#she had a complete breakdown over having to crack into her savings a few months ago bc van troubles.

[beleth]

Well my dad is helping to pay for an exterminator apparently. Which is nice. I just feel bad though because it feels as though my mother is incapable of saving money for any emergency.

[maddiwrites]

Let Me Go

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: This was requested! Y/N still lives with the Cameron’s following the death of her brother, but she’s being held there against her will. After many failed escape attempts, Y/N finally gets out of Figure Eight, but she’s far from safe. (The request was long so I’m going to link it here so you can see the full summary of what anon wanted!)

Note: I’m sorry this took so long to get out!!! I literally had half of it written and then it all deleted and I’m so upset because my first attempt at writing it was better but oh well. I hope you like it. Again, sorry for the long wait!

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: MENTIONS OF DRUG ABUSE, CHILD NEGLECT, GUN VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THESE TOPICS TRIGGER YOU. PLEASE. SUICIDE HOTLINE: 800-273-8255

Masterlist

You weren’t always like this - sitting up in your unmade bed, staring at the blank wall in front of you like you could see through it, unshowered, trembling from your shoulders down to your toes, feeling empty from the inside out. 

You forget what it’s like to be free. Following the death of your brother, you’ve been trapped like a rat in a cage. Figure Eight is no longer the luxurious part of the island to you. It’s filled with lies, manipulation, secrets, murder. 

You’re still living at the Cameron’s. No, not living. Surviving. Ward refused to give his guardianship of you up. Some people wondered why - why would Ward want to live with the sister of a murderer? Yeah, that’s what they thought - that your brother killed Sheriff Peterkin and tried to kill Ward too. But you knew why.

Ward no longer treats you like a member of his family. He has you locked in your designated room on the third floor that’s basically only used as an attic and storage area. Your own personal prison. Because you know what he did - not only to your brother and his daughter but to your dad. 

You felt like you were losing grasps of reality. You only knew fall was approaching because you could hear Wheezy talking about it to Rose outside your door. You guess the time of day by the sunlight through your window and the meals brought to your room. 

Of course there have been times you tried to escape. You managed to run away a few times. The first time, you went straight to the police station and tried telling them that Ward was keeping you trapped in his home. Of course they didn’t believe you. Instead, they called Ward to come pick you up. He told the police that you’ve been experiencing delusions since the death of your brother. Without a second thought, they believed him and ignored your cries for help completely. The second time, you tried going to Kie’s, but the police found you first and brought you back to Ward’s now that they think you’re going through some kind of mental breakdown. 

By now, you’re exhausted. You’re tired of fighting and arguing and screaming. You feel empty inside, craving some sort of release or embrace of comfort. You haven’t seen your Pogues in weeks, maybe months. You wonder if they still think about you. Do they blame you for leaving John B to go off by himself with Sarah? Do they hate you?

Not only is living inside an enclosed box hard enough, but dealing with the loss of your brother, friend, and father, is killing you inside. You can’t help but feel guilty that you weren’t with them. You and your brother were supposed to be partners in crime and you totally let him go off on his own. You feel like you abandoned him and that keeps you up at night. 

Since your ways of coping are limited, you’re not proud to say you found an unhealthy way of relieving your pain. 

When you were first locked up, you would scream and kick the door that hid you from the rest of the world, begging for anyone in the house to let you go. Never did it work, but one time Rafe got extremely fed up and raced upstairs to make you shut up. You didn’t know it, but Rafe was on the verge of a breakdown himself. His dad complete shut him out as he tried to fix the damage he caused. He assumed Sarah was dead. And Barry basically owned him, making him do all his dirty work. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn’t live a luxurious life either despite living in Figure Eight.

You took a couple steps back when you heard heavy footsteps approaching your door. Rafe quickly undid the locks and barged in so fast that he almost knocked you down. 

“Oh my god. Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe was breathing hard and quickly getting red in the face. You stumbled backwards, suddenly afraid of being alone with him. 

You sniffled. “I need to get out of here.”

“You’re not leaving.”

“Please, Rafe. You got to get me out of here. Please!” You never thought you’d be here, begging Rafe of all people for help. Yet here you were. With no other choices left.

Rafe paced the room and raked his fingers through his hair. “You do realize you're not the only one going through something, right?”

You swallowed back your tears and scoffed at the Kook in front of you. “Seriously? Your family is keeping me locked in here like some kind of zoo animal! My brother is dead -”

“Sarah is too!”

“But that’s not my fault!” You screamed. You pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “That’s yours!” Rafe froze and turned to look at you. You didn’t know where you grew the balls to keep going but you did. “I know what you did. I know what your dad is trying to cover up. And he’s using my brother to do it.” You saw Rafe’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Why do you think your dad is keeping me locked in here?”

“Shit,” Rafe cursed. Now he knew why his dad gave him strict instructions to never come up to your room. He started shaking his his head and shaking in his skin. “I didn’t mean to - I - I - it happened so fast.”

You could go on and on about how Rafe would never be able to dig himself out of this hole. How he will never be able to convince you that he wasn’t guilty. But you didn’t. Because he’s the only one who could help you.

“Rafe, please,” You begged. “I won’t say anything. I just need to get out of here.”

Rafe sniffled back his own tears and fears and looked out the one window that looked out into the backyard of his home. He couldn’t let you go. He knew it was selfish, but he had to save himself. 

“I can’t,” Rafe said.

A new wave of tears hit you and you felt defeated. You fell back on your bed and cried into your hands, hunched over above your knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said, but his apology was as empty as you feel. 

“Just go,” You rubbed your eyes hard enough to see stars. 

You hear something light hit the bed next to you. “I know it’s not much. But this helps me get through all this messed up shit.”

When you didn’t look at him or whatever he gave you, he took that as a hint to leave and quietly left the room. You listened to each lock being fastened again, each one leaving a crack in your heart. 

Rafe offered you something you should have never taken. A small baggie filled with fine white powder. You should have never even considered it. Drugs were never your thing. You wouldn’t even smoke with JJ when he offered a hit of whatever he was smoking. But the idea of anything taking your pain away enticed you.

And that’s how you ended up here. Broken, alone, and craving something only Rafe could supply you with. Literally. He came around every so often, sliding a small baggie under the door for you. It was the closest thing you and Rafe had to a friendship. 

Today was particularly a bad day. It was dark and rainy outside and you remembered John B’s birthday should be quickly approaching. You missed him. God, did you miss him. You would do anything to hear his voice again or steal his clothes or go surfing in the ocean with him. 

You trudged out of bed towards your dresser that held a faint line of coke left over from yesterday. With a one dollar bill, you sniffed the rest of it up your nose and blinked back the sting of tears that pricked your eyes after you did it. A rush of energy sparked up your body, through your toes and up to your head. You immediately felt lighter and that the world was spinning a little faster. But with that rush came a surge of emotions. You went from being sad to being angry real fast. 

You hated Ward. You hated Shoupe. You hated this house.  You hated Kooks. You hated yourself. You hated everything about the Outer banks. You just wanted to leave. 

You find the closest thing to you, a small makeup mirror, and smash it against one of the locks on the door. You’ve done this hundreds of times and by now the door was scratched and bruised from your abuse, but you didn’t care. You didn’t feel the glass of the mirror slice into your skin as you continued to bang it on the metal lock. You didn’t care if Ward and the others heard you throwing another temper tantrum. You just wanted out.

When you felt the lock stumble to the side of the door, you froze in your place. You stared at the broken lock, wondering if this was all a dream or a hallucination from your high. “No fucking way,” You mumbled. You looked down at the door knob and repeated the same movements until the handle completely fell off and clattered to the floor. 

You dropped the mirror and stuck two fingers through the hole in the door where the door knob use to be. While holding your breath, you slowly pulled the door open and couldn’t believe when it moved without any hiccup. 

You never thought that you would get this far, and now that you were here, you didn’t know what to do. You felt scared. Cautiously, you stuck your head out to make sure no one was in the hallway. When the coast was clear, you tip toed throughout the house, listening to the eery silence that filled it. No one was home. 

When you passed Rafe’s room, you stopped. You were out of supply and you needed more. Rafe owed you anyway, you told yourself. So you ransacked his room. Found about four more small baggies and stuffed them in your pocket before leaving.

As you walk through the halls, you pass Ward’s office and paused. It was open and unlocked. Even before all this shit happened, you never remember it being this way. You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the adrenaline from another escape attempt or maybe it was the cocaine, but you walked yourself into that office and looked around. 

You cursed at all the accomplishments hanging on his wall, the trophies, and expensive relics of random shit. His desk was neat and orderly despite the major crime he was trying to cover up. You sat yourself in his chair, trying to imagine what it felt like to be him. Motherfucker probably felt like a king. 

You went through his drawers, thumbing through random files you had no business looking through - most of it work related stuff and banking information. You tucked that one in your pocket for later. 

Then you hear something thump against the drawer when you pull it out. A revolver. Small and silver. Cold against your fingertips. You breath hitched as you brought it up to your face. It felt like you were holding a bomb. An object that could change your life forever. Another fresh set of tears threatened to roll down your face but you shook them away. No. No more being sad. 

You shut the drawer hard and walked out with a couple new items in your possession.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Pogues were spending another dreary day at The Wreck. The September sun might be out, but their spirits were down. Two of their best friends are dead and the other is trapped with two murderers. They were scared for you and have tried everything to get you back. They tried talking to the cops, they tried breaking her out. But each times the cops got in the way. They were running out of hope. At this point, they didn’t even know if they would ever see you again. They just hoped you were okay. They knew you tried escaping a few times and prayed that you would eventually get yourself out of there soon.

“JJ, you gotta eat,” Kie sighed as she watched JJ play with the fries in front of him. If anyone was handing it the worst, it was JJ. Both John B and Y/N were his best friends first. Hell, he was in love with Y/N. Had been since the sixth grade. One of his biggest regrets is that he never told you. Now he didn’t know if he ever would. 

“’M not hungry,” JJ mumbled. 

The door above the restaurant entrance rang as a couple of police officers walked in for their lunch break. The group of three glared at them as they walked in with their cocky stride and their hand resting on their tasers and guns as if everyone should be scared of them. 

“Fucking cops can’t do their goddamn job,” JJ sat back in his seat and flicked one of his fries down on the table. He hated them. More than he ever had. He couldn’t believe these people took an oath to protect this county. Fucking cowards, all of them. 

“Fucking assholes,” Kie said and watched her father approach them with a friendly smile. 

Pope snapped up when an idea popped into his head. “Sarah’s sister.”

“What?” Kie’s brows furrowed. 

“School starts next week,” Pope explained. “She’s starting high school, right? What if you tried talking to her? Maybe you can -”

Pope paused when he heard the sound of the police radios echoing off the walls from their belts. 

“Code10-92. Runaway teen last reported on Baker’s Street. Proceed with caution. Last seen wearing black sports shorts and a white tank. Suspect may be armed and dangerous.”

JJ’s head snapped back to his friends with his brows pinched together. Could this be you? Could you have made it out again? But what did armed and dangerous mean? That didn’t sound like you.

Shoupe radioed back to the station. “On our way.”

The officers dropped ten dollars in the tip jar before charging out the door to go to their vehicles. 

“We gotta go,” JJ stood up first and stuffed his phone and keys into his pocket. The other two nod and follow him out the door. If that call was about you, they wanted to find you before the cops did. “Okay. Kie, go home. She tried going to your house last time. Maybe she’ll try that again. Pope, go to Heyward’s. She trusts your dad. She might try to find him for help.”

“Where are you going to go?” Pope asked. 

“Everywhere else.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

You trudged through your old home with heavy feet. Nothing in there felt familiar to you - like it belonged to you in another life time. You first went to your room and stared at the girl in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Bones sticking out of your skin, dark bags under the eyes, and cracked lips and dry skin. 

Without thinking, you took the gun that’s still in your hand and smashed it against the glass, shattering it all around you. 

Ignoring the stinging in your hands from the shallow cuts on your skin, you moved on to the next room. Your brother’s room. It looked like a tornado made its way through here. Everything was tossed and turned from the police and FBI ransacking it during their search for John B. Nothing felt like it was John B’s anymore. Nothing felt private. And that pissed you off. 

Next you went to your dad’s office, somewhere you haven’t been since you found the compass. Even now, it felt like you weren’t supposed to be in here. If you believed in an afterlife, you would think your dad would be shaking his head at you. 

The office looked like John B’s room did. Whatever belonged to your dad now belonged to the state. The only things left were random files and belongings the police didn’t find of importance. But they were important to you. 

The first thing you found was a picture in a cracked frame of you, your dad, and your brother from when you were ten. Your dad was holding both of you as you blew out the candles on a birthday cake. Looking at the picture, you felt your heart being shredded apart. The picture only brought back pain and grief. You wanted that happiness back that ten year old you portrayed in that picture. But you can’t have it. Ever again.

A cry ripped through your throat as you chucked the picture across the room. From there, you went on a rampage, throwing and kicking anything that was in your way. You took one of the baggies out of your pocket and dumped it on the desk in front of you. Without any precision, you fixed the lines up with your finger and took a long whiff. You gripped the roots of your hair and tugged as you sobbed loudly and felt one of the biggest headaches explode in your brain. 

You paced back and forth in the office with the gun held in your shaky hands. You were mumbling to yourself about your options and how horrible of a sister and daughter you were for leaving your family behind. You wanted to see them. You wanted to be with them and prove to them you never meant to abandon them. 

You didn’t hear the door to the Chateau open or the sound of footsteps following your cries. It wasn’t until you heard his soft, delicate voice that you turned around and stared at your best friend with wide eyes and a startled expression. 

“Y/N...” JJ breathed out. He didn’t see the gun yet. He just saw you, crying and broken and not looking like the girl he knew only a few months ago. 

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t recognize your voice either. Hoarsed and scared. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

“The cops are looking for you! Okay? We need to get you out of here!”

“I’m not leaving!”

“What?” JJ looked at you like you grew two heads. “What are you talking about. We -”

“No! I said I’m not leaving! Agh!” Your hands flew up to your pulsating head and gripped at your hair again. The pounding in your head was excruciating and wouldn’t go away. Between the cocaine, your cries, and the exhaustion, you didn’t think it would ever go away. 

That’s when JJ saw the gun and took a shocking step back. His hands immediately flew up in surrender and he gulped down his nerves. Now he knew why the cops had called you armed and dangerous. Probably because Ward reported a stolen gun. JJ never knew you to be a violent person. It wasn’t in you. You couldn’t even hurt a fly. Which meant you didn’t steal this gun to hurt someone else. But probably...

Then his eyes flickered to the desk where he saw the reside of white powder next to an empty baggie. Now he was petrified because he didn’t know how to get through to you - if he even could get through to you.

“Y/N, baby. Put the gun down.”

“No,” You shook you head. “No, no, no. I need to see them. I need to see my dad and John B!”

“Y/n...”

“I should’ve gone with them. I should’ve - I - I didn’t mean to leave. I’m so-sorry, John B. I’m so sorry.” You were a mess. Tears and snot and running all over your red and puffy face. 

JJ kept looking between you and the gun. His only comfort was that he knew you didn’t know how to use it. You wouldn’t even touch the one he stole from Scooter Grubs. But that didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen.

“I can’t do it anymore,” You continued. “I can’t go back there. I won’t. I won’t. I just want to see my dad.”

JJ took a hesitant step closer to you and nodded his head, keeping his hands up. “Okay. Okay. What if I helped you see your dad?”

“H-How?” You hiccuped. JJ didn’t know where he was going with this. He just knew he had to get that gun out of your hand. He took another step closer to you, but this one made you jump back. “No! No! Stay away!”

“Okay, okay!” JJ yelled back at you. “Hey. I’m here to help you, okay? Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to see them. I want to say sorry. I - I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, they’re not mad at you-”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I -”

With you distracted, JJ took the opportunity to run at you and tackle you to the ground. He ignored the pang in his heart when he heard you cry harder, wondering if he hurt you, but he cared more about keeping you alive. He wrestled the gun out of your hands and quickly emptied the cartridge. He chucked the multiple pieces across the room and wrapped himself around your crumpled body.

“No! No!” You shrieked in JJ’s shoulder and gripped onto his shirt for dear life. “Please! Let me go!” 

JJ held on to your crumbling body as you wracked with sobs. Exhaustion quickly took over you as the adrenaline slowly vanished out of your system. Your throat was on fire from all the crying and the screaming. Your chest felt empty and your lungs heavy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and never open them again.

JJ couldn’t hold back his own silent tears as they ran down his cheeks. He hated seeing you like this. And he hated even more that he didn’t know how to help you.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said as he brushed the hair out of your face. He kissed the top of your head with his soft lips and kept mumbling into your head. “You’re going to be okay. I’m never leaving your side again. It’s going to be okay.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince you or himself. He jus knew he had to make you believe it.

About ten minutes later, he felt your body relax against his. When he found you fast asleep, he pulled out his phone and texted Kie to pick the two of you up. 

Until Kie got there, he stared at the delicate skin on your face with such admiration. Rage bubbled through this veins as the ideas of what you possibly went through in the that hell hole in Figure Eight. 

He knew it was going to be a long road to recovery. He knew there was a lot of fixing that needed to be done. But he made a promise that he will never let you out of his sights again. Because today was a close call. And he never wanted you to be that close to death ever again.

[365days365movies]

Musical December I: Singin’ in the Rain (1952) - Recap: Part Two

Since this is a movie about ghost singers...

Ghost singers dub the singing voices of the stars of musical films. Essentially, if the actor or actress has a poor voice, or a voice that isn’t quite up-to-par, the ghost singer is hired to dub over their voice with their own rendition of the song. Now, there have been a lot of famous ghost singers, but you may not actually know their names. Historically, they tend to be uncredited in film. Which, yeah, is REAL SHITTY. Thankfully, however, we do know a few of them today.

Arguably one of the most famous is Marni Nixon, the ghost singer for Natalie Wood in West Side Story. Yeah, Wood’s performance wasn’t stellar, apparently, and the film producers didn’t even TELL her that she was going to be dubbed by Nixon. And as a result she recieved...no direct royalties! Instead, she got (and I am not kidding) 0.25% of Leonard Bernstein’s royalties! Fuck off! She literally had to go to court for this, and got royalties from the soundtrack.

And here’s the crazy thing: you’ve also heard her in these roles:

Yeah, uh...holy shit.

And while we’re at it, let’s talk about Betty Noyes. We at least know the roles that Marni Nixon took, but Betty Noyes was so prolific, we actually don’t have a confirmed list off all of her credits! Just fuckin’ suspicions! Now, granted, there are a few roles we know she did dub for. One was in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which I might watch this month. Another is...well, we’ll get to that one later. And the other major role?

Yeah, she was Dumbo’s mom!

Noyes was actually nominated for an Oscar for that song, indirectly! Because none of the voice actors in the film were actually credited, Noyes went unknown as the voice actor for this film for far too long. And again, that’s not including the films she dubbed in that we just don’t know about! Man, Hollywood.

These two, of course, are some of many ghost singers in cinema. Betty Wand, Bill Shirley, Bill Lee, Thurl Ravenscroft, and Drew Seeley come to mind. And that last one? Oh, you’re gonna love this.

In the first High School Musical, most of Zac Efron’s lines were ghosted by Drew Seeley. This shit is still happening! Although, to be fair, Efron sung a few lines, and then sang all of his songs for the second and third films. But still, this practice is still in existence! 

And so, with that said, a movie about ghost singers in genuinely an interesting choice for a musical. And that is especially because...well, we’ll get there. We’ll get there. For now, back to the show! 

Check out Part One here!

Recap: Part Two

In order to prepare for being talkie stars, both Lina and Don go to diction coaches. Lina’s lessons go horribly, but Don’s literally ends in another musical number (”Moses Supposes”) with Cosmo. It’s a fun number, but they also ruin this man’s entire office. Jesus, guys, a little respect for the man’s working space.

Filming begins once again, and the director, Roscoe Dexter (Douglas Fowler)  has an actual mental breakdown with the difficult sound setup, and Lina’s complete idiotic inability to adapt. The film comes out, to the great nervousness of all the filmmakers. And unfortunately, Lina’s horrible voice, and the equally terrible sound recording quality makes the audience (and me) crack up with laughter. There’s a lot that happens, but it’s pretty clearly going to be a horrible movie.

As the audience leaves, laughing and mocking the film, the stars (save Lina) realize that they’re completely fucked. In a dinner with Cosmo and Cathy, Lockwood laments his position. He also realizes that he’s not a good talkie actor, as he’s used to acting without sound. But the two friends pick him up and joke about going back into vaudeville.

But that gives Cathy an idea: why not turn the film (called The Dueling Cavalier) into a musical film! They have six weeks, making it a possibility. Excited, they talk into the morning, then sing a song about it (“Good Morning”, from Babes in Arms). And I love this song, but the entire time…all I could think about was the fact that Debbie Reynolds’ dress is the same as Quicksilver’s Silver Age costume. Seriously.

New head canon: Quicksilver is a BIG musical guy.

Anyway, after the song is concluded, the group realize that the issue with their plan is Lina’s voice. Cosmo has the brilliant idea to have Cathy dub over Lina’s voice in the final cut. Which is ironic because…well, more on that later. Anyway, it’s late. The party disbands, and Don brings Cathy home under the pouring rain. And well…you know.

Yeah, this number (“Singin’ in the Rain”, from The Hollywood Revue of 1929), is arguably...what, did I just type “from The Hollywood Revue of 1929″? IT’S NOT AN ORIGINAL NUMBER?!? Wait, the namesake of this movie, the headliner song, the MOST FAMOUS NUMBER IN FILM HISTORY...is from a different musical? I...actually, you know what? Who cares?

Because this number is still arguably the most famous in musical cinema, as well as being beautifully done. Gene Kelly is the master of his craft, and he’s showing off in this number for sure. It’s just a happy and joyous number. And, again, if you’ve seen this movie and never done any of this dance in the rain, I feel sorry for you. You need to inject more joy into your life! Dance in a puddle, swing on a lamppost, trail and umbrella, confuse a policeman patrolling the street in the middle of the night! SOMETHING! It’s pure unadulterated joy in the form of song-and-dance, and I love it.

The next morning, the boys present the idea to Simpson, and he loves it. They rename the film The Dancing Cavalier, and Cosmo’s genuinely great film instincts allow the flawless reworking of the entire picture. Songs are written, Cathy gets to dubbing it, and Lena sings the original song. Horribly. And this is where the ironic part comes in.

See, the song being sung, “Would You”, features Cathy singing over Lina’s track. Thing is, though (and many of you reading probably knew this), Debbie Reynolds is NOT singing this song. Yeah, it’s actually Betty Noyes, a very famous dubbing voice actor for musicals from this time period. Meaning, yes, Betty Noyes is dubbing Debbie Reynolds, whose character is dubbing another character. Ironic.

The plan goes off without a hitch, and Simpson is pleased. One more sequence is plotted out for the film. It’s a song called “Broadway Melody” (from various films), and takes place in the beginning of the hypothetical film. And it’s a ridiculously bombastic number. I love it. Holy shit, I love this movie. Seriously, there is nothing about this movie I dislike so far. This is absolutely lovely.

Those feelings are exemplified by this number, which serves as an interlude of sorts. It is LONG, and it concludes with a beautiful dance. The dress worn by the female dancer contains a flowing train, and off-screen fans make it seem ethereal. It’s genuinely a spectacular piece of art, and it's all about our musical’s main character falling in love with a woman (Cyd Charisse) at a casino, only to find that she’s taken. Instead, a coat and hat girl brings him his things, and he leaves the casino distraught. And this, remember, is meant to be the opening to the musical-in-a-musical. It’s a bit long and confusing…but it’s also spectacular. Like a little splash of Jean Cocteau’s Orpheus. Stellar.

But the whole thing is quickly ruined by, who else, Lina. After finding out that Cathy’s acting as her voice, she flies into a rage, and plots to get Cathy’s name besmirched. She goes around the studio entirely, and sends out an exclusive story to every paper in town. The stories claim that she’s a big musical star, making it a massive problem for the studio to give the credit to Cathy, as planned. Due to her contract, she is in control of her publicity, not the studio. She also makes it so that Cathy’s only future job is as a dubbing artist for Lina.

Fuck Lina, by the way; she’s a piece of shit.

The premiere happens, and the plan goes off without a hitch. The sound is fixed, the songs are great, and Cathy’s voice is beautiful. However, her credits are taken off of the film entirely, leaving her completely screwed. Because, again, fuck Lina. Said asshole gloats backstage as the crowd cheers. As the rest of them battle with the prima donna, she decides to go out and give a speech. Knowing that the situation will backfire on her, they let her do it.

And IMMEDIATELY, upon hearing her real voice, the audience assumes that she’s doing a voice and asks her to sing for them. Seeing an opportunity, Don, Cosmo and Simpson plot as Lina panics. They tell her to go and sing, while Cathy dubs for her backstage. Don insists on it, enraging Cathy. She agrees to do it, though, and has Lina sing “Singin’ in the Rain” while she sings behind the curtains. And then…

Sweet, hilarious karma.

The gambit’s up, especially when Cosmo steps in for Cathy. Lina runs off stage as the crowd laughs uproariously, while a shocked Cathy runs off stage. Don shouts into the audience, telling them to stop her! He gives her due credit as the voice they heard singing in the film, and she looks back at him with tears in her eyes. He serenades her, and they join in a duet on stage (“You Are My Lucky Star”, from The Broadway Melody).

...100%. Not kidding. See you in the Review.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 1

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship

Length: 1.4k

Notes: Okay, here we go! Giving our babe Frankie an ending he deserves, with a few bumps along the way for fun. Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛

It was almost comical, you thought, at how different the realtor's listing was, compared to the real thing. You’d seen it enough times in bad Hallmark romances: city girl buys a property, property is falling apart, city girl miraculously has the funds to fix it up with the help of the perfect farmer neighbour.

This was reality though and you had already poured your life’s savings, which amounted to very little after all the surprise debts had been paid off, into this farmhouse. 

The "Quaint New England farmhouse, filled with the patina of a bygone era" was a wreck. Nothing to be done about it now, though. The crumbling two-story, just a few minutes drive from the small Vermont town, hadn’t been occupied in over a decade and was now in a total state of disrepair. 

Swallowing back your tears, feeling the burn behind your eyes and the hot swelling in your throat, you told yourself there wasn’t time for a breakdown. You first needed to take stock of the depth of damage, decide which rooms were habitable enough for the time being, clean, unpack, and prepare yourself for this new life.

The next few hours went by in an exhausting blur. By late evening, there was a larger-than-expected pile of rotten, broken, or otherwise unusable furniture in the driveway; your meager few belongings taking their place. On top of renovations and remodeling it appeared you would also be refurbishing. 

Sitting on the porch in the one spot where you felt confident the decking wouldn’t crumble beneath your weight, you looked over your list.

 3 cracked windows (can wait?)

 no running water in kitchen (ASAP FIX!)

 missing shingles (bad??)

 deck boards and upstairs bedroom floorboards rotten

 carpeted bathroom

 questionable smell coming from attic space 

peeling wallpaper/paint EVERYWHERE

Folding the list and slipping it into your back pocket, you made your way back inside to discover one last glaring issue, previously unnoticed until now. The electricity had been shut off.

Well, fuck me sideways...

Deciding it was too late and you were too tired to deal with anything else today, you settled for the flashlight on your cellphone for light. Eating the apple you had nicked from the motel lobby the night before, you laid back in your makeshift bed on the floor and gazed around your new home.

Your home.

The first thing you had ever owned on your own.

First, the corner of your mouth quirked up then you quickly allowed it to flourish into a grin. It may be a piece of shit, but then again, you were always attracted to broken things with the innate need to fix them. Maybe this time you’d actually succeed. With that sobering thought, you settled down into your sleeping bag and were quickly asleep.

Frankie couldn’t believe his eyes when he drove past the old McClure farm. Some fool had actually bought it! Chuckling to himself, he could already imagine the gossip that would spread through town tomorrow, everyone clambering to find out who had moved in.

He had moved out this way five years ago and was still considered the “new guy” in town. Hopefully, the new arrival would take that mantle and everyone could start using Frankie’s actual name. 

He’ll probably just be dubbed “newer guy”...

Breathing out a huff of a laugh at the thought, Frankie began to turn down his driveway. The long, meandering drive leads to a barn surrounded by rows and rows of apple trees.

Two weeks after having moved in, you’re certain you’ve met, or at least seen, everyone from the town. Muffins, pie, casseroles, and even a case of cider had been brought over by a few of the braver townsfolk who drove out to say hello. While they may have been thinly veiled excuses to come snoop, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. The food was delicious, and best of all, it was free.

She had stayed for most of the afternoon, helping you clean and setting her kids about to do menial chores. The eldest, Cole, was sent scurrying up the road to tell his dad to bring Gerta. ... You dared not ask.

The very first visitor was a neighbour from just down the road. “Jacquie,” she had informed you over the noise of her four kids running around the yard, “How do you do?”

She said it with the barest hint of a southern drawl and you instantly fell in love with the soft cadence of her voice. With a beaming smile and a surreptitious wipe of your dusty hand on your pant leg, you shook her hand and introduced yourself. 

A short time later, the most devastatingly handsome, all-American-looking man you had ever seen climbed out of a tractor and started carrying a large object towards the house, Cole at his heels. 

“Jac, babe, where d’you want her?” He called, voice straining a bit due to the weight in his arms. Smiling at you, he nodded his head in greeting, "Hiya, neighbour! The name’s Mark"

“Oh, I don’t need it,” Jacquie replied airily “I just wanted an excuse to watch your muscles at work.”

With a roll of his eyes, that did nothing to hide the adoring sparkle in them, her husband carried his load to the side of the house and with a thump, set it down.

Turns out that Jacquie had a fondness for naming EVERYTHING and Gerta was their gas-powered generator. Claiming they had no use for it, Gerta was yours to keep for as long as you needed her. Which, you had to be honest, was looking like a good long while. Willing away the tears, not for the last time you were sure, brought on by her kindness, you settled for giving her a bear hug. It wasn’t until you heard a little voice calling “Mama?” that you realized you had been clinging to Jacquie for longer than could ever be considered acceptable.

Pulling away gingerly, you started to apologize, quickly stopped by her hand coming up in front of your face, making you involuntarily flinch. 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” She started to exclaim before taking a deeper look at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head to the side and hollered at Mark to gather the kids and head home.

“I’ll be back past bedtime, so come give me y’all kisses now!” She lovingly bossed her brood.

Once they had cleared out, she turned to you, gently taking your hands in hers, and said, “Now, where do you want to start?”

“What kind of voodoo, witch doctor, hippy-dippy magic do you possess?!” you asked with a laugh while sniffing back the lingering tears. 

You had just laid out your entire life to a complete stranger. She had sat there, the whole time, holding your hands and your gaze while you had talked. Everything, you had told her absolutely everything. From the California upbringing in an affluential family to marrying your Highschool Sweetheart days after graduation. The sudden move, his surprise enlistment, his changing demeanor, the beginnings of abuse, all ending with his death while stationed overseas.

The pathetic Death Gratuity from the military barely covered the truck. You’d had to sell everything in order to settle all remaining debts. Your parents had offered to move you back home but the thought just made you ashamed. Moving back home? Being seen as a victim, being pitied by those who had seen your potential wasted? No way.

“Nothin’ supernatural, Darlin,” she assured you, after taking a deep breath to steady herself. It appeared that your emotions had started to affect her as well, you noticed with chagrin. “just the power of a good friend and a strong cider.”

Then came the aftermath. The debt collectors, the funeral without a body, his family claiming anything of value and you meekly allowing it, unaccustomed by that point to standing up for yourself. His grooming of you had started so early, and so slightly, that no one had seen it happen. He had controlled every aspect of your lives; it had made you feel like a fool during that first month as a widow. How could you not know about the multiple maxed-out credit cards? The ignored truck payments? The bank loans?! 

That comment made you look around and laugh, breaking the morose atmosphere in a flash. Scattered around the two of you were at least a half dozen bottles of the alcoholic beverage, which you had both sipped on during your sad monologue.

“Ahh, so it’s the maker of the drink I’ll have to kiss,” you proclaimed with a laugh. “I just saved a fortune in therapy bills!”

With a sly smile, Jacquie nodded, “That you will, send him my best when you do.”

Part Two

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

[lyssismagical]

can you do 14 with reid and a person of your choice?

14 laying your head on someone’s shoulder

Spencer Reid & Luke Alvez (Post S12)

tw canon-typical violence, past-drug use

They didn’t talk about whatever it is between them.

Luke had been there through the worst year of Spencer’s life, stood with his hands wrapped around the bars of the Mexican holding cell, threatened people to keep Spencer safe, had carefully applied arnica to the bruises littering his skin after getting out of prison.

It wasn’t like Spencer could go to anyone else. Morgan was too far, JJ had her boys, Tara and Rossi would get uncomfortable in the face of his trauma – not their fault, of course, but he wouldn’t do that to him – Garcia was the opposite problem, she would probably cry and coddle him and suffocate him, and Emily… she had enough on her plate, as is.

Luke was nearby and kind and Spencer knew he’d be up when he ended up outside his door at just past midnight.

He wasn’t even sure how Luke would help him, all he knew was that he couldn’t spend another second in his apartment, walls caving in.

He doesn’t hesitate to knock, but he freezes up when the door opens. It’s too vulnerable, his skin crawls at the idea of letting another person in only to get heartbroken all over again. He doesn’t know if he can handle that on top of everything he’s been through.

“Spencer?” Luke looks exhausted, blinking blearily through the crack of the door. Roxy whines behind him. “What are- Do we have a case?”

“No,” he says but doesn’t elaborate. He shifts on his feet, prepared to turn and disappear at any sign.

Luke stares at him for another long moment, profiler eyes sliding over Spencer’s body. And finally, he opens the door a little wider, stifling a yawn. “Come in.”

Roxy stays back, pacing the floor as she waits to be allowed to sniff Spencer.

“You want a coffee? Tea? Something to eat?”

Spencer tugs at the ends of his hair as he follows into the kitchen. Luke was clearly about to go to bed, wearing a pair of loose plaid pyjama pants and a tight white tank top, and now Spencer’s here, interrupting and ruining his night and god, he hates himself.

“I should go home,” he blurts.

Luke pauses, sets down the mug he’d pulled from the cupboard, turns on Spencer. “Do you want to go home?”

“No.” It’s not like he could lie to Luke.

“Okay. Do you want some tea?”

It’s that simple to Luke.

It almost makes Spencer feel small, childish, like his insecurities and nerves makes him less than Luke somehow.

He accepts the mug that gets pressed into his hands nonetheless, barely reacting when Roxy gets impatient and starts sniffing at his shoes.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve asked for help.”

He knows that’s not where he should start, but he needs Luke to understand how much trust he’s putting in his hands, just how precious it is that he’s holding.

“I know.”

Spencer folds himself into the corner of the couch, cradling the warm mug against his chest. He doesn’t look at Luke, can’t bear to see him.

“I don’t exactly have a good track record of the people I care about sticking around.”

“And that makes it hard to let yourself care about others and even harder to let others care about you.”

Roxy comes around and sits by Spencer’s side of the couch, resting her chin on his feet.

He doesn’t know what he wants, what he needs, what to ask for.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” Luke says.

“I never thanked you for everything you did for me this past year… You saved my life by talking to Shaw. You helped get me out of there. Thank you. I don’t know- I wouldn’t have made it much longer in a place like that.”

He’s getting choked up, just thinking about all those months spent behind bars, scared and alone and hopeless. A bit of tea hits his chin when his hands tremble, and he quickly takes a few sips to cover it up, savouring the burn in the back of his throat.

“You don’t have to thank me for trying to take care of you.”

“You were the only person this whole year that’s treated me like a human being.”

Spencer sets the mug down on the table to curl into himself a little tighter, hugging his arms around his waist to try and provide himself some comfort.

“You deserve a lot better than you’ve been given.”

“I was addicted to heroin, Luke!” He doesn’t know why he’s so upset. Luke doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. “I killed Nadie Ramos. I stabbed myself to get solitary confinement. I nearly let my mom die because my anger got the best of me. What makes me better than every other man behind those bars?”

Luke looks almost scared and he’s so hesitant when he says, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“What am I supposed to think?” He’s on the verge of a complete breakdown, one that he’s scared he’d never recover from. “That I’m better than them because I got special treatment for making some guy happy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was friends with Gideon’s son long before I got into the academy. I got special treatment from Gideon for convincing Stephen to try talking to him. So because I have some stupid badge, I’m better than every other criminal? I committed crimes, Luke. I killed an innocent woman, I was high and carrying illegal substances… And because I was friends with someone at CalTech, I get off free?”

Luke’s face falls in horror. “You earned your spot on the team just like everyone else, Spencer. You’re a genius, but more than that, you’re selfless and kind-hearted and honest. You were targeted by an unsub who manipulated your perception with drugs.”

“So we can brush off the heroin this time because it wasn’t my fault, but what about ten years ago? I was addicted to heroin, nobody was making me take it.”

“The unsub got you addicted to his drug of choice. How is that your fault?”

“It’s my fault I didn’t stop! It’s my fault that I, a federal agent, had a drug dealer on speed dial for over a year. It’s my fault that I was stupid enough to walk into his trap in the first place, to not be able to get out on my own. It’s my fault I was in Mexico, vulnerable, and alone.”

Luke shakes his head imploringly. “You know it’s not like that. If you were profiling yourself like any other victim, is that really what you’d come up with?”

Spencer flinches at the word victim. Never, not even when he was twelve and tied naked to the football post, not when he was held hostage by Hankel, not when he was stuck in that church with Cyrus, not when he was shot in the knee, not when he was beat half to death in prison, never did he consider himself a victim.

He’s inches away from falling into a dark inescapable abyss.

“What you went through, what you survived, doesn’t and will never make you a bad person.”

It’ll take a lot more than one conversation on Luke’s old grey couch to make him really believe any of it is true. It’ll take a lot more than this for Spencer to open-up to him without one foot out the door. It’ll take more than this to fix what’s broken.

But the least Spencer can do for tonight is allow himself the one thing he’s been craving.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid of being rejected, he shifts closer to Luke and lets his head fall down onto Luke’s shoulder, hiding his face away as his shoulders shudder.

Luke gently wraps an arm around his shoulders, hesitates, and then pulls him closer. “You know it’s okay to cry. I won’t judge you.”

And he does, tears wetting Luke’s shirt and skin, shoulders wracking under Luke’s hands, breath hitching in his chest. And he cries, feeling safe for the first time in too long.

[white-shadow25]

Moments: It’s okay, I’m here

Tyki Mikk x Fem! Reader

Tyki drummed the table with his fingers. Nervous, worried. His mind constantly traveling to [Name]. Next to him were Crack and Momo in the same situation.

It hadn't been overlooked how the girl had reduced her sleep hours and the amount of food she ate. Her skin had turned pale compared to her natural tone and her dark circles already seemed to be part of her day-to-day life.

Every attempt to talk to her about it had failed miserably. Usually, she would immediately deny any discomfort and show a smile ensuring that she was okay.

But she wasn’t.

"If she doesn't want to talk to us, maybe we could save a little on her and offer her to see a therapist?" Momo suggested.

"She's been insisting that we let her take a job, I don't think she wants us to put a lot of money on her," Crack replied with his arms crossed over her chest.

Tyki disconnected from the conversation. With his eyes closed, he caught a glimpse of the teen's suddenly bony wrists and the slight bruises on her forearms.

He considered his options. Confronting her and asking directly was out of the question. He had already done it and there were no results. Waiting for her to decide to open up to him seemed the only choice and it didn't convince him either.

It had been a few months since they began to notice the change. By this point, [Name] looked completely fatigued. Simple things like lifting boxes or even opening bottles were becoming difficult tasks for her, she occasionally walked with a slight wobble that made her seem like she was losing balance, and that she was skipping meals didn't help. [Name] herself had limited her activities to studying in her room, and she would often spend the entire day without leaving it.

Even Eeez had noticed something was wrong.

The bell that signaled the end of the lunch break brought the Portuguese out of his little trance.

▣ ▣ ▣

Tyki decided to open his eyes. He had been trying to sleep for quite a while but to no avail. That night [Name] showed up at dinner for the first time in three days, and a plate was served. Even though her stomach clenched almost instantly after seeing the food, she managed to swallow a little less than half. The boys noticed the superhuman effort she had put into eating so they didn't insist on her finishing the plate.

Instead, Crack placed a hand on the teenager's head and rubbed it lovingly.

Tyki reviewed the moment in his head, he was slightly relieved to have seen her eat, he would prefer that she eat a little more, but at least he knew she was trying.

He rubbed his eyes wearily and got up. In silence he went to the small kitchen for a glass of water, when, through the window, he saw a small bundle, wrapped in one of his shirts, shivering inconsolably on the porch. Without thinking it twice he left the small room.

The cold wind hit his face and the image in front of him pressed against his chest.

[Name] was kneeling on the floor, hugging herself, her shoulders shaking spasmodically, her lips pressed into a fine line to hold back the sobs and cries, as her tears fell uncontrollably. She had rosy cheeks and nose, whether it was from the cold or the crying, Tyki didn't know.

"[Name]? " shit "[Name]!” He knelt urgently beside her and forced her to look at him.

She froze for a moment in surprise.

"I-I'm sorry, di-did I wake you up?" She asked hoarsely. She sobbed and ran her hand over her face in a futile attempt to stop her tears.

Tyki frowned. "No, but you should have," he testified. He realized that he may sound more annoyed than he intended and took a deep breath. [Name], "he murmured," what's wrong?

She tried to calm her breathing so she could answer, but it was more difficult than she expected.

Tyki noticed it and muttered, "It's okay. Breath with me".

As he was able to help steady her, he rubbed her shaking arms in a comforting gesture and finished sitting on the floor in front of her.

"Better?"

"Sort of".

He just nodded. "[Name]" he took one of her small hands and wrapped his around it, "what's wrong?"

[Name] 's lower lip started to tremble again so she focused on breathing and staying calm.

"I... I don't know..." she confessed in a weak voice "It's just ... I can't think of anything in particular nor a set of things, nothing ... I don't know why I feel this way," she admitted.

She tossed her hair back. "I just… I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. It's…

Tyki waited for her to continue. "It's?" He asked when she didn't.

"It scares me," she murmured without looking at his face. "My head and chest hurt, I can't breathe or sleep, and the food makes me sick. I try to eat but it seems that I fill myself with water, I am losing my strength and…" the tears came down again "I don't know why. Last night I almost fainted taking a bath, I had to sit down and turn off the hot water, this morning I was going to puke but I had nothing in my stomach..."

She once again pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing.

"And I do not understand. I was fine. I'm fine. There is no real reason to feel this way, so ..."

Tyki listened carefully as he rubbed her back.

"Am I… am I dying?"

Tyki looked at her puzzled. In another circumstance he might have considered the question ridiculous, but not now. She was scared, really frightened.

For lack of words, he sat her on his lap and hugged her tightly. He was expecting some resistance, but [Name] clung to him almost immediately. She hid her face in his neck and clung tightly to his shirt.

"Listen, I don't think you're dying, but if it makes you feel more at ease, we can take you to see a doctor to get checked out."

"Do we have money to-?"

"Hush, I wouldn't offer it if I couldn't afford it. Okay?" She nodded. "Good".

Tyki continued rubbing circles on [Name] 's back until she completely calmed down.

"Is this the first time this happens to you?"

"In general or the breakdown?"

“The breakdown”.

The teen took a deep breath. Still hidden in his neck, she answered. "Not really".

Tyki nodded. "Next time you feel like you're going to break, let me know".

"Mhhm."

"[Name], I mean it. It doesn't matter if you have to wake me up, okay?"

Tyki pulled her away from him a bit when she didn't answer.

"Okay?" he asked again.

In the end, the teen just nodded.

"Look," he took her by her face so she could see him, "if the situation were the other way around, would you mind if I woke you up?"

[Name] widened her eyes in surprise and shook her head flatly.

"You'd rather I wake you up, wouldn't you?"

Knowing that she had lost the debate, she nodded.

"Well, it's the same for me."

She wiped her tears one last time. "Fine, fine. Next time I'll go with you".

"Thanks". He wrapped his arms around her again. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

"I thought you didn't want us to do that anymore."

"I know, but… I think it's going to be hard for me to sleep if I'm not sure you're okay… It's only if you want…

She nodded.

"Yes?"

"Yep".

They both got to their feet and carefully walked to lie on Tyki's mattress.

Unlike last time, Tyki had no problem allowing [Name] to snuggle against his chest. He kept tracing invisible figures on her back with one hand and running his fingers through her hair with the other. [Name] found herself sleeping to the lull of Tyki's voice.

"Shh, It's okay, I'm here".

[danny-chase]

if you want, maybe you could do "severed artery" with Dick and have Roy (or one of the other Titans) take care of him? love your writing and I hope you're having a nice day!

AHH thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

Severed Artery - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Harper & Dick Grayson Characters: Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU), Donna Troy (minor) Additional Tags: Can be read as pre-slash, POV Roy Harper, POV Dick Grayson, vomitting, Blood, Guns, Hospitals, Canon-Typical Violence, dick is a little shit, Roy is a Little Shit, Homophobia, Roy Harper Needs a Hug, Roy Harper gets/gives a hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Roy Harper emotional whump, Protective Roy Harper, Hurt Dick Grayson, Garth is the best, Titans as family, Confused Dick Grayson, Medical Inaccuracies Series: Part 6 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick and Roy are little shits to each other, until the night takes a turn for the worse.

Full story under cut

“Aight, Donna, you ready to go?” Roy chirped, taking a second to look himself over in the mirror, running his fingers through his (surprisingly) soft hair (he’d be stealing Dick’s shampoo more often) – getting that perfect messy, but stylish look. He fired off finger guns at his reflection – he was killing it, somehow listening to Gar of people had worked out – he gave shockingly good fashion advice.

Feeling optimistic, he sauntered into the hall, only to be met with Donna’s confused expression.

“Roy, I’m going out with the girls tonight, I told you like four times.” She leaned against the wall, gesturing to Jesse and Toni, car keys dangling from her hand. Jesse stared at him, an eyebrow cocked judgmentally, as Toni smiled, offering a little wave. He waved back, watching Jesse’s expression morph into disapproval.

“Hey, I didn’t even do anything!” He complained, glaring at Jesse. She rolled her eyes, not deigning to verbally respond. Ice queen.

Reaching out, Donna patted his shoulder, waiting until he met her eyes. “I’m sorry, hun, but we’ve got tickets to a concert, could we go out next weekend?” She fluttered her eyelids slightly, sending chills up his spine. “Why don’t you take one of the boys with you?”

“Terrible company, but babe, have fun, I’ll figure something out.” He cupped her chin in his hand, leaning forward to peck a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring the fact she squatted down to make the moment work.

“Mm, thanks.” With that, the girls were off for the night, leaving him stranded in a deserted hallway.

Well. He could do what Donna suggested and take out one of the guys – he had the reservation, and Lian was already situated with the sitter. But which guy was the question… Wally was out with the league, Garth was visiting home, Vic was with Gar, and Grant had a date. Which left Dick – no - Dick was busy working – actually yes – he likely needed a break.

Actually – was he even here?

He started towards the central control room, poking a head in Dick’s room on the way and had to do a double take.

“You’re actually in <em>your room</em>?” Dick threw a pencil at him without looking up from his desk, child’s play to dodge – Dick speak for hmm, maybe something like ‘asshole’, but he took it as an invitation to enter. But if Dick was going to call him an asshole, he had expectations to live up to.

He took a standing leap, twisting and flopping across Dick’s immaculately made bed, sending blankets and pillows careening off the side. Dick ignored him, scribbling down some notes on a pad of paper. Roy waited for a few minutes, listening to the scratch of pen on paper. Quick and noisy – Dick was likely stressed – he was pushing down harder than normal; he gave it an eighty/twenty chance something was up.

Ripping paper proved him right, as Dick frustratedly crumpled up the page of notes, throwing them behind him, hitting the recycling bin with ease. Groaning, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes.

“Showoff.” Dick startled, jumping out of his chair, Roy’s own reflexes were the only thing that saved him from taking a pen between the eyes.

“What the fuck, Richard?!” He yelled, yanking the little missile out of the air. A faint flush tinted the top of Dick’s ears.

“I forgot you were there.” The admission was almost too quiet to hear, but combined with the minute sign of embarrassment, it rang of truth. Roy could milk this, oh he totally could.

“What was that, why did you almost kill me?” If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be dining alone tonight.

“I didn’t think you were…” Dick trailed off, glaring at him. “You heard what I said.” He retorted, catching on. Sucks to suck, Dickie – he was obviously tired if that spooked him – he was likely running on caffeine.

“Oh, you misunderstand.” Scooching off the edge of the bed, he hopped lightly onto the balls of his feet. “Why’d the batboy forget I was there, hmm?” He pulled a half-eaten energy bar off the desk, inspecting the wrapper. Dick casually rocked back in his chair.

“See, completely decaf, I told you I’d-” Roy yanked open a drawer, Dick darting to stop him. “This is my desk!” He slammed the drawer shut a moment too late – Roy had good eyes after all.

“Hmm, so how do you explain the-”

“Get out, I have stuff to do – aren’t you supposed to be on a date with-”

“-CAFFIENE PILLS IN YOUR DRAWER!” He shouted through Dick’s response, effectively shutting him up. There’d been an intervention years ago after too many days spent on one hour or less of sleep. “You know the deal.” Dick groaned as he ruffled his hair.

“I have to-”

“Eat, shower, and sleep. And I have reservations. For two. You’re coming with me.” Ah yes, a romantic dinner date with Dick Grayson. People would kill for this. Dick crossed his arms. Roy picked up his chair, staggering towards the door. Dick was going whether he liked it or not, a real meal (not protein shakes or energy bars) would do him good.

“No one’s even done this to me in like, a year.” He noted, gracefully leaping out of the seat. “Asshole.” Grumbling he lightly punching him in the arm before heading into his walk-in closet, stripping off his shirt as he went. Automatically, Roy scanned for any new injuries, his eyes lingering over a few of the old.

“Liar, Wally caught you two months ago. Besides, the restaurant is nice, Donna likes it and you two are basically the same person, so you’ll love it.” Dick scoffed, stepping out of view.

“Is that all I am to you? Your replacement for Donna?” He sounded mildly offended.

“Nah, you’re too ugly to replace her.” Dick hmphed. “And your personality sucks.” Roy added.

“Why the hell am I going with you?”

“It’s not like your night could get any worse.” Dinner was better than casework after all.

Dick’s head poked out the doorway, looking completely unamused. “Asshole.” He chirped a second time, ducking back away.

Roy sat across from him, speaking between mouthfuls of pasta, smacking his lips together. “So anyways this kid, Johnny is like, sitting next to Lian in class, and he keeps taking her crayons and won’t give them back.” Dick thought for a moment, watching Roy drum his fingers rhythmically on the table. “And the teacher is being ridiculous, she just believes Johnny over Lian. My Lian! Can you believe it?” He slammed his fork down, articulating the point.

<em>And you’re sure Lian gave you the whole story?</em> Was what Dick wondered, but he’d prefer not to die for questioning Lian’s integrity tonight. “Why don’t you mark her crayons with a sharpie and let the teacher know?” Roy’s fingers stopped.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of that.” He leaned back in his seat, distantly looking out the window. People trickled down the street, passing by the little café, kicking up crimson leaves from half empty trees. Streetlights flickered on; fairy lights crisscrossing the avenue, as the sun lazily sunk in the sky. It was a beautiful night – Roy was right, he did love it, the food was good – catching up with Roy was refreshing – and the location was stunning; as always, Roy always picked the perfect places for dates. Dick was past the point of being annoyed at the situation but was still determined to give Roy a hard time.

“Well, maybe if you thought about that instead of harassing me.” He leaned forward, resting his head on his hand, dramatically looking out the window – Babs was going to kill him for being late with his case reports. Again. Roy smirked as he rocked forward, reaching across the table to lay a hand on his forearm. He at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“Look, you know the deal.” Brushing his thumb against his skin placatingly, he waited until Dick met his eyes. “You’re working full time, and have your nightly duties, and you’re with us.” His voice dropped, his nostrils flaring in irritation. “It’s not like you’ll leave Bruce alone any time soon either. Dick.” His eyes crinkled around the edges – concern. “You’ve got to start taking care of yourself.” Dick rolled his eyes; he was doing fine.

“You’re working with Ollie, you have a daughter, and you’re working with us, look I had one breakdown-”

“More than one-”

“-Only one that wasn’t the result of external influences.” Fuck Brother Blood for the other ones. “We made the caffeine deal after,” he grimaced reflexively “I broke up with Kory but, Roy.” He clasped Roy’s hand with his other hand reassuringly. “I promise I’m doing better now.” Tilting his head to the side, he cracked his neck. “Plus, you only brought me along because Donna was busy, that’s not what the deal was for.”

“Okay, maybe that was shitty of me, but it’s nice seeing you without the tights.” Roy flashed a winning smile. “Not that I don’t like seeing you in them, the new stuff looks great.”

“Oh, so I don’t look great now?” He teased. He’d picked out his brightest shirt for the occasion – a polo patterned after bowling alley carpet paired with the tightest red jeans he could find, and of course, a pair of heels borrowed from Donna. A single giant hoop earring dangled off his left ear. If he was going out with Roy, he wanted people taking pictures. Payback. This would be in the news tomorrow.

“Babe,” Roy lifted up his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You look stunning.” He grinned goofily, seemingly happy to play along. Welp. If that’s how they were going to play it. He booped Roy’s nose, watching his pupils dilate. Dick recoiled in surprise – Roy wasn’t -

“Wait, you’re not actually-”

A scream cut him off, whirling around in his seat he saw a large man storming into the café brandishing a gun, his face red beet red and angry. He turned back, squeezing Roy’s hand, nodding towards the silverware.

“No-no one else move!” The guests around them stayed frozen in place. Three older ladies on their right, a family of four on their left (he guessed it was the young girl who screamed), and a couple across from them. The staff ducked behind the counter as people outside the restaurant scrambled away.

Dick raised his hands slowly. “I said no one move!” The gun pointed directly at him. Perfect.

“Okay, I won’t move.” He said steadily, watching sweat bead on the man’s head – he was nervous, his hands twitched uneasily on the gun – possibly his first time, and he kept muttering to himself. He watched Roy’s hand carefully creep towards silverware in his peripheral. “Do you want money? My father is rich.” Watching the man jitter about, he slowly stood up. Roy’s hand closed around the fork.

“Okay? You-you can get me money?” The man mused to himself, shifting his weight back and forth. He started lowering his gun, taking a step forward, he reached out his other hand. Dick took a few steps to the right, away from his chair, shifting attention away from Roy. “Okay the-”

*BANG* The world sped up around him, he rushed forward as the man fell-

*BANG* The man hadn’t even hit the ground – he was already dead – already-

“DICK-”

*BANG* Blood and brain matter poured out of the man’s head, someone was screaming, it didn’t need to-

*BANG*

“STOP!” Someone slammed into his side, and he hurtled to the ground. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

Roy’s face hovered above him. “Dick! You’re going to be fine.” His hands clamped napkins to his left shoulder, one on his front the other on his back – and shit – that was a lot of blood. “Hey, look at me.” Pain radiated out for the spot as Roy doubled the weight on the wound, blood seeping out past his fingers, waves pulsating in time to his heartbeat.

Cops burst in through the door, rushing to swarm the dead body. One glanced their way. “Oh shit, you hit the fa-”

“Fucking call an ambulance you dipshits!” Roy’s voice sounded farther away. “Slow your heart, fuck, do your Jedi weirdo bat tricks.” He hissed. Too late, sometimes, things happen too fast. “They hit an artery.” The blood wasn’t stopping, the napkin was soaked through, Dick felt himself slipping into shock. “Dick, stay awake!”

“Lo-ve y-ou.” He stumbled over the words as the world exploded – a million things happening at once – his thoughts scattering as black tinged his vision, overcoming everything.

Roy scrubbed his hands, pausing over the sink, watching the pink water rush down the drain, gurgling as it went. He rubbed a hand further, tackling the blood crusted over his elbow. He made a mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror –Dick’s blood was everywhere, coating his shirt, arms, pants, even some on his face. His stomach flipped, clenching tightly as he started to gag - fuck.

Throwing himself over the toilet, dinner rising back up in his throat, he threw up the seat. Shaking, he held himself over the porcelain toilet, fingertips staining it red, as he heaved. Soap bubbles dripped from his hands over the edge of the bowl, spattering on the ground.

Each drop spurred a recollection of the night’s events.

*Plop* The man was dead before he hit the grown, brain matter spattering the wall.

*Plop* A bullet whistled through the air, missing Dick by millimeters, lodging six inches next to the little girl’s head. He ran, screaming <em>“Dick!”</em>

*Plop* Blood sprayed out, a bullet ripping through Dick’s shoulder, as he kept moving towards the man.

*Plop* <em>“Stop!”</em> Tackling Dick out of the way, he screamed for them to stop, ripping napkins off a table and desperately trying to stop Dick’s life from slipping through his fingers.

He fell to his knees, a pit growing in his stomach spreading to his chest, rooting him to the spot. He curled his knees to his chest. Fuck. Dick had been shot before. But this? It was different. They weren’t in costume, they hadn’t been ready – the man hadn’t even shot anyone, only the bastard cops had.

<em>“Love you.”</em>

What kind of final words were those! He sat on the tile floor, banging his head into the side of the wall. Dick couldn’t die. Not because he forced him on some dumb dinner date! It wasn’t fucking fair!

His vision blurred, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the tears, unless he wanted blood in his eyes. Just – fuck. “FUCK!” His shout reverberated around the room. This was all his fault – he should have stayed home with Lian, guilt pooled in the bottom of his stomach. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Why’d he always have to have the last word? What was wrong with him!? Normal people didn’t antagonize each other like that!

The door creaked open. “Roy?” Garth called, the door squealing as it slowly opened. “Donna’s here too, are you ohhhhhhhhh-kay?” His jaw dropped, though he quickly recovered. Roy looked away, in a failed attempt to hide the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Garth stared at his hands. “That’s a lot of blood.” He muttered, his eyes darting around the room. “I mean, I brought you clean clothes.” He placed pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt he’d stolen from Dick years ago on the counter. Roy’s eyes lingered on the shirt, no doubt the choice had been intentional.

The sound of rushing water cut through the silence, seeming to grow louder with each passing moment. Garth leaned back against the counter, hopping up next to the sink. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yep.” Dick was always fine. Always fine until he wasn’t.

“It’s not your fault.” Wrong.

“Debatable.” Garth frowned at the response but held his tongue. Instead, he let his head fall back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling.

Softly, barely above a whisper, he continued. “I left you all alone for one day and this is how it ends up.” Roy bit his lip. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Guilt bubbled in the bottom of his stomach, and annoyance overcame him; they’d had these conversations before.

“Are you kidding me? I know what you want me to say. It’s not your fault – of course not. But then you’ll say ah but it’s not my fault either.” Angrily throwing his arms in the air, he continued, his voice growing louder. “And no – Garth – actually it is my fault!” He could feel the blood rushing to his face. “I’m the one who made him go to the restaurant. I’m the one was too late getting him out of the line of fire!” His voice resounded around the cramped room. He banged his head against the wall again. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and thanks. But no thanks.”

Nonchalantly shrugging, Garth gestured to the water. “Wallowing here won’t make you feel less guilty. Apologizing when he wakes up will help, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be clean when the time comes.”

“Garth? Could you just…” He trailed off; anger quickly overcome by a wave of guilt. Shut up? Leave? Stop? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure he didn’t deserve whatever pity Garth was feeling. A wet paper towel smacked him in the face.

“Kick you in the rear so you’ll get off your sorry ass and clean yourself up?” Hopping off the counter, Garth strode over, lifting Roy by the elbow. “That’s not my style. But I’ll help you get cleaned up.” He let himself be dragged towards the running water, facing himself in the mirror once more, though this time he focused on Garth.

Sometimes Dick could swear he was actually a time traveler. Or maybe had latent teleportation abilities. Realistically, he’d probably just blacked out from blood loss or a concussion, but eh, that option wasn’t as fun. Blinking, he found himself in a familiar setting; a hospital room in a private wing, at – a clock ticked to his left, looking up – it was 4:19am.

He waited a minute, watching the clock turn to 4:20 - nice.

What was he doing again? How long was he out?

He struggled for a moment before remembering that he went out with Roy at 6pm last night, so he was out for… god math was hard. Six to twelve is six hours plus four, uh, ten hours and twenty minutes. Right. As long as it was the same day, he was set.

“Shit.” He promptly realized he couldn’t move his left arm. A sling. UGH. “Son of a-” he cut himself off, realizing he wasn’t alone in the room, Donna was gently snoring in a nearby chair, a little throw blanket covering her. The patterns had fish people… there was a word for that… mer-somethings-maids, mermaids. Mermaids – Garth – Garth was here, that was his blanket.

Dick scanned the room, checking for signs of life. Someone’s bag was on the floor, but he didn’t feel like expending the brain power to figure out who’s. Alright. He steeled himself. Now was the perfect time for escape.

The room spun as he sat up, turning around and round again before his eyes. Hah. Count Vertigo was way worse than this. Yep, head empty, room spinning, this was fine. Swinging his legs over the bed, an alarm blared next to his head.

“Fuck!” He jumped out of his skin, springing to his feet, in a defensive position. Well. He thought he did. The room was tilting on its side, the high-pitched noise shattering his thoughts. Instinctively, he tried to run.

“Woah there, shorty.” He found himself held by strong arms, the world turning once more. The familiar scent of Roy’s aftershave overpowered his senses. Distantly he was aware of the alarm turning off, his legs hitting the back of the bed. Roy’s face swam into view as he was guided back onto the bed, now propped up by soft pillows. So much for escape…

He closed his eyes, waiting for the rush of dizziness to pass. “Roy?” Warm arms wrapped around his torso, snaking tenderly around the sling. “What?” He mumbled - not that he was complaining, as he nestled his chin on Roy’s shoulder. He sighed contentedly, pressing his face into Roy’s stiff neck, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth.

For some reason, the wheels in his brain began turning. Roy. Dinner. Gunshots. His eyes shot open. “Fuck did you get hit, are you okay?” He pulled back, scanning Roy for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Roy facepalmed.

“What?”

“You got shot and you’re asking if <em>I’m</em> okay?” Roy shook his head, exhaustion clear in his voice. Dick looked at his sling again.

“I got shot?” It was like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. “I got shot…” Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere else? “How the fuck am I supposed to explain this to my boss?”

Sighing, Roy took a seat on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?” Turning, he looked Dick in the eyes. “Don’t answer that actually. Look, I’m sorry I made you go out to dinner.”

“Why? It was nice.” The food was good. Sputtering, Roy searched for words.

“Well. Don’t say I never apologized.” A little bit of a blush crept up his neck.

His mind abruptly recalled something he’d heard Roy saying to Lian. “Apologies come with hugs.” Roy rolled his eyes but moved closer anyways.

“You don’t even know why I’m apologizing.” He mumbled, brushing Dick’s bangs to the side. Dick grinned as Roy pecked his forehead, sweeping him into a second embrace. Two hugs in one day – that was a pretty good day. Roy’s fingers stroked through his hair, as Dick leaned into his muscular side, the world spinning slightly, though he’d found a solid rock to lean on.

[fandom-necromancer]

Coffee, crushes and Complications Prequel

This was prompted by an amazing anon! just a warning, this short got dark real quick. So please, heed the warnings and stay safe! It has a happy ending, but I have said in the other parts Gavin hit rock bottom, so I had to make him hit rock bottom. He does recover in the end and gets back on track that has him being happy as we know from part 1 and 2. It’s just a hard contrast, therefore I wanted to warn you. I hope you still enjoy heavy angst!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Characters: Gavin Reed, Tina Chen (Warnings: depression, description of depressive behaviours, Character thinks about suicide, implied suicide attempt (that doesn’t happen, not even the attempt!), suicidal thoughts) If you want to skip the suicide related part skip from “It was two weeks...” to “Tina! Tina, don’t say anything!”

[Part1]   [Part2]   [Part3]   [Part4]

‚Hey, Boss, what’s up?‘ Gavin marched into Fowlers office with a grin and a spring in his step. He had all his cases solved in record time and had finally endured the cry-babies of machines that had come in lately with stories of assault and attempted murder. What had they expected simply stopping to work to looked like? But he had done nothing wrong, at least nothing Fowler could prove, and that was the most important thing. ‘You are fired, Gavin.’ Gavin blinked. He must have misheard something. ‘The phck?’ ‘You are fired, Detective Reed. Hand in your badge and pistol and pack your things.’ ‘What? Why?’ ‘Why?!’ Fowler stood up and leaned over the table. ‘You really even dare to ask that?’ ‘Errr…. Yes?’ ‘Well, then sit down and get comfortable, because I have a whole fucking list!’, the Captain shouted. ‘And I finally can say what I wanted to tell you for so long, because I will finally get rid of you now!’ Gavin did sit down, but not because he wanted to. His knees had suddenly failed him.

‘First of all: You are a real asshole.’ ‘Yes, I know but-‘ ‘I don’t mean it in a funny way!’, Fowler interrupted. ‘You are a true asshole. A bad person. You treat your co-workers as if they personally attacked you. You are unable to work in a team without sabotaging the whole mission for your benefit. You actively try to make others look worse than you are so you seem like the best one. You are so obsessed with getting promoted you fail to do your work, you are constantly breaking protocol and don’t think I didn’t realise! I did. I just never said anything because, shit, sometimes that was an advantage. But this was the final misstep, Reed! I can’t tolerate your shit any longer!’ Gavin swallowed, then threatened: ‘And what should that be exactly?’ He let his anger speak for himself, but deep inside his guts had twisted into a tight ball.

Fowler leaned back. ‘Your anti-android behaviour. Fucking hell, I thought you would learn with time. I thought you would catch up to the others. But no, you continue calling androids names, calling them “it” instead of he, she or they and treating them like malfunctioning machines. These people come to us for help and you laugh them in the face!’ Gavin huffed amused, then outright laughed in Fowler’s face. ‘Captain, that’s a good joke. You don’t actually believe… They are not human. They will never be. Phck, I wouldn’t even consider them persons. They are some fancy part of machinery, so complexly programmed that maybe they even believe themselves to be persons. But they are not! They are objects, robots. And some fancy revolution and new laws can’t change that simple fact!’ ‘And that’s why I have to fire you. I can’t have you interrogating someone knowing you will personally dismantle them if they don’t talk! They are machines. But they are persons too. And you have to respect that. Fuck, Gavin, what did you think?’ ‘I thought and still think they are not alive. It doesn’t matter what you do to them, it’s just simulated. They don’t feel a thing.’ ‘Are you really sure about that?’, Fowler asked, weirdly calm considering he had been furious just before. ‘Even after Connor?’ ‘Connor is a big reason for me being absolutely certain’, Gavin said.

‘Then hand in your badge and service weapon.’ Gavin stared at the outstretched palm. ‘Oh, come on, Jeffrey, you can’t do this to me. I’m your best man!’ ‘I can, I will and I must. And you haven’t been my best officer for a long time. Hank is back – thanks to that apparently lifeless android Connor – and the RK800 is the best Detective you can wish for. Now, I won’t repeat myself.’ Gavin was sitting there completely numb. He didn’t even have energy left in him to complain and that was saying something. He pulled his pistol out of the holster and handed it over, before unclipping his badge. He looked down on the polished metal with his name on it and thought back to the day he had been handed it. How proud he had been. How much of his pride still was engraved in this piece of metal. He had worked hard for this and by now… Shit, this little piece of leather and metal basically was his whole identity. He pushed his thumb over the letters. G. Reed.

‘The badge, Reed.’ He blinked, took a deep breath, held it and pressed the badge into Fowler’s hand. Then he stood up and pressed out: ‘That’s all?’ ‘That’s all.’ Gavin contemplated saying something. Something witty maybe, or something mean, something that would hurt and gave him that little satisfaction of revenge, even if it didn’t mean much. But he couldn’t think of anything, his head was filled with cotton and everything tingled with numbness. So, he just nodded and left, trying to keep up his composure. It was hard without the added weight on his hip that had made his step a bit broader than it normally was. He stared at the ground not to have to look into their faces. Would they laugh? Would they care? Or worse: would they pity him? Whatever they might feel towards him leaving, he couldn’t face it and so he just took what little possessions he had decorated his table with and left. ‘Hey, Gavin, what’s-‘ That was Tina, but Gavin had already passed the security gates and as soon as he was outside the building he ran to his car, dropping his things on the passenger seat and starting the engine to speed off. He was just moments away from a total breakdown, the fact that others might see him and that he couldn’t drive in that state the only thing keeping his composure up. He parked the car messily in front of his apartment, took his things and stumbled up the stairs in a hurry. He barely managed to unlock the door, dropping his keys once and failing to pick them up first try as his eyes had blurred over.

Then finally he was inside, had closed the door and dropped his things on his sideboard, before leaning on it heavily finally allowing his feelings to spill over. He knelt in front of the small wooden furniture, his hands holding onto the edge to keep him steady somewhere. How could this happen? He was untouchable. He was good at his job. He was damn good at his job. He wasn’t good at anything else. He had only ever been a Detective and… Oh god, he didn’t have a job anymore. He wouldn’t be able to pay his rent. He could make it a few months, but he would have to find something else soon and oh god, what if he had to give his cat away and phck he didn’t have a job anymore and… Did the whole world hate him?

He half kneeled, half sat there, crying, his stomach cramping and heaving and trying to keep his meal down through it all. His shoulders shook and he didn’t trust his hands or his legs for that matter. Standing up was out of question. He crawled over to the wall to prep himself up against it and the sideboard, that was about all he did that day, crying until no more tears would come, his nose was hurting and the muscles of his abdomen aching from overuse. He was thirsty, but at the same time it didn’t matter. He was cold but hell, what did that mean? He needed a shower to get out of his partially wet clothes and maybe feel human again. But he knew he wouldn’t even make it to the living room. So why bother? He didn’t move and tried not to think.

He woke up still in the same position and sat up with his back cracking. Something warm shifted against his legs and stretched. He looked down on his cat, who looked up to him as if asking why her human was so upset. ‘I phcked up, Bready. I’m sorry.’ He scratched her behind the ears. ‘And I haven’t given you anything yet, have I? Sorry. You must be starving. Come on, daddy will get you something.’ With that he finally managed to stand up, but still had to lean against the wall, waiting for his circulation to catch up. He carried himself into the kitchen, gave Bready her food and threw himself a frozen pizza into the oven not wanting any poor delivery guy to see him like this.

He rubbed his forehead that by now hurt like a thousand needles from his dehydration headache. So, he opened the fridge and his eyes fell on his liquor collection. Should he… But it would only make things worse. Could things go worse? To be honest, he just wanted to sleep. He should save the alcohol for tomorrow when he would need it. He ate his pizza, drank his water, forced himself to take a shower and dropped into bed. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

-

It wasn’t. He was awoken by his alarm, had sat up and halfway left the bed as he remembered that right, no work to go to. Rubbing his face and scrunching it up as he rested his face in his hand, he thought about what to do. In the end he did stand up to give Bready her food and retreat back to bed. She soon joined him, a welcome weight against his legs. As he woke up hours later, she was still there, and Gavin watched her for a while. Damn, why couldn’t he have been born a fat, carefree housecat? He fetched his phone, tried to switch it on and sighed as it wouldn’t. He struggled to get the charger out without disturbing Bready. When he finally could switch on his phone, he immediately was bombarded with messages and missed calls from Tina. He read over them but deleted the notifications from the calls and left her on read. He didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like anything at all. In the end he flicked through the same apps on his phone, fell asleep and circled them through again once he woke up. He stood up to get his cat some food, then went straight to bed. He didn’t want to eat, so he didn’t.

The next day he managed to eat breakfast, but only because he had switched off his alarm and his cat woke him up with screaming. He threw some water in his face, then returned to bed. Tina had called again. Had messaged too. Gavin put his phone on his nightstand face down.

In the evening he couldn’t lie in bed anymore, never feeling comfortable and always sore. He faced his fridge again and took the next-best bottle. When he fell asleep on the couch hours later it was empty.

The hangover was hard, but Gavin liked the sobering pain. He didn’t like throwing up in the toilet first thing in the morning though. He skipped breakfast and lunch lying in bed. As Tina had called for the millionth time, he finally got the energy to answer the call, shout: ‘Phck off, don’t wanna talk!’ into the mic and drop it back down. Dinner was some instant noodles. With lots of alcohol.

When the weekend came, his reserves had been depleted. He was left to water and stale coke. Maybe that was something good? Gavin didn’t think in these categories anymore. Then the doorbell rang. And it rang again. And again. Gavin would have appreciated it staying this way of it ringing and him not answering, but then the call came from outside: ‘Gavin, you absolute fuck, I know you are home and you know I will kick down this door, now open up before you have to pay for a new door and lock without a job!’ Way to go Tina. Gavin just sighed, but obeyed, opening the door. He had planned to tell her to go, but she somehow already had made it past his sluggish reflexes. ‘Holy fuck it reeks!’ The first thing she did was opening the windows, letting in fresh air. ‘How the fuck did you live like this?’, she asked pointing at the dirty plates on the floor. ‘And fucking hell, you look like death!’ Gavin just shrugged. ‘Feel like death too.’ She took him by the back of his shirt and pushed him towards the bathroom. ‘You will take a shower and if I have to watch you do it!’ Gavin tried to protest, but somehow he was already standing under the stream fully clothed. His hoodie began to weigh him down, but he didn’t care. ‘Gavin, I won’t mother you. You will get out of your clothes on your own. Call me if you need anything, I will cook you something.’ Gavin shook his head violently. ‘Tina!’ She turned around to look him in the eyes sternly. ‘You should go. I need more time.’ ‘You got plenty of time. I won’t let you destroy yourself like this! You got fired. That’s all. No one died. No one is ill. You will find a new job and better days will come.’ ‘Someone died’, Gavin disagreed. ‘I did. I died when I handed in that badge, Tina.’ ‘Oh fuck off you melodramatic asshole. I am speaking to you right now. So you fucking are alive and need to wash yourself. And you need food, so I will cook. And then we will talk.’

She had left, but Gavin still winced as if she had struck him with a knife. Talk. Oh, please, anything but that.

‘Any plans what to do now?’ ‘Any idea what kind of job you would like?’ ‘How about going out to a movie tomorrow?’ ‘Gavin, fucking talk to me!’ Gavin swallowed hard. ‘You should leave, really. Thanks for the food and for kicking my ass, but I’m not ready yet. This job was all I ever wanted and all I ever had.’ ‘Bullshit.’ ‘No! No bullshit! For once I’m completely serious Tina! What do you think I have except for it? Everyone phcking hates me, I can’t do anything else and I don’t have anyone to help me! All I have is this flat and my useless phcking cat! I. Have. Nothing! And I’m sorry if a few nice words from pity-party Tina won’t suddenly make me function again!’ ‘Pity-party?’ ‘That’s what this is, isn’t it?’, Gavin shouted. ‘You secretly enjoy it, don’t you? Oh, look someone that has phcked up! Let’s pretend we actually like the guy and don’t just profit from him! Then we can say: see? See how he got better? That was me!’ ‘Gavin!’ ‘What?’, Gavin spat back. ‘Tell me that’s not what you are trying to do! Tell me you mean it, it will be a real nice joke, I can tell you that!’

Tina stood up and in exactly that moment, Gavin had realised he had made a mistake. Another mistake. He had wanted to be angry, about who and what didn’t matter. But well, it did. ‘You know what, Gavin Reed? I’ve been your friend for a long time. Do you really think I listen to an asshole like you, to talks like this and fake being your friend? What weird twist of logic is that? I wanted to help! I really wanted to. But if this is how you respond to that, I clearly wasted my time! Goodbye.’

And Gavin’s days turned back to lying in bed with his cat and stupid phone games, getting up only when he needed to pee, when Bready needed food or when he couldn’t postpone eating any longer himself. One day he actually went out to get some canned food that was easy to prepare, food for Bready and alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

It was two weeks after he had been fired, that he sat in the corner of the living room, a bottle next to him and the shards of a broken glass in his hand, that he carefully pulled out. He didn’t even feel the pain. Not really. Should he… It was tempting. He had no one, he had no job, no goals… Was it even worth it? He had looked far too long at the blood pooling in his hand and the largest shard in his other. It was just a movement after all. But then Bready’s head suddenly appeared and Gavin cursed. ‘No, bad! Shoo! This is dangerous! Damn cat!’ He let the shard fall to the ground and picked up his cat with his uninjured hand, carrying her over to the kitchen and keeping her busy with some treats. Once he was sure she was occupied, he returned to his corner outfitted with a dustpan to pick up the shards so Bready couldn’t step in them.

Only when he saw the bloody shards, he flinched back. He had seen these pictures far too often. Had filed them away as evidence. Had asked himself how people could do something like this, often leaving family and friends behind. And now… Phck no! Phck no, not him! He wouldn’t… He had always been a fighter, hadn’t he? Then why had he given up just moments ago? No, he wouldn’t… He would. He would finally get his ass up and act! What had Tina done last weekend? What had she done…

Open the windows. He retraced her steps after he had gotten rid of the shards and bandaged his hand. He opened the windows, looked to the ground and fetched the dirty plates. He put them in the dishwasher. He cuddled his phcking lifesaver of a cat extra-long and took a shower – this time without his clothes. Then he took his phone from the shelf he had put it on to ignore it and sat down on the couch. He dialled the number on autopilot and waited until he got an answer. It didn’t take long.

‘Tina! Tina, don’t say anything! I don’t know if I can build up this courage again if you say something. Just listen, please. I was an idiot. I was a total asshole to you, and I understand you completely if you don’t want to talk to me or ever see me again. But I really need your help and I want to make up to the terrible things I said to you. I may not have much left, but I have my fantastic cat, I am still alive, and I hope I still have you. I need someone to kick my ass and I know you are best in that. I need you right now. I want to look for a new job, I want to start again, and I don’t want to lose you as my friend.’ He pressed his eyes closed and waited for an answer. ‘Tina?’ ‘What? You told me to shut up and listen! I’m already on my way over to your place with job offers from a few newspapers, you giant asshole. Should I get takeout? Are you hungry?’ ‘You are not mad?’ ‘Oh, believe me, I am mad. But I am also proud of you, Gavin. And if you think you can get rid of me, you don’t know me!’ Gavin audibly exhaled. ‘Oh, Tina, I don’t know what I would do without you.’ ‘Yeah, sometimes I wonder, too. I’ll hang up now, okay? Gotta go place our order. Just wait for me, okay? We’ll fix this shithole of a situation you are in in no time, believe me!’

Gavin smiled, the first time in two weeks. The call had already ended, but he still whispered: ‘Yes. I believe you.’

[>next part]

[jalapeno-princess]

In Between the Lines

Librarian Jinyoung X Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Jinyoung is a librarian at your university’s library and you visit the library quite often. The two of you develop crushes on each other but you are both shy to confess to one another. 

A/N: I rushed while writing this so I’m sorry if it sucks but I hope you enjoy it anon!

“Jackson, I don’t care that we’re friends, that isn’t going to stop me from bothering you about returning “To Kill a Mockingbird”. It’s four months overdue man, where is it? I’m tired of having to come up with excuses for you. I don’t understand why you borrowed it in the first place. I bet you haven’t even read it once since you checked it out.” 

The older boy scoffed at his librarian friend while crossing his arms in disbelief. “I did too read it! It’s about killing a mockingbird. Duh. The title practically gives away the entire story. Fine, I’ll be honest. I’ve been meaning to bring it back for the longest time but I misplaced it just a few days ago. I’m sure it’s under the pile of dirty clothes I never end up washing—hey Park Jinyoung! Are you even listening? What are you looking at—oh. God dude, can you make it anymore obvious that you like y/n? Stop staring at her, it’s creepy. Everybody and their mothers know that you have a huge crush on her. I’m sure even she knows. You leave the library open an hour later just so you can continue gawking at her just hurry up and tell her how you feel already—I swear to God Jinyoung—“ he took his hand off of Jackson’s mouth and sent his outspoken friend a death defying glare. 

“Shhhhhh! This is why my manager keeps threatening to ban you from coming here. You’re always so loud. Keep it down would you? To kill a mockingbird has nothing to do with a damn bird so return the damn book by tomorrow or I’m sending you a bill. And can you be any more louder about my feelings for y/n? If she didn’t know before, she probably knows now you loud mouth. This is why nobody tells you anything. Now get out of here.” Jackson scoffed sarcastically and stuck his tongue out before waving to Jinyoung and taking his leave. 

To be quite honest, Jinyoung couldn’t give less of a shit over the missing book. Matter of a fact, he never really understood why he applied to be a librarian at his university’s library. Sure he loved reading, and the library was an extremely quiet place. That was unless one of his friends paid him an unwanted visit. He never had much to do other than to check out books, put back returned books, search through the computer if a student was looking for a specific book and to call people if their books were overdue. It was an easy job and the pay was decent considering he hardly ever did anything but sit there and watch reruns of Friends. 

At one point, he even contemplated on quitting so he could focus on his studies but that all changed the first time his eyes landed on you. He didn’t notice you walk in to the library but his eyes never left your figure once when you first approached him to ask where you could find “The Great Gatsby”. 

Whenever someone would ask Jinyoung where they could find a book, he would just motion them towards the shelf. However, when he found himself getting up and motioning for you to follow him as he made his way down a few rows of books, he knew he was in trouble. You were shy and soft spoken, two traits that caught his attention as soon as you began talking to him. He was quick to pick up on the crack in your voice and the redness that rose on your cheeks and he thought it was the most adorable thing ever. 

As soon as he led you to the literature section, there was something inside of him that didn’t want to leave your presence just yet. “This is actually one of my favorite books. Are you required to read it for a class or are you just reading it to read it?” 

You scrunched your nose while shaking your head and Jinyoung could’ve sworn he’s never seen anything cuter. “I’ve been actually wanting to read it for a while now, but I never had the chance to. Luckily, we have to write a six page essay about it for my English class.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment. “Have you seen the movie? It’s an actual shit show if you ask me. It’s nothing like the book. I don’t think any movie does any justice for the novel it’s based on.” You giggled softly on how irritated he seemed when talking about the movie. He opened his mouth to continue but then he felt a vibration in his pocket. “I’m needed at the front desk. It was nice meeting you—um—“ he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. How could he not have learned your name before talking nonsense to you?

“Y/n. My name is y/n.” He gave you a gentle smile before slowly making his way towards the front. 

“Nice meeting you y/n. Don’t hesitate to ask me any questions. You know where to find me! Happy reading!” Once he took his seat back at the counter, he face palmed himself and groaned in frustration. Happy reading? Who says that? He felt like such an awkward loser but he knew it was because he didn’t know how to act around you. 

Park Jinyoung wasn’t one to get involved with girls. He was always so focused on his studies, his job and his pet rabbit that he never had the time for any sort of relationship. Nobody ever caught his eye before. However, he couldn’t get the image of your pretty little face out of his mind. 

From that day on, Jinyoung made it his goal to try and talk to you every time you came in to the library. To his delight, you seemed to frequent the library quite often and you’d always stop by the front desk to say hi to Jinyoung before going to study or find a book to read. Jinyoung would put books away as an excuse to talk with you and whenever he felt like the conversation was flowing well between the two of you, he would completely forget the task at hand and give you his full attention. 

Unfortunately, Jinyoung was a coward and could never build up the guts to tell you how he felt, leaving the two of you in an awkward position. You weren’t necessarily friends, no matter how badly the two of you wanted to be but you weren’t exactly strangers either. In your short talks together, you learned quite a lot about the mysterious and extremely handsome librarian. He was a law major trying to save enough money to open up his own book store. His favorite show was Parks and Recreations, he liked going to the beach when it was storming out and swam in the rain, his favorite color was navy blue and he was allergic to broccoli. 

You enjoyed spending as much time with him as you could but you didn’t understand what it meant. Something about the way he listened to you and looked at you like you were some kind of marvel as you explained your obsession with Keanu Reeves caused you to grow more and more curious about Jinyoung and it made your heart desire things you know you shouldn’t be wanting. 

The more you developed feelings for him, the harder it was going to the library and seeing him knowing that you wanted more than just the simple hellos and small talk in between the bookshelves. It’s been months since your first initial meeting and he’s done nothing to make a move on you, so you felt as if he didn’t see you that way and you accepted it for what it was. 

Right after Jackson left, Jinyoung couldn’t help but think about his words. Was it obvious that he had feelings for you? Were you aware of it? And how did you feel about him? Jinyoung wanted nothing more than to be the one you went running to whenever life got hard. Every time you would bring up how rough your day was going, he wanted to be the one to make it better. He wanted to take you out on cute little dates, stay up talking to you on the phone, hold you in his arms while looking at the sunset, learn more about your likes, dislikes, and he wanted to know how it felt to be loved by someone. By you.

He’s found himself multiple times reading excerpts from books that reminded him of you and the way your smile would light up the room. There were occasions where he would even highlight passages in some of the libraries’ books that reminded him of you and it got to the point where his manager was having him look for the culprit. As he began to come up with ways to ask you out, he didn’t even notice what time it was until you approached the desk. 

“Hey.” His breath hitched at the sight of you. You pulled out your hair from the bun it was in earlier and Jinyoung couldn’t help but stare at you in all your beauty. Whenever you would come in to the library, your hair was always in in either a braid, bun or ponytail. This was the first time he got to see how your hair framed your pretty face and he was on the verge of a breakdown. You felt self conscious under his stare and waved your hand in front of his face to break him out of his reverie and smiled to yourself when you noticed the blush that was now on his cheeks. 

“Hi, sorry. I um—sorry.” You giggled as you gave him the book you were holding. “Ah, Looking for Alaska. A great choice. The movie just came out a few weeks ago.” There he was again, telling you about the book’s movie. Whenever you went to borrow a book, if there was a movie for it, he’d always bring it up and you always wanted for him to lead it in to more. 

“Have you seen it?” He shook his head in disagreement. 

“Nope. I’ve been wanting to though.” With the confidence you didn’t know you were capable of, you spoke up, finally making your move on the handsome boy in front of you. If he didn’t harbor the same feelings for you, then you’d accept it for what it was and just stop going to the library altogether. But you wouldn’t know how the older boy felt if you didn’t ask. The worst thing he could do was say he didn’t feel the same. You could feel your heart rate increase as you began to think about what you would say to him, but the words just fell out before your mind could process them.

“Would you maybe want to watch it together sometime?”

Jinyoung could’ve sworn his heart was about to jump out of his chest at your offer. Did this mean what he could only hope and dream that it meant? “Yes! Ah—I mean I’d love to—sure—God what is going on with me today—“ the gentle kiss that was placed on his cheek made him freeze. 

“I like you, Park Jinyoung. And a little birdie might or might not have told me you like me too.”

The idea of Jackson telling you of his feelings for you made his blood boil, but he wasn’t going to let his now negative feelings for his friend ruin the moment with you that he’s been dreaming of for months. “I uh—that might be true—it is true—why can’t I form actual sentences—I like you a lot y/n. More than I’m willing to admit if I’m being honest and I’m sorry it took so long. But I’d be happy if you’d let me take you out on a date.” 

You beamed up at him while nodding in agreement and before you knew it, he exited the counter and made his way towards you. 

“Oh, and that cute little peck isn’t going to cut it.” 

As you were about to ask him what he meant, his lips were on yours. He brought his hands up to your face and cupped your cheeks while molding your lips together. His lips were chapped and rough against yours, but you loved how it felt as if your body was in flames by the ministration. Every time he would talk with you, you’d find yourself absentmindedly staring at his pretty, pouty lips and wanted nothing more than to experience what they felt like against yours. Now that you’ve had a taste, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough.

“You know y/n, we can skip the date and we can just make out in here all night.” 

You playfully shoved his arm to prevent him from seeing the effect he was having on you. He squeezed your hips while leaving soft, chaste kisses on the juncture of your neck. The feeling of how close your bodies were together as he continued showing love to your body was driving you to the brink of insanity and earned Jinyoung a breathy moan. 

“Shhhh baby, we’re in a library remember? You’re going to have to keep it down. Keep the volume up and I’m just going to have to teach you a lesson.”

[crystaldwightsworld]

Adam, post surgery, on medical leave...

So... I’ve got this whole, weird, crazy, obviously non canon idea in my head for something I wanna do.

It’s obvious that Adam is struggling even after the 6 months of medical leave Sarif has given him but what’s been on my mind is, what’s he been doing in the 6 months prior?

Surely, drinking up a storm, smoking and eating massive amounts of cereal to try and manage to cope but I can’t imagine the amount of pain he must have been in in adjusting to his augmentations. I mean, severe pain, agony and anguish. Not to mention the clear breakdown he has the first night he gets home from the clinic. I’m talking a severe breakdown, crying, beating on the wall of his shower, wailing, angry and pained tears. It’s all he can do on most days other than get out of bed. He’s fallen to the bottom pit of a depressive state that he can’t even be bothered to clean up after himself (i.e. the piles of empty cereal bowls strewn about counter tops and tables, unpacked belongings, etc), let alone look at himself (the first broken mirror). Adam loathes his augs, suffers greatly with body dysphoria now that more than half his body is gone and replaced with mechanical limbs he never consented to but on top of all of it, his ex-girlfriend is gone, whom he was really good friends with even after the break up. Even his dog is gone.

He’s become aware of how serious his neglect is getting. As much as he’d like to handle it on his own and as much as he prefers being a loner, there’s a big part of him that knows he can’t, especially when he has more days where he just wants nothing more than to lay in bed. So, he hires somebody. A maid in such words but she’s more like a house sitter but also called on to be a caregiver for Adam, to Adam. Her name is Adley and even though Adam isn’t quite sure at first with how young she is (she’s 24, yes, major age difference, if that bothers you, then I understand) she adheres and abides by his politely requested rules in keeping his apartment tidy and kempt following in keeping an eye on him, his health and his daily exercises in adjusting with his augs. It’s a long, grueling six months for them both but she’s been better than he would have ever asked for. She’s extremely mindful in keeping his privacy in mind, knocks on the door before entering, doesn’t touch anything she’s not supposed to or rearranging his possessions, keeps his extensive collection of cereals in stock, makes sure he takes his medicine and eats all while being even as quiet as he is, unless she’s playing music that she politely asks to play while she works on her surroundings, trip-hop she called it, some bands he’s never heard of, massive attack and unkle (to which he’s caught her on more than one occasion dancing to while she worked, and yes, he finds it rather cute). He appreciates her but doesn’t quite know how to show or tell her. She does more for him other than provide a service.

Adley, on the other hand, likes Adam, has grown to admire him. Like, really likes him although it’s something she’d never admit to anyone. She genuinely cares for him and his well being and has shown it to him, even in his supposed unawareness of it (i.e. covering him with a blanket after he’s fallen asleep on the couch or in his bed, closing the door and hardly bothering him on days where his pain levels are too much to handle, chatting with him in the early hours of the morning through messenger or skype when he can’t sleep, sending him memes she knows he’d find funny). Adam’s augmentations don’t bother her but when she shows up one afternoon after Adam’s taken off to an appointment at a LIMB clinic, she discovers just how serious his self loathe really is when she finds the mirror in his bathroom shattered to pieces, cracked and broken with one perfectly shaped impact of what she thinks is his fist. It’s not hard for her to put two and two together. Adam hated himself and would rather destroy a reflective surface than catch a glimpse of himself in it. It breaks her heart, especially since she found him more than attractive, augs or no augs, she’d feel the same. She’d worked hard to gain Adam’s trust and now that she has it, she feels that she might be jeopardizing it by bringing up concerns.

It bothers her immensely to the point where her bother shifts quickly in worry with a desperate need to tell him, to show him that he shouldn’t... when he does. She brings it up after he arrives back, genuine concern laced in her voice when she questions him about it.

“The mirror... did you- did you break it?”

But, alas, the stoic that he was, he brushes if off immediately and claims that it was nothing. Claims that he’s fine. Retreats to the confines of his room with nothing more than a peep uttered, leaving Adley to her thoughts, confused and conflicted. She knows better than to push him on it.

It’s the third one he’s broken. He hadn’t meant for her to find it. Had forgotten completely that it was one of those days where she made her routine visits. But even then, the mirror still would have been there, she still would have noticed it. He spends nearly the rest of the evening, glaring and gawking at his handiwork, reflecting on the force of his punch, the anger in what was left of his veins, the ache still hiding behind his steel heart (literally). He doesn’t realize just how long he’s been sitting there lost in a daze until she knocks on the frame of his doorway, announcing that she was about to leave for the evening and asking if he needed anything. That was Adley. Always so sweet and kind, worried about him way before she’d be worried about herself. With shoulders still slumped and his back still to her, he finally manages to speak, the first words he’s spoken to her in hours.

“Adley, can I talk to you for a minute?” His raspy low voice asks to her. There’s absolutely no lilt or fall to his tone but her heart nearly sinks to her feet, so certain that this was going to be the last time she’d ever see him, that he was going to fire her. Either way, she steps into the room and makes her way over to him, standing a few feet away from him in waiting for his dismissal, her fingers anxiously fidgeting in her nervousness.

It’s a long, empty and barren silence between them before he finally turns to match her gaze. There was no point in ignoring it any longer.

“I broke the mirror.” He admits. His confession surprises her.

“You’re not firing me?” She asks, to his surprise.

“Of course not, why would I?” He asks, genuinely confused.

“I thought I- I-I don’t know, maybe I had over stepped a line or something.” She brings up, her voice breaking and cracking. She’s nervous, Adam senses. “Why did you break the mirror?”

Adam inhales and sighs heavily, stretching his lengthy legs out in front of him and combing his fingers through his hair. He takes one last quick glance at his destroyed mirror before reminding himself not to look at it and shifting his gaze back to Adley. She’s not expecting it when he retracts his eye shields. She’s never seen him without them.

“Because... because I hate these fucking augs, I hate looking at them, what they make me. They’re apart of me now and there’s nothing I can do about it. I almost died on that table, Adley. They say they saved my life but... with what they had to do to do it, with what they gave me... sometimes I wonder if I’d be better off dead. Should have let me die there. I can hardly stand to look at myself because that’s not me, that’s not... Adam. I- for fuck’s sake, I can’t even jack off, cannot get my goddamn rhythm back- I-” He pauses, realizing what he just said with his mind running rampant with thoughts, he hadn’t even thought twice about what he was saying. Adley still stood there, waiting and listening to him although was now doing a horrible job to hide the smile that had appeared on her lips.

It’s faint, hardly there at all but even in the dim light seeping through his blinds that was the Detroit night, she catches the grin that appears just ask quick as it vanishes, watching Adam close his eyes against the embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry Adley, I’m sure you don’t wanna listen to me vent and rant.” Adam breaks the awkward silence.

“N-no Adam, it’s okay, really. I don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you, if you need to leave-”

“No, I don’t but... Adam.” She says, her gaze lifting towards the bathroom where his broken mirror resided. He catches her glimpse. She has no idea how to put it into words, that his augmented limbs didn’t scare her, how much she adored him, how much she pondered and thought about him, immersed in fantasies and scenarios that would never happen...

“Can I try something? I mean, show you, I don’t know.” She asks him, wanting his permission. He nods. She wastes no time in making herself comfortable in front of him, between his now pulled up knees and... on hers before him. This is, this was highly, highly suggestive but he waits for her, enamored in her tiny frame in the darkness of his bedroom.

Her lacquered fingers lift cautiously and reach for his alloy plated hands. Augmented hands didn’t sense touch the exact same way skin did but either way, he could still feel her hands in his, her flesh chilled but cradling his carbon black fingers with a tenderness he had all but forgotten. She has no idea where this new found confidence was coming from but with her trust that she held with him, she’s not afraid to let her hand explore his forearm, letting his other touch her face as she pushes her cheek against his palm, almost lovingly all the while a gawking Adam stared at her, mouth slightly agape, his heart, artificial or not, thudding rampantly against the steel wall of his chest cavity. She... had no idea what this meant to him, what it felt like to be touched again. He’s so overwhelmed and fixated on her hands on him that he has to remember to tell himself to breathe.

“I don’t see the augs, Adam. I... only see you. Yes, apart of you may be gone, may have been taken from you but... this is still you, this is the Adam I know. Augs or no augs, I’d feel the same way. Trust me when I say that I don’t let just anybody near me like this, let alone touch. I don’t see a machine, a product. I see you, a man, my um- well my friend, I guess, if I’m being honest.” She tells him. Of course if she were really being honest, she’d tell him he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, that no one compared to him.

He may not show the emotion on his face but it’s written well in his eyes, glimmering in the low light and contracting in taking her in. They’d been close before but nothing like this, nothing intimate. Her hands move to his face, her skin grazing against his and goddamn, he could almost melt with the tiny brushes of her pinky fingers invading into his hair line.

“I can’t change the way you think or feel Adam but... next time, come to me maybe? You know I’m always okay to talk if you need to. A three in the morning skype call has never stopped you before, don’t let this stop you now. Not because you’re paying me but because I want to. That’s what people do when they care for each other. They help the other.”

He’s speechless, has absolutely no idea what to say but he words have touched him somewhere deep down in the wallows of his broken mind. And her hands on his face, he had forgotten what it was like to be touched again. As much as he’s fighting to hold them back, he can’t help the stray tears that roll down his prominent cheeks, Adley’s skinny long fingers brushing them away as she still cradled his face in her hands.

It’s quiet for some time between them, nothing but the sound of Adam’s breathing filling the empty silence. She’s not expecting anything, especially from Adam, he’s always been so guarded and blocked off and she’s more than used to it by now. It nearly knocks the breath out of her lungs when he pulls her to him, his arms hooked underneath her shoulders as he clung to her. She’s more than happy to reciprocate the hug, her arms wrapped around his waist and holding him close, this moment, she had played over so many times in her head yet it had never went this way. Adam was quiet as he held and hugged her to him but she doesn’t mind, even when his hold on her tightens. She’d stay there for as long as he needed her to.

“Stay with me.” His low voice whispers to her in the pregnant silence. Her eyes widen at his request. “Stay with me tonight. Please?” He pleads, his voice longing and desperate.

“Adam, I- I don’t have any clothes with me.” She reminds him.

“You can wear mine.” He offers. She smiles.

“I-I need to shower as well, I should really get going.”

“You can use my shower.” He assures her. Again, she smiles, huffing out a laugh. He pulls away to look at her, his fingers tangling and intertwining with hers. “Please, stay with me. I don’t want you to go.”

She can’t say no to that.

“Alright, Adam. I’ll stay.”

As much as he preferred being alone, he felt comforted to know that she’d be there in the morning with him. Maybe they could cuddle in bed together until noon, get up and make breakfast together. Well, she could teach him, at least.

“Well, if I’m gunna be staying here, we need to figure out the food situation. I don’t know about you but I’m starving. You wanna order take out?” Adley suggests, pulling away and standing.

“What, no cereal?” Adam chides.

“Adam, I am not eating cereal for dinner!” Adley whines as she makes her way back out into his kitchen.

“Why not? It’s good!”

“Adam!”

He joins her back out in the kitchen, looking and searching through the massive collection of restaurant menus he had stockpiled. It’s the happiest he’s felt in months. He couldn’t wait to wake up next to her in the morning.

[veridium]

Commission: “Easy (Mac) Does It”

Last but certainly not least in this month’s commission comes a piece near and dear to my heart. @ginnyq requested that I write a College AU fic starring Olivia and Cullen, and I was so happy to do it! Especially considering I know @bitchesofostwick would love to read it as well. 

Thank you for commissioning me, Ginny, and giving me a chance to write Cullen’s POV for a change!

--

It is a dark, desolate evening in winter. Even the crows dare not fly. Across campus there is hardly a soul crawling about. The winter storms brewed on the horizon. There are warnings on the evening news for ice and sleet. Even a rural midwestern guy like Cullen knows not to fuck around with that. For most of the night he’s been in the living room of the apartment reading for classes. Cassandra has long since gone to bed, leaving him to hold the proverbial fort. On the TV, there’s headlines about various worldly stressors. Ever-so-often he thinks to shut it off, but falls short of doing so every time. It’s like the way the stories keep him awake, if not increasingly unnerved. 

Which is why, when a small hand slams against the nearby window, he jerks out of half-lulled, half-jaded rest. Book, blanket, and legs go up, and he goes down hard onto the floor. First instinct is to go for the bat in the kitchen, one of few in the apartment placed in strategic locations. He can ask questions later. It’s not until he flips over onto his back and sees a familiar, but still horrifying pout in the glass, fogging it up with hot breath. 

“Cull’n, oh-pn th-dor!” 

It’s Liv, dressed in a dark windbreaker jacket with the hood over her head like she’s some nighttime security guard who also goes jogging after shifts. 

“Liv…! What the--”

She quickly sticks her finger over her lips and demands he quiet down. She removes her other hand from the glass and points in the direction of the door. She’s staring at him like he’ll either unlock it or she’ll initiate a curse in revenge. Groaning as he rises -- damn, he landed on his hip in just the most painful spot -- he stands on his tube-socked feet and drags them over to the door. Rustling bushes can be heard from outside but they blend in with the erratic wind gusts. 

Whatever could she want at this hour, and why does it involve almost sending him into cardiac arrest?

For the sake of not having to pay the school for apartment carpentry repairs should he refuse to let her in, he unchains the door and flipped the lock. Keen on the sounds of both, Liv’s pressing the door open with gusto that overpowers his wariness.  “Ugh, thank you,” she whispers, slipping inside and shutting it for him. She then backed against it and locked it again. “Is Cassandra awake?”

“Cassandra?” he asks with a normal volume, only to have her finger waved in the half-step of space there was between them. So this is all to see her? Why?

“Shh-yes! Fuck.” She then slides to check around the corner. 

“No,” he answers, grabbing her flailing hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Good. Dammit.” Without answering him she walks quietly into the kitchen and started pacing. “How could I have slipped up like this?”

“Uh…”

“No, no, there is no excuse.”

“I wasn’t going to say--”

“It is entirely reprehensible on my part, there is no way--”

“Olivia…!”

“Shhhh!” She spins around and shushes him again, her look twice as horrified as before. “For this to be fixed we have to be completely quiet, traceless, underc--”

Her phone goes off and she hops feet into the air, reaching into her jacket pocket and nearly flinging the iPhone across the kitchen, as if it’s a hot potato she grabbed out of the oven with her bare hands. 

“Shitshitshit.” She scrambles and turns off the ringer while Cullen covers his mouth which is sure to be cracked in a half-smile. It’s just too much. 

“Liv, what is going on?” he gets in as she makes for the small round dining table, sitting down and putting her head in her hands. “Are you in trouble or something?”

“I am. Or, I’m going to be. With Ellinor.”

He frowns. “Ellinor? Why…?”

“Um. Look, Rutherfudger,” she stares at him as he sits down across from her. She presses her hands onto the table flat. “I have a mission, and unfortunately for me, it requires the accompaniment of a capable man.”

“How...how disturbing, for you.”

“I know. But more specifically it requires you. At the present moment Ellinor is at a late night group project meeting, but when she gets back to the dorm she’s going to want a late night snack before knocking out.”

“...Yes?”

“A late night snack of the cheesy and carb variety.”

“...Yes, like those easy macs she…she...”

Olivia’s already pale face goes nearly paper white as she sinks back in her chair, slowly and with folding arms. Suddenly Cullen remembers a conversation -- a certain casual chat with Ellinor before class started, in which she mentioned a very specific qualm: Olivia had eaten all her easy mac bowls. Little blonde punk, she said as she pulled out her pens from her bag. 

The urge to start laughing rears its ugly head again as Cullen folds his own arms against his chest. “Not again, Liv.”

“Again? What has she told--” she is almost yelling again, but shuts herself up. After craning her neck out behind her to check down the hall, she gets back to business. “Look--”

“What’s stopping you from driving down to Walmart and picking up some? You have your car.”

Almost perfectly timed, a rolling current of thunder goes off outside. The rain clapping against the window makes it barely audible. Olivia sighs, mulling her teeth a little as her gaze falls.

“I haven’t been able to go in and get my new tires put on, yet, and the forecast called for freezing rain. I am a good driver, better than any of you cowboys, but I’m not stupid. I’m not going to trust a mini built for speed out there.”

Still amused, Cullen leans his elbows onto the table. “So. You don’t really need a man, you need 4-wheel drive.”

“I thought the “man” thing would appeal to your...weakness to be chivalrous, or whatever. Masculinity.”

“You think me that easily manipulated?”

She presses her palms together with conviction. “Look, Cullen, I have not the time nor the supplemental resources to have this disk horse now. We have but one hour -- nay, 45 minutes -- to keep me alive and keep you from danger.”

“Danger? Pff, what danger am I in if I don’t help…”

Liv lifts a brow. “Two words: hangry Ellinor.”

The silence that fills the room is comparable to the kind that happens right before a giant shark busts in and devours one of them like a tootsie pop. He holds his breath, their eyes locked, before he’s up and reaching for the keys hanging on the door next to his equally necessary raincoat. 

“Let’s go,” he says, but she doesn’t need the command. She’s already right there with him prying the door open. 

Approximately 24 minutes later they are standing before a disastrous scene in the Kroger section with every kind of boxed and pre-made pasta dish. Every kind, that is, save for the Kraft easy mac. Maybe it is a sign of the apocalypse -- it is based on the look on Olivia’s face -- but to the onlooker it probably looks like two college students in the midst of a midterm breakdown that is being exacerbated by a 14 inch gap of nothing on the shelf.

“What...w-what, w-why are they out of it?” Olivia finally says. A silence that came only after she had spent way too much time pacing the aisle looking for where it could be, while Cullen stood in front of where they had always been. 

“Would she like--”

“No,” Olivia answers fast. “No, it has to be easy mac.”

“...because she will no--”

“Notice. Yes.”

Cullen goes from wanting to “mistakenly” not see her banging on the window to wanting to almost hug her. For a 6-pack of Kraft? 

“I could text Rylen and see if he has any in h--”

“Ellinor is going to kill me.”

He turns to the side and looks at her. Her posture and expression of defeat further warms him. “Hey, it’s just easy mac.”

“Yeah, but it’s also the third time I’ve eaten out of her pantry and forgot to replace it. I said I’d be better, and now I’m going to be. Or, I was. Now I’m just going to go back to the dorm and lay myself out on the guillotine.”

She starts to leave and he follows a few steps. “Liv, he--”

“No, Rutherfetta, you don’t get it--”

“Rutherf--”

“--Ellinor puts up with so much of my shit every day, and the least I can do is make sure she doesn’t go without her own damn mac.”

The comedy of the night has all-but-vanished and they are left at an impasse. Cullen is no Dr. Phil, or whoever is respected publicly for therapeutic insight these days, but he can tell there’s something else going on. Something that would give Olivia extra reason for wanting to follow through with this. It’s kind of odd being the person to witness it. Odd, but not awful. Not anymore.

He grabs his keys and shuffles in his socks and Nike sandals over to her. She folds her arms, and for some reason he sees fit to stick his arm around her and get her to walk with him. 

“Come on, Liv, let’s go.”

“But...b-b-”

“I have a back-up plan in mind. Let’s just get back before the storm gets any worse.”

He drives them back to her and Ellinor’s dorm. Astoundingly, they do not take all night to do so, and avoid being swept away by the storm. Instead of staying in the car and saying God speed, though, he follows her inside. She eyes him with suspicion as he does. The two of them look a bit washed up coming down the hallway. When they arrive, Ellinor’s door is pitched open. She then comes out almost perfectly on cue. 

Her eyes go big with immediate concern. “What on earth are you two doing?” she asks. She crosses her arms over herself, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Her hair is tousled up in a ponytail. She’s beautiful. 

“I, uh--” 

Olivia interrupts. “Ellinor, I have to confess something, I...I-I...”

Hearing the guilt in Liv’s tone snaps him out of it. He shakes his head and grabs onto his keys in his pocket. “Liv was at our place, and gave me the idea to come over and surprise you.”

Ellinor’s eyes switch with suspicion between them both. She’s not entirely convinced, but there’s a light in her eyes. Hope.

“What? In this weather?”

“I didn’t plan on it being so shitty outside. I was going to fetch you and cook you a late-night dinner since you’ve been working hard all night.”

“W-hat? But I haven’t heard from you in…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want my phone to drown in the rain.”

Ellinor relaxes and her arms fall. She looks tired and fed up with having  to deal with big assignments and bigger egos all day. He knows that face and that dread. It wears on her. Olivia was right, in her own way, to be so frantically concerned -- but neither of them deserve to spend the rest of the night squabbling. 

She looks at Olivia. “Is he telling the truth, or did you just conscript him to bury a body for you?”

“I...what?” 

They share a half-second glance. For a moment Cullen wonders if she’ll go along, or if the pang of shame will make her confess no matter what. There’s awkward suspense, and then:  “Pff, I wouldn’t call him to bury a body,” Olivia finally responds. She rolls her eyes, even. “He’s telling the truth. I just went along to make sure he didn’t mess up. Go on, now, go have your candlelit Rutherfeast.” 

It isn’t until Ellinor has rushed in and out with warmer clothes, and they walk all the way down the stairs and into the fire lane where he’s temporarily parked, that Cullen feels his phone vibrate. He waits until they are in the car to check.

Liv: Thank you, Rutherfriend. Take care of her, okay? She deserves it. 

Ellinor asks what’s got him grinning, and he just shakes his head and says one of the boys from the team sent a joke. Just enough time to respond:

Cullen: No problem, Sinclown. 

Now, to text Cassandra and wake her up to check what’s in the pantry while he pretends to drive really slow for “the storm’s sake.” Sorry, Cass. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, noticing Ellinor also texting. 

Ellinor smirks and slumps comfortably in the passengers seat. Her thumb hits send on a message. “Telling Liv she better not eat my easy macs while I’m gone.”

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 23

Let Me Feel as Hurt as You Do

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Anxiety attack. Someone gets mad. A very slight implication of mentioned abortion, but not by word, by context. (This chapter focuses some on Steve and Ana)

Words: 14,639k words. Ha. Ha. I’m sorry.

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. From Jan-March 12th, I was completely booked soild at work. And then, this virus happened and I got laid off and oh look! A new chapter! I hope everyone is healthy and staying safe and staying inside. Here is a 14k+ chapter for you. (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) 

Previously: Ana had a full on energy bursting breakdown. Steve ran after her, causing him to feel his own energy drain, and leaving small cuts and bruises on his arm, left by Ana. Time is told by weeks of pregnancy. 

A pounding pressure circles Ana’s entire head, as if her brain is trying to squeeze itself out through her skull. Her nose is clogged, her mouth slightly open to breathe, to taste the air that no longer smells like Bucky; the last thing she had been trying to hold onto. At least this way she can’t smell the scent of him fading away from the fabric of his shirt she’s wearing. Instead, the air faintly tastes like charred earth.

Her eyelids are heavy, swollen from the tears that have yet to stop. Ana sits silently, gaze transfixed through the floor to ceiling windowpanes where the glass had shattered, decorating the ground like crystals.

Wet tracks have stained patterns on her cheeks, tear after tear. Her mind is thankfully blank for the time being. Just focused on watching the glass reflect off the lights in the compound and the glow of the moon. Her vision begins morphing the reflections together like dark watercolors. An odd flutter in her stomach rolls through her, gently pulling her from the depths of her mind; the colors had begun to form a dusty orange landscape.

“Hey, think you feel up to drinking this for me?”

Blinking back to awareness, Ana watches as Carol wiggles a little jar in front of her. That same elixir she had made her drink on occasion; it truly helps her feel better physically. Carol hands her the vial, their fingers touching. The moment of contact stirs the energy within Ana, causing her body to tense up abruptly. It lasts for a moment, before the tension eases into something calmer than she’s ever felt. It’s different, welcoming, and Ana finds her hand covering the other woman’s to chase that odd serenity.

“What?” Ana breathes, confused.

Carol offers her a friendly smile. She leans a tad closer. “You and I, don’t think we’re that different, power wise.”

“I don’t understand?” She blinks a few times.

Ana is utterly exhausted after her outburst, yet she could still feel the light turmoil of her energy prickling just under her skin. Now, her energy is finally beginning to settle, feels similar like the rings Shuri gave her.

“I’m stabilizing your energy levels,” Carol explains smoothly.

“You-you can do that?”

“Didn’t know until right now, figured I’d try it.”

“You’re so powerful,” Ana whispers, inhaling slowly as her body finally relaxes. “Much higher than my level of- this.” She vaguely gestures to her own body with her free hand. She allows herself a few more moments of Carol’s touch before taking the bottle from her.

“Then it’s something we can chat about later, once you’re feeling better,” She promises. Then she smirks. “And when you don’t look like you got swallowed whole then spit back out by a Flerken.”

“What’s a- never mind,” Ana sighs tiredly, opening the jar.

“Slow sips, alright? Rest for a few days. I have more if needed.”

She nods in silent gratitude. Carol pats her shoulder twice, though Ana doesn’t feel the same comforting flow she did just a minute ago. She also doesn’t miss Carol’s head jerk to Natasha as she walks away. Natasha follows her, and if Ana wasn’t as drained as she is, she may had been more curious.

When she finishes the elixir, Rhodes and Steve help her stand and make her way to her room. She briefly notices small spots of blood on Steve’s sleeve. She frowns, but Rhodey asking if he can make a call to Pepper, and would it be okay with her, distracts her. Ana nods, struck aware that she hasn’t spoken to her cousin in two months.

Another realization overcomes her as the men assist her down the hallway. Ana had been unintentionally horrible the past three months to everyone around her. She didn’t just shut off her emotions, she shut out her friends.

*

Just twenty minutes after she’s in bed, a light tapping sounds at the door as Ana slightly readjusts her sitting position. Apparently being reacquainted with her emotions also comes with new pains and aches; her lower back for one. Ana finally gets her pillows in the right position, nearly forgetting someone is at the door.

It cracks open, Natasha peaking her head in. “Is it alright for me to enter?”

She sounds so formal. Ana can’t blame her. “Uh, y-yeah,” She clears her raw throat. “Yes.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth cracks with a sad smirk before her face goes back to unreadable. She gently shuts the door behind her, moving toward the bed, Ana shifting her legs over to give her a space to sit. Which she does.

Ana bites her lip hard, nervous about Natasha’s pending anger. Worried Nat will give her a verbal lashing, even though she knows she deserves it. Her skin prickles with the apprehensive energy in the room. She inhales shakily, counts to five in her head before exhaling, rubbing her hands over the bottom curve of her growing stomach.

When Natasha finally speaks, her voice is unreadable. “Ana.”

Ana nearly flinches hearing her name. She makes the briefest of eye contact with the former spy. A single tear escapes Ana’s left eye, despite her efforts to keep them at bay. Natasha slowly reaches out to- what? Would she actually slap a pregnant woman? Flick her off? Make another rude hand gesture? Ana breaks their stare, ashamed- and isn’t that quite amazing to feel that now. Shame for how she’d been for the past three months.

Instead of a sharp stinging slap, or a bruising pinch, the gentle hand laid on her shoulder genuinely shocks her. Ana shoots her gaze up again, another tear overflowing. There’s a softness in Natasha’s eyes that she hasn’t see in so very long, her green eyes glassy. Her fingers apply pressure to Ana’s shoulder a moment before her shoulder is pulled forward a little. The motion makes her chin tremble, biting her lip still, nearly hard enough to draw blood.

Natasha exhales sadly, a little huff of air before she fully pushes Ana closer. Suddenly, she has Ana’s face pressed to her neck, and her other arm is hugging her tightly around her back. A hug. Nat is giving her a hug, one she doesn’t deserve in the least. A comforting, supporting hug. Something Ana hasn’t felt in months.

Tears flow freely down her face once again. Natasha holds her as best as she can, her fingers digging into her skin.

“I…I,” Ana stutters between hiccuping gasps. “Nat-“

“I know, I know,” Natasha replies softly. “Shhhh, I know, Ana. Apology accepted. Just let it out now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Ana wraps her arms around her as much as she can manage, fingers pressing into the solid form of comfort. She nearly cries herself to sleep that way. Barely conscious enough to realize Natasha moves her back and covers her with a blanket before she succumbs to sleep.

For once, Ana has a dreamless slumber.

*

Steve rubs his thumb over the already scabbed over crescent marks on his forearm, noticing the faint bruising around them too.

“Glass get ya’?”

Rocket’s voice grabs his attention, going back to sweeping his pile of shattered glass into the dustpan.

“No, just-“ But Steve stops because he doesn’t have an excuse. Not to mention he’s sure everyone witnessed everything.

“She always been strong enough to draw blood from a super soldier?” Rocket continues casually, finishing his pile before jumping up on the arm of the couch. Eye level with Steve’s arm now.

A brief memory flashes through Steve’s mind of Ana accidentally clipping Bucky in a sparring match outside their hut. It led to a busted lip, Ana apologizing profusely while straddling Bucky and him looking up at her with proud adoring eyes as if she hung the moon.

He mentally shakes the memory away. She always had a hidden strength about her, but never enough to physically bruise them with just a grip of her fingers.

“No, this would be new.”

“Has no one noticed her growing strength these past weeks?” Nebula muses lowly, studying a small device in her hands. She fiddles with it, then points it at the first pile large of broken glass. “The minuscule signs of her powers becoming unsteady?”

She presses a button, a short burst of purple light shoots from the device. Suddenly the pile is gone, nothing but a wisp of smoke before it fades. Steve in utter shock, is impressed with the tool, and vaguely thinks if they had that a while back it would have saved them a lot of clean up time in previous home attacks.

“Uh-“ Steve begins.

“Oh, let me do the rest!” Rocket demands, hopping off the couch and grabbing the device as Nebula holds it out.

“The light charred marks on tables,” She continues, her dark eyes locking on Steve’s. “The-

“Dent marks? Yeah,” He says, leaning against the back of the couch. Rocket cackles as three more piles disappear. Steve continues. “Didn’t catch the first signs though.”

“Ana is…fascinatingly powerful. More than any of you realize.”

Crossing his arms tightly, Steve frowns in perplexed curiosity. What has this woman from another planet seen in Ana that no one else had noticed. That he himself hadn’t paid attention to. “Care to elaborate?”

“The sheer amount of energy she released,” Nebula pauses, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Was extremely similar to that of-“

“Captain Rogers, you have an incoming call from Mrs. Stark.”

FRIDAY’s interruption could have come at different time than this. Steve drops his arms as he pushes himself off the couch.

“We’ll talk about that later,” He tells Nebula, heading toward the conference room.

She nods, then snatches the device from Rocket just as he was about to test it on a lounge chair. Steve ponders her words over in his head, some pieces coming together from the past month. He did noticed the perfectly scorched hand print on the bedside table in Ana’s room tonight. However, speaking to Pepper takes precedence at the moment.

*

Five days pass before Ana remembers the details of her breakdown. Five days before she connects the spots of blood on Steve’s arm was her doing; granted, she had slept soundlessly for most of those days. Her body seeming to finally catch up on a decent amount of sleep and beginning to heal from her emotional stunted issues. As in, she’s been overly emotionally now, like her hormones are speeding up to make up the past three months.

It was recommended by Pepper, after Ana had a long overdue conversation with her, that she should watch cute animal videos, or light comedic movies to lift her spirits a little. It worked for one day before she came across a fluffy kitten video and started crying at how cute the little kitty was.

Now, Ana gingerly gets up to use the bathroom, her bladder clearly smaller and being constantly pressed on. Instead of getting back in bed however, she leaves her room in search for Steve herself. That, and she suddenly has a craving for mango pizza again.

“What the hell are you doing walking around?” Rocket greets her as she rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” She replies with a pout, slowly moving to the freezer. “Have you seen Steve?”

“There’s plenty of people here to bring you food, take advantage of that, Barnes.”

Ana halts for a moment hearing her last name, the little “space raccoon” as Rhodes likes to call him, only knows her as Ana Barnes. She inhales slowly, then pulls open the door.

“And would you have brought me food on a tray?” She shoots over her shoulder, voice teasing. She nearly forgot how it feels to tease someone.

“What do I look like, a servant? I meant use the others.” He replies flippantly.

For the first time in a long time, Ana cracks a smile. A small chuckle even escaping past her lips. She turns to glance at him, and swears she sees a little smirk from him too.

“Ana? What the in hell are you walking around for?”

Ahh, there he is. She closes the door, but keeps her hand on the handle for support. “Looking for you, and hungry.”

Steve fixes her with his disapproving looking before he suddenly looks surprised. “You’re hungry?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “Go lay back down and I’ll make you something.”

“No, this is specific-“

“Could’ve just asked FRIDAY to call someone.”

“I disabled FRIDAY from my room, remember?” She reminds him awkwardly as Steve begins to usher her back. “Two months ago.”

“Right. What’s this specific food you want?”

“Mango piz- wait.” Ana stops, wincing at her abrupt movement. She looks over her shoulder again after she takes a steady breath. “Rocket, is that my glock? And my knife set?”

Rocket had gone back to doing his task before she had entered, popping his head up to acknowledge her.

“Oh, yeah,” He answers lightly. “Stole them from that shooting range here. You ain’t using them right, full belly and all? No? Good. Couldn’t find your metaled arm husband’s gun, figured I’d clean these instead. In case you decide to have another cool outburst- I mean, breakdown, they’ll be of use.”

Ana just stares as Steve covers his laugh with a cough.

“That okay?”

There’s no snark coming from him, just a teasing glint in his dark eyes. She can’t pinpoint why, but Rocket cleaning her long forgotten weapons and clearly knowing they were hers, touches Ana more than she thought it would. She recalls him handing her Bucky’s gun after the incident; which is now carefully put away in the closet.

“The smaller knife on the right is spring loaded,” She informs him with a small smile. “Used to be inside the boots I wore. It’s a good knife. Take care of them all.”

Rocket grabs the knife, finds the switch and springs it open. He salutes with it as Ana follows Steve back to her room.

An hour later has Steve serving freshly made pizza with chopped up mango pieces on top. Ana already feels bad the second he came in. He takes one look at her grimacing face and groans, setting the pie down on the bedside tray.

“You’re no longer craving this, are you?” He guesses, dropping the paper plates as well.

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“Hungry for anything else?”

“Did I hurt you, that night?” Ana abruptly questions. It’s the whole reason she wanted to find him in the first place. Not for food.

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowns, hands on his hips.

“Nat’s always been right. You’re a terrible liar, Rogers.”

He sighs, sitting down on her bed next to her legs. “Ana, you weren’t aware of draining my energy.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” She replies, then grabs his left arm.

Ana pushes the flannel sleeve up to his elbow, pulling him closer to see better. Five very faint crescent shapes on his arm are barely visibly in the light but they’re there. Four in a row and the fifth just a few centimeters to the left. Ana traces the shapes with her finger, his skin smooth from any scabbing.

“I saw blood on your sleeve that night,” She informs him, raising his arm to her eyes for a better look. She turns his arm side to side, no resistance from him. “Thought maybe it was the glass. It wasn’t.”

There. Ana keeps his arm at a slight angle, and the smallest discoloration of yellow stands out against his usual peachy skin tone. “I held onto your arm.”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms calmly. “Dug your nails in. Had a pretty strong grip there.”

A thought runs through her mind, causing Ana to drop his arm. She very suddenly does not want Steve to put any of his own thoughts together. Calling herself out on the cuts was a bad idea, and anxiety shoots through her chest. She doesn’t want anyone to know or to possibly connect her oddly growing strength. Ana herself has been aware it for weeks.

“Sorry I hurt you,” She rushes out. “Sorry,” Ana repeats kinder. “For everything.”

Steve looks like he wants to continue the subject, then thinks better of it. “Don’t worry about apologies right now, okay? Just take it easy for the next week, try not to stress yourself out, Ana. Once you’re feeling better and off bed rest, we can revisit it.”

“Okay, yeah. Sounds good,” She agrees, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. Though she can’t help feeling like her and Steve are treading on thin ice.

She shifts around, adjusting the pillows. Steve helps her, mainly making sure she doesn’t accidentally fall off the side. Ana feels exhausted again, her lower back aching as she finally finds a position comfortable enough.

“Apparently turning your emotions back on makes you realize you’re actually pregnant.” Ana huffs, half on her side.

“’Bout damn time,” Steve snips instantly. Ana quirks an eyebrow. “I mean! I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. I just meant, sometimes it felt like you didn’t…care.”

“Steve,” Ana begins solemnly after a short pause. She looks him straight in the eye, stressing her next words. “Natasha said the same thing to me. If I did not want or care for this baby. I would not be pregnant anymore.”

It’s silent between them as her words sink in. She can see in his eyes when he comprehends her meaning. Steve drops his head for a moment, before he meets her gaze again. He takes her hands in his, squeezing.

“And we would have supported you with whatever decision you made,” Steve tells her just as serious. “We still do. Support you. That’s all any of us wanted to do. We’re…we’re your family now. We’re here for you and little Barnes in there.”

Ana scoffs to cover the tightness in her throat. “You’ve always been my family, Steve. Well, at least for the past seven years.” That earns her a chuckle. “Thank you.”

“You look tired, get some rest.” He releases her hands and begins to stand.

“Actually, I kinda want the pizza now.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t hide how happy her eating seems to make him.

*

Ana cautiously makes her way to the bathroom, pressing her hands to her lower back as she walks. She turns on the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet and presses the cold water to her clammy face. Sighing in relief, she repeats the notion until her face feels clean of sweat. Body aches and mild hot flashes bringing the clammy skin, her ankles beginning to swell just a little. It’s almost as if her body is reminding her of the growing human inside her uterus with a vengeance. Payback for now finally feeling everything from her lack of feeling nothing for weeks.

However, she does take comfort in the facts that the baby is healthy and her most of her vitals are back to normal. Ana reaches for a washcloth on the counter, patting her face dry. She catches her gaze in the mirror once she’s finished, and stares.

Dull dark eyes peer back at her, the golden dots just matte specks. Grayish-purple circles are prominent against unusually pale skin tone. Highlights the fine lines of her lower eyelids, lines of exhaustion, stress, loss. Her face has thinned, looks sullen from lack of smiles, of laughter. The white of her eyes bloodshot, either from tears after so long of not shedding them or just lack of sleep.

Ana’s reflection startles her. This is the first time she has truly taken in her appearance in months. Too afraid to see the failure in her eyes of not saving Bucky in time. Of not stopping Thanos. Of the loss of life in her own eyes. She takes a step back, seeing herself entirely.

Smoothing her damp hands over her stomach, she grabs the hem of her- Bucky’s- shirt, lifting the material just under her breast. Which, have also grown bigger in the past three months. It’s not as if she hasn’t noticed her body growing, or seen her belly before, considering she has a top view of it every day, but this. This feels different.

Her skin has obviously accommodated the growing baby, proof of stretch marks on either side of her belly button that now pokes out. The old bullet wounds on her abdomen have stretched out as well, and the last few letters of her rib tattoo just barely affected. Ana traces her fingers over the new marks, then sees the slight movement of her belly in the mirror. A slow smile spreads across her lips, because this is different, and her mind drifts into another memory.

Ana shivers, legs tangled with strong muscular ones on the bed. Clothes long since scattered along the floor, a shirt on the lamp, bra on the mirror.

“Can’t wait to see your belly grow,” Bucky murmurs thickly. Nose grazing around her navel for the umpteenth time.

“Bucky,” Ana whines, breath ragged and pleading.

“Gonna look radiant, love.” He continues to praise, lips burning a trail of flames to her hip. “So fucking beautiful. My girl, my amazing wife.”

He stops his kissing, turning his head to lay his ear and cheek over the lower part of her stomach. His breath hitches as he listens, as her fingers sink into his long thick hair scratching his scalp.

“It’s the most beautiful sound in the world,” Bucky exhales, voice strained with emotion. “That little heartbeat. God, I can’t wait to feel this little jellybean move in there.”

Ana, despite wanting her husband to have his focus between her legs, laughs. “That’s what you can’t wait for?”

Bucky kisses her bellybutton, then her scars. “And many more, but, yes. My ma told me-“ He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s shocked he reminds the memory. “Whenever my sisters moved around, they were waving at me. Like they couldn’t wait to meet me.”

“Bucky, sweetheart,” Ana’s voice is a gentle sigh, fond and full of adoration. “This baby definitely can’t wait to meet you either.”

He hums. “I used to sing to them, when my Ma was pregnant. Said they could hear me. So, I talked to them every day. Like I’m going to talk and sing to our little one every day.”

Overwhelmed with how much she just fucking loves Bucky, Ana tugs him up to her, cupping his cheeks and giving him a deeply passionate kiss. His fingers tracing her stomach, over and over, until he finally lowers them.

A dull jab to the left side of her stomach pulls her back to her reflection. She chuckles wetly, tears escape as she blinks. Because this. This is her finally coming to terms.

“I can’t wait to meet you, little bean,” She whispers. She moves her hand to the same spot, feeling their baby moving around.

This. This is Ana finally connecting.

 25 weeks:

Another dream. The same dream. Over and over and over. Each time, ashes slip between her fingers the moment she touches Bucky. Each time he gives her that sad smile. Each time he speaks her name so tenderly. Each time, no matter what she does to try to save him, dust ingrains the lines of her palms, settles heavily in her lungs.

Each time she wakes with tears, panting and struggling to breathe. The only difference now is the ache in her chest, the stabbing pain through her heart, a haunting in her mind, and the shredded frays of her soul. The only thing that comforts her now, is the sound of Bucky’s voice recorded on the kimoyo beads.

Like clockwork every night, Ana hears Steve’s soft footsteps, a defeated sigh. On the eighth night, this changes. Steve finally knocks, cracking the open door she no longer keeps locked. Ana waits with her head in her hands for him to come in and sit on the edge of her bed.

She takes a few calming breaths before speaking. “What made you finally come in?” She inquires, face still hidden in her palms.

“How did you know I was there?” Steve asks bemused. He doesn’t wait for her answer. Instead he says, “Figured it was about time. Your nightmares. It’s what led to your...breakdown.”

Ana remains silent. He’s not wrong.

“I have nightmares too. So does Nat, Rhodey, all of us. Not sure about Nebula though, she’s more stoic than you were.”

She chuckles slightly at that, but still doesn’t look at him. She can feel his nervous energy radiating off him though, and it’s overwhelming to feel her ability again. There’s still an odd sort of tension between Ana and Steve. Makes her skin tingle and nerves jumpy, she almost wishes Carol were here instead.

“You don’t have to talk about them. You don’t have to talk to me about anything.” Steve continues, his voice morphs into a desperate hint of a plea. “Just, please don’t shut me out again, Ana.”

Frowning at her hands, she remains still, allowing him to talk.

“I mean,” He says quietly. “You shut everyone out, but it was worse with Natasha and I. Especially me. You never looked at me. You still can hardly look at me. I think I know why, and…I am so fucking sorry.”

Finally, Ana picks her head up, shocked and confused. But Steve’s eyes are staring off to the side, his hands twisting his fingers around. She follows his line of sight, to the picture of her and Bucky on their wedding day. When she looks at him again, his jaw clenches as he swallows.

Abruptly he stands up, but Ana reaches for his arm, grabbing his wrist. She sees him wince and realizes her grip is too tight. She quickly releases him as he stares wide eyed at her. She opens her mouth to ask why he apologized. Maybe ask why he’s suddenly leaving after he’d been pacing back and forth listening to her nightmares for weeks.

But a strange sensation shoots through her lower stomach and she gasps, hands immediately going to the spot. “Oh, fuck,” Ana whimpers with a wince. “Baby didn’t like that move.”

“Are you okay!? Do I need to call Dr. Hammond?” Steve asks frantically.

“No, no, I’m fine,” She reassures him, the pain fading. “Just moved too fast is all.”

Steve hums like he doesn’t quite believe her as he shakes his wrist out. “You look abnormally pale, lost your tanner complexion.”

Ana shrugs, not mentioning the lack of sun and definitely emotional stress is part of it. Instead, she attempts to reach for the nightstand drawer. Steve beats her too it, pulling out one of the vials of the elixir. He pops open the top, handing it to her. She nods her thanks.

“FRIDAY,” Steve addresses the AI that was reinstalled days ago. “What’s the read on Ana’s vitals?”

“Body temperature is normal, heart rate slightly elevated at 150 bpm. Fetal heart rate is normal range at 153 bpm. Mrs. Barnes blood pressure remains low at 90/60, however there are no other signs of distress at this time.”

“Thank you,” He says, seeming to relax just slightly.

“Mrs. Barnes, you haven’t taken your medication tonight, and your water intake has been minimal today. I can print out some prenatal yoga exercises and breathing techniques for you. I’ve noticed your sleeping pattern hasn’t improved enough to be considered healthy. Your appetite has improved quite a bit though.”

“This is why I disabled you in the first place,” Ana grumbles as Steve’s gaze narrows at her.

“I was truly impressed you bypassed my firewall, I was also hurt by your action-“ FRIDAY responds. Ana makes an indigent noise and swears FRIDAY sounds snippy. “-As I do care for your wellbeing. As does Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, that’s enough, thank you!” She snaps. The AI goes silent. Ana ignores the thick lump forming in her throat at the mention of Tony.

“Drink your water and take your medication.” Steve’s tone leaves no room for agreement as he gives her both her cup of water and the bottle of meds.

She does as she’s told, swallowing the pill and taking slow sips of water. She can feel her body relax and the baby roll around until it decides the position it’s is good enough.

“I don’t mean to continue to shut you out,” Ana confesses suddenly, eyes meeting Steve’s who was about to leave. “I’m still just trying to process feeling again. It’s overwhelming and I’m trying to stay as calm and relaxed as possible. The whole reason I did it in the first place, Steve, to was protect my child from any negative affects through me. You may not believe me, but everything I did, everything I’m trying to do is to protect my baby and keep it healthy.”

Sighing heavily, she puts her cup and bottle down, leaning back against her pillows. “Haven’t done a great job though.” She adds as an afterthought.

“I believe you,” Steve says, staying by the door. A shadow flickers in his blue eyes, and the energy around him changes darkly before it’s gone. “I just…sometimes it just feels like-“

Ana frowns because he just stops talking, shaking his head. Something is bothering him, and she swears it’s more than just shutting him out. He’s anxious about it. “Feels like what?”

“Nothing,” He gives her a nearly convincing smile. “It’s late, you should try going back to sleep.” Steve exists after that, closing the door but stopping the last few inches. “Ana, I’m here. If you need me. For anything.”

“I know,” She whispers as he shuts the door.

Ana covers her face again with her hands, inhaling slowly. She can still smell the faint ashes from her dreams, can still feel a phantom touch and realizes with a start, that she is not the only one to lose Bucky.

**

Finally, Ana is off bed rest, Dr. Hammond visiting once more for a check up and seemingly much happier with her health. She mentions the pains could possibly be Braxton Hicks contractions, a sign of her body beginning to prepare for birth. There’s only three months left and it’s this information of her body preparing to welcome a tiny human into the world, that Ana is appalled at herself. For a few reasons.

The first is Ana herself is not prepared whatsoever for a baby to arrive in three months. The second is knowing she hasn’t spoken to Pepper hardly at all, and rushes up to Rhodey. She all but interrogates him, asking if Pepper is angry. Demanding to know if Pepper is alright. Inquiring if the family is okay, and quickly questioning about Tony.

“Glad to see your rambling is back,” Rhodes quips, a smirk teasing his mouth.

He has been sitting in one of the conference rooms, apparently talking to whichever US Government leaders were left. Ana had come to find out that Thaddeus Ross was one of the many to disappear in “The Snap” as Rocket now refers bitterly to it. Ana however, doesn’t know how she quite feels about that bit of information. A bitter satisfaction does curl in her chest though.

“You sound a little like yourself again,” He continues, shutting off the holograms.

A deep ache throbs in Ana’s heart, and she doesn’t have the nerve to tell him that she cries almost every night now. That she spends more time watching and listening to a recording of her husband than talking to anyone else. Ana’s heartbreak remains the same as it was three months ago.

“I’ll be your go between just a little longer,” Rhodey says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you both need to speak to each other on your own. He still doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” Ana startles, feeling oddly hurt that Tony doesn’t know she’s pregnant. “Um…do you know why?”

He shrugs, standing up and adjusting the orthotic around his waist. “Pep thinks it should come from you personally.”

The third reason is the fact that while she shut her emotions off, Ana also deliberately shut off any help. She knows Natasha was hurt by it, knows she was pissed to hell, but her and Ana had a long two hours talk about everything. More apologizes from Ana included.

Ana decides it’s time to let people back in, because, as she swallows some bit of pride, she cannot do this alone. She finally calls Pepper, crying on the phone to her cousin because, fuck does she miss her husband, and this is the first time she’s truly allowing herself to feel every ounce of her pain and heartbreak and emotions. After a good hour of that, she goes back to her first reason; being appalled and angry at herself.

“I don’t have anything, Pepper!” Ana whines into the phone. “I’m not prepared. I don’t have a crib, I don’t have clothes, diapers! Wipes!? I don’t even have a damn blanket or pacifier! Oh my god, what if the baby gets sick and I don’t have that little nose sucker thing or a thermometer!? No little socks! This baby’s poor feet are going to freeze because it’s horrible, emotionless fuck of a mother couldn’t-“

“Whoa, hey! That’s enough, Ana!” Pepper scolds. “Take a breath, bug. You can’t work yourself up again like that. It’s going be okay.”

Pepper’s promise holds up. Within a day of their conversation, Pepper stops by with bags and boxes of baby supplies. Some are hand-me-downs, most everything else is new. Boxes of diapers, wipes, bibs, neutral blankets and little onesie’s. Pacifiers, nail clippers, a soft brush, a bathtub, socks, and beanies.

“Who’s Morgan?” Steve questions as he helps carrying in the last box. That he sets down in the living full of people, Morgan’s Baby Stuff written on the top.

Ana freezes with the veggie fruit smoothie Natasha made her, pressed to her lips. Her eyes shoot over to Pepper. Her cousin looks guilty for all of three seconds, before she sighs and shrugs.

“My two-year-old daughter,” She informs, likes it’s the most casual thing to drop that two-year secret. “Tony- both of us, decided to keep it a secret after your falling out.”

The shock of Tony Stark having a daughter ripples through the room.

“You all went your separate ways, most of you off the grid in hiding.” Pepper explains, hands on her hips. “If anyone is angry, then get over it. It was our decision to keep our privacy and family safe from public knowledge.”

“Oh, um, congratulations?” Steve offers awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ana snorts against her cup, nearly splashing her face with liquid veggies. Pepper mutters her gratitude, and that’s that. They continue to carry the gifts further into the room.

“I already knew,” Natasha confesses quietly to Ana, tilting her glass up to make sure she drinks. Of course she did. The infamous spy she is.

Ana glares at her as she takes over dramatic gulps as Nat, who’s hair is slowly turning red at the roots, rolls her eyes.

 It takes a few hours for Pepper to coax Ana to leave the compound and go to a store. Ana makes it halfway down the driveway to the car and stops. Her hearing has grown sensitive, and she knows why, however, she doesn’t hear much of anything.

The birds that used to sing in the trees and woods are silent. There’s zero scurrying feet over the dry leaves on the ground, and the feel of the air around her is…heavy. Broken and hurt. And here she is, about to shop for her child, for her and Bucky’s child.

Without him. Broken and hurt.

“I can’t do this,” She mutters, turning back to go inside.

Pepper doesn’t force her or convince her again. Instead, they pick and order a crib, highchair and anything else she needs.

As Ana rests, watching in a daze as Pepper folds little towels, she places one pile next to Ana. Shifting her eyes, she sees a onesie that says “Little Bean” with three coffee beans decorating the front. Pepper lays matching socks on top, oblivious to Ana’s reaction. She reaches for the tiny socks, the cloth soft in her hand.

“Annie Doll, come look!” Bucky shouts excitedly from the front door. “Ana!”

They had just gotten back from the hut, and she wants to shower the smells of hay and warm weather off. Ana sighs fondly, doubling back from the bathroom. She stops in the living room when she sees a gleeful Bucky holding up a package of six socks. Six, tiny baby socks.

“What in the world?” Ana laughs in bemusement. “Where did you get those? Oh, they’re so cute!”

“Shuri! Well, no-“ Bucky corrects himself as he comes closer. “She helped me navigate one of those baby store websites and I saw these so I ordered them!”

“Bucky, you know I’m only six weeks in right, babe? We have so much time to buy all the socks!” Though as she says it, her heart swells with warmth and love over Bucky’s excitement.

“Yeah…but look!” He nearly shoves the small things in her face. “Baby goats! They had goats on them and I just- what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ana can’t control her face, or her suddenly wet eyes. She just grabs her husband by the nape of his neck and kisses him firmly. She drags him to the couch, because she won’t make it back to their bedroom.

Remembering that day, Ana gets up too fast, pausing as a wave of dizziness hits her. She waits until it passes, then begins to frantically pull open drawers, searches through her closet, through boxes. She finds nothing as she throws clothes and drops objects to the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper questions cautiously.

“I-I can’t find them.” Ana says with a shaky voice. “I need to find them. I have to find them.”

“Ana-“

“He bought them,” She mumbles, ignoring the tears falling down her cheeks as she rechecks the top drawer. “He bought them. He was so excited, and I can’t find them. I-I need them for Bucky. He bought them for the baby.”

A hand on her shoulder makes her turn and burry her face into Pepper’s chest. “I can’t find them!”

The socks Bucky bought aren’t in her room, which means. The six little pair of goat socks are somewhere in their home in Wakanda. It’s such a small thing, but it breaks Ana all over again. Feeling like her body is being ripped in two once more.

Reminds her that the black hole in her chest will never be whole again.

 27 Weeks:

Nothing gets easier. Ana almost shuts her emotions off again, a few times, until she ends up have a conversation with Nebula one night. It starts off with a game she said her, and Stark played while they were drifting off in space. She takes out a thick triangle, Ana immediately recognizing the little paper football.

Ana smiles sadly at the triangle, remembered when Tony played the same game with her as she recovered in the hospital after her brother had attacked her. The game moves on from light comments, to Ana teaching her simple card games. From there, is transpires deeper. Nebula brings up her suspicions of Ana’s nightmares and growing powers. Unknown as to why she does, Ana opens up to her.

“I thought it was because I was stress free in Wakanda. I was the happiest I’ve ever been.” She recalls somberly. “I was with the person I loved more than anything in my life I had Bucky.” Ana wipes the tears that escape her eyes. She takes a moment to gather herself as Nebula waits patiently.

“I had, have these rings that help regulate my energy. I haven’t been wearing them lately though, maybe that’s why? Or the growth of my hormones with the baby? Or-“

Her right hand slips slightly, her fingers grazing over the stone embedded in the last knuckle of the glove. She yelps, either from pain or the new surge of power coursing through her.

Ana blinks, the memory flashing through her mind. Reminding her.

I touched an Infinity Stone, doesn’t seem to be something Ana should confess just yet. However, Nebula was born on a different planet, and the daughter of that horrible titan. She may possibly know more about the stones than anyone else.

The first time Ana had been in close proximity to Nebula, she felt energy and emotions just as chaotic, and dark as Bucky’s had been; if not a little more. It had to be Nebula’s own moment of vulnerability, suffering so deeply from pain and lose and rage. Since then, she had been stoic enough for Ana to sit close to her, just to feel energy that wasn’t openly heavy. Maybe it’s why Ana decides to tell her.

“Nebula,” Ana begins quietly, urgently, hoping no one is overhearing. “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it a secret? I’m trusting you here.”

Nebula isn’t one to express her thoughts or emotions, or anything for that matter on her face, but this clearly shocks her. Her dark eyes are wide as she sits back. Nodding once she leans back in, closer to listen to Ana.

“I, I think I touched one of the Infinity Stones,” She mutters, nervously rubbing her hands over her stomach. “I’m sure of it.”

A beat passes. “No Terran can touch a stone without damage. Or death,” Nebula states ominously. “It is not possible.” Though as she says it, her words drift off in thought.

“Don’t you know all about the stones? Does Rocket?” Ana can’t help but inquire.

She shakes her head, eyes looking oddly disappointed. “I only know one of their main functions. Some were simple, straightforward, like the Power Stone. Others were more complicated. My father was never one to spill the secrets of each stone he found.”

“Maybe that’s the one I touched? The Power Stone?” Ana foolishly asks with hope.

“Do you recall the color?”

“No,” She huffs, defeated. Abruptly she doubts herself. “I’m not even sure if it really happened anymore.”

Ana doesn’t elaborate, feeling rather silly for even mentioning it. Maybe she dreamt it. Maybe she was hit so hard it knocked her brain around a little. Maybe she was so emotionally distraught that she just fabricated it. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

“You have dreams?” Nebula questions, bringing Ana back.

“I have nightmares,” She corrects. “Always the same, like a strange world.”

“Your physical strength has grown since touching the stone.”

“Yeah,” Ana drawls out, wincing. “That’s…that’s not part of it, I think. Wait. You’ve noticed that? My-my strength?”

“I have. You could be a lethal warrior if you wanted.”

Internal panic tightens her chest. She hoped no one was going to notice; leaving bruises on Steve was one thing, possibly passable and could be forgotten. Even her newly sensitive hearing. But the cracks in objects that aren’t easily crackable? The broken hinge of the door to the roof when Ana pulled to hard? Those aren’t as easy to explain or hide.

“Is that another secret, Barnes? How powerful you have become?”

“Please,” She sags, abruptly feeling tired. “It’s not something I want to talk about yet.”

They don’t speak for a few minutes. Then Nebula makes a tiny smacking noise against the table. “I win.”

Ana looks down at the game of war they paused to talk. Nebula’s duel card is an Ace. Ana flips her over. It’s a Queen.

“I enjoyed that,” Nebula states coolly, gathering the cards messily. “I am going to beat Rhodes now.”

Ana is left laughing softly in the living room. Her panic slowly dying down.

28 weeks:

Entering her seventh month of carrying a human being inside her has really taken affect on Ana. Her hair has gotten much longer, thicker than it was. It’s probably the only thing Ana likes. The heartburn, light sciatic pain, and lower back pain and peeing every five minutes she could all do without. Thankfully, Ana’s vitals and the baby’s have been good enough for Dr. Hammond, who once again stresses the support group for expecting widowed mothers.

Finally relenting, Ana agrees, but with a blush on her face asks Natasha to go with her. The drive isn’t too far, and it’s the first time she has left the compound since Wakanda. There’s a significantly less amount of cars on the road, barely any traffic for a Friday at 5:30pm. The lack of birds and planes flying through the sky. The absence of bikers and runners.

Clenching her hands into fits, Ana rolls her shoulders back, taking a deep breath. Her skin prickles with new energy, new emotions, especially when Natasha stops at a red light. Ana meets the eyes of the person sitting next to them; a middle aged man with vacant eyes. The light turns green and as he drives away, there’s a sticker family on the back of his car; a wife and five kids.

The radio turns to static, then shuts off. Biting her lips, Ana tries not to think of every single person who lost their families, friends, children, the love of their lives. The confusion, the horror, the guilt people must have felt, still feel. Ana’s breathing begins to rapidly pick up, and that same clenching pressure makes itself known in her lower stomach.

“Nat,” She grits out, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm herself.

“Are you going into labor in my car?” Natasha deadpans, a hint of humor behind the flat of her voice.

“No,” Ana huffs a strained chuckle. “But I can’t do this. I thought I could. But my energy…”

“Figured with the radio, just don’t shut car down either. I’m turning around right now, don’t worry. Just count your breathing. Slow inhales and exhales. Touch around you if you need too. You’re alright Ana”

How ironic, Ana thinks vaguely as she follows those instructions, for someone titled an Empathetic Healer to have her own anxiety attacks. To have someone who used to come to her, be the one coaching Ana.

Fuck, she misses Bucky with every aching molecule.

Bucky was so good, so attuned to her, that he was always able to calm her down instantly. All he had to do was gently brush his metal fingers against her hand, or cheek. All he had to do was give her a tight squeeze with his right hand, or press his forehead to hers and silently breath with her until Ana had followed his calming pattern. Or press her hand to his chest like she had done since the beginning. Coo gentle, loving words to her. Even now, she hears that phantom call of her voice.

“Have you picked a name yet?” Nat’s gentle voice provides a slight distraction.

She takes her time to answer. “Not-not really. We considered a few, but it was still too early.”

She hums. “I assume Bucky was excited?”

Remembering how Bucky ran out of the room and spun her after the positive result, Ana smiles to herself. The undeniable glee that lit up his entire beautiful face, his eyes the bluest she had ever seen then, shinning with tears. The kisses her placed on every inch of her body that night, taking his time to set every one of her nerves on fire. Brought her to the highest of highs, just to bring her crashing down into him, safe, happy and loved.

Ana isn’t aware she’s silently crying until the tears drip off her jaw and land on her stomach. Soaks into the fibers of another one of Bucky’s shirt, because when she wears them, it’s like carrying him with her wherever she goes. Ana wipes her tears with trembling fingers.

“Yes,” She answers belatedly. Despite the shuddering breath she takes, she feels like she can breathe better. “Ecstatic.”

“Did you know that little shit Rocket, stole my egg rolls and ate all four of them!” Natasha abruptly informs her. “Nearly threw hands with a raccoon.”

The sudden change from her vicious threatening voice to her pitiful grumble and the story itself, has Ana breaking out in laughter. It’s a liberating feeling, getting to laugh as brusquely as she did. Lessens the tightness in her chest a little more. She laughs for two minutes straight, Nat joining along with her.

“Thank you, Nat.” Ana whispers after they’ve calmed down.

“I swear if another apology follows that, I will punch a pregnant woman in the arm.” Though as she threatens this, Ana can see the coy smirk on her mouth.

Instead, Natasha reaches over, squeezing her hand. She tries not to feel all of Natasha’s anguish, but the little she does get, reminds her that she’s not alone in this aftermath. Ana returns the gesture with a harder grip.

“Now, fix the damn radio, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

*

The next two nights pulls Ana straight to sleep after she gets comfortable on her left side. She’s so tired the past 48 hours, that her mind finally shuts off, and she has dreamless nights. It doesn’t stop her waking up feeling guilty, like she missed the dreams on purpose; it brings the same agonizing ache as always.

It also never stops from calling out to her while she’s conscious. As if her soul is angry that she missed that dream world for two days. Something happens following lunch three days later, while everyone is gathered around the kitchen island.

Annie.

The soft whisper is like a trance caressing her body, a lovers call inside her mind, beckoning her back. Back to sleep, because she knows, without a doubt, she will end up in that world. The strange orange world, where the sky looks like the burning afterglow of raging fires. The odd world with wetless water, an unknown little girl, an ominous door.

There, in that place of illusion, does she hear his voice loud and clear. Calls her by her name, lifts his hand to gently fit his palm along the curve of her cheek. He’s there, always with that sad little smile. His eyes so incredibly blue, so tender, yearning as if he misses her.

In that world, is Bucky.

In that world, Ana can steal just a few moments feeling Bucky. Against her skin, in the air. His breath in her lungs, his beating heart in the empty cavity of her chest. For just five short seconds, begging for time to stretch, pleading for time to freeze, Ana has Bucky in her soul.

Annie.

Her sharp inhale brings her out of her own daze, dropping her face in her hands. She shakes her head, resisting the urge to just take a nap, allow herself to fall into that water once more. Sometimes, she wishes she could just sleep and not wake, to stay forever with Bucky in that world. Then maybe, maybe she could save him.

“Bucky,” Ana barely murmurs under her breath. Tears stinging behind her eyelids. “Bucky. I miss you. I miss you.”

She leans forward, until she rests her head on a solid surface, face now hidden in the crook of her arm. She right hand grips the edge, fingers clenching as she hears his voice in her head again. Her soul cries out for its missing half.

“Ana? Everything okay?”

She makes a noise, can’t tell if it’s a confirmation or not. Her chest feels like it’s tightening. The baby jabs a sharp kick, or a punch, aimed right at her ribs. It’s enough to jolt her back to reality, and she slowly pushes herself up straight. She meets the concerned gazes of six other people.

The lights of the compound are flickering again, the air heavy with dampening energy. Nebula is the closest to her, and carefully reaches over to uncurl Ana’s fingers from the death grip on the counter. Bits of granite and dust sprinkle to the floor, Nebula leans over the cracked spot. Ana gives her a curious look, then quickly meets the gaze of everyone else. She makes eye contact with both Steve and Natasha, keen green and blue eyes not fooled by the cover up.

“Are you feeling alright?” Carol questions, stepping closer. “Your energy levels seem to be spiking.”

“Y-yeah! Yes! I’m fine!” Ana quickly reassures. She inhales and exhales deeply, and the lights steady. “Uh…the baby. Yeah, the baby was just moving around a lot is all. I’m fine, feel fine. Honest.”

Natasha sighs, suddenly looking tired and leaning her hands on the counter. She shakes her head, then her and Steve share a look. A silent conversation. Steve nods once.

“Ana, I think it’s time to talk about something you’ve been trying to hide,” Natasha speaks calmly.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Ana denies. She’s usually better at lying than this. “I told you, pregnancy has thrown my energy off a little, that’s all.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ana!” Steve snaps coldly, eyes flashing.

Ana blinks in shock. Steve angry is…a little frightening. He doesn’t stand to be lied to. “Steve-“

“You have been getting stronger?” It’s a question but it sounds more like observation.

“I’ve gained my strength back now that I’ve been eating more-“

“Not what I am talking about.”

“You have to know, Ana,” Natasha urges, brows pinched together.

She stares at them for a second, then she gets up as quickly and carefully as she can. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Ana walks out of the kitchen, heading towards her room as fast as she can waddle. Her heart is pounding faster, her own panic about the developing situation coming to the surface. Of course, Ana has noticed herself getting stronger the further she gets into pregnancy. It’s not like the thought has never crossed her mind. She had just been too busy shutting her emotions off and trying to figure out that dream world and trying not to suffocate on ashes and heartbreak.

Of course, she’s noticed the dented fingers marks on wooden and metal surfaces, of the spidering cracks in the toilet bowl, the ripping of several maternity sweatpants as she tugged them up over her stomach. Of the broken pieces of plastic cups and one of the bottles of the elixir. Of course, she knew the bruises she left on a damn super soldier were from her.

Speaking of.

Steve follows her down the hallway, catching up rather quickly. “Ana! Ana, please. Look, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you have to know. Maybe just get it checked out by Dr. Hammond, or another doctor, run some tests. I’m just worried how this could affect you and the baby.”

Ana halts when she’s in front of her door, rounding on Steve. “No! This doesn’t concern you, Steve!”

“I’m just looking out for your wellbeing!”

She grabs the handle of her door with frustration. “I don’t know why you suddenly seem to have an obligation to me, but-“

Ana stops talking the moment she forcefully pushes the door handle. She didn’t account for how much strength she used as she shoved. She stumbles forward, her arm going straight through the hole, holding the doorknob. It’s splintered with jagged edges from the broken wood. She stares wide-eyed at the shape of the hole, strangely looking like the broken piece would fit back in perfectly like a puzzle.

This is new. Ana slowly moves her gaze to Steve; who gawks at her. Shit.

Awkwardly, she gently tries replacing the section of wood she pushed off. It sticks, not fitting quite right, but she’ll just pretend it did happen, like everything else she had broken.

“Holy fuck,” Steve whispers, stunned.

Deciding to remain silent, considering there’s no way around it, Ana just watches Steve. She can see him mentally gathering the pieces in his head. She only makes it to the count of four as he figures it out.

“I fucking knew it. It is enhancing you.”

“Steve. Please don’t,” Ana pleads, her anxiety making her nerves burn.

“The serum transferred to you. Which means it transferred to-“

“No, no it didn’t!” She desperately disputes. “This is just a weird fluke thing. You know, Nebula accidentally pulled off an entire door last week.”

Steve shakes his head, eyes flashing with concern as he looks her over. “We need to take you to a doctor. Dr. Cho maybe, run tests to confirm it.”

White hot panic surges up her spine. Ana frantically shakes her head. This is exactly why she didn’t want anyone to know, why she didn’t give it much thought. Why she hid it. Drawing blood, conducting tests, being studied; all for the slight chance of her baby possibly having the super soldier serum in its genetic code.

“Absolutely not!” Ana states fervidly, fear rising up in her.

He frowns, expression serious. “Ana, this could be-“

“I know what it could be, Steve!” She yells. “I know exactly what this means!”

Ana places her hands protectively over her stomach. “It’s the serum! It was in Bu- in Bucky’s genetic code. In his DNA. Which means it’s more than likely is in the baby’s genetics! My baby is going to be enhanced, there’s no way it’s not. Bucky is a...was-“

She breaks off, voice shaky, her body trembling. She swallows thickly, knowing she must finally face the truth. She feels movement under her hands, as if the baby is confirming what she’s known since the beginning. All her senses becoming sharper; hearing more sensitive, eyesight slightly better.

“Bucky was enhanced,” Ana continues, voice as panicked as before.  “I’m-I’m enhanced. I don’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. I can’t! If doctors or scientists found out, if anyone finds out that this is the child of the Winter Soldier and an Energy Alchemist!? Who the hell knows what exactly they would want to do with our baby!”

“Ana,” Steve looks torn, “We can keep it a secret. Find a trustworthy-“

“Fuck trustworthy, Steve!” She shouts, slicing her hand through the air. “No one is trustworthy! They’re still out there! Hydra, AIM, other organizations and groups just like them!”

“Hey, hey-“ He attempts to interrupt, to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY’s voice speaks up over them in warning.”

“I know!” He says to the AI.

Ana barely hears their exchange. Her breath begins to shorten, chest tightening. “Thanos didn’t fucking correct the universe like his fucked up brain thought! It didn’t snap away the evil people of the world. It made it easier for them! Hydra- Eric Woods kidnapped us just three year ago! If they knew. They’re still out there. If they find out-“

“That is not going to happen!” Steve promises vehemently, stepping closer.

“They- they can’t! Can’t find out. This is all I have left,” Ana begins to hyperventilate, cradling her stomach. “This is all I have left. This is all I have left.”

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry. Deep breathes, Ana,” Steve coaxes gently. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen.”

Ana is barely aware of her skin beginning to glow brighter. The walls started to tremble, the floor shakes. She feels a chaotic and static energy in the air. There’s a sharp tightening in her chest again and she needs…she needs her husband.

But Bucky isn’t here. Ana is not dreaming; she doesn’t see him. She doesn’t hear the faint haunting murmurs of her name. He’s not gently touching her cheek, gazing at her with those loving blue eyes. She doesn’t feel Bucky and that’s one of the worst things that has been carved out of her soul.

“Okay, okay, no doctors, Ana. I swear it,” Steve says carefully. “Just try breathe, Ana.”

Slowly, he reaches out to her. As if to comfort her, support her, remind her that she is not alone in this. When Steve’s fingers are inches from her skin, she can feel her powers reacting viciously. Ana takes a step back.

“I-I can’t!” She pants heavily. “It feels like. I wake up. Ashes. Dust. It’s- I wake up from ashes and it’s everywhere! Its-It’s in my lungs. My throat. It feels like I’m suffocating! I wake up and I’m suffocating.”

If she was aware enough, Ana could read his expression as broken, maybe a little helpless. Instead, Steve finally touches her. He doesn’t even get his fingers wrapped around her wrist, before he is abruptly, and harshly ricocheted backward.

His body is thrown halfway down the hall, slamming against the end of the wall. He hits it so hard, plaster and cement crack and rain pieces down on his limp form. Ana smacks her hand over her mouth. Light bulbs shatter, the air sizzles hotly, and she covers her head with her arm as bits of glass fall from the lights.

Despite the sight and groaning from Steve, Ana can’t seem to get a handle on her power, her energy, her emotions. It’s what lead to her outburst of power weeks prior. She isn’t wearing the rings Shuri gave her, has no other way of regulating herself. Quickly, she presses her hands to her chest, trying to regain her breathing, to focus, to control her emotions, her powers. Maybe she should turn off her emotions again. It’s better, safer for everyone, and herself.

Something grips her left shoulder, vice and grounding. Abruptly, Ana’s powers halt, then begins to settle. She gasps at the sudden feeling, but she doesn’t push it away, instead she grabs the hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“I’m right here,” A soothing reminder. Carol’s voice. “You’re okay, you’re alright. I’m here.”

It’s the same feeling Ana had experience before with Carol’s own powers. As if they call out to her, like it wants to comfort her. Remind her that she really isn’t alone; not with this.

Her eyes sting as Ana tightly shuts them. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she nods. Her knees feel weak, her skin hot as she comes down, everything falling silent and settling around her. A sharp jab to the side of her stomach makes her wince; the baby protesting the rise and fall of the energy.

Ana snaps her eyes open, releasing Carol as she takes a shaky step forward. She feels the hands behind her hovering by her arms, a precaution in case she stumbles. Steve is taking his time getting up. A wave of guilt mixed with nausea curls through her.

“S-Steve?” Ana calls out with a trembling voice.

He attempts to push himself up, but his hand slips, and he presses his forehead to the debris covered floor. Ana moves closer. She doesn’t quite understand what happened. Her energy shouldn’t have knocked him back like that without the protective shield. In fact, twice it’s accepted Steve. Once in Wakanda, right after half of everyone vanished, and when he recklessly held her just weeks ago.

When she reaches him, now with Carol’s supporting hands on her arm, she carefully kneels placing a shaky hand on his back. Steve’s panting slightly, groaning low in his throat as he finally gets himself up on all fours. He tilts sideways, sitting back and slumping against the wall.

“Are you- did I hurt you?”

When Steve looks up to meet Ana’s gaze, her heart clenches. The emotion storming in his blue eyes roots her to the spot. His eyes are red, wet, tracks of tears staining his cheeks. The utter guilt, shame, and pain shinning in them renders Ana speechless.

“I’m sorry,” Steve croaks. Ana shakes her head, perplexed. “I’m so sorry, Ana.”

“No, I-“

“This isn’t on you,” He cuts her off, wincing as he straightens himself. “I failed you.”

Lifting his hand, he lays it gingerly on her shoulder. “I promise-I swear on my life. I will keep you and your baby safe. I…I couldn’t keep Bucky...I couldn’t bring him back to you. I broke that promise to you. I won’t break this one.”

Ana feels her face screw up with emotion. “Okay,” She exhales thickly, tears spilling from her eyes. “Okay.”

She drops her forehead to his shoulder, her own shaking as she cries. Through her tears, she listens closely, trying to decipher Steve’s breathing. His heart is slowly settling back to his version of a normal rate, and his breaths even out, no sign of broken ribs.

“Feeling alright?” Steve checks in a few minutes of them sitting there crying.

Sniffling, she wipes her nose on her sleeve and leans back. “Are you?”

“Just bruises, I think. Feeling exhausted, but I’m okay. Didn’t beat me up too bad. I’m actually a little proud.”

It makes Ana chuckle wetly, wiping more tears away.

“You guys okay?” Carol questions behind her. Ana hears the concern hidden in the coolness of her tone. “Didn’t rattle your brain too much, did she Rogers?”

“Nah, I can do this-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Ana cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “He’s got this annoyingly admiring habit of never staying down.”

A smile lights up Carol’s face as she extends a hand out for her. Ana takes it, allowing her new friend to lift her with her majority of her strength. When she looks behind Carol, Natasha is standing right there. There’s no anger or disappointment in her eyes, she just offers her a tiny smile then goes to help Steve up, brushing off rubble from his shirt.

“I,” Ana hesitates, soothing her hands over her belly as the baby wiggles around. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t had tried hiding this from either of you.” She addresses Natasha as well.

She carefully wraps her arms around Ana. “We shouldn’t have pushed. You know we love you. We’ve been nothing but worried about you. And this little one.” Natasha lends down to gently rub Ana’s belly. “Huh? Just being a strong little super soldier in there, aren’t you?”

The baby responds by kicking again. Ana sighs, the sensation it a little weird to her. She can’t help but crack a smile, despite hurting Steve.

“I’m not lying when I say I’m scared.” Ana tells them. She looks at Steve. “But, if you think it’s best I go see-“

“No,” He interrupts her. “How could I ever think I had the right to tell you what to do, to make a decision for you and your baby. It’s your choice, Ana. If you don’t want too, don’t. I’m sorry I pressured you. You have all the right not to trust anyone.”

“I trust you, you know, that right? I trust all of you here. I just don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve breathes heavily, and carefully wraps his arm around her.

Ana leans into him, exhausted and suddenly livid at herself for pushing him away for months. Angry that she pushed away people whom she considers family and ignoring their own pain in the process.

“I’m sorry if I’m still a little off,” Ana apologizes shyly. “Having to deal with my emotions again, feeling so much around me. It’s overwhelming.”

“Hey, don’t worry about any of it. We understood, and we still do.” Natasha says. “By the way, a very annoyed AI alerted me of your spiking vitals. I always found it a little creepy how emotional Tony makes his artificial intelligence. Just take it easy the rest of the night, yeah?”

Ana nods as Carol beckons for them to get out of the hallway. She helps them both along, guiding Ana carefully over shattered glass.

**

Hours later, after the hallway has been cleaned up, both Ana’s and the baby’s vitals checked thoroughly by FRIDAY and a call from Dr. Hammond, Steve finally knocks on Ana’s door. He figures it time to honestly talk to her, lay out his own fears. To truly apologize to her.

“Are you concussed?” Ana asks flatly. She’s propped up against her pillows, with two beneath her knees.

Steve smiles despite himself, making yet another connection between her and when Bucky was a teenager yanking him out of back alley fights. Closing the newly fixed door behind him, he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He notices in her hands, one of the many journals belonging to Bucky, opened as her fingers trace the written words, like she’s tattooing them on her skin.

“Hard head, remember?” He quips, getting comfortable in his position.

Ana snorts and kicks at his propped up knee. Inhaling to calm his nerves, Steve decides it just best to get right to it, staring straight at those big brown eyes.

Ones that have always seen right through people. Ones that have hardened and burned cold the past several months. He swallows thickly. Her gaze pins him to his spot. The only person to ever make him feel like he’s being picked apart down to his soul has been Natasha, but Ana is a very close second. But then she blinks, the cold lessening as confusion settles in.

“You’re nervous. I can feel it.”

“Everything is my fault,” Steve confesses in a rush, keeping eye contact even though he wants to sink into the earth.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s been uh, a few things I’ve been too afraid to tell you. To talk to you about.” He rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans. “You said you didn’t know why I have an obligation to care take of you. Well, I made a promise to you in Wakanda, remember. I also made one to Bucky.”

 Ana’s frown deepens but she remains silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

Wakanda, fifteen minutes before the battle of Thanos:

Steve had to tear his eyes away from Bucky and Ana’s goodbye, not from discomfort, but if he continued to watch he would have told Bucky to stay with her. He should have told Bucky to just stay with her, for them to protect each other, to help protect Shuri as she works on Vision.

He should tell Bucky now, to just go back where he belongs, right next to his wife. Steve watches Bucky with a keen eye as they ride towards the field; the wind blowing his long hair back from his face. Steve’s known Bucky his entire life. He knows every little sign of distress, anger, no matter how hard Bucky always tried to hide it from him. Only one other person knows Bucky just as much as Steve does- probably knows him even better by this point.

Bucky didn’t want to leave Ana; anyone could see that. Now, as Steve watches Bucky’s new vibranium hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pants, he knows it’s taking everything in his friend to stay on the hovercraft. Bucky’s hips keep shifting his weight side to side. His chest is rising is slow calculating movements, his jaw is clenching, he slowly closes his eyes. Steve swallows thickly. They should have never asked Bucky to join one more fight. He makes up his mind.

“Buck-“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts what he was about to say. He opens his eyes, stares straight ahead. “If anything happens to me-“

“Don’t fucking talk like that.” Steve reprimands firmly, dread curling in his stomach.

Bucky meets his gaze, serious and, fearful. “We can’t kid ourselves here, pal. If- if anything happens to me-“ He swallows with his brows pinched together. “Can you…can you take care of her?”

“Bucky-“

“I need you to take care of Ana for me. Please. I need to know they will- she. I need to know she’ll be taken care of. Please Steve.”

The begging desperation in Bucky’s eyes nearly breaks his heart. For once, Steve bites back his disagreement and nods. “Of course, I’ll take care of her, Buck.”

A sudden heavy boot presses down atop of Steve’s foot. “Thank you.”

His whisper of gratitude is nearly lost in the sounds of them landing at their destination. They file off the aircraft, but Steve can’t stomach it anymore. He quickly turns to Bucky, who double checks the knives at his thigh holster, and grabs his gun from the crate.

“Go back, Buck. I mean it. Just go back to Ana.” Steve orders. He can hear how frantic he sounds. “You should be together.”

A bitter smile flashes across Bucky’s mouth. “With you til’ the end of line, Stevie.” He lifts his gaze from his gun, that same old mischief back in his eyes. “Plus, Ana’s safest where she is right now. It’s your dumb ass I gotta protect. Like always.”

From his right, Steve hears Natasha snort in humor. He shoots her a glare then shoves Bucky ahead of him, and just like that, they’re leading the march onto the battlefield. It feels way too reminiscent of their time in the Howling Commandos, marching into battle.

*

Silence follows as Steve finishes telling Ana that bit of information. Watches as she slowly smooths her hands over of her stomach, having put the journal aside. Her left hand pauses for a second, gently tapping her fingers over the spot, presses down, and continues on. Her wedding rings reflect like glitter off the lights as she moves. Steve frowns, curious. She’s been doing that a lot lately and he wonders how often the baby kicks, if it feels the same restlessness as its mother.

“Well, it was a pretty dumbass move when you went after Thanos with your bare fucking hands.” Ana says.

Steve makes a protesting noise. “Didn’t you do that same thing?”

“We’re talking about you here, not me. Plus, I had the shield activated.”

The little humor he hears in her voice makes Steve smiles just a little. At least some of her old self seems to be shining through the broken cracks.

“Of course, Bucky would ask you take care of me,” She whispers solemnly.

“Haven’t kept that promise to him though,” Steve mumbles. “He said “they” at the time, and I didn’t put it together until you told me. But I’ve been doing a shit job, to be honest.”

“To be honest,” Ana repeats his words with firmer tone. “That’s completely on me. I haven’t made this easy for anyone. I am so incredibly sorry again.”

Steve reaches out to grab her hand, giving her fingers a firm squeeze. “No one blames you for what you did. We understand, but your, what is it now? A hundredth apology is accepted.”

Ana offers him a small smile. It falls a second later. “Why do you think it’s all your fault?”

“Because I broke my promise to bring Bucky back to you. I broke my promise to both of you.” Steve lowers his gaze, taking his hand from hers. “If I just. Fuck. If I just defeated him, if I just had killed Thanos with every chance I got, then none of this would have happened. I would have brought Bucky back safe and sound and you wouldn’t be going through this alone. Vision would still be alive. Wanda wouldn’t have had to endure all that pain. Fuck, she was still so young. And Sam-“

Steve hears his voice crack and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to hold back his tears. He didn’t come here to have a sob fest on her bed. A soft warm touch rests over his other hand, a gentle trickle beginning to ease his emotions.

“Steve,” Ana speaks so softly.

He slowly pulls his hand from her touch. Finally looking up, he shakes his head. “I don’t need you to do that. You don’t need to change use your ability for me. Don’t exert yourself.”

“But you feel so sad,” She tells him. Steve nods in a mute confession. “You haven’t spoken to anyone about this have you?”

He shakes his head again.

“Then talk to me if you won’t allow me to help you.”

He huffs his exhales, giving her a look. “Have you talked to anyone about how you feel?” Steve challenges, not unkindly.

“No, but what do you think this? Just get it all out. Talk to me.”

This was not what he came here for. He just wanted to wallow in his own self-deprecating pity. To confess to Ana that he had failed her, he failed the universe. The crushing weight of that brings him down in a pit of darkness each night, drowns him in his own horrible nightmares. Watches helplessly as all his friends fall to the ground in piles of ash.

Steve came to Ana, with some oddly placed masochism and a small bit of hope that she would lash out at him again because he deserves it. He deserves her avoiding his eyes. Deserves to nearly have his own life drained from his body, to have her powers injure him as he’s thrown against solid concrete. To have any ounce of her hate, anger, placed all on him.

But the way Ana sits patiently, kindly and not shouting cruses or damnation to him. The way she just tried calming him, helping him, is exactly who is she. Despite the months of shutting off her own emotions. A small piece of herself is still there, if broken and haunted, but there.

It causes Steve to finally break.

“I’m angry!” He spits out, clutching at the sheets. “I am so fucking angry at myself! I could have made Bucky stay with you. I could have saved him.” Steve releases a bitter laugh. “I guess that’s my track record though isn’t it? I could never save Bucky. Not from that damn train, not from fucking Hydra, not from Zemo’s revenge, not from being stolen away from you.

“You know, I thought when I was first got the serum, that I would finally be able to protect the people I love most, to protect my family. What a load of bullshit! I still lost him. I had to watch him die, again. You had to watch Bucky die and I still couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t protect you from losing him. I couldn’t protect my family, my friends, the goddamn world! I couldn’t save anyone from Thanos.”

Tears are freely falling down Steve’s cheeks, tracing into his lips and soaking into his jeans. He licks the saltiness from his lips, taking in a trembling breath. He sniffs hard, shaking his head again.

“I failed. I failed everyone. I failed Tony-“

“Steve-“ Ana attempts to dispute his statement, but he doesn’t allow her.

He continues without giving her an ounce of room to speak. “I did. I betrayed him. He’s right, maybe if we fought together, we could have defeated Thanos. That’s on me. I failed. And I failed Bucky again, time and time again and because of it. I failed you too.”

“That night, when you broke down, I felt every single emotion you had. All your anguish, your loneliness, your pain, your heartbreak. You felt empty. It was crippling, suffocating. That’s not something you should have to deal with or feel by yourself, Ana. None of this is your fault. You didn’t fail. Just put it all on me instead. I deserve that.”

 “Hey, stop!”

Steve abruptly scoots forward and quickly grabs her right hand, pressing his solidly against his chest. He ignores her startled, somewhat fearful look. He feels an electric spark shock his chest as her skin glows for a fleeting moment. It fades when she clearly doesn’t feel threatened anymore. If Ana had blasted him back again, he would have welcomed it.

“You shut off your emotions, Ana. There’s a part of me that wonders if it made it easier to shut me out too. Do you hate me because I failed you? Because I failed the entire universe? I’m fucking Captain America, who let the world turn to dust. I want you to hate me, Ana. I want you to lash out at me.”

Ana yanks her hand back, then promptly slaps him across the face.

Steve blinks twice, stunned. His cheek stings and he tastes copper on his tongue for biting the inside of his cheek. His head clears a little, and he thinks yeah, he probably deserved that. When he gathers himself to meet her gaze, there’s fury in her eyes. Something he hasn’t seen in Ana for so long.

“I nearly killed you, Steve!” She hisses at him, shaking out her hand once. “I wasn’t trying to share my pain with anyone else. You just happened to be there, and I almost stole your life energy. You’re the only self-sacrificing idiot that runs headfirst to hold onto to a Life Drainer. How the fuck is that making good on your promise to Bucky to take care of me, if you aren’t even alive!?”

Guilt floods through his veins as Steve realizes she’s right, and he got way into his head just then. Didn’t articulate properly what he was trying to say. He drops his head in shame as she continues to talk.

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” She apologies, but her voice still has a hint of aggravation. “But goddamnit, Rogers. You punishing yourself for thinking you’re the only one who failed? For breaking promises? You aren’t the only one who thinks they failed people, Steven. As for your promise.”

Steve lifts his head, tentatively meeting her gaze. Her eyes are watery, tears brimming along her lower eyelids. She’s stroking her arms over her stomach again, one after the other, blowing out a shaky breath as her tears fall over. Steve feels even worse, having made her distressed yet again.

“I didn’t make it easy for anyone, especially you. I wasn’t thinking of the repercussions of what shutting of my emotions would do. I couldn’t handle it, Steve. I couldn’t handle it at all and I felt like if I didn’t do something about it, then-“ Ana breaks off, shrugging. She hastily wipes her tears away. “I am so, so deeply and incredibly sorry. I should have never-“

Steve carefully takes hold of her wrist. “Hey, no honey, none of that anymore. You needed to protect yourself and your baby first. I understand why you did. I just didn’t know how to help you, and I still don’t. I didn’t mean to stress you out more. I shouldn’t have said what I did, ask you to do something you would never do in the first place.”

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupts their conversation abruptly. The AI doesn’t sound happy with him. “I suggest you leave Mrs. Barnes alone for the rest of the night. Her vitals hint at distress that I’m afraid you have caused. Twice now.”

Shit. He definitely did not come here with those intentions, and Steve can’t seem to stop fucking up tonight.

“No, FRIDAY, it’s fine!” Ana quickly reassures her. “I’ll do my breathing exercises. I feel fine.”

There’s a pause. “As you wish, Mrs. Barnes. You have four vials left of the elixir if you decided to drink one now, it wouldn’t hurt to do so as you didn’t take one three hours prior. However, Captain, if you continue to upset her or her baby, I will activate the electric security protocol.”

Steve glares at Ana as she snorts her laughter behind her fist as she takes out a bottle. “I understand.” He tells the AI. “I assume Pepper added that last part?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Another Pause. “It was not Pepper.”

FRIDAY goes silent as Ana downs the elixir with wide shocked eyes. Steve shoves his hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh. He stays quiet as he watches Ana calm herself down with the breathing exercises. He waits about five minutes until she finally opens her eyes and flashes him a small smile. He can hear the steady, relaxed beats of each heart rate and relaxes himself.

“This is definitely hypocritical for me to say,” Ana begins, wincing as she touches her stomach. “But you can’t keep that all locked inside. Exhibit A.” She gestures to herself.

“I know,” He huffs out heavily. “Nat and I talked sometimes, drank mostly, but we didn’t talk it about enough. I just, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help you or anyone else for that matter.”

“But you are you helping yourself?”

“You’re right, you are being a little hypocritical, Barnes.”

In a rare sight of true Ana fashion, she flicks him off, then shrugs. “I’m trying to now. For the sake of this little bean.”

Sorrow weighs heavily in his bones. “You know if I could bring him back. If I had an ounce of an idea to do so-“

“I know, I know. I do.” She sighs tiredly, leaning further back, her eyes suddenly exhausted. “It’s going to take a long time to process this. For everyone. And yeah. I miss him so fucking much, Steve, it hurts to even breathe. But, I don’t think you failed me. I don’t think anyone thinks you failed them.”

Steve wants to believe her so much, but he’s always going to feel his guilt for failing her and Bucky specifically. “I still think I did.” He mutters bitterly.

“Yeah well,” Ana sniffs, wiping her sleeve over her eyes and nose. “As Rocket as said, there’s a lot of that going around, huh? I think we’re all just wallowing in our own personal feelings of self-failure.”

Steve suddenly thinks of Thor, and how he took off in the middle of the night, now word or warning. His heart aches. “I guess so. Little guy seems to have taken a liking to you though. Not as many sarcastic comments.”

Smiling as if she’s proud, she says, “It’s only because I let him clean Bucky’s gun.”

He doubts that. Secretly he thinks Ana may remind Rocket of someone he lost. “Listen. It’s getting late and I stressed you out enough with my emotional turmoil. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“I literally threw you into a wall earlier, then bitch slapped you, so, we’re even.” She tells him as Steve helps her shimming around, adjusting pillows and pulling the covers down.

“Deal.” He agrees with a small chuckle. He rubs the top of her head, slightly musing up her hair. She glares at him. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You and the baby? I’m sorry about-“

“So many apologizes. Yes, I swear. We feel good. Just tired, is all.” Ana insists.

Steve nods, makes sure she’s as comfortable as can be before he makes his way to leave. Ana calling his name one more time turns him around. She looks inches away from sleep, her stomach supported by one of the thicker pillows, and she has what he knows to be Bucky’s pillow clutched to her chest.

“Thank you.” Ana murmurs.

“For what?” He questions, confused.

“For still looking after me. For being there.”

She doesn’t explain further as her eyes flutter shut. Steve however, as he gives her a smile she can’t see, knows exactly what Ana is thanking him for. His talk may not have gone the way he planned, and he still feels like there much more to converse, but Steve thinks they made some progress. He leans back against the door for a few moments, head tilted back as he stares up at the ceiling and the broken light bulbs.

“I’ll keep my promise to you, Buck.” Steve says quietly to the ceiling.

Once more, he recalls Bucky’s little slip up. “Please. I need to know they will-she.”

Bucky was asking Steve to take care of Ana, and their child.

“I swear, pal. They will both be taken care of.”

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

A/N: This was a monster to write. Thank you for sticking with me. This story is definitely going to pick up pace in the next chapter and on. Please stay healthy and safe and inside. Don’t forget to wash your hands, especially after coughing or sneezing and stop hoarding the toilet paper!

Drabbles: Twenty-Two     Drabbles: Twenty-Four

Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​​ @buckyland​​ @stressedasalways​​ @watchoutforfrostbite​​ @justreadingfics​​ @keldachick​​ @eurynome827​​ @elatedmarvel​​ @shesalatesh​​ @paintedgreywriting​​ @boney-and-skinny​​ @buckaroo-blue​ @afewmarvelousthoughts​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @shesalatesh​

[jazy3]

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 16X18

Wow. So that episode was intense. I liked it, but it was not at all what I was expecting based on the information they released beforehand. First things first I'm glad that Meredith is back in the spotlight kicking some surgical ass! It is her show after all. I thought Meredith handled the pro-bono day well all things considered. She had things under control until DeLuca pulled Bailey away and then lied to Helm and had the entire schedule rearranged by saying it was on her orders. Up to that point everything was on track and being handled so if he hadn't done that everything would have been fine. I think she handled that situation as best she could. In the end, she accomplished her goal. She got all of the pro-bono surgeries taken care of and made a plan for the future. I thought her blackmailing Tom by proposing the new pro-bono surgery day once a month was ballsy, but also badass.

Tom shouldn't have told her where the money came from because now he's in her pocket for the rest of his life. It also worked to calm everybody down which enabled the doctors to treat all of the patients as needed. I was disappointed that we didn't get more scenes with Meredith and Hayes this episode because the set up kind of made it seem like we would. In the end they only really had two scenes. The one at the beginning where Hayes and Owen were cracking jokes about the fact that they need a pro-bono surgery day to do something that hospitals in most other countries do every day and then at the end where he brought her a tea and congratulated her and said that he finally got what Cristina was saying about the twistedness and she said it took him long enough and thanked him for his help.

This episode made me feel like I was grasping at straws when it came to them and that made me a bit sad. On the other hand, this episode established once again that DeLuca and Meredith are officially over never to rise again as DeLuca has zero interest in dating her or even being around her and Meredith’s primary concern is getting him the help he needs and repaying the debt she feels she owes him. I’m hoping now that DeLuca has ridden off into the unknown on his motorcycle and is out of the picture, at least for a little while, that we’ll finally start to see some movement on the Meredith and Hayes front.

As Meredith said to Hayes in ‘Snowblind’ DeLuca was one of her first. He’s the first man she said ‘I love you’ to after Derek died and as a result she’s having a hard time letting go, but knows that she has to do it. One, because the relationship was never meant to last because they’re not in the same place in their lives. Two, because he’s insecure about how much better she is than him at everything and can’t get past it. And three, because he’s clearly suffering from a mental illness that he refuses to acknowledge or seek treatment for and is lashing out at her and the other people trying to help him as a result.

She’s having a hard time letting go and that’s okay. It’s hard to let go when you see someone suffering especially when it’s happening right in front of you at the hospital you work at. But at the same time she’s also made it clear to others including Hayes that she is single and is moving towards being ready to start moving on with her life. I feel like Hayes is in a similar place with his grief and moving on from his wife’s illness and death and that’s why I like them together. They’re not ready yet but they’re getting there and they have the potential to be epic.

I found the storyline this episode with DeLuca and the suspected abuse and his breakdown nerve wracking and very difficult to watch. There were points where I had to look away it was so bad. The acting was phenomenal but man was that heavy. I agree that based on the girl’s behaviour and the behaviour of her supposed aunt that there is some sort of abuse or neglect going on, but I’m not totally sold on the human trafficking angle. Both the girl and her supposed aunt appear to be natural redheads which is a relatively rare hair colour especially in North America. This would make the trafficking rather easy to spot so I don't believe the girl is being trafficked in the tradition sense.

I do however believe that there is some kind of abuse going on and based on the scene at the end she's either been kidnapped or forced into some kind of domestic slavery. I hope we get to see some follow up on this and that the other doctors are able to save the girl and anyone else who may in danger. This storyline once again cemented just how sick DeLuca is. If you had any doubts about him possibly being Bipolar before this episode this one definitely sold it.

He had a complete breakdown to the point that the other doctors had to form a human chain around him in order to convince him to stop yelling, stop screaming, and get off a table in the middle of a hospital waiting room. He is not well and he needs help. I think this episode did a good job of showing that once again it’s not about whether DeLuca is right or wrong about a patient or a case it’s how he goes about it that’s the problem. He gets laser focused on one aspect or detail to the exclusion of everything else including his own safety and the safety of those around him.

He was right about what Suzanne had, but he went about helping her the wrong way. Had he told Meredith what they had found out and what he was doing everything would have been fine, but instead he rushed in and injected steroids into a patient without getting consent, informing the attending physician, or checking to see if they had restarted the drug regiment or not. He’s lucky that she hadn’t because if she had those steroids would have killed Suzanne. Similarly, he was right to go get the liver from Seattle Pres when Hayes needed it and bring it back in time, but he was wrong to go out into a blizzard in below freezing temperatures to get it without gloves on and then try to refuse care.

And this week it’s the same thing again. He was right to suspect that something was up and that the girl was in danger and he was right to alert the nurse and other doctors, but he went about it the wrong way. He pulled Bailey off a pro-bono surgery to get her to see the patient with no evidence or way to prove the abuse. He rearranged Meredith’s pro-bono surgery schedule by lying to Helm and telling her it was on Meredith’s orders to get his patient into surgery. Because he lied his patient didn’t get the surgery or the help she needed.

When he realized that she wasn’t going to get the surgery because he scheduled it without asking he then kidnapped the girl and cornered her in a waiting room when she wouldn’t answer his questions the way he thought she should. When other doctors tried to help he prevented them and started screaming for the woman’s arrest with no proof of the abuse. Afterwards when Bailey tried to help him he refused and quit his job. He told Meredith he would take the suspension if she convinced Bailey to call the Trafficking Hotline, but then didn’t follow up.

On top of that he’s actions have been so aggressive and erratic these last few episodes that it makes it hard for any of the other doctors to take his concerns seriously because he’s expressing them while clearly not being in control of himself. And this time it’s the patient that suffers the most. Meredith had the pro-bono surgery day schedule under control and running smoothly until DeLuca pulled Bailey away from her surgery which messed up the schedule and then lied to Helm and had the entire schedule rearranged by saying it was on her orders. Up to that point everything was on track and being handled so if he hadn't done that everything would have been fine.

If he hadn’t pulled Bailey away or reschedule everything to give his patient priority then the patient would have gotten the surgery because they would have been able to fit her in at the end and this would have given them a chance to talk to her alone and hopefully find out what was really going on. DeLuca dashed all of that when he pulled Bailey off her case and rearranged the schedule without permission. In the past, he took serious risks and got lucky because both of those patients lived. This time he didn’t get lucky. The girl and her supposed aunt left the hospital and now no one knows where they are.

As for the conversation between DeLuca and Meredith after he stormed out of Bailey’s office, I feel the same way I did about all of the other times. We’ve been here before. At the end of last season DeLuca took the fall for Meredith when she specifically asked him not to. He told her he loved her and then went to jail for her crime. Then she visited him in prison and told him she loved him and then took responsibility for her crime and got him out of prison.

We see the same behaviour here again. DeLuca is convinced he’s right about his patient so he does something extreme. He pulls the Chief of Surgery off a pro-bono case and when that doesn’t work he rearranges the day’s entire pro-bono surgical schedule by saying that he’s working on Meredith’s orders. He then kidnaps a patient and refuses help to the point that the other doctors have to make a human chain around him and talk him off a table. Following this Bailey suspends him and tries to get him some help, but instead of accepting it he refuses and quits his job.

Seeing this Meredith is once again concerned so she follows him out and tells him that she loves him and that she feels indebted to him because he went to jail for her and that this can’t be how his story ends and for him to please let him help her. In response DeLuca tells her that he doesn’t love her, he never did, and he isn’t her problem anymore. It’s the exact same behaviour that we saw at the end of last season.

DeLuca behaves erratically and does something stupid he was specifically told not to do.  Meredith feels guilty and is genuinely concerned about him so in an effort to calm him down and get him to see things clearly and not do anything else stupid like she tells him she loves him. She says it to calm him down and to stop him from doing anything else stupid. That’s it that’s all.

I don't think she really loves him though. I think she cares about him and is legitimately concerned about him for good reason, but I don’t think she really loves him. Here’s why: we’ve only seen Meredith say she loves him under duress. We’ve never seen her say it when DeLuca wasn’t in immediate danger or about to do something stupid. And the only two times she’s brought it up outside of that she’s been pretty clear about how she really feels. When Zola had to have surgery and DeLuca was a first class idiot who expected Meredith to leave she told her sisters that she thought she loved him and that she was just having fun.

The time after that she told Hayes while sharing a romantic moment in the snow that she was having a hard time letting go of the relationship because he was the first man she said ‘I love you’ to after Derek died and he was clearly not doing well. For DeLuca’s part I don’t believe he’s ever really loved her either. DeLuca became infatuated with Meredith very quickly. He decided that he loved her before they even started dating all because she expressed a romantic interest in him.

Which was all well and good until the magic wore off and his insecurities about never being able to measure up to her and Derek starting creeping in. He broke up with her multiple times in the following episodes and the minute Meredith starting showing genuine concern for his out of control behaviour he lashed out and tells her he never loved her and to get lost. That’s because he doesn’t really love her and he never did. He convinced himself he did, but you don’t behave that way towards someone if you actually do no matter how sick you are.

Meanwhile the drama with Teddy, Owen, Tom, Amelia, and Link continues. As we saw last episode Amelia and Link are back together and the baby is his. Amelia comes into the Attending’s Lounge and announces to Teddy and Owen, and Jo who just happens to be there, that the baby is Link’s and that she’s sorry for any residual harm the not knowing may have caused. Owen is happy for her. Teddy pretends that she is, but is clearly devastated by the realization that she just blew her life up for no damn reason.

Jo is happy for her too and tells her that she already knew because as soon as Link found out he sent her a bitmoji of a baby with his face on it that she can never un-see but wishes she could. Too funny! It was good of Amelia to do that and I’m glad she did. She cleared the air and now everybody can move on. The series of events that lead up to this will definitely be Teddy and Owen’s downfall. If Teddy had slept with Tom once out of panic and then come clean to Owen I think he could have forgiven her and they could have moved forward and gotten married.

But that’s not what happened because Teddy slept with Tom more than once. They began an affair and it only ended because Tom chose to walk away. As this episode makes clear Teddy had no intention of doing so. As she says to Tom the fact that the baby is Link’s doesn’t change how she feels about him. This is about more than just the baby. It’s about Teddy realizes that she doesn’t know what she wants. She got everything she ever wanted and then realized that she wanted what she had. As a result, I don't think that's something Owen will be able or should forgive. I hope she does tell him, but at this point it looks doubtful that she will. My guess is that the truth will come out some other way and bite her in the butt later on.

I really liked Tom’s speech to Teddy in the OR Gallery. This is why I like him as a character. He’s an ass, but he’s a good guy at heart. He knows she can’t walk away and he loves her truly so he’s going to do it for her. Because as Tom says he can be an ass, but he’s not that much of an ass and he draws the line at sleeping with married women which she’s about to be. And as a man whose wife walked out the door and cheated on him after the loss of their son he’s not going to be that guy to another man even to someone he doesn’t like. He tells her to go home to her fiancée and her kids and plan her wedding.

At the end of the episode Owen finds Teddy crying on a bench outside. She feels guilty because she spent all day treating a war vet with Amelia who is clearly suffering mentally and physically and she knows that Owen has been through hell and now she’s cheating on him with another man. But instead of coming clean and telling him what’s really going on and how she’s feeling she lies and says she’s only upset about her patient and decides not to tell him. That’s going to bite her in the butt for sure.

The case I found most interesting this week was of the wounded veteran that Amelia and Teddy treated. It raised some good points, gave us some insight into how both Amelia and Teddy are feeling about their romantic partners and personal lives, and provided a great feel good moment at the end. I’m really glad they were able to help him and his girlfriend feel better and get their lives back.

I'm glad that Levi and Nico broke up. They went from a hot hookup to a real relationship to a hookup again and Nico's been all over the map. First he said he couldn’t help Levi on his journey, then they started dating, then he shut him out after his patient died, then they got back together, then he told Levi he wasn't out to his parents so they went back to being a hookup and Nico stop considering Levi and his feelings in his decision making. To be honest I think they've been over for a while, but Levi didn't want to admit it. Jo asking Levi to move in surprised me, but not in a bad way. They could both use a friend right now and I'll be interested to see where that goes.

In other news, Jackson got totally served this episode and it was glorious! The humour was so on point and provided some much needed levity to an otherwise dark and intense hour. My favourite moment was when Jackson tried to invite literally everybody he knew to the game because he had an extra ticket, but he's spent the last season and a half being such an ass to everyone that no one wanted to go with him and he got served! To me Maggie was the MVP on that one.

I'm glad that he and Richard reconnected. I'll be interested to see what Jo changes her name to in the coming weeks and I'm glad that Amelia and Link are back together, that they're happy, and seem to be doing well. Amelia’s speech at the end about fighting for their dreams was really lovely. The promo for next week’s episode looks promising. It appears to be a standalone episode where Richard, Teddy, Maggie, and Hayes attend a Surgical Innovation Conference in LA where Richard is presenting on his PATH pen. According to the promo and episode description it looks like Richard gets distracted by his issues with Catherine and both Teddy and Maggie run into people from their past. In Maggie’s case it’s an old flame and things get steamy! Get it girl! After all of the BS that Jackson put her through I’m here for it!

It also rules out the possibility of another Maggie Riggs situation with Hayes and I am so glad! Every single person Meredith has dated as either been someone her friends and family didn’t like or had a thing with one of her sisters which drove me nuts! At this point they have established that Cristina, Amelia, Bailey, and Jo all like Hayes and enjoy working with him. Cristina sent him as a present for Meredith and both Amelia and Jo have said they like him and think him and Meredith would be good together and approve of Cristina’s choice.

We haven’t seen him interact with Maggie or Richard yet and for that I’m excited. Maggie deserves a hot hookup and Meredith deserves someone her friends and family like and whose not involved with one of her sisters, secretly married, or engaged to someone whose not actually dead. I hope that Maggie and Hayes get along and she gets his endorsement. I’d love to see Richard and Hayes get to know each other better and get along as well as none of Meredith’s previous love interests have ever made an effort with Richard or been close to him with the possible exception of Derek because he knew Richard from before, but in that case Richard was against him and Meredith dating from the start so I’m not sure that really counts.

Speaking of Hayes it looks like we’re about to find out more about him and I am pumped! According to the episode description being at the Conference brings back memories from him and we’re going to get to see him relive moments from when he met his late wife. I’m very excited about this. Hayes is my new favourite character and the scenes with him and Meredith bring me joy! I’m excited to learn more about his past, meet his wife, get more insight into him as a character, and potentially learn more about his kids.

Until next time!

[poppys-writing]

The Missionaries, Part 1

A/N: new Box Boy series here, but this time it’s more caretaker/comfort centric! I hope you all will enjoy this new take on the Box Boy universe and whump in general. Once again, credit goes to @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and @shameless-whumper for creating this wonderful sub-genre of whump that continues to thrive. Thanks for reading and feel free to check out my masterlist!

Noah woke up to the same rattling of the tiny, rusty plane, dark clouds hanging ominously outside the plane window. He thought that the headache would disappear with a long nap, but it was still as bad (if not worse). Looking across the aisle was Ruthie, who was awake when he fell asleep and was still awake now, her leg tapping incessantly into the metal floor and her hands fiddling nervously with her coat. “You nervous?” He hollered across the aisle to her; the drone of the plane along with the deafening engine made him worry that she wouldn’t even be able to hear him. 

She jumped, apparently freaked out by his voice. Her head snapped to face him, her gentle brown curls whipping around even though they were secured in a ponytail. Nonetheless, she flashed him a wide smile, though her eyes didn’t sparkle with joy like they usually do. “No, no, not at all,” she reassured him with a nod. “Why do you ask?”

He held her gaze for a moment, considering pointing out her fidgety behavior, but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to be rude. “Uhh, no reason,” he quickly dismissed, a couple of chuckles escaping as he moved to rub the back of his neck. “I’m a little bit nervous,” Noah lied. He wasn’t nervous at all. Should he be? 

“Oh, you are?” Ruthie returned back, head cocking to one side. She could see right through his lie; Noah never gets nervous, even when he should be. They’re going to a foreign country, serving for the first time as medical aid, even though they haven’t become doctors yet. In addition to that, they’ll be in one of the biggest human trafficking hubs in the world for two months, treating the victims of the beast that will be breathing down their neck. Yeah, he should be worried about that. “Well you have no reason to be freaked. It’ll be a good experience!” Ruthie lied through her teeth. 

Before Noah could get another word in, Ruthie turned back to the window to gaze out at the ominous clouds and overthink everything, effectively ending the conversation. So, without any vocal company, Noah decided to gaze at the empty seats of the plane and imagine the companions they could’ve had. Sophie, Tyler, Jonathan, Mary, Rebecca, Elijah and Esther, Cindy, Jane, Rob and Will. So many of their friends that were supposed to accompany, but all dropped out for various reasons. Mary didn’t have time or money to get the appropriate vaccinations; Tyler, Esther and Cindy couldn’t raise enough money to go and had to work over the summer anyways; Sophie, Jonathan, Rebecca, Elijah, Jane and Rob’s parents all wouldn’t let them go because they thought the trip would be “too dangerous.” Noah didn’t blame them; with human trafficking statistics rising by the day in Belarus and travel advisories announced, he considered not going too. But, Ruthie coming from a family of turn-or-burn preachers and missionary leaders, her parents refused to let her back out of it. Ruthie even offered to request a transfer to somewhere a bit safer than Belarus, but her parents insisted that she finish what she started. There was no way Noah could let her go halfway across the world by herself, so he stayed on, suppressing his nerves once again to go into the belly of the beast. 

So now it’s the two of them. Ruthie’s a nice gal. Being in the same friend group in college, they got along and enjoyed one another simply due to mutual friends, but never became close and drifted even further apart during medical school. Leading up to the trip, they went out to lunch and hung out and studied together so they could bond before spending the next two months in a dangerous foreign country together. In that time, Noah discovered her to be nicer than he thought, funnier than he expected, and cuter than she was before.

The plane began its decent into Minsk, the capital and only city with an international airport. The dark clouds and turbulence broke to the city covered in a steady rain that drummed against the plane windows. From the sky, the Stalinist architecture evidently hasn’t been touched up in decades. Still, there was something beautiful about the tall, dreary buildings. The dark windows held the ups and downs of millions of people: mothers bringing home their child, businessmen saving their company, marriages that fall apart, loved ones that pass on, and also hundreds of thousands of people involved one way or another in the Box Boy industry. 

Since the Box Boy and Babe industries had been outlawed in the United States almost six years ago, the American government cracked down on human trafficking so hard that the industry had to completely relocate out of red, white and blue borders. Minsk being a major hub even prior to the U.S. breakdown, it was naturally the next best choice. On the bright side, human trafficking in North America became virtually nonexistent. On the down side, Noah and Ruthie are now in the heart of it all once more. 

The plane landed, emptying out its two Americans and their luggage and moving on to pick up some other human cargo. Who would be the next people sitting in their seats? Box Boy moguls, or Box Boy victims? Noah shuddered at the thought, lugging his bag across the slick tarmac towards a van with the familiar Christian Missionary Alliance symbol plastered all over its side. As they sauntered across the runway, which seemed to get longer with every step, Ruthie and Noah could feel the eyes of the ground controllers and travelers following them. Some of them were angry and disdainful, while others were hopeful and trusting - hopefully they’d encounter more of the latter once they get to the mission house. 

Ruthie and Noah loaded their bags into the back of the van, piling in and shedding their raincoats. Ruthie’s ponytail had frizzed up in the rain, poofing out in every direction. Stop staring, Noah internally scolded himself, but it was too late. Their eyes met again, but this time he was inches from her face - he could see the honey-colored flecks littering her brown eyes, watch her dimples form as she smiled back at him. Does she have a boyfriend? Maybe he should ask that once this whole don’t-get-human-trafficked thing is over. 

The van lurched into motion, Noah and Ruthie lurching along with them. A little laugh escaped her lips as she clutched on to Noah’s arm for stability, while he reached for the handle above to secure the both of them. Even after the ride got steadier, Ruthie still clutched his arm. 

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, the driver turned around and flashed the both of them a toothy smile, a gold tooth barely visible. “Welcome to Belarus!” he warmly greeted them with a thick slavic, even though they had been riding in the car for a while now. “We go pick up for other missionaries, then drive. You’ll be settled by dark.”

Casual conversation commenced until the van turned into the parking lot of a run down motel. Three missionaries from Spain, a couple from Germany, and two friends from Australia piled into the rickety old car. Polite greetings were exchanged and all got settled in for the couple hour drive to the house.

Minsk rolled by Ruthie’s window, the business-centric neighborhood that the airport was surrounded by turning residential. With that shift came what she was dreading: the Box Boys and Box Babes. Back home, when it was legal, she still became nauseated at the sight of a human being owned by another human being, and she didn’t even see it that much publicly in small town Idaho. Here, however, it seemed to be commonplace. Some men or women were leashed - leashed! - to powerful looking men and women that strode through the streets like they owned the place. Some girls trailed behind men with nasty grimaces, keeping their head down and hands folded in front of them. Some boys walked beside women with large heels and an entourage. It was disgusting. Absolutely revolting. Apparently west coast mega cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco were just like this, but by the time Ruthie made it there the business was already outlawed. How did the United States even legalize this? How could anybody legalize this? Ruthie wanted to pound of the windows, to jump out of the van and shout at everyone for their tolerance of this injustice. Instead, she let tears well in her eyes, clinging tighter to Noah’s arm.

Noah wasn’t looking out of the window just for that reason. He kept his eyes focused on his hands in his lap, or his watch, or just closed them. He already knows what it looks like, and he’d rather not see it again. When he felt Ruthie clutch at his arm even tighter, he nudged her with his shoulder to get her attention away from the window. It worked, and she quickly turned her head towards him, frantically rubbing away tears. “You okay?” Noah posed, careful to keep his voice down.

“I don’t know,” Ruthie shrugged, trying her best to smile at him. She does that. Instead of being sad, she decides to smile - it doesn’t really work all the time. “It’s just...I’d only heard about it, never actually seen what it looks like until now. It’s bad, Noah, this is really bad.”

Noah sadly nodded his head. Oh, if only she knew the worst of it. Sweet Ruthie with her naive small-town mindset. He wouldn’t trade her for the world, but sometimes he wished he could tell her the truth without ruining her endless joy and kindness. “I know, I know. We’re here to help though, don’t forget that,” he tried to reassure her. Noah’s not the best at comfort - since he rarely gets nervous, he doesn’t know how to deal with this fearful emotions.

“Hopefully our help is enough,” Ruthie responsed, casting her head down towards her hands instead of outside the window.

Noah surveyed the bus, just like he surveyed the plane. This bus was supposed to be filled with their closest friends, all journeying together to fight the evils of man and heal those who had fallen victim to corruption. Hopefully this van will be filled at all when the mission ends.

[dontmindthefangirling]

Locked Away {p.p.}

gif by @peteparkrrs

Summary: Peter finally lets out all of the emotions he had locked away from the war against Thanos when you confront him. 

Warnings: angst, PTSD, swearing

-

Ever since the snap, you had been trying your best to go about your life as normal as you could with the lingering thought of how five years had passed while you were reduced to nothing but a fleck of dust in the back of your mind at all times. 

You went to school everyday and saw your friends, and you focused all of your energy into your school work because any time you let yourself sit and just think was when you’d breakdown. 

You knew the snap had affected everyone in significant but different ways, and everyone was handling the aftermath differently, but you just didn’t know how to approach Peter. You had no idea what he had seen in the battle against Thanos, and you had no idea how he felt losing the only other father figure he’s had since Uncle Ben. 

He had been closed off ever since, reducing conversations to one word responses, and spending all of his free time alone. You used to be able to read him like a book, the two of you always attached at the hip, but now it was like staring at a blank wall with no expression. His eyes were hollow, always looking tired, and he never responded to your texts or calls. 

He even stopped showing up at lunch, and you were getting concerned that he wasn’t eating. You knew Aunt May would never allow that at home, but you felt like you didn’t even know your best friend anymore. And it killed you that you couldn’t help. 

All you wanted to do was take away his pain, and bring him back to the goofy Peter Parker that you loved, but whenever you approached him at school, you were always at a loss for words. His gaze was cold and emotionless, and you hadn’t seen him smile in weeks. 

You had gone over to his apartment numerous times, bringing his favorite comfort food and movies, but whenever you and May knocked on his door, he refused to answer and unlock it. You left the food and movies outside of his door for when he did open it, but you always left his apartment with your head hanging. 

You weren’t the only one worried about him. Ned and MJ had expressed their concerns to you on multiple occasions, but whenever any of you tried to get him to talk about what he was feeling, he’d either snap or ignore the question completely. 

The world was still in recovery for what had happened, everyone trying to get their bearings back in order after five years of chaos and tragedy. Your school offered support groups for those who wanted to talk about what they were feeling, and many students took the opportunity to go. You went a few times, and it definitely helped you start the process of moving on. 

But you couldn’t move on without Peter. 

You inhaled sharply as May opened the familiar apartment door, her face pulled into a sad, closed-lipped smile as she stepped to the side to let you in. 

“Hi honey,” she said gently. “He hasn’t left his room in three days.”

You sighed. “I know. I brought some of the work he missed at school.” 

You held up the papers in your hand, but you knew that Peter wouldn’t care about missed assignments. If you were being honest with yourself, it only gave you an excuse to come and see him and maybe get him to talk. 

“You can try,” May said, gesturing down the hallway towards Peter’s room. “I don’t know if he’ll open up.”

“Thanks May,” you said. You stalked down the hallway, your hands trembling as you raised your fist and knocked loudly on the door a few times. You heard some rummaging around inside. 

“I told you, I’m not hungry, May-” Peter froze as he opened the door and saw you. He stared at you for a moment before he began to close the door, but you shoved your foot in the way. 

“Pete, please,” you begged. 

His hair was longer than you remembered and sticking up in various directions. He had dark bags under his eyes and his gaze was cold which pierced your heart in a way that hurt more than you were willing to admit. 

“No, (Y/N),” Peter said, refusing to move so that you could get in. 

That was the first time you’ve heard him say your name since you were reunited after the snap. In fact, from what you remembered, that was the last time you saw him smile when he ran to you, wrapping you in his arms just glad to see that you were okay. 

That was months ago. 

“You can’t keep yourself locked in your room forever, you know,” you huffed, refusing to break his stare. 

“Watch me,” Peter hissed, turning his back to you before going further into his room. You were shocked to see that he didn’t slam the door in your face, but you realized he probably didn’t want to hurt you because you knew with his super strength he could have easily broken your foot that was lodged between his door and the frame. 

You took this very rare opportunity and slipped into his room, shutting the door behind you. 

“I brought your homework,” you said, suddenly nervous. You’ve been in this room millions of times before, but now it just felt different. It looked the same, smelled the same, and felt the same comfort that you used to feel when you and Peter would have movie nights, just the two of you. But that was years ago now. 

“You can put it in the trash,” Peter grumbled, going back over to his desk. You rolled your eyes as you tossed it onto his bed. He’d probably throw it away later, but you can at least sat you tried. 

You tried to peak over Peter’s shoulder to see what he was building or working on, but his figure blocked most of it. 

“Peter,” you said, hoping to get his attention. He kept his back to you, still working on whatever it was he was working on. 

“Pete,” you sighed again. “Can we please talk?”

Peter froze for a moment, his arm hovering over his desk before he quickly went back to his project. 

“Nothing to talk ‘bout,” he grumbled, slouching down in his desk chair. 

You scoffed. “Oh really? What about the fact that you’re ignoring everyone in your life? Or that you’re not taking care of yourself? When was the last time you ate something besides granola bars?” You looked over at the trash that only had granola wrappers in it. 

Peter kept his back to you and shook his head. “Can you get out of my room, please?” 

“No,” you snapped, putting your hands on your hips and walking over so that you were next to his desk and he’d have to look at you. “I’m not leaving you anymore. You need help, Peter, and I’m not going to let you self-destruct.”

Peter laughed bitterly. “I don’t need help.”

“Yes you do!” you cried. “You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, you’re not even acknowledging your best friends anymore. This lifestyle can’t be healthy, Peter! How can you not see that?”

“I’m fine, (Y/N),” Peter grumbled, standing from his desk chair and pushing passed you to walk towards his closet. You didn’t know what he was rummaging for, but if it was his Spidey suit, you were not going to let him swing his way out of this one. 

“I’m worried about you,” you mumbled. “And I miss you.”

Peter seemed to falter for a bit at your words, but when you saw the flash of red and blue in his hands, your heart began to race. 

“Tony wouldn’t want you to be doing this to yourself,” you whispered. 

Peter’s head snapped up towards you, his eyes wide and a new flame ignited within him, and he dropped his suit to the floor, his hands now trembling. 

“Tony?” he snapped, his eyes suddenly clouded with watery tears. “Tony is dead, (Y/N)!” he cried. “He’s dead! And I couldn’t save him!” 

“Peter-”

“I watched him die! I heard his heart stop! Do you know what that was fucking like? To lose another person in my life? It broke me! Don’t you get that?!” Peter’s voice echoed against the walls that used to be covered in Star Wars posters and were now empty. 

“No, okay, you’re right,” you said, your voice shaking. “I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know that Tony died so that all of us could live and what you’re doing isn’t much of living, Peter!” 

Peter stared at you, his lips pursed in a thin line. 

“We are all worried sick about you! And I have no idea how you’re feeling, or what you’re going through, but please, Peter for the love of god, let me help you!” you cried, as tears of your own began to swell against your eyelids. You blinked feverishly to prevent them from falling and Peter only stared at you with wide watery eyes. 

“I watched him die, (Y/N),” Peter croaked, his voice cracking as a tear fell from his eye. “I-I watched-” You took a step closer to him just in time as he collapsed into your arms, shaking and sobbing into your shoulder as you held him tightly against you. 

“It’s okay,” you soothed, rubbing his back as you guided him over to the bed so that he could sit. You sat next to him, still hugging him close to you, his face buried in the crook of your neck soaking your shirt with tears but you didn’t care because this was Peter and you would do anything for him. 

“I-I failed him,” Peter cried, hiccuping against you. 

“Hey,” you said sternly, leaning back and cupping his face so that he had to look at you. “You did not fail him. He would be so so proud of you, Pete. You know that.”

Peter’s lip trembled and you sighed as you wiped the tears with your thumb. He closed his eyes, more tears falling and taking the old ones’ places, but you just pulled him back to you so that he could feel some sort of comfort that he had been missing for the last few months.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently after a few more moments of him crying. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you whispered. Peter leaned back and looked at you and for the first time in a long time you saw the Peter you loved in his eyes again. It was a hurt and broken Peter, but it was Peter. 

“You know I’m always here for you,” you said gently, pushing the hair that had matted down to his forehead out of his face. “No matter what.”

Peter nodded, taking your hand and gripping it tightly while looking down at his lap, letting the tears fall freely. 

“But you gotta let me help,” you pressed. “Please don’t push us away anymore.”

“I just don’t want to lose anyone else,” Peter hiccuped, squeezing your hand. “Especially you.”

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder and feeling him relax a little bit at your touch. “You won’t as long as I can help it.”

You both sat in silence for a few more moments as Peter began to calm down from crying, his breath was still ragged but a little more even and his tears had stopped. You sat back and looked at him, wiping a few more stray tears from his cheeks as he closed his eyes. 

“We’ll get through this,” you whispered. Peter nodded and opened his eyes to look at you again. 

“We’ll get through this.”

-

thanks for reading my angsty feels sesh xx