#six hours is enough sleep for a ten hour shift right?

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

.

[qlossytbh]

𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐲 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 after a long day working on a specific murder case, all you want is to do was fall asleep, next to your boyfriend.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 fluff fluff and more fluff, established relationship, fem reader, brief mention of insecurity (spencer’s side), general cm content

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.4k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 started criminals minds and i fear this man is gonna push me down a rabbit hole. inspired on season 4 spence

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Longs days at work were usually your favorite— unless they induced an unhealthy amount of stress on you.

Unfortunately, today had been one of those days. To start off, Hotch called you in earlier, around six in the morning, due to an emergency statement issue he needed you to put together regarding your recent Unsub. You spent all day talking to witnesses, finally being able to establish a profile for the specific serial killer the BAU was hunting down.

You were utterly exhausted. You hadn't been sleeping entirely well, being kept up by nightmares regarding the current case and since it had been an eventful day, not only were you physically tired but mentally as well. Talking about woman getting raped and murdered and left in the middle of the streets wasn’t the most soul-fueling aspect of your job.

Your body begged for a nap— So did your brain.

The Unsub was attacking woman throughout the city of New York, so the BAU team opted on staying situated at some random hotel for the remaining of the week in order to get advances on the case. The end of your shift was intended to be around seven thirty, but Hotch once again asked you to stay behind and help Prentiss and Morgan with a few files. Being the person and colleague you were, you agreed without protest.

As another crack in your neck echoed throughout your head, you began questioning if your job was actually paying you enough.

Those extra two hours felt even longer with the never ending teasing of Morgan, whom to you resembled very close the figure of a brother. Irrevocably, excruciatingly annoying, but someone you cared for deeply.

Except for right now.

It was now ten. It was dark outside as you practically dragged yourself into the hotel lobby with Morgan and Prentiss tagging along much more actively, chatting endlessly about some irrelevant topic your head couldnt entirely latch onto. The heels of your feet were pulsating and you desperately needed to close your eyes. Your back felt terribly cramped due to being hunched over for so long at your desk so it came to no one’s surprise when you grimaced as you put a hand on your lower-back.

"Back problems?” Morgan dared, voice coming dangerously close to a tease. “At your age?"

You glared back at him, sending warning signs through your piercing gaze that he should be very careful with where he stepped.

"No,” Your voice was clenched. “These stupid hotel mattresses are utter crap and I was in some weird position last night."

“What kind of positions?” Emily eyed you from the side. You looked over at her, thinking you may of heard some suggestiveness laced in her tone. You caught a familiar evil glint in her eyes and realization dawned upon you, realizing what she had meant.

Your cheeks buzzed with heat as you jumped to your own defense. “Sleeping positions!”

You cringed internally, feeling mortified and annoyed and— tired. The two of them clearly had enough hours of sleep the night before to be in a cheery enough mood to tease you.

“I’m too tired to deal with the two of you,”

"Looks like someone's past their bedtime" Derek remarked while patting your head. You scowled, swatted his hand away urgently.

"I'm not gonna even fight you on that since all I want to do right now is sleep and not hear you guys make fun of me,” Emily checked her watch and elbowed Derek’s side.

"We should probably go get some rest too," She stated, finally putting you out of your misery. She jerked her chin in the opposite direction of the lobby, which was where her and Morgan’s rooms were.

There had been some sort of room distribution problem upon arrival, leaving half of the team on the left side of the building and the others on the right.

"You need me to walk you to your room?" Morgan asked without any teasing in sight, like he was genuinely concerned.

"I think I can make it to the second floor," You shrugged. "But thanks tough guy. Reid’s probably still up waiting for me."

Emily made a face before they nodded to themselves and with one final goodbye, headed off to their respective rooms in the other direction. You turned and made your way to the elevator, body heavy with sleep. Once inside, you closed your eyes and sighed heavily, leaning against the wall behind you with a thud. Your head was pounding and your legs desperately begged you to stop moving them.

The elevator came to a stop and you pushed yourself off the wall, waiting for it to open. Once it did, the eerie setting of the empty hallways settled in. You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling fear trickling throughout your spine. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Your job was bound to leave you with an unsettling feeling of being alone, but you weren't going to ever live down letting Morgan walk you to your room.

You hastily made your way to the door of the hotel room you shared with Spencer, slipping the keycard out your back pocket and opening the door.

Once inside, you slid off the heavy coat that hung on your shoulders and slipped it on the rack near the door. You heard the sheets shuffling in the room with a bit of urgency.

"It’s me Spence," You reassured, walking into the hallway and leaning against the wall that led towards the room.

You took in the sight in front of you and smiled happily. Satisfaction tan deep within you, knowing only you had the pleasure of seeing Spencer like this. So casually relaxed

His back was propped up against the headboard, hairs flying across his forehead showing the contrast between his usual somewhat tamed hair. He had his glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose and a book he had decided to read in his hand. Your smile was tired when he looked over at you, setting his book down.

"Hey," He started, smiling amiably. There was a familiar glow in his gaze that usually lit up when he looked at you. You sucked in a breath through your nose.

“Hi,”

“It’s late,” He said, almost as if coming to the realization of how late you had actually come back.

"Me, Prentiss and Morgan were at those files longer than expected— I'm exhausted." He patted the spot next to him.

"Then come sleep," You pushed yourself off the wall.

"I will, let me change and I'll be right with you,"

You turned grabbing your shorts and long sleeved shirt you usually slept in on the way to the bathroom. Some would debate the actual benefits of sleeping in shorts in New York winter were zero to none. Spencer had done so the first night you arrived, giving you all the reasons it wasn't beneficial and how likely you were to catch a cold. But long pants made you fidgety and caged. You hated how it felt to turn around in bed a few times and already feel the fabric getting twisted and stuck around your legs.

Besides, Spencers body temperature radiated enough heat to keep you warm, which was another beneficial reason of wearing shorts to sleep. Why avoid the cold when you had your very own personal human heater?

You looked at yourself in the mirror, failing to avoid the bags that were beginning to appear beneath your eyes. You promptly slipped off your turtleneck, sweater and jeans and put on your sleeping clothes. Once done, you left the bathroom, turning off the lights and closing the door behind you.

You reached up, pulling at the hair tie and freeing your hair from its low bun. Wordlessly, you made it to Spencers side of the bed and he innately threw the duvet cover backwards, allowing you enough space to climb in and rest yourself soundly between his legs, resting your head against his chest.

The silence that surrounded the two of you was enough to put you to sleep in that very moment. The comfortable surface of his solid chest was cozier than any mattress— even though you always unconsciously hoped you weren’t squishing him.

Spencer tossed his book onto the nightstand, slipping his glasses off his face as he quickly turned his attention to you. You placed your palms flat against his chest and rested your chin above them, allowing yourself to look up at him with a tired smile.

"Hi." You said. He reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and smiling down at you with his familiar infamous dopey smile.

"Hi," He answered back, smile growing wider. "You look pretty,"

"Don't even," You groaned, not believing a single word that came from him. "You were so lucky Hotch didn't call you in after hours— or before.”

“I’m getting the sense that you’re angry with me,” There wasn’t an ounce of malice in his voice, facetiously regarding your angry look.

“I’m not angry, i’m jealous.” You explain, pouting your lips at him. “You have no idea how jealous I am of the fact that you've been lying in bed since eight,"

Although joking around, you didn’t fail to notice the traces of empathy lingering beneath his gaze. There wasn’t anything Spencer hated more than knowing you were exhausted. He let his hand linger around your face, tracing patterns on your jaw while you looked up at him with big tired eyes. "Jealous of me? Being able to lay in these mattresses?"

You let out a laugh. "How many of your muscles are cramped after last night?”

“Because of sleep or…?” He trailed, pursing his lips in thought. You groaned, placing your palm across his face to either smother him or prevent him from seeing how flustered you got. You were usually the one making vilgar jokes. It sat differently when Spencer did it, it made you more nervous.

“You’re so stupid,” He laughed underneath your palm and muttered out.

“Actually—“

“Don’t ‘actually’ me,”

Spencer’s teasing, even in your state of utter exhaustion, didn’t leave you cranky or annoyed. It never did, It always did the opposite. You became all mushy and soft when it came to Spencer and every gesture was laced in nothing more than absolute adoration.

He grew quiet as he let his thumb linger across your cheek, realizing the joke had died down. He gazed your face so lovingly, it almost hurt. You closed your eyes and basked in the comfort of his gaze.

You and Spencer had been dating for over a year now. The two of you met when you became part of the BAU not long after he had started. Your proximity in age had been the initial reason for a friendship, but then it started shifting into something beyond that and before you knew it, you started seeing him outside of work, weekends… The majority of your time was spent beside him.

You still recalled with humor how it took a while for him to make a move. It didn't take long for him to become your friend, not at all. But the second the two of you realized things were moving beyond a friendship, he forgot any notion of how to operate like a normal human being. You had found it extremely endearing realizing how much of an effect you had on him— you still did.

Slowly falling in love with each other was probably one of the most cathartic events of one another’s lives because it distinguished such a firm before and after.

Working in the FBI had always felt so loud and caotic, but ever since Spencer, the world became a little more quiet and a little less stressful.

Spencer leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips, savoring any and every second he could with you. You sighed happily into the kiss, realizing how all your muscles began melting into his touch.

You pulled away, pecking his lips two more times just for desperate measures.

"I missed you." He hummed, placing a small peck to your forehead before allowing his hands to travel down the side of your ribcage and onto your back.

You crooned lowly, letting your eyes flutter close as you let him trace small patterns onto your back with his fingertips. Your body erupted in a string of goosebumps, feeling nothing but overwhelming pleasure seep into every muscle and joint in your body. The jolts of electricity seeped through your spine. It made your heart flutter and swell, feeling how light his fingers danced across your skin and how gentle he was with you.

It had taken a lot for Spencer to open up to physical touch, so that being said, all these small gestures from him were all the more special.

You knew there was a side of him that loved being connected to you through any sort of physical contact, wether it be holding his hands, a kiss on the cheek, linking your arms together, saying hi in the morning with a hug or a soft peck. His insecurities in the beginning of the relationship prevented him from letting that side show.

With time and patience, and lots of reassurance on your side, physical contact with you began nearly as necessary as breathing to Spencer.

Spencer always enjoyed giving you back scratches. He loved how your body immediately fell into his when he dragged his fingers along your back. Like he could physically see the knots of stress unfold. He sometimes grabbed your arm to himself and traced patterns across while you were watching movies or when you woke up.

There won’t be a day he forgets to greet you at your desk before heading to his own, despite always trying to avoid being seen by Morgan, who’d typically tease him endlessly.

Nevertheless, he’d still always bend over your slouched position at your desk chair in the morning and say hi. He’ll let his hand linger on your back and trace repetitive circles. Even if it was just thirty seconds, your body responded incredibly well to his soft touches.

Spencer was extremely good at reading you, and he responded to your needs in a way no one else had ever managed. Seeing just how close to collapsing you had been when you got to the room, he desperately wanted to draw circles onto your back until you fell asleep.

And god, were his back scratches just what you needed.

Right now, with his hands trailing around your tired body and aching back, you could practically hear yourself purring. His hand travelled along your shirt, reaching the hem and peeking his hand underneath it in order to feel the smoothness of your skin— that and knowing you loved it even more.

When he felt your body deflate he chuckled softly to himself. You mumbled quietly, sighing contently. “Hmm,”

"Did you know that when someone cratches your back, your brain releases Serotonin?" He started. You looked up at him with a sleep induced smile as his hand continued traveling along your back.

"No, I did not."

"It's a neurotransmitter that promotes positive feelings. Our skin is abundant with sensory receptors which are called mechanoreceptors. When stimulated, specifically by human touch, they send signals to the brain which triggers pleasurable sensations. It's kind of like a light therapeutic touch, some people even call it scratch therapy." His hands traveled mindlessly, along with his words down at you.

"Its primary purpose is to enhance one's mood for the better since it mainly releases endorphins and serotonin, hormones that tend to fight off cortisol. It's also said to relieve muscle tension, since the repetitive motion stimulates the natural release of these mood-boosting hormones. Your muscles respond and alleviate all the discomfort and stiffness on their own."

"Most importantly, it mimics gestures of affection and care. This specific type of touch motivates a sense of connection which can foster trust and bonding. Most people turn to this form of therapy because of how soothing the sensation can be both mentally and physically." He expounded as you watched him with nothing more than complete awe.

Spencer rambling about anything and every topic you could bring up was your favorite thing about him,— other than his smile.

Unlike many people who knew him, you actually listened and soaked up every single word he said. Hell, you learned more with him in the past year than the first five years of your adulthood.

"So thats why you always scratch my back, huh?" You pointed a finger at him and he smiled.

"That and because I love you,"

"I love you— And when you go all wikipedia on me," You kissed the corner of his jaw and positioned yourself sound against his chest. One of his arms held you against his chest while the other continued its repetitive patters. "Don't you dare stop with this scratch therapy stuff, I was just starting to feel sleepy,”

He kissed the crown of your head as you rested . "Wasn’t planning on it.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Spring challenge.

Sprung

Prompt: Spring | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Struggling to Make Ends Meet, Light Angst, Sacrifice, Love, Making a Life Together

"Steve, please," Eddie says, and Steve stills.

"I thought you were asleep?" Steve whispers in the dark, and Eddie's not sure why Steve's trying to be quiet at this point. They're both awake now. Steve's made sure of that.

"I was," Eddie huffs out, annoyed, because he had been. But Steve's constant flopping around has ruined that. Steve's become the world's shittest sleeper lately, and that's not exactly ideal in a bed partner.

"Sorry," Steve says, stilling, "I'll try to stop moving around."

Eddie just mutters something that he hopes passes as a thanks, and rolls back over. He has to get up at six, and he fucking needs his four hours. That's not too much to ask for, goddamnit. 

Steve's still for a few minutes, but then rolls over in his sleep, again, and the whole bed shifts and shakes. Again. Eddie's had enough, and snags his pillow off the bed, padding down the hallway to crash on the couch. He's exhausted. He can't do this tonight. He can't.

He still wakes up tired, because it was too cold in the living room. Their shitty radiators either don't work, or boil you. No middle ground. Fucking shithole. But it's the best they can do for now, since they're barely keeping their heads above water, as is. Working just to live. It's been hard. Harder than Eddie expected, and he grew up with fucking hard. 

He'd hoped they'd be past that now, hoped he'd finally catch a goddamn break.

Of course not.

It's the Munson curse. 

And now Eddie's in a bad mood, even as Steve's pouring coffee into Wayne's old thermos for him, packing Eddie's metal lunchbox, to keep him going on the jobsite all day. 

"Thanks," Eddie says, taking it, and Steve just nods silently, clearly aware Eddie's in a mood this morning.

Eddie worries they're circling the drain, from circumstances alone. It's not a love problem, it's a life problem, and that makes it worse.

And before long, Eddie realizes he broke the seal, having introduced a new wedge between them. Now that the couch is in play, they aren't even sleeping in the same bed most nights anymore. Steve will go, or he will, and now they're sleeping apart more nights a week than they sleep together. Maybe they're getting more rest, but they're also growing even further apart. 

Today, Eddie's coffee and lunch are on the counter, but Steve's already in the shower, and their ten minutes together in the morning are gone.

Just like that.

Eddie grabs his work boots from the closet, flopping down on Steve's side of the bed to put them on, and he's suddenly assaulted, poked right in the ass by whatever Steve's left laying on the mattress. 

Standing up, he's sliding his hand over the bed in the dark to see what the fuck he sat on. Nothing. He yanks the sheets back, and there's still nothing, so he strips it further.

It's a spring. 

And it's threatening to fully poke through, probably right where Steve's back rests. Goddammit. No wonder Steve can't fucking hold still at night. He's being tortured, Eddie thinks, as he presses his hand against the spring, feeling it bite into his hand. 

A rogue mattress spring.

That's what's divided them, broke them down. 

Eddie sits back down, lets the spring dig into his ass, and holds his head in hands. He's not gonna cry. He doesn't have time. He has to go to work. But goddamn this. 

He's still sitting there when Steve comes in and is rifling through the closet, "You okay?"

"No," Eddie says.

Steve walks over and puts the back of his hand on Eddie's forehead and Eddie laughs, wetly. 

"You don't feel hot," Steve declares. 

"No, I don't," Eddie mutters, because damn, he fucking doesn't feel hot at all. He feels broken down and worn out. 

He reaches up and catches Steve's hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing it. 

"I'm sorry about the mattress. I didn't know," Eddie says, looking up at him.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Steve says, and he rubs his fingers against the top of Eddie's head.

"You shouldn't have to be," Eddie says, dejected. 

Steve Harrington chose him, loves him, and Eddie can't even give him a bed to sleep on that isn't trying to pierce his spleen every night.

They can't afford a new one, not right now, and Eddie hates that he can't fix this. 

"We'll flip it," Eddie offers.

"Then it'll have the crater on your side again," Steve says with a laugh. And yeah, Eddie'd forgotten they flipped it last year, after his side started breaking down. Sucking him inward, like a gate into the Upside Down.

That doesn't matter.

"Well, that's gotta be better than this," Eddie admits, bouncing a little. Anything would be better than this torture device.

Steve kneels between Eddie's open thighs, "It's okay, Eddie."

It's not. 

"I'm sorry I was being a jerk. I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve answers, "I didn't want you to worry."

Eddie brushes Steve's hair off his forehead, "I'm still sorry. I love you. You know that, right?"

Steve grins, and it's blinding, "Always. Work now, worry about the mattress later."

Eddie nods, smiles, and when Steve moves from between his knees, Eddie leans over and laces up his boots. Ready to start another day.

That evening, when Eddie pulls into the driveway, Wayne's truck is parked behind Steve's car. Eddie hadn't realized Wayne was coming, and grins. This day just got way better.

Eddie plows into the house, and finds Steve in the bedroom, a pair of needle nose pliers dug into a small hole they've cut in the mattress, trying to bend the spring back into its original position. Wayne's standing there, talking Steve through the temporary fix, until they can afford something better.

It's gonna be okay, Eddie realizes. They're just a little bent out of shape right now. A little sprung. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[andhumanslovedstories]

Hey so your post about pain management as a bedside nurse is so important to my own nursing practice that I've considered printing it out so I can have it to hand all the time. So thanks for that. Also, how do you deal with assignments that are busy enough that pain management is harder than it should be? I'm coming up on two years as a nurse and I feel like I take it personally when I am too busy to adequately manage my patients pain. I'm also coming from a newly unionized hospital where the ratios are still horrendous (I do 1:10 on med surg) and I'm hoping once we can enforce our staffing grids it'll be better but idk I'm burning out and I love my job so much and I really respect your nursing philosophy? I guess. Sorry for the word vomit it's been a crazy shift.

I've been trying to think of how to answer this since I got it. It's just such a horrendous ratio. With ten patients a shift, that's like six minutes an hour for each in a fantasy world where there's no charting and everything is exactly where you need it to be. I feel like I don't have great insight into this because the most med surg patients I've had assigned is five. Ten patients to one nurse is just a raw deal for everyone. Like christ no wonder you feel like you're burning out! I'll give you what thoughts I have and hopefully other people can chime in if they have suggestions. But that's such a hard patient load.

When I've been super swamped, I've found that's when being really explicit about your thinking with the patient helps. Like if I have to dash into a room and then dash back out, I'll make sure the board is updated with the next medication time and that the patient knows when the medication is going to kick in. I'll also provide call light parameters. I have a lot of success telling people, "the med should be doing something by 5:30. If I haven't checked in with you by then, and the pain is unchanged or barely changed, hit your call light and we'll try the next step. Also hit your call light if you feel any sudden change, like now you're nauseated or you have a headache or the type of pain changes or something just feels very wrong. Is there anything you need before I step out of the room?"

I like to be explicit about when to call me because I think there's two directions call light usage can go wrong: someone calls all the time, or someone never calls. With someone who calls all the time, I find that telling them when I'll be back and that I want them to call me if I'm not takes away some of that anxiety that can causes some people to call frequently. Often those patients are afraid that if they aren't on the call light, they're gonna get ignored.

For the other type of patient, the one that doesn't call, I want to make explicit that it's GOOD AND NORMAL TO CALL YOUR NURSE WHEN YOU HAVE SYMPTOMS. We've all had that patient at the end of shift who goes, "btw the gnawing pain in my leg is now a 10/10" and you're like "what gnawing pain sir?? you've literally never mentioned it before now?? I don't have any meds for that lemme page super quick????" These patients can get into pain crises easily because they don't ask for help until something is unbearable. In addition to pain crisis bad, it takes a lot more time to deal with something unbearable than it does to deal with something uncomfortable.

On that note, are you spending your very limited time efficiently? To me, that actually means spend more time talking with patients, at least up front. Manage expectations, make sure people know what to expect. Having conversations with patients that are like, "You just had surgery, it's not gonna happen that we get you completely painless. We want to get you to a manageable pain level that allows you to do whatever it is you most want to do this shift." (For me on nights, that's usually sleeping at least a little, but sometimes the realistic goal you make together is that you will feel at some point better than you feel right now.) "You have this medication scheduled, and you have this one available every X hours when your pain is severe. Is there anything you know that helps you deal with pain?"

Also establish if patients want to be woken up for certain prn medications or if they're sleeping, to let them sleep. With some patients, I will advise them to get woken up for pain medication because I know that they're going to need consistent control to avoid a crisis. (Crises take so much time!)

When I'm crunched for time, I'm fond of bringing in an ice pack and being like "if it works, great, if it doesn't, just take it off, either way here it is." Sometimes I'll do the same with a warm blanket. If I know my patient needs to take pills, I'll bring a cup of water with me into the room. If there's a basic prn like melatonin or tylenol that I think they might want, I'll pull them in advance. If the patient doesn't want them, I return them next time I'm in the med room. (Obviously, don't do this with controlled substances. It's super easy to forget to return them, and not returning opioids is one of those whoopsies people get fired over.)

Decision making takes time. Walking to go get stuff takes time. I want to save the time it takes to assess if the patient needs those things and then walk off to fetch them by just having the things already. If your tightest resource is time, be liberal with resources you can spare. If you're stuck with a patient, do you have anyone you can delegate a prn med pass to? Do you know how to do the absolute minimum charting you need to? Do you have flushes and alcohol wipes and whatever other most common things you need? And since you can't hoard time, if you've got some to spare, ask yourself if there is anything you can do now that will save you time later. If you have five free minutes now and an incontinent patient, getting them up to the bathroom now can save you from taking the time for incontinence care and a bed change later on when they've also sundowned and decide they hate everything but most of all you.

So much of this answer I realize is investing as much time upfront as you can, which I realize is so hard when you are so busy. It sucks immensely that prepping takes much less time than not being prepared does when you don't always have time to prep. Plus when you invest that time to pain plan with patients and do small preventative interventions, I think it also provides some psychological comfort that helps with pain. You're letting them know you're invested and you care and you have a plan, even if you don't have all the time you'd like. That can mean better pain control, which can mean needing to spend less time in that room overall, meaning you can save six whole minutes at some point and maybe even, if we're feeling crazy, get a chance to indulge in that greatest of indulgences: just a real leisurely on-shift piss.

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #1

Transformation 🔀 / Farmer's Market 🌽

Ethan jolts awake on the couch in his apartment with no memory of returning. For a single, perfect second, nothing hurts, and then his human sensations rush back one by one: his back is killing him. There’s an awful crick in his neck on the right side. His head pounds, and his throbbing stomach churns like a washing machine. He stifles a belch and carefully lays back for a few moments longer. Fuck. What did he eat last night?

There’s not even the barest hint of warmth to the sky through the window. He gingerly swivels his neck until he can catch the microwave’s green LED display: 4:27 am. His alarm is going to go off just minutes from now, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to even haul himself upright for another hour at least. All of his systems have diverted power to his throbbing stomach, and he needs those systems to get the cafe up and running.

Except his alarm is across the room at his bedside, and when it shrieks to herald the morning he curses his past self for not being able to collapse like ten feet to the right. Can’t trust anyone these days, not even your own subconscious.

He stumbles across the room and smacks the snooze button, lies down carefully on his back with a pillow behind his neck and sleeps for nine more halcyon minutes before he has to get up for real.

He sits up slow, stifling a gag and then a series of progressively uncomfortable belches that make even him, a connoisseur of all things supernaturally gross, wince with disgust. The old ladies in town are always asking how a nice boy like him hasn’t settled down with anyone. He belches again, a deep rumble that makes him groan and press an arm to his stomach. Yeah, he’s a prize, all right. 

He showers with the lights off, and even if he can’t see the water turn rusty as it streams down his distended midsection, he sure can smell the sting of iron rising with the steam. Never thought he’d be at a point in his life where he could not only recognize the scent of his own blood, but also associate it with relief. 

The hot water soothes some of the aches in his protesting body, but his center of gravity is weighed down with what-the-fuck-ever he gorged on last night, and he’s so stuffed that he can’t draw a full breath. Jesus. Sad state of affairs when a man can’t take a shower without getting winded.

After almost forty years of this, Ethan’s at least amassed a fair amount of clothes that look professional enough without also exacerbating his various aches, pains, and post-shift bulges, not to mention the few — okay, twenty — pounds he’s put on lately. He throws on a loose t-shirt and a looser flannel over it, unbuttoned, and the biggest pair of jeans he owns, also unbuttoned. It takes him longer to put on socks and boots than it did to shower, and afterward he has to sit there panting for a few minutes with his head as between his knees as he can get it.

He ties up his damp hair, throws back half a dozen ibuprofen and chases it with a palmful of antacids, then eases down the stairs to the cafe. Out of habit he checks the mirror at the base of the stairs for any rogue smears of blood or viscera on his face and immediately he wishes he hadn’t. Oh, he’s clean, all right, but he looks like something the dog dragged in. 

He gets the coffee going, starts his prep routine, and sticks a slice of each of yesterday’s cakes onto the warmer for Vanessa. After five minutes on his feet, he has to take a breather against the industrial fridge. Great. This is gonna be a long one.

When the coffee’s done, he rips open two ginger tea bags and pours his coffee in over them. Not exactly a winning combination but it’s the most efficient if he wants to feel both awake and functional. He gulps it down as fast as he can, takes exactly three minutes to sit on the floor in the deep freezer and try to marshal himself into some kind of order, and then hobbles to the front door to turn the OPEN sign around at six on the nose. 

And predictably, at six-fifteen, Vanessa appears on one of the front bar stools like a specter in layers upon layers of draping black, her familiar cloud of ozone and plum wafting back to him in the kitchen like some ancient pagan essence. Her slim black bicycle is looped to the rack outside the window, secure under a deceptively robust lock that no teen yahoo has yet managed to crack. He asked her how she managed that once, years ago, and she just smiled and said it was a very old spell. He didn’t believe her then, but he does now. 

“Good morning,” she calls, and Ethan catches a belch in his fist and pokes his head out to say hello.

Her eyes widen slightly when she sees him, and he half-heartedly tells himself that it’s probably not personal. Anyone would react that way to seeing the bags he’s packing under his eyes.

“Morning,” he says gruffly, sweeping his flyaways back from his face. “Your cake’s coming in a second. Moving a little slow this morning.”

“I can see that,” says Vanessa, ever tactful. “Rough night with your dog?”

He scowls at her, and she smiles beatifically. He’s hated the euphemism since he was growing up; it’s one thing for everyone to talk around it the way they do, but he’d rather they’d just say it outright than dress it up in cutesy language. Vanessa, on the other hand, finds it charming.

“Just for that, you’re getting coconut,” he says, turning back to the kitchen and pressing a hand to his gut when he’s sure he’s out of her sight line. Vanessa doesn’t protest, because she can see the future and knows he’ll give her devil’s food anyway.

Other early-morning regulars trickle in, and Ethan slogs through rote orders while Vanessa sips her first mug of coffee, black except for a touch of cream. He already has a to-go cup set out for the latte she’ll order before she leaves for the morgue. 

He slugs another mug of ginger coffee, though it does little to help the glut in his stomach. It used to baffle him, how Vanessa kept that little figure when all she eats is cake and coffee with cream. Now he thinks maybe it’s not so much what he’s eating as it is that he’s running around the neighborhood stuffing himself multiple nights a month and stretching out his appetite for the rest of it.

Christ. At least it’s getting a little easier to breathe. 

His headache has subsided a bit by the time Vanessa finishes her cake, though his bloat hasn’t. His stomach is still roiling unhappily, and each time he bumps it against the counter, he swallows down a groan. It’s barely been an hour, and all he can think about is how much he wants to lie down. Cesar will be in at eleven; maybe he’ll let him handle things for a while and take an hour for himself.

“Do me a favor and eat some damn vegetables for lunch,” he says as he switches out Vanessa’s plate and fork for the check. “Or I’m gonna resort to hiding them in the cake so I don’t have to drive you to the hospital for scurvy.”

It’s an old threat, but the morning wouldn’t feel complete without it. Vanessa dabs at her lips with a napkin, her eyes bright with mischief. “Your concern moves me deeply, Mr Chandler.”

“Latte’ll be — urrp — right out,” he manages, and he immediately goes red when he fails to stifle the belch that spills out of him. 

For her part, Vanessa goes red too. The mischief in her eyes gets crowded out as her pupils dilate. 

“’Scuse me,” he mumbles, and he ducks back into the kitchen before he can do any more damage. He makes her latte with his pulse flooding his ears, embarrassment worming through his already overstuffed stomach, and under the grumble of the espresso maker and the scream of the steamer, he tries to prod out any remaining belches with his free hand before he has to face her again. 

He tries not to look her in the eye when he goes back out with her latte, but of course Vanessa is staring right at him, her half-distant gaze beveled to too fine a point. He grimaces and slides the latte toward her, mumbling something about how he’d said it was a rough night, and he’s about to sidle around her to check on someone else and make his escape when she grabs his forearm.

Her hand is cold against his bare skin, her round black nails sharp, and he blinks at her, uncomfortably aware that he must look like a wild animal caught in headlights. Vanessa’s pale eyes blink back, her wide pupils making her look even more like a creature from beyond the veil. 

“I have something that could help,” she says, her grip relaxing infinitesimally. “A tincture. Not with me, but I could come back on my lunch hour.”

“Oh,” he says, squirming, “no, that’s all right, don’t go out of your way. I’ll be fine. Just overdid it last night.” He palms his stomach sheepishly, and Vanessa’s nails flash against the skin of his wrist as her grasp tightens again. “Really, Vanessa. I’ll live, I swear.”

“Well, that may be,” she intones, retracting her hand and tucking it primly into her lap. “But you don’t have to suffer.”

He scuffs out a laugh. “You tell that to the universe, Miss Ives, or to God or whatever deity you’ve got on the horn this week. Doesn’t make much difference to me who it is, but I’ve got a bone to pick with them.”

She watches him for a long, pointed moment before gathering her things and wrapping her hands around her latte instead of his tender flesh. “I’ll let them know,” she says dryly, and then she’s gone, bicycle lock coming apart easily under her black manicure.

He holds out until Cesar shows up, a little earlier than scheduled because he’s still trying to impress Ethan, and then he begs off for an early lunch and goes upstairs to nap. He dreams fitfully of Vanessa’s black nails, of the rich blackness of overturned earth and of fresh blood singing across his tongue. When he wakes up, he doesn’t feel sick so much as just heavy.

There’s a plastic takeout bag looped around his doorknob when he steps out to head back downstairs, supplementary doses of ibuprofen and antacids coursing through his system, and for a moment his gag reflex kicks. Did he order food in his sleep? He’s probably beyond help if he’s gotten to that point, good Christ. 

But no. Inside there’s a little tub like Vaseline or hair pomade comes in, nondescript black, no label. There’s a note taped to it, handwritten in long, spindly letters that adjoin and stumble against each other:

Cesar let me up. He is quite susceptible to psychic threats. Apply a teaspoon or two to each wrist before you go to sleep tonight. You can add some on the back of your neck as well to mitigate nausea. Repeat in the morning if necessary. It does contain turmeric so it will likely stain any fabric it touches. Use with care.

Feel better. No one else will remind me to eat vegetables.

V.

P.S. I did not threaten Cesar. I simply asked if he would like to see what his future held if he didn’t let me up to your door. He declined. 

And then Ethan’s laughing to himself on the tiny landing between his apartment and the diner, long past caring if the sound filters downstairs for anyone else to hear. He unscrews the cap and brings the tub to his nose: that’s turmeric, all right, and alcohol, aniseed, and something with a sweet burnt-sugar note he can’t quite place. He opens his door and tosses the bag onto his bed, then heads downstairs, shaking his head. Vanessa’s getting that cake for free tomorrow, that’s for sure.

[scribeofwinchesters]

Secrets and Lies: Chapter 12 - Absolution

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 5,280

Summary: “I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.”

Series Rating: Explicit/18+ TW: Rape/Non-con

Previous chapters:  One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Sevenandahalf Eight Nine Ten Eleven

A/N: I hope you all like this chapter and if my story makes you feel something, reblogs, comments, asks, etc are always welcome <3 Alsooo don't worry. This is not the end. I felt like this seemed like an ending so I wanted to be clear. I feel like I've been giving y'all blue balls so don't worry, we're gonna get our smut on real soon, folks! ;) Most likely the next part will also wrap everything up and will be the last part but I'm already working on a new sam x reader fic that takes place at the beginning of s.10 but is a continuation of the same relationship that is present in all my fics.

Tag list: @lauraashley93 @stoneyggirl2 @tiggytaylor @park-simphwa @dottirose

When you first woke sometime later, you continued to drift in and out of consciousness for what seemed like hours. You were faintly aware of Sam’s presence on the other side of you–your feet tangled with his legs as he curved around you. But the meds Dean gave you were strong and continued to pull you back down into unconsciousness. 

In the hazy moments of awareness, you could hear Sam and Dean talking quietly to each other. Their voices lulled you back into a comforted sleep. Another moment, despite your back to him, you could feel Sam sitting back against the headboard, reading. Each rustle of the pages turning was a quiet thrill that made you smile unconsciously in your sleep, even more so when he began using his free hand to casually caress figure eights onto your back.

Sometime after that, you found Sam alongside you, over the blankets but still snuggled against you, his flanneled arm draped over you. He’d laced fingers with yours and held your hand over your heart. You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair and inhale deeply before gently pressing his lips to the crown of your head. This, combined with the sun shining in from the window by the door and your desperate thirst, was enough to finally push you fully into consciousness. 

The ice bag rested heavily on top of your cheek and was as cold as ever. Dean must have made a fresh one. 

You whined softly as you stretched your legs and let out a yawn. Instinctively, you moved your arms and Sam withdrew his, allowing you to stretch them out in front of you, noticing with each shift the aches in parts of you that you didn’t even know could ache. Your lungs felt bruised, somehow, from the strain the shifter had put on them in its attempt to suffocate you. The large bruises on the back of your arms, your waist, and your thighs where it had coiled itself tightly around you pulsed out painful reminders.

You turned over, taking the ice bag with you, and nestled it between your cheek and the pillow. Each movement brought on more frustration, stirring you further from your sleep as you wrestled with your appendages in a vain attempt to settle into a position that didn’t hurt.. Grasping the top sheet in your fingers, you pulled your hands together and rested them beneath your chin.

You blinked slowly as your eyes adjusted to the light.

Sam was right there, watching you. His face lit up as your eyes settled on his. His shaggy, brown hair was tucked behind his ears and he was dressed in jeans and an old grey and blue flannel. You took stock of the bandages on his neck and cheek and chin and wondered how many more there were that you couldn’t see.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you croaked. A beat passed before you painfully cleared your throat and asked, “When was the last time you laid in bed this late?” 

Sam smirked as he thought about it for a moment. “Laid in bed with you, like this? At three in the afternoon? Hmm…,” his eyes narrowed on you as he thought. “Probably a few months… Was it New Year's Day? … Certainly not often enough.”

Your heart raced and you took as deep a breath as you could manage. Sam wouldn’t be talking to you like this if he hadn’t decided to stay, right?

“New resolution: stay in bed more,” you rasped with a careful smile before a tiny cough caught in your throat and you pulled the sheet over your mouth as you let it out.

“I can get on board with that,” Sam said grinning broadly as he climbed off the bed and made his way around. He grabbed the full cup from the nightstand as you carefully pulled yourself back to rest against the headboard. A groan or a hiss escaped your lips with each painful movement. Sam leaned over you, careful not to spill the water, and adjusted the pillow behind your back before moving the ice bag to the nightstand. He crouched down and handed you the cup which you drank down in seconds, stopping once to cover a painful cough. 

Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to force his concerned frown into a smile. He grabbed Dean’s steel water container and refilled your cup as you held it out for him. Once he was sure you weren’t going to chug the second cup as well, he joined you back on the bed. This time he sat with his legs crossed under him and faced you. 

You glanced around the room. “Dean?”

“Supply run,” Sam said. You nodded before taking a sip of water. He watched you for several long moments before looking away, as if steeling his nerves. He took a deep breath and when he turned back you saw that his eyes were glistening again, like last night, and you were back in that old place, the place where your heart ached and begged to stop all of his pain and guilt and regret and longed to remind him how worthy and caring and honorable he was and how all the bullshit he’d endured wasn’t on him...

You took another sip and closed that door in your mind. You weren’t sure Sam still wanted you to take care of him in that way and until you were, that wasn’t a weight you could take on… not right now.

“Y/n… I’m so-” 

“I’m okay, Sam,” you said, cutting him off. The corners of your lips twitched up into your best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Dean stopped it. I’m still here. You’re still here. Everything’s okay.” 

Okay, so maybe that door didn’t close so easily…

“Please, y/n, just let me say this,” he said before inhaling sharply. “I— I never should have left.” 

You shook your head at him. “Please don’t do that.”

“What?”

“We both know by now that shit just happens and all any of us can do is be there to help pick up the pieces, maybe stop it if we’re lucky. We’re not always going to be lucky,” you shrugged. “So don’t act like you should have done something–like you could have done something… because clearly, life doesn’t work that way.” 

Sam swallowed hard and looked away from you. “I never should have taken that damn case. I should have given it to Dean. I should have come straight home,” he muttered. 

“Sam,” you said before biting anxiously at your bottom lip. The thing that had been gnawing at the edge of your thoughts was finally ready to bubble out. “Look, I know this has thrown a wrench in your, uh, plans. I still mean what I said the other night–if you’re not ready to come back, don’t do it just because of–because of all this. I’ll be okay for a bit. Awhile even. If you have any doubts… about–about us–I need you to deal with them before you–if you decide to…” You stumbled over your words and took a sharp breath, ready to push past the one word you couldn’t get your mouth to utter. “if you can– if you can forgive me.” 

Sam dragged his hand down his face as the tears started to slip down his cheeks. He pinched his bottom lip anxiously like he did when research was beginning to fail him. Normally, when you caught him doing that, you’d walk up behind him and pull his hands into yours as you leaned over and pecked little kisses down the side of his face until you found his lips, and–still grasping his hand in yours–tilted his face up and pressed your lips to his, taking a long, silent moment before opening your mouth to him and slipping your tongue gently and momentarily between his lips. Your breath turned shallow from the memories and you quickly wiped away a tear as you wondered how you’d ever be able to keep yourself from him. 

Sam stared up at the ceiling a moment before looking back and studying you for a long moment. His brows knit together and suddenly he leaned toward you and pulled you into his arms as he lifted you with an almost disconcerting ease. You fought through the ache in your muscles as you shifted your legs and nestled yourself around his hips before resting your chin on his shoulder and encircling him in your arms. He slowly caressed his fingers up and down your back.

“Sam…,” you said softly against his ear, your chin pushing into his shoulder as you spoke. 

“You know… when I was out in the woods, setting up my tent, hiking the trails, just trying to clear my mind–that plan completely backfired. All I could think about was you. I watched the creeks flowing, saw little pools of minnows and frogs and swimming ducks and I thought of you and how much you’d love it. I saw an owl up high in a tree and I wished I could show you. I watched the sunset and I wished you were there holding my hand, telling me what the colors reminded you of. I stared up at the stars and I swear I saw your face. The moon was a beautiful, clear, perfect crescent–just like you always love to point out to me when you see it. You were everywhere. It was so much that I almost prayed to Cass, sure that he was doing this to me on purpose. But I knew better. It wasn’t Cass or any other magic. It was just… you. My love for you.” 

Your heart caught in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks as he spoke. You pulled your chin down to the fabric above his clavicle and pressed a kiss into him as you shifted your grip on your forearm, squeezing him tighter as your tears dripped onto Sam’s back. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I debated calling you–debated if I should just pack up and drive back home to you. Then I got news from a hunter about a case close to home and decided I could wrap it up quick and be home in a couple of days and that way you’d still get your space–in case you needed it now–after–after the way I’d treated you that night.” 

“Sam,” you said, whispering his name again. That wasn’t your favorite memory but you didn’t want it to be something he berated himself for forever.

“I know, just let me finish. I need to say this.” 

You loosened your embrace on him and trailed your fingers up his neck, unintentionally eliciting a soft gasp from him at your touch. Your fingers found your target as you brushed them–opened and closed–around his crown, gliding slowly through his hair. His chest, pressed to you, fell and rose shallower now. 

“Oh my god… you're making this… more difficult than I imagined,” he said, his voice strained.  

“Sorry,” you said, the small smile evident in your tone. “It’s just… this last week has been incredibly–excessively–unbearably shitty and I needed you so bad–not needed you, needed you–just–you know–needed you. Dean did his best–the best friend I could ever ask for–but when you hold me–I feel… healed… salvageable… I’m not-”

“Shh…,” Sam soothed you as he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him so that he could look into your eyes. “I’m here and I got you and I’m not going anywhere. Now, listen to me. Of course I forgive you, okay? I forgive you a million times over. Tell me you’d make the same choice again and again and I’ll say, ‘Yes, do it’. Tell me you need to wipe my mind again right now and I’ll say, ‘Please’ without giving it another thought. If you made a call then it was the right one. Full stop. I know you, and you know me,” he said, squeezing your shoulders before letting go and cupping either side of your face in his wide palms, ensuring you couldn’t look away from him as he spoke but careful to avoid the laceration on your cheek.

“It took me a little bit to sort through the memories of that night after Cass gave them back to me. At first all I could see was you–bloody, screaming in agony as I lifted you–I woke up hearing that scream in my nightmares, y/n… but then, there it was, a thought that prickled at the back of my mind as I held you so still that my arms were cramping–you didn’t deserve this life and Dean and I were monsters for pulling you into it–for keeping you in it. This is why we don’t do attachments in this life. It’s not safe. And loving me was going to be the death of you.” 

You shook your head and he let go of you, dropping his hands to find yours, weaving each finger with his.

“You were right, y/n,” he said. “Don’t you see? You were right.” 

“No, Sam,” you said, still shaking your head. “Don’t do that. I was wrong, okay? My choices were wrong. I can’t change what I did and truly all I want is your forgiveness. Not absolution–or–or salvation… Just… forgiveness.

Sam closed his eyes and was silent for several long seconds as your words washed over him. Finally, he whispered, “I love you,” and leaned forward to press his lips chastely against yours before he pulled back just enough for his heavy breath to warm your skin. “Is this okay?” he asked. 

You paused, surprised at yourself for not immediately responding, ‘yes’. And realized you were not sure what to make of it, of him. And his beautiful words were too much. It was all overwhelming.

“Y/n?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said as you dropped your head into your hands and squeezed your eyes shut. Fresh tears dripped into your palms as you quietly sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me–I know you’re Sam. You are Sam. You are my Sam. And I adore you, too. You know that, right?” you asked. “I can’t find all the words right now to convey it the way you did. I’m so–it’s just been a–a shitty fucking week,” you said as you lifted your red, blotchy face up to look at him and took in several slow, deep breaths. 

Sam’s eyes widened with concern and you saw his chest rise and fall rapidly with panicked breaths. “I do–I do know that,” he said as fresh tears misted his eyes. You could see he wanted to comfort you, to hold you, but he wasn’t sure anymore if that was right, so he pulled himself away. 

Your tears came harder then and you gripped the comforter into a ball. You were furious, you wanted to scream out in anguish. You wanted to stop. fucking. crying. But you couldn’t. It all just spilled out and all you wanted was for Sam to wrap you in a hug and hold you and kiss your forehead and stroke your back, but there was another part of you that wanted him to stay away from you–to leave you the fuck alone. 

You felt like you were being torn in two and it was an emotional agony that paled in comparison to what you felt the night you and Sam fought or even the misery of the days after. You stood and fumbled around your boots and clothing, looking for your phone. Sam’s voice sounded like it was being carried over a pool of water that sat above you as he called your name. You ignored him. You found your phone on the nightstand, no doubt plugged in and charged thanks to the ever thoughtful Sam, and made your way to the bathroom where you shut the door behind you, too scared to look back at him. It broke your heart to imagine his expression upon hearing the soft click of the lock but you did it all the same.

You turned the cold knob on the sink and tried to focus on the sound of the rushing water as you cupped your hands under the stream and watched the water rush across your skin in airy streams. It was cool and calming and you splashed several handfuls over your face before patting it dry with the hand towel, careful of your cut. 

You unlocked your phone and called Dean. 

“Y/n?” Dean asked as he answered the phone before the first ring had even finished.

“Dean?” 

“You good?”

“I, uh–yeah, I’m good,” you lied. 

Dean could hear the congestion in your voice and knew you’d been crying. 

In an instant his tone turned gravelly and flat. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just, um, I know it’s Sam but–I don’t know why but I suddenly wasn’t so sure–but that doesn’t make sense because I do know–I do know that’s Sam,” you choked back your tears and swallowed hard. “He–I just…,” you trailed off. There was a silence between you for a moment.

“Y/n, the shifter’s dead, okay? I killed it. And I just got the other one into the trunk so we can burn it, too. I’ll be there in ten but in the meantime, I’m sure Sam won’t mind if you have to test him again to be sure, okay, kiddo?” 

You nodded to yourself. “Okay,” you whispered before sniffing and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

“Deep breaths,” Dean reminded you. 

You took a deep breath and winced at the sharp pain in your lungs as you inhaled.

“Sorry,” you said as a guilty tear spilled down your cheek.

“Don’t be. I’ll stay on the phone with you ‘til I’m back,” he said.

You took another deep breath and counted to five before letting it out and counted to five again as you exhaled, ignoring the pain. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay, Dean,” you said as you hung up the phone before he could counter you.

You glanced in the mirror for the first time since you weren’t even sure when. Your hair was a crazy, tangled mess and your face was stamped with a bright splotch of red across your cheek, an almost perfect handprint. The two butterfly closures held the broken skin together. There was a big, dark bruise forming beneath your eye, above the cut. The shifter really had hit you as hard as it could, which was saying something for a monster. You quickly brushed through your hair with your fingers and pulled it into a manageable but loose bun. You turned to face the door and shut your eyes as you gently shook your whole self, before slowly opening the door. Sam sat at the edge of the bed, waiting quietly as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“You scared me,” he murmured as he looked up at you.

“Sorry,” you said as you hesitated in the doorway. “I know you’re not…,” you trailed off and took a slow step toward him.  “Your whole being–your whole presence is the opposite of it so I know you’re not–but for a second a part of me was there again and–well, without Dean here–I’m sorry. Not that you–” you said, fumbling over your words before Sam cut you off.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Sam said. “I know exactly what it’s like to have no idea what’s real and what’s in your head.”

Of course Sam would know; he’d told you vague stories of the torture he’d endured in the cage before you’d met him. The other pieces Dean filled in, about his visions of Lucifer taunting him, and the scar on his palm that reminded him he was safe. When Sam was having a really bad day you’d sometimes gently trace a finger across that scar to remind him of that fact. And on even worse days, when you had a moment alone, you’d peck small kisses to it.

He held his hand out and waited for you to take it as you approached him. When you did, he pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around your hips as he nestled his face into your waist. You twisted your fingers in his hair as he sighed a ragged breath into you. You stood there just like that, silent, as Sam breathed in and out, comforted by your fingers tracing up and down his scalp and twisting idly in his hair. 

“Will it help if you tell me about it?” he asked after a minute. 

You considered the idea. “Maybe–later though, or tomorrow–not yet–and besides, Dean’s gonna be back soon,” you said. He looked up at you. Those big, pitiful–beautiful eyes that you’d walk across shattered glass and hot coals to see just one more time. You didn’t need to cut his arm to know he wasn’t a shifter. This was all Sam. You disentangled a hand from his hair and lightly prodded at his left arm causing him to release you. You slid your fingers down the length of his arm as he bent it up to you. When you reached his wrist you gently grasped it in your palm and pulled it up to your lips so you could press a kiss to his scarred palm. 

“I love you,” you murmured as you released his wrist. He glided his palm across your jaw and cupped it as he rose to his feet. Your other arm slid down and you slipped it under the back of his shirt to hold him just above his hip, urging him to stay close.

“Love you,” he whispered back. He held fastly, now, to either side of your face as he ducked down and pressed his lips to yours. You released his hip and lifted your hands, resting them over his as he held you, ensuring he didn’t release you before you were ready. You opened your lips to him and he hesitated for the briefest second before deepening the kiss and slipped his tongue momentarily along yours. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you as he started to pull back. You leaned forward and captured his lips with yours. 

“More,” you murmured against his mouth. Obedient as always, Sam kissed you back, hungrily now, like he needed your lips on his to sustain himself. He angled your face up and deepened the kiss with his tongue. Gently, he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it and going back to your lips for more. You sighed into him as you released his hands. He let one trail over your neck as the other gripped your waist, pulling you closer and eliciting a low gasp from your lips. You cupped the side of his face with one hand as you let the other one return to his hair, just behind his ear where you drew light circles with your thumb. 

“I should shower,” you said, remembering Dean was on his way.

“I’m the one that needs the cold shower,” he whispered with a smirk as you rested your hands on his chest. 

“Oh please, it takes way more than that to get you going.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” he said as he gently grasped your hand and pulled it down so that you could feel his partially stiffened cock beneath his jeans. He smiled at the blush that flushed your cheeks as he shifted sideways, turning his back to the door and walked you backwards toward the bathroom. 

“I really missed you,” he said as he pressed his lips to the juncture of your neck and jaw. 

The roar of the Impala broke the trance and you broke apart. You listened as Dean pulled the car to the door and cut the engine off. Dean entered the room in a rush, not even bothering to shut the car door behind him. He looked to you and then to Sam and arched an eyebrow. You made your way to Dean as Sam sat uncomfortably down at the edge of the bed, tugging at his jeans as he crouched.

“You good, sweetheart?”

“Something like that,” you said as you hugged him. “Thanks for–” 

“ ‘Course,” he said as he continued to study you before glancing again to Sam. “Okay, well, you two ready to put this place in the rearview after we eat a quick bite? Because I sure as shit am,” he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. He turned and made his way back out the motel door, leaving it hanging open as he rifled through the back seat before returning with a plastic bag and a paper tray with three sweating cups of ice cold soda in one hand and a brown paper bag that smelled greasy and warm and delicious in the other. The smell awakened your appetite and your stomach rumbled in response. 

“Holy shit, I’m fucking hungry,” you said, eliciting a small chuckle from Sam. 

“Good, cause I got your favorite cheeseburger: extra mustard, extra pepper, add jalapenos,” Dean said as he kicked the door shut behind him and set the drinks down on the table. 

Your mouth watered as you took the bag from Dean and set it on the table, hungrily pulling a fistful of fries from the bag, and stuffing them in your mouth as you took a seat. You didn’t have the heart to tell him your throat may be too sore to enjoy mustard and jalapenos and you were too hungry to really care.

“Hey, those better not be my fries!” Dean shouted. You stiffened and glanced hesitantly in his direction. Sam’s lips twitched up into a small smile at you before he saw that Dean was handing him the plastic bag. 

“Oh, thanks,” he said hesitantly as he squinted at the bag. 

“Only thing around here was a wally-world so those’ll have to do,” Dean said as he made his way back to the table and sat across from you. He pulled one of the cups from the tray and took a long pull. 

You were already three bites into your burger and had dumped the fries on to the paper wrapping when Dean fished his food out of the bag. You turned and watched as Sam pulled a large shoe box from the bag and lifted one of the boots out. They were steel-toe, dark brown work boots. “They’ll definitely do,” he said as he pulled them on and fussed with the laces. To you, they looked closer to something Dean would choose for himself than what Sam normally wore but the options were surely slim.

“You gonna eat, Sammy?” Dean asked a moment later. You looked back to see Sam was still at the edge of the bed, watching you and Dean devour your meals. There was a hesitancy in his eyes that confused you and you furrowed your brows at him. He shook his head and smiled as he stood up.

“So, the bunkers good?” you asked Dean after handing Sam his burger. There were only two seats at the small dinette table so Sam sat at the foot of Dean’s bed and took a careful bite of his cheeseburger. 

“Good as it can be,” he said as he chewed a large bite. “Cass said everything was fine. Had to have been some kind of spell–a cloaking spell or an entry spell–that either the shifter already knew or got from, you know, Sam’s beautiful mind,” he said before taking another pull from his soda.

You grimaced at the thought. Sam let out a guilty huff before leaning his long body off the bed and over to the table and to take one of your fries as he kissed your cheek. 

“S’okay,” you said as he sat back down. You lifted your leg and rubbed your pointed toe along the side of his calf. A pained smile crossed his face as he looked to you.

You finished the last bite of your cheeseburger and took a giant gulp from the soda, tossed a few fries quickly in your mouth and stood up, wiping your hands off with a napkin. “Finish my fries for me, Sam,” you said. “Gonna shower real quick.” 

Sam’s palm rested on his knee and you made sure to pass him closely enough that you could graze two fingers over the back of his hand. His hand twitched reflexively from the sudden, unexpected touch. 

“Be careful of your cut,” he whispered. You smiled tenderly at him from the doorway before turning and shutting the door.

You showered–for the first time since–and it felt so good to finally, really wash the shifter off. You let the hot water relax the tension in your shoulders and neck and scrubbed gently at your scalp with the motel shampoo. You paid extra attention with the sudsy washcloth, trying to make sure you scrubbed every part of you that the shifter touched. It wasn’t enough, you could still feel it and as the memories started to enter your mind, you hurried through the rest of your shower, not comfortable to be alone with your own thoughts. 

When you were done, you put on fresh clothes you had tucked away in your go-bag. More plaid flannel, t-shirts and dark-washed jeans. The clothing was just practical for hunting, more than anything. Although, it was nice to look like you actually belonged with Sam and Dean when you went anywhere. Sometimes you would see other girls in their crop tops or chunky sweaters, baggy jeans and sneakers, floral dresses that cinched at the waist paired with platform boots–all things with even the vaguest whiff of a ‘fashion sense’ and you’d feel a pang of jealousy for yours long lost. 

You brushed gently through your wet hair and pulled it into a quick braid, easy and out of the way, the short pieces fell loose around your face. You peered out of the bathroom. Sam was packing his bag on top of his side of the bed.

He looked up when he heard the door open and turned back to smile at you. The front door hung open and you could hear Dean packing up the Impala.

“You’re so cute,” he said. You shrugged as you slung your duffel over your shoulder. 

You arched a brow at him. “I look like I went three rounds with a lawnmower,” you said with a huff of laughter as you sat at the edge of the bed to pull on your boots, dropping your bag back to the floor.

“I like when you braid your hair,” he said as he brushed one of the loose pieces back and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Cut to me–practicing a dutch braid–then–cue the montage–as I perfect the waterfall braid, the half-up half-down twist, the mermaid, the fishtail and the low plait as ‘Every Little Thing She Does is Magic’ by The Police plays,” you said with a grin as you laced your boots. 

Sam playfully rolled his eyes as he slung his bag over his shoulder before picking up yours and doing the same. 

“I can carry it,” you said, as you stood up and slipped your phone into your back pocket. 

“I know you can,” he said as he indicated for you to walk on in front of him. You shook your head before walking to the car and climbed in the backseat. Dean didn’t protest as Sam, too, climbed in back. You fell asleep, slumped against Sam’s shoulder, hands laced together over his knee as CCR crackled through the speakers.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

drabble #1 - shots

kol mikaelson x reader

summary: of all the places for your secret crush to be revealed, of course it's at a loud, unruly bar. and, of course, your crush overhears everything you say about him.

tags: alcohol, drinking games, secret crush, minor steroline

word count: 953

For the last three hours, you and Caroline have been in the grill, getting drunker by the minute. An innocent game of rating people who walked through the door quickly became a less-than-innocent game of electing how many shots it would take to kiss said people. Then, of course, things took a turn when instead of asking about strangers, the questions came about friends. Now, you’re in a full fledged, back-and-forth, public game of how many shots it would take to kiss your friends. 

“How many shots to kiss Matt?” You ask.

“Considering I’ve already kissed him, probably none. The embarrassment is already gone. Been there, done that. Now, how many shots would it take you to kiss Jeremy?”

“Girl, like ten, to get over the fact that I’m kissing Elena’s little brother. I mean, he’s good-looking enough, but oh my god.”

“True. Okay, your turn.”

“Hmmm… oh, this is a good one. John Gilbert.”

Caroline chokes on her tequila shot. “That is not a friend!”

“I’m branching out.”

“Like, a thousand!”

You erupt in a fit of laughter, “same. Straight alcohol poisoning.” 

“How many to kiss… Alaric?”

“Saltzman? Seriously?”

“Mhm. And give a real number. Be honest.”

“Ugh. Well he’s not unattractive, but he’s also our teacher, Care. Ummm… sixteen.”

“Very specific.”

“I thought about it thoroughly.”

“Clearly.”

“Okay. How many to sleep with-”

“When did this turn into ‘sleep with’?! I thought we were kissing!”

“Shut up,” you giggle, “how many to sleep with Stefan?”

Caroline goes quiet immediately. She starts counting on her fingers. “Six. Because we’re kinda friends, but not super close. And he’s also Elena’s ex, and Damon’s brother, so that makes things a little weird.”

“Really?”

“What would you say?”

“I’m not sure, actually.”

“Alright then.” She looks around the restaurant for a minute. In a split second, her eyes land on someone, then bounce off immediately. When she turns back to you, she’s smirking. “How many would it take for you to sleep with Kol Mikaelson?”

On a normal day, you’d blush red and refuse to answer. But tonight, you’re too drunk to remember you have to hide your crush on the man. “Two. Both solely for confidence.”

Her jaw drops, “Y/N!”

“What?!”

“You’d sleep with him barely drunk? Not even drunk, like slightly tipsy?”

“Girl, I’d sleep with him sober, I just need the confidence boost.” You shift in your seat as she says nothing. “I know you feel the same way about Stefan, so don’t come at me!”

“I said six!”

“I know you’d do less, given the chance!”

“Y/N!”

“What?! He’s hot,” you mutter, “and I like a bad boy.”

“You’re crazy,” she laughs, “we’re gonna need another bottle for this. I’ll be right back.” She saunters off towards the bar, still shocked, but also giggling, about your truthful answer. 

“Might take me a shot of confidence, too, darling. To match your boldness.” A voice comes from your left. You whip around to find its owner, just to come face-to-face with Kol himself. 

Your face pales.

“Aw, come on, don’t get shy on me now.”

“Did- did you?”

“Hear you? Definitely. Vampire hearing, darling. Plus, girls get louder when they’re drunk.” He smiles. “But not to worry, I’m flattered it would only take a couple confidence shots to sleep with me. Say, we can make that a reality. I’ll admit, the reason I come to this bar every night with my brother is on the off-chance that you’d be here. Looks like I came on the perfect night.”

“You look for me?” You stutter on your words.

“Not in a creepy way, but like an ‘I need to know you’ way. Seems to me that you’d like to know me better too, if it’s not so outlandish of me to suggest.”

“No, not at all.”

“Sounds lovely. Meet you at seven, here, tomorrow night?” 

“I’d love to.”

“Perfect, then.” He takes your hand and kisses it. “See you then, darling.”

He leaves with enough time to spare so that Caroline doesn’t cross his path.

“I nearly had to fight Matt for the bottle. He tried to say we’re too drunk. But- why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You totally are.”

“I am not.”

“Y/N!”

“Fine! I might be!”

“Why? What happened? Spill!”

“Our conversation may have been overheard.”

“Oh no! By whom?! Not Stefan, right? I would die.”

You bite your lip, “nope, Kol.”

“Mikaelson?!” You nod, and her eyes go wide. “What did he say?!”

“Invited me out on a date,” you try to not squeal in excitement, “tomorrow at seven.”

“And you’re going?!”

“Of course. I did say I’d sleep with him, right?”

“Oh my god, is he the secret crush you have that you wouldn’t tell me about earlier?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Y/N!”

“I can’t help it, he’s hot!”

“He’s going to eat you alive.”

“Not if I eat him first,” you say, wetting your lips. 

“Oh my god, girl, you’re crazy!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for your guy to set you up,” you snicker, “then we can both date our secret crushes, and sleep with them with minimal shots taken.”

“I do not have a crush on Stefan.”

“I didn’t say Stefan.”

She pales, knowing she’s caught. “You’re so bad!”

“Bad? Or going after what I want? Come on, Care, join the dark side. You know you want to.”

“Mmmmm… you better tell me how that date goes tomorrow.”

“Oh I will.”

“Now,” she puts on a fake serious face, “how many shots to sleep with Damon, if he wasn’t a dick?”

You snort, “I don’t care how less dickish he is. If I already have Kol, I don’t want anyone else.”

[tozettastone]

for the ask prompt thing: itachi/sakura #6

Sakura woke to the fire alarm.

I am going to kill Uchiha Itachi, she thought, in the furious privacy of her mind where she kept all her most antisocial impulses.

Instead of leaping out of her bed and scrambling for her wallet so she could walk down five flights of stairs and stand out in the cold, she lay silently in her bed for ten shrill, agonising seconds. In the apartment to her right, dogs began to howl, but they were almost drowned out by the alarm.

The idea that it might actually be a real alarm this time finally got her moving. She wrapped herself in her blanket, scooped up her bag from beside the door, and shuffled outside to the landing.

The first time this had happened she'd ended up in a long stream of evacuees marching down the stairs at midnight, all in their pyjamas and house slippers and dressing gowns. Her right-side neighbour had been out on the landing, clipping leashes and harnesses to three large dogs to take them along down the stairs. One of them was a lean, high-strung racing breed that had panicked and started screaming in the close, windowless space of the stairwell and had needed to be tossed over his shoulder to come along.

"Sorry," her neighbour had said, smiling with one visible eye over his face mask. "He's a little excitable. Could you hold Pakkun?"

And so Sakura had ended up cradling Kakashi's incredibly chill little pug all the way out onto the street.

That was two months ago.

Two months... and sixteen evacuations.

This afternoon, Kakashi hadn't even bothered to evacuate. Sakura wished she could be as blithely irresponsible as him. He was undoubtedly going to be rewarded for ignoring the alarm. But she worked in the ER and had seen, plenty of times, what happened to people's lungs when Konoha's—historical, wooden, highly flammable—residential buildings went up in smoke.

Now, the evacuees were a trickle, not a stream. Half the building had clearly gotten Kakashi's memo and stopped bothering. So she was really torn between thinking, it had better be a real emergency this time, and hoping it was another piece of burnt toast.

Sakura really did not want to get called in to treat half her building for smoke inhalation. But she also didn't want to be woken up three hours after she'd got off work for another failed stir fry or whatever it was this time.

It was the left-side neighbour who was the problem. At first, she'd been annoyed. Then she'd discovered Uchiha Itachi was hot, which had given her a boost of patience that had lasted through another few evacuations.

Well. Okay. Another one evacuation.

It was winter. The streets were cold. And Sakura? Sakura was way more judgemental on the inside than her external facade ever showed.

Her prurient curiosity led her to some snooping, and then to some gossip. Ino had pilfered some police records and reported back that his parents had been brutally murdered when he was thirteen, which had made her feel bad for being annoyed, and also explained why he was such an awful cook.

And then he'd set off the fire alarms six more times and she'd really come all the way back around to being annoyed. She'd reluctantly concluded that you simply could not be hot enough, or sympathetic enough, to make up for the constant scream of the fire alarm. Especially if you lived next to someone who worked long ER shifts and really valued her sleep.

Now, Sakura was standing out in the cold. Her toes were freezing, because she hadn't put on proper shoes before introducing her feet to the frost. The rest of her was cocooned in her blankets as she stared grimly up at her apartment complex. It wasn't on fire. It wasn't even smoking.

The fire department arrived and inspected the building.

Hoshigaki Kisame, ex-missing-nin turned local fireman of apparently endless patience, had evidently adopted their building specifically. Now he was leaning on his giant sword, playing with a ball of water in one hand, and casually questioning the facilities manager. He had a warm-looking cloak.

Was it an electrical fault?

Was there a real fire at all?

Sakura could have answered these questions, but she stayed silent and only glowered at her building from the street.

Listening closely, she learned that Uchiha Itachi had burnt his instant ramen.

The man in question didn't look embarrassed about this: his unfairly beautiful face was calm and composed as he explained what had, through some insane fluke of circumstances, happened in his kitchen. Kisame-san looked like he was taking this very seriously, nodding along with his head bowed towards Itachi.

Eavesdropping, Sakura learnt that you could burn it to the bottom of a pot, if you cooked it on the stove top, and then eventually it would turn to charcoal and start smoking. And then that smoke would trigger the alarms. And then the building would empty out onto the street while the fire department was called.

Some of the occupants standing out in the frozen wonderland of the streetscape chuckled.

Sakura envied their patience. She looked up at the awnings and wondered if any of those icicles was sharp enough to kill Itachi-san on his way back in. Maybe she could engineer a freak accident.

Itachi-san was fully dressed. His toes looked warm.

They looked like they were going to be here for a while. Baleful and filled with grumpy ire, Sakura wandered off down the street to the welcoming glow and bright lights of Ichiraku Ramen.

"Ah, Sakura-san," said Ayame, looking concerned. "We heard the alarm. Is everything okay?"

As much as she liked Ichiraku's food, Sakura was pretty sure the only reason Ayame knew her name was that she so often accompanied their favourite bottomless pit, Naruto. She lived much closer to the place, but they could have probably kept their whole business afloat on Naruto alone.

"Aa," said Sakura, darkly. "False alarm." She didn't buy anything today. Instead she collected six identical menus, each printed on flyers that lived near the front of the store.

"Again?" Ayame scratched her chin. "Is there something wrong with the wiring in your building...?"

"No." Just the neighbours. "Thank you for your time," she added.

"...You're not going to order anything?"

"I'm sorry. Another time." Sakura bowed, a stiff little caterpillar in her blanket cocoon, and backed out of the store with her hands stuffed full of menus.

By the time she got back down the other end of the block, people were allowed to return to their homes and there was a little queue of mildly disgruntled bodies waiting for the elevators.

Itachi was still talking to Kisame, blank-faced. If he was embarrassed it was impossible to tell.

Sakura took the stairs, despite their inconvenience in the blankets, because it was faster than waiting for the single, ancient elevator.

She called out, "It was a freak ramen accident, Kakashi-san!" to Kakashi's door as she passed—no real answer, but Pakkun yipped—and then shuffled past her own door to contemplate Itachi's.

There were a couple of traps, but unsurprisingly they mostly triggered when one tried to open the door, which she had no intention of attempting. Unhindered by these precautions, Sakura let her blankets dangle precariously off her shoulders while she flicked through seven hand signs at a rapid pace.

In the hospital, you got plenty of ninja who thought they should be able to remove, rearrange, edit or destroy their own notes, and there was a cute little jutsu to stop that from happening.

Now, Sakura used it to attach six Ichiraku Ramen menus to his door. If he wanted to get those off, he was going to have to work for it.

Her message, she thought, could not have been much clearer.

Then she tugged her blankets back up and went back to her own apartment—and her bed, where she slept the righteous sleep of the petty and passive aggressive.

Next time, she told herself, snuggling down into her sheets. Next time she'd simply kill him.

(She was woken again at 6.

She did not kill him this time, either.)

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda (Part 2)

a/n: I’m terribly sorry this is late but it’s been a busy week. Please forgive me. Currently finishing up part 3!  Warning; this is angstyyyyyyyy

Joel Miller x Reader 

Word Count: 2186

PART 1         Masterlist 

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

Awkward tension disseminated the stifling space they found themselves trapped in. Ellie and Y/N’s attention darted to the cranky man, an element of surprise sneaking up on both.

Y/N fidgeted nervously picking at the hardened callus adorning her right palm. Her cheeks flared to life nearly unmissable to the common eye, but Joel? No, not a day passed he didn’t linger a second longer than appropriate. Shit, he practically lived for an accidental touch of the shoulder or brush of the leg. Joel was in stuck in hell and acutely aware of the angel and demon at war. Y/N was magnificent and he sure as hell didn’t…doesn’t say it enough.

Hastier than usual, Y/N grabbed her backpack with expert speed sprinting out the door towards freedom. She flew like a bat outta hell. Sunlight danced across her face. The warmth a welcoming distraction. Y/N gulped an anxious breath quelling her jitters. Whether by choice or not…she was fate’s bitch again.

Ellie’s hands waved maddeningly trying to nab Joel’s attention but the cowboy stood frozen transfixed by the last five minutes.

“Uh, earth to Joel?!”

Reality snapped back in place as Joel stared at the proud youngster. An aggravated grunt was all he mustered walking towards the door and out of this shithole. Ellie trailed behind.

The trio journeyed further down the path the wilted map laid out, one step closer to Wyoming, to a new beginning. Eager to break the discomfort, Ellie reached for her book. Anything was better than nothing, right? El thought so.

“Hey, I got a new one for you guys.”

The pages whipped in the wind forcing her to lose track of the current page.

“Any day now would be nice, ya know?” Joel’s prickly mood settled the score. Things were definitely soaring past uncomfortable and landed on planet catastrophe. Y/N stopped kicking dust up on Joel’s heels.

“Cut the shit, Joel. Let the girl speak.”

His answer or lack of must have been sufficient enough for Y/N as they moved onwards. Y/N grew fond of the child eventually loving the sweet but sour teen chiseling bit by bit but Ellie was worth the risk. Always.

A lighthearted tone filtered through their ears; a welcomed noise to the alternative.

“Why can’t you hear a pter—pt”

“Pterodactyl. It’s a dinosaur.”

Ellie repeated; the word feeling foreign on her tongue.

“Whatever. Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?”

Y/N smiled waiting for the punch line. Joel staggered ahead trying his best to ignore the current ladies of his life. Y/N counted to ten; “Oh out with it already! Enlighten us.”

An innocent laughter accompanied hardly allowing Ellie to reveal the answer; “Because…the p is silent!”

She broke into a fit of giggles amused at her own joke.

“Wow, might have to file that way away for a rainy day kiddo.”

They trekked six more hours before finding stable campgrounds. One by one, their sleeping bags rolled along the frosty, unforgiving terrain just close enough but never touching. With the sun long set and a fire ablaze, everyone settled into their nightly routine which usually consisted of Ellie reading her comic books and Joel retreating so far into his own head. Easier that way... It annoyed the living piss outta him. His hand clenched wishing to lace his fingers with hers, a pathetic token of affection. But the rational part of his brain told him to shut it off and bury it so deep not even he would know its residence.

“I’ll take first and second watch. Y’all catch some sleep.”

His eyes shifted over Ellie; “And don’t think you can stay up all night reading, tomorrow’s a big day for all us. That includes you, Y/N.”

Two silent beats passed. Joel resumed; “And don’t think I don’t know bout Frank sneakin you that sack of books you keep poorly hidden. Don’t fool yourself, darling. I’m always one step ahead.”

Her eyebrow rose in morbid curiosity; “Just because some of us are determined to quite literally suck the fun out of this shitty world doesn’t equivalent said person having absolutely anything to say about mine.”

Ellie agreed quickly nodding intuitively; “Oh, Y/N. What would I do without you?”

Her rebuttal was quick witted; “Not sure, die maybe?”

“Yep, you are so my favorite.”

A miserable grumble echoed back; “Heard that.”

“Goodnight o loveable child I never wanted but slowly let into my cold wretched heart regardless.”

“Sweet dreams, sucker.”  

Hours ticked by bringing him to the cuff of midnight madness. Joel surveyed the frozen forest scattered in shadows and secrecy. He hated when there wasn’t a clear-cut option. When it was kill or be killed, you’re suddenly forced to choose and fast. Little snores filtered the frigid air reminding him they at least would live to see another day.

 For the next couple minutes, Joel scavenged his memories; the ones that tugged at him most frequently were with his beautiful baby and Y/N. Every birthday, holiday, and Saturday movie night of their lives was spent creating infectious happiness. If only he had stayed the night he opted to run or kissed her without hesitation, given an ounce of himself so she could possibly understand the gaping hole she forever filled in his heart. She was his best friend, his confidante, his past. Too scared to be lovers, eternally looped in boundless temptation.  

Sarah’s death had permanently hardened him reliving the screeching cries of Y/N, the utter desperation tied in her howls, and the forlorn terror taking ahold of Tommy at the sight of Sarah’s lifeless limbs. The aching emptiness of her death shaped him into the monster he was today…maybe always has been. Y/N was a reminder of everything decent he ever had and for was reason alone to keep her at arm’s length no matter the cost. Joel Miller was a man of his word…most of the time.

Dampened twigs snapped beneath worn boots in the distance between him and the girls. His girls. Deep down Joel knew things could never pan out even in pre-Outbreak. He hid like a coward in plain sight from anything out of his control and that usually meant Y/N. Never predictable, a constant that scared Joel to his core. But not now, not when survival predictably remained on the forefront of his mind. He made a promise to Tess and he’d be damned if he didn’t do his best to fulfil it. Life was merciless and winter didn’t help their shared misery. He too was thankful to be closing in on their predicted coordinates, to Tommy.

A small hand rested atop his shoulder squeezing slightly. Joel tensed turning around. The pair exchanged looks. Her voice was soft like churned butter; “Let’s switch. You go rest up.”

At her cruelest, Y/N was compassionate. A calloused palm connected with her warm cheek. Y/N inadvertently leaned into the reassuring stroke. Her hypnotic eyes fluttered open at the foreign sensation jolting back. She sighed. Why did it always feel so natural with Joel? Why was this curse laid upon Y/N, to love and never truly know love. She was convinced it was some cruel cosmic prank handcrafted just for her. He lingered, thumb caressing the corner of her rosy lips. Flickers of hazel filtered through his irises allowing himself a moment of reprieve and relaxation. He bathed it in.

Their blissful bubble burst too quickly pummeling them to reality. Y/N pulled away instantly missing the welcomed heat.

“Y/N…”

With lightning speed, Y/N propelled off the soggy ground sprinting near a clearing. When deemed far enough, Y/N paused her back facing Joel. He stopped leaving minimal space.  

“No. You don’t get to do this. Not now, not ever. You hear me, Joel Miller?”

Confusion was written all over his face; “Darlin’, please talk—”

Y/N shook her head, her shoulders slumped forward; “See Joel, you can’t say things like that. I’m not your girl, you’ve made that abundantly clear time and time again so what else could we possibly have left to discuss, hm?”

“That’s not fair.”

A chortle slipped from Y/N only angering his budding temper.

Her gaze seared into his; “You really wanna do this?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”  

“Fine, let’s fucking go.”

Y/N angled her body facing Joel.

“You love the way I make you feel. The endless compliments, the incessant worship, the prioritized attention, I mean the list just keeps going. You give me just enough of yourself and then inevitably pull away. Girl after girl just waltz through and I let you because I figured it was better to have you in any capacity than not at all. I fucked up by putting you first, but you allowed it, didn’t you?”

She bit the inside of lip refusing to cry in front of him. He didn’t deserve the privilege. His mouth opened ready to interject. Y/N continued.

“I’ve been in love with you for so fucking long, humiliation would be too nice of a term. Don’t bullshit or bait me. Every morning I wake up, I have to swallow this bitter pill. So no offense but fuck you for using me to make you happy until you felt like you didn’t need me anymore and left me wondering where I went wrong.”

Words flew fast; “Yer putting words in my mouth! Haven’t even given me a fighting chance. You’ve already called the winner.”

Y/N’s hands fisted by her side in attempt to suppress her irritation.

“I gave you two decades. I hated myself for imagining you. Every kiss, every caress, every fucking thing. And then you--.”

His heart jumpstarted genuinely fearful of the path they were going down.

“The night we made love, I thought I’d finally won, that the heavens aligned or some bullshit. You’d never kissed me like that before. When I found you gone in the morning, I still held out, you were going to be different. You fucked me and discarded me for the newest model. Guess you got it out of your system.”

“S’not how I remember it.”

“No? Remember making me your glorified secret until Outbreak Day? You were embarrassed and I was heartbroken. Luckily, some higher power saw fit to give me a six-year breather until running into you …and Tess.”

Joel was solemn, remorseful and unsure what qualities she found attractive.  

“Is it my turn yet? Great. Now listen here, I was an asshole and a manipulator, and an overall garbage human. I worked too much, made no time for hobbies of my own, I didn’t...don’t understand why you--.” His voice shook for barely a second finding his footing quick; “You deserved an entire galaxy. I couldn’t give you that, not on my best day. Eventually, you would resent me. An ordinary loser who couldn’t begin to make you happy.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make alone. It takes two to tango.”

“I know.”

“We’ve done this dance before. I’m tired, Joel. I wanna live just for a second without this hostility, this fury underneath my skin. I need to—exist.”  

Ellie’s sweet snorts erupted the intensity. Thank God, the youngster isn’t eavesdropping for once. The rustle of trees casted dazzling shadows and a far spookier imagery.

“It’s bout time we go our own ways. Don’t you think?... Joel, I’d rather live without you than like this.”

It tasted putrid leaving an unpleasant taste in her mouth; “Ellie is the only reason I’m here. That girl softened something in me and I know you hate that and yer a hardass but guess what, Joel? You aren’t the only one that lost somebody so quit being so damn selfish and buck up. It’s more than just you and me, old man.”

His signature scowl was more than enough for Y/N to know he got the message. She awaited his rebuttal but it didn’t come. She stood resolute and waited again met with nothing. His upper lip snarled but Joel nodded nonetheless. Dreadful relief flooded her system. The metallic taste of blood overcame his senses realizing he’d torn the inside of his cheek. Say something, anything you idiot!

He didn’t. Because this wasn’t a fairy tale and he wasn’t a prince. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

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

Ellie awoke with a loud yawn, alerting the group. Y/N and Joel ignored each other packing in complete silence. Ellie’s eyes bounced from grump to grumpier electing not to rock the boat. Y/N pulled the map showing Ellie the trail; “How many days does that equal? My math isn’t, uh, 100% reliable.”

Joel butted in; “Day or two give or take. Almost to Jackson County which means it just a few miles at that point. Time to get goin’.”

El trudged through the infinite icy slush together. Her socks were damped sticking to weirdly to the heel of her left foot. Though crisp, cool air was much welcomed compared to stale, humid summers. Turns out, global climate was indeed not a joke. Luckily, that too fell with the collapse of society. With their destination soon in sight, Y/N could’ve sworn a spark of hope ignited in her veins.

----------

Tags: @beltzboys2015-blog @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @wildmavs @brittlebarbie @freyafriggafrey @deansgirl79​ @neoqueen306​

[inawickedlittletown]

Don't Make A Shadow Of Yourself (BuckTommy fic) - 11/14

Summary: "A man who's pure of heart...may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright" - Howl (F+TM)

BuckTommy Werewolf AU. Throughout most of his adult life, Tommy had dealt with what he was. The duality of being a man and also an animal…a beast. Werewolves weren’t born, they were made. 

Rating: M

Words: 3,588

Read on Ao3

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

-

Chapter Eleven

Buck felt a little out of sorts in the days right before the full moon. He knew it was because of his parents. Maddie had apologized for allowing them to convince her they needed to go by the station. Buck had at least managed to avoid seeing them even if Tommy had been unfortunate enough to meet them. He’d been staying with Tommy just in case they showed up at his apartment. After all, they weren’t with Maddie all the time and she could only do so much to stop them. 

Buck kinda loved being at Tommy’s house, though. Not just because it meant being with Tommy, but because he felt free. Free to run around as a wolf in the backyard and free to kiss his boyfriend and entice him into a bit more than kissing. Buck didn’t know how it was possible for him to have ignored his attraction to men for so long when Tommy took his breath away with any display of skin. 

The night before the full moon, Buck arrived to an empty house. Tommy wasn’t getting off shift until the next morning, but Buck didn’t feel weird being there on his own. It did feel a little strange to transform in the backyard without Tommy, but Buck made do. Maybe he did follow old trails of Tommy’s scent for a bit, but mostly Buck ran. He even took a small nap out on the grass and felt far more rested afterwards. He made himself dinner, and then settled in for a documentary before going to bed. 

Tommy’s scent surrounded him, coming off the pillows and off the sheets. Buck wrapped himself in it, pretended that his boyfriend was with him even if he wasn’t. He fell asleep that way and woke the next morning when the bed shifted under him and he became wrapped in strong arms. 

“Sleep,” Tommy said. “It’s early.” 

Buck drifted back, cuddling close to Tommy’s chest, burying his nose in his neck and sighing. He loved him. The thought was stray and Buck didn’t let himself linger it as he fell back asleep. 

Hours later, he woke again. Tommy was still wrapped around him and if it wasn’t for his bladder, Buck would have done anything to stay where he was. He slipped out, hoping not to wake Tommy, and when he returned, found Tommy had pulled Buck’s pillow into his arms. He really was too gorgeous for words. Cute too, for that matter. 

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep and that Tommy wouldn’t want to stay in bed for more than another hour, Buck headed down and started their breakfast. He was scrambling eggs when his phone rang. 

Buck picked it up without thinking. 

“Evan, there you are. We haven’t heard once from you since we arrived,” his mother’s voice said. 

Buck stiffened. “I’ve been busy,” he said. 

“Oh, stop that. You can’t be that busy. Though I suppose you haven’t been home anytime we tried to stop by.” 

“What do you want?” Buck asked. 

“To see you, Evan.” 

“It’s Buck,” Buck said. 

Hearing her use his name made him want to break out in hives. It sounded wrong. It wasn’t delivered with the warmth and the care that Tommy put into it and it was the only way that Buck ever wanted to hear it. 

“Oh, so you haven’t given up on that ridiculous nickname,” she said. “I was calling because Howard said he’s not on shift today.” 

“And?” Buck asked. Damn it, Chim. 

“I thought we could all have a nice lunch. Your niece misses you, Ev—Buck. Your sister needs your help with the wedding. It’s in a few days, there’s still—”

“Just because Chim isn’t working today doesn’t mean that I’m not,” Buck said. “I’m heading into work soon. I see Jee all the time and I’ve been helping Maddie with the wedding for months now so I know she doesn’t need my help. She would have asked otherwise.” 

His mom groaned and Buck knew that if he hung up it would only get worse. She might show up at the station again and this time not find Buck there because he wasn’t working. 

“Evan,” she said and Buck flinched. 

“What?” 

“It just feels like you don’t want to see us,” she said and she made her voice sound small and sad, but Buck knew her and maybe some of it was put on. 

He had no idea how to respond. He took too long, apparently. 

Her tone changed, though. 

“Well, fine,” she said. “If you don’t want to see us that’s — well, I guess we can get over that. But, there is something important you must know.” 

Buck didn’t like the sound of that at all. In the background of the call, he heard his father calling for his mother. 

“Oh, Phillip. I have Evan on the phone. I wanted to warn him. It is the full moon after all.” 

Buck’s heart caught in his throat. He knew that his hand gripped the counter so tight, he was afraid when he let it go that it would be dented even though it was granite. 

“Yes, yes. Put him on speaker. Good morning, Evan. I’m sure you weren’t even aware, but it is a full moon tonight. Your mother and I think there is a Werewolf working at your station.”

“We’re very sure,” his mother put in. “We don’t know how you didn’t notice or say anything.” 

“Oh, you know this boy, Margaret. You know how he is. Why would he notice anything right under his nose. Maddie is at least busy with the wedding and doesn’t work with one.” 

Buck gulped. He knew they hadn’t met Eddie…but they had seen Tommy and that was — they had to be talking about Tommy. Buck had no idea what to say or how to react. 

“I don’t work with any Werewolves,” Buck said. “If anyone was a Werewolf I would know.” 

His mom made a noise of protest. 

“Clearly that is not true,” his father said. “Just take our warning, Evan.” 

“Wh-what uh, what are you going to do?” 

He heard Tommy getting up in the bedroom, and he hoped that he would stay put up there until Buck could get off the phone. He was already freaking out, because from the non-answer he knew what they were thinking or planning of doing. He hoped that they hadn’t already started any kind of reconnaissance. 

“Don’t do anything,” Buck said, he knew his words were hard. 

“Evan—”

“Focus on Maddie and on the wedding. Don’t do anything,” Buck knew he probably sounded like he was pleading. 

“If you hadn’t realized it, tonight is a full moon,” his father said. “We can’t allow one of those beasts to hurt anyone. We won't.”

“So you’ll hurt someone instead,” Buck said. “With no proof that they’ve done anything wrong? You are not doing that. I won’t allow it.” 

Tommy came down the stairs. His curls were messy and he was in nothing more than shorts. At any other moment, Buck would have been distracted by seeing so much of him. 

His father was laughing. “Allow it,” he said. “That’s funny.” 

“Evan, what—”

Buck shook his hand at Tommy and lifted a finger to him as well. Tommy raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t say a word. 

“If you want to attend the wedding, you will do nothing tonight or any night that you are here. I’ve turned a blind eye to what I know you do with this cause that you’ve given yourself. No more.”

They scoffed. “You will not ruin your sisters wedding.” 

“I won’t…but if you this, you will. That is up to you,” Buck said and then he hung up. 

He dropped his phone on the counter, his hands gripped the granite and then he looked towards Tommy. Tommy was at his side at once, taking Buck’s hands. 

“They know you’re a Werewolf,” Buck said. “I’m pretty sure they’re talking about you unless they’ve stopped at the station and seen Eddie? I really should call Athena. They’re not going to do this again and I don’t care what happens to them.”

“What about Maddie?” 

Buck shrugged. “She’s either on our side, or she’s choosing to be with them.” 

Tommy pulled Buck into his arms and Buck let his weight fall on his boyfriend. He didn’t for one moment believe that Maddie would allow their parents to hurt anyone. 

Athena wouldn’t really be able to do anything. Maybe she could take them in and question them, but she wouldn’t be able to hold them without proof or without them having done anything since they’d arrived in LA. But if they did try then maybe…but Buck didn’t want it to get to that. Somehow, he didn’t think the division would take them seriously or do anything about it. 

“I think,” Tommy said, “we should spend the full moon here. Just in case.” 

As much as he itched to be out there in the woods, he did think that Tommy had the right idea. 

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll let Eddie know.” 

—

Tommy was the one that called Athena. Evan had a call with Eddie inviting him over for the night. He thought it was maybe a bit restricting for Evan and Eddie, but it also did mean they were all safer. Evan had also called Maddie and Tommy had managed to hear some of the conversation, enough to know that Maddie was going to keep their parents busy and have her own conversation with them. 

“I don’t think they’ll do anything,” Evan said.

Tommy agreed with him. Still, it put him on edge to know that they had made him when Tommy had done his very best to not give himself away. Clearly, he’d made some kind of mistake. He just didn’t know what it was that he’d done. 

“Stop beating yourself up,” Evan said. “None of this is your fault. It’s them. I don’t even know all the ways they might use to identify us.”

“But something gave me away to them,” Tommy insisted. 

“Or it’s not you,” Evan said. “They could have been suspecting Eddie since the last time they were here. Anyway, I don’t think they will try anything. Not if Maddie has them on some kind of house arrest.” 

It didn’t make him any less uneasy. Evan proved to be plenty distracting though, taking him back up to the bedroom and burning up some of their pent up energy in ways that were pleasurable to both of them. It was the best type of distraction. For a little while, they focused on each other. On just being together and feeling so good that nothing else really mattered. 

They contacted the Werewolf Division after lunch just to cover their bases and Tommy was left dissatisfied with the way they responded, as if their concern was nothing for them to worry about. When Tommy mentioned getting in touch with the police they tried to warn him off doing that because he’d be exposing all Werewolves. 

“And that makes me think they’re condoning it somehow,” Tommy said. Evan didn’t disagree. 

Tommy had every intention of figuring out why, but it wasn’t something they could get to on a full moon. But his next day off, Tommy would go right to them to see what he could find out. He felt antsy all day, perhaps amplified by the full moon. He could tell that Evan felt the same, but they both calmed down some when Eddie arrived. 

Tommy let him in and Eddie pulled him into a hug. 

“What’s all that?” Tommy asked, motioning to the bags Eddie was carrying. 

“Figured none of us were up to cooking,” he said. “Has Maddie said anything?” 

“They’re still there at the house with her and Chim,” Tommy said. “Athena put an officer at the house to tail them if they leave at all.”

Eddie followed him inside and was almost tackled to the ground when Evan threw himself at him. Tommy laughed. He’d never noticed how sometimes they still acted like they were wolves when they were in human form. Big giant human puppies. 

“I feel better with you here,” Evan said to Eddie. “Don’t need to worry.” 

Tommy felt the same. It was a relief to have the three Werewolves of their pack together. It was just as it needed to be. 

By the time they ate through some of the Mexican food Eddie had brought them, the three of them were ready for the moon to appear in the sky, so they headed outside a bit early. Evan kept texting his sister and Howie, but it seemed like the Buckleys were actually listening to what their kids wanted, at least for the moment. 

Evan was the first to transform. Tommy immediately crouched down to pet him and somehow, he wound up sitting on the ground with Evan on his lap. Eddie dropped down next to him. 

“He told you about his parents,” Eddie said.

Tommy nodded. 

“I thought I had it bad,” Eddie said. “Buck’s had it worse.” 

Evan didn’t react, even though he could hear them. He just dropped his head against Tommy’s stomach and Tommy let his hands go down to his stretched neck. 

“I just don’t understand Maddie putting him in this position,” Tommy said. 

He’d been interested in Eddie’s opinion most of all, to know how the other Werewolf in this pack viewed the whole thing. Eddie didn’t speak for what felt like a long time. 

“It’s family, is the thing,” Eddie said. “I don’t think Maddie even realizes what she’s doing because they just have such different relationships with them. But I don’t think Maddie would hesitate to do anything to protect Buck.”

“What you’re saying is the wedding is going to be interesting,” Tommy said. 

Eddie laughed. “Sure will. Probably should shift now.” 

Eddie got up and walked over to the table. Tommy heard him discard his clothes and then the next time he saw Eddie, he was on four legs and covered in fur. Tommy lingered a little longer with Evan on his lap, but eventually he nudged him off to a wolfy huff. Eddie distracted him in the next moment with a gentle nudge. When Tommy joined them, they were already halfway across the yard, play fighting. 

It was nice to have them both there in his space. Eddie barked at him and Tommy ran towards them. They played a game of tag and as the sky darkened they all seemed to relax more and more. They ran and they lounged and Evan and Eddie play-wrestled. They fell into a puppy pile after a while and Tommy was so comfortable that he actually let himself fall asleep. 

The next thing he knew was a loud sound, like something crashing or breaking. He immediately lifted his head and he felt Eddie and Evan come to as well. 

Tommy extracted himself from the pile of limbs, he knew instinctively that something was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to move away from Evan or Eddie. When Eddie met his eyes, he could see confusion and worry there too. 

Maybe it was nothing. Tommy hadn’t heard anything since the crash and that could have come from the house next door or any other source that was unrelated to them. The three of them stood close together and didn’t relax for several minutes. Evan was the first to sit, but it didn’t change how tense they all were. 

Tommy nudged into Evan’s side, taking in his scent. He still smelled good, but the underlying worry was there too. Tommy didn’t think any of them would relax until morning came even though they were in Tommy’s yard and the house was locked down at the front and the physical fence and tree fence kept them hidden. 

Except that of course, that’s when Tommy heard footsteps at the front of the house. Evan pushed into his side. Eddie paced forward and back, glancing at them. Then came another crash and the fence shook. 

Panic went through him. Tommy was not the type of person that panicked, he had the type of job that required he was good in high stress situations, but nothing could have prepared him for this. 

The fence shook again. 

—

Buck wished, not for the first time, that he could communicate with Eddie or Tommy while transformed. It was so absolutely unfair that he couldn’t do much more than brush against Tommy in some solidarity because he had absolutely no doubt that it was his parents. 

Eddie made a motion with his head towards the house and Buck got his meaning at once. He followed Eddie and Tommy moved with them. Eddie was right, they’d be better off closer to the house than out in the middle of the yard. 

The next few minutes were tense. No noise. No movement. It was silent. Until it wasn’t. 

Buck knew the door to the fence had been broken, he heard the wood splinter and the sound of the hinges bending. A moment later there came footsteps. The three of them didn’t dare to move. 

The first person to come around the house was all in black, they were followed by someone else also in full black. They weren’t his parents, that Buck knew for sure. They didn’t smell like them or even walk like them. They were still definitely hunters and there for one reason and one reason only. He watched them as they walked onto the yard in small steps, glancing around. Behind them came two other people and those two were definitely his parents. Buck hadn’t known how betrayed it would make him feel to actually see them there.

The three of them stayed close to the house, hidden in the shadows the house offered. Buck couldn’t look away from the hunters. Four of them and Buck had questions about where his parents had found the two that entered first. He wondered if there were more. 

Eddie nudged him, pointing with his nose towards the side of the house. He wasn’t wrong. The door was open and they could leave, run as far as they could. The hunters were looking for them in the yard, but they would turn to the house soon enough and spot them. Their luck was how dark it was out and maybe their speed. Confrontation was not their friend. But that would only work if they hadn’t left any other hunters out there. Buck couldn’t hear anyone, but that wasn’t saying much. 

Buck nudged Eddie back, and Eddie began to walk right alongside the house. Tommy nudged at Buck to follow, so he did. He knew Tommy was right behind him. Eddie was slow, and Buck followed his lead. He turned to look back when he could. He couldn’t see them and their footsteps were faint and came from everywhere in the yard. Eddie turned the corner, tail tucked between his legs. Buck followed, so he was the one that noticed the fifth hunter right before he hit Eddie on the head, knocking him sideways into the house. 

Buck reacted, jumping past Eddie at the hunter, throwing him to the ground. His paws landed on the man’s chest, pressing in and ripping through his dark shirt, his whole weight on him, though apparently in wasn’t enough. In the next moment he heard the bang of a gun.

His side burned. 

He couldn’t hear more than the ringing. 

He scented blood. Tommy. Eddie. Under him the movement of a body, of the hunter that shot him. 

Buck didn’t even realize he was growling, or that his claws had already drawn blood from the hunter’s arm, that the gun had fallen because of it. Buck had no idea what damage he’d inflicted and he didn’t care. The man was squirming, making noises that didn’t make much sense to Buck. He was pushing at Buck with his good arm. Kicking. Buck ignored the pain at his side, leaning down and ready to tear his throat apart. 

Tommy was there, suddenly and Buck was pushed to move. Buck did and he felt the pain on his side as the skin stretched with his movement. A whimper escaped him and he could feel the warmth of his blood. The bullet hadn’t him dead on, Buck could tell that much at least. He tried to pay the wound and his pain no mind, but it was as overwhelming as the continuing ringing in his ears. Where was Eddie?

Buck turned. He’d seen him go down, right? Hadn’t he? 

Tommy’s mouth, his muzzle was blood soaked. The man on the ground had thrown his head back in a scream that Buck could sort of make out past the ringing in his ears. 

And there…Tommy had Eddie. He was pulling at Eddie by the scruff, and Eddie came to his feet. He looked more disoriented than Buck felt. He hadn’t been shot had he? But Buck had only heard one shot, but if the bullet didn’t go in him then… 

Now, he heard footsteps. They had to hurry. 

Eddie was shoved in his direction and Tommy was pushing them towards the broken door. It hung half-in the way, but Buck climbed over it. He could still feel his side burning. Eddie stumbled over it after him. Then came Tommy and after him running footsteps. 

Buck heard another shot ring out. 

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - personal space

Turns out, staying in drift with multiple tons of a highly sophisticated robot for hours at a time gives you a bad case of sea legs.

“Oi, watch out!” One of the techs catches Robbie before he hits the cockpit floor. He’s graduated from control room to the inside of the Conn-Pod, which mostly means there is a lot less space for all the people upgrading the hardware and drawing out plans for removing the other pilot console. “I think you had enough for one shift.”

What, already? “I can–“ But he can’t, because they removed his helmet and he might be sick just from trying to look at someone without seeing the whole hangar at the same time. “Ugh.”

The tech laughs and waves over colleagues to help her unscrew Robbie from the makeshift rigging. In a real fight, he’d have been thrown across the pod on the first hit, but it works well enough to let him move The Charger around the bay. It takes three people with power drills to extract him, and two to effectively carry him out of the cockpit, where Cho and Stark have their monitoring station set up on the walkway.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Stark demands when the techs deposit Robbie on the crate Cho is currently using as a bed. “I didn’t see a seizure, what’s–“

“He’s exhausted, boss,” the tech points at Robbie, who’s too focused on keeping his head from rolling off his neck to defend himself. As soon as he’s down, two nurses descend to check his eyes and to attach a mini-EEG to his temples. More people have touched him in the last twenty four hours than possibly his entire life up to this point, and if he wasn’t so nauseous he’d be feeling some kind of way about it. “Besides, look at the countdown. Canelo says we need at least six hours to get the wiring sorted. Might as well follow Cho’s example.”

“Right,” Robbie can’t see what Stark is doing, but judging by the deep sigh he doesn’t have it in him to argue, either. “Right, good shout. Yeah, let’s— When did he conk out?”

“An hour ago,” one of the nurses says in a way that promises to cut off Stark’s caffeine access.

“I thought it got quiet. Hey, Reyes, how’re you feeling? Nothing new popped? Brain all good?”

Robbie cracks open his bad eye to look at him over the nurse’s shoulder. He didn’t realise he’d closed them. “Fine. I think.”

“Thinking is a good indicator!” Stark exclaims, throwing his hands up. The enthusiasm makes him look ten years younger. “Go get some chow. Pam, make sure he doesn’t collapse in a hallway somewhere, Jen would eat one of my important organs.”

“I’m fine, I’m just—” Robbie presses his feet into the metal surface of the walkway. His knees feel detached, but less like they won’t hold if he tries to stand. “Just need a minute.”

“You need to sleep,” the nurse – Pam – waggles a finger on his face. “We’ve set up the old Horizon Bravo quarters—”

“No,” he protests. It’s half five. He can just make it, if his legs cooperate. “No, I need to go get my brother. He starts school at seven.” An exchange of significant glances occurs over his head. “I’ll be back after drop off. I’ll grab some food on the way.“

Lisa very kindly offered to help Gabe get ready in the morning when Robbie was told to come back to the hangar for the fifth shift to continue testing. He doesn’t mind leaving his brother to sleep on his own – he could never really afford to – but something about having a virtual stranger take over on such a short notice doesn’t sit right with him.

“Amadeus said you sorted it out,” Stark says, like he suspects he’s being had. It takes Robbie a moment to figure out he’s referring to Cho.

“In case I can’t make it back.” Robbie refuses to back down under his stare. “I can. So I will.”

“…Sure, whatever.” Stark makes eyebrows at Pam the Nurse before turning around to address everyone around: “Alright people, countdown is on fifteen hours! Pilot’s going to catch a snooze, everyone else get on the Conn-Pod while it’s free!”

“Did you not sleep at all?” Gabe yawns while Robbie collects a change of clothes. Parading through the support side in the undersuit made him feel half-naked and he’s not keen on repeating the experience. “Robbie, you have to sleep.”

“I know, buddy.” He’s also not keen on letting Lisa and Pam wait outside for too long. Lisa showed up despite Robbie texting her it was alright, ‘just in case’. “It’s just because the countdown is low, okay? Things will even out soon.”

After the next demon. Jesus, what is his life. If Gabe catches the implication, he doesn’t comment on it, so Robbie gets on with peeling the undersuit off. It’s much harder to do after sweating in it for eight hours and belatedly he realises that’s why you should’ve used that baby powder.

“What’s that?”

When he turns to look over his shoulder, Gabe’s pointing at his back, brows drawn together in concern. Does it show? Does what show? He feels along his shoulder blades as far as he can bend his arm, but other than sweat, nothing is there.

“What’s what?”

“It’s red. Like squiggles, but straight.”

“Where?”

He crouches down to let Gabe draw lines down his spine with his fingers. He still can’t feel anything out of order. “Picture,” Gabe makes a grabby hand for Robbie’s phone.

There are indeed lines of red blotches along his spine. Just skin irritation; something deep in Robbie’s chest releases in relief. Nothing to worry about. Probably just pressure from the spinal clamp. Yeah, those things dig in after a while.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he ruffles Gabe’s hair to his loud displeasure. “The drivesuit left some marks, that’s all.”

“Robbie, are you really going to fight the demon?”

Robbie knows every single expression Gabe has ever made better than his own face. He can tell whether his brother is happy or not, whether he needs space or coaxing, whether everything around him is too much or not enough – the one thing in life he thinks he’s definitely an expert in. But he’s never seen him look like this before. Like he’s afraid to be excited.

“No, I’m just–“ he searches for the right word. “The jaeger isn’t ready, and I’ve not had enough training. I’ll just be protecting the base.” Unless you grow some balls between now and go time. “I’m not doing anything risky, alright? It will probably be really boring.”

Are you kidding? You get to pilot the best-looking jaeger in the line-up and you expect it to be boring? God, he hopes it will be boring. There is a non-zero chance the demon won’t go for Hong Kong at all, and The Charger won’t even come off the suspension rack. He doesn’t want his first job to end up in a disaster because he has no goddamn clue what he’s doing. I know what I’m doing. That’s more than enough.

“I bet it will be really cool,” Gabe smiles encouragingly. Robbie blinks away the alien sense of puffed-up confidence he definitely hasn’t earned. “Lisa said we might go into a bunker. We’ve never been in a bunker before.”

Not that Gabe remembers, at least. “I can still take you to school, you know.”

“You,” Gabe puts his palm against his chest, “need to,” and powers his wheelchair to push Robbie towards the bunk bed: “sleep!”

Despite his insistence, Robbie doesn’t let him just leave. Pam is still waiting outside the door when he unlocks the ramp down to the corridor level. Her and Lisa must have made fast friends, because they abruptly stop talking as soon as they see Robbie. He has no reason to suspect they were talking about him, but two women going quiet and smiling like that never spelled anything good in my life before. Did he put his t-shirt on backwards or something?

“Morning! Are you ready to go?” Lisa grins at Gabe, who squeezes Robbie’s hand before letting go to roll his chair down to her side.

“I have time, I could–“ he starts, but Pam smacks him in the chest with a plastic bag. It smells faintly like bread. The look on her face dares him to finish the sentence.

“We can make it to CC on our own, right Gabe?” Lisa has a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. She and Pam exchange a conspiratorial glance, and Robbie barely gets a hug goodbye before his brother rides away without him.

Pam has enough mercy to let him stand in the doorway for a couple more minutes. “It’s half six,” she observes eventually like she’s commenting on the weather. “Eat the food, all of it. The outfitters expected you to have gained more weight by now.”

When Robbie peeks into the bag, it contains at least two doughnuts. “There’s a pager in there, too. If you aren’t asleep by eight, ping it, someone will come give you downers.”

“Downers?”

She gives him a pitying look. “You need at least five hours. You did well up there, but if you end up out in the ocean, you could be drifting for a very long time. Eat, sleep, and don’t show your face up in the dome until the third shift, no matter what R&D say. Got it?”

Robbie grits his teeth. “Eat, sleep, come back for third shift,” he mutters. “Got it.”

Pam smirks. “Another sunny one.” She pushes him again until he’s fully inside the bunk room and shuts the door behind her. Bitch.

He really needs to rest. Next thing he knows, he’ll be squaring up to Dr Montesi.

...Next time he wakes up, it will be to really pilot a jaeger. Out of the Shatterdome, with a demon due within hours.

Cheer up, kid. What's the worst that could happen?

[weaselle]

for a couple years i had a job at a big fancy hotel, and that job was Night Auditor.

That’s an overnight shift. Also, they couldn’t find anyone else who wanted the job, so I was the ONLY Night Auditor. If i wasn’t working it, one of the front dest managers had to come in all night and do it, so I worked six nights a week. Oh, and it was a ten hour shift.

Now, there was a lot to hate about that job, like, besides a single security officer i was the only employee on the property to deal with guests and i had a bunch of accounting stuff to do (like batch and balance the day’s credit card sales and send it to the bank’s computers) which was often a difficult combination.

but there is also a lot to be said for being the only person at a company who is able/willing to do a necessary job, and i miss the power dynamic of that situation.

Like, they used to have mandatory staff meetings once every two weeks from 10am to 11am. I said, hey, no, I get off work at 7am after a ten hour shift, that’s my sleeping time, they said well too bad it’s mandatory. 

So i’d go get dinner at the hotel restaurant around 8am, and i’d have a couple drinks, and then i’d take a fresh cocktail to the meeting and sit with my sunglasses on, unmoving except to take a sip from my obviously alcoholic drink.

The first time someone said something, i replied something like “i just did ten hours of work here and i’m supposed to be sleeping right now, if this is a problem i’m happy to go home instead” and they dropped it

The next time, a manager brought it up a bit more seriously, so i said something to the effect of “well i want to make sure i pass out as soon as i get home, because if i don’t get enough sleep because of this meeting i’m calling in sick for my next shift” which i knew meant that manager would have to finish the shift she was currently on and then turn around and work my ten hour over night shift too. She also chose to drop the issue.

After the next meeting, the hotel general manager (who was also on the very short list of people who could do my job if i called out) tried to tell me i was headed for a write up, so i said to him “i’m showing up to this stupid meeting while i should be sleeping when I already work 60 hours a week, and honestly it’s making me think about quitting even if you don’t write me up”

Lo and behold, not only did i not get written up, it was suddenly no longer mandatory for me to attend the front desk bi-weekly staff meeting.

[midnightkens]

TW: Sudden death of a partner, self-blame

--

The house is far too quiet.

Ken's gaze flit about the living room. A gentle breeze trickles in from the open window, and if he pays close enough attention, he hears crickets chirping from somewhere in the distance. The world keeps spinning. Bottles clink in the next yard over, and Ken scowls at the roar of laughter that follows.

How can anyone laugh right now? His world came to a screeching halt six weeks ago. He shudders and wraps his blanket tighter around himself. The blanket still smells like Ryan, but it's a cold comfort. Traces of his partner are scattered all about the room, from his running shoes by the door, a half-finished painting on its canvas, the book he was reading on the coffee table.

It's Ken's very own time capsule.

"You can move some of it," Barbie suggests gently. "He - "

"No," Ken snaps. Barbie flinches, and he squirms with guilt. He'll apologize later, when he has the energy. "I can't."

Ken closes his eyes, willing the onslaught of memories to leave him alone, but he knows it's wishful thinking. Ryan haunts his dreams, face contorted with rage, it's your fault I'm dead, why didn't you stay home, I thought you loved me?

Barbie, Gloria, and Sasha are kind enough to lie to him, but Ken wishes they would tell him the truth. It's all his fault; he already knows it, so what difference would it make? They probably talk about him, how worthless he is, how badly he fucked up. After all, they have plenty of time. They're holed up in the same house, and Ken's been cast aside, lost, adrift, and alone.

Ken buries his head in his hands. He's not being fair. They've been reaching out, trying to get him to talk, inviting him over and begging him to spend time with them. He can't make his hands reach for his phone. It's too much energy.

He doesn't matter that much anyway

"Maybe I should stay home." Ken puts his bag down and leans against the doorframe. Nervous energy buzzes through him, white-hot and angry. Ryan needs him. Why? Ken doesn't know. He only knows that he does.

Ryan swivels around in his seat and raises an eyebrow. "Ken, I'm fine. I've been looking at the screen for too long. I'm going to take some medicine, go to bed, and I'll be fine. It's a headache. Stop fretting."

Ken had gone off to work, trying to shake the uneasy feeling off. But Ryan didn't answer two, four, five and a half hours later. Six hours into his twelve hour shift, he races home, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The house was eerily silent, and Ken remembers the stairs creaking as he climbed them, getting tunnel vision as he walked down the hall and into the bedroom he shared with his husband.

A massive brain aneurysm, the doctors told him. He hadn't felt a thing.

Ken hasn't slept in his bed in weeks. Hasn't even entered the room. How is he ever supposed to go in that room again, surrounded by his clothes, his cologne, his side of the bed, empty and cold? The couch is fine. It's not the comfiest to sleep on, but that's fine.

Ken doesn't deserve comfort. He's a paramedic. He has pretty damn good instincts, instincts that were screaming at him to stay home that day, instincts that he ignored.

Ryan's dead, because he failed him. His husband's trust lay cradled in the palm of his hand, and Ken broke it. Destroyed it. He's existed for over seventy-five years. Ryan didn't even get fifty.

They didn't even get ten years together. Seven years isn't enough time for anything. They had so many plans! And it slipped through his fingers, because even years after becoming human, he's an idiot who makes the same mistakes over and over.

He never deserved Ryan anyway. It should've been him.

But it wasn't, and he just knows that his family thinks the same.

It's fine. He doesn't need them.

They can't give him what he wants, so why bother?

[thatlovinfeelin]

Eye of The Storm -ten- Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Baby Kazansky x Rooster Bradshaw

one two three four five six seven eight nine

Molly tried to roll over, but kept being stopped by something, or someone, warm and hard behind her. Like a large wall of muscle that refused to let her move. She let out a little whine, still mostly asleep. 

“Shh,” Bradley whispered softly, “I got you, go back to sleep.”

He sounded awake, but Molly wasn’t conscious enough to question as she settled back down into the bed. Bradley smiled as she wiggled a little, and did something called cricketing her feet. He looked it up because he noticed she did it a lot and found it to be adorable. He pulled the blanket up higher, so it was just under her chin and kissed the top of her head. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” He told her gently, “Just sleep for now.”

She nodded, snuggling even deeper and falling back asleep. Rooster stayed up, watching her sleep for a while. He found in recent days that he liked watching her sleep, he found it soothing in a way. She slept so little before, always tossing and turning, but in his arms she hardly moved. He liked the feeling that it gave him, like he gave her just a little bit of peace. 

She didn’t wake for another few hours, stretching out as she finally came back to. Bradley wasn’t next to her anymore. She heard someone rustling around elsewhere in the house, guessing it was Bradley she grabbed a shirt from his closet and made her way out of the bedroom.

He was standing over a stove, humming, shirtless. She smiled and made her way over, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek on his shoulder blade. Molly felt oddly domestic, but she liked it. She liked the way it made her heart swell. 

“How’d you sleep?” Bradley questioned, looking over his shoulder at her. 

She hummed, “Great. Really great.”

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” 

“Honestly, a little swore, and yeah I’m starving,” She laughed, “What are you making?”

“French toast,” He replied, “Do you like that? I didn’t think to ask.”

She nodded against his back, “Yeah, that sounds great. Haven’t had it since I was a kid.”

“My dad used to make it,” he shrugged, “It’s comfort food for me. Figured you might want something like that.”

“I can think of other things I want,” She replied. 

He laughed hard enough to shake his whole body, “Honey, one thing at a time. Okay? We have time.”

Molly sighed and pulled back, tugging the shirt down as much as she could. She suddenly felt self conscious standing there, almost naked. The shirt only came down to the top of her thighs, not totally covering everything.

Bradley sighed and turned around, feeling the shift in Molly. She was chewing on her lip, still holding onto the end of the shirt. Bradley frowned, feeling bad all of the sudden. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in her head, or how she was feeling. But somehow, for some reason, she chose him. He needed to protect that. 

“Just let me take care of you, okay?” It was his turn to wrap his arms around her, “That’s my job. Right now, my only job is taking care of you.”

So, they sat down and tucked into french toast and bacon. Molly couldn’t stop the smile that crept along her face, and she didn’t even try. She was happy, perfectly happy with him. Part of her never wanted to go home, just so she could live this life with Bradley. Breakfasts and falling asleep next to him, sleeping with him in both senses of the word. She liked it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bradley asked once she finished another slice of toast. 

“Bradley, that was how I wished I lost my virginity,” She told him honestly, setting down her glass of orange juice, “Personally, I don’t see how it gets better than that.”

Bradley looked down and smiled to himself, proud that he could at least offer her something better than she previously experienced. He wanted to give her everything. He’d give her the world if he could. The sun the moon and the stars. Anything she asked for, he would try his damned best to get it for her. 

He was already so whipped. 

“Have you talked to the girls?” He asked her, trying to stop thinking about having her under him again. 

He needed to take things slowly, follow her lead instead of his own. He would move when she told him to, and not a moment sooner. No matter how much he might want to move so fast it could give anyone whiplash. 

She shook her head, “Not since Riss’s house. Though, I’m sure I have half a dozen texts from both of them. Maybe more if I went full girl and told them what happened.”

Her cheeks were red. So red and so cute. Rooster liked the fact that she blushed around him. He liked the way her mouth scrunched up like she was trying to keep herself from saying anything else. God, he liked her. 

“Maybe don’t do that,” he laughed, “Not yet at least. Give it a few days.”

“No worries. No locker room talk from me,” She swore, zipping her lips shut. 

He laughed, his body shaking, “What do you want to do for the next day?”

She raised her eyebrows, wiggling them a little. A little giggle followed, which only made Rooster smile. He liked the sound of that giggle. He leaned back in his chair. 

“Give an old man some time to recover,” he joked, “Eat your food. Drink your orange juice and calm down.”

“I am calm!” 

“You’re acting like you're hyped up on a shit ton of coffee,” he joked, “I keep waiting for you to start bouncing in your seat.”

She shook her head, but couldn’t help the smile on her face. She felt at ease here with him in his sunlight kitchen. The light filtered in through the wall of windows, bringing in the warm California sunlight. Everything just felt right here. She wanted to stay here with him for as long as she possibly could. Going back to her parents house seemed like the worst thing that could happen now that she really had a taste of what life with Bradley could be like. 

“I’m just happy,” Molly replied, “Like….really happy.”

“Good,” Bradley replied, “You deserve to be really happy.”

“I just didn’t know it could be like that,” she explained, “Gentle and full of… I don’t know. I just didn’t think it could be like that, I guess.”

He nodded slowly, “Only with the right person. Because it isn’t always like that.”

Molly looked down at her food, chewing on her lip, “But it was good, right? I was- I mean it was good?”

Bradley let out a deep breath, “Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about that with me. I promise you. It was great, believe me, it was great.”

The smile slowly crept back over her face. She was safe with him, she knew that. Bradley would do anything for her, anything to make her smile. He would do anything to keep her safe, and keep her happy. She just didn’t know that yet, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel it. She could feel, deep in her chest, just how much he cared, even if neither of them were fully ready for that yet.

“I saw your piano in the living room,” she mentioned, “How many songs do you know?”

“A good few,” he replied, “Do you want me to play?”

She nodded, “Please. If you want?”

“C’mon,” he stood and held his hand out for her, “I haven’t played for someone like this since my mom died.”

“Oh Rooster-”

“I want to play,” he replied tugging her with him, “C’mon little birdy.”

“Huh, Birdy, I like that.”

“My little snow bird,” he kissed the top of her head, “Come sit with me.”

She slid onto the piano bench next to him, getting comfortable. He smiled to himself before running his fingers over the keys before starting to play a melody. Molly stayed still as he played, listening as he started to sing a little along with the song. 

Molly felt something deep in her chest. A sort of warmth spreading throughout her whole body. She could get used to being with him like this. She liked the feeling of his body next to hers while he played. She felt safe…and she felt loved. God did she feel loved by Bradley Rooster Bradshaw. And god did she love him in return.

[karatekels]

Fresh Start - Day 14 (Part 1)

It's the beginning of the end, unfortunately, but I think that this starts us off on the right foot!

Previous Parts:

Days 4 & 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Days 8 & 9 | Days 10 & 11 | Day 12-A | Day 12-B | Day 13-A | Day 13-B | Day 13-C |(Future updates posted below!)

TW: Smut; Dirty talk; a little bit of somnophilia

---

Day 14 - Morning

The instant you wake up, you feel like the clock was ticking.

Lifting your head off of Terry’s chest, you look to the alarm clock on his bedside table: there were only six hours left until you had to be at the airport. You were unable to look at this like the glass was half full; six hours wasn’t close to enough. You weren’t sure any amount of time would be enough. Maybe you should just get this over with, rather than waiting around for the inevitable…

Looking down at Terry, you feel your lips curve into a smile. You hadn’t seen him asleep yesterday since he had woken up before you, and the sight has your heart fluttering. His hair is spread against the dark pillowcase like a halo around his head, and he looks younger in his sleep, any trace of tension or stress absent from his features. He breathes deeply, a slight smile on his face, and you wonder if he looks this happy because you’re there with him. You hope so, and the way that his hands occasionally stroke your skin softly even in sleep adds credence to your theory.

His thumb brushes a sensitive spot on the small of your back, and a shudder of desire travels through you. Waking him the way you had wanted to yesterday seemed like a good way to start the day… Plus, it would definitely take your mind off of leaving – being with Terry tended to make all thoughts practically evaporate from your mind.

You shift slightly in his arms, throwing your leg over his body and shifting your weight onto your knees to keep it off of him as you straddle his hips; you didn’t want him waking up quite yet. His grip around your hips tightens slightly in his sleep, and your thighs automatically clench in response. Even when unconscious he managed to turn you on – it was hardly fair.

Leaning over him, you lightly run your hands in lazy patterns across his chest. Even when you spread your fingers wide, your hands looked so small on his body…

You feel yourself getting wetter at the sight, lowering your head to lay kisses across his chest, slowly working your way up to his neck. Touching him like this, having complete control, is seriously getting you going, and you find yourself lightly grinding your hips against him, lazy figure-eight patterns that tease your body even further.

Your lips travel up his neck, pausing at the hickey you gave him yesterday and gently sucking on it, causing it to darken further, and feel his hips thrust against yours lightly in response. Time for your Sleeping Beauty to wake up.

Keeping your hips in place, you stretch your upper body further to kiss him slowly, teasingly. He lets out a soft groan as he wakes up, and you swallow the noise into your mouth greedily, before he starts kissing you back, his hands sliding up to your hips and gripping them tightly. He’s already starting to get hard against you, and you roll your hips against his growing erection eagerly, only the thin fabric of your panties separating you.

“Do you have any idea how often I’ve thought of this exact scenario over the past ten days?” Terry says once you break the kiss, moving down to kiss his neck, and you whimper against his skin, biting down softly.

You sit up, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest as you straddle him, looking down into his beautiful blue eyes. He seemed to be fighting to keep them open, but they were heavy with drowsiness and arousal. He looked delicious, and you can’t keep yourself from leaning down and kissing him again, coaxing his tongue to twine itself with your own.

The kiss has your head spinning with desire, and you find yourself getting more desperate with every brush of Terry’s lips against yours. Breaking the kiss, you reluctantly climb off of him, sliding your underwear off and kneeling beside his hips. Terry lets out a noise of protest at the loss of your warmth on top of him, hissing in a breath as you reach under the blankets and wrap a hand around him, stroking gently.

With a wicked smile just for yourself, you slip fully under the blankets, bending down to take him in your mouth. His hips immediately thrust up, and you hear a muffled moan through the blankets, the sound urging you to bob your head faster, getting him ready to take you.

You reemerge from under the covers after another minute or so, straddling him once more. Terry looks up at you with a silent plea, and you waste no time, lifting yourself up and lining him up with your entrance before slowly lowering yourself onto his cock. You both groan in unison as you take him in fully, your hips pressed together with him sheathed inside you. You stay there for a moment, occasionally gyrating your hips in small circles, trying to savour the feeling of him inside you.

“You’re a lot more compliant in the mornings,” you tease, looking down at him with a coy smile. “Now I know how to make sure you let me be in control for a change!”

He pulls you down for a kiss, large hands running up and down your thighs in a way that has you tightening around his cock.

“Well, you’d better make all this behaving worth my while,” he purrs once he releases you. “Because I could flip this around on you in a second,” he hisses the last word, holding your hips down and thrusting his hips deeper into you for emphasis. The action almost has you going cross-eyed from pleasure, and does have you loudly groaning out a string of obscenities that have him chuckling.

“But for now,” he continues, releasing your hips and returning to stroking your legs, “I’ll let you have your wicked way with me, princess.”

Terry’s challenge makes something snap within you; you’d show him dominant. Growling, you lift yourself off him until just the head of his cock remains inside you before dropping back down, setting a pace with your hips that has you both moaning with pleasure. You ride him passionately, almost aggressively at times, making sure to take his cock as deeply as you can with every roll of your hips. Your fingernails have left angry red trails along his pecs as you get more and more lost in your pleasure, Terry’s hands on your hips, squeezing gently but not controlling your pace, behaving himself. Every sound he makes counts as a victory in your eyes, and you grind your hips, finding different angles that have him fighting not to lose control until you can map them out in your mind; a guide for how to make him come apart for you.

“Talk to me Terry, please,” you beg, bouncing on his cock as hard and fast as you can. Your thighs are burning fiercely from the exertion, and the ache is adding to your pleasure. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

Terry is immediately eager to obey your instruction, his hands coming up under your shirt - his shirt - to tease your nipples as he watches your face, his eyes shining with a wild lust.

“That’s right princess, ride me. Use my cock to get yourself off, beautiful,” he croons, his voice husky with his arousal, and your eyes roll back into your head at his words. You’d swear he could have you coming with his words alone.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” Terry groans, and you can tell he’s thinking along the same lines, wanting you to come from his dirty talk. “Yes, fuck yourself on my cock, babygirl. I want to feel your come gush out of that pretty pussy all over me.”

That did it.

You scream in ecstasy, coming hard and clenching down on his cock, nearly sobbing with pleasure as you moan his name as if in worship. Your body feels completely out of your control, still convulsing and twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasm, the rest of you feeling like jelly. Terry is still hard inside you, but behaving himself, stroking your back and doing his best not to move within you.

“Please,” you whimper as you shudder on top of him. “Please, use me too.”

You feel his grip on you tighten, his blunt fingernails digging into your flesh at your words.

“Are you sure, Y/N?” he asks, and it sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth; you’re still too boneless to lift your head from the crook of his neck to check. How he managed to balance being such a gentleman with such raw, dirty sexuality was a wonder to you.

“Please, Terry,” you insist, trying to mentally brace yourself. You know he will take you up on this. “I need to feel you come in me.”

Now it’s your words that set him off; he roars in your ear, bending his knees slightly and thrusting into you deeply, his hips pumping hard and fast as he clutches your exhausted body to his chest. You wail, trying to scream into the pillow instead of his ear, but he pulls your head back by your hair, holding you in front of his face.

“I don’t want you ever keeping these noises from me,” he growls, the words coming out in short gasps as he fucks you roughly. You’re moaning incoherently now as he uses you; this was so different than the way you’d made love yesterday, and you’re not sure which you love more.

Desperate to make him come apart for you, you open your eyes and look into his pleadingly, trying to look as innocent and submissive as possible; you want to see his reaction to your words.

“Fuck, I love you telling me what to do,” you whine through the high-pitched gasps he’s forcing from your lips. “Please use me, Sir!”

His eyes turn black, his expression feral as he grabs your hips in a bruising grip, holding you down as he fucks up into you, coming with an animalistic grunt of your name as he pumps you full, his hips stuttering as he fills you up. He releases his grip on your hair, and you collapse onto his chest, both of you taking a couple of minutes to catch your breath and just… recover from everything you’ve experienced.

Once you’ve both regained some sense of self, Terry flips you over, pinning you to the bed. You feel him slide out of you, and whimper at the loss, and he looks down at you with a fierce expression, his face still flushed. The colour looks good on him.

“You…” he begins, interrupting himself by kissing you ferociously. “You are the sexiest, filthiest little thing I’ve ever come across.”

You smile up at him cheekily, preening at the compliment.

“And you may have just made things a lot worse for yourself,” he adds, and you tilt your head at him in confusion.

“I was more than willing to let you be dominant on occasion at the beginning there, but then you had to show me your submissive side, and now…” he leans down to lick your neck, intentionally giving you a fresh hickey. “Now I’m going to have to make you mine very regularly. You were clearly made to be taken, to beg for my cock…”

Uh-oh, you think to yourself, though your body tingles at his words. You find yourself all-too-willing to let Terry dominate you, if this little taste had been any indication of how that would go.

“Unless my real plan was to get you all feral like this, and this is what I wanted all along,” you tease, yelping when Terry’s lips suddenly close around your nipple over your shirt.

“Think what you want,” he murmurs against your breast, “just know that I’m going to have a lot planned for you when you visit next.”

And just like that, the harsh reality of the situation comes back to your mind, your heart clenching even as you arch into him. You had to get out of here, as soon as possible.

Tangling your hands in his hair, you tug him away from your chest to kiss him deeply, hoping the desperation you were feeling wasn’t evident. He looks deeply into your eyes with a warm smile, and you feel guilty despite not having done anything yet.

“Why don’t you rest while I have a shower, and then we can go have breakfast together, hmm?” he suggests, and you almost wish he hadn’t, because it gives you the perfect opportunity to leave. You nod shyly up at him, not trusting your voice, and he gives you an affectionate kiss on the forehead before pulling himself away from you, heading into the bathroom.

You wait until you hear the shower before setting your plan in motion. Fortunately, you had kept most of your things packed up since arriving here yesterday, so you only had to get dressed, throwing the last few things in your bag before fleeing down the stairs with your luggage.

You would be a mess, waiting these next few hours to be separated from Terry. A long, drawn-out goodbye was the last thing either of you needed, you reason to yourself. Best to do this quick, rip it off like a Band-aid. You would call an Uber to take you to the airport, and send him a text once you were in the car. Surely you’d left him with enough good memories just now that the day wouldn’t sour by your early departure…

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as you step onto the main landing, walking down the hall to the foyer, every step getting harder to take. This was exactly why you had to leave; it was hard enough to get yourself to walk away from him when he wasn’t there with you. You’re not sure you could bring yourself to leave his arms again.

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you approach the front door. Terry would see that this had been the right decision…

“Freeze.”

You whirl around guiltily; the voice wasn’t Terry’s, but still recognizable. Sure enough, Terry’s head of security stands further down the foyer, looking even more intimidating and angry than he had when you’d “met” the first time.

“Oh, V-Victor, you scared me. I didn’t realize that any of you were back yet,” you say, keeping your voice down. You didn’t want to attract Terry’s attention.

“Obviously.”

“Glad to see you still hold your stellar opinion of me. Now, surely you must know that I’m allowed to be here, so please don’t try to pull any of that crap about needing to search my bags before I leave.”

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I fly home today, you’ll be pleased to know. I’m going to the airport; you’ll be free of me, for awhile at least,” you inform him sarcastically.

“Mr. Silver informed me you two weren’t leaving until the early afternoon. The limo will be ready for you both at 1:30.” Victor’s tone suggests a degree of finality, like the matter was settled.

“I don’t need a limo. I don’t want to take up Terry’s day with a sad drawn out goodbye.” Or your own day, for that matter, you think to yourself, knowing that you were being selfish by sneaking away early. “I can take care of myself.”

“You can’t leave now.”

You turn back to glare at him, your hackles raised at the threatening tone in his voice.

“I sure as hell can! I don’t know what your problem is with me –”

“This isn’t about you, you selfish, spoiled little –” Victor snarls, but you cut him off.

“– But you need to back off. I’m not scared of you, and I’m not going to let you push me around, so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me get out of your hair.” Huffing, you turn away from him dismissively, picking up your suitcase and making for the front door. You’d order an Uber or something once you left; you needed to get out of here now.

“You didn’t see him after you left the other night.”

You freeze at his words, your hand gripping the doorknob but unable to make yourself pull the door open.

“What are you talking about?” you ask him in a hoarse voice, not able to turn around to face him. You hear his footsteps approach you, but he maintains a few feet of distance.

“I’m talking about not even two days ago, when you ran away the first time like a little coward.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you hiss angrily, turning back to square up against him.

“The hell I don’t; I was the one who found him on the beach. He was practically catatonic.” Your eyes dart to his face, looking for any hint of a lie or exaggeration hidden in his features, but find none.

“What do you mean?” you choke out, feeling panic well up in your chest.

“I found Mr. Silver sitting on the bottom of the stairs to the beach, where you’d apparently left him in your haste to protect yourself. He was completely unresponsive, just staring blindly into nothing. I’ve worked for Mr. Silver for over twenty years, and I’ve only seen him like that twice before. And those were ‘Nam flashbacks, from his PTSD.” His words ring in your ears until they hurt; you feel sick. “You’ve really done a number on him, Y/N.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t…” you gasp out, unable to breathe. Victor closes the distance between you, pinching your arm firmly to distract you from the panic, helping you refocus and calm down slightly. Apparently as much as he seemed to loathe you, he couldn’t let you pass out or hurt yourself on his watch.

“When I finally got him to speak, all he would say is “She’s gone,” over and over. I had to call in his doctor, but before I could get him back up here he seemed to snap out of it. Fought me off and barrelled me over to get in his car and drive after you. I had three guys on my team driving after him, there and back, making sure he didn’t crash or run anyone over.”

“No…” you whimper, tears spilling down your cheeks. How could you have been so selfish? How could you still be so selfish? you think to yourself hatefully, eyeing your suitcase. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Didn’t know? Didn’t think? Who gives a fuck?!” Victor growls, glaring down at you. “You’re used to putting yourself first; you’re a spoiled child. That man is ready and willing to give you everything and you can’t even respect him enough to be honest with him, or think about how you’re making him feel, running and hiding whenever things get difficult or make your little heart hurt. Mr. Silver is a great man, and most of his life has been hell, so if you think you can just come and go like this without thinking about how it’s going to make him feel, then leave and don’t come back.”

--- Terry's POV ---

Terry forces himself to even out his breathing, flashes of dark jungles and gunshots flickering before him as he watches your conversation with Victor in the front entrance through his security app, his emotions a frazzled mess. The mere mention of Vietnam while he was in such a state had triggered flashbacks he hadn’t had in years. He couldn’t deal with this now, he had to get to you before it was too late…

He’s overwhelmed by the feelings this scene elicits in him: pain at you trying to leave him again, anger at Victor for speaking to you in such a manner, anger at you for trying to sneak away behind his back… Terry had felt the anxiety intermingled with your desperation to have him this morning, and had worried about it, but he hadn’t thought you would do something like this again. Would you stay? Would you go? Would he let you?

He had promised you that he would always let you live your life on your own terms, and Terry Silver was never one to break a promise, but he finds himself close to doing so now. The urge to storm down to the front entrance, order Victor to lock the property down, throw you over his shoulder and bring you back here to face the consequences of your actions, to make you explain yourself and beg for his forgiveness…

No.

If he did that, he would be as selfish as you were being by leaving again. You were overwhelmed, flighty, young… and to be fair to you, he had done his best to minimize how affected he had been by your leaving the first time. He still wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, trapped in his own mind and unable to move…yet another boon owed to Victor in regards to Terry’s relationship to you; somehow, the other man had snapped him out of his stupor and allowed him to get to you on time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you moan brokenly, the sound drawing his attention to his phone and the scene unfolding on the screen once more. Though you were just a small image on the screen, he can see the tremors wracking your body as you sob, and his heart aches.

“It’s not me you need to apologize to. Grow up, and put someone else before yourself for once.” Victor snaps at you, turning on his heel and leaving you alone at the front entrance. Terry knew that he would be keeping an eye on you though; he would have to open the gate if you had any hope of leaving anyway.

Terry watches you, unable to take his eyes away as you pace, hugging yourself tightly as though you wanted to trap the sounds of your anguish inside your body. After a moment or two, you kick your bags beside the front door and rush down the hall to the powder room. Hoping that that meant you were staying, and just wanting to clean yourself up, Terry shuts off the app, moving quickly to get dressed before heading downstairs to find you. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to let on that he had seen your escape attempt or not; there were only a few hours left before you would be on your way, and he didn’t want them taken up with unhappy thoughts and discussions.

You open the bathroom door seconds before he approaches it, and jump at seeing him so close by, your eyes and the tip of your nose still red from crying, and his decision is made for him.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asks, wrapping you in a hug, trying to squeeze the pain out of your body.

“T-Terry!” you cry out, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as you can and burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” you sob, shaking in his arms.

He shushes you, running a hand through your hair and keeping you pressed up against him. He doesn’t relent until he feels your breathing slowly return to normal, again fighting the urge to keep you here permanently despite his promises and your wishes.

“I really didn’t want to cry today,” you hiccup, still hiding your face in his shirt. Terry doesn’t try to lift your head to look up at him, but moves his arms to hold your waist, letting you look up when you’re ready. “But I was moving my stuff downstairs while you were in the shower, so I wouldn’t have to waste time that could be spent with you, and then I started thinking about leaving and…”

He would let you get away with a lie this once; there were more important things to worry about.

“Ssshhh, it’s alright, my love,” he coos, rubbing your hip bones with his thumbs soothingly. You push him away suddenly, and he’s so surprised by the gesture he lets you.

“It’s not alright, Terry!” you insist through your tears. “I’m leaving you here, again, and I’ve been so selfish, thinking only about my own feelings. I’m horrible – I haven’t even apologized to you for running away the other night!”

You look over to him with a deeply pained expression, and as you glance to the floor in front of him, he wonders if you’re going to drop to your knees and beg for forgiveness. As much as the thought excites his ego, he hopes you don’t; unless you were in the throes of passion, he didn’t want you begging for anything, ever.

Instead you walk up to him, taking one of his large hands in both of your own, bringing it to your lips and kissing it again and again. “I’m so sorry, Terry. I never should have left like that. I… I can’t imagine how you must have felt. When I left, I assumed that was it, that you would hate me,” you confess, and his heart constricts at the thought. Hating you was an impossibility.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t, to be honest. You are a much, much better person than me.”

Terry could tell you a thousand different ways in which he was a horrible person, but that can of worms was better left unopened… for now, at least.

“I’m going to be better. More open, more honest… like you. I promise. It may take me awhile, but…”

Terry has heard enough, silencing you with a kiss.

“I love you for you, Y/N,” he murmurs against your lips. “I appreciate your apology, and your desire to be better, but know that I don’t hold anything against you… other than myself, of course,” he says teasingly, clutching you to him. You giggle through your tears, and he smiles down at you. He wanted today to be as happy as possible; he would need to cling to memories of you until you were able to come back to him.

“Now, let’s go have breakfast,” he says, picking you up bridal style with no warning. “It’s about time you start getting used to me teasing you while the staff are about.”

“Terry!” you shriek in horror, your face turning bright red as he carries you to the patio where breakfast was waiting, and he chuckles, tightening his grip on you.

His revenge for your escape attempt would be exacted through every moan he dragged out of you in the presence of the staff.

(Couldn't decide on an appropriate Terry gif for what happened in the chapter, so please enjoy this one and imagine him being dominant with you the next time you're back!)

---

...Victor has unironically become a favourite OC of mine - he's like the surly fairy godmother of their relationship and he WILL. BE. APPRECIATED.

Day 14-B | Day 14-C

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch 12 )

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Five's physically aged up). Obvious smut warning but there's plot too, I swear!

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

FINAL chapter: As the days draw on, Five becomes more desperate. Even his powers can't save you from a long, protracted death.

No smut below but proceed at your own risk anyway...because I said so, ok?!

Chapter 12: Deprivation

You drifted, consciousness misty and fleeting. You didn’t know where you were, you only knew pain. Your head throbbed like an infected tooth. It hurt to breathe.

You didn’t mean to open your eyes, but three figures came into sort-of focus. The seated man wore black, the indistinct shape of his face turned to you.

“Hey.” 

Five’s voice, gentle.

One of the other figures, huge and hulking, put a misty hand on Five’s shoulder.

“Is she-?”

The scene changed.

"We've been friends since middle school! You've known her for all of ten minutes!"

Ellie. Her hand in yours.

"And is that going to save her if she takes a turn?"

"What?"

"Five..." said an admonitory voice. One of his siblings.

"If she takes a turn,” he continued, “can you turn back time and save her?"

You could hear rain on a window.

Your hand was held by someone below the level of the bed. His thumb caressed your smallest finger. It was silent but for his quiet tenor.

“I can't stop wanting you…it's useless to say...”

You sank again.

Daytime or night time. Maybe neither. Maybe dreaming

“Well, are they keeping it under control?”

“The fuckers won’t let me get at her charts” he exhaled, angrily, “and all the time she's in pain.”

“Hey, Five, come on. It’s okay.”

“I hate this Viktor, I can’t-”

Day time? Bustle: Beeps, footsteps, ringing phones, snatches of christmas music. Hot pain in your abdomen.

“-Modafinil is ideal. Maybe Adderall. Hell, find me cocaine- any stimulant.”

“Buddy, I’m not sure…”

“Coffee’s fine for now but it won’t be enough.”

You sensed Five perching beside you. You opened your eyes a slit. Klaus sat in a chair with his feet up on your bed, rolling a cigarette.

“Hey you,” he smiled.

As Five called your name, disbelieving, the world heaved away again.

***

Now quiet again. His warmth against you. He was whisper-singing more Ray Charles, his mouth against your ear. He sang at a low tempo, voice frayed.

"I said I made up my mind, to live in memories..."

“-brought you some more clothes.”

“Thanks.”

“You need to shower, you smell like shit.”

“…No.”

His voice dragged like a sack of rocks along a stone floor.

“You need to stop this and sleep.”

“I’ll be fine.” 

He didn’t sound fine.

“Five-”

“I can only jump back a couple of minutes Diego.”

“How much are you taking?”

“It’s temporary.”

Quiet.

Five muttered and laughed to himself.

"I can't stop..."  

Barely singing now. Voice slurry, 

"Those h-happy hours...hours...happy hours...we once knew..."

Hot, moist breath on your cheek.

Beeps again.

“-on the mend. Come on man, you know it won’t be long now.”

“No. It’s nothing like a halo.”

“Huh?"

Five didn’t elaborate.

"Look, if I stay and promise to stay awake, will you sleep? I can wake you if she takes a turn.”

He didn’t respond, his silence more sinister than nonsense. You felt weight shift on your bed. 

“Five?”

“We’ll sort it right here and be happy. And you can be satisfied with that.”

“Five…" Klaus's usually carefree voice was laced with worry, "You’re talking to the chair buddy."

“I forgot to carry the one and that’s what people see, but it’s not the same.”

 He laughed deliriously, blurrily. 

“Okay old timer. Just put your head down here and-”

Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. Breathing was easier now, but it still came in wheezes. You could hear slow, deep breathing to your right. With effort, you turned your head to find the source.

“Five?” 

Your voice barely sounded, catching and squalling in your throat.

“Shhh,” a large hand on yours and a low, urgent whisper, “glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Luther’s face materialized out of the dark.

“Five?” you repeated.

"He’s here, right here. But please, let him sleep for now. He isn’t well.”

Sitting on a chair beside Luther, Five was slumped forwards, his head a few inches from your shoulder. His face was gaunt and unshaven, hair dirty, body unwashed. Even in repose, he looked worried, yet he slept like the dead.

“How long?” you managed.

“Since you’ve been here? Eight days. You’ve got broken ribs, a punctured lung and some head trauma. But you’ve had an infection too and that’s what had him really worried.”

“Better now?”

“Yeah. They say the antibiotics are working now. It’s a good sign you’re awake enough to talk.”

You indicated Five.

“Why?”

“He was awake for over four days. Since your infection got bad,” he paused, “it wasn’t pretty. Klaus finally got him to sleep this morning and he’s been like this ever since. We didn’t want to move him.”

“Be okay?”

“Yeah. It gave him a touch of psychosis, but it should have gone when he wakes up.”

Your eyes were heavy.

“Tired.”

“I’ll be here." said Luther.

As your eyes closed, he woke you again.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Huh?”

“When you wake up and he’s awake, will you pretend it’s the first time?”

“Okay.”

It was easy to fall back under the veil of exhaustion and pain, the sound of Five’s deep breathing lulling you.

When your eyes opened again, the light told you it was afternoon. Luther sat in the same position by your bed while Five sat with his head back against the window pane. He was leaning so that two of his chair legs were off the floor, looking up at the ceiling, scrutinizing it as if the pattern on the tiles might hold the answer to life, the universe and everything: as if they were the mad calculations on his bedroom walls.

“Five?”

He jumped violently, his chair tipping back onto all four legs. His shocked face broke into disbelief, into joy and then, like the sun going in, his face crumpled.

“Oh God.” 

He blinked to the side of the bed, unable to waste even the seconds it would take to walk. When he rematerialized he was wiping his eyes. 

Quietly, Luther excused himself, giving you privacy and closing the door behind him.

Five kissed, first your head, then your face, then each of your eyes and, finally, buried his face in your hair.

“You're awake! Oh God. I love you. I can’t, I'm sorry- it was my-”

He mouthed silently for a couple of seconds, words not coming. You lifted a heavy arm, placing it on his back and guiding him onto the bed.

Carefully, he lay beside you, as close to the edge of the bed as he could be without falling off, giving you space. With a shaky inward breath, he nuzzled into your cheek to hide his face. 

After a few minutes of pretending he wasn't crying, his tears subsided enough that he could trust himself to speak.

“I didn’t leave you.”

“I know.”

“It’s all my fault. I didn’t think, I didn’t plan well enough. He was after me and I led him straight to you. I’m an idiot, a fucking idiot.” 

Suddenly, violently, he slammed the heel of his hand into his cheekbone.

“Five, stop,"

You reached feebly for his wrist, but your arms felt too heavy.

“You didn’t ask for this to happen.”

“I put you at risk, I hurt you again.”

“You can’t control everything. You can’t live the rest of your life imagining every contingency. You can never be happy like that.”

He pushed his balled fist hard into one eye, as if he could push his tears back into the ducts.

“This time, I’m done with it. No more Commission, no more saving the world, no more anything.”

Somehow, you knew this was a promise to himself that he couldn’t fully keep. All that was who he was.

***

As night fell, Five settled on the low cot next to your bed. You reached your hand down towards his and he took it willingly. 

“Promise me you’ll sleep tonight?”

“I think I can promise you that.”

“Why didn’t you before?”

He paused uncomfortably.

“In case you needed me.”

For a little while, you just held hands.

“Five?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.” 

Over the next week, you were visited by the entire Academy crowd. 

Five stayed protectively by your shoulder throughout these visits, though you weren’t sure why precisely. It was as if he thought they'd wear you out. The hypocrisy of this was stark: if anybody was worn out, it was him.

Despite his promise, In your first few days of consciousness, he slept only in tiny snatches and always startled awake with a frantic glance in your direction. Though he’d relaxed about this since you’d been able to leave the bed for a couple of hours each day, you knew he still wasn’t sleeping well.

A few days after Christmas, Lila brought Santi to visit. On arriving, she took one look at Five and grimaced but, likely out of pity, made no other comment. 

Santi was still nervous of you: only having briefly met you once before you were bedridden, injured and delicate. Though most of your bruises and facial swelling had now gone down, there was still enough evidence of them to make you appear scary to a six year old.

For most of the visit, he hid behind Lila, but you smiled at him when you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

“So, Santi, what did you get for Christmas?” 

He mumbled into the back of Lila’s chair. 

“What was that, honey?” you asked. 

“Lego,” supplied Lila, “an absolute buttload of lego.”

“Cool!” you said, enthusiastically, “so what are you gonna build?”

Santi eyed you before beckoning his mother. Lila, rolling her eyes, bent so that he could whisper in her ear.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she said, in reply, “I’m not your messenger, darling.”

Reluctantly, giving the bed a wide berth, Santi edged around the room until he was beside Five. 

“When are you coming home?” he asked, in a small voice.

“Soon, I hope.” said Five, glancing over at you, “The doctors think it won’t be long after New Year.”

“When’s that?” Santi asks.

“A week,” Five reassured him, “Maybe two. It depends.”

There was  a short pause as Santi computed this: first taking it in, mulling it over, and then finding it acceptable.

“Will you play with robots good?”

“Huh? Sure, we’ll play robots.”

“But will you play them good? Or will you still be all dumb?”

Lila snorted.

“Gee, thanks kid. I guess I’ll try not to be dumb, but what makes you think that?”

“Because…because…” he beckoned Five in much the same way he did Lila, and Five lowered his ear towards him.

You didn’t hear exactly what he whispered, but the words: ‘kissing’ and ‘girlfriend’ were clearly audible. 

Lila caught your eye, tried to suppress a laugh, but cackled anyway. You couldn’t help joining in.

Amused, Five answered him:

“Well, while I intend to be very busy kissing my girlfriend-” 

Santi flapped his hands, trying to stop Five from divulging his top secret communication.

“-I promise I’ll play robots better than ever when I get home.”

As you improved, Five tended to skulk outside in the hallway when Ellie visited. Clearly, they’d had disagreements while you were out of it. That day was no different: he greeted her politely, holding the door open for her, but nevertheless excused himself quickly, pleading that he needed to go out and get some decent coffee. 

After he left, it took a few minutes for conversation between you and Ellie to flow properly. 

“So, what do you think of him now?”

Ellie sucked at her cheek, flaxen hair coming down around her ears. 

"He clearly cares a lot about you,” she paused, before finishing in a rush, “but when you were really ill he seemed…I don’t know, possessive ?” 

"He was just worried,” you sigh, “he thought it was his fault."

"But why?"

You didn’t want to lie to her, but you wanted her to like him too.

"There were bad people after him. That guy. The one who…” 

She nodded her understanding, waving away any need for elaboration and allowing you to avoid talking about Micheal Monroe any more. You were grateful for this. Knowing he was dead wasn’t enough to take away your fear. 

“They're all...superheroes, I guess, and I got caught up in it. He feels responsible."

She pulled a concerned face, "I guess I understand that. He's just very…intense."

You squeezed her hand. You could understand this, and even agree to an extent.

"He is. But he's been through a lot, more than you or I could imagine. He's got his own shit to work out. But he's worth it. And he needs me.”

You paused, looking up from your clasped hands and into her eyes.

“And I think I need him too. I love him, El."

She nodded and squeezed your hand in return, the worry not quite leaving her eyes, even so. 

The physical therapists having apparently decided they’d tortured you enough, it was decided that you should be transferred to outpatient care in mid January. By this time, you were able to move around unaided (though not without pain) and the dressings were gone from your head, no longer necessary. 

Five could sense your nerves as the prospect of going home rose.

“Do you want me to move in for a while?” 

“No," your eyes prickled, voice panicky, "I don’t want to go back there. I can’t - not ever.”

Your blood was probably still spattered up the wall where Monroe had bashed your head, the dining chairs still left in the same position. You’d never forget the feel of that cheap carpet against your cheek as you lay on it, damp with blood. The smell of the dust trodden into it by years of previous tenants. 

Five’s hand on your cheek brought you back to the present. 

“Then you never have to." he soothed, kissing your trembling upper lip, "Come home with me. I can sleep on the floor at home until we can work out your next steps.”

You wondered afterwards why you didn't stay with Ellie again. The truth was, the idea of sleeping every night with him nearby, protecting you, was comforting in a way you wouldn't have been able to articulate. His attic was the only place you could imagine recovery. 

You didn’t need his help to climb the Academy steps on the evening of your return, but he didn’t feel comfortable without taking your arm. He led you through the entrance hall and into the living room, where Lila stood behind the bar.

“I think this calls for margaritas!”

With some misgivings about leaving you in such dubious company, Five nevertheless blinked upstairs to drop off your bags in his room. To his surprise, he found it already full. 

The unexpected entrance caused Luther to hit his head on the sloping ceiling, dropping the new bed he was maneuvering into position. Cursing softly, he put out a hand to still the swinging lampshade. Diego stopped in the act of moving the battered old slipper chair.

“Shit, you’re early!”

The room smelled of fresh paint, Sloane was unfolding bedsheets while Klaus and Viktor slid Five’s desk back against a newly-dried wall trimmed in blue-black. They had added a rug and another bookcase, already half full of books that had until now been leaning in a precarious stack. Five looked around, placing the bags on the floor.

“You need room for two,” Diego explained, in answer to Five’s dumbstruck look, placing the slipper chair in his new reading nook. “Plus I think you’re overdue to redecorate.”

Santi stood on the desk chair, dragged to the opposite wall. He was drawing on the upper portion of the wall with a marker; a lumpy, smiling figure with wiggly lines all around him.

“It’s all dry erase,” Luther, pointed out "Just in case. For doomsday math, y’know?”

“We moved the old toys to one of the empty rooms.” says Viktor, “Figured Santi needs a playroom and you need your space.”

“Yeah…” says Five, “you guys-”

Klaus cut him off, “And your other toys are in the bedside cabinet. I’ve seen things today that I can’t unsee.”

Five, torn between mortification and a strong emotion he couldn’t quite place, said nothing for the moment. He stared around. All their work. All their care. And there, on the new bookshelf, Anna Karenina . It was like Delores was there, giving him a little wave.

“Thank you,” he said, softly, “I'm truly touched.” 

It wasn’t much, but his face spoke volumes. He was home: safe and loved.

“You deserve it, old man” Diego said, thumping him genially on the shoulder.

Trying to throw off some of the emotional intensity, Five turned his attention to his nephew and the figure he was drawing on the new dry erase. 

“Is that me Santi?" he asked, taking in the squiggly lines around the figure, "Why do I smell?”

“Not smell. You’re blinking ”

“Oh, sure.”

“You do smell though. Smell of poop.”

Five picked him up, swung him round and kissed his head. Then, turning to the rest of his family:

“Really. This is…amazing.”

“Come on, bring it in!” said Klaus, sweeping everyone together, “I need a full group hug. That’s it. That’s the stuff.”

It was awkward, but nice. 

As they broke apart and headed downstairs together, Santi scampered ahead with Diego and Klaus steered Five to the back of the group.

“That playboy’s gotta be an antique...and where did you get that teeny pink buttplug? So petite!”

“Klaus, really?”

“And, I have to know, do you wear that pair of panties or is it a, you know, a sniffin’ thing?"

Five blinked downstairs.

“It’s okay if it’s both,” Klaus called over the banister.

Everyone except you had already drunk at least three of Lila’s deadly margaritas. After just one, you became nervous about mixing them with your pain meds.

The evening devolved into karaoke, a sure sign that things were getting messy. Five, in particularly high spirits and particularly drunk, was singing the worst tribute to Celine Dion you’d ever heard before or since. He was trying to sing much higher than he was at all capable of. Lila and Viktor sat either side of you, all three of you cringing at every horribly off- key note.

Luther, Sloane and Klaus swayed together, laughing and wincing as Five missed notes screechily. Diego hadn’t descended the stairs after putting Santi to bed, likely passed out on his and Lila’s bed after far too many drinks.

“CAUSE I AM YOUR LADY-”

“Y’know, " said Viktor, watching Five affectionately,  “I don't think I've seen him this happy since we were kids.”

“-AND YOU ARE MY MAAAN-”

“God, maybe it would have been easier on us all if you had died!” Lila whined, covering her ears with two throw pillows as Viktor smiled in your direction

 “I’ve noticed he likes to sing worse the happier he’s feeling.” 

You laughed, “I hope that’s true, because that means he’s very happy.”

“WHENEVER YOU REACH FOR ME-”

“He’s never known how to love halfway.” Viktor continued,  “He dedicated his entire life to getting back to us. Never stopped, never gave up-”

“-I’LL DO ALL THAT I CAAAN”

“-and now he loves you like that, he’ll never stop that either.”

You took Viktor’s hand and listened to Five finish.

“-SOMETIMES I AM FRIGHTENED BUT I’M READY TO LEARN THE POWER OF LOOOOOOVE”

With the end of the song still playing, Five threw down the microphone with a squall of feedback and bowed, leaving all three of you on the sofa grimacing intensely. Only Lila clapped.

Luther took up the mic as Five walked over to you, leading from the head with hands in his jacket pockets; his characteristic pose, only enhanced by the booze.

“I was amazing, wasn’t I?”

“I think I prefer your Ray Charles.”

His face lit up at these words.

"You remember that?"

You nodded, and  his drunken smile turned sentimental. He held out a hand to you, trying his best for suave, though ruining the effect slightly by swaying on his feet. 

“Dance with me?”

You squeezed his hand and he pulled you carefully to your feet and towards the edge of the room.

As Luther began to murder I Wanna Know What Love Is , Five pulled you close. You revolved on the spot and he lay his forehead against yours. His face, though happy, was careworn. For the first two verses, you just danced together, Five surprisingly graceful for someone with that much tequila in him.

“You know,” you whispered,  “you won’t always be able to keep me safe.”

“I can try,” he said, and then, “I’m a dangerous man to know.”

“And if that’s part of being in your life, then that’s the price I pay. It’s a good trade-off from where I’m standing.”

As the chorus swelled and the others sang along with Luther, Five raised his hands to cup your face,

“I can teach you to defend yourself. I could start training you as soon as you’re fully better.”

You chuckled.

“That sounds like it would be a huge turn-on for you."

He seemed to consider this, eyes narrowing slightly as he thought over the idea, assessed it, and found it true.

“That’s a coincidence of which I intend to take full advantage.”

“Good,” you smiled, “Then we’re on.”

With the others occupied, he leaned you against a pillar and gave you a lingering kiss, tenderness giving way to lust the longer he went. 

You broke away from him,

“Take me to bed, Five."

And he did.

End of Part 1

Tag list: (lmk if you want to join) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh,@nevbrooke-555

PART 2 >> HERE

For a preview of things to come, check out the series masterpost Alternatively, join me on A03 where it's already posted.  Here is a link to the whole series

I would really appreciate any comments before you go: what did you enjoy, what could I have done better?