ve had a very, very small group to work with when it comes to imprinting over the years. Four pairs in total, to be exact, and all have resulted in the same conclusions. It’s better than biological weaponry, I swear. The bond between one of these creatures and their masters can be incredible. You two, however, have one noticeable difference to the other sets we’ve tested on. Usually, they only have a few months, maybe a year, to form that bond and it’s already strong enough where the creature will just fold to their master’s will. But you two... over a decade. Incredible.”

“Is he saying I’m, like, your fucking Pokémon or something?” Michael asked softly. 

“I don’t know,” Alex answered, stepping a little bit more in front of Michael.

“I can already tell this will be fun with the way you both act. I’ve never seen it look so organic before,” he stated, looking genuinely proud of the discovery. Alex didn’t share the sentiment. “He handled the pheromone dose well, I see.”

Pheromone dose. So they weren’t trying to make him angry, they were trying to make him love him more. Well, it fucking worked. And, honestly, Alex wouldn’t be surprised if they’d manage to give him a dose before he even made it to the junkyard earlier. What else could explain how eager he was to talk to him and admit that he missed him? Alex tilted his head and couldn’t help the grim look that overcame his face. They were so fucked.

“I’m excited to see if you’ll both survive. First time for everything, you know?” the man said, seeming to be genuinely giddy about the whole thing.

Things moved far too fast and he was gone, leaving them in what looked like a tiny arena. Slots opened in the walls and four mechanical arms slowly exited out of them. For a moment, Alex had hope that maybe they’d survive this and it was really just a dumb test. But then he realized they all had real weapons, throwing knives and guns. Three men, fully decked out in protective gear, walked in as well with their own deadly weapons. It was the fucking Tento di Cruciamentum.

“Alex,” Michael said warily. Alex licked his lips and firmly planted himself in between Michael and the things designed to kill them.

“Do you trust me?” Alex asked, reaching behind him to grab Michael’s hand. He squeezed it when it overlapped the dull hand print, feeling a rush of determination and loyalty.

“Yes,” Michael said. Alex brought Michael’s hand up and placed it on his shoulder with his palm facing outward. It was their own little weapon. They had to just play along.

“Then do as I say, alright?” he whispered, taking a deep breath as a buzzer sounded as if to signify the beginning of this sick test, “Keep the weapons off me and I’ll handle the hand-to-hand.”

Michael did as he said immediately, all four mechanical arms imploding on themselves enough to startle the men into trying to hide their own guns. Alex smiled in sheer pride.

“That’s my boy.”

-

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Heard it before, try something new.”

Maria glared at Isobel as they stood in the foggy mindscape that laid somewhere between them. Together, they had gotten better at the whole psychic thing. They were two very different kinds of psychic and it helped amplify each other in ways neither of them had thought possible. However, she still needed to fucking ask before she did that.

“I know you want to find your brother, but you can’t just invade my mind without asking,” Maria said. Isobel wasn’t amused, just giving her a tight smile.

“He’s been gone for hours and you haven’t done anything to help, so help.”

“I don’t know how. I only got a glimpse and it was just–“

“Show me.”

Maria frowned as she looked at her. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Alex die again, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. Isobel had the power to replay the scene perfectly and that was the only way they could even kind of grasp the location.

“We need to help them, chop chop,” Isobel said.

As angry as Maria wanted to be, she knew it would just make things take longer and that was putting Alex’s life at risk. So, instead, she focused as hard as she could on that vision. Isobel grabbed her arm, giving her that extra little power boost to make it happen.

She knew she was there when she heard Michael’s sobbing.

Maria couldn’t help but look at the scene, holding back tears as she listening to Michael cry and promise to bring him back. 

“Stop look at them, it makes it harder, focus on the room,” Isobel instructed. Maria reluctantly look away so she could take in the room, trying to ignore the sobbing. 

There were three men laying unconscious on the ground, most of them seeming alive except for one who’s head was nearly on backward. On the wall, there were four open holes with destroyed, smoking machines in them. The walls were all covered in metal and the floor was dirt, but, when she looked up, the ceiling was high and wooden. It looked like someone had too much time on their hands.

“Is it a renovated barn?” Isobel said out loud.

“I think so,” Maria said, quickly looking around to try and see if there were any windows so she could see where it might be. Except the vision ended, warping back into the default mindscape. “Shit.”

“Do it again,” Isobel instructed. Maria looked at her a little helplessly. “We need to see more, that wasn’t enough information.”

“Can you really stand to hear Michael cry like that again?” Maria asked. Isobel looked at her with a hardened gaze.

“If it means saving his life, I’ll listen to it a thousand times.”

And they sadly did have to listen to it five more times, trying to look for an outside view. By the time they did find an outside view, Maria felt nearly desensitized to the sound.

“Are we good?” she asked as they got a good look of the farm space they’d been at. It looked like an old, abandoned farm. Maria didn’t know what to do with that information personally, but she assumed Max might know. It was apart of his job to know where she was in Roswell.

“I think so,” Isobel said. It was clear listening to Michael be so distressed actually had impacted her, but she kept it to herself. “Let’s go save them.”

“Finally.”

-

Michael hated this.

He knew Alex was a fighter and he knew it was strong and, had this not been a life-or-death situation, it might’ve been really hot to see him fight three men and use their protective gear against them. Right now, though, Michael felt like his skin was going to burn off. He wanted to get the fuck out of here and just tuck Alex up in his arms and keep him safe. That was the fucking goal, but god forbid these assholes let that happen.

When he had nightmares about being an experiment, this just wasn’t what he had in mind.

“Guerin!” Alex yelled. Michael responded by throwing the guy who’d managed to get in a cut on Alex’s arm across the room, slamming him so hard into the wall that it knocked him out. 

He was trying his damnedest to get them all to fuck off, but they were trained fighters and he wasn’t used to anything more than a sloppy bar fight which mean he just had to stay back and use his brain. Which would be fine, but he could already feel his power dwindling. He needed acetone and a break soon or they were fucked.

He realized that, if he just put in the effort to knock the remaining to out, maybe they could get the fuck away. He watched as Alex dodged a punch and then landed another one, but it only did so much when they had protective gear. One of the men grabbed Alex’s arms and Alex used that as a brace to shove his prosthetic straight into the other guy’s face. It had him stumbling back and sent both Alex and the guy holding him to the floor. Anger pooled in Michael’s stomach and he used it to throw the guy who got the metal leg to the face like he’d thrown the first one, watching him fall too the floor and not move.

Then he focused on Alex and the other guy. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure he had enough gas to throw him when he and Alex were fighting on the floor. So, instead, he threw himself at the guy whenever he got on top of Alex, tackling him even though he knew he shouldn’t have.

“Fuck,” Alex cursed, but he didn’t seem to be angry at Michael for it and that’s all that mattered. 

He wrestled with the guy, trying his best to try to free him of at least one piece of of the gear so he had a weak point. Alex was on it too, both of them using their body weight and Michael’s power to pin him to the floor. He looked panicked as they became successful and Alex took the headgear off before slamming his head into the ground, knocking him out for at least a second.

Michael and Alex locked eyes over him. His first thought was to kiss him, but that would be a little senseless so he didn’t. He wanted to though.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex said and Michael agreed.

They used each other as leverage to get to their feet, both of them weak and needing to get the hell out of there. They won, but there was no telling if this was just round one or not. They looked around for an exit as quickly as they could, spotting a piece of the wall that looked a little different than the rest of it. Michael held out his hand, having to focus a little more than he’d like to admit to break it open and reveal the outside world. He needed acetone.

“You’re fucking brilliant,” Alex gushed, grabbing his hand and starting to pull him that way so that they could leave. 

But then a shot rang through the air and Alex fell to the ground almost instantly.

Secondhand pain and straight devastation coursed through Michael as he tried to break his fall. He felt like his mind had completely short-circuited as he fell to his knees with Alex. 

“No, no, Alex. Hey, no, stay with me,” Michael scrambled. His pretty face was morphed into shook, quick gasps falling from his lips as his body fought to breathe. Michael noticed the bullet had gone straight through him, straight through his lung. Wasn’t that just horrifying?

He looked up to spot the culprit, the second guy he’d thrown looking at him with sick joy and a gun in his hand despite the fact that he was still weak. Michael’s pain and hate brought tears to his eyes and, without so much as a second thought, he held his hand out and screamed, draining himself a little too much just so he could see his neck snap. He shot Alex. He shot Alex.

Michael pulled Alex closer into his lap, his hand pressing to his chest that just seemed to bleed so much faster than any person should and breathing slowing into something nonexistent. His hand was shaking and his mind wasn’t processing anything, everything in him just saying that Alex wasn’t allowed to die. He’d just fucking understood shit for once. He couldn’t. He needed him. Fuck, he needed him.

“I got you,” Michael said, sniffling harshly as he rocked Alex back and forth, “I got you. It’s okay, I got you.”

Alex’s eyes were wide, staring up at him still. He wasn’t gasping anymore for air, but Michael could still feel him and that was enough. If he could feel him, he could heal him. He’d healed him before, he could do it now when he knew that Alex loved him and trusted him. He could do it.

“It’s gonna work, I promise,” Michael said, voice breaking as he sobbed and pressed down a little harder on Alex's chest, “Any second now, I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna heal you, just gotta hold on ‘til then. I got you.”

He closed his eyes, drawing on whatever was left to try and heal him. But, that was the problem. He felt like he was sucking on the straw in an empty juice box. There was nothing fucking there. He whined low and horrified, feeling so fucking useless as he tried over and over to find power that hadn’t been replenished yet.

“No, no, no,” Michael cried, choking on his sobs as blood started coming from his nose and his ears the more he tried. He didn’t even care. Not when Alex wasn’t breathing and hadn’t blinked. “Alex. Please, stay with me. Please. I just need a second.”

“Well, that was unexpected,” that stupid fucking man said again, coming out of nowhere. Michael glared up at him, still holding Alex and waiting for things to just work. This wasn’t real. This was fake. Fake, fake, fake. Alex was alive and well and this was a bad dream. “Usually the creature will jump in front of the master, sacrifice themselves. I’ve never seen a master die and the creature end up unharmed. You must be very manipulative.”

Michael cried harder, unable to even find words to bite back. He’d never felt a pain quite like this. He bowed his head to look at Alex, rocking him a little as he pressed on his chest. Heal, god damn it. He believes in you. Don’t let him down.

“No, seriously, I’m impressed. You’ll make a good soldier. You have very fine-tuned skills for a telekinetic.”

“Fuck you,” Michael managed, bending over even more to press his head against Alex’s. His eyes were still open, staring lifelessly right back. It was easily the worst thing Michael had ever seen. “Come back. I miss you.”

“Cute,” the man said.

“I miss you,” Michael told Alex again, his tears mixing with his blood that mixed with Alex’s blood. He pressed harder on Alex’s chest, trying to just get him to wake up. He could still feel that low hum of Alex in his veins, but it seemed to be stuck on his last set of emotions. Pride and then pain and then fear and then nothing. “Come back, please. I’ll do better, I promise. Please, Alex.”

“Police!”

Michael didn’t budge, not having it in him to care about anything that wasn’t bringing Alex back. He couldn’t even bring himself to stop staring at his eyes, just waiting for a sign of life. It had to come. It had to.

Things happened around him and he didn’t notice, trying so hard to find his strength to get him back. He had to come back.

“I miss you,” he repeated, “I don’t wanna miss you anymore.”

“Michael, buddy,” Max’s voice sounded as he touched his shoulder. Michael didn’t move. “You gotta let him go, okay?”

“No,” Michael argued, “No, I can fix this. He’s okay.”

“Michael,” Max said again.

“No.”

Faintly behind him, Michael could hear crying. He ignored it completely.

“Isobel, come here for a second,” Max urged softly. Michael felt another hand on his other shoulder.

“I’m not leaving, not until he wakes him, you can’t make me,” Michael snapped.

“We know,” Isobel assured.

Slowly, Michael felt her other hand layer on top of his that was covering Alex’s wound. Then Max’s layered both of theirs. Michael quickly realized what they were offering and he found himself crying even harder.

“You ready?” Isobel said. He took a deep breath and sniffled. “One...”

“Two...” Max added.

“Three.”

-

Michael woke up, his body aching from head to toe and an IV stuck in his arm. 

The moment he did though, he scrambled to a seating position. Was that a dream? What the fuck happened? Where was Alex?

Sure enough, Alex was curled up in bed beside him, his own IV in his arm. He had bags under his eyes and he looked stressed despite the fact he was sleeping. Michael sighed in relief, scooting a little bit closer to him. That was when he realized that there was room to scoot closer and a quick look around told him he was in Max’s bedroom. The door was open and everything, giving them a way out of he wanted to. But, honestly, if Alex was alive, he didn’t want to.

He slowly laid down and ignored the way his back protested, facing Alex with unbridled guilt in his system. Whenever Alex woke up, he would hate him. He couldn’t even save him by himself. How pathetic was that? So much for a bond or whatever.

Still, he couldn’t help himself as he reached out to smooth his eyebrows out so he looked less distressed. Alex groaned at the touch and Michael snatched it away.

“Why did you touch my face?” Alex grumbled.

“Your eyebrows were all scrunched up.”

“What?” Alex asked, opening his eyes. They were tired, but alive and Michael couldn’t help but feel like that was the only thing that mattered. 

“You know, they were like this,” Michael told him, mimicking the way his eyebrows were. Alex gave the smallest smile and huffed a laugh, letting his eyes close again.

“Okay, valid reason to touch my face.”

Michael hummed in response, hesitant to reach for him again despite how badly he wanted to. He almost lost him. Hell, he did lose him. He didn’t want to leave.

“Alex,” he whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Define okay,” he said, “‘Cause I’m alive so that’s something. But we were also kidnapped and put in a fucking test arena because of some stupid fucking theory and that’s fucked.”

Michael continued to stare and let himself wonder why the universe hated them so much. Why couldn’t they have good memories? Why did everything have to do bad for them?

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, “This wouldn’t have happened if I just–“

“Stop it,” Alex sighed, “This is literally in no way your fault. In fact, you saved me.”

“I didn’t though,” Michael whispered, tears pricking his eyes, “I tried and I failed. You died in my arms because I didn’t protect you and I couldn’t even bring you back. I lost you. That was the worst moment of my life.”

“Hey,” Alex said, moving as close as he could with the short IV line, “You helped me. That’s all I could’ve asked from you.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better, you’re the one who died,” Michael pointed out. Alex gave a grim look and reached out, grabbing Michael’s hand in his own. He pressed that dull hand print against his palm, effectively showing Michael just how much he still loved him and didn’t blame him. In fact, he loved him more than before. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Love doesn’t make sense, moron,” Alex sighed, pulling his hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to his palm. 

Michael understood a lot more in that moment. In fact, he understood worship. Was this how Alex felt after every other traumatic fucking event they shared? Unbridled love and devotion? And, if he had, how the hell had Michael not felt it? More importantly, how had Alex survived being turned away?

“I love you,” Michael gushed, wishing that he was stronger so he could do something about it, “Holy fuck, I love you.”

Alex let out a soft little laugh, smiling as he kissed his hand again.

“That’s the first time you don’t feel scared of what that means,” Alex said.

“Because I’m not scared anymore,” Michael said, too many feelings rushing through him as things just made sense for once. Everything made sense. Everything had an answer. The answer was Alex. “Because I’ve already lived my biggest fear and you’re still here, you still love me.”

“And there’s no sign of stopping,” Alex hummed. Michael let out a heavy breath and pushed himself forward on a shaky arm, desperate for closeness more than ever before. Which was saying something.

“Hey, you’re up,” Maria’s voice said from the doorway, stopping them from getting any closer. They both looked to see basically everyone in the doorway, peering at them with matching concerned-mother looks. “Both of you.”

“Yeah,” they said. A hesitant silence filled the room, no one knowing what boundaries they could press.

“If you want to ask about why we got taken, can that wait? It’s confusing and long,” Alex said. Max was the first to respond, shaking his head.

“No, we found the files when we arrested that guy on drug and homicide charges,” he said, noticing their confusion and adding an explanation, “We couldn’t exactly charge him for kidnapping or anything without explaining the alien thing. Had to stage it as a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Oh,” Michael breathed, licking his lips as he remembered that guy he killed. He always thought he’d feel guilty about it, but it didn’t seem to effect him that way. He’d killed Alex, it seemed fair. 

“But the files are interesting and, when you guys are feeling better, we’d like to go over them,” Kyle said. They both nodded. Michael wondered when they’d leave them alone.

“Okay,” Michael said, “So, uh, I don’t wanna be mean, but I’m tired.”

“Yeah, of course,” Liz said instantly, “But we wanted to say something real quick.” She and Maria shared a quick look before turning back to them, taking deep breaths.

“I saw you die before it happened, Alex,” Maria said softly, “And I told Liz instead of telling anyone else because I was scared and didn’t know where or when it was happening and I just got scared. I’m so sorry.” 

Michael furrowed his eyebrows, feeling genuinely confused and hurt by that admission. Obviously, she couldn’t have predicted the context, but, fuck, a little more of a warning other than a phone call about practicing healing would’ve helped.

“You could’ve warned us,” Michael said, “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something?”

“It’s okay,” Alex said. Michael immediately scoffed.

“No, it’s not okay,” he insisted.

“Okay, but I’m tired,” Alex sighed. Michael felt a little torn as he looked to him and then to Maria and Liz who looked extremely guilty. “Can I just yell at you when I feel better?”

“Yes,” Maria said, Liz nodding along, “You can yell at me or cut me off or whatever you want, I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“Can I steal my boyfriend back?” he asked instead of anything else. Michael huffed a shocked laugh, looking over at him. 

“Yes,” Maria said again, though a little more sad about that one. Michael, as much as he liked her, wasn’t. Alex took a heavy breath, his eyes closing.

“Yay,” he breathed. Michael–and everyone else, honestly–watched him as he seemed to drift right back to sleep. He eventually looked back at the group.

“Is he gonna be okay?” he asked, his eyes directed to Kyle who nodded.

“Yes, he’s just going to need a bit more time than you. Turns out traumatic experiences can do one hell of a number on your physical health regardless of alien healing,” Kyle filled in, taking a step further into the room and going to check on their IV bags, “Yours is basically an acetone drip, that’s why.”

“Oh,” Micahel said, nodding slightly as he slid his attention back to the group in the doorway, “We’ll talk about this later?”

“Absolutely,” Liz said and Maria agreed. 

“Okay, can I take a nap now?”

Soon enough, they all cleared the room, even Kyle who left him with a ‘you hurt Alex, I hurt you’ look that Michael wasn’t even mad about. Still, he used what little power he could muster to close the door and he scooted closer to Alex despite the IV in his arm.

“I love you,” he told him, “And I’m gonna do right by you, even if it’s because I accidentally imprinted on you.”

Alex smiled just a little bit or maybe Michael imagined it, but it didn’t matter either way. He meant it. He grabbed Alex’s hand again, weaving their fingers together.

“I’m gonna kiss you when you wake up,” he promised, “And it’s gonna be cosmic.”

Alex smiled obviously that time, peaking one eye open. Michael grinned at him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Another pheromone dose?”

“Shut up,” Michael laughed and he moved forward, finally kissing him again having it mean something.

He was going to make this work this time, they had to. Not when they knew what they could and should be. They were bonded together in a way they’d never been before and it was obvious.

No more denying.

[sweetpeagarbage]

Grief, Gin, & a Bad Boy (Part 1)

Sweet Pea x Reader

Warnings: Death, Depression, Slight Alchololism, Drug Use, Eventual Smut

Reader is Midge’s best friend. After she’s murdered, everyone else seems to have moved on. You still miss her and have trouble coping with it. You meet a tall gang member at party and he seems like a great distraction.

Kevin dragged you to this party and you couldn’t be more pissed about it. Your only saving grace is the cup of jungle juice in your hand. You’d already chugged three and you were feeling it. This one was just to replenish once your buzz wore off. Kevin was off with Betty somewhere and you’d slunk off to hide in the stairwell behind a couple making out.

You can’t help but think of Midge. She used to drag you to these things too with Moose. That seemed like a world away now. Where you were reserved and almost always caught with a resting bitch face, Midge was a smiley ball of sunshine. When she’d first dragged you into the playground with her in second grade you’d been determined not to like her.

Sometimes, when you missed her so much it hurt, you wish she’d never smiled at you that day.

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear landed on your hand and then into your cup.

“Shit,” you mumbled under your breath and wiped at the tears quickly. You got up and carefully made you way past the couple and to the bathroom where you had to kick out another couple just about to go at it.

You slammed the door behind you and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your red eyes could be explained by the jay you’d smoked off of someone outside but the tear streaks you hadn’t wiped at yet we’re clear. Your shift your expression in the mirror from sadness back to blank and then put on your mask for the rest of the world.

“She’s not half as mean as she looks,” Midge would tell everyone. You can almost hear it in her voice.

With that, you leave the bathroom and run right into a hard body.

“Jesus watch where you’re-“ you begin and then look up to who you’d run into.

Fangs stares back at you, shock written on his face. You’re sure you look that way too until you wipe it off your expression. You turn to leave but he grabs you by the arm softly. You hadn’t seen him since the riots. It had all gone so fast. Midget had just died and word got out she was cheating on Moose with a Serpent. Everyone had gone on a witch hunt and of course came to you demanding a name.

You’d played dumb. Lied about Midge not telling you anything but you knew it was Fangs. You also knew he was in deep with her and wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head. Telling Reggie and his goons would just mean they’d hurt him.

It didn’t make a difference because Fangs got shot anyways. You hadn’t spoken to him since the moments before he’d gotten shot.

You yank your arm free harder than you meant to,”I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely,” Just had my last check up. I’m all healed up.”

“Good,” you say, you mean it but talking to him makes you hurt remembering Midge.

“Look, after everything happened I never got a chance to properly thank you for not ratting me out.”

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding,” Yeah, well. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”

“You could’ve just given me up but you didn’t. I won’t forget that.”

You scoff, “What difference does it make? Midge is still dead and you got shot. My silence did nothing.”

You stare at the wal behind him, flashes of blood and knives, and screaming going through your head.

“Are you okay?”

You snap your eyes back to Fangs, “Fine.”

“Are you here with anyone? I came with some of my friends if you wanna-“

“There you are!”

You turn to see Kevin coming towards you and taking you by the arm,” I’ve been looking all over. I’m about to do shots.”

Kevin looks between you and Fangs,” Sorry am I interrupting?”

“Nope,” you say quickly and shot Kevin the fakest smile,” Lead me to the shots.”

Kevin pulls you away talking your ear off and you don’t look back. People say hi to you throughout the house and you greet them back. You see several bulldogs crowded around a table with tequila shots and lime.

“Shit looks like the jocks got to them first.”

“You think I’m gonna let Bulldogs stop me,” you say and untangle from him, pushing between two football players and finding yourself across from Reggie Mantle.

He smirks when he sees you and you’re sure you scowl as your eyes narrow.

“Well, well, well Bulldogs it looks like we’ve got a new challenger. You up for it sweetheart?”

You’re suddenly very aware that they’ve created a spectacle of all this. There’s a bunch of Riverdale student cheering it on and you’ve caught yourself in the middle of it.

“What’s the rules Mantle?” You asks, refusing to be unfazed.

“That’s cute. No rules. Shots until you can’t anymore. You vs me. What do you say?”

You don’t hate Reggie. At least you didn’t used to. He was more an asshole in the periphery of your vision. Of course being friends with your best friend boyfriend meant Midge had dragged you on double dates hoping you’d click but Reggie was simple and you were not down to be his arm candy.

Then after Midge had been killed in the middle of your deepest grief he’d cornered you with a bunch of his Bulldogs and demanded you give him the name of the Serpent Midge was cheating with. You’d been crying and screaming and traumatized and his bullshit had sent you over an edge.

You hadn’t really come back since.

“You’re on,” you say and there’s something heavy in the air. Someone starts to count down and once your hear zero you slam back the first shot and then the second and then the third and the fourth and the fifth and Reggie is coughing and sputtering at that point but there’s eight shots laid out and you finish all of them. Everyone cheers around you and you don’t care as they pay you on the back. You’re staring right at Reggie and hoping he sees how much you hate him.

Kevin is the one to drag you away from it, yelling over the music about how much you just drank and asking if you’re okay.

“Fine!” you yell and then Kevin pauses and looks to someone and you follow his eyes to Moose. They both smile.

You knew they were fucking and you had no right to be mad but you were always angry nowadays and Kevin just so happened to be here.

“You two are really fucking obvious,” you say and Kevin snaps his head to you with wide eyes, “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Look I didn’t mean for it to happen especially after-“

You yank yourself free of him, “Don’t say her name.”

You’re not sure where you’re going but then you find yourself back in the kitchen with the Bulldogs and getting more jungle juice.

You feel him beside you before you see him. It pisses you off you’ve been around him enough times to know his cologne.

“It was kind of hot that you beat me.”

“Fuck off, Reggie,” you say without looking at him.

“Look I get that you hate me. I do. But can’t we move past it all. We had a lot of fun.”

You didn’t think you could get any angrier but you did.

“I think you think you get just how much I hate you but you don’t. And let me make it clear, I didn’t have fun when we fucked. I was drunk and you were the closest thing with a dick.”

He looks upset for just a moment before he smirks, “Well it looks like I’m the closest thing again. Wanna go for another round?”

You leaned close to him, making him think his charms had worked and then you stopped, eyes fierce,” Fucking me doesn’t count as an I’m sorry I started a panic that made Midge’s mother shoot someone and forget that the reason everything started in the first place was because your best friend died. You might not have killed Midge but you made damn sure finding her murdered became about everything else but her. Everyone forgot Midge and I blame you, you fucking idiot.”

“Everything okay here?”

You don’t look away from Reggie but you recognize Fangs’ voice. Reggie looks from you to him and you know somethings about to start.

“Fangs, how you doing buddy?”

“Fine,” he said curtly as you still stared down at Reggie, daring him to do something so you had a reason to make a scene, “Y/N are you good?”

“Why wouldn’t she be good Fogarty?”

“Because she looks like she wants to kill you.”

You snap out of it then and mumble out that you’re fine before downing more jungle juice.

“You know just because you feel bad doesn’t mean you gotta follow her around?” Reggie said and then tried to protectively put his arm around you. You shove him off much harder than you intend and send him onto the floor

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slur out as the kitchen goes quiet, watching the scene unfold.

“Why are you so mad at me?” Reggie screamed, pulling himself up from the floor and making you jump back at his anger, “I’m not the one who was fucking Midge!”

It’s a different type of silent now at the mention of her name. Everyone knew The Black Hood went after your best friend because she was cheating on Moose with Fangs, an act deemed immoral by the serial killer. You never judged her for it, pushed her to do right by Moose because he was a good guy, but never judged her.

Reggie definitely was.

“If you want someone to be mad at, be mad at the guy that stuck his-“

Reggie doesn’t have a chance to finish because your fist is in his nose. You’re cursing at him and swinging and you can feel yourself being pulled back from him but whoever it is isn’t strong enough. You lurch out of their grip and tackle Reggie, hitting him again and again.

“Don’t you fucking put it on her,” you’re screaming, “Don’t you dare blame her!”

Before you can register it you’re being picked up around your waist and hauled off, still kicking and screaming.

“Put me down,” you yell, trying to pry the arms that carry you outside into the cool night air.

Finally, you’re set down on the porch and you whip around to see a frantic Fangs and Sweet Pea.

“Jesus you’re stronger than you look,” Sweet Pea mumbles, catching his breath.

“Look,” Fangs began gently, blocking your path back inside, “As much as I’d love to see Reggie get a black eye this isn’t you. You’re drunk and you’re angry and-“

“How about you don’t tell me what I am and move out of my way?” you growl at him, arms crossed.

“Midge wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Midge is dead,” you replied, voice cold, “And I don’t need you to-“

You stop, eyebrows knitting together.

“What’s wrong?” Fangs asked.

You turn and throw your face over the porch as you violently throw up the contents of your stomach.

“I’m gonna go get her some water. Just don’t leave her side,” you hear Fangs say.

You hate being this girl. You didn’t used to drink this much and you certainly weren’t this angry when you did. It just made things easier.

You finally stop, catching your breath and groaning off the side of the balcony.

“Ew,” you mumble to yourself.

“You good?”

You’d forgotten Sweet Pea was still there to watch you. You had no right to be angry with him...or Fangs. So you resigned yourself to the exhaustion fighting its way into your body.

“Fine,” you throw over your shoulder, straightening up and running your hands back through your hair.

“You don’t look fine.”

You glare at him over your shoulder, faltering back a bit, still drunk, “Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m really fucking tired of people telling me that.”

Sweet Pea chuckles to himself, “You’re fun when you’re pissed.”

You go quiet, making him feel bad. Slowly, he came to stand next to you.

“For real, how’ve you been doing?”

You look to him. You hadn’t spoken to him since Fangs got shot. When Fangs and Midge had first hooked up, you’d found yourself awkwardly with him as both of your best friends made out across the room at the White Wyrm. He’d cracked a joke and made you laugh. You’d thought he was cute back then.

“I just punched Reggie Mantle in the face and threw up. How do you think I’m doing?”

“Well only one of those things sounds like it wasn’t fun,” he teased and you chuckled under your breath, “Oh look she still smiles.”

You half heartedly glare at him and he smiles down at you, all teeth and big, brown eyes and you can’t have the heart to be mad anymore. Vaguely you start to remember the time you’d danced with each other at a party. It seemed like a world away.

“Thank you,” you say hesitantly.

He shrugged, “You didn’t rat Fangs out and you really didn’t have to be there when he got shot...but you were. Makes you alright in my book.”

You scoffed, “Just alright?”

“Well you do go around punching people so I gotta wait before I give you the full okay.”

“Afraid I’ll turn on you,” you teased, the alcohol on your blood and on your breath making you confident as you stepped closer to him and his eyes darken enough for you to hold your breath.

“Promises, promises,” he drawls, and you’re fresh out of air in your lungs.

The door opens and you don’t realize just how close you’ve gotten to Sweet Pea. You take a step back as Fangs comes out with a bottle of water. He raises a brow at Sweet Pea who pretends like nothing had happened.

“I got you some water,” Fangs said and handed it to you. You quickly began to drink it down, grateful. When you’re done you look to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely, “You didn’t deserve me yelling at you.”

He looks down at his feet, “Not really sure what I deserve right now.”

You know what he means and suddenly you can see the guilt and grief that hangs over you is right above his head as well, darkening you both. All the time you’d been avoiding Fangs and he might be the only one who really, truly understood just how you felt about losing Midge. Sure, Moose was her boyfriend but you and Fangs shared the same guilt in the thing the Black Hood has judged her for. She cheated on Moose with Fangs and you watched her do it, you lied for her, you were by her side when you went to meet him. You weren’t the ones that killed her but it felt like it sometimes.

“It wasn’t your fault.” It tumbled out before you lose the nerve and then you’re reaching out to squeeze his hand. He takes it, giving you a squeeze back and a small smile.

Something bubbles in your chest and you let go more forcefully than you intended.

“Nights still young,” Sweet Pea said, breaking the tension, “y’all still down to party?”

“Fuck it,” you mumble and you’re the first one back into the house

You find yourself at the beer pong table. You slink the last shot right into the final cup in your game. Sweet Pea and you are on the winning team and just beat Cheryl and Toni. Sweet Pea hollers and pick you up, spinning you around. He’s caught up to you in how drunk you are.

He puts you down, quickly and yells over the cheers, “Don’t throw up!”

“Fuck you,” you yell and shove him at his chest playfully. He grabs your hand and holds it there, making intense eye contact with you.

“Got room for another game.”

Your moments broken up by a particularly pissed looking Reggie with a bruised nose. You snort a laugh, too drunk to be angry anymore.

“Not enough that a punched you in the face you want me to wreck you at beer pong too, Mantle?” you call out, laughing and taunting him as you down what’s in your cup.

“I could wreck you sweetheart,” Reggie says, lewdly scanning your body.

“Mantle you wanna fuck off,” Sweet Pea said calmly, arms crossed.

Reggie looks from Sweet Pea to you, his smile unnerving, “Careful, bro. She’s pretty but she might punch you in the face next.”

You recover quickly and drawl, “Oh my god you think I’m pretty.”

Moose comes to his side, pulling him away and looking at you with an apologetic look. It was the only way he ever looked at you now.

“C’mon bro that’s enough,” Moose said, tugging Reggie away.

Reggie pointed to Sweet Pea with a smirk, “She’s a real handful when she’s mad but she’s a great time.”

Luckily no ones paying attention to the drunk Bulldog this time. You know Sweet Pea hears it though because he looks from Reggie to you with a raised brow. Your jaw clenched and you start to walk away but Sweet Pea stops you. You hate that he made you feel ashamed of yourself. You hate Reggie for making you remember this drunk, angry girl is not who you are.

“Wanna get out of here?”

There’s tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and you’re suddenly very aware of how loud it is in here, back leaning against a wall.

You look up at him and wipe it all away to smirk and bat your lashes, “I want you to take me somewhere to fuck me.”

His brows shoot off his head, “Don’t fuck me to get back at Reggie.”

“I’m fucking you because you look like you want it about as much as I do,” you’re pushing it. You know that but Sweet Pea smiles and leans down until his lips are at your ear.

“If you did wanna piss Reggie off look at him right now,” he whispers in your ear, hands coming up to grab at your waist. You find Reggie over Sweet Pea’s shoulder, glaring at the two of you. You smirk at him just as Sweet Pea pulls back to look at your face, forcing your attention to him.

“Was he looking?” he asked though his eyes are on your lips, the last thing in his mind Reggie Mantle.

“Yeah,” you manage as the hulking boy in front of you puts a hand at your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Good, let’s give him a show.”

He kisses you deep, thumb brushing at your cheek and pulling you so close you gasp. In the space of your parted lips, his tongue meets yours. All thoughts other than the Serpent holding you leave your head. He’s a good kisser, a great kisser and he’s everywhere. Your back presses into the wall and you find yourself fisting your hands in his shirt, trying to pull him closer but there’s no more space for you two to close between you.

He brings a leg forward, making you part yours for him. There’s a whimper in your ears and you realize it’s you. He chuckles, dangerous and low against your mouth.

“You okay baby girl?”

You nod, eyes still closed.

“Look at me.”

You pull your gaze to his and if you couldn’t hear your heartbeat before you can now looking into his eyes, pupils blown wide and gaze heavy lidded on you. He puts his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“When I fuck you, it’s going to be because you want me so bad you can’t take it. Not because we’re drunk and you want to piss off Reggie.”

He kisses you one last time, slow and sweet instead of with the sloppy heat of before. He finds your hand entangling with his.

When he pulls away your gaze at him is soft.

“C’mon let’s get some water,” he suggest over the music and leads you away hand in hand. You don’t even look back at Reggie as he pulls you through the crowd.

[something-tofightfor]

Ransom - three

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (Ink AU)

Word Count: 7662

Rating: NSFW (Talk of kidnapping, actual kidnapping, language, violence, physical abuse of a female, death)

Trigger Warnings: Kidnapping, physical abuse, violence

Author’s Note: William is a piece of shit, but I still enjoyed writing this. 

Summary: It’s a race against time for Logan to get across the park and to you, but what condition will he find you in? 

After walking away from you and leaving the spilled alcohol to dry on your already dehydrated skin, William and Tanner cleaned up the camp, putting out the fire and packing things onto the horses. He’s going to kill Tanner too, he won’t want a Host… But the more you thought about it, the more you realized that William would likely keep Tanner alive to act as a buffer between him and Logan when Logan found you. What does he want? The few hours of sleep that you’d gotten hadn’t helped much, and so when William untied you, giving you a few minutes to stretch your arms out before he retied your wrists together in front of you, you felt dead on your feet, already exhausted. Why does my arm hurt so much?

 But William didn’t let you climb back onto your horse, instead looping the rope that tied you around his arm before he climbed up onto his, glancing down at you. “You’re gonna walk today.” What? No, I can’t. “And then maybe when we stop to rest the horses, you’ll feel a little more like talkin’.” He’s crazy, I can’t… 

 But you did - stumbling behind the horse for hours, the sun beating down on your shoulders and causing your skin to tighten. Focused only on staying upright - the few times you’d fallen to your knees, William had allowed you to be dragged until you’d regained your footing - you stared down at the ground in front of you, hopelessness growing by the second. Logan’s going to kill him. When he finds us, he’s going to… Logan’s face flashed in your mind, the way his eyes looked when he smiled at you, the way his hair flopped over his eye, the way his lips moved when he talked, but with every step you took away from Logan, the more desperate you became. 

 When William finally whistled for the horses to stop, the sun was high in the sky and you were covered in sweat, your hair only half contained with the rubber strap you’d used to secure the ends of it, the rest of it sticking to your skin. It was cloudless, as most days in Westworld tended to be, and you could feel your skin blistering, knew that they were likely large, but as you dropped to the sandy ground, you thought only of your tattoos - of what they’d look like when and if you ever healed. Shit. You slumped forward, forcing your eyes open, and when you looked down, you saw that the skin of your wrists beneath the rope was red and chafed and one knee of your pants had torn, blood seeping through and soaking the material. Ow. When did that happen? You drew in a deep breath, flexing your arms, and as you looked at the skin there, realized that those were bleeding, too, along with a deep, lingering pain in your elbow. I’m a mess. You laughed at the thought, wondering what Logan would think of you when he saw you again. He’s going to hate it, he’s going to be disgusted, he… 

 “Get up.” Still laughing, you looked up at William, who was standing in front of you with his arms crossed. “I said get up.” You tried to get to your feet but struggled, and wondered if the knock to the head and the whiskey had anything to do with it. Logan was out here for days and he was fine, it’s barely been a day and a half and I’m… You shook your head slowly. Focus. It doesn’t matter what he did, or what happened or - “Jesus.” You felt yourself being lifted to your feet, William pulling you up by the thick cords around your wrists and a low whine leaving your lips. “I said fucking stand, even Logan was better than you are, and that prick -”

 “Don’t you fucking talk about him.” Your tone even and strong for the first time in hours, you stared William in the eye. “You tried to kill him.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and though William’s face didn’t betray him, his eyes did. “You wanted Delos. You -”

 “You think you’re so fucking smart, hmm?” William stepped closer, and you saw the dirt on his cheek, saw the small scar next to his eye. “Figured it all out?” He shook his head. “You have no idea… but you’re right, so maybe you do have some idea.” He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Did he tell you why? What he did to me?” He told me everything you piece of fucking shit.

 “William, he didn’t tell me anything, I don’t know how many times I -” You were cut off again, this time not by his hand against your face, but instead by his closed fist slamming into your stomach, doubling you over as pain bloomed through your torso. Jesus Christ. “Can you please just...Fuck.” You coughed hard, bracing your forearms against your thighs. “How am I supposed to answer your questions if you won’t let me talk?” 

 “You’re talking, but you aren’t saying anything to me.” He stepped closer to you, reaching out to grasp your jaw, yanking your face up so hard you felt your neck crack. “Did Logan tell you about Dolores?” You thought back to the way that he’d reacted to the Host when he saw her on the yacht, the way he’d gotten angry at William immediately, the way it all made sense once Logan had explained. “I’ll tell you about Dolores and what good old Logan did to us.” Oh, great. But can I sit own, William? Instead of letting you do so right there, he dropped his hand from your jaw, picking up the rope again and leading you to the shade of a tree. “Sit down. This is a long story, and I don’t want you to keel over before I’m done with it.” 

 He waited until you’d settled against the ground, choosing a small patch of grass and running your fingers over it slowly, savoring the feel of it. “W-”

 “No. You listen now.” He cleared his throat, saying your name. “If you fall asleep, I will find ways to wake you up. The guns won’t kill you, but they hurt like hell when you get shot. Especially in the hands and feet.” You bit your lip before you could blurt out the fact that if he shot you in the foot, you wouldn’t be able to walk and he’d have to let you back on the horse. Don’t antagonize him. “I came here for the first time when Jules and I were engaged, and wasn’t planning on taking part in any of the shit Logan loves about Westworld - none of the sex, none of the murder none of the… I just wanted to have a good time… and then I met Dolores.” 

 William talked for nearly an hour, recounting the story of meeting Dolores and then the girl stumbling onto the campsite with him and Logan, the trip to Pariah and the double cross, the few days that they’d been separated when he’d known that Dolores had woken up, that she was feeling things - real things. Despite the fact that you didn’t want to listen to him because you could barely keep your eyes open and you hated the sound of his voice, you found yourself interested in the story, though his side of it seemed nuts. He thought that Dolores was real, thought that she was as in love with him as he was with her after only a few days, thought that something could come of it after leaving the park. “William.” You interrupted, surprising even yourself. “You’re telling me that these things… feel? That they …” He watched you, almost as if he was trying to figure out if you were teasing him, but then answered you with a surprising softness in his tone, his eyes focused on the sand. 

 “Yes. Not all of them, but at least her.” He swallowed and you widened your eyes. He believes it, still. “She said things that… none of the other Hosts did, they were just things, dolls, as Logan put it, but Dolores? That trip? She was something else.” 

 “But you came home. You… you married Juliet, got her… you had Emily, and you’re, it’s been… you’ve come here.” You winced with every word and realized that your lips were cracked and dry, your tongue moving over them by force of habit. “So many times, William, you come here more than L-” You stopped yourself, not wanting to say his name out loud because you didn’t want to think of Logan, off somewhere worrying about you. “Does she remember you? Does she-” He grabbed both of your shoulders again, pushing you backwards, and then William was on top of you, kneeling over your body and holding you to the ground. You cried out, feeling the grass against your skin, the pain of his grip slightly offset by the cool blades beneath you, but William didn’t give you long to think, his tone angry again as he ground your shoulders and back against the earth, one hand letting go to yank your head to the side by your hair. “William, stop.”

 “No.” He leaned down, face only a few inches from yours. “She doesn’t remember, not after… not after that trip.” He took a deep breath and then laughed, his finger trailing over your shoulder again, passing over your exposed collarbone and then up your neck before he tapped on your chin. “Not after what he did to her.” He stabbed her, he said he cut her open. He sighed and settled his weight against you, both hands moving to your throat. “But he’ll remember. He’ll remember you.” 

 --- 

 He woke up just as the sun was setting, sitting straight up and immediately reaching for the pouch of supplies, his heart racing. I didn’t mean to sleep for that long, I… He unlocked the device, searching for Tanner’s dot, and was pleased to see that it was still only about as far ahead of him as it had been previously, even though it was moving. When he woke up, Logan wasn’t quite well rested but he was better, and though he still had hours to go before he even got close to you, he was determined not to waste any more time. He’d ridden quickly out of Las Mudas, knowing that he needed to cover as much ground as he could before the shot wore off, and he’d managed a few hours of breakneck speed before he felt himself slumping in the saddle, slowing the horse down to a trot and then to a halt, tying it to a small tree before he collapsed on the ground, fingers closed around the edge of your hat’s brim. I’m coming, I just need… 

 He took a long drink out of the canteen before he refilled it from the river, whistling for his horse and then climbing on, the heels of his boots urging it to go, even though he could tell it didn’t want to. I know, buddy, but we’ve gotta. As he covered the ground and the shadows deepened, bringing with them cooler temperatures, Logan worried about you. Thirty six hours had passed, and if the weather he’d experienced had been any indication, you’d been in the sun for most of it, sweltering in the daylight and then freezing at night. I hope he’s letting her sleep by the fire. When Logan had been William’s prisoner, following him across the park looking for Dolores, he’d made the man walk for the majority of the time, trying to stay on his feet behind the horse he was tied to, but William hadn’t let him near the fire at night, and Logan’s recollection of those nights was misery, especially the more sunburned he’d gotten. He won’t do that to her, there’s no way. While Logan didn’t remember everything about the last day of his time with William, he remembered the pain he’d been in, every step agony, every muscle in his body aching, and the thought of you in even a fraction of that pain was enough to make his blood boil. 

 He checked his progress with Tanner’s position as the night wore on, but the Host kept moving, which meant you did, too. Though Logan wasn’t hungry, he ate some of the food he’d packed from Las Mudas - bread and jerky - and it kept him awake, allowed him to focus on what he’d do when he finally found you. He’s going to wish he’d never met any of us. He reached the plantation at dawn, watching as Tanner’s dot paused on the map, the bright point of light seeming to mock him. He’d closed the distance to about half - roughly a few hours between the two of you, and though Logan wanted nothing more than to keep going, he knew he had to rest again, otherwise he’d be no good to you when he caught up. Unless William just left Tanner, they’re stopped too. This means … Logan typed your name into the tablet again, waiting for your picture and profile to come up, your smile staring up at him from the translucent screen. I’m coming. 

 He wound his watch, giving himself three and a half hours, and though he thought he’d have a difficult time sleeping, Logan passed out quickly, his body bordering on exhaustion, even on the hard ground. When the watch dinged, Logan sat straight up, his eyes moving over the agave plants and the smaller aloe ones near the edges of the field. Get up, Delos. No more sitting still. Thinking quickly, Logan stooped down, breaking some of the aloe leaves off and wrapping them in a handkerchief before smearing some on his nose and climbing back onto the horse. It’s not much but it’s something. She might need it. You’d officially been gone for more than two days, and Logan knew that every minute counted. You were moving again, and Logan was surprised to see that your progress had quickened, Tanner’s location only a few miles away from the edge of the land - and the beginning of the sea, something that Logan hadn’t ever seen himself. Nowhere else for you to go, William. 

 He passed though the remainder of the plantation and entered the sand dunes, pulling his bandana up and over his mouth and nose, lowering the brim of his hat to block the sand and sun, and pressed on, thinking only of how, when he found you, he was going to get you back from William, away from Tanner, and to safety. He’d already decided that as soon as he made his move, he was going to press the button on his hat; the security team would see that there were three high-value Guests in the same area that needed assistance, and he hoped that in the time it took them to arrive, he would be able to do something to get you back into his arms and to subdue the other man. Shooting him would be great. 

 Logan kept the tablet out and open as he rode, watching as Tanner stopped moving, his own dot approaching the last known location of the Host quickly, Almost there. He had a plan - or at least part of one, and Logan intended to stick to it, drawing William’s attention away from you and onto him, hopefully giving you a chance to escape. He’d shoot the Host as soon as he could, but Logan’s focus needed to be on William, because he was the most dangerous part of the equation - he was the only one that could truly harm you. When the map told Logan that he was only a quarter mile from you, he dismounted, tying the reins to a tree and ensuring that he had everything. Here we go. 

 Against his better judgement, Logan twisted the dial on the injector again to a half dose and pressed the trigger, closing his eyes and waiting until he felt the energy coursing through him. I only need a few minutes. He tucked the device back into the bag and took a deep breath, walking in the direction of Tanner’s dot. I’m here, William. You better not have hurt her. 

--- 

 As soon as Logan spotted you, he gasped out loud, thankful for the sound of the crashing waves that tore the breath from his lips and carried it away. What did he do to her? He could see your sunburn from where he was, the blisters on your shoulders and upper chest prominent. He could also see the blood that had soaked your right knee through the tear in your pants, the streaks of dark reddish brown on your arms. Still cautious, Logan inched forward, gun drawn, and stepped toward where you were standing, the Host’s arm around your neck, holding you upright but otherwise not doing much of anything. He’s just waiting. He wasn’t holding a gun on you, and the closer Logan got, the more he understood why. You could barely stand, and your eyes were half closed - either from exhaustion or pain, he couldn’t tell which. You looked as if you’d lost at least a few pounds and your hair was still loosely held back, though the parts of it that had gotten free were matted and dirty, sticking to your skin. William was facing away from him, staring out over the water with his hands in his pockets, and finally, Logan couldn’t help himself, calling out your name as his heartbeat thundered in his chest. I’m here.

 He watched as your eyes slowly opened, and even though he was still ten yards away, Logan could see how unfocused they were, how cracked your lips were as they tried to form his name. You weren’t tied anymore, and Logan saw the bruises and chafing on your wrists, courtesy of the rope he’d first wrapped around them. She needs a doctor. Logan reached up with one hand, ready to press the button like he’d meant to do, but was stopped by the sound of a cocking gun, audible even over the rushing water. “Don’t touch it. Hat off, Logan.” He froze at the sound of William’s voice, hand only inches from his hat, but his eyes went back to you, seeing that your eyes had fully opened at the feeling of the metal pressed to your temple. You can’t die, it won’t kill you. But he knew that you were too far gone, too exhausted to consider the reality of the situation, and so Logan held his hand up, slowly reaching it back as he looked at William. 

 “I’m gonna take it off, William, that way I can…” William nodded once and Logan reacted, using the back of one hand to knock the hat off his head, not bothering to watch where it landed. It doesn’t matter. I have his tracker in my pocket, I can use that one. “Let her go, William, whatever the problem is, it’s with me. She’s not a part of this.” You cried out as the Host’s hold tightened, his gun still aimed at you. “She’s exhausted, William, at least let her si-” But William had drawn his own gun before Logan could react, turning and firing a single shot, aimed at Tanner’s head. The Host’s grip on you loosened, and at the sudden change, you stumbled forward, arms outstretched to catch yourself, but William didn’t let you fall, the gun dropping from his hand and hitting the sand at your feet, his fingers closing around your upper arm and yanking you against his chest as you screamed in pain. Something’s wrong with her arm. 

 It only took a few seconds, But Logan felt like things were moving in slow motion, watching as William put his hands on you, the hand at your arm replaced with one wrapping around the front of your chest, pressing against your shoulder as he held you in front of him, effectively blocking any shot Logan might have had. “Come and get her, Logan.” William watched him from over your shoulder, and Logan weighed his options. “You wanted me to black hat with you, and now look at you, trying to be a white hat and save her.” Logan watched as William’s free hand fell to his side, the man’s head shaking back and forth. “You couldn’t just let me be happy, could you? Were always so afraid I was gonna take over your fucking company before it was even yours, afraid that I would have better ideas than you. You couldn’t even let me have my vacation without trying to fucking dictate what we did, and then when I started having fun, you took that away from me too.” It’s not real, William. None of it was, but this is. You can … you’re hurting her, just like you hurt me, you… “It would have been so much easier if you had fucking died in that desert, Logan. But you didn’t. I could have gone back and had everything. Juliet, Dolores, Delos… all of it. But now, all I have is your fucking sister, and if you had your way, I wouldn’t even have had her for much longer.” 

 “Do you even care, William?” Logan was looking at William but he was also watching you, saw the way that your arms hung down at your sides, eyes closed again as your head drooped forward, Logan noticing the dark bruising that spread across one cheek. “If you’re still so in love with D-”

 “It’s not about that, you asshole.” William screamed, jerking you sideways as his body moved. “It’s about what you’re taking away from me. Always taking. Then, now. Taking, because you don’t know any better, because you’ve never had to …” William sneered. “What are you working on now, Logan? What evidence are you collecting on me? What is she helping you with?” Helping? Logan’s eyes widened. That’s what this is about, he thinks that I… Jesus, this is my fault. 

 “I told her we got into a mess with the Confederados, William, that you and I had a falling out. I told her that you weren’t happy with how I was playing the game, but that’s... I wanted to protect her until... “ He stepped closer unconsciously and watched as William took a step backwards, the waves crashing only a few feet behind him. “She isn’t a part of this, William, and we won’t say anything if you let her go. Look at her, she can barely stand, William, she’s…” William glanced down at you, and Logan watched as he smiled, nodding. 

 “She said that, too. That you didn’t tell her anything.” He laughed. “I didn’t believe her. I guess I should have.” She lied for me. Logan watched your lips move, though he couldn’t tell what you were saying, and felt his heart pounding. “So what are we going to do about this, Logan?” William raised his gaze, blue eyes full of anger. “What’s your solution?” I want to kill you, that’s what I want to do.

 “What do you want, William?” Logan stepped forward again, and William stepped back, the water lapping at his boots and yours, too. “Money? Dolores? You certainly don’t want Juliet, or -” Cool it, Logan. Don’t push him too hard.

 “I loved your sister.” Logan heard honesty in William’s voice for the first time, watching as the blonde shook his head. “I did, but then…” He looked up, and Logan saw the desperation in his eyes. “You take Delos away from me, Logan, get me fired, put me in jail?” He shook his head. “You take her away, too.” William laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Just like you took her away that first time.” Jesus, William. Dolores?

 “It wouldn’t have mattered, William, we would have left and then she wouldn’t have remembered you the next time we went back. That’s how it is, they aren’t real, Dolores was never… fuck, William, come on. It’s all a giant game. You tried to kill me over Dolores before, tried to ruin my credibility, tried to…” As he spoke, his voice raising, Logan was inching closer, eyes focused on you, willing you to open your eyes and look at him so he could tell you what he needed you to do. But you didn’t, and as Logan took a final step toward you, the hand at his side reaching for the gun on his hip, William reacted, drawing the knife from his belt and pressing the sharp side of the blade against your abdomen, skin visible thanks to the bottom two buttons of your vest being undone. No. He thought back to the way he’d treated Dolores the night in the Confederado camp, the way he’d jammed the knife into her stomach without pause. No, you can’t. You can’t, she’ll… 

 “Stop moving.” Your eyes flew open at that, gaze moving down to the knife and Logan heard you whimper, watched tears start leaking from the corners of your eyes. “One more step, Logan, that hand moves one more inch? I’ll do to her what you did to the woman I love.” She’s not real, William, she never was. You can’t love her. Not like…

 “William, think about this.” Logan said your name and you finally looked at him, wide eyes meeting his, the fear in them something he never wanted to see again. If he stabs her, she might not make it until the team gets here. “She’s alive. She’s real. If you do this, there’s no going back.” You were still crying, but Logan watched as you moved one of your arms, slowly, your hand reaching out to him as much as it could, fingers shaking. I’m right here. I’m not going to let him… “William, let her go, this isn’t about her, it’s about me.” He was pleading, but he didn’t know what else to do. “You already… she doesn’t... I’ll stop, I won’t keep looking for a way to get you out, just please, let her go. Let me get her help, I’ll say that it was the Hosts in the storyline, they won’t have to look into it, we’ll forget…” I mean it, just let her go.

 “No. You won’t.” William shook his head. “She’d never agree to that.” I think she would if it meant she got to live. I think she’d agree to anything right now, just like I would. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Almost ready to take what you have to the board?” William grinned, the expression chilling. “You won’t stop. Unless…” He bit down on his lower lip, turning the knife in his hand to press the tip into the exposed skin of your stomach. “Ask him to save you. Ask him to help you.” You stayed quiet, and William pushed the blade, your skin dimpling beneath the tip. “Fucking do it.” 

 Logan realized then that though he’d been thinking that William would be willing to compromise, he was wrong. He’s not expecting this to end well. He knows he’s fucked, this is a game to him. “L-Logan.” Logan looked away from William’s face, staring at you, and he heard the pain in your voice, almost as if you were seeing him for the first time. “You came.” 

 “I told you I would.” He nodded and so did you, though yours was barely a movement. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I should have -” His words were interrupted by a moan from you as William pushed harder, the sharpened tip of the knife slicing through your skin, blood beading around it. 

 “I said beg.” This is the game he chooses to play? She’s not a fucking Host, she won’t… 

 “Logan, please help me.” You forced the words out, Logan watching your fingers curl at your sides, head shaking back and forth. “Don’t let him hurt m-” Your words trailed off into a scream as William pushed again, more of the knife disappearing into your stomach. “Logan it hurts. Please… I… help me, Logan, don’t let him, help me, I -” He was frozen on the spot, watching as William inserted the knife further, blood leaking from the edges of the wound. Move. Move, Delos,or you’re going to watch her die.  

 “You have to watch, Logan! Fucking watch what I’m doing to her.” The tone of William’s voice madness mixed with glee, Logan - for a moment - thought back to the way he’d been with Dolores, the way he’d goaded William. This is my fault, if anything worse happens to her, it’s all my… You moaned out his name again and William twisted the knife, eyes on your abdomen and the wound he’d created there, ignoring Logan for the first time. Now. It has to be now.

 As Logan stepped forward, he reached into his pocket with one hand, pressing down on the tracking device to activate it, the small circular object buzzing once to let him know that it worked. Fifteen minutes. He continued moving and Logan watched as you turned your body toward William, raising one hand and pushing with the strength you had remaining. Logan’s shoulder connected with William’s chest and he reached out, using the hand that had been in his pocket to push you away from William, shoving you as hard as he could with one hand to the center of your chest. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. 

 You separated, crying out Logan’s name in surprise as you stumbled backwards, but Logan focused his attention back on William as the two men tumbled into the sand. Logan used his momentum to roll William onto his back before punching him once in the jaw, arm flying through the air without pause. Using his right hand, Logan reached for the gun on his belt before he pressed the muzzle to William’s chest, shaking his head back and forth. “Don’t fucking move.” William stared up at the dark haired man for a few seconds and then turned his head to the side, laughing. “What?”

 “Your girlfriend’s drowning, Logan. Looks like she pulled the knife out too, there’s blood all over the sand.” He knew it was dangerous, but Logan glanced at you, seeing that William was right, and made a decision. I have to. I have to save her. He looked away from you - the hardest thing he’d ever done - and squeezed the trigger. William shuddered beneath him, and Logan fired again, trying to buy himself time. When the man reached up to touch his chest where Logan had shot him, gasping for breath and trying to push his hands and the gun away, Logan snapped the cuffs onto first one wrist and then the other, staring down at William, who wore a look of shock on his face. “Good for you, Logan, you fi-” 

 “Yeah,” Logan sniffed, spinning the gun around in his hand before raising it above his head. “Fuck you, William.” He brought the butt of it down, smashing the handle into William’s temple twice. You deserve so much worse. Once William’s head had lolled to the side, Logan stood, grabbing the cuff chain and pulling William a few feet away from the water to make sure that the man wouldn’t drown, and then he ran to where you were laying, facedown in the wet sand, the saltwater rushing around your body. There’s too much blood. Logan sat down, rolling you onto your back and into his lap, one hand going to your stomach and hovering over the wound, though he knew it wouldn’t do much good. The supplies are all wet, everything’s… He ripped his shirt off, balling it up and pressing it down over your stomach. Please. They’ll be here soon. “I’m here.” He leaned down, stroking your hair with the hand that wasn’t tending to your wound and pressed his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath. “I’m right here and I love you, please hold on.” 

--- 

 Forcing your eyes open partially, you groaned at the pain that shot through your head as the low light filtered in through your still halfway closed lids. Where am I? Running your tongue over your lower lip, you let out a breath, trying to take a deeper one and wincing. “Hey, don’t do that.” Logan? “You’ve got four broken ribs, you’ve gotta…” You saw him move out of the corner of your eye and then Logan was sitting next to your bed, his dark eyes only inches from yours. “You’ve gotta take it easy.” At the sight of his face, you felt yourself start to cry, the tears leaking down and over your cheeks, but before you could reach up to wipe them away, he was doing it for you, his thumbs moving gently over your skin and lingering against the outer corners of your eyes. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” You gave yourself a few more seconds to cry, and then tried to roll over and toward him, but he stopped you. “Can’t do that, either.” 

 “Wh-” Logan pulled his hand away from your face, reaching across your body and taking your right hand, his fingers closing around yours. Fuck my throat hurts. “Why?”

 “Your ribs aren’t the only thing that’s broken.” Logan’s smile was more of a grimace and he lowered his eyes for a second before staring at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Your right shoulder was dislocated, there’s a hairline fracture in your left elbow, your knee had a bunch of gravel in it that they had to dig out, you have a concussion and you…” He stopped, squeezing your hand gently. “You’ve got a bunch of staples in your stomach from…”

 “He stabbed me.” Your eyes widened and Logan nodded. “How did…” You shifted on the bed and Logan immediately stood, pulling his hand from yours to help you scoot upward on the mattress. “Does this…” You swallowed. “The bed, does it…” Logan was pushing the button before you got the rest of your sentence out. “Ok, stop.” Your upper body was raised, allowing you to look at him and not up at him, and you took a breath. “I’m so thirsty, can I…” 

 “Only water.” Logan turned, reaching for a pitcher and filling a cup that was sitting on the tray next to you. “They hooked you up to an IV, but you were really dehydrated, and we don’t…” Logan shook his head. “We don’t know how your stomach will handle…”

 “S’ok, Logan.” You closed your eyes. “Water’s fine.” He held the straw up to your lips and you took small sips, intensely thankful for the cool liquid as you swallowed a few times. “Thank you.” You cleared your throat, staring down at your legs. “He was going to kill me, Logan.” You heard him suck in a breath from next to you, and then he reached out again, hesitantly dropping his hand on top of yours. “He thought I was helping you get him out of Delos, so he…” 

 “Yeah.” Logan said your name and you turned your head to look at him, watching as he chewed on his lip. “I tried to keep you out of it, and it… he still.” You saw how tired he looked, how worried Logan was as he stared at you, his hand simply resting on top of yours instead of holding it. “I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry, I should have…”

 “How long have I been here, Logan?” You were still speaking quietly, each word a struggle, but you needed to know, and you wanted to hear his voice. “When -”

 “Brought you in the day before yesterday, you’ve been out for…” He shook his head, eyes glistening. “You were barely conscious when the recovery team got to us, and by the time you got to the Mesa medical center, you weren’t awake anymore, but they had a monitor so I knew you …” He stopped, catching his breath. “You were in and out of it yesterday, they said that you needed to rest, even though you had the concussion, but I…”

 “You were here… the… whole time?” Why would he do that? “In m…”

 “They wouldn’t let me in the OR, but I’ve been with you since you got brought to this room.” You turned your hand over and squeezed, feeling pain shoot up your arm, but you didn’t care. Operating room? For stitches? They can do that in… 

 “How bad was it, Logan?” You felt yourself shiver. “I remember feeling him cut into me, and you were there, but I don’t…”

 “I think…” Logan’s head dropped. “I think I hurt you worse when I pushed you away from William when I tackled him, you fell on…” He looked back up. “I think you fell on the knife, and I shouldn’t have…”

 “Stop.” You forced the word out, finding the strength to make it a command. “Stop Logan, you saved me, he would have done worse if…” You remembered how it had felt to be William’s captive, the feeling of his hand as it had hit your cheek, the way his fist and foot had felt slamming into your stomach, how he hadn’t cared when you’d fallen to your knees behind the horse. “You couldn’t fight him if he was still…” 

 “I should have been more careful.” Logan was crying too, and all you wanted to do was lift your arm to touch his face, to tell him that it was going to be ok. Logan… “I needed to take him down so I could get back to you, I… I just pushed you, I didn’t even think…”

 “Where is he now?” You closed your eyes, settling back against the pillow. “What happened to him?” Logan laughed, the sound muffled as he wiped at his face. “I remember a gun, did you…”

 “I shot him.” Logan sniffed, and you opened your eyes again, turning your head toward him. “Twice, in the chest. It was enough to get him cuffed, and then I…” Logan frowned. “I knocked him out with my gun.” Shit. Your eyes widened, and you finally felt Logan’s fingers close around yours. “You pulled the knife out, or it fell out, I don’t know, but when I finally got over to you, you were bleeding bad, and… I just held my shirt against your stomach and waited.” He shook his head. “It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life.” You didn’t respond, your eyes on Logan’s face, and after a few seconds, he sighed, pulling his hand back to drop yours. “I’ll go get the doctor, now that you’re awake, they’ll want to -”

 “No.” You shook your head, feeling it start to pound with the movement. “Don’t leave me, please, I…” I need you here. He looked surprised, but Logan nodded back, leaning over you to press the call button that was resting on the mattress next to you. Lift your arm. You ignored the pain, lifting your left arm and sliding your fingers up toward Logan’s shoulder, thumb pressing in on the inside of his bicep, even though you couldn’t see the ink beneath it.  He said something on the beach, and I need to know...

 --- 

 After talking to him, you were in and out of sleep for the next twelve hours, and though Logan still refused to leave your room outright, he did take ten minutes away from you to hastily shower in your bathroom, turning the water on as hot as he could stand it. While you were in surgery, he’d called Juliet, informing her of what had happened, that her husband had tried to kill you and was being held in the Mesa jail while you were in surgery so that the amount of damage that had been done to you over the course of the 48 hours William had been holding you could be assessed. She hadn’t believed it at first, but by the end of the conversation, he’d heard in her voice that she knew he wasn’t lying, and Juliet had promised to be on the Delos jet as soon as possible, coming out to bring both of you home. Too little, too late, Jules. 

 Logan had been busy while you were getting worked on, also calling your family to let them know what had happened, even though the Guest Experience Team had volunteered to do it for him, letting your boss know that you wouldn’t be returning as scheduled, even going so far as to contact the Delos corporate lawyers on your behalf, telling them to get ready for one of the easiest cases they could imagine taking on. He’d changed out of his park attire, too, sending his bloody clothes off with the security team as evidence, but he’d been too keyed up to shower, and knew that he needed to. 

 You’d looked better coming out of the OR, though you still hadn’t looked great, but the fact that you were breathing, the rise and fall of your chest steady under the thin gown you wore was enough to calm him slightly. I’m right here. You might not want me to be when you wake up, but I’m here now. He wasn’t your emergency contact, but the doctors and nurses had taken pity on him since he’d been with you and it was common knowledge that the two of you were together, showing him your medical reports. When he saw your injury list, Logan finally broke down, his eyes scanning over the lengthy list of the abuse you’d suffered at Willaim’s hands as the tears streaked down his dust-covered cheeks. I should have killed him. He deserves it. 

 Logan had stayed in your room throughout the time you slept, drifting between being totally out of it and halfway conscious again, but you’d never opened your eyes, and so he’d stayed quiet, waiting. She’ll wake up when she can. He knew your body was fighting to rehydrate itself, and the nurses came and went like clockwork, replacing the bags of fluids that you were being fed, redressing your shoulders and upper back with the medicated bandages that they’d applied to combat the sunburn you’d gotten. Your dislocated arm was in a sling, the fractured elbow in a lightweight brace meant to keep it bent without the risk of you worsening the injury, and Logan was devastated. This shouldn’t have happened to her. 

 He was angry at himself for not seeing that William was capable of doing something like this to you, even though he’d experienced it firsthand. But this is worse. He didn’t … he didn’t hurt me, not physically like this. You were battered, and though Logan was thankful that William had never laid a hand on his sister in the years that they’d been married, he wished that the man hadn’t tried to get to him through you. There was no reason for this. He slept - fitfully, curled up on the couch in the corner of your room - waking up every hour or so to check on you, the backs of his fingers running over the skin of your bruise-free cheek as he stood over your bed, brushing your hair out of your face. They’d cleaned you up after completing your surgery, rinsing your hair out and giving you a quick bath, and you looked more like yourself, but Logan still wasn’t satisfied. 

 Even speaking with you for the few minutes he had before calling for the doctor hadn’t been enough, but Logan didn’t want to push it. We have a lot of things to talk about when we get home, now isn’t the time. He dried himself off, stepping out of the bathroom after he was redressed - wearing only a pair of comfortable sweats and a t shirt, and was happy to see that you were awake again - and that you looked much more alert. “Hey.” Your voice quiet, you turned your head to look at him. “I feel better.” You sound better, too.

 “Good.” Logan ran a hand through his damp hair, nodding. “You must be more hydrated, the bags are working.” He eyed the IV drip and then looked at you, watching as you lifted your hand and pressed the button to raise your bed. “Be careful, you -”

 “I’m on pain meds, Logan. It hurts, but it’s not as bad…” You shook your head. “You need to get out of this room.” She wants me to leave? “I heard you on the phone earlier, Logan. You aren’t responsible for me, you don’t have to…” You shook your head, looking down. “You haven’t seen Juliet yet, and I heard you say she’s here, you should…” You exhaled, pressing the hand attached to the arm in the sling against your stomach as you winced. “I’ll be alright, Logan, if you go.” He looked at you, staying silent. She doesn’t want me here. He felt his knees go weak but he agreed with you, walking back over to the couch and putting on his shoes. Logan stepped next to your bed and looked down at you, unsure of what to say. I should just go. What’s there to say? “I’m OK, Logan. I’m not going anywhere.” You smiled at him, the first one he’d seen in days, and he felt his eyebrows rising. “And maybe when you come back, you could bring me some ice cream?” She wants me to come back? He finally laughed at that - some of it in relief - nodding his head before he turned and walked away from your bed, your soft voice stopping him at the door. “Vanilla, please?”

“Of course.” Maybe. Maybe things will be OK.

---

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[ficsnthings]

Paul “Jesus” Rovia x Male!Reader

Summary: Jesus said he had to run. He didn’t say who he was running back to.

Rated: T - canon typical violence

Read on AO3

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y/n = your name

y/e/c = your eye colour

When Jesus awoke in an unfamiliar makeshift cell with no real sense of how long he’d been there, his immediate thought was to escape. He needed to get home to where his people, where his family were waiting for him.

So after assessing that neither the water nor the cookie that had been left for him were poisoned (after all, why they would poison him after going through the trouble of saving him and dressing his wounds if they were just going to poison him?) he quickly ate and drank before he slipped his bonds, watched the guard they had posted on the most obvious exit to keep him in and waited for an opening to sneak away and find another way out, which he found in the form of a third floor window.

If there was one thing Jesus was good at, it was thinking on his feet, but it wasn’t until he’d finally lowered himself to the ground that he realized he really didn’t have a plan now. He knew he needed to get home, but at the moment, he wasn’t sure of quite how far away home was. Even if he made it over the wall, he had no weapons, no real sense of where he was, and no guarantee that the tracker, for Jesus knew that was what the rough looking man with the angel wing vest was, wouldn’t come after him.

These people could have killed him, could have left him out there to die, but they hadn’t. Instead they had brought him back with them and left him with food and water. He decided his best chance at making it home might be to make a deal. But first he needed information, leverage.

So he snuck around, found their supply stores (meager given how large their community appeared to be ), their armory (impressive, considerably more so than their food stores), before creeping around a few of the large homes that populated the street in order to find the man who had brought him there, the man he had assessed to be a leader, Rick.

Later, when he was sitting in the RV listening to Glenn and Abraham’s conversation involving ridiculous metaphors for sperm and procreation, he found himself unable to keep his thoughts away from his own child. The little girl he and Y/n had found abandoned and very much alone right at the very beginning.

The two of them had been quietly making their way through a little town, maneuvering swiftly down a backroad when they thought they heard a baby crying from the inside of a car that was surrounded by a group of the dead. They had paused, waiting and listening, and had almost thought they’d imagined it when they heard it again. Her cries were tired, barely audible above the noise of the snarling monsters surrounding her, but they were there.

Up until then he and Y/n had tried to play it pretty safe. They had avoided other people as well as they could, knowing that trusting the wrong sort, or getting caught somewhere in the panic and desperation of some of those groups could easily cost them their lives, and hadn’t gone out of their way to kill the undead creatures which now roamed the streets, only fighting them out of necessity. But the moment they heard those cries, the moment Y/n had given him that look of I’m about to do something stupid please back me up, he didn’t even have to think about it. He just did.

The two of them worked together to take out the group of the dead surrounding the vehicle, then jimmied open the door using the same crowbar Y/n had been using as his weapon of choice.

Y/n unstrapped the baby from the carseat/carrier that was still locked into place in the back seat and took the baby, who was maybe six, seven months old with a head of wispy brown hair, big blue eyes and pudgy, bright pink cheeks, into his arms. He gently rocked her, cooing and hushing until her little cries quieted and she instead looked up at him curiously. Jesus knew as he watched the two of them that this changed things. That he would do anything to ensure the safety of both his love as well as this rosie cheeked girl whom was already quickly stealing his heart.

Back in the present, his eyes focused in on Rick’s hand reaching over and grasping Michonne’s. The way they smiled at each other, the looks they shared, it spoke of familiarity, a shared closeness, but despite his initial assessment, after observing the two a while longer he got the distinct impression that the two had not been romantically involved long.

Watching the two comfort one another made something inside of him ache for his own love. The man he’d been with since Before.

When they’d met Jesus had just begun putting his life back together after having gone through the grueling process of getting sober. He hadn’t been looking for anything serious, hadn’t meant to get so involved, but Y/n was funny and sweet and beautiful and strong. He was kind and caring, but wasn’t a pushover, wasn’t afraid to call Jesus out on his shit. He’d gradually nudged his way past all of Jesus’ defenses, taking care of him in the little ways he did.  A new beanie when his was starting to look a little too worse for wear, another tube of toothpaste to replace the one that Jesus hadn’t realized was nearing empty, a parting kiss over coffee when he left for work in the morning. Before he knew it Y/n had wormed his way into his heart, leaving articles of clothing in drawers that once contained only Jesus’ own, a toothbrush beside his in the cup next to the bathroom sink, and a dull ache of longing in his heart when they were apart.

Jesus couldn’t wait to get back to his family, to hold the two people he loved most in the world in his arms again. He hoped Y/n wasn’t too worried about him. That was one thing he knew was inevitable with him going outside the walls, but wished he could change nonetheless. He hated making Y/n worry.

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

Waiting for Jesus to return was always difficult. Knowing that he was outside the walls, usually on his own, was terrifying. I knew he would do everything he could, whatever it took to make it back to us, but I also knew that nothing out on the road was predictable. Anything could happen to him out there, and if one day he didn’t come back we’d probably never know why.

Sometimes when he’d go out he would get held up in someway, causing him to return later than he’d hoped. On a few occasions storms and bad weather had left him holed up for days waiting for the worst to pass before he could make it home. Far more frequently, however, he would run into walkers, or people. Those were the circumstances that scared me the most. And I could just feel in my heart that was what had happened this time.

Jesus had meant to be home yesterday, had said as much as he’d kissed our daughter and I goodbye right before leaving a few days ago. He could waltz through the front gates at any time now, but knowing that didn’t stop my mind from running through possible scenarios that could have kept him from coming home to us. A day late wasn’t so much in theory, but in this world it could be the difference between life and death.

I tried not to dwell though, didn’t have much chance to do so anyway. We all had jobs to do, and mine was to take care of our daughter, Rosie, and help out around the community wherever they needed a few extra hands.

So that is exactly what I did. I awoke that morning in a bed that felt too empty, got myself cleaned up and dressed, then did the same for our daughter. I fed her and myself, then began our usual morning routine of going out to help maintain the crops before the sun had risen too high in the sky.

After a few hours we would retreat back to our trailer and work on learning our ABC’s. Rosie, in all her three and a half years, had never wanted anything quite the same way she wanted to be able to read. So each day we would spend as long as her young mind could stay focused and willing reciting the alphabet, practicing writing out each letter, and practicing the sounds that each letter made.

Today we were working on learning to write Q, R, and S, which were some of the more difficult letters for a child under four to pick up, but she quickly got the hang of Q and R. She just couldn’t quite get her mind around forming the S on her own. If I mapped it in dots she could trace over it, no problem, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to recreate it herself, yet. It would come to her, I knew. She was very determined and tended to pick things up quickly. She just needed a bit more time and patience.

Patience, however, seemed to be one thing Rosie didn’t  have in abundance today. When I could see Rosie’s steely determination quickly beginning to give way to frustration, I decided it was time to switch activities before she devolved into a meltdown.

“Hey, baby girl, why don’t we give ’S’ another try a little later, and right now we go outside and play for a bit, huh?”, I gently suggested.

The little girl in question paused to think for a moment before nodding, “Okay, Papa.”

I pulled her in for a hug after we’d both risen from our place on the floor, “You’ve done such a good job today, Rosie. You’ve been learning very fast, so I think you just need a break before you can get the ’S’ shape.”

We quickly gathered up some of her favorite toys and went outside to play in the dirt in near our little trailer. We raced matchbox cars along side little model horses whose brown paint was chipping in places, making them look more frame overo than chestnut.

As Rosie played, I felt my worry for Jesus creeping back into the forefront of my mind. By now it was mid-afternoon. What if-

“Papa?”, Rosie’s sweet voice interrupted my inner turmoil.

“What is it, baby girl?”, I replied, bringing myself back into the present.

She peered up at me with big, blue eyes and asked, “When’s Daddy coming home?”

“Well…”, I started, but was distracted from answering when Harlan, who must have just returned from his run, came hobbling around the corner supporting Freddie who was a looking fairly beat up and limping at his side.

I quickly stood and stepped towards them, ready to help if needed, “You guys okay?”

Harlan turned his head my way and nodded, readjusting Freddie’s arm around his shoulders, “We’re fine, just gotta patch up Freddie’s leg here.”

My eyes traveled down to look at the wound and I winced, “That doesn’t look so good.”

“Could have been a lot worse if Jesus hadn’t found us.”, Freddie spoke up.

That got my attention, “Jesus?”, I asked, “Is he back?”

Harlan nodded and said, “Yeah, he found a group out there so he’s taking them up to Barrington house.”, before continuing on his way towards the medical trailer.

Relief flooded my system. Jesus was safe, he was home. I knew he’d be round eventually, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. I spent enough time without him when he was outside the walls, when I knew that we could be together I refused to waste whatever time we may have by staying away.

I crouched down in front of Rosie, who had resumed rolling her toy cars through the dirt, and asked, “Hey, baby girl, Daddy’s home. Do you want to go see him?”

Her face immediately lit up with a bright, dazzling smile, head nodding emphatically as she scrambled up from the ground and exclaimed, “Yes, please, Papa!”

I stood as well and she quickly latched onto my hand and began dragging me away from our trailer.

“Hey, hold up.”, I laughed, “You don’t even know where he is.”

She just shrugged and continued tugging at my hand, “I’ll find him.”

I chuckled once more, shaking my head, “Daddy’s this way, sweetheart.”, as I turned and began leading her in the opposite direction from which she’d been pulling me towards, “Daddy’s up at the big house.”

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

“Follow me, I’ll show you where you can get cleaned up.”, Jesus conceded, slightly warily.

Gregory was already making any potential dealings with Rick’s group difficult, and the tension between the two leaders was palpable. Gregory always took any good fortune their community had for granted. He never seemed to be able to look far enough in the future to realize that whatever fortune they had now was only temporary. That at any time someone or something could sour their luck and then they could be stuck in a bad situation made worse by a lack of allies willing to aid them in their time of crisis. Jesus knew what Gregory always seemed to lose sight of: In this new world, people needed each other to survive.

Though Rick’s community needed their help today, he knew that one day in the future, be it in a few months or a few years, the Hilltop may need their help in return.

So Jesus would continue to do what he always did when Gregory was being a particular brand of asshole. He would keep the peace for now and try to talk some sense into him later when he had the chance.

Just as he was about to lead the group upstairs, the front door of the house burst open and a tiny figure barreled in.

As soon as the little missile caught sight of her target she yelled, “Daddy!”, and ran full force into strong arms that automatically opened for her, latching herself to him and hugging with all her might.

The moment Jesus had his daughter in his arms again he relaxed exponentially, finally releasing the breath that he always seemed to be holding whenever he was away from she and Y/n.

He held her tight to his chest, closing his eyes and just breathing her in for a long second before pulling back a bit to say, “Hi, Rosie-girl. I missed you so much.”, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Rosie smiled the easy smile of a small child and said, “I missed you, too, Daddy!”

He smiled back at her warmly, and was about to ask where her Papa was when the man in question came bounding in, closing the still wide open door behind him.

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

As we began breaching the final fifty or so feet between ourselves and Barrington house, Rosie let go of my hand and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her towards the place she knew her Daddy was.

I sighed, shaking my head. That little girl had moxie immeasurable.

I watched Rosie fling open the door before racing through it, leaving it wide open in her wake and as I walked up the front steps a few moments later , I knew we were going to have to have another talk about responsibility and how it was linked to being mindful of our surroundings: ie: not leaving doors open EVER, even if you thought it was safe.

But all these thoughts flew out the window the moment I’d closed the door and my searching gaze finally met that of the man I loved. When his crystal blue eyes met my own y/e/c orbs, I finally felt whole again.

Then he was there and his arms were holding our little girl between us while mine were encircling the both of them, clutching those most precious to me close.

His hand reached to cup my cheek and pull me in for a long, gentle kiss that felt like coming home.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”, he apologized when our lips parted, “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

I scoffed jokingly, “Me, worry? Nah, I knew you’d ninja your way back home sooner or later.”

Jesus smiled, letting his hand stroke down the side of my neck before turning back to the group of strangers that in the excitement of our reunion I hadn’t even noticed where standing in the foyer.

“My apologies for the lack of introductions. This is Y/n and our daughter Rosie.”, he said.

Members of the group smiled or nodded warily in greeting, and Jesus reluctantly set Rosie back on her feet, “Stay with Papa, okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes and then you can tell me all about everything I’ve missed out on in the last few days, sound good?”

Rosie nodded, taking hold of my hand once more, “Yes, Daddy.”

Jesus gave her one last warm smile before turning back to the group, “Alright, let’s get you all cleaned up then, shall we?”, and led the way up the stairs towards the bathrooms.

When Jesus returned a few minutes later he was alone, and so the three of us made ourselves comfortable on a couch in the sitting room. Jesus wrapped an arm around my waist, pressing me close against his side while our daughter sat perched on his lap, her little hands absently attempting to braid his long hair (though mostly only succeeding in creating tangles as opposed to the plaits she was going for) as she told her Daddy all about the crops she and Papa had helped to weed and harvest, and the letters she had learned to write and how Papa said that she was learning really, really fast!

In that moment, as he sat with the love of his life and the daughter they were raising together, his own little family, Jesus reveled in the feeling of being home.

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[janeofcakes]

KYFC..: Chapter 19 (yes, it’s Johnlock on skates)

Hello, hello, my friends! I’m so sorry it’s been so long since our last meeting. God, I’ve missed you all. It’s been a hell of a couple of weeks, but all is well. I’m sorry to have left you dangling over the cliff all this time. Trust me when I say it was not intentional. Please forgive me. I certainly can’t wait for you all to read this next, long-awaited chapter, so I’ll get right down to it.

John was wrestling Moran for his gun when it went off, the door from on deck was just thrown open. Was it someone who would help him or hinder is escape? We shall see. ----

Boom! Here comes the Boom! Ready or not, here comes the boys from the Lasal. Boom! Here comes the Boom! How you like me now?                             --P.O.D., Boom

Sherlock closes his car door and begins scanning the rows of small and medium-sized boats docked at the marina. He has no idea what the name of the boat is, what it looks like, or if it is even registered to Moriarty or Moran. He glances at the small registration building some distance away and rolls his eyes at the closed sign plastered over its window. He goes back to scanning the boats for any sign of John or his kidnappers. The marina is nearly abandoned and the sun is setting. A few boats glide through the water around the docks while others are anchored a hundred yards or more from it, sprinkled here and there in the water. Their passengers are on deck watching the sunset or having a drink, maybe a quiet party. Sherlock can just hear the sound of their faint laughter. He squints, but the distance and receding light make identifying any of the people on even the closer boats impossible.

Sherlock walks quickly toward the docked boats and then stops abruptly, eyes rapidly scanning each one again. He lets out a puff of frustration and looks out at those farther away. His gaze flits from one to another, moving and stationary. Panic begins to fill his chest and well up into his throat. A dull ache he tries to ignore rests at the base of his neck. He knows John is here, or was and has sailed away. Frankly, the latter is far more likely. Damn it all. If he’s so fucking brilliant, why can’t he find John?! Moriarty wants to see him fail, wants to destroy him. This cannot be the way he fails. The championship, sure, one or even two years. The team can come back from that, but John… He cannot lose John.

God, Sherlock should have let him go when he had the chance. Yes, John would be safely away and not in a boat somewhere on this lake being murdered. Goddammit. No, that never would have worked. Moriarty wouldn’t have let John walk away. He would have pulled him back in. Why? Simple really, because Sherlock loves him. That’s what this is all about. Sherlock is killing him by caring. Caring is not an advantage.

It’s everything.

John’s voice comes to Sherlock’s ears in a memory as clearly as if he is standing right next to him. Sherlock’s lips part in surprise, his glistening eyes open wide and he lets out a quiet gasp as a tear breaks free from his lashes to skitter quickly down his cheek. Those words begin to ground him and his mind starts to settle. His heart rate slows to something approaching normal and he feels like he can think again. The slow calm brings the clarity he needs to find the solution he so desperately needs. All because of those two words and what they mean. All from John. 

“I love you,” Sherlock mutters out over the lake and then squints his eyes shut hard. He concentrates on their phone conversation, runs every detail multiple times, and then recalls every undeleted conversation he has ever had with Moriarty. Nothing. Nothing! Sherlock shakes his head angrily. He cannot let the fear and frustration cloud his mind. He has to do this. 

He turns back to his last conversation with John again. There must be something there. John would have given him something, some clue, but what could he do? On the phone, Sherlock couldn’t see him so no visual cues of any kind. John said precious little and could not have said anything too out of the ordinary with Moriarty breathing down his neck. 

Breathing.

John’s odd breathing. Sherlock had thought it was nervousness, but suppose… He starts at the beginning again and listens.

His shoulder sag. Nothing. Just a man who wants to say everything, but can reveal nothing. 

Sherlock’s brow knits in frustration and he grinds his teeth. He clenches his fists and thrusts them down to his sides, turning this way and that on the dock. God, he wants to kick something. He wants to punch the goddamn smirk right off of Moriarty’s fucking face. If he has done anything to John, Sherlock will kill the bastard himself.

No. He stops pacing. There has to be something more to the phone call, something Sherlock isn’t getting. He cradles his forehead on the tips of his fingers, tilts his head down and closes his eyes. There must be something. The man who studied multiple subjects while in medical school and still completed in record time has to have given Sherlock a clue. He would have found a way and now Sherlock must find it. John’s life depends on it, depends on him. Sherlock cannot let him down.

He takes in a long, slow breath and blows it out just as slowly. He works to clear his mind, tries to calm himself. Sherlock starts at the beginning of the phone call once again and listens to everything: John’s tone, pitch, volume, all the sounds around him that revealed his location. He hears the quiet splash of water and low engine noise when a boat passes their own. Even as Sherlock hears nothing new, the letter ‘T’ appears before him in his mind’s eye. He ignores it and continues to listen. ‘H’. Sherlock shakes his head gently in dismissal to concentrate on John’s voice, his words. ‘E’.

Sherlock cocks a brow and twitches his head to the side. His eyes still closed, he wrinkles his forehead in confusion. ‘C’. Where are the letters coming from? Why can’t he ignore them and concentrate the way he wants to? ‘R’. Goddammit! Piss the fuck off!

In that split second of rage, everything snaps into place. Sherlock’s eyes pop open wide in awe.

“The breaths!” he whispers so softly the lapping of the lake nearly swallows its sound. “The code.”

A long exhale for a dash. ‘T’. Four short puffs for dots. ‘H’. One short puff for ‘E’. Long, short, long, short, ‘C’. Short, long, short. ‘R’.

Morse code. John sounded nervous, on the verge of panic or hyperventilation, in spite of the steady tone of his voice because he used morse code to give Sherlock clues when he wasn’t speaking. John Watson is a goddamn genius.

A spark of adrenaline surging through his body and every nerve ending tingling with excited energy, Sherlock closes his eyes again and listens to John speak to him without saying a word. Three long exhales for ‘O’, a short and two longs for ‘W’, long and short for ‘N’. ‘The Crown’. Sherlock listens for more and gets ‘B,O,A’ before John is out of time and ends the call. Clearly, John was spelling the word boat. The name of Moriarty’s boat is ‘The Crown’. 

At those two words, a memory bursts from the ever-locked door that holds what Sherlock has not deleted of his interactions with Moriarty. He had unlocked the door earlier to analyze his every encounter with the man and turned up nothing, but now armed with the name of Moriarty’s boat, one particular memory comes into focus.

It was right after a bout with the Demons during Sherlock’s first year as coach. Moriarty, nearly six years his senior and already well-known in the league, shook his hand afterwards with a lecherous gleam in his eye. Sherlock only kept the conversation so he would always know why he hates this man so completely. The condescension and presumption that he could have anyone and get any skater to join the Demons, not to mention he insisted on calling Sherlock ‘Hon’. Sherlock had vowed at that moment to steal the championship from this man year after year, and as decisively as possible.

“Tough luck, Hon, but that’s how it happens,” Moriarty had said with a leer as he shook Sherlock’s hand. When Sherlock moved to withdraw, Moriarty pulled on his hand and leaned in conspiratorially. Far too close for Sherlock’s liking and he struggled not to pull back. “You’re not going to make it as a head coach. Hudson will see it soon enough, but… You would make a top-notch assistant to my head. I’d love to have you under me.”

His grin was salacious and it turned Sherlock’s stomach, but he would never show it. Sherlock glared back at him with cool eyes. His answer was simple.

“I’m going to beat you every time we meet. I will take the championship from you,” Sherlock’s eyes flashed with intense determination and his teeth clicked as he enunciated every word, “this year and every year.”

Moriarty paused a moment, his smile turning down at the edges as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes and saw that he meant every word.

“Oh, Hon. You’re in the big leagues now,” Moriarty had laughed. “I always win one way or another. You should see me in a crown.”

“Sherlock!” a voice calls across the dock, bringing Sherlock back to reality. 

He whirls where he stands to see Greg Lestrade hurrying toward him. He feels himself exhale a sigh of relief in spite of himself. Greg is at his side in a blink and brings with him the welcome warmth of friendship. Sherlock has to admit he is glad he’s not alone in this endeavor. He’s a derby coach, not a bloody detective. He rolls his eyes at himself. He’s starting to sound like John, for god sake.

“Got here as fast as I could,” Greg is breathless. “Have you found them?”

“No,” Sherlock answers with regret, “but they are on Moriarty’s boat. It’s called ‘The Crown’.”

“The fuck?!” Greg puts his hands on his hips, still breathing a little hard. “How do you know that?”

“They’re out there somewhere on the lake. They need a place to kill John, if they haven’t already,” Sherlock says over Greg’s words. He looks at him impatiently. “I need your boat.”

“Yeah, you said on the phone,” Greg answers, still a bit befuddled, “but Jesus, Sherlock, kill him?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sherlock loses his cool and shouts in Greg’s face. “They’ve tried twice already! Why wouldn’t they try again, especially since John defied his orders!?”

“What?! What orders? What are you talking about?” Greg snaps back.

“John told you just this morning that he is not resigning,” Sherlock barks, annoyed by the waste of time. “Moriarty threatened me to make him resign.”

“He said he had a change of heart, not that Moriarty put him up to it!” Greg says loudly, anger building and laced with a touch of panic. “Fuck all, Sherlock, I can’t protect the two of you if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Sherlock replies in earnest frustration, trying not to think about what is happening to John while they stand here squabbling. He does understand Greg’s point, but every minute they waste is another off John’s life. If he is still alive. Christ, he has to find John. He has to see him again and kiss him and tell him he loves him. He can’t lose John now, not like this. 

“I need your boat!” Sherlock snarls, accosting Greg and scrabbling at his pockets for the keys.

“All right, all right!” Greg slaps his hands away and turns. “Come on.”

He takes off in a run and Sherlock follows hot on his heels.They jump onto one of the larger boats in the marina. Sherlock has been on it before, but he couldn’t have picked it out of a 

crowd. He and Greg have had drinks both on deck and in its cabin multiple times. It makes for a good off-site location to talk strategy or plan goals for the year. Greg has small parties on it from time to time, which one might think would be too crowded, but its cabin is deceptively large with a small bedroom, kitchenette and dining space, and two small lounges to boot. A few of Greg’s vacations have consisted of merely sailing away for a week or two. Sherlock has considered buying one for himself, but sailing without a first mate is a rather unappealing venture. Perhaps with John… Oh god, John.

Greg turns the key and the engine rumbles to life. 

“Which way?” he asks hurriedly, turning the steering wheel and looking behind as they start backing out.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock confesses numbly.

“You don’t know?!” Greg’s head whips around to look at him in disbelief. “Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s eyes flit over every boat in sight and come to rest on one skating across the water. There’s something about it, its rapid pace while everything around it is slow. His laser sharp gaze shoots to his incredulous captain and then runs over the boat’s dashboard, stopping suddenly on a pair of binoculars to the far right of the steering wheel. Without a word, he lunges for it, just missing Greg with his outstretched limbs. 

“Jesus, Sherlock!” Greg ducks to the left, not taking his hands from the wheel so the boat doesn’t veer off course. “The fuck are you doing?”

Sherlock does not respond. With the binoculars in hand, he turns to leap gracefully onto the cushioned passenger seats that line the sides and back of the boat’s deck. He sees it as soon as he focuses the binoculars on the boat: black letters in elegant script along the side by its bow that read ‘The Crown’. He pans up to see its driver and his heart fills with dread. She would never reveal herself if John was meant to survive.

“There,” Sherlock points, following the boat with the magnifying lenses. “Ten o’clock, about 200 yards, heading west at 20 miles per hour.”

“I see it,” Greg acknowledges as he straightens their boat, getting in line for pursuit. “We should tell the police we found them.”

“Why?” Sherlock throws over his shoulder dismissively. “No one’s called them.”

“You haven’t...Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” Greg lays into him right as he opens the throttle.

For the first time since spotting The Crown, Sherlock takes his eyes from the binoculars. He shrugs when he meets Greg’s furious death glare.

“What was I to say? I think my friend was kidnapped even though I just spoke with him and he said everything was fine?” he snaps fiercely, cocking his head. “They would have laughed in my face.”

“There’s a record of attempted murder, Sherlock,” Greg’s voice is clipped, his words harsh. “Maybe if you’d asked for the detective on his case…”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock’s lip curls in disdain. “Even that idiot would have doubted my objectivity. Probably would’ve thought it was some absurd cover for making John disappear myself.”

“Oh, for the love of…” Greg glances away and huffs before looking back at The Crown. They may be following it at a good clip, but he is trying not to make it obvious. With a look of approval on his features, Sherlock returns his eyes to the binoculars. His lips press into a firm line as he watches, keenly aware of the fact that nothing below deck is visible and that is surely where Moran or Moriarty are. They could be doing any number of things to John on that boat. He could be dead already and they are simply dumping the body.

No.

No, he can’t believe that. John is not dead. He can’t be dead. He would fight. Fight until the end. He would never give up.

“Sherlock,” Greg’s loud voice snaps him from his thoughts before they can spiral down that hole. Sherlock turns his head away from the binoculars and toward Greg, who glares at him with every opportunity. “We are chasing them now. On a boat. You said yourself John’s on no pleasure cruise.”

“But I have no proof of that!” Sherlock insists angrily while Greg slaps a palm to his own forehead.

“Call. Them,” he snarls, every ounce of his furious gaze focused on the coach. “Now.”

Staring at him icily, Sherlock tears his phone from his pocket and dials. They are on the open water now and Greg carefully matches The Crown’s speed. They will be suspicious enough without speeding to overtake it. They will have to at some point though and Sherlock needs to come up with a plan in the meantime. A fucking spectacular plan.

“911. What is your emergency?” the bland voice of an operator cracks on the line. 

“A man is being assaulted in the middle of Lake Erie on a small boat called The Crown,” Sherlock explains efficiently, if not irritably. “I am heading toward it now to help. The men on the boat are armed.”

“Sir? Sir!” there is frantic typing behind the woman’s voice, which has much increased in intensity after her indifferent greeting. “Sir, do not approach the boat. If the men are armed, they are dangerous. We’ll have your GPS coordinates momentarily. Wait for law enforcement.”

“They’ll be different by the time you get them and he’ll be dead if I wait for you to catch up!” Sherlock barks into the phone and ends the call. He pockets his phone, rather than throwing it in frustration like he wants to, and fixes a steely gaze on The Crown through the lenses of the binoculars. He can feel Greg’s furious, incredulous stare boring into the side of his head. “You wanted me to call them,” he shrugs.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock,” Greg mutters in exasperation. “Lying to the police?!”

“Lying?” Sherlock bellows, facing Greg with fire in his eyes. “It’s true! It’ll be happening by the time we get there if it isn’t already!” he turns away again to stare into the binoculars. “Now shut up so I can think of a way out of this!”

Sherlock clenches his jaw and hopes Greg thinks the vibrations quaking through his body are the result of anger and not fear. He has to think of something. John Watson cannot die today and Sherlock hopes with everything that’s in him that he is not dead already. God, Sherlock can’t even imagine his life without John. In the few months he has known John, Sherlock has never felt so close or so connected with anyone else in his life. Even Molly. Sharing his bed last night was the most natural, wonderful thing he has ever done and he wants to do it again. He’ll do it forever, if John will let him. Oh god, John. His love, his life. 

Save the doctor. Save the world.

Sherlock’s brows shoot up to hide under the curls dripping onto his forehead. He pulls back from the binoculars, his lips parted and eyes sharp. He has a plan. It is certainly not brilliant, but hopefully it will be good enough.

***

“Do you know how many sunken boats are in the Erie, John?” Moriarty asks in a smug and utterly delighted tone.

The boat is still and all four of its occupants are on deck. John’s hands are tied tightly behind his back and the pull of it makes the wound from Moran’s misfired gunshot even more painful. When the gun went off, it was no longer pointed at John’s chest, thank god. However, the bullet grazed his side and Moran has taken great pleasure in bumping or jabbing the wound at every opportunity. The side of John’s dark shirt is soaked with blood and he is certain it will need stitches, if he gets out of this alive that is.

John looks down at Moran, who is currently on his knees before John, with calculating eyes. The man ignores his glare and continues to fasten heavy weights to his tightly tied ankles. John also wears a belt of weights around his waist. He will go straight to the bottom, no doubt about it, and he has no idea how to get out of this. 

The Crown has stopped somewhere in the middle of the lake, still in the view of other boats, but far enough away that no one can help John, or even tell that he is in trouble. Moriarty could put him in the water with all the dramatic flare of a circus ringmaster without attracting the attention of the nearest boat. From what John can tell, no one in the boats nearest them has any intention of paying even the slightest bit of attention, except...

There is one certain boat that seems to be slowly approaching them and that troubles John immensely. Sherlock was meant to lead the police here, not come after John on his own. Even though he knows the others have seen it too, John tries not to watch the boat, but his eyes keep glancing in that direction as Moriarty croons and Moran ties strong knots on weights that make John feel so incredibly heavy.

John glances at Moriarty, who looks at him with an almost friendly smile and seems to be waiting for him to answer. John shifts his gaze back to Moran and then rests it on their unwavering driver, who leans against the wheel and watches the proceedings without comment. He feels a sense of antipathy in the pit of his stomach that grows and works its way up to his chest. John swallows down the bile of it burning in his throat and addresses her directly. 

“Why would you throw in with this?” John spits the words, nodding sharply in Moriarty’s direction with disgust. She stands up straight and turns slowly to face him full-on. She wears a dull expression on her face and cocks her head to the side.

“The money,” Sarah ‘Bone Crusher’ Sawyer shrugs unapologetically, a look of boredom in her eyes. John sneers and looks away from her with the huff of an angry laugh. “I know you’d like it to be something else, John. Blackmail or a sick relative who needs expensive treatments, but it really is just the money.”

John meets her passive eyes, his own burning with barely contained fury. A few seconds pass and then Sarah smiles slyly. Just smiles like she would an opponent on the track right before the whistle blows, like she knows something they don’t.

“Two thousand,” Moriarty answers his own question, disregarding their conversation entirely. Moran chuckles loudly from where he is still tying weights to John’s ankles, a dark, ugly sound. John breaks his glare with Sarah to glance down at the man as he secures the last of the five pound weights. Moran surveys his own handiwork and stands, giving John a menacing grin.

“The most of all the great lakes,” Moriarty continues almost gleefully. “Do you know how many of those shipwrecks have been found?”

He steps right up to John, invading his personal space. His eyes rake down John’s body and back up. Wearing a lascivious grin, he hooks a finger in the belt loop next to John’s buckle and tugs lightly. John easily keeps his balance, but sways closer to Moriarty. The man swoops in suddenly and licks John’s lower lip slowly, holding him in place as he does it. John suppresses his body’s near jerk of surprise and just angles himself backwards as best he can, but does not turn his head. He will not give any indication that this bastard has caught him off guard. When Moriarty pulls away, his lips twist in a smug and satisfied smile, his eyes full of hunger. John makes no response, his face stony and lined with fury. 

“Three hundred seventy-five,” Moriarty says in a low, but playful voice. “Eighteen percent. Just eighteen percent, John.”

“Do you have a point or are you just your propensity for useless trivia?” John finally snaps, wanting the bastard to shut the hell up and get out of his face, but not willing to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

“Only this,” Moriarty laughs lightly and then ducks in close to John again to whisper conspiratorially. “If they can only find a fraction of such large objects lost in this lake, they’ll never find you.”

His last four words come out in a dark and sinister tone. John does not break eye contact and suppresses a shudder that starts working its way up his spine. The man before him is not just some misguided bam pot with occasional psychotic tendencies, he is a full blown lunatic. Trying to talk him out of his fantasy or appeal to his sense of decency would be useless. The man has no conscience. Sherlock had called him a sociopath, rather than a psychopath. He was wrong.

“Oh, look!” Moriarty cries, looking out over the lake at the boat following them. It had stopped a few yards away right around the same time that they laid anchor, but it is moving toward them again. “It’s coming right for us.”

They all watch as it slowly closes the gap between them. Moriarty suddenly grabs John’s chin with one hand and jerks his head back to face him. They are very close and John can feel the man’s hot breath on his face. 

“You know it’s him,” Moriarty breathes in a hoarse, threatening whisper. “Look at how he cares for you, his damsel in distress.”

“You don’t have to do this,” John finds himself saying. He knows there is no talking Moriarty out of this, but  he can’t stop himself from trying. He must do anything he can to save Sherlock. He feels it down in his bones and in his heart. He would give himself for this man every time. 

“John,” Moriarty looks like he is addressing a child who has done something particularly cute, “are you begging for his life? Is that what this is?”

“It’s not worth it,” John continues, ignoring Moriarty’s taunts. “Not for the championship or to prove you’re better than him.”

Moriarty barks with uproarious laughter. The shuddering pleasure makes him step back a bit, giving John an unobstructed view of the other boat. He can see most of the driver clearly, but his face is obstructed. John’s heart is in his throat and his breath catches because he would know that body anywhere. Goddammit, why didn’t Sherlock call the police?

“Is that what you think?” Moriarty asks in mock surprise, regaining John’s attention with a light pinch to his chin. He leans in close again, their noses almost touching. “I told you once, I want to destroy him.”

John blinks wide, shock jolting through his body when Moriarty suddenly taps his lips against John’s nose in a light kiss. John jerks his head back instinctively and gapes at Moriarty’s wicked smile, too startled to pull himself together for a few seconds, but his mouth soon settles into a scowl that spreads over his features. The embers of anger in his belly are now a full-blown fire of rage and he flexes against the tight ropes bound around his wrists, willing himself to break them. God, he would tear this man’s throat out if he could.

“It’s not about victory,” Moriarty continues casually like he is simply straightening John’s tie before a picnic with friends and telling him how much he hates the potato salad that is sure to be there. He kisses John’s cheek deftly and John tries to squirm out of his grasp, the fire stoking, but Moriarty only holds on tighter. 

“It’s about revenge,” he whispers into John’s face. His voice is full of menace and promise, and he nips at John’s other cheek. This time John just twitches slightly at the touch, his eyes remaining on Moriarty’s. They are mesmerizing him like some sort of hypnotism and John can’t look away. “I offered him everything once and he refused. No one says no to me, John. No. One.”

Moriarty presses into John and covers his mouth with his own. He pulls John’s hair violently, provoking a cry of surprise and pain as John’s head tips back. Moriarty’s tongue plunges into John’s mouth and tangles around his tongue, working quickly with great sweeps and savage sucks. John moves his head from side to side in an effort to escape, fury seeping from every pore. It feels like every hair on his head is ripping out of his scalp, but he will not stop fighting. He viciously clamps his teeth down on Moriarty’s tongue, but it slips away before he can find purchase. Moriarty’s response to the attempt is strong fingers suddenly gripping John’s injured side, making him groan in pain even as his anger flares. He lashes out the only way he can and lurches at Moriarty, teeth snapping as he goes, but Moran catches him before he can topple to the ground with Moriarty beneath him. As Moran roughly sets John right again, doling out another sharp jab to his side. Moriarty’s stilted laughter echoes across the water, only rivaled by the engine of Sherlock’s boat, now almost next to The Crown.

“I’ve tried a lot of things, John, and I’ve waited for the perfect weakness. His Achilles heel,” Moriarty has one hand on each of John’s cheeks now, holding him in place. He is panting with a most disturbing energy. John tries to jerk his head away, but it’s no use. Moriarty’s hands are like a vice and he forces John to look into his eyes again as he whispers savagely. “It’s you. This will destroy him. He. Loves. You.”

Moriarty lingers for a few seconds, breathing John’s air, telling him what he intends to do with every flick of his cold, soulless eyes. He pulls away suddenly and steps up onto one of the deck’s built in seats. Waving unnecessarily and calling out in an almost manic sing-song to the boat that is nearly side by side to theirs.

“Is that you, Sherlock?” Moriarty’s smile grows when the boat pulls up next to them, a scowl firmly set on the lanky coach’s face. John’s heart sinks. Moriarty holds his arms out wide. “I always said you should see me in a crown. Beautiful, isn’t she? We could have had some great times in her, Sherrrrlock. Just you and me.”

Sherlock turns off his engine and moves to stand in the middle of his boat’s deck. It is larger than The Crown and sits slightly higher in the water, so he looks down his nose at them with a grim expression. His eyes are hard as steel. An eerie silence overtakes them and it seems like even the far away reverie of the other boats on the lake has gone. Suddenly theirs are the only two boats in the water, like some kind of grand stand-off.

“Let him go,” is all Sherlock says, his voice loud and commanding.

“Oh, no, no, no. That’s not how this game goes,” Moriarty cackles, genuinely amused.

“This isn’t a game,” Sherlock replies sternly, his voice rumbling with hate.

“Isn’t it?” Moriarty asks calmly, jumping down from the bench to land on The Crown’s deck. He places a finger to his lips as if thinking. He rolls his eyes skyward and inhales deeply before looking back at Sherlock. “It’s all about derby. Isn’t that what you think? It’s what your doctor thinks.”

“No,” Sherlock answers simply. Moriarty’s brows shoot up in surprise, his eyes widening for a split-second. He steps closer to the side of The Crown, places both hands on its side and leans forward slightly.

“Oh?” he cocks an ear in Sherlock’s direction.

“No,” Sherlock does not take the bait to come closer and stays where he is. “This is about you and me. About rejection and humiliation.”

“You should have let me fuck you,” Moriarty growls, his eyes growing dark. His hands grasp hard at the boat and his knuckles are white. “You should have let me have you. No one has ever refused me, the Great Jim Moriarty, King of the Track. Except you.”

“True,” it is a guttural sound that shakes John to the core with its hate and passion.

“You take a little more of my life every year. One more piece lost with every championship,” Moriarty sighs, tilting his head down and lowering his eyes almost reverently. When he raises his eyes again, they are narrow slits or pure evil. “If it was anyone else it wouldn’t matter, but you… It’s always you.”

His final words are so vicious that John flinches minutely under their power. John’s gaze is locked on Sherlock, who has not spared him even a glance so as to keep his eyes on the enemy. Moriarty looks like an animal ready to pounce and John has no doubt he would rip out Sherlock’s heart if given the chance.

John feels restless, his whole body on edge from the crackling in the air. It is like a powder keg about to explode. Moriarty’s fuse is burning at full force, getting shorter and shorter with every word. What the fuck is Sherlock’s plan to get them out of this and how can John help? He should do something, say something! He should be distracting Moriarty somehow or clobbering Moran. He tests the rope wrapped around his wrists. Clenching his fists and straightening his fingers a few times, he finds the bonds are tight, but could be loosened with time. How much time, John does not know, but it’s a start. Shifting his eyes to Moran to make sure he is not watching, John begins shifting his wrists within the rope. He twists them this way and that as imperceptibly as possible, resisting the temptation to bite his lip with the effort and ignoring the pain radiating from his side.

“So ruin my career. Put me in the hospital. Kill me!” Sherlock snarls, fury building even as he struggles to rein it in. Moriarty is already shaking his head before Sherlock finishes the first sentence.

“That won’t do it, Sherlock. It’s not what I want,” he leans over the side and growls low in a voice befitting a demon. “I want to destroy you. Tear out your heart and end your life.”

Moriarty straightens again and backs from The Crown’s edge, closer to John and Moran.

“I thought your insipid little friend, but…” Moriarty’s pitch is back in its appropriate octave and it makes the small, knowing smile he wears all the more sinister. He gestures to John with a grandiose bow. “This is your heart. This is your life, and I. Will. End. It.”

As if on cue, Moran wraps his big hands around John’s biceps and pushes him to the far side of The Crown. The top of the side comes to right about the middle of John’s thigh and he would easily topple over if pushed, especially when restrained and covered with weights. In spite of the obvious intent, Sherlock does not move or flinch. John knows he does not want to tip his hand, but his visible lack of concern still squeezes John’s heart.

“You will not succeed,” Sherlock says coldly, careful to show no emotion but anger. “You failed to kill Molly and you only harmed your own spy when you tried for Harry.”

“Oh, you know about little Ginger, do you?” the villain huffs out a surprised laugh. “And I suppose Sarah is no shocker either.”

“You fail to defeat Rock City on the track,” Sherlock continues as though the man had said nothing. “Failure is your life. Your idiom and you will fail now too. It is inevitable.”

Moriarty’s jaw is clenched tightly shut, the thin muscles beneath his skin working fast. His entire form is tight as ripcord, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Eyes blazing, body twitching every few seconds as if he is trying to keep from jumping into Sherlock’s boat to bite off his head, Moriarty manages a wry smile. It gradually grows into a terrifying grin worthy of a monster.  In the silence that follows, Moran’s fingers tighten around John’s arms. He knows what is coming and is powerless to stop it. His mind should jump to action and find a way out, but that is not what his mind does. Instead it plays through all of his memories of Sherlock. He sees everything they have done, every moment shared, every expression and every word.

I love you.

John’s mind zeros in on that moment, that voice. Sherlock’s voice. Sincere, honest, so full of adoration and love. Genuine love from a man who, until now, had guarded his heart with such vigor.

Suddenly, it all becomes astoundingly clear. The clouds are lifted and John’s eyes see what he has been forever hidden from him. His own feelings bubbling to the surface with such force it nearly knocks him off his feet. Every part of his body tingles and his heart explodes in his chest. He knows what it is! He knows what to call the feeling he has danced around for weeks. He should have known long ago, but just couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it. He has never felt it for anyone before, hadn’t even thought himself capable, and he will never feel this way about anyone else. Only Sherlock.

John locks fierce blue eyes on Sherlock and feels an immediate warmth bloom in his chest. He has to say it. He has to tell Sherlock how he feels before it’s too late. Let the words pass through his lips at least once before they are forever silenced. John opens his mouth to speak, as Moriarty tilts his head and Moran pushes John over the side of The Crown. He twists his body instinctively, but his bounds allow for no movement sufficient to save his life.

“Sherlock!” is all John gets out before his words are cut off by the water that swallows him whole.

---

AAAARRRRRRHHHGGGGGGUUMMMM! Jane. Jane!!!!! WHY? Two cliffhangers in a row??? What happened to our fairly safe and highly amusing Johnlock meets roller derby? I just can’t help myself. I am the Empress of Evil, the Harbinger of Doom. Oo, I should’ve put that on the back of my t-shirt. Haha.

Oh, my poor John, thrown into certain death. He got away from Moran not once, but twice, but can he escape this? It doesn’t look good. And what of Sherlock’s plan? Does John being in the water toss the whole thing in the scrapheap? We shall see in the next chapter and, while we’re talking about chapters let me just say that I’ve added one more. You have a little more to look forward to. ☺

Thank you all for your love and support. Thank you to my lovely beta, MyBreadAndButter. She always brings out the best in me, as do all of you. I love you, my friends. Stay well and stay safe. Jane

---

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedsstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa  @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @one-thousand-splendid-stars @irina12maria

[angelaiswriting]

Shelbys | Tommy Shelby & sister!reader

[Photo by Henry & Co. from Pexels]

✏️ Pairing: none/Tommy Shelby and sister!reader

✏️ Summary: Sometimes, having a sister is hard. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: look at me using a cliché summary bc I don’t know how else to word it :) jokes aside, I truly hope you’ll enjoy this 💛 Requests close tonight (Sept. 30) at 23:59 UTC+2!

✏️ Beta-read by @sweetvengeancee

✏️ Warnings: kinda angsty ?

✏️ Word-count: 1,866

Sometimes the mere thought felt foreign even to Tommy’s mind and yet, it was true: there were far more dangerous things than his baby sister. There had been Kimber and his men, Sabini and his wops right after, and he had just got out half-defeated, if so one wanted to see John’s death, from a vendetta with Luca Changretta – those were dangerous people. Criminals of the worst sort, with bloodied hands and rotten souls – or that’s what they were, to put it with Linda’s words.

Y/N was… nothing compared to them, and yet, at the threshold of her eighteenth birthday, she managed to make her older brother want to reconsider his list of priorities.

To the untrained eye, she could pass just as Finn’s sister and not his twin, but those that had grown up with her knew what she was capable of. Pissing her two oldest brothers off – one of the points in the manual that should have come with her – was just the tip of the iceberg.

“D’you want to tell me what happened?” he groaned. If he looked at her – if he looked at her even just for one second – in the eye, he knew he wouldn’t get out of his office with the winning hand.

Instead, he focused on her trousers stained by mud and on her bloodied white striped shirt – both items she had more than likely stolen from Finn’s wardrobe. And the more his brows furrowed, the more he wondered how in hell she and Ada were sisters. How one had ended up in a nice Londoner house, with tailored clothes and high morals, and the other had remained trapped in Small Heath’s quicksands, with her teeth bared and her hands wrapped in tight fists.

Sometimes he thought he and Arthur had failed her upbringing, sometimes he thought that had just been her – and their – fate, for not even feared aunt Polly had managed to tame her while her brothers had been losing their sanity in France. She was a wilder spirit than the one all of theirs combined could form – untamable, temerarious, always fighting for what she deemed right – or what she deemed right in a particular moment – without fear of the consequences.

“Oi.” The syllable came out fainter than he had intended it to, but still sterner than he had thought himself capable of when it came to her – and to the fact that he had lost all hopes of turning her into the lady he had always thought she could one day be. “Y/N.”

The smirk that had already been plastered on her face forced a shiver to crawl down his spine the moment his eyes met it. Cold, almost crazy, with one corner of her mouth set higher than the other, she appeared scarier than any of his enemies. And her eyes… It was like staring at some demonic beast – sparkling, lively eyes, the pupil as tight as a pinhead in the office drowning in the daylight.

Tommy found himself unable to look away.

“I asked you a question, young lady.”

Her cackle seemed to ring in the air as it chilled the atmosphere of the room. It seemed to scratch at his eardrums like a cat and when she settled better against the back of the armchair she was sitting in, he wondered why the fuck Arthur had sent her to him and not to Pol.

“You haven’t called me ‘young lady’ in forever, Tom,” she laughed, voice as sweet as honey as all the rebellion boiling in her veins seemed to evaporate. “It never worked back then, what makes you think it’ll work now?” A pause, and then those much-hated words, for she knew nothing about their dick of a father: “You’re not dad.”

She always said those words with defiance in her eyes and in the tone of her voice. Her head always tilted up higher, her shoulders squared, and her grin opened wider to show her teeth. Bloodied, he noticed, but refrained himself from asking why, exactly, she had blood in her mouth.

“I might not be him,” he started slowly, voice low and deep, eyes burning as they remained trained on hers, “but I can still bend you over my knee and spank you like we did when you were a kid.”

She seemed to freeze for a moment as his words registered in her mind. Her gaze seemed to narrow, focusing on his eyes and his face to try and understand whether his were empty threats, and when she only found stoic determination, Tommy saw her swallow hard.

A smile stretched on his tired face when he realized she wasn’t going to bite back again and he allowed himself to relax against the seatback of his own office chair. “Good, let’s try again, then.” He took a drag from his cigarette and drew out the silence a little longer in the hopes that his sister would pick up on his serious mood. “What happened?”

The girl bit the nail of her thumb and for a moment – a brief moment Tommy Shelby still welcomed as a victory anyway –, she looked away. She shrugged her shoulders, then, eyes still trained on the library to his right. No shadows on her face, she looked younger than ever and for once - innocent. It was such a weird sight, for innocence boiled inside her like molten lava, fighting to become something more and yet, always failing, never solidifying.

She stuck out like a sore thumb. It had always been their thing – hers and Finn’s. Too young, too innocent, purer than he and the rest of his siblings had ever been. Even Ada had had the habit of chasing rats with a revolver in her right hand, but Y/N had never had that nature.

Too similar to their mum, or so Tommy found himself thinking of her more often than not. Even when she rebelled, it never was in a Shelby way. It was something typically hers, something he still had to understand – something he hadn’t managed to save her from. She had always looked up to them – to him and John and Arthur, a little less to Ada –, had always wanted to be their equal, to be part of the business – and it had never mattered that Pol had always tried to make a well-behaved woman out of her, for it had never worked.

“Did you dress up again?” he asked when she didn’t speak. He pointed an accusing finger to her clothes – there was no need to, though, she knew what he was talking about.

“Aye.”

“Did you catch his fists?”

She shrugged. “And he caught mine.” Fearless defiance in her eyes – Tommy knew that would be her demise one day.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, we’ve fucking talked about this!” He regretted putting out his cigarette the moment the burning tip met the cold crystal of the ashtray.

“No, you have talked about this,” she retorted. She was calm, steady, always looking at him, never breaking eye contact. “And I listened, that day. Doesn’t mean I did what you wanted me to. Why does Finn get to cut and I have to stay behind, brewing tea with Polly and listening to whatever bat-shit crazy bullshit Linda says?”

“Because-”

“I am not John!” Her yell startled both of them and just outside the door of Tommy’s office, both heard Arthur’s muffled fuck.

They stared at each other, crazed eyes boring into crazed eyes as the air seemed to boil.

“I am not John.” She repeated those words once, voice much quieter but just as cold. “I am not dead, don’t treat me like I was.”

“You will end up dead if you don’t learn how to behave.”

She looked at him, exhaled loudly from her nose as her face contorted into a grimace. “I will end up dead if you keep on treating me like I was a child. Who did you call to snitch for you and give you intel about those boys up in the north? Who did Arthur send to London with one of your boys to keep an eye on your enemies at that soirée? If I’m not mistaken, Ada brought me to the tailor to get an evening dress to wear at that party. And now me, roughing up some fucking douche for the shit he said he’d do to me in an alley is the problem? That’s how I get killed?”

Tommy bit the bullet – even swallowed it to stop himself from making things worse.

“Eh, Tom? Tell me: is this how I die? By teaching a boy a lesson with Isaiah covering my back? Or do I have greater chances of ending up in my fucking grave the next time you send me to do your dirty job? Will Sabini or one of his men recognise me the next time you send me to London? Will they kill me?” She was leaning forward on her chair, her nails digging into the cushioned armrests as she stared at him, trying to pull an answer out of him with the sheer intensity of her gaze.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked the seconds away as he kept silent.

He didn’t know if Arthur was still outside his office, for after that quiet fuck, he hadn’t managed to pick up any other sound. It was a split-moment thought, but he found himself wishing his brother was still out there, eavesdropping on his conversation with his sister.

“That’s different,” he eventually replied. Tense in his chair, he stared as Y/N rolled her eyes and let herself fall back against the seatback. “You’re never alone when I send you somewhere.”

“I was, in Liverpool,” she retorted. “I was alone there. You didn’t give me back-up, you didn’t have any spy other than me, there.”

“Liverpool was safe.”

“Was it, though, Tom?” she insisted. “Was it really safe?”

“You were safe in London.”

Her laughter chilled him to the bone. “You sent me there with that Eddie you took in two months before that night. And he doesn’t even know how to aim a gun to this day!”

Another bullet – another bite. Enemy fire, that’s how it felt. Enemy fire in an open field, under a burning sun – and he knew she was right.

“How did you go from skipping school and kissing boys to clobbering people?” The question came out quiet, almost shy in the silence of his office. Lost in his thoughts, Tommy probably hadn’t even meant to truly give it a voice.

“Gradually,” she answered. “And I still do that – I skip church days when Pol wants me to go with her and I still kiss boys. But it was you, Tom: you taught me how to dress up as Finn, you taught me how to shoot a gun. And Arthur showed me how to throw a punch to defend myself.”

“It was never meant to end like this.”

“We are Shelbys, Tommy. How else was it meant to end?”

I am not super proud of this, but feedback is always welcome (it’ll help me improve) ❤️

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​ @becs-bunker

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender​ @thethyri​ @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain  @flowers-in-your-hayr @oddsnendsfanfics @medievalfangirl @inforapound @niamhmaria

People that might be interested: @kellydixon01 @kind-wolf

[norequestimagines]

Safeguard [Pt. 1]

TW: attempted rape, violence

“Please come! I promise you he won’t show up tonight! Seth said he’s been sick for a week!”

Lie. 

I appreciated Boone trying to get me out of the house. I hadn’t been doing much since the breakup other than studying and making up excuses to not go anywhere. As reluctant as I was, the idea of dressing up and being around friends was starting to sound nice. And, with the promise that my ex wouldn’t be there? I couldn’t find it in me to argue any further. 

But of course, there he sat, across the apartment, on Seth’s couch. I was talking with Boone when I saw him. I knew he wouldn't lie to me on purpose. He genuinely thought he wouldn’t be here. I knew that. But I was tipsy and tired, and I instantly felt like this was all his fault. How dare he accidentally invite me somewhere Josh would be? And how dare he be here?! How dare he be around our friends (who were all his friends first) smiling and laughing and having a good time? Alright, I may have also still been bitter. 

He looked good, but tired. His hair was shorter, still pushed back but not as “teen wolf” as it was two months ago. Tired eyes crinkled while he laughed halfheartedly at something Seth said. His masculine hands were wrapped loosely around a plastic red cup, resting between his knees. I hated that he looked good. I hated his soft hair and his big veiny hands and his stupid laugh. 

“Hello?? Anyone home?!” Boone waved his hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my trance. 

“Shit, sorry, B. Got a little distracted. I thought he was sick.” I muttered just loud enough for him to hear, nodding in Josh’s direction while turning my eyes away. 

He turned to look before facing me again. “Aw, man, yeah, he was. I guess he’s feeling better. I can take you home if you want?”

“No, no! Don’t even worry about it. It’s been two months. We can coexist.” 

I was determined not to let Josh’s being here ruin my night. Boone, being my best friend in Ohio, knew that Josh’s being here already did ruin my night, but knew that if he called me out on it, I’d burst into tears. Instead, he just gave me an uncomfortable smile, which was almost worse.

“I need more booze.” I said abruptly before hurrying into the kitchen. I managed to blink away the few tears that had gathered in my eyes and sniffled once before taking a shot of tequila. 

“Tequila’s no fun alone. Bad night?” An unfamiliar voice sounded behind me. 

I turned to meet a leather jacket, being worn by a pair of dark eyes and a killer smile. I was drunk and truthfully couldn’t make out much more than that. “Just got a lot better. Do you want to dance?” 

Leather Jacket and I made it to the dance floor and started off holding hands and moving relatively innocently to the beat of the music, but it didn’t take long before we’d grown closer, my backside against his front, his lips brushing my ear and the side of my neck. I turned slowly, swaying my hips and running my hands up his torso. His hands slip to my hips and around my body, dipping low beneath my back. When our lips touched, I could taste cigarette smoke but I was so drunk I didn’t even flinch.

I was also so drunk I didn’t flinch when he led me away from the living room and up the stairs. 

So drunk I didn’t realize he’d taken me into a bedroom and locked the door. 

So drunk I let him keep kissing me and lay me down on the bed. 

Someone was knocking but we ignored it. At first, at least. They kept knocking and saying something about no fucking in their house. 

Their house? Seth!

“Wait, wait,” I gasped out between kisses. “That’s Seth, he’s my friend!” I tried pushing Leather Jacket off of me but he didn’t budge. “Come on!” I giggled. “Let me go say hi to Seth!”

“Would you just let me kiss you, baby?” He grunted, suddenly grasping me tighter and shoving his tongue back in my mouth. 

Seth kept knocking and I kept trying to push the man on top of me away. I was starting to panic. He wouldn’t stop and soon grabbed both of my hands in one of his, holding them above my head and running his other hand along my body. 

He detached his lips from mine and I screamed the first thing that came to mind.

“JOSH!”

The man on top of me slapped me across the face. “Shut up and stay still, Jesus Christ.”

But I knew better than that. I wasn’t about to just let him have his way with me without putting up a fight. 

He released my hands and pulled on one of the straps on my shirt, snapping it in half. “JOSH, HELP!” He slapped me again and covered my mouth. Tears began to run down my face and I began to hyperventilate.

The pounding on the door grew louder and faster. I could hear Seth yelling for Josh and Boone yelling my name.

“KARA!” Bang. Bang. 

I was able to wiggle a leg free and used it to knee the man, but he saw it coming and moved before I could make decent enough contact. In doing that, his grip on my mouth loosened enough for me to bite his hand. I tasted blood as he yelped and pulled it away.

“Oh, you little-”

The door flew open, pieces of it splintering off. The man on top of me whipped his head to the left, looking at who just busted through the door. Josh. He came. 

Josh took everything in in about a half second, making long strides over to the bed before ripping the nameless man off of me and throwing him into a wall. 

“Josh!” 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh” Josh landed his first punch and blood began to pour from the other man’s nose. “Think you can just-” punch “fuck drunk girls?!” The man shoved Josh, wiping his nose of the back of his hand before punching back. They tackled each other and began fighting violently. 

I was so wrapped up in watching and worrying about Josh I hadn’t even noticed Boone wrapping a throw blanket around my shoulders until he lifted me to stand. I tried to get out of his grasp, to get to Josh and stop him before he killed the guy, but Boone wouldn't let me go. I gripped onto him and begged for Josh to stop, but he as so full of rage, I don’t think he even heard me. Seth raced forward and grabbed Josh’s shoulders but Josh just shook him off like it was nothing. Two more guys from the team ran in as Boone guided me away. I could still hear everything from down the hallway. 

“Josh, stop!”

“You’re going to kill him!”

“You’re scaring Kar!”

The commotion stopped at that. 

“Where is she?” 

I broke loose from Boone’s grip and ran into the hall bathroom, locking the door behind me. I didn’t want to face him. Not now. Not like this. I opened the window for some fresh air and sank to the floor, beginning to hyperventilate again.

There was a gentle knock and soft words followed. “Kar, it’s uh… it’s me. Look I… I know you’re terrified right now and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I just wanted to protect you and I snapped. Can I come in? I just want to make sure you’re okay. Can you unlock this door for me, sweetheart?”

“I-I c-c-can’t.” I sobbed.

“Yes, you can, baby. Just turn the lock for me, yeah? I just want to help you, okay? Let me fix this, Kara, please. Please just let me in so I can-”

I managed to reach up and unlock to door, desperate to feel the security of him around me. It took seconds for him to enter and lock the door behind himself. 

“Oh, baby.” He whispered, more to himself than to me. He walked over to where I’d crawled back to; a crumpled mess on the floor under the window. Sitting next to me, he pulled me into his lap and began rubbing large circles on my back with one hand and cradling my head with the other. “Shh, I’m here now. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

He continued to murmur affirmations in my ear as I rode out my panic attack. I don’t know if I was there for ten minutes or two hours. All I knew was that I was half-shirtless and wrapped in Josh’s arms and I didn’t ever want to leave. 

My sobs and gasps turned into sniffles and hiccups, and I looked at him for the first time since the fight. He was a wreck. One black eye, a split lip, a split eyebrow, and a bloody nose. I could only imagine what his knuckles looked like. I ran my right hand down his face, careful to avoid his wounds. “I’m so sorry, Josh.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad I was here.” He took my hand in his, kissing my knuckles. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

He stood first, then held out a hand for me to grab. I felt so ridiculous. He was the one who just all but went to war for me and I was the one weak on my feet. The throw blanket Boone had wrapped around me got lost when I ran to the bathroom, so Josh took off his flannel and helped my shaking hands button it up. Pulling me into his side, he led me out of Seth’s nearly empty and very quiet apartment and to his truck. 

“Wait, what about-” 

“Seth and Boone are taking care of everything else. Let’s just worry about taking care of you.”

[andrea-lyn]

prompt bones working the night shift christmas eve and meets james kirk (santa jr) who got arrested for a bar fight defending an elf and is GOING TO MISS CHRISTMAS

“What the fuck is happening here?” McCoy demands, walking into his ER to find his nurses, a few doctors, and what looks like half of Santa’s workshop and half of the nativity scene in a god damn Renaissance painting of chaos. There’s blood everywhere and when he steps into the fray, it quickly becomes clear where this situation began.

There’s an elf stuck to a wise man with an overly large candy cane, little baby Jesus (which is a doll) is currently being hugged by a man with a black eye, and then there’s the source of the blood.

At least, the main source.

The man in the Santa suit (ridiculously beard and all) is bleeding from his nose along with the cuts on his knuckles. By now, the beard is a ruby red, and if any kids see this, they’re going to have a whole lot of Christmas nightmares.

McCoy really hates the night shift.

Still, if he doesn’t get in there soon, it’s going to be even more chaotic. “You,” he snaps to the man in the Santa costume. “In this room, with me,” he barks, and draws him away after giving the nurses and orderlies their strict instructions on what to do with the rest of them. “I don’t wanna see a hint of the holidays on my floor!” he warns.

McCoy walks with the determination and purpose of a man who’s used to being followed, but he’s picked up a few tricks over the years. One of them is listening for the slow shuffle-slide of a recalcitrant patient’s movements, which is why he knows he can draw the curtain shut and his patient will be with him without turning around once.

Turning, he eyes the Santa, letting his gaze slide over him with his misshaped Santa suit (and pillow padding), the crooked bloody beard, and the way he reeks of rum.

“Had a lot of fun tonight, didn’t you, Santa?” McCoy mutters wryly.

“Please,” the man says, smirking at him. “Call me Jim. Santa’s my father’s name.”

McCoy stares at him for a very long moment. “No.”

“What?”

“Santa Junior?” He pries the beard from his hands, shaking his head as he tosses it into a small bin with all the other things that aren’t going to be saved because he’s a goddamn disaster of a man. “You wanna tell me how the brawl started?”

“Wise man number two insulted one of my elves,” Jim responds.

“And you decided to punch him in the face? Not so sure that’s fitting the Christmas spirit,” McCoy mutters. Once he’s got the hat and the beard off, he takes a better look at his patient. “I’m gonna need to keep you here for some stitches and then overnight for observation.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I’m pretty sure you can,” McCoy snaps. “Why not?”

“Because it’s Christmas. I’m going to miss Christmas!”

McCoy’s heard this a lot, but usually it’s from the kids in pediatrics. He’s a lot more patient with them because they’ve actually got a reason to be upset. When Jim tries to push his way out, McCoy stands in his way and pushes his hand on Jim’s shoulders to put him back into the patient bed.

“Christmas or no, you’re getting these stitches. Don’t make me sit on you.”

Jim’s eyes brighten as he stares at McCoy. “Um,” is all he says. “Please?”

McCoy scowls and gets to work, trying to remind himself that being tired isn’t an excuse for letting his mouth run in front of beat up Santas, no matter how attractive they might be under the grime and the blood and the holidays.

It takes him less than an hour to get the stitches in, which is faster than he usually works. If anyone were to ask, he’d deny that it’s because Jim’s made such a plea of needing to be out for Christmas, but deep down, he doesn’t want to be the reason that anyone misses a holiday.

“I’m good to go?”

“Yeah, as long as you sign papers that say you’re ignoring my advice for observation,” McCoy says, squinting at him. “What’d the wise man say to the elf to get you starting a brawl?”

Jim tugs on the Santa jacket and gives McCoy a thoughtful look.

“I’ll tell you later.”

McCoy snorts and waves him off, figuring that he’s never going to see him again. He doesn’t even pay him much mind, other than to think how weird the night shift gets near the holidays is. It’s a lucky thing he doesn’t have a family to go home to, because otherwise his poor coworkers would be here enduring this instead of him. For McCoy, he’s got nowhere else to be, so he might as well entertain the crazies and make what he can of it.

The next morning, McCoy’s finally about go home for Christmas when Santa Jr comes back in.

This time, the beard is gone, along with the Santa suit. It’s left a handsome as fuck man with bright blue eyes that sparkle with (and he’ll kill anyone who asks him to repeat this) holiday mirth. McCoy blames his instant attraction on the fact that he’s been up for forty-eight hours through some of the weirdest ER cases he’s ever seen in his life.

“What are you doing here? I’m off shift, so if you got into another fight, find another doctor to pester,” he grumbles, tugging on his coat. “What happened to you being upset about missing Christmas? Shouldn’t you be out somewhere with your elves spreading cheer?”

“I thought I’d start with San Francisco’s grumpiest doctor,” Jim says, throwing an arm over McCoy’s shoulders. “Come on. I’ve got an egg nog spiked with rum and your name all over it. If by the end of the night, you don’t believe in Christmas, then I guess I’ll have to bring out the big guns.”

McCoy opens his mouth to ask what those are, then he asks himself if he’s genuinely considering a mad person’s offer.

“Incidentally,” Jim murmurs, his voice heavy and his breath hot as he leans in to speak to McCoy, “the wise man asked if my elf was small all over. I think you can appreciate that I couldn’t let that stand, not when someone insults my employee like that.”

“Right,” McCoy snorts. “Because you’re Santa Junior.”

Jim shrugs and threads his hand in with McCoy’s. “Maybe. And maybe I know that as much as you want people thinking you’re on the naughty list, you’ve never once budged off nice.”

McCoy fumbles, but Jim keeps pulling him along.

“C’mon, Bones!” he coaxes, using a nickname that no one’s called him since medical school.

How? What…? The ...fuck?

Maybe this Christmas is the year something really strange and new happens in his life.

[avengerscompound]

Love to Hate

Love to Hate: A Winterhawk Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count:  1768

Rating:  E

Square filled:  @star-spangled-bingo - Sex Injury, @buckybarnesbingo - Y2, surprise dancing, @clintbartonbingo - dancing.  Also for @until-theend-oftheline‘s  Kari’s Marvelous 2K Challenge with the prompt; “I’ve never been so insulted!” - “You don’t listen much do you?”

Warnings:  Smut(m|m, anal sex, frottage, a little bit of come play)

Synopsis:  Bucky hates how much he loves Clint.

Love to Hate

It was one of those situations where all those things that you once found annoying, you also secretly loved.  Bucky kinda hated it.  He hated that he loved the way Clint always seemed to be half-assing everything.  He hated that he loved the stupid jokes.  He hated how much he loved how stupid Clint acted to try and get out of shit he didn’t want to do.  He hated how he loved the fact that despite how stupidly fit and agile the guy was, he was still prone to extreme laziness and uncoordination.   That last one annoyed him because of how much he was exactly the same.

It really annoyed him how Clint would do this ridiculous overly affectionate coupley things whenever Bucky was having a bad day and just wanted to wallow in it.  It annoyed him how he’d crack a smile every time Clint did it.  That he’d feel himself letting all of that go and actually being happy for a change.

It annoyed him now most of all because today had been fucking shit.  It was one of those fucking shit days where the mission had involved people getting killed.  He’d also tried to be a complete smartass and fallen down a manhole and bruised his hip so bad that it was still purple now.

He just wanted to sit in the dark and fume about it.  He wanted to be angry about it.  To sort through the shit he’d been through and been made to do and compare this to it.  To go over and over what he should have done differently.  Only he could already hear the music playing in the apartment.  Clint wasn’t going to let him.  He was going to get all up in his space and be all dumb and affectionate and Bucky was going to crack.  God, he hated how much he loved that Clint could do that.

He stepped through the door and shrugged off his coat.  “Does the music have to be this loud?”  He grumbled.

Clint was lying on the couch absentmindedly patting the dog.  There was a pizza box on the coffee table, but only a couple of slices were missing so it was likely still hot.  Pizza might be good.  The cat was staring at it, waiting to see if a moment would arrive that he could steal a slice and get away without being caught and reprimanded.

Clint sat up quickly and grinned.  “There’s my surly boyfriend.  Did you have a bad day?”

“I just wanted to know why the music was so loud,”  Bucky said, determined not to crack.

Clint jumped up and almost skipped over to Bucky, pulling him into his arms and starting to grind up against him in time with the music.  Not exactly dancing with him, more using him as some kind of stripper pole to dance on.  “You know my hearing isn't so great.”

“What are you doing?”  Bucky grumbled.

Clint wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaned back a little, basically dry humping Bucky’s leg as he did.  “I’m dancing with my boyfriend.  Can’t you tell?”

“I thought you’d picked up some bad habits from the dog,”  Bucky said.

Clint started laughing and he nuzzled at Bucky’s neck.  “Come on grumpy.  Dance with me.”

“You’re really fucking annoying you know that?”  Bucky huffed.

Clint dropped his jaw in mock shock.  “I’ve never been so insulted!”

That was when Bucky cracked.  Just a little.  He chuckled and shook his head and began to move with Clint.  Not in the same sexually suggestive way that Clint was.  More swaying with him and letting him leave.  “You don’t listen much do you?”

“I try not to,”  Clint replied and kissed him.

It was that last annoying thing that made Bucky crack.  He couldn’t be angry anymore, as much as he wanted to be.  He wasn’t going to be able to dwell on it.  He was just going to relax with his dumbass boyfriend, letting himself get dragged into his dumbass things.

He kissed back.  Slowly and deeply at first.  It didn’t last.  With the way Clint was grinding against him, and the beat of the music, it soon became hungry and animalistic.  Almost like they were trying to devour each other.  They nipped and bit at each other's lips.  Their tongues ran over each other's mouths and then circled around each other.  The whole time they danced grinding to the music.

The way Clint moved, his thigh rubbed against Bucky’s crotch.  His cock twitched and then began to harden in his pants.  Straining at the thick fabric as blood rushed to it.  He knew Clint was in the exact same position as him.  He could feel the archer’s cock rubbing on his thigh each time he swiveled his hips.

Bucky groaned and shoved Clint up against the wall.  “God, you are the worst you know that?”

Clint chuckled and pulled at his hair.  “Yeah, I know.  Don’t really know what you’re gonna do with me.”

Bucky sucked on Clint’s throat for a moment and began to unbuckle his pants.  “I can think of a few things.”

He pulled Clint’s cock out and wrapped his fingers around it, stroking it slowly as he sucked a bruise on Clint’s neck.  Clint groaned and clutched at Bucky’s back.  “Fucking, hell, Buck.  I just wanted to dance.”

“Yeah?  Is that right?”  Bucky teased as he slowly stroked Clint’s cock and rolled his hips in time with the music against Clint’s thigh.

“Mm… it was right,” Clint groaned.

Bucky reached over and opened the bedroom door and Clint shoved him forward through it, attacking Bucky’s throat with his mouth.  Bucky moaned at the feeling over the wet pressure on his throat.  It made his skin prickle and buzz.

They started to strip. Awkwardly jumping out of their pants and getting stuck in their shirts as they tried to hurriedly get them off so they could go back to kissing.  Clint had started to giggle as Bucky yanked his shirt free from his head.

“How do you even manage that?”  Bucky asked pulling Clint back flush against him and wrapping his hand around both their cocks and pumping them together.

Clint groaned and his head fell back.  “God, I love when you do that.”

Bucky sucked on his exposed throat.  He wanted a full map of bruises on Clint that weren’t from him hurting himself.

Clint moved back onto the bed and without even looking he opened the bedside table and grabbed the lube.  Bucky straddled his lap and took it from him, squirting it on both their cocks and slicking them both together.

“Wanna try something,” Clint said in a needy whine.

“What is it?”  Bucky asked.

“Put your ankles on my shoulders,”  Clint said.

Bucky did as he was instructed leaning back against Clint’s thighs and putting his ankles by his ears.  Clint pulled him forward and leaned up and kissed him as he teased his cock up and down Bucky’s ass, teasing the head over his asshole before moving it away again.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a tease, Barton,” Bucky growled sliding back a bit so that the head of Clint’s cock just penetrated his ass, stretching his ring muscle out and making him moan loudly.

Clint pushed up.  Slowly rising so he was in the bridge position.  Only his feet and hands touching the bed.  As he moved up his cock penetrated Bucky deeper, so by the time he was in full bridge pose, he was buried to the hilt.

“You really think you can hold this?”  Bucky groaned leaning forward a little and gripping Clint’s neck.

Clint’s head fell back, but his arms trembled.  “I can try.”

Bucky started to bounce on Clint’s dick.  The whole mattress rocked with each of his movements, making Clint stagger a little.  He held him up, through their joint moans and grunts and as much as his arms trembled, until with a loud cry his arms gave out and he collapsed back onto the bed.

“Oh, fuck!  I think I broke my arm.”  He yelped.

Bucky started laughing.  It was a pure and deep laughter.  One that took him over completely.  He shifted his position so he still had Clint’s cock deep inside him but he was able to look down at his lover better.  “You are such an idiot.”

Clint smiled up at him.  “Yeah, I know.  You love me though.”

“God help me, I do,”  Bucky said and kissed him hungrily.  He pushed Clint’s hands up above his head and pinned them there for a moment as he rode his cock hard.  Bouncing on it as his own cock slapped on Clint’s stomach.

He ran his hands down the archer’s arms, feeling the sinewy muscles Clint had developed, perfecting his art.  He looked down into the blue of his eyes, watching as the pupils blew out and he lost complete control.  “Oh fuck yeah, Buck.  Fucking ride me.”

Bucky moved faster.  Bouncing up and down, up and down.  Clint’s cock pulling out and then slamming back into his ass, pounding is prostate again and again.  He could feel himself getting closer.  A deep pressure pushing down somewhere in his abs as his balls tightened.

“You close?”  Bucky groaned.

“Fuck, yes,” Clint groaned and arched his back.

Bucky wrapped a hand around his cock and began to stroke it as he continued to move.  He gritted his teeth as he looked down at Clint and ran his prosthetic hand down his chest and pinched at his nipples.

Clint groaned and bucked up hard, coming deep inside Bucky’s ass.  The sudden thrust against his p-spot pushed Bucky over and he came in hot ribbons, splattering over Clint’s stomach and chest.

Clint hummed and relaxed back as Bucky slipped free and lay on his side next to him.  Clint ran his fingers through the cum, painting his skin with it before sucking his fingers clean and humming.  “I really hurt my arm you know?  I think I pulled something.”

Bucky chuckled and grabbed some wipes and began to clean Clint up.  “Why am I not surprised?  You’re an archer you idiot, how are you gonna work with a pulled muscle?”

Clint shrugged and rubbed his arm.  “You have a bad day?”

Bucky nodded.   “It’s fine.  I’m here now.  We should eat that pizza and take a bath.”

“You know that Pizza’s gone now right?  We just left it unsupervised with the pets.”

Bucky broke down into laughter, the mental picture of the dog and cat both stuffed with pizza was too good.  He nuzzled into Clint’s neck and kissed it softly.  God, how he loved how much he loved Clint.

[ddproductionsw77]

Hit A Wall

Fandom: IT (2017), IT: Chapter Two (2019)

Pairing(s): Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak)

Characters: Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak

Rating: T (M if language and sex centered discussions offend you)

Description: Eddie is falling, hard and fast, but he struggles with getting past a certain point without hitting a wall (Aged-up to high school)

Author’s Note: I haven’t written anything in a while, let alone Reddie so please be forgiving. I tried to be as in character as possible! Thanks!

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Eddie Kaspbrak would probably have to admit that he was slightly obsessed with Richie Tozier. The first few weeks they were together were the worst, though. His every thought, every free moment was dedicated to him. He was so very taken it was on the verge of problematic.

No, it was problematic. He couldn’t concentrate in class because either Richie was right there beside him, arms brushing “accidentally” every few minutes, or Richie was not next to him but he knew would be waiting for him right outside the classroom door once the bell rang.

Mercifully, it seemed that Richie was just as obsessed with him. Coming to meet him at his locker every morning at school, calling him almost everyday after school to talk even for just seconds before heading to work, stopping in at the Corner Street Drug where Eddie worked just to be near Eddie even though it had been explicitly decided between them that no one could know they were together. No one but the other Losers, of course, because there would be absolutely no point in trying to hide their new relationship status from them. Derry wasn’t the place for a boy to be in a relationship with another boy, it just wasn’t.

But that was okay as well, considering they made up for it almost every second they had away from prying eyes.

They were on Eddie’s bed, doing homework with Eddie’s god awful stereo system cracking lightly in the background. Richie was supposedly doing some assigned reading but was laying on his back with his legs sprawled over Eddie’s, having set his book down on his chest twenty minutes prior, eyes closed. Eddie absentmindedly traced the curve of Richie’s knee with nonsensical patterns as he hummed, staring at the advanced geometry textbook beside him. They had their final tests before winter break the following day and Eddie was determined to maintain his 4.0 GPA even if it killed him.

Eddie was sure that Richie had drifted off when the Trashmouth sat up suddenly, throwing the book — The Scarlet Letter— across the room to land lightly on the rug. Good thing too, considering his mother would probably have a stroke if she found her Eddie Bear snuggled up with A Boy... the boy being Richie Tozier would add insult to injury, he was sure.

“Eds, you’re going to wipe yourself out if you keep cramming before the test,” Richie complained, “Besides, it’s fucking boring just listening to you mumbling about the SIN and COS of what the fuck ever for hours.”

Eddie turned his head shortly to glare at his boyfriend, the breath momentarily catching in his throat to find Richie so very close. When would he ever get used to that?

Still, he managed to keep his expression unamused as he raised his eyebrows, “Don’t fucking call me that and what exactly do you suggest we do instead, asshole?”

A smirk curled across  Richie’s lips and made Eddie instantly forget all about his exam tomorrow. The tall boy leaned forward till the curls of his black hair tickled Eddie’s forehead and spoke in a teasing, enticing tone, soft and intriguing, “I can think of a couple things...”

And then his lips captured Eddie’s and any remaining fragments of logical thought flew from Eddie’s mind as his hands moved of their own accord, dropping his pencil and grasping Richie’s face, pulling him closer. It wasn’t enough to be close, Eddie mourned, he ached for something more, something beyond close.

Richie grinned against his lips, opening his mouth and brushing his teeth over Eddie’s top lip, tracing the bottom one with his tongue. A moan sounded from the back of Eddie’s throat as he opened his mouth, meeting Richie’s tongue with his own as he moved his hands back to tangle in his boyfriend’s hair. He felt short on oxygen but couldn’t find it anywhere within himself to give a shit.

How had he allowed himself to miss out on this for so long? He’d gone years, years, silently pining and longing and the whole time he could have been doing this!

Richie gently began easing Eddie back onto the bed, moving on top of him as he went. A thrill of excitement trailed up Eddie’s spine as Richie’s fingertips found a strip of skin were his shirt had ridden up.

He gasped into Richie’s mouth as the other boy slipped his hand under his shirt just to run his fingertips over the side of his rib cage. Richie took to opportunity to dip his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck touching his lips against the hollow there, leaving Eddie instantly breathless as he whispered, “Shit!”

Richie chuckled, a sound he felt in his chest as much as he heard in his ear, and mumbled, “So, you like that, huh, Eds?”

Any other time, Eddie would have snapped at him for the nickname but the boy couldn’t even seem to form coherent sentences at the moment and so didn’t even try. As he planted more kisses against the sensitive skin, Eddie made some foreign sound that seemed a mix of a groan and a growl and without thinking, gave his boyfriend’s hair a small tug. Richie sucked in his breath and took a break from Eddie to bit his own lip, “Jesus fuck, Eddie!”

A thrill of electricity coursed through Eddie’s veins, hearing the arousal in Richie’s voice, making it go gravelly and sexy in a way that Eddie had never previously thought possible. He pulled at his boyfriend’s hair again, bring the boy’s lips back to his to capture the responsive moan. Their tongues fought for a moment before Eddie released his hands from Richie’s hair, moving down to his chest to push him back.

Richie looked down at him momentarily confused before Eddie whined out, “Shirt!”

Together they managed to unzip Richie’s old, ratty sweatshirt and toss it to the floor to be shortly followed by the Led Zeppelin shirt he’d had on beneath. Richie reached down, slipping his hands under Eddie’s sweater and slowly pushing the fabric up as Eddie arched his back, allowing the shirt to be pulled off.

Eddie instantly pulled Richie back down into another searing kiss and somewhere in the back of his brain a pesky little voice reminded him, quite unnecessarily, that they’d never done this before.

Well, he’d never done this before. Richie had done more than this with multiple people. Richie was experienced, at least experienced than Eddie. And with that thought, all Eddie could think about was that they were edging farther and farther out of his comfort zone…

It’s fine, Eddie. You’re having fun. It feels good, doesn’t it? So just lay back and relax…

Like Holly Mason did?

The thought came to Eddie’s mind against his will and he tried to force it out again by running his hands down Richie’s back, finding the trail of his spine and lightly following up and down. But it remained and seemed to bubble up inside and grow louder and louder.

What about Holly Mason?

She’s done this with Richie. She’s done more than this with Richie. You remember how Richie told you all about his first time with his first girlfriend, Hot Tamale Holly... Remember, Eddie, that’s what he called her? Remember how they only dated for two weeks and had already fucked by the end of the first? Remember Eddie? Remember?

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and without thinking, without wanting to, turned his head away from Richie, who took this as an invitation to continue kissing along Eddie’s jawline and back to the hollow of his neck.

Why are you ruining this for yourself? Just stop thinking about Holly Mason, it was two fucking years ago! And so was Becca Clarke after her.

But Sandy Montgomery wasn’t two years ago. She was just last year... just five month ago, if you do the math, Eddie. Remember Sandy, Eddie?

Of fucking course he remembered Sandy Montgomery.

She’d actually been around for awhile. Holly and Richie had only last two weeks, Becca and Richie a month but Sandy... Sandy’d been around for months, seven of them to be exact. They’d broken up when Sandy left for college, being two years older than them.

Eddie had hated her even more than Holly or Becca because Holly and Becca weren’t even likable but Sandy... Sandy had been. She’d been funny and witty and seemingly the perfect match for Richie. She’d definitely been the only girl that Richie had dated to make friends with the Losers. And Eddie couldn’t help but remember in that moment how Richie had looked at Sandy when she giggled and buried her face in his chest, when he’d drawn her in to kiss her forehead, when she’d run her fingers through his hair as she walked by.

Seven months.

He and Richie had only been together two.

You know he screwed her too, don’t you? Of course you do because he used to tell you about it, remember? He called her Sexy Sandy. Oh Richie and his nicknames, right, Eddie Spaghetti? Not quiet as sexy as Hot Tamale Holly or Becca the Babe or Sexy Sandy, is it, Eddie Spaghetti?

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Eddie growled, this time there was no mistaking the sound for something else, and wrapped his legs around Richie’s waist, jerking to the side and rolling them over so he was on top now. Richie grinned up at him and for a second all those pesky, awful thoughts went away and Eddie was back in the moment. For a second it was just him and Richie and the voices in his head were shut up and he wasn’t scared or nervous because there was no one he trusted more in the world than Richie.

What are you gonna do, Eddie? Making out shirtless can’t have any real zeal once you’ve lost your V card and Richie lost that a long time ago. You’re the only virgin in the room right now, honey, and you don’t even know how to make this interesting for him, admit it.

Eddie’s vision blurred but he could still make out the smile slipping off Richie’s face. His boyfriend sat up, taking his face in his hands, “Hey, hey, Eddie Spaghetti, are you o—“

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Eddie half yelled before remembering his mother sleeping down the hall. He looked toward the door, eyes wide and quickly climbed off of Richie to go and listen for any noise on the other side. He closed his eyes as he put his ear to the wood paneling and felt humiliated as a cool tear ran down his burning cheeks. He quickly wiped it away and, hearing nothing, turned to lean his back against the door as he avoided Richie’s eyes.

“Okay... what the fuck just happened?” Richie asked lowly, as aware as Eddie that they had to keep their volume to a minimum.

Eddie shook his head, “Nothing.” He pushed off the door and plucked his sweater off the floor. Pulling it on over his head, he held out a hand toward his boyfriend, “Hand me my textbook, Trashmouth.”

Richie stared at him, still shirtless and still in Eddie’s bed, his hair still messy from Eddie’s frantic fingers, “What’s wrong with you, Eds?”

“Nothing! Just give me the fucking textbook and put your goddamn clothes on! I just want to go to bed, okay? I’m just tired and we have exams tomorrow so fucking leave me alone!” Eddie snapped jabbing his hand out toward Richie again.

His boyfriend narrowed his eyes on him before reaching beside him and picking up the textbook. He held it out but didn’t let it go once Eddie gripped it, instead looking right at him and saying, “I’m not going to let it go, you know that, so you might as well just tell me now.”

Eddie jerked the textbook away, going over to put it on his desk, before turning back around, “I just want to go to sleep, Richie. I’m fucking exhausted, can we just go to sleep?”

Richie ducked down to pick up his t-shirt slipping it on and laying back down, gesturing silently for Eddie to come join him. Relieved, Eddie did, crawling under the covers and immediately turning his back to Richie. There was a pause before arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against his boyfriend’s chest.

It took a second but Eddie made himself relax as he reached up to turn off the lamp on his bedside table.

Eddie couldn’t find Richie anywhere. He’s just gotten out of class and his boyfriend was nowhere in sight, basically unheard of since they’d begun dating. With a sigh, he started toward his locker and spotted Mike putting away his things for the day. Eddie grinned and walked to his friend, “Hey Mike!”

“Oh,” Mike glanced at Eddie before his gazed darted away, “Hi Eddie.”

Raising an eyebrow, Eddie cocked his head to the side, “What? You seem weird?”

“I’m weird?” Mike asked, a sarcastic laugh escaping from his mouth and he turned to smirk at Eddie, “At least I’m not a Junior in high school and still a virgin.”

Eddie mouth fell open and he felt like suddenly everyone in the hall had stopped to stare at him. He looked around to find that they actually had, whispering to each other and giggling as they watched him sputter. Whirling back around to Mike, Eddie shook his head, “That’s personal, shithead! It’s between me and—“

“If you were going to say Richie, you should know he’s who told me,” Mike laughed, gesturing to the surrounding crowd, “Told all of us, actually. He called you a tease, said you just mess around but never actually put out. You realize you’re the only Loser who’s still a virgin, right? Do you know how pathetic that is?”

Eddie swallowed as some of the people around them began to laugh. Horrorstruck, he backed away from Mike and turned to shove his way through the crowd as the laughter grew louder and louder.

He pushed the closest bathroom door open and rushed inside, slamming the door shut.

“Hey, tease! This room is occupied!” A familiar voice snapped.

Eddie spun on his heels and dropped the textbooks he’d been carrying at the sight of Sandy Montgomery sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink with her skirt hiked up, her legs wrapped around his boyfriend.

Eddie stared in horror for a moment before anger boiled in his chest, “Wh—What are you doing, Richie?!? You realize that we’re the ones dating right now, right, assface?”

Richie took his lips away from Sandy’s neck, the same corner where he’d kissed Eddie’s before, and shook his head, “Yeah, Spaghetti Man? Well, boyfriends are supposed to put out so I guess we’re both a little disappointed, huh? At least Sandy’s a team player.”

Eddie couldn’t believe his eyes as Richie, his Richie, the Richie he’d been tripping over since he was basically a kid, took Sandy’s face into his hands and kissed her like he was suppose to kiss Eddie. He thought he might be sick as he felt a burning in his throat and squeezed his eye shut tight only to find the image of his boyfriend’s betrayal carved there as well—

Eddie wasn’t fully aware of throwing Richie’s arms off him or of frantically clawing his way off of his bed or of crawling across the floor as he sobbed. He did it all in that sickly in between state where he wasn’t fully awake yet but also wasn’t sleeping anymore. Moving to the wall opposite his bed, Eddie gripped his knees and curled up to himself.

“Eddie?! Eds! Jesus, what’s going on?” Richie whisper-yelled in the dark of the room and Eddie sobbed louder. He couldn’t see, couldn’t see, couldn’t—

The lamp beside his bed came on and Richie rushed over to him on the floor, sweeping his hair, soaked through with cold sweat back from his forehead. “Shh, it’s okay! I’m right here—“

Eddie slapped his hand away hard with a crack, choking out, “Get off of me!”

Richie threw his hands up as if in surrender, “Okay, okay, calm down, damm! I’m not touching you!”

Eddie dropped his head into his hands, tears chilling his red cheeks. He sat in silence for a long time, collecting himself and trying fruitlessly to stop his crying.

Now Richie’ll think you’re a tease and a crybaby. Great job, Eddie Spaghetti!

Groaning, Eddie shoved his palms hard into his temples, praying he could just find some off switch for his brain. Some button to just power the damn thing down.

Finally, he dropped his hands and slowly peeked up to find Richie sitting cross legged right in front of him, as close as possible without any part of them so much as brushing against each other. Richie was picking at a hole in the knee of his sweatpants and glanced up for a second before returning to it, “Are you going to talk to me about it?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and said nothing, looking back at his hands. His hands that had been tangled in Richie’s hair just hours ago and yet, it seemed, were incapable of anything more than that. No wonder Richie thought he was a tease... maybe he was.

“Look, if it’s me that’s your problem, then I can go. Exams are tomorrow, I know how important that is to you. If you’re pissed at me over something than I’ll fuck off so you can get some sleep.” Richie shrugged, continuing to pick at his sweatpants. “Whatever it is that you’re pissed about, I guess I’m sorry.”

“You—“ Eddie cut himself short before swallowing hard and starting again, “You didn’t do anything... it’s me.”

“What about you?” Richie asked, pausing in his fiddling to look right at Eddie. Eddie liked Richie so much in moments like these. Quiet moments, private moments, where it was just them and Richie managed to actually be… genuine. Real. No joking, no sarcasm… Just Richie.

“I just,” Eddie thought about telling Richie the truth right then but before he could his brain flooded with images, ideas of how Richie might look at him if he knew what Eddie was thinking, fearing… And what if he thought it was funny? Because it fucking wasn’t. “I just think I want to be alone.”

No you don’t! Why the fuck would you say that?

Richie sat there for a moment, looking at him as if he hadn’t fully understood the request yet. Then he rocked back, nodding as he stood up, “Right, yeah, okay.”

Eddie watched as his boyfriend quickly located his shabby hoodie on the floor and his backpack under the windowsill. Richie was pushing the bedroom window open when Eddie found the strength to clamber to his feet.

Stepping forward, Eddie bit his lip before saying, “Rich, wait...”

Richie paused and the cold December air from the outside filled the bedroom, making Eddie shiver. He waited for his boyfriend to turn around but when he didn’t, Eddie cleared his throat and continued. “It’s like 10 degrees outside. You can’t go out there.”

Richie sighed and finally turned to face Eddie, throwing his hands up, “Okay, what the fuck to you want from me, Eds? Because earlier tonight you were definitely hot with the making out and the undressing and then you were just ice cold out of nowhere and totally blew me off. Now, you say you want to be alone, then you say I can’t leave— What the fuck? I gonna whiplash if you don’t make up your damn mind soon.”

Eddie looked away, “I just don’t want to put you out to freeze to death, dickwad, but if you’re going to be an assho—“

“I’m the asshole?” Richie remarked, annoyed, “I’m the one trying to actually  figure out what the hell is wrong with you and I’m the asshole? Fuck that.”

Eddie knew Richie was right. He was the one being stupid. He was the one who was a scared, pathetic, virgin loser.

Find his voice once more as Richie started to sling his backpack over one shoulder, Eddie spoke up in a high pitched, embarrassed voice, “I— I’m a virgin.”

Richie stopped, looking over his shoulder with a confused and bewildered expression, “Okay?”

Eddie shook his head with a long, annoyed sigh, “No! Look, I’m a virgin,” He gestured to Richie, faltering, “And you’re— you’re not...”

Sliding the backpack from his shoulder, Richie shrugged, still bewildered, “So?”

Eddie’s mouth fell open, “So? So, I’ve never done—“ He fell silent, his face on fire with shame.

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, “That’s kind of what being a virgin means.”

“Shut up!” Eddie felt his eyes prickle and quickly turned away, his entire being burning with humiliation, “For once just shut up, Trashmouth! You don’t get it! Just—“ He swallowed, “Just leave me the fuck alone!”

He heard a long sigh and then silence until, “Explain it to me.”

Eddie pressed his palms into his eyes, willing back his tears, “Just fucking go.”

“No!” Richie snapped, “You said I don’t get it so fucking explain it, dumbass! Because you’re right, I don’t understand how you being a virgin and me not being one is a fucking problem.”

“It just is!” Eddie half yelled, whirling around, before lowering his voice and glancing toward the door. “Seriously, Richie, leave me alone.”

Richie stared at him long and hard before sighing and shrugging, “Well, I’m not leaving till you talk to me, so looks like you’re shit out of luck.”

Staring up at the ceiling, Eddie shook his head, “You slept with Holly Mason a week after you started dating her. You didn’t even wait that long with Becca Clarke.”

“Eddie—“ Richie started to object only for Eddie to continue on, cutting him off.

“Beep beep, my turn!” Eddie snapped, “And Sandy! Sexy Sandy! She must of been special because you two waited a whole two weeks, right? And then there is the multiple hookups with strangers you told me about in great detail, thank you so fucking much for that!”

Richie scoffed and looked away, biting his lip.

“We’ve been together two months, Richie. And tonight was the furtherest we’ve ever gone. And I know it’s my fault, okay? I know I’m the tease, I’m the problem—“

“Eds, come on—“

“I just, I want to and we start to and it’s great and then I just hit this wall and I can’t do more than that. I can’t do it.” Eddie deflated, looking at his feet as he quietly finished, “I can’t do it and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Richie echoed, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Eds, except maybe acting like a psycho earlier...” Eddie looked up to glare at him and he winced, “What I mean is that it doesn’t bother me, you know? That we haven’t... it’s not about that with us. So, when you hit the wall, I don’t care if we have to stop because, you know, I can wait. I’m not that sex obsessed. Besides… I can always take care of myself later.”

Eddie glared at his boyfriend again, who only smirked in response.

Apprehensively, he spoke up again, “But what about the others? How am I suppose to compete with them? With Hot Tamale Holly? And Becca the Babe? Chrissy from last years homecoming after party? And Hannah from the AV club? Sandy?” Eddie felt tears well in his eyes again and cursed himself, looking at the ceiling again.

“Compete?” Richie half laughed, “Eddie, there isn’t even a competition! Sandy, Holly, Becca, being with them, any of them, didn’t matter. It was just sex! It’s not gonna be that way with us. When it happens, it’s gonna be something completely different... you gotta know that.”

Eddie nibbled in his lip, “I don’t know when that is. I can’t give you a time and a place, I don’t know when I’ll be able to…”

Richie shrugged, stepping closer a little timidly, “I don’t need you to. When you’re ready, I promise you say the word and I’ll come fucking running. And you can bet your ass it’ll be the best sex, like, ever.”

Eddie turned scarlet, choking out, “What? How could you—?”

“Because it’ll be you and me. Nothing is gonna compare to that. Not Sexy Sandy, or Hot Tamale Holly or any of the others. I know that.” Richie smirked, looking Eddie hard in the eyes.

Eddie felt a shiver go up his spine that had nothing to do with the still open window behind Richie. He stepped forward until their chests nearly brushed, “You know, sometimes I don’t get it. You wanting to be with me. But... I’m glad you do.”

Richie grinned, falling into a terrible southern accent as he said, “Aww, Eddie Spaghetti, you sure do sound sweet on me!”

Eddie’s smile dropped, “Forget it. I actually meant I don’t get why I’m with a fucking idiot like you, so just forget what you think you heard me sa—“

He was cut off by Richie grabbing his face and kissing him, hard on the mouth. He instantly responded, kissing back in an almost feverish manner, standing on tip toe to wrap his arms around Richie’s neck as if trying to keep him just this close for the rest of time.

Eventually, they parted, both breathless.

“Wh—What was I saying?” Eddie asked, still a tad dazed.

“Oh, you know, the usual. How much you like me and how amazing I am, yada yada.” Richie chuckled, grinning at his boyfriend.

Eddie rolled his eyes, lightly smacking Richie’s cheek as he said, “I think that’s just what you hear anytime someone near you opens their mouth, Rich.” He smirked and nodded toward the bed, “Let’s get some sleep, okay?”

Richie nodded, laughing a bit, “Yeah, you have an exam in,” He glanced a lot the alarm clock over Eddie’s shoulder, “Two hours, shit! That sucks!”

“Oh my god, beep beep!”

[thecleverdame]

Problem Solved - One Shot

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!WerewolfxReader, Sam x Others

Summary: Young Alpha Sam is clueless when it comes to dealing with his new mate.

I picture newly mated young Alpha Sam as emotionally clueless as soulless Sam.

Warnings: talk of smut

Beta: @ilikaicalie  

Words: 1.8k

This story was available now on Patreon on 3/4. Subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get early access to all my stories and other Patreon exclusive content.

-

“She’s pissed at me.” Sam hands Dean an open beer.

“Already?” Dean cocks his head, looking up from the car engine he’s working to restore. “You’ve only been together a couple of weeks. This is supposed to be the honeymoon phase, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought too.” Sam watches his brother take another swig.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Sam shakes his head. He can’t believe he’s going to Dean for advice but there’s no one else he trusts. “Not lately anyway.”

“Well, something happened. She’s newly claimed, she’s been all over your dick since you bit her. And I know you’re fucking like a champ because you smell like omega pussy twenty-four seven. No one can stand being around you two.”

“It’s not that bad.” Sam rolls his eyes.

“Yes, it is.” Dean finishes whatever he’s doing, wiping the grease off his hands with a rag. “Come on, spill it. What happened?”

“Well, you remember that little redhead I used to hook up with? Trixie?” Sam explains.

“Your go-to BJ queen? Yeah, I remember. I thought you were gonna have a thing with her for a while. She was a regular.”

“What? No. She was fine for what it was but no way. Look, she’s been texting me like crazy and I didn’t respond because I’m mated now...”

“And…” Dean rolls his eyes and his hands, trying to move the story along. He wants the juicy stuff.

“And, Y/N picked up my phone and saw the messages.”

“If you weren’t texting her back what’s the big deal?”

“I hadn’t been. But Trix sent a picture of this one time I-I came all over her tits and another one that was way worse...”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, so Y/N sees it and she’s upset, understandably. I explained that I hadn’t talked to this chick, or anyone else since we’ve been together. Then Y/N is asking why I deleted my old messages, like I had something to hide. But, honest to God, I was just trying to get rid of old shit you know? I can’t have my Omega looking at a bunch of T & A from old hookups.”

“Okay…” Dean’s skeptical.

“Then she’s mad because I still have other women saved in my phone. I thought it was better if I knew who I was getting messages from, better than just a random number popping up. But she doesn’t see it that way. So I sat down, right then and there, and blocked every woman I’ve ever gotten a number from.”

“Y/N’s still mad about it?”

“There’s more.” Sam shifts uncomfortably. There’s a look of distress and confusion on his little brother’s face that amuses Dean to no end. “So get this, it’s Saturday night and I think we’ve moved past the whole thing. I’m in the shower when there’s a knock at the front door. Y/N answers it and it’s none other than-”

“Little miss blow job.” Dean’s laughing, shaking his head like it’s the oldest tale in the book.

“I didn’t even know what was happening. I was half naked, thinking I’m gonna get laid and I walk into the kitchen to find my Omega telling Trixie to get the fuck out of my apartment. Shit dude, I thought she was gonna kill me.”

“Yup, that’s enough to piss off your girl.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You fucked other women.”

“Not since I’ve been with her. I don't even want anyone else.”

“You think that matters? This isn’t logical. You’re her Alpha, Omegas are territorial, almost as bad we are.” Dean whistles. “You’re lucky it wasn’t Amelia...or Ruby? Remember how crazy she was?”

Sam has an interesting past.

“Don’t even joke about that.” Sam recoils. “I’m gonna have to move. I gotta figure this out, I already have blue balls, I’ve been on the couch for three nights.”

“That’s what you get for sticking your dick in half the county.” Chuckling, Dean swings the dirty rag over his shoulder, popping the cooler for another beer.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Hey,” He looks indignant, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m not looking for a mate. I’m just having a good time, enjoying my singleness.”

“It’s not like I planned on it either. I would have cleaned up my personal life a little. I don’t know what to do. I apologized but she’s still upset.” Sam explains.

“What did this apology look like?”

“I told her I was sorry. I said I’d eat her out if she wanted-”

“Jesus Christ Sam, you don’t apologize for sex with other women with sex.”

“Why?” He scrunches forward, perplexed. “She likes it.”

“Are you really this clueless? Buy her some flowers, tell her she’s the only one you think about. Sweet talk her. She knows you’ve banged other women, so banging her makes her feel like just another notch on your belt. You gotta make her feel like she’s the only girl you ever wanna be with.”

“She is.” Sam shrugs, like Dean’s stating the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well,” Dean waves his hand. “Go tell her that, Romeo.”

-

When he opens the door to his apartment all his clothes are piled in the middle of the living room. For a split second, he thinks maybe you’re leaving but that doesn’t explain the mound of jeans and flannel shirts in front of the coffee table.

“Baby?” He calls out hesitantly.

“In here.” You yell from the bedroom. The hallway is littered with discarded bedding, he has to step over a comforter to get to the doorway. The bed is stripped down to the bare mattress, the closets empty. You’re on a stool, in nothing but one of his white shirts, panties, and yellow rubber gloves, scrubbing the wall with a sponge.

“Whattcha doin’?” He inquires cautiously. The last thing he needs is to get himself in even more trouble.

“I can smell them, you know.” You don’t turn around, instead, grip the sponge with both hands and scrub harder. “It didn’t bother me as much when it was just faint scents but now that I know what Trixie looks like I can’t stop picturing all these women…”

You scoff, disgusted and determined.

“Why are my clothes in the living room?”

“Because we need to wash them. With bleach. The humans and the betas I can tolerate, but half your clothes smell like other Omegas and I can’t live like this.”

“Right, that makes sense.” He nods, inching further into the room. He holds out a sad little bouquet of flowers he picked up from the gas station. “I got you something.”

Turning around you look from him to the dying yellow carnations in his hand. Your jaw ticks, pulling the gloves off one at a time before walking over to him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“They’re half dead.” You try to hold back the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth and Sam knows he’s at least on the right track.  There’s hope, he might actually get back in his bed tonight.

“It was all they had.” He grimaces, looking at his disappointing gift. He should have stopped at the florist, picked out something that cost more than five dollars. You deserve flowers that are, at least, alive. “I’m not good at this.”

“I can see that.” You watch as a petal flutters to the ground.

“I just - I don’t feel like I did anything wrong!” He blurts out, unable to contain the indignation. He can see your hackles raise, eyes narrowing, ready for a fight.

“Of course not.” You quip, mouth tightening and he knows he’s stepped right back in it.

“Just hear me out, okay?” He looks around, setting the flowers on the dresser, both of you watching as they tumble to the floor. “I don’t want anyone else. I’m crazy about you. You’re all I can think about. But I can’t do anything about the women that came before you, that’s in the past and I want to leave it there. You’re it for me. I’m all in, I’m committed. So you tell me what you need from me. I’ll do whatever you want. You can have my passwords and put LoJack on my car, I don’t care. I just want this to be over with. I hate that you’re mad at me.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, digesting his words before bending down to pick up the bouquet. “We might be able to bring these back to life.”

“I don’t know, they’re pretty shitty.” He chuckles as you break into a real smile.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.” You sigh, looking at him. “Seriously Sam, I can’t live here like this. It wasn’t bad at first but I’m in this nesting mode now and my sense of smell is jacked up. I can’t fuck you in a bed that stinks like some beta’s pussy.”

“We’ll burn the fucking mattress.” He offers. “I’ll get us a room somewhere else tonight and tomorrow we’ll figure out the rest.”

“Alright.” You give in, stepping to him. “I’ll stop being such a bitch.”

“You’re wearing my shirt...” He bites his lip, fingers playing at the hem of his shirt where it falls against your naked legs.

“It smells like you.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Well, I’m here now, so you don’t need this anymore.” Tugging the shirt over your head he grunts in approval. Sam hasn’t seen your breasts in three days and for a newly mated Alpha, it feels like the better part of a year. He’s about to show you exactly how much he’s missed you when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Your eyes widen and his shoulders drop, eyes closing in sheer frustration.

“Better see who it is,” you offer, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t fucking care.” He fishes the phone from his pocket, drops it on the floor and crushes it under the heel of his shoe, glass crunching.

“Sam!” You squeal as he lunges forward, lifting you up until your legs wrap around his waist.

“Problem solved.”

-

This story was available now on Patreon on 3/4. Subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get early access to all my stories and other Patreon exclusive content.

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[aka-willow]

One More Time

gif

Words: 1058

Characters: Willow Wren, Marty Fields, Annabel Carson

Prompt/Tag:

10. “Please don’t make me socialize.”

28. “I didn’t lose it, I just misplaced it.”

Summary: Willow deals with third-wheeling with Marty and Annabel before the dance

Timeline: December 2015

Song: Hammer to Fall - Queen

A/N: adfaadsklf this is bringing back way too many memories for comfort

—————————————————————————–

I sat with Annabel on the bleachers as we watched Marty’s playoff game before the winter dance that night, both of us freezing our butts off as we shivered on the metal seats. I took another look at the clock; there were ten minutes left in the game. Okay. I can do that. I clapped my gloved hands together. “Let’s go Marty!” They were down by three, but Marty had been killing it in midfield.

Annabel checked her phone and I saw her clicking through Snapchat. “Oh, the gymnasium looks really cool,” she said, showing me a picture.

“Oh, neat,” I said, catching a glimpse of the blue and white decorations.

“You’re going, right? Marty said you’re coming with us?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But me and a few others are sneaking out early to see The Force Awakens.”

“Why though?” asked Annabel. “Didn’t it just come out?”

“Well, we don’t want to see spoilers,” I explained. “I’ve had to be offline all day just to avoid them, which is really hard, harder than you’d think because people try to hide spoilers in memes…” I trailed off as I realized she wasn’t listening. There were now five minutes left on the clock and the coach subbed Marty out, who waved to us once he got to the sidelines.

“Oh my God,” said Annabel, suddenly, back on Snapchat. “Did you see that dashcam video of the guy throwing that cop?  Here? In NYC?”

Jessica had mentioned it to me, apparently, she knew the guy, but I hadn’t seen that the video hit mainstream social media. “Good for him,” I said. “Stick it to the man.”

“Seriously?” Annabel asked. “He threw a policeman. At his own police car.”

What… is her dad a cop or something? I always got that vibe. “Oh… I mean… it’s just cool. You know? Like… dude’s strong.”

Annabel shook her head. “My dad catches people like him,” she said, and my head jerked up to look at her. “He doesn’t tell me much since it’s like government business or whatever, but they’re dangerous.”

“Okay,” I said, just hoping to shut down the conversation. Marty, you really know how to pick ‘em. I wondered if he knew.

“I mean, don’t you agree?” Annabel asked me. “Especially after that thing with Sokovia—”

The final buzzer rang, and the game ended, Marty’s team gathering on the sidelines to celebrate even making the playoffs, and I climbed down off the bleachers to greet them. “Yes, let’s go Midtown Tigers!” I was determined to ignore Annabel, not wanting it to sour my mood. Yeah, so she hates mutants. Who doesn’t, honestly? We suck.

Marty greeted us as soon as his team disbanded, running over to us on the opposite sideline, practically leaping across the field. “That was the furthest we’ve made it in years!” he exclaimed. Annabel linked hands with him as we walked to catch the subway, and Marty replayed the game for us all the way to the platform, even though we had been there to watch it. As we boarded the train, Annabel put us on a schedule.

“Okay, so it’s four now, and the dance starts at seven, so we have three hours to get ready.” She had dropped her stuff off at our apartment last night and some people from the soccer team and Marty’s other friend group were coming over to the apartment to get ready. “And then everyone is coming at five!”

“Please don’t make me socialize,” I whispered to Marty, and he smirked.

“Oh, come on,” he whispered back. “You’ll have fun.”

We got back to the apartment late after the train was delayed. I barely had time to clean up in the bathroom and change my outfit for the dance— a long sleeve, black turtlenecked dress that hid the wings—before people started arriving. I stared at myself in the mirror before changing, trying to hype myself up. Look, you did that musical last month. Now try this. Plus, you, Peter, Ned, and Kate are leaving early, so it won’t even be that long. Still, I found myself hiding in the bathroom for a long time before finally emerging to a full living room.

“Ooh, Willow, I love your dress!” one of the girls chirped. “It’s really cute!”

“Thanks,” I managed. “Yours is really nice too. Really… blue. Fits the theme.”

I was mostly quiet as the others talked over pizza (not Dominos) and discussed drama that occurred that week at school. I texted the group chat I had with the others and counted down the minutes until we were leaving. Just think about Star Wars later. That’ll be fun.

“Has anyone seen my eyeliner pen?” Annabel called from the bathroom as she did her makeup in the mirror. “I can’t find it.”

“Lose it?” Marty asked. “Guys, has anyone seen an eyeliner pen?”

“I didn’t lose it, I just misplaced it.”

“I have one,” I offered. “Want to borrow it?”

“That would be amazing.”

I sighed and got up, opening my drawer in the bathroom to rummage through the mess and find one of my eyeliner pens, one of the cheap ones. God, it’s in here somewhere. I pulled out a hairbrush and extra toothpaste, setting those on the counter, growing self-conscious as Annabel stared down into the messy drawer. My finger grasped something metal and when Annabel looked away, I fumbled for the object and found a small flash drive nestled among my hair ties. Jesus. I gotta get more organized. I slipped the flashdrive into the one pocket on my dress and finally found the eyeliner.

“Here,” I said, holding it up. “Sorry it took so long.”

“We ready to go?” one of the guys called from the other room. “Should we start calling Ubers?”

“I’ll be right out,” Annabel yelled, and I forced myself to not cover my ears when she did so. “I’ll give this right back,” she told me. “If you wanna grab your jacket and things.”

Getting Marty’s friends all out of the door on time was almost impossible, as the one guy who wore a tie kept asking for help to fix it, and one girl’s eyeliner just wasn’t even as she kept trying to fix it. But finally, finally, we were on our way, and I texted the others to let them know.

[fullmetalscullyy]

hit and run - chapter 13

summary: Riza Hawkeye is a thief who is trying to get by in Victorian Central. Hard times fell on her family, tuberculosis claiming her mother and then her father when she was a teenager. Now, femme fatale Riza steals to put food on the table for herself, her canine companion - an abandoned puppy who just won’t leave her alone - and two brothers with circumstances similar to her own. However, dipping her hands into the pockets of the rich and famous is always a dangerous game.

rated: m | words: 3829

title: “hit and run” by lolo

read on ao3 and ffnet

They walked for a while, but Roy had no way of telling how long. He’d kept talking to a minimum as they moved just in case but couldn’t help himself feeling fearful every time he felt Riza trip next to him. He’d jump whenever she did and grip her hand tightly to try and keep her from falling. She never did, for which he was grateful. She didn’t need to fall and hit her head again. One concussion was enough.

Fury was boiling under his skin at the whole situation. He was angry that these men had ambushed them, however he was angrier with himself. He’d let this happen. Riza had been out of commission in The Vaults, so he had to step up, and he blew it. Now, they were captive and heading to God knows where. Roy was incapacitated with his hands bound and eyes blind, so who would watch her back, should it be required?

Useless.

He was frustrated. He could see nothing, and yet as far as he was aware, they hadn’t blocked Riza’s ability to see. She was commanded to guide him and follow behind their captors. A terrible voice in his head whispered the reason why they hadn’t blinded her. They had no intention of letting her live.

Another possibility could be that they were on their way to see Kimblee. He was behind the attack in The Vaults for sure, and these men show up and take them captive? It wasn’t hard to figure that one out, and Kimblee had a weird and twisted interest in Riza so she was safe for now but there was no guarantee how long that would last for. Word on the street was that he was furious that she was “the one that got away”. Nobody got away from Kimblee. Roy was proud that Riza had managed it, but now they had to make sure that streak kept up. He couldn’t do that with this bag on his head and his hands bound.

Roy had been restrained completely because he had no use to Kimblee, and the man will probably kill him. There was no use in denying it. He was ruthless, and Roy wasn’t stupid.

“Get him in here.” It was the first word one of their captors had spoken in a while. Riza’s hand gripped his bicep tighter and gently steered him to the left. Roy obeyed, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. He hated not knowing where he was or if there was any imminent danger in a situation like this. He hated not being able to watch his partner’s back.

Suddenly Riza’s hand was gone from his and he was left trying to squash down the panic building in him as he floundered to try and keep his balance and get a grip on the situation. The only noise from Riza was a muffled yelp.

“Riza?” he called out trying – and failing – to keep his desperation mixing in with his anger.

He fucking hated being blind.

There was a rough shove to his back and Roy stumbled forward, falling to the floor. With his hands tied he had limited ways to catch himself. Bracing himself, his palms scraped on the stone and his shoulder hit the floor painfully, his head bouncing off the cold ground. There was another muffled but indignant cry from Riza.

While still recovering from his shock, Roy’s hands were freed, but his head was ringing from its impact against the floor, so he had no way to try and free himself further. While one set of hands clamped something metal onto his battered and bleeding wrists, another ripped the hood of his head. Roy blinked furiously as warm air washed over his face. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs with oxygen, grateful for even the muggy air in the room after being under that hood.

Looking around frantically, he saw the same man as before restraining Riza with a knife to her throat. A hand was clamped over her mouth but the look in her eyes as their gazes met was filled with fire. She was pissed.

“Hope you enjoy your stay,” the man who’d restrained him initially smirked. Another was to Roy’s left and in his hand was the hood that had been over Roy’s head. They walked away from him, towards the door, and the man holding Riza began to move also. She fought it, struggling against his hold despite the knife pressed at her throat.

“Really?” the newcomer asked doubtfully, a nasty sneer on his face. “That’s what you’re going to say to him?”

“Shut up,” the other grumbled.

As they left Riza’s eyes never left his. They were determined and angry. It told Roy that she would fight to find a way out of here for them. Roy made a move to leave after them but was stopped short by metal chains attached to his wrists. He gasped in pain and glanced down, forgetting they’d been put on him. The metal bit at his already bloody wrists and Roy swore. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone in further darkness.

He was stuck.

*  *  *

As soon as they were out the room Riza jerked her head away from the man’s hand. He fought to keep it in place, but Riza wouldn’t rest until the dirty and foul-smelling appendage was out of her face.

“Stay still ,” he growled, pulling her upright roughly. Riza winced but didn’t let up. “Ugh, fine. Jesus. Just stay still.”

“I can walk by myself,” she snapped.

“I dunno,” the man next to her remarked. “Lover boy back there seemed pretty certain you couldn’t do it by yourself.”

Riza felt her anger flash inside her as they cackled amongst themselves. She wasn’t stupid. One wrong move could lead to further injury or even death, but it didn’t stop her for feeling anger towards how she or Roy was being treated. He was left alone in that dark, damp room by himself, chained to a wall. She was livid and determined to get him out. It was the least she could do after all the times he’d saved her ass.

She had to be smart. They were in another part of The Vaults. It was underneath the same bridge as the one Kimblee’s men had just attacked, but Riza had no idea this area even existed. She wouldn’t put it past the man to own the whole line of vaults that rested underneath this bridge.

The Vaults were constructed in the arches of a bridge that spanned the sharp, steep hills in Central City. It was built for convenience centuries ago to save merchants travelling fifty or so miles out their way to get around the steep valleys between the areas of Central before it had been built up. Due to the length of the bridge – there were nineteen arches �� and there were vaults underneath the majority of them, however no one really knew how many were open. This one they’d been led to was one of the lesser known. It was nothing compared to the awful vaults she was used to. There were two men on the door guarding the entrance and one standing outside the room Roy was currently being held in. All armed to the teeth with varying sizes of knives. Apart from those three, those were the only people Riza had seen. It left an eerie quality to the endless hallways, where the only sounds were water dripping somewhere in the darkness and the occasional muffled scream.

Riza swallowed as she walked, straightening her spine. The man’s grip didn’t relent, but she would keep her head held high as she walked, unafraid of what was about to meet her, and determined to make a stand to fight for her life and for Roy’s.

They stopped outside a doorway and the man in front knocked before waiting for a command to enter. It came from a frighteningly familiar voice and Riza swallowed. She knew there was a very good possibility she would be facing Kimblee after they’d been captured tonight. She just found herself not wanting to face him alone.

Tonight was a prime example of exactly why you shouldn’t be out here trying to fight Kimblee alone. Roy’s words echoed in her head and Riza took a quiet but deep breath. She calmed her racing heart as best she could as she came face to face with the man who’d terrorized her for the past few months.

How naïve she’d been the night of the ball. Now, Riza discovered she desperately wanted Roy by her side right now, just for moral support.

“Miss Riza,” Kimblee greeted coolly. He gestured to a chair in front of the lavish mahogany desk in front of him. Riza was forced into it roughly with a hand on either of her shoulders, pushing her down.

Kimblee’s office was decidedly something Riza would definitely not expect to see in The Vaults. The stone walls had been cleaned up and didn’t leak water from them like the rest of the rooms did. Bookshelves were located along the walls to their left and right, crammed full of leather-bound books that looked extremely expensive. The desk was varnished to perfection, giving off a bright sheen when the candlelight on the walls flickered over it. The chair Kimblee was sitting on was plush and covered in a forest green coloured leather. The wood of the chair matched the colour of the desk, looking very well coordinated.

The man himself was dressed in that signature white suit. His matching white hat wasn’t far away, it was perched on a coat stand in the back-right corner. His hair was slicked backwards into a ponytail, tied up with a dark green ribbon, giving it the likeness of a rat tail. It was fitting, really.

“You’re a difficult woman to track down, Miss Riza,” he smirked and with a jolt she was transported back to that ball, when Roy had whispered those same exact words in her ear. Her heart leapt and a warmth pooled in her stomach, but she managed to keep her face neutral. God, she really wished it was him saying those words to her, rather than this snake.

“I aim to please,” she remarked, keeping her expression neutral. Kimblee smirked, but he seemed less than pleased. His jaw locked, moving carefully before he spoke again. When he did, it was with control, like he was trying to reign in his anger.

Riza didn’t care.

“Now, down to business. You slighted me that night in The Vaults and I didn’t appreciate that.”

“What?” she asked, feigning confusion. Her heart rate picked up, but she didn’t let it show.

“Don’t play dumb, Miss Riza,” he sneered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her two captors take one step closer to her chair. “I know it was you in The Vaults that night.”

“I was in there tonight,” she replied. “But I’ve never met you in there before. Ask Lyle. I only started there a week or so ago –”

“Don’t lie ,” he sneered. Two hands clamped down on her shoulders. Riza began to feel the panic building inside her. “Perhaps a little persuasion will jog your memory.” He jerked his head and she was ripped from the chair without warning. Riza really began to panic. She was dragged from the room while Kimblee looked on with a pleased smirk on his face. It was the last thing she saw before a hood was slid over her head.

*  *  *

Roy had long since given up on jerking on the chains to try and free himself. His wrists had been red raw before. Now they were even worse. It pained to move in any way. The slightest movement sent a shooting pain through his limbs and left him squeezing his eyes closed in pain.

He panted, sitting cross legged on the floor, at a loss of what to do. Wanting to do so much, but unable to get out of this damned room and protect his friend. He felt like a failure.

The door opened with a jerk and his captor walked into the room. Roy straightened his spine as he met them, ready and head on, but his mouth parted in shock when the next person strode through the door. The second captor was dragging an unconscious Riza into the room and promptly dumped her onto the floor, just out of his reach.

“Riza?” he called in disbelief. She didn’t stir, didn’t move a muscle. There was no reaction to his call. He tried again, louder, as the door slammed closed behind the men. “Riza?!”

Nothing.

Roy shuffled forward but was drawn to a stop when the metal ground against his battered wrists. Roy didn’t care. He continued to strain, pushing himself further to try and get as close to her as possible. The chains pulled at his shoulders, painfully sitting in their sockets. His wrists were beyond saving by this point, but Roy didn’t care because all he could focus on was the unconscious, unresponsive, woman that had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

“Riza, can you hear me?” he half begged. He strained again, biting back a yell at the protest on his wrists. “Riza, please,” he pleaded, unable to help himself. His voice cracked and the desperation of the past hour or so crept up on him.

Still, no answer. So, Roy made himself comfortable and remained as close to her as he could until she awoke.

*   *   *

Riza stirred, her fingers twitching against the cool ground underneath her body. She let out a weak moan as a wave of pain rushed through her head. There was a voice calling to her, but it was irritating, and she just wanted them to stop. It was making her head thump in time to their calls and she just wanted it to stop.

“Riza?” the voice called to her, desperation lacing their tone. Cracking open an eye, blearily she saw Roy Mustang staring at her with wide and earnest eyes. What was he doing here? Riza groaned again, pushing herself up onto all fours. It was a struggle. All her muscles protested. Once she was up, she had to bring a hand to her pounding head. It felt like her brain was pounding inside her skull and it wouldn’t let up.

“Riza, please .” She cracked an eye open and looked to her left, seeing Roy straining against the metal holding him in place, and that was when everything came rushing back to her. The attack on The Vaults, the capture by Kimblee’s men, the conversation with the man himself, and then the subsequent conversation she had with his men afterwards …

“Are you okay?” Roy asked her, his tone almost begging that she would tell him yes.

Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth as she opened it. All that left her was a pained grunt. Managing to get upright, she fell into a seated position, leaning heavily against the wall beside her. Riza’s legs were carelessly spread in front of her, the limbs feeling like they were also made of lead. It was a struggle to get them to cooperate. She was panting by the time she was finally comfortable.

“Riza?” He sounded so hopeful. She nodded once, confirming she was all right, then closed her eyes as she caught her breath. Her whole body ached, every part feeling like a massive bruise as she sat, with nothing giving her comfort or a reprieve. Kimblee’s men had beaten her well. She’d passed out after a few punches but given by the state of her stomach, it felt like there had been a few more kicks in there after she’d blacked out. Cowards . She would have huffed a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to breathe.

“I’m all right,” she finally managed to croak out.

“What did they do?” he asked fiercely, the metal of his chains clanking loudly. Cracking open an eye again she saw his arms pulled to the side at an awkward angle as he’d tried to move towards her.

“I’m all right. It’s okay –”

“What did they do ?” Riza regarded him silently. His eyes were burning with a fire she’d never seen before, and it was aimed towards those who had harmed her.

“You don’t want to know,” she replied. His frown deepened, eyes burning brighter. “What happened to you?”

His jaw locked as she tried to divert the attention off her physical condition. By the set of it and the displeased look on his face, Riza knew he wasn’t ready to drop it. However, trapped in here, he couldn’t do anything, and neither could she. All she could do was try and move as little as possible.

“Nothing,” he replied, Riza detecting a strong bitterness in his voice. “Just tied me up here and left me alone for hours.” Her stomach dropped. He’d been in here for hours? She’d only been in a meeting with Kimblee for ten minutes or so before being dragged off. She’d been awake for about half an hour, maximum, during that time. “Then they dragged you in, and that’s all that’s happened.”

“How long was I out for?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t want to let on that she’d been out of it for longer than she thought. That would only make him angrier and she needed Roy to be level-headed, not volatile and looking for revenge.

Roy shrugged then winced as the movement pulled at his shoulders no doubt painfully. “An hour? I’m not sure in here.”

“Roy?” He looked at her expectantly. “Please, relax.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Your arms,” she replied softly to his silent question.

“What?” he asked, glancing down. “Oh.” He relaxed his shoulders and shuffled backwards slightly, allowing the chain to slacken. He hissed in pain as the shackle on his joined wrist rubbed against his skin. Even at her distance, Riza could see how red and bloody they were.

Nothing further was said about exactly why he was sitting so uncomfortably, desperately calling to her to wake up. Riza wasn’t stupid, and in this moment of weakness, she let it slide. She felt it too when she saw how bloody his wrists were. She’d come to care for him – probably more than she should – and he’d apparently been subjected to the same fate. It was clear in the tone of his voice as he’d begged her to wake up, the earnest eyes, and the relief she saw when she’d finally met his eyes and confirmed she was all right.

Something told Riza that this time he was looking out for her out of more than just guilt for what his mother had put her through.

Her mind was foggy, but it called back to the time in The Vaults just hours before. His touch had been so gentle as he cupped her cheek, asking if she was all right. He’d held her tightly against his body as the world shook, trying to protect her vulnerable self from another assault by the falling rock. His relieved smile had warmed her stomach and her heart when she was finally up and walking.

Oh boy , she thought as realisation dawned on her.

“What did they do to you?” he asked, tone softer, but pained. Riza judged he was decidedly calmer than before, and wouldn’t mind telling him now. He would still get angry, she knew that, but trapped in those chains he couldn’t go anywhere. He could hurt himself further, though . That was true. If he moved too quickly and jarred that shackle, it would damage his already battered wrists. She didn’t want him to hurt himself. Especially over her. “They beat me.” There was no way she could lie to him either. Her stomach dropped again, a sadness filling her as his head snapped up. His eyes were set ablaze once more.

“What?” His voice was deathly calm, but his chest began to heave in anger.

“Roy.” The chains were moving as he got more agitated.

“They did what ?”

“Roy, calm down –” He’d jerked his hands in frustration, trying to free himself.

“You’re asking me to calm down after revealing that ?”

“ Roy ,” she barked, voice stronger than it had been since she woke up. That stopped him in pace, but the anger was still present in his body.

“He’ll pay for this, I swear –”

Riza pushed herself painfully onto her knees. She had to keep one hand pressed against her left side, closing her eyes to ride out a wave of pain. She grit her teeth tightly, grinding them together as she tried to prevent herself from crying out. There might be a broken rib on that side. She managed to get to her feet as Roy asked her in concern what she was doing. She lowered herself down next to him – painfully once more – but had to flop down as her poor legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer.

“Be careful,” he fretted.

“Please, don’t worry about it.”

He challenged her once. “Don’t worry about you being beaten for no reason? Riza –”

“Please,” she pleaded, interrupting him. She lay one of her hands atop his bound ones, and he stilled. Her body fell against his, Riza leaning heavily on his shoulder. She couldn’t stop herself from placing her head against it, too exhausted to care if it was inappropriate or not. She needed the comfort. “Stop hurting yourself over me.”

He was silent. Her eyes fluttered closed but she felt his chin brush the top of her hair. “I’m not –” he mumbled.

“You are,” she argued. Her fingers brushed up over the single shackle. He winced as her hands accidentally caressed the skin above it gently and Riza’s eyes flew open as she recoiled as if she’d been burned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered regretfully.

“No, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. Your poor wrists.” Gently she grasped his fingers, giving them a quick squeeze.

“You fared far worse in this deal. I'm so sorry,” he murmured quietly. Riza’s eyes closed and she let the sound of his voice wash over her. It had such a deep quality to it and it instantly relaxed her. Despite where they were – and how incapacitated Roy was – she felt safe lying there against him. It was a great comfort and in spite of everything, she was glad he was there with her. Not so glad about the injury he’d received though.

“It happened. Let’s deal with the here and now.”

“Like how we’re going to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, feeling sleep washing over her body, threatening to claim her completely. Succumbing to her exhaustion was much needed but they needed to sit and plan -

Roy chuckled. She heard the sound rumble through his chest with her ear pressed against his shoulder. “Just rest Riza. I’ll keep watch.”

“No, I’m fine…” she protested quietly.

“I’ll watch your back. Don’t worry.”

Sleep claimed her not long afterwards but she distinctly remembered feeling more pressure on the top of her head. She smiled at the thought of Roy resting his head against hers as she passed out finally.