#sure it read normal and actually worked i feel like i didn’t need four hours of file building training to do that. i did appreciate the

[lilgynt]

i get so angry at work just bc anyway im gonna read the communist manifesto at work just to feel something

[take-it-on-the-run]

Not A Lot, Just Forever

Dean Winchester x Pregnant!Reader

After throwing up morning after morning, the reader discovers her illness isn't what she initially thought.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tags: Pregnancy, unexpected pregnancy, brief description of motel bathrooms, vomiting (repeated), self-blame, mention of reader's mother dying in childbirth, mention of childbirth related deaths, anxiety, brief loss of consciousness, Dean is a sweetheart and will make a great father.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Pregnant!Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel

@ghostlyaccurate requested: "Hii! I'm not sure if I already sent you this request, or if I sent it to someone else (oops🤭) but could I request a Sam Winchester and/or Dean Winchester x reader (your choice which one of them, if not both sepperately) where he helps reader deal with morning sickness, though he only finds out she's pregnant on the third day in a row that he's with her while she throws up. Ty!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Adrianne Lenker title. I really really loved this request! I feel like writing the pregnancy trope is a sort of hard task to do, so I hope I brought it justice. I love love loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Thank you for the request @ghostlyaccurate, and I promise I'm trying my damnedest to work through my inbox <3. Every mistake here is completely and 100% my own and of my own doing. (P.S. can you guess how hard it was to find "aesthetic" pictures of a bathroom and pregnancy tests for the pictures for this fic?? I think the ones I found actually work pretty well! Another thing, what happened to the yellow text color? I use it to tag fluff fics, and it's gone :( ).

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Your head hung over the foul toilet bowl of whatever motel you, Dean, and Sam were holed up in, and a rancid smell invaded your nose. In earnest, you didn’t have the slightest idea where you were. The past couple of hours had been filled with a slight fever and the constant need to use Dean as a pillow. Halfway through the drive between towns, you convinced him to switch out driving with Sam so he could join you in the back seat.

The worn tile of the bathroom floor offered you minimal comfort, and the fact you’re supposed to be up for a case in two hours made your stomach churn over again. Ditching your normal avoidance of motel bathrooms, you gripped the edge of the toilet and emptied your stomach again.

“Y/N?” Dean’s groggy voice called out from behind the door, “Are you okay in there sweetheart?”

You squeezed your eyes together, cursing yourself for being loud enough to wake him up. Sneaking out from his arms was a feat enough already, trying to suppress the sound of you losing your guts at four in the morning wasn’t going to happen; even in a perfect world.

“No,” you groaned as he softly opened the door, “I feel like shit De, and you know how much I hate throwing up. And how much I hate motel bathrooms.” You whined. Your hair was falling to the front of your face and you were cursing whoever decided a bathroom didn’t need a working air vent.

Dean hummed softly, pulling the hair back from your face and holding it with one hand as he sat behind you on the floor. He pressed his lips to the back of your head softly, and gently traced shapes on your collarbone as you laid back on him.

“Just breathe, I’ve got you if you need to go at it again.” He said softly, cradling you in his lap as you tried to breathe. He ran his hand through your hair as your breathing started to hiccup less, and eventually, he sat you on the closed toilet lid to get you water.

You felt ashamed to be keeping him up at this hour. Your phone clock read 5:13 AM, almost an hour past when you’d originally gotten up. He already doesn’t get enough sleep as is, and here you are sitting, waiting for him to get back like you aren’t able to take care of yourself.

“Here you go, drink slowly. Did you use the mouthwash I gave you?” He asked as he handed you his water bottle. He stood across from you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. You nodded softly, gratefully gulping down the contents of the bottle.

The bags under his eyes were already enough to make you feel guilty. Hunters were used to running on minimal sleep, but with you around, he’d just gotten into the six-hour range. He rubbed his face, inhaling like he normally did when he was trying to make a decision. You didn’t want to go out for the case. You barely wanted to move your body to get back in bed and salvage what little sleep you could before life kicked you back into gear.

“Do you want to stay here while Sam and I talk to the family?” Dean asked as if he could read your mind.

I love you so damn much. You thought, bowing your head with a sigh of relief. You didn’t want to be the one to bring up staying in; neither of you ever wanted to admit you needed breaks, but if the other one was to bring it up, it made the process easier.

You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet as he opened the door for the two of you, “yeah, I think that’s best for all of us. Don’t need me puking in the victim’s bathroom as you guys ask your questions.” You tried to joke as you and Dean crawled back into bed, tucking yourself into his arms, and splaying your legs haphazardly on top of his.

The next morning wasn’t any better.

Sam and Dean had come home late from questioning the family, and you were barely aware of them unloading the Chinese food they brought for you. Dean sat with you against his chest, still half-dressed as an FBI agent, as you wolfed down the egg rolls he got. You found yourself starving when they offered you food, but now you regretted eating anything at all.

You found yourself hung over the toilet again, but thankfully only had to put up with one round of saying goodbye to your lunch. You were able to get yourself up and over to the sink, where you repeated Dean’s routine from the morning before.

You leaned against the counter in the small kitchen, Dean’s water bottle filled with tap water in your hand. You turned to dump the rest in the sink when the creak of a floorboard behind you had you spinning on your heel in record time.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. Why are you up?” You asked in a hushed tone, placing your hand over your racing chest.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He crossed the small room and came over to embrace you in his arms, “did you get sick again?” He asked innocently, but the combination of those words, and the pitiful shift of his eyes was enough to make you feel like a child. You were a grown woman, you knew damn well how to take care of yourself much before the Winchesters were in your life.

You huffed in annoyance, pulling back from Dean’s chest. You felt your face begin to heat up, and it felt like anything Dean could say had the chance to send you over the edge.

“Yes, I did. Right now, I feel like my body is too hot and too tight for my bones, and I also feel like anything you say is going to make me hit the roof. Even if it’s nice, I just don’t think my brain can take in any more words without wanting to jump ship.” You said you rubbed your temples. Things like this had happened occasionally in the past, and before Dean, you figured it was just because you were a rigid person. One night a particularly bad migraine had led to you yelling at him because he offered to get you some medicine. Instead of just leaving you to stew, like every other partner did, he simply asked you to explain what you were feeling. No judgment, no interruptions, and he’d do whatever you said would make you feel better in that moment.

Now, whenever you felt overwhelmed, he did the same. He’d swallow any sarcastic comment or solution to your problem and listen to you. No matter what was bothering you, at whatever hour of the day, he was at your side, doing what you asked of him without hesitation.

He just nodded, pressing his lips to your forehead before he led you back to the bed you two were sharing for the case. His body threw off heat like a bonfire, and your normally freezing hands were appreciative of that. In this moment, however, it felt like you were burning from the inside out.

You adjusted yourself between the sheet and the comforter, so the two of you could still touch without pressing your skin together. Dean waited for you to still before he made himself comfy, and he gently ran his fingers through the ends of your hair.

“Is this okay right now? Do you want me to leave you be?” He asked, in as soft of a voice as he could. You hummed, smiling at the tingling sensation running through you. Comfort, and a warmth that wasn’t burning to the touch, crawled up your back, and into your head. You tried to focus your eyes for a couple of seconds more, but without your control, they forcefully fluttered shut.

“Y/N.”

Sheet tangled between your limbs, and you could see the light through your closed eyes. Opening them, you find an unexpected sight. Instead of Dean, or Sam, standing at your bedside, the trench coat-clad angel you’d met five years ago stood awkwardly, waiting for you to fully wake up.

“Cas,” you rubbed your eyes as you sat up, “what are you doing here? Where’s Sam and Dean?” You asked.

Cas sighed and sat at the end of your bed. He shot you a quick look, before focusing his eyes on the blank wall in front of him. He tapped his fingers on his legs, a habit he picked up from Sam.

“Dean called me and told me you were sick. I came in, and told him I’d try and cure whatever… ailment is afflicting you.”

You smiled at the way he spoke, and the fact Dean went out of his way to try and help you out, but there was something off about Castiel’s demeanor. You sat up and touched his arm to get his attention.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Did something happen that I should know about?” You asked softly.

“I think you’re pregnant, Y/N.” He looked at you, and there was a rift of guilt lingering in his eyes.

A course of confusion and shock coursed through your body before you felt a rotting pit settle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Why would you… think that, Cas?” You felt a tightness taking over your throat, rubbing your hand across your neck to try and loosen it.

“I can sense life forms. Human ones, at least. It was hard to tell with Sam and Dean here, but once they left I was able to confirm my suspicions.”

Your hand traveled to your lower abdomen before your mouth spat out a request without thinking.

“Pregnancy tests. Can you get me some, please? I just,” you ran your hand across your forehead quickly, “I want to confirm, using non-magical means.”

Cas nodded, “of course. I’m going to assume you don’t want me to let Dean know?”

You nodded your head before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Deep down, you knew Cas was right. You were late by a few days, but you’d chalked it up to the illness that’s kept you on the bench for this case. You didn’t usually react as poorly as you’ve been to an illness, even when you’d gotten a terrible case of Pneumonia.

Getting up from the bed, you walked into the bathroom as Castiel vanished to get you a couple tests. Looking to the mirror, you’re met with a form of you that was a little scary; purple, slightly-puffy eyes, smeared makeup that hadn’t been washed off from days before, and your skin was breaking out in places it hadn’t before.

Dean hadn’t said a word about it, but even someone as blissfully ignorant as him had to have noticed the way your face wasn’t looking like your own.

Dean.

You’d have to tell Dean you were pregnant, with his child. That you’re going to be parents.

What if he didn’t want to be a father at thirty-six?

Children weren’t one hundred percent out of the question, but they were longer down the line in hunters’ lives. If you were lucky enough to get out of the life unscathed and find someone who would want to settle down with, you’d likely be creeping into your mid-forties, at best. Mary had gotten lucky with John, but now they’d both been taken away by the thing they’d spent half of their marriage avoiding.

What if you weren’t ready to be a mother at thirty-five?

For you, it wasn’t the question of wanting to have kids, but you never saw you or your boyfriend backing out from hunting anytime soon. To add on, you’d heard of many nasty births that ended in fatality for the infant or the mother, including your own. Every time you and the boys were on a case involving a child, you’d be extra reckless. Dean picked this up within the first couple of times you’d almost gotten yourself killed to save a kid, and you explained your fear to him. The fear of a mother not being able to welcome her child home in her arms, or the child not seeing his mother again, and their fate lying in your hands. You’d already ripped apart your family, and you tried your damnedest to keep as many together as possible.

A ruffle of feathers and a sharp knock on the bathroom door snapped you out of your thoughts.

“You can come in, Cas.”

Wordlessly, the angel stepped into the small motel bathroom holding a plastic bag. He pulled out three different pregnancy tests and set them on the counter.

“The woman working there said I should get a couple just in case one doesn’t work like it should.” He said as you picked up the first test. “I’m telling the truth, but I understand you wanting to confirm this to yourself.”

I know Cas, you thought, but you didn’t say a word. Instead, you stared at him, waiting for him to leave the bathroom, but he had a blank look on his face and didn’t move a muscle.

“Cas, I’m going to need you to leave the bathroom for me to do this.”

“Oh, sorry. Of course. I forgot how ‘hands-on’ human tests can be. I apologize.” He said blatantly before stepping out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Fuck me.

That’s what got you into this in the first place, dumb ass.

After twenty disgustingly long minutes in the decrepit motel bathroom, you walked out holding four positive tests. Cas was sitting on Sam’s bed, staring out the window, but immediately stood up and crossed the room to you. You handed him the tests, and he placed them on the table between the two beds.

“How do you feel?” He asked. Another thing he picked up from his years on earth was the ability to know when to ask what questions.

You felt blank. Void of answers and solutions to the situation at hand. Whether or not to turn left, or right.

“I… don’t know what to do, Cas.” Your voice broke along with the tears you were holding back, and a sinking feeling of hopelessness began to dig its way through your head.

Neither you nor Dean are ready to be parents. What if Dean’s angry? He would never kick you out of the bunker. The bunker is the only real home any of you have had in a long time, but is it safe? Is the world safe enough to bring a baby into? A Winchester baby, who would no doubt be a target from birth. What if the baby doesn’t make it to full term? What if this baby kills you like you killed your own mother?

“Y/N,” Cas placed his hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to ask you to take a breath.” He drew his hand up and waited for you to inhale. Taking in a shuddered breath, you followed the flow of his hand, stopping your heart from running up your throat.

“Thank you.” You said, sitting down on your bed and grabbing the pregnancy tests off the nightstand. Two pluses, two double lines. You and Dean were careful and used a condom whenever you found extra time together, but somehow God decided that rubber wasn’t going to work as intended.

“I think I’m going to just lay here,” you tuck yourself under the bed sheets once more, the tests shoved into your pajama pants, “and wait for Dean and Sam to get home. I’ll get him out of this stuffy ass room and tell him in private. Sam shouldn’t have to witness if we- if we argue. I know it makes him feel awful.”

“That’s a smart plan. You need to take this one step at a time and do it carefully. I know Dean cares for you deeply, but if you need someone to support you, all you have to do is call for me.” Cas squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you, Cas.” You yawned, pulling your body further under the covers of the bed. Castiel smiled slightly, before turning away and disappearing with a familiar rush of wings flapping.

Your body was covered head to toe in sweat, and the bed sheet you wrapped around yourself was thrown onto the floor. No light entered the room, and the time on the alarm clock read 1:43. Your stomach churned in a familiar way, and as you got to your feet you finally noticed neither of the boys were in the room.

You clambered to the bathroom, phone in hand, trying to call Dean. One hand braced on the toilet, and the other tried to thumb down to his contact. There wasn’t any time to think about the fact you were carrying a baby inside of you, the baby whose father is missing in the middle of the night with no calls or messages.

They always call. You thought before you set your ringing phone on the floor to throw up for the first time that morning. The phone rang, the sound slowly driving you insane each time you redialed Dean’s number between dry heaving into the bowl.

Your hair was sticking to your forehead, poorly swept away and held back by a rubber band you found on the sink. The heat, the pain, and the fear of losing contact with the Winchester brothers combined with the reality of you being pregnant was finally built up enough to break the swarm of emotions you barely choked down when Cas was in the room earlier.

Eyes burning, you slumped against the sink cabinet and brought your phone to your ear as you called Dean once again. You let out a sob, tears rushing down your face and neck, leaving behind a slightly burning trail. Your breathing became uneven, the sound of your own heart drumming through your ears drowning out the ring of your phone. Letting your phone slip to the floor, you brought your knees to your chest and folded your arms as a nest for your forehead.

Neither of the boys called within the twenty minutes you were in the bathroom, your phone was now close to being dead, and no muscle in your body wanted to obey your brain telling them to move and do something. You weren’t a weak woman, you took the cards you were dealt and tried your best to win, but sometimes all you could do was fold.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

A hand pulled your face from your knees, and you could barely see with the light of the bathroom now on and blinding you. A warm hand rested against your cheek while another briefly touched your forehead.

“Help me get her up, Sammy,” your eyes fluttered closed and you felt two arms hook under both your arms, laying them over shoulders as your feet lightly dragged across the floor.

“I’ve never seen her this bad, Dean.” The voice you now recognized as Sam said. Your legs were swept up from under you and you were laid on the bed you’d crawled out of.

You felt the tests still pressing in your pockets, and you thanked whatever greater being was willing to listen. There was no way you wanted to Dean to discover that information on accident.

Dean.

The other voice was Dean.

You moron, who else would it be?

The bed next to you dipped down, and you felt a gentle hand tuck a few stray hairs behind one of your ears. The sweat covering you was sucking every inch of clothing to your skin, and all you wanted to do was peel either of the pair off.

“I thought Cas was going to come here and help her out,” you heard his voice straining as he spoke, and you felt your heart snap in two.

You moved your hand, as heavy as it felt, and squeezed the first part of him you touched.

“Sweetheart,” you could feel Dean’s breath as he hovered over you, “you’re scaring me here.”

“Cas…” you gave out a heavy cough, “he came. He helped me figure out what’s been happening.”

A glass of water was brought to your mouth, and you took every drop of it. After swallowing the cup, your eyes finally were able to open. You were greeted by a worried Dean hovering very close to you, and a worried Sam crossing back from the kitchen holding Dean’s water bottle.

Sam set the bottle on the bedside table and sat on his bed, facing you and Dean. Dean’s attention was solely on you. His hands grabbed both sides of your face and brought his lips to your forehead, before resting against it.

“Hey,” you said, chuckling slightly, “I didn’t mean to scare you, De. You, or Sam.” You sat yourself up in bed.

“Did Cas tell you what’s wrong?” Sam asked, looking at you expectantly.

“He did, but… is it okay if I talk to Dean? Alone?” You asked softly.

Sam shot Dean a look, which Dean promptly returned with one that had Sam standing up, and walking into the hall.

Orange rays of light shone from the window of the room, and you could just barely see the sun climbing on the horizon. Dean moved to hold you in bed while you gained the composure to tell him you were both parents.

“Dean…” you breathed steadily, trying to even your heartbeat that was ramping up once more, “I have to tell you something-”

“I kinda gathered as much sweetheart,” he said lightly, lines forming around his forest-lorn eyes beautifully.

“- it’s important. I mean, it’s going to change our lives, for the rest of our lives.”

Dean’s face became more serious, pulling you to face him as he crossed his legs.

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/N.”

Do it, now. Just say-

“I’m pregnant.”

The air hung heavy around the pair of you as you handed him the tests in your pocket, and you could see the clocks turn in Dean’s mind as he stared down at them.

“But we used a rubber?” He said, and you could guess where his thoughts were wandering.

“We did, but you’re the only person I’ve been with for years, Dean, I need you to believe me when I say that.” You said reassuringly as you could without sounding like you were lying.

His face broke into a small smile, and he brought his thumb to trace over your lower cheek, “I know, sweetheart. I trust you with my heart, I just know not to use that brand anymore, seems like their effectiveness is questionable.”

You laughed, tears drying in your eyes as you pushed at him playfully, “Dean! You gave me a heart attack, you son of a bitch!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry okay!” He laughed, capturing you in a giant bear hug and rolling you on top of him. You looked down at him and brought your lips down to his.

“You’re going to be a father,” you said, beaming at him while smiling the hardest you’d ever in the longest time

“You’re going to be a mother,” he replied, smiling just as hard. Your face fell slightly, and the word mother finally kicked into your head. “Hey,” Dean said as he saw your face shift, somehow remembering the story you told him all those years ago, “Remember, we’ve got an angel on speed dial, and you know how hard it is to take out a Winchester.”

Your heart warmed at the statement, the baby inside of you was just as much L/N as it was Winchester. You loved Dean with your heart, as did he love you, and now the two of you were going to brace the dangerous world you’d spent years protecting with the amalgamation of that love.

You brought Dean’s hand to your stomach as he brought his other hand to your face. His calloused fingers were gentle on your skin, and small crinkles formed around his eyes as he smiled, holding his hand at your stomach as you gazed back at him.

A knock sounded at the door, making you turn your head around before you and Dean burst into laughter, and told Sam he could come back in the room to tell him the news.

[boyfhee]

MARRIED UNDER TWENTY-FIVE / sjy

SYNOPSIS : a look into yours and jake’s life as you meet, fall in love, get married, and lose each other— all under twenty-five. ( 5.3k )

or, eight months after your death, jake finds the courage to open your letter.

GENRE : heavy angst, bittersweet

WARNINGS : death, grief and grieving, heavy drinking, smoking, implications of substance abuse, one mention of intrusive thoughts, my attempt at cinematic parallels but in writing so i hope it's not confusing, switches between past and present. byf : written in italics are the contents of the letter

NOTE : was in the zone while writing this like the way i teared up?? boyfhee angst returns happy reading, everyone. ALSO big thanks to @flwrshee ri my bae for beta-reading this and reminding me to work on this from time to time lmfao. ib : richard feynman's letter to his dead wife (need someone who loves me the way he loves her)

buried in jake’s drawer is the letter he found four months ago. actually, it has been sitting there for over a year, under the pile of other papers and envelopes, tucked in the lowest drawer of the shelf, one that is rarely ever opened. you had put it there for him to find it— hoped that he would find it because you couldn’t bring yourself to give it to him yourself. jake had stumbled across it four months after you left him forever. four months after walking and stumbling, after four months of staring blankly at his ceiling, the letter is the closest he can get to you. 

he keeps it with him, in his bag, sometimes tucked in his coat during winters, as a bookmark for the books he reads that take him to back you, even if you only exist as a figment of his imagination. he keeps it on the bed-side table before he goes to sleep, it’s there in front of him on evenings he drinks for hours on empty. the letter stays unopened— he couldn’t bring himself to open it. his fingers brush against the pale paper and it feels like a sword to his heart. opening that letter feels like tearing you apart, and four months is what it takes jake to sit by the kitchen counter with the letter once again; with pain in his eyes and a scissors by the side. 

eight months after you’re gone, jake finds the strength to read it. 

‘i think the first time i fell for you wasn’t at the bookstore,’

your handwriting feels like a warm hug after a long day. his fingers tighten around the loose sheet of paper, a faint crease forming along the edges. a single tear rolls down his cheeks.

‘it was that day at the bus stop. it was raining, i was running towards the bus stop, covering my head with my bag. fortunately enough, the bus arrived a minute after, and you happily lent me your jacket before getting off at your stop,’ 

and jake remembers it clearly. grey skies and merciless rain, he was already late for his evening classes and the weather didn’t seem to help. he already missed a bus before making it to the bus stop near his apartment and managing to catch another, his umbrella decided to malfunction in the worst way on seemingly the worst day. his perfectly styled hair was ruined thanks to running in rain, across and under the sheds he could find. jake was so sure, it was the worst day in the nineteen years of his life, until the bus arrived at the stop, and his eyes handed on you as you stood at the bus stand, annoyed at the weather. 

jake could hear one of his friends calling his name from a distance as soon as he gets down from the bus, but all he did was look at you and offer you his jacket— the most far-from-normal and astonishing thing he had ever done— before you aboard the bus, shooting him a soft smile from the windows as it drove away.

‘i still don’t know why you did that,’ 

reading further, jake realises that he doesn’t know why he did that either. the two of you weren’t even heading in the same direction. he was rushing to the university campus while you wanted to catch the bus to your way home. the chances that he would get his jacket back were low, almost zero. there are days when he sits by the window and thinks about all the stuff you did together, about everything he did that led him to you. the jacket, perhaps it was supposed to end up with you, maybe it was the only way nineteen year old jake could’ve talked to you and get one step closer to your world after admiring you from the sidelines for months. 

‘the bookstore, i think it’s a place where i realised that i’m in love with you. a place where i made all my decisions about you, where i shared my firsts and lasts with you— as promised. if you’re wondering why i’m writing a letter in this date and era,’ 

his eyes are a little blurry, there’s a picture of you in the said book store in his mind. it’s like a nineties short film— a grainy image, slightly blurred, the voices are muffled, but jake feels every emotion down to the very core of his heart. 

on some days, he ends up in front of the same bookstore. there are evenings he sets out on a journey with no destination, wherever the roads take him. his eyes are up towards the sky, usually towards the venus shining like a gemstone, he likes to think it’s you, that you ended up being the favourite star in the sky. on evenings like those, jake sits outside the very bookstore his and your story originates from and lets his mind play the picture, tracing over the image of you in his mind. sometimes, he goes inside and sits at the same place you both used to sit, he’d pick the same books you used to read, occasionally coming across tiny doodles you left on some pages even though it violated the rules.  

‘it’s because i’m afraid i haven’t loved you enough,’ 

the words hit him like a train travelling at hundreds of kilometres per hour. jake pauses, putting aside his glass of alcohol, letting the words and tears you spilled on the paper diffuse through the tips of his fingers, wanting them to flow like they’re the blood in his veins. he reads it all over again, a single tear rolls down his cheek, a lifeless sigh escapes his mouth.  

‘because you were there on nights i stayed in the library to study for exams. you were there, at my door, whenever i needed you to drive me to classes. you were there outside my class, waiting for me, during lunch when i needed someone to hear my complaints, at the bus stop on days it got late because you didn’t like the idea of me going home all alone at night,’

because you were there on noons that jake had trouble remembering reactions of carboxylic acids and amines. you were there to bring him snacks or lunch whenever he got a little too immersed in concepts of quantum mechanics to even remember about his meals. you were there when he called you to complain about his professor, who kept adding his name to every single project, all because jake was an excellent student. when you stayed with him throughout the evening and beyond at the campus, accompanying you to your apartment late at night was the least he could do to thank you. 

‘you were there on the night it was raining and the power went out. i still remember how you looked— drenched and worried with your phone’s flashlight turned on, standing at my doorstep. you said that the crime rates were high and that it’s better for me to stay at your place that night. you were there for me day, noon and night, and all i’m doing in the end is saying goodbye.’ 

it was his first instinct— maybe even beyond first, if it exists, because the power went out in your whole neighbourhood, and jake was already calling you while running down the streets, towards your apartment, with nothing but his flashlight to guide him through the complete blackout that night. when you asked him why he was at your place, he spent ten minutes looking for an appropriate reason. perhaps, it was because he wanted to see you, or because he was worried to death, maybe acts of service are how you both look after each other— doing favours and being the helping hand. jake didn’t know, he still doesn’t know, as he sits by his kitchen counter, letting the small sips of alcohol intoxicate his systems gradually, killing him slowly, in a way that hurts so right. asking you to spend the night at his place was the toughest and the bravest decision jake had made in his entire life. 

‘agreeing to do that summer festival dance with you is still the best decision i’ve ever made, my proudest moment, and letting you step into my life was the second best. nothing compares to when you joined the music club and changed my life forever.’ 

the summer festival dance— jake remembers it, the memory is as clear as a crystal in his head, ingrained in his mind, every single second playing at the back of his mind even when he’s half wasted, as if he’s reliving the moment. no one had enough time to dedicate themselves to a mere summer festival dance, but jake saw you looking at the flyers on the notice board just three minutes after he had told jay that dancing was not his thing, and he knew he needed to get that dance with you. 

getting partnered up with you was a pure coincidence, but everything that led to it wasn’t. the deliberate bumping in the hallways and the extra cups of coffee that jake bought every morning for a friend that never seemed to attend classes, everything led to him and you standing in the practice room in front of him, helping him come up with dance steps for audition, which finally led to his selection on the team. 

jake attempts to gulp down all the contents of his glass before realising that it’s empty. another sigh falls off his lips as he reaches out for the bottle kept across the counter, pouring him yet another glass for the evening, another day spent drinking while drowning in the thoughts of you, another line of intoxication, another stray tear rolling down his face, another memory creeps inside his brain— this first dance rehearsal. 

he could’ve sworn, his heart stopped beating for good ten seconds when the instructor told him that he needed to lift you up for a dynamic step during the intro. it was simple— you in front of him, his hands on your waist, he would lift you up— but the hands on the waist, his hands on your waist, jake felt like he was about to pass out. the second time his heart skipped a beat was when you grabbed his hands and put it on your waist because he was hesitating beyond belief, and that was the beginning of everything. 

and the hand stayed there for as long as jake could remember. his hand resided on your waist whether you both were crossing the road, or sitting on a park bench while you showed him pictures of layla you look the evening before, or while taking mirror selfies, or in all those moments that he spent slow dancing across the living room with you. it was as if your waist had been the home his hands were searching for and now that you’re gone, they feel empty. in the silence suffocating him, sitting on a chair with his head hung low, the floor looks so pretty. there's a faint reflection of him on the tiles, then his eyes land on his hands.

maybe it's the timing that has been making him feel this way. perhaps, it's the location, the empty rooms with threatening silence and the empty streets, the empty hallway, the empty hours, the lack of something and abundance of everything— it's making him go insane. it’s the empty pockets of the seconds that pass by, an undisturbed wave of silence that is disturbed everytime he sighs or gets his glass on the granite kitchen countertop, pouring himself another glass of cancer.

he sniffs, it could be from cold or tears. jake can’t point to the reasons anymore. his gaze settles on your letter that lies on his lap, a few of his tears soak through the paper. he puts his glass aside once to pick up the letter and pads on your words with his fingertips, not wanting them to get smudged by his tears. occasionally, he tries to convince himself that this is a dream. that you're here, somewhere, perhaps at work or at the nursery, maybe out shopping with a friend or at your parent's house because you've been missing them lately. jake imagines himself waiting for you at the station or the bus stand or the airport, smiling like a fool because he hasn't seen you in days and finally he can have you close to him, his lips on yours, your hand in his,

but now, his hands feel emptier. 

there's a yearning for something he doesn’t know. his apartment feels emptier, the stillness amongst your stuff that lies around even after eight months of your death is paralysing. his arms stretch across the bed at night in hopes of feeling something, anything. he takes another sip from his glass, eyes focusing on your letter once again as he reads further. 

‘you can call me crazy but every second with you felt like living in a whole new world. i started noticing things i didn’t before— seriously, who even smiles while watching wind ruffle through clothes hung up for drying? it was as though i was living a monochromatic life, the same routine, same pattern; then it was you, and everything around me became so beautiful. suddenly, i stopped caring about assignments because i needed to talk to you all night. i didn’t care what i was getting into by skipping prof. hong’s lectures because we got to hang out together. i was knee deep in troubles but god, i was so happy because i had you standing in front of me, and i knew you’d pull me out. i know you’d be on the ninth cloud while reading this, probably even call me stupid but i don’t mind because it’s true; i am madly, stupidly, crazily, insanely in love with you,’ 

jake remembers the day he came to your apartment for the very first time. 

you two weren’t dating, but the line in between had started to blur, fading into something none of you could see but both of you enjoyed. amidst alcohol and the faint odour of cigarettes that encapsulates him, being all the reasons behind his stumbling steps and hazy mind, jake could still see you clearly in the back of his mind— the way you glowed under the mid-morning sun, the warm breeze sweeping away stray strands of your hair out of your face, and your arms raised up above your head to hang the clothes up for drying. he could make out your smile through the silence between you two. no words were shared, but the fluttering glances and quiet smiles said more than any words could ever convey.

and then jake realised— it wasn’t just you feeling this way. 

the presence of something intricately new in your daily routine, although too minute to point out with your fingers, lingered throughout his days and nights after meeting you. suddenly, the boring computer science lessons didn’t seem bad, for you would visit him after the classes. jake, who used to arrive in class exactly on time, started arriving minutes and hours early just to see you, maybe, even strike a conversation. you had mentioned to him your favourite thing about him— the way his hands hesitatingly slide inside his pockets whenever one of your friends mistook him as your boyfriend. it was the way he smiles, the subtle rosy tint on his cheeks, the shy gaze travelling everywhere but to your face because he was too embarrassed to look at you. being mistaken as each other’s lovers was a mistake none of you clarified, and it was only a matter of time before it came true.

when his eyes settled on your panting for hair in a secluded corner of the hallway after running out of professor hong’s classes while he was just about to notice you two was the moment jake fell in love with you.

and jake falls first, he falls hard. 

because there were two tickets to the movie in his pockets with words of asking you out on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken, and he was too busy being enamoured by your laughter as you leaned against the wall, catching your breath. your laugh is the music to his ears, watching you is better than any movie ever directed, and the feeling of his lips on you just a minute later in the same corner of the hallway is still the best feeling he has ever felt in his entire life. you were like a painter and his life— a canvas; and it was only after you he started seeing colours.

jake could get any girl he wanted but it was only after you, he realised who he needed in his life. 

‘remember the day you proposed to me? i cried all night.’

and jake lets out a dry chuckle as he reads through those words, gripping his glass a little tighter, feeling the carved patterns through the tip of his fingers. his eyes travel to the ring adored on his finger. it’s one thing keeping him close to wherever you are, and his eyes occasionally travel to the pen lying stray across the counter after he wrote something he, himself, doesn’t member. his fingers brush over the words you’ve written, letters that insinuate of you as he weep with love— jake wants to write back to you but he couldn’t, for he doesn’t know your new address.

‘it felt like a fever dream, the thought of marrying you. we met at nineteen, we fell in love at twenty, we got married at twenty-two— all under twenty-five, it was scary. it was like a thrill ride, like a rollercoaster, i had my parents tell me to wait things out. there were people who told me things, words about how i should be sure of who i’m marrying, certain if that person is right for me. it was the world against you and me, and i hate to admit that i understood their stance, but they never knew you like i do. they knew the jake who i fell in love with deeply enough to marry within four years. in their story, it was you and me and our young and immature love, and that’s it.’ 

it’s ironic because jake didn’t sleep all night after you said yes to his proposal. getting married at twenty-two was an adventure, you being the general instigator all, and he would just follow. waiting things out wasn’t even an option when it came to you, he knew what he wanted. you cried even while buying your engagement rings, on the wedding dress trial, the day before the wedding, and jake was there, every single time, holding you close, smiling against your lips as his kisses soothed you down. his heart was overflowing with love, with happiness he couldn’t contain.

being engaged was an eccentric feeling overall.

you weren’t his girlfriend, nor his wife. fiancée would be a better term, but jake called it a phase of transition. the knot was yet to be tied, people tried convincing you two out of it left and right. uncertainty spun in the air instead of saccharine smiles that usually cloud the days during weddings. it was the world against him and you— him, you, and your young immature love, a pair of rings exchanged, a promise made, a promise to stay.

and jake chuckles again, half annoyed, perhaps at fate, perhaps at himself. you promised to stay. another sip of alcohol goes down his throat, it tastes bitter than it used to. your picture in his head gets clearer as his vision starts to lose focus, your laughter echoes through the cracks in his heart. it reflects through every corner of his body, it stays inside with a yearning that makes him ache for you. your memory is now a child that he tries to lose in a grocery store, but also a place he comes to at the end of the day because nothing quite feels like home anymore. 

‘do you remember that conversation we had about secret codes? one that went on about how even inanimate objects could have ways to communicate? that is how i feel about you. it’s untranslatable, i cannot put it in words for others to understand. it’s a language that only me and my heart know.’

it all started on your very first marriage anniversary— heavy rains, skies painted grey, thunders seemed to exhibit their own orchestral opening. inside, the place was warm, his arms. sitting on the couch as you two sipped on hot chocolate, wrapped in blanket and soft giggles and laughter that emerged everytime one of you tried and stole a kiss. jake constantly apologised for not being able to do much for you and you would so exquisitely whisper to him how nothing matters as long as you have him while tracing your lips all over his face. he doesn’t remember when the conversation went from talking about how your kids would look to discussing whether the paintings hung up on the walls on your living room speak as well. no conclusion was drawn and the whole conversation was discarded as just another silly discussion, although jake knew what to make out of it.

the way you laughed when he tickled your sides, or the giggle that danced off your lips when his lips brushed against the tips of your fingers, the rhythm your heart beat when he placed his head on your chest, holding you ever so close, the conversations you two had by just looking into each other’s eyes. jake still can’t put it in words, it’s beyond the understanding of the world. he can blather about you to the stars and beyond and they would still not know you, but jake knows that if you were to come to him with a face he had never seen and a voice ever so unfamiliar, he would still know you. you’re far too well intertwined in his soul, he feels pieces of himself disappearing every time a distant memory of you blurs in his mind.

and perhaps, the stars will go out before he forgets you.

‘i don’t know if i chose the right university to graduate from, if my major was worth the effort, if giving up on caffeine was actually good for my health. there are a lot of things i’m unsure of, but jake, my darling, you, you’re one thing i know i got right. you’re something i’d choose over and over again, over a thousand times over a thousand years in a thousand different worlds. people have their doubts but i don’t, because i know that if i’m ever given a chance, i’d choose to take your jacket again, i’d have that dance with you, i’d fall for you at nineteen and i’d marry you under twenty-five once again.’ 

there’s a sense of uncertainty that always plagued his mind, at all points of his life. even now, when he’s sitting by the counter drinking glasses after glasses, an ashtray just a few inches away with the smoke still emerging like lifeless souls looking for their graves. there’s a voice that is telling him to stop, it sounds like you, or maybe, it’s just the alcohol playing tricks again.

he’s not sure.

nineteen year old jake didn’t know if he wanted you. he had a lot on his plate— expectations from people he knew, a whole life in front of him and he was out in the wild, with no plans or whatsoever. you were like another wind blown past him one august afternoon, your smile just another thing his eyes passed by, yet the first thing to flood his mind at night. it’s the sheer lack of certitude— why did he give you his jacket? why did his mind think of only you when it came to the summer festival dance? why is it that only your eyes seemed like his entire world? jake has been walking with his steps laced with hesitation, a fear of what could go wrong. it didn’t matter when it came to you. nineteen year old jake didn’t know if he wanted you, albeit he knew he didn’t want anyone else to have you.

‘you’re probably wondering why i’m writing this instead of telling you when i had the time, or why i didn’t give this to you sooner. it’s because i want you to read this if you ever feel lost, and i wanted to take my time and choose the right words. i wished for a life where i wouldn’t have to live without you, and if i knew that would end up with heavens changing our fates, i would’ve done anything to save you from this pain.’ 

his eyes are the first to remember. the face that he once cradled in his hands, now just a figment of his memories, an illusion he sees through mirrors and turns around frantically, heart beating out of his chest, hoping you’re still here. sometimes, he sits at the bus stands and formulates your responses to everything happening around. he sighs, brushing his fingers over the wedding ring as he pictures you looking up at him with a smile, as if you’ve never been happier. the way he had felt and the way he feels— the bittersweet ache between having and wanting— your words drown him in that pain over and over again.

loving you, to jake, is like knowing you before he actually got to know you. as if you had always existed in his heart and your presence only completed the puzzle. and in that brief moment between— wrapped in your arms, he would think, how lucky i am— a pause as he snaps back to reality.

how lucky he was.

‘i know this is an impossible bargain, i cannot swap your pain for something else even though i wish i could. i cannot make you forget me so that you can live a better life. it’s a pity, a shame, i’m sorry,’ 

he furrows his brows at your words, the one about living a better life without you, it’s a lie, a hypothesis never to be true. you held him close at times he didn’t feel like himself, when his own skin disgusted him and his own thoughts told him to cut the string, you wiped his tears and accepted his pain like your own— jake sniffles above the silence in the room— how could he live, when the very person who taught him to live left him forever? 

‘so for you, jake, my love, i wish you a lifetime of happiness and health. i want you to read this and realise the impact you had in my life. if you ever feel like we got to spend a very little time together, one that went by in a blink, i want you to know that your presence is something i’d hold in my heart for a thousand lifetimes. i won’t tell you to move on quickly, it’s hard, i know. instead i want you to take your time. go easy on yourself. let me go, one by one, one finger at a time,’

he reads the same words over and over again— let me go. to let you go, oh, how he wishes he could do that, but that’s the consequence of falling in love. jake would go out in the mornings to find a purpose, his ring kept undisturbed on the bathroom counter, and he would return home in the evening, back to silence and sorrow, holding the ring in his hand, fist close to his heart, him on the bed, and the night fills with his sobs.

jake didn’t lose you all at once, but instead, he’s losing you slowly, bit by bit, over and over again. he loses you whenever he absentmindedly calls out your name from across the house, only to be met with cold silence. he walks down the street and loses you the moment he sees a couple walking past him, hands intertwined, realising his hands would forever remain empty. he loses you everytime he thinks of kissing you, holding you, wanting you; every time he sits on the couch and watch the skies pour outside, drinking hot chocolate all alone. he loses you when nights get cold and he has no one to hold, and in the morning when he wakes up to the emptiness across the sheets, he begins to lose you all over again.

it’s hard to let you go, one finger at a time, when everything prompts him to get on his knees in front of the universe and beg for one chance to pull you back in his arms, to hug you for one last time.

just once more.

‘there wasn’t a second spent with you when i wasn’t smiling. you made me the happiest person in this entire world and in return, i wish the same for you. so, go and live the life you’ve wanted to live. do everything you had planned and become the person you want to be. when your friends reach you out, go out with them and drink your heart out. you’re not alone because your love isn’t the first to leave. even worlds apart, i’m with you. i’ll be there next to your favourite umbrella hoping that you remember to take it on rainy days. on nights you can’t sleep, i’ll be there holding your hand and singing to you. one day, you’ll be fifty, and i’ll be there with you. when you turn ninety, i’ll be there and i will still love you the same as i did when we were twenty. and if you fall in love with someone and decide to take the vows again, i’ll be there with you, and i’ll be there hoping for the happily ever after that you deserve.’ 

and unknowingly, you went away making yet another promise to stay, another commitment you couldn’t keep. jake knows his love isn’t the first to leave, it stays there, waiting, weeping, wanting. it stays everywhere you’ve ever been, next to your favourite mug that is still on the shelf, next to his. his love is with your toothbrush in the bathroom, with the picture of you and him on your very first date that is adorned in the photo frame kept in the bedroom. it’s ingrained in all the post-it notes you wrote to him that he has kept safely in a box, in all the matching jewellery you had got for the two of you, in every corner of the house that cries, yearning for you. 

he could be fifty and his love would be still there, in the fading polaroids and letters torn from the corners. at ninety, his love would be still there, waiting for you, his heart aching because he wanted to get old with you by your side. his love will stay there, for a thousand lifetimes, over a thousand years. it turns out, jake is just good at sad things, waiting, holding on, remembering.

‘whatever comes forth, wherever life leads you, know that i am with you,’ 

as for your words— jake scoffs, burying his head in his hands, tears smudging between his palms and cheeks— loving someone else isn’t even an option. 

to him, you, dead, are better than anyone else alive. 

‘until we meet again.’ 

[undertheopensky]

Forging Tired

Whumptober Day 26: Working To Exhaustion

Characters: Four, Blue, Sky

Trigger warnings: None

Read on Ao3!

---

Sky doesn’t realise it until after dinner, but Four hasn’t banked the forge fires.

“I’m not done yet,” Four waves at the admittedly intimidating pile of repair work yet to be done. A couple of plates from Time’s armour probably need to be replaced entirely, they have such large holes in them.

“It’s getting real late. Don’t stay up too much longer, you need to get some sleep.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Body’s not tired.” Four flexes one arm and gives him a grin that looks so much like Wind Sky’s eyes cross.

“Maybe not,” they sure hadn’t done much physical stuff today, just run around the village resupplying and gathering information, “but your brain still needs rest.”

This time Four snorts. “The brain is fast asleep, but that’s okay, we don’t need it for this.”

No one asks any more why Four sometimes refers to himself in the third person or plural. At best, he’ll pretend you didn’t say anything, and at worst, he’ll look at you like you’re the strange one. The closest they’ve gotten to an explanation is an offhanded, sympathetic “Yeah, we get it,” when Time first told them to stop asking about his timekeeping, because it was a holdover from a quest too traumatic to describe.

So, slightly weird, probably a Quest Thing, doesn’t seem to affect him day-to-day.

That said Sky’s a little concerned about him working with hot metal with his brain asleep.

“Are you sure? We can wait another day or two before setting out, I’m sure Time won’t mind. We don’t want you exhausting yourself over this.”

Four makes a rude noise, which is out of character enough Sky blinks. “I think I know my limits well enough, featherhead. Besides, forging’s not that hard. I wanna take advantage of actually having all my damn equipment for once, and goddess knows we probably won’t be here long. Our shit needs a lot of maintenance done. Don’t worry about the noise. The forge’s been soundproofed since we were little. Go away and sleep, featherhead, you need it more than us.”

He shoos Sky from the forge, polite but implacably firm.

Sky can’t exactly argue. Four is the smith here, and he knows himself best. If he says it’s fine, Sky will just have to believe him.

And as promised, as soon as the heavy door swings closed, the sounds of the forge muffle to almost nothing.

---

With Sky finally gone, Blue feels the tension ease out of him. Finally, some peace and quiet. He loves his brothers, and he supposes the heroes they’re travelling with aren’t TOO bad, but sometimes he just needs time alone in the quiet with his own thoughts and his own projects. There’s not a lot of privacy on the open road, or in a head crammed full of four distinct people.

Vio struggles with it, too, Blue knows, as he sets up the next few pieces of metal to heat and shovels fresh coke into the fire. But unlike Blue, the nerd is soothed by late nights spent reading or taking the darkest hours of watch, where Blue needs to do things to calm the itch in his brain. Armour and weapons maintenance is great for that - but it’s not always quiet. And waking everyone up with his activities would very much defeat the point.

Then, once he’s got things set up, Blue sits down at the bench with pliers and wire.

The worst thing about Sky’s mail is that the links are an eighth of an inch larger than standard - than literally everyone else’s. Blue had had to make a winding rod specifically for his damn mail, and has to double check every time before starting repairs to make sure he’s pulling from the right patch of spares.

If he had more time, he’d just make him a mail shirt from normal links. Standardise them across the board, and improve Sky’s resistance to piercing claws. But he doesn’t - they don’t - and besides that when this is all over Sky will be going back to his home in the clouds with its stupid mail measurements and its barely-there monster attacks and he’ll have no use for the close-set rings of modern mail and they’ll never see him again -

The forge fires burn hot enough that Blue can pretend it’s the air making his eyes sting.

Mending mail is busywork, stuff to keep his hands occupied while he waits for things to heat. It needs doing, and if he does it here then he can rivet the rings shut properly instead of the temporary road fixes (shit he needs to check Twilight’s mail he knows he put in a patch at one point but doesn’t remember riveting it in, need to do that before they leave) but some things can only be done at the forge. Like the plates of steel he’s got resting to the side, waiting to be turned into a new piece of Time’s armour.

He should probably get started on that actually so Blue puts aside the mail and reaches for his tongs. A lot of this is just shaping, forming the metal to the exact dimensions and curvature of Time’s body, and then adding buckle straps and point anchors so it can actually be attached. This is the loud part, metal-on-metal ringing and echoing in the enclosed stone room and making his vision swim just a little. He has to pause to blink it away. Does his head actually hurt, or is it just more echoes from the hammer?

Doesn’t matter; he’s got work to do. Blue checks the first piece for fit and moves on to the second; best to get this heavy work done before he gets tired. Working the steel cold takes more effort, but makes it less brittle in the end. Kind of important, that the metal sheets guarding someone’s body don’t shatter under a stiff blow, turning them from a defense into a hazard. You can get away with working horseshoes and stuff like metal fittings hot and then quenching them down, but it’s not worth it with plate armour.

Once he’s got the base curve in place, he checks the lines he drew earlier before his vision started to wobble, then hunts down the blunted chisel he needs. This is the fiddly bit. Blue sets the metal down on the wooden block with the groove specifically for this task, lining it up with the drawn lines, and starts hammering out the ridges.

It’s time-consuming, but the raised metal redirects weapons to less vulnerable points. Blue’s seen a sword swing into an arm then slide off into empty air, instead of an armpit or elbow, because of these ridges. They’re useful.

Time didn’t have any, originally. And while he can’t say for sure - Blue suspects that if he’d had them on his armour that first time a moblin got the jump on him, its spear wouldn’t have slid past the plates into his side quite so easily.

Four’s been quietly upgrading it piece by piece ever since.

The vambrace is harder, more of a curve to force the steel into, but he’s long practised at getting stubborn materials to cooperate. Once it’s done, and added to the pile he’s making of Time’s shit, he pulls the pattern steel Red had spent all day folding and forge welding from the fire. Already the basic shape of it is there: the tapered tip, the length of the blade, the narrow throat and tang. Once it’s finished, it’ll be a dagger for Hyrule. His current one has been sharpened so many times it’s thin enough to use as a lockpick, and they want him to have something good-quality to replace it, something that will last him.

(Will last him beyond this time of portals and black blood, because getting new equipment in his time is so, so difficult and they never want him to go without ever again, and one knife isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but it’s something they can do, and they’ll do their goddess-damn best work on it for him.)

It still needs some more shaping before it’s ready to go under the whetstone, though, so Blue tucks it back in the fire and picks up Wind’s knife, the one with the loose hilt. How the sailor expects to get anything done when he has to hold his entire hand at right angles to keep the thing straight Blue doesn’t know. Apparently he’d been stuffing it with fabric scraps to stabilise it, which, great, now Blue has to dig them all out before he can decide if the hilt is at all salvageable.

It doesn’t help that his fingers are a little shaky. Shit. Maybe he needs a water break.

He sets the dubiously-fixable knife aside while he drinks. He doesn’t feel thirsty. Dry-eyed, maybe, and his throat aches from the forge air, but the water doesn’t really help. Still, hydration’s important.

A sudden clank makes Blue drop his cup, water scattering on the floor as he spins. The fire flares - oh. A coal had - split, or settled, and the still-dull blade of Hyrule’s dagger had shifted and struck the edge. It looks about ready to go again anyway, so Blue grabs it - with tongs! He’s not an idiot! - and starts hammering an edge into it.

As the blade flattens out and becomes more knife than bar of metal Blue takes care to bevel off both edges neatly. He flips it, to make sure he gets both sides, then flips it again to even it out. He wants the balance on this thing perfect, and if it takes a bit of fiddling, all the better. That way he knows it’s good. Blue holds it up, eyeing the straightness of the blade from the side, and then down the length of it, and nods to himself, moving to set it. Good. He’ll let it cool a little before heating it again, and -

Blue stumbles. The blade clangs down on the bench he’d meant to set it on gently, spinning away from the tongs and fortunately not hitting any part of him with the still red-hot metal. Fuck, he’d forgotten to pick up his cup. It’s a good thing it’s so hot in here that all the water evaporated off or he might have slipped. Fuck.

He checks the blade - fuck, he dinged it - puts it back in the fire, then picks up his cup to set it back beside the water barrel. The metal handle is painfully hot under his fingers. Although - he could do with more water. His eyes are stinging again.

Blue drinks, long and slow. The water tastes metallic, or maybe that’s just the forge air coating his tongue. It settles uneasily. Doesn’t matter - his stomach will get over it.

He fixes the dent made when he dropped the half-made dagger, hammering until metal fills the gap and then hammering it out even again to repair the edge. He also spends more time carefully squinting at it to make sure it’s still straight, so long that the metal goes dark and cold.

Then back in the fire it goes.

Blue gets back to mail repairs, working rings into place, then riveting them shut with scraps from broken links. He considers, as he works, if the long-handled riveting pliers could be made to fit into their tool pouch. They can’t bring along the whole forge, that would be silly, but this one thing? They already carry the cutting pliers to make links with so it’s not like they need anything else for the rivets, and it doesn’t need heat treatment -

He pinches a fingertip with the pliers and swears loudly, shaking it and resisting the urge to shove it in his mouth - his hands are covered in oil and coal dust. Squinting at it - no real damage - he shakes it one more time and picks up the mail patch he dropped. It stings a little, to apply enough pressure to hold the metal fabric. Actually -

Checking the dagger, he pulls it from the fire and rests it on the anvil to cool. This is always time consuming, heating and cooling the steel to normalise it before the final edge can be put on. Heat it, then cool it, then heat it again; all part of ensuring the blade isn’t brittle and will hold its shape and its edge for as long as possible. It’s familiar in a way so ingrained he can almost touch it, watching the metal change colour. Fading from yellow, through red, down to the still blisteringly-hot but normal appearance of steel.

Blue blinks, and finds himself sitting on his preferred stool, metal still cooling in his tongs. Shit. When did he sit down? He’s wasting time, here. Back in the fire, back to work, fingertip still throbbing faintly.

Half the plates on Time’s tassets got ripped off during the fight with the iron knuckle, which are fiddly and annoying but not hard to replace. Once he’s got them shaped and punched Blue is tempted to just hand the lot off to Time for the old man to stitch them in place. Teach him to get distracted watching Twilight’s sword form. Shit, there’s so many of them, too. Time’s lucky his leg was in few enough pieces that Hyrule and Warriors could put it back together.

Blue hammers out scale after scale. Get the curve right; adjust the tongs, hammer out the part they’d hidden; set the edge, set the ridge, set it aside, and grab the next one. He piles them up on the metal workbench; they’d be less annoying to work with if he could just pile them in a coal shovel and dunk them in the fire to soften them, but even if they’re small they’re still armour and he needs to keep them as supple as possible.

And speaking of it’s time to pull the dagger again. The tongs grab it, fumble it, dump it back in the coals, then grab it agin. Blue is very careful as he sets it on the bench. He has no desire to set his own boots alight. This is the last cooling phase, though, so he can let the forge fire die down. Finally. His eyes itch and ache in the hot, dry air. He’d rub them if he wasn’t - still - covered in forge leavings.

Punch the holes for Time’s tasset scales; set them in his pile to deal with in the morning. Finally get the hilt off Wind’s knife and decide it is salvageable, actually, if he glues in a wedge of cedar to fill in the split that was letting it get loose in the first place. How did Wind even do that? Rewrap it in leather strips and it’ll be done; another job for the morning. When his hands aren’t so shaky. He’s getting glue everywhere, ugh.

…does he need to pull the dagger again? No, wait, it’s already on the bench. Does it need to go back in the fire? …no, he already decided it was done. He reaches to grab it, half-intending to measure it up for the hilt and crossguard, but hesitates at the heat radiating off it. Right. Fresh from the forge. Doesn’t look hot, but definitely is. He’ll leave it for an hour or so.

Blue shakes himself, hard, feeling the pull of it in his neck and his forehead. His head aches, behind his eyes. There’s a fine grey fuzz at the edges of his vision. Right, with the forge fire dying, he needs a bit more light. Where’s Vio’s lantern…?

By the too-pale magical light, Blue works, and works, until there’s nothing left to do but wind more wire into chainmail rings and weave them into the cuts and gashes left by enemy claws and weapons, tamp down rivets and move to the next section until he needs to wind out more rings -

It’s endless and monotonous and he can feel the screaming under his skin finally starting to cool, as the fire burns itself out.

Something they do need, he thinks as he pulls out the temporary patch he’d put in Twilight’s mail tunic, is a store of fully-finished rings. Hammering out their linking points and punching rivet holes is best done on an anvil. Then, as long as they have a stock of scrap wire for rivets (inevitable, they’re constantly damaging mail), the cutters and the riveting pliers, they can do repairs that are just as strong as the original work itself. Once they run out of wire, well, that’s more of an issue. The drawing plate is much too heavy to bring along with them.

Blue seals up the last ring in Twilight’s mail and sets it aside, then hops off the stool to go in search of the metal rods he needs to make wire. He knows they left a whole stack of them somewhere.

In truth, most forging doesn’t require a lot of raw strength. The weight of the hammer and the drag of gravity does a lot of the work, and all you need to do is direct it. Blue’s got more muscle from wielding a warhammer, honestly. The exception, he thinks distastefully, is wire drawing. That does need some force, since you’re dragging a piece of metal through smaller and smaller holes, not stretching it so much as drawing it out longer and longer and thinner and thinner, and of course it’s metal, it doesn’t want to do that.

Blue finally finds the basket of rods on a low shelf behind a huge box of half-finished nails - Red’s doing, surely - and carries it to the draw plate. There’s certainly no moving the thing to anywhere else. It weighs more than he does at least twice over, solid iron plate set into a heavy stone base.

Choosing a rod, Blue hammers out a quick point, feeds it through a hole that’s just a little smaller than its current size, clamps it, and starts to pull.

His eyes burn. His head aches. His fingers sting, all the little places where slips and cuts and burns have piled up over long hours. Without his mind keeping track of eight timers at once, it’s free to focus on the physical, and oh, he feels so heavy -

Blue breathes deep, metal and coal dust and ash, and feeds the wire into the next hole.

---

Sky is unhappy but unsurprised to find the patch of floor allocated to Four empty.

Weak morning light streams through the curtains. It’s just enough to see by as Sky checks that Legend’s unmoving form on the bed is just due to stiffness and exhaustion, not something more worrying, and tiptoes around scattered bedrolls. Twilight cracks an eye as he’s stepped over.

“A’right there?” he checks, voice low.

Sky smiles. “Just seein’ who’s up.”

Twilight grunts and to all appearances goes straight back to sleep. For all he wakes with the dawn on the ranch, he does enjoy his sleep, when he can get it.

Sky empathises but he’s got a mission.

Through the shop windows he spots Wild outside, running through the carefully prescribed stretches that kept his scars limber. Once he was done with those, he’d be all up in Four’s kitchen, eager to make food more complex than could be managed over a simple campfire. Four even had an oven, which Wild had been very excited about.

Still, breakfast will come later. The forge door still stands closed, just as it had last night after Four kicked him out. Moving slow, Sky eases the heavy door open, hoping to find him passed out in a corner somewhere.

Instead Four is sitting upright at the workbench. The winding rod in his hands is familiar, though he’s moving far slower than usual, and his hands shake when he reaches for the pliers.

“Four, have you slept at all?” Sky asks, disappointed.

“Huh?” Four turns to look at him, and there’s a distinct pause before recognition flickers. “Oh, Sky. I’m nearly done with your mail. Or…” He squints at the links on the table. “No, mail’s finished. Spare rings. We’re always running out.”

“Sleep, Four,” Sky stresses. “Goddess - have you been working all night?” He eyes up the frankly ludicrous pile of mending that now sits on the other side of the bench from where it started, separated into neat piles by owner. And Four is still going - slowly cutting rings off the spiral, one by one.

“‘M fine.”

He changes tacks. “Four, c’mon. It’s time for breakfast. Wild will sulk if it gets cold, you know he will.”

Four blinks at him, visibly hazy with exhaustion, and finally, slowly, drags himself to his feet. He looks worse, upright. He’s pale and a little haggard, swaying slightly just standing in place. Goddess. He’s going to be an utter wreck today, and they’re supposed to head out for the Castor Wilds later. Maybe Sky can convince Time to wait until after lunch and Four will revive some after a nap -

The smith’s feet tangle. Sky lunges to catch him -

Four catches himself with a quick shake of the head. “Phew, close one,” he mutters. He brushes past Sky into the rest of the house, steps suddenly quick and sure. “C’mon, Sky,” he calls over his shoulder, “help me keep Wild from dirtying every pan I own, I do not want to do dishes today.”

He still looks distinctly unwell over breakfast, but the shake in his hands, the sway in his step, the dull slowness of his eyes and responses - all that is gone like it was never there. He even smiles and keeps up with the conversation. Sky doesn’t know what to make of it.

(In the back of his mind, though, he wonders.)

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

Misunderstandings

“Dinner tonight?”

Quinn read over the message, smiling. Things were semi normal again. Her and Noah hadn’t spent much time just hanging out like they used to, but that would come in time. When she was no longer scared of the dreaded conversation where he would for sure tell her that it meant nothing. That he just hadn’t been with anyone in too long, or some stupid shit. The whole “it’s not you, it’s me” shit men did.

“Quinn! We need you out here! Busy as fuck and we’re down another. Brianna just had to leave. Her kid is sick.”

Fuck. They were already slammed at the pub. Some big sports event. And they were already down three people. This night couldn’t get any worse. Four hours and she was just now getting a break. Slipping her phone back into her pocket she jumped up, ready to face the hell that awaited her.

“On it, Lei! How bad?”

“We’ve got a three top, seven top, and an eight top that all just got sat in her section. Plus five more that just sat at the bar.”

Well, shit. How in the fuck did Leilani expect her to cover those tables and her bar? Something was bound to get fucked up. Call it a gut feeling. Or intuition. Or whatever the fuck. She just knew she was going to fuck something up.

Her phone rang, briefly drawing her attention. Quick glance showed Noah calling. She didn’t have time right now. Work was too crazy. Sending it to voicemail she slipped it back in her pocket. She could call him back when she got an actual break.

Into the hellfire she went.

***

Seven hours. She had been waiting tables and running the bar on the busiest night they had ever had for six hours. Over her time. Should have been home hours ago. Instead now she was sitting out front of the place, exhausted, next to Leilani. She knew she should go home. But God that cigarette she was smoking smelled divine right then. Made her wish she had never quit.

“Thank you for tonight. When I divide up the tips at the end of the night you’re getting extra in your tip box.”

All she could do was nod at her boss. Far too tired to speak. Sighing she pulled out her phone, only then realizing that she had never responded to Noah when the first thing she saw was his unanswered text. Then the missed call and the voicemail. Nervous she clicked the play button on the voicemail, bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Quinn, I swear to fucking God. You are the most infuriating little terror pixie I’ve ever fucking met. You’ve made your goddamn point.”

What the fuck was he on about? What point did he think she was making? She was at work for fucks sake! Just when she thought things were starting to return to normal he goes and accuses her of something she didn’t even fucking do?

Irritated she reached out, snatching the cigarette from Leilani, taking a long drag off of it. Fuck, she had missed this. The way the smoke filled her lungs, the relief as she exhaled the smoke. How the tobacco tasted on her tongue. The ashen woodiness of the flavor erasing the stress of the day.

“What if I called in tomorrow?” She chuckled, passing the cigarette back.

“I would say take the day off and we’ll just have to manage without you. You were an absolute rockstar tonight.”

“Lei, I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Quinn paused. There was some kind of catch. There had to be. She had been working there for years, doing the same thing too many times to count, without so much as a “Hey, thanks for covering our asses!” What was she up to?

“Listen,” Lei continued, weariness settling into her voice. “I can see it plain as day because I’m currently experiencing it. You have burn out happening. Take tomorrow. Have a mental health day. Seriously.”

Burn out was the last thing she would use to describe what she was feeling right then, but she would take it. It was more akin to a royal pain in her ass that was either currently waiting for her at home or still working himself. God, she hoped he was still working. It was just late enough that everyone else would be asleep when she got home. And being alone with Noah was the last thing that she should be doing.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @mrscevans @supersquirrel1996

[your-local-hoemie]

Hi! Can i request childe and zhongli (seperate) coming home to his beloved overworked and slumped over her desk?

Omg I get to write geo papi :D watch me work my brain juices for ya!

Warnings: fluffffff, a tiny bit of angst in childes if you squint again because I can’t help myself, Concerned boys, not proof-read, established relationships, gn! Reader (I know you said “her” in the request but I wanna keep it gn for everyone’s enjoyment if that’s ok aaaaaa.)

Characters: Childe, Zhongli

No I didn’t get carried away hahaha….hah

···

Childe~

He doesn’t understand at first lmfao

Mans constantly working so like? Isn’t this normal??

Honestly you might be helping him stop for a bit too

Gets very concerned :(

Might think you’ve died for a split second

Once he realised you’re fine he’ll make sure you’re moved to a comfier place like the bed or couch

Try to protest. I dare you.

He’ll probably arrange for one of his subordinates to complete any work you had left just to make sure you can rest

I also dare anyone to protest against a harbinger for finishing your work :)

You had been assigned a bunch of documents from Yanfei to go over after being transferred to her for extra work experience in Liyue before officially graduating.

At first your couldn’t be more optimistic about the workload telling yourself that it’s all worth it in the long run after years of studying law!

That lasted maybe a good four days before the lack of sleep and neglect to eat and drink properly started kicking in.

Raising your head you looked up from the paperwork checking the time. 4:30am. Groaning you raked your fingers through your hair, dragging them down your face trying to keep yourself grounded.

But much to your dismay no matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes open and your head free of fatigue, your body decided to finally take charge and before you can even protest, your head lowered to the table as your heavy eyes finally closed and took the rest they needed.

Meanwhile your beloved boyfriend, childe. Eleventh of the fatui harbingers, had finally got home after endless hours of his own work as a “toy maker”. He never told you about his true occupation, always worried it would put you in harms way or make you scared of him.

Opening the door to your house, making his way up to your bedroom he didn’t actually expect to see you awake being so early in the morning so when he saw the bed untouched and you nowhere in sight he’d be lying if he didn’t feel a twinge of dread run down his spine.

“Babe? Where are you?”

Picking up his pace he’d hurry around the house opening each door, his bow appearing in his hand from anxiety.

Reaching the finally room of your home he swung the door open only to find you slumped over your desk surrounded by paperwork.

Almost running over to your side he dropped to his knee’s placing his hand on your back almost like you’d break under his touch he softly shook you taking comfort in feeling your soft, deep breaths under his touch.

“Hmm? Childe?”

Raising your head groggily you look at your boyfriend for a moment trying to piece together the situation while rubbing your still heavy, sleepy eyes.

“Archons Y/N, you almost gave me a heart attack! Why aren’t you asleep In bed!?”

Giggling sleepily you tried your best to explain the situation all while still feeling the heavy pull of sleep in your body not noticing the soft, if not concerned smile appearing across his face.

Letting out a sigh he gathered you in his arms lifting you up with ease, he carried you to the bedroom placing you down on the bed before pulling you tightly into his arms kissing your forehead.

“No more work for you love”

You were pretty confused to later find out you somehow still managed to finish all the paperwork before passing out even though you swore there was still a pile to go through~

Zhongli~

Oh he already knew.

You thought you were slick? You fool.

From the moment he laid eyes on the workload given to you all the way to your first yawn

He knew

He’d try to make it easier on you, knowing your stubbornness

Brings you fruit and tea every so often

Don’t be surprised if you get a nice back massage too~

Once he thinks it’s gone on for far too long he will take action and there won’t be a damn thing you can do

He’s a ex god. Come on.

If he thinks you should rest then you’re gonna rest

To bed with you

Lots of cuddles and head pats! Maybe even humming if he thinks it’ll help you relax

He won’t do your work for you, he doesn’t have the heart to risk ruining your hard work but he will help you if you seem like you’re struggling!

Much to no one’s surprise, Hu Tao had ever so kindly managed to gather a ever increasing collection of complaints from the citizens of Liyue from her persistent shenanigans that you’d be hard pushed not to find at least a little disturbing, leaving you to deal with the mountain on papers to sort through.

The moment zhongli caught wind of what had been keeping you so occupied from your routine walk through the harbour he was irritated to say the least.

After having a word with Hu Tao that was borderline passive aggressive he immediately stopped by the market picking up the best fruit he could find (much to Childe’s dismay) along with your favourite snacks.

Meanwhile you had enclosed yourself in your office, pondering your life choices while using all the strength you had to stay focused.

How long has it been since you started? When was the last time you ate? Questions hardly noticeable floated around the back of your mind as you intently ignored the pangs in your stomach and the worsening migraine growing across your head.

Letting out a frustrated sigh you finish reading a particularly rude letter sent in only to turn the page over by chance just to see that the paragraphs contained on the other side.

Finally snapping under the stress you lay your head down in defeat on the desk, tears threatening to run from your eyes and soak the papers under your head as you feel your body take over and force you to close them at last.

It wasn’t too long before you woke up in a mild state of panic before noticing a plate of beautifully arranged fruit, a warm cup of tea sitting beside you and a blanket draped over your aching back.

“Ah, you have finally awoken. Forgive me dear but I couldn’t bring myself to wake you from your much needed slumber so I took the liberty to prepare you some food”

God I love writing his funky little words

“Zhongli? H-how long have you been there?? What time is it!?”

“Hush now. No need to get worked up over such trivial things, you still have plenty of time to continue your work but I must remind you that rest and recuperation is an essential part to such dealings”

With that you find him dragging a chair next to you. letting out a deep chuckle he turned you towards him gentle pushing your head down to his lap as his fingers stroked through strands of hair. (If you’re bald then just ignore this part💀)

“Rest for now my dear, I shall assist you in this mess when you have recovered”

Not daring to protest against his authoritative tone, you close your eyes feeling your body melt at his touch.

Maybe a little rest wouldn’t hurt after all~

Bruh writing in zhongli’s fancy words is so fun I feel so sophisticated *sticks pinkie out and sips tea*

[survey--s]

508.

What was the last heavy thing you lifted? A bumper box of cat food from Pets At Home - it’s cheaper to buy it like that but 100 sachets of cat food is never going to be easy to carry around lol.

Is July an important month for you? No, nothing significant happens in July.

If someone looked inside your mind right now, what would they find? Nothing much, ha.

Are you good at reading body language? I mean, I’m good enough, I suppose.

Do you have an anchor tattoo? No and no.

What is something that is creepy to you? When people know who I am (as a dog walker) and address me and the dogs by name even though I have absolutely no clue who they are lol. 

What do you need right now? A cat that isn’t screaming at me to be fed over an hour early, lol.

What do you consider to be cruel? Shock collars on pets, and I am SO glad they’re finally being banned in this country. There’s absolutely no reason to ever give your pet an electric shock in order to get it to behave.

Do you love to daydream? No, I’m not really much of a daydreamer.

What’s your favorite shade of yellow? I’m not really a fan of yellow.

Has anyone told you to calm down recently? No - anyone who knows me well knows that that just pisses me off even more, lol.

When did you last panic? Yesterday when Ollie pulled the lead out of my hand while we were crossing the road -_- luckily there were no cars around and he just went to his driveway but my heart was in my mouth lol.

Are you currently tired? A little bit as I was awake at half six this morning - the dog woke me up and refused to settle back to sleep without having a cuddle, lol.

What helps you get by? Family, friends, my animals, sleep, food, time alone.

When did you last wear a mask? About two years ago - they’ve not been obligatory here for ages and I never see anyone wearing them anymore.

Does it hurt you when others are rude for no reason? It depends on who the other person is. 

If you could say anything to your father right now, what would it be? I don’t really need to say anything to him right now.

What’s the fastest you’ve ever driven? I think about 80mph.

When did it last rain? A couple of days ago for about thirty seconds, lol. We’ve had such nice weather here for the past couple of weeks.

Have you ever been admitted to a hospital? Yeah, twice - both for relatively minor head injuries.

Has anyone blamed you for something you didn’t do? Sure, that’s life, isn’t it?

How much is gasoline where you are? Uh, around £1.64 a litre for petrol, and £1.86 a litre for diesel, I think. At least, it was a couple of weeks ago when I filled up.

How are you doing today? Pretty great - it’s a Bank Holiday weekend and I’m not working!

What is the last song you listened to in a car? I don’t remember. I think something by the Zutons.

Do you currently feel calm? Yeah, very calm actually. 

Are you good at making new friends? No.

Are there any important things happening this week? No, not really. It’s Bank Holiday weekend and then just work as normal for four days, then another Bank Holiday for the Coronation but I don’t really give a shit about that lol.

If comfortable answering, have you or would you ever be admitted into a mental hospital? I’ve never been admitted but often you don’t have a choice.

What’s a color you think is underrated? Moss green.

Would you rather never be sick again or be rich? Be rich.

When did you last hear thunder? I couldn’t tell you, maybe six weeks ago?

What all have you put in the trash today? An empty box of Apple Turnovers, a dirty cleaning sponge and a toilet roll holder.

Do you enjoy blueberry muffins? They’re one of those things I love but never think to buy lol.

What’s something you will never forget? My wedding day.

What’s the most bitter pill you’ve ever taken? I’m not sure about bitter but the taste of paracetamol in your throat makes me feel so sick lol. I can’t take it unless it’s sugar coated or in capsule.

What is a popular TV show or movie that you do not like? Star Wars.

When was the last time you felt like “getting into someone’s pants”? No idea.

What is your favorite energy drink, if you have a favorite at all? Starbucks DoubleShot, if that counts as an energy drink?

Would you have kids with the last person you kissed? No. I don’t want kids with anyone - far too much hassle and responsibility lol.

Would you mind living near large predatory animals? It depends what animals you’re referring to - England is really safe when it comes to stuff like this though.

What’s your biggest priority right now? I don’t really have any.

If you’ve stayed overnight in a hospital, how did you entertain yourself? I don’t really remember as I was concussed both times. If I was in overnight now, I would sleep, read, go on my phone, watch stuff online etc.

Are your hands unsteady? They can be.

Do you think you’re pretty? I think I’m normal-looking.

Have you ever added someone you don’t know on Facebook? No.

Who’s the last guy you texted? Mike.

Who do you know that wears the most makeup? I don’t really know anyone who wears much make-up.

Have you ever been tied up? Yes.

Are you anyone’s first love? Apparently so.

If you could find one long-lost friend of the past, who would it be? Sophie.

Was your sixth grade teacher a man or a woman? Woman.

Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? Susie.

Has anyone ever told you they were in love with you? Yeah, quite a few people actually.

Do you prefer boys to shave down there? They can do what they want.

How much does your mother know about your sex life (or lack thereof)? Zero, really. 

Do you enjoy watching cooking shows? Yeah, I love the competition ones and stuff like Kitchen Nightmares or Restaurant Impossible.

Did you lose friends when you started dating someone? No.

When was the last time you went to an ice cream parlor? What kind of ice cream did you get? Last week. I got an iced coffee and a vanilla ice-cream for the dog lol.

Did you go to school with anyone named Ashley? What was that person like? No. I did work with an Ashley for a few months though and had a huge crush on him, hahah. I looked him up on Facebook not so long ago and wondered what the hell I was thinking.

What color is the vehicle that you travel in most often? Metallic grey.

Do you have any nieces or nephews? When was the last time you saw them? Yeah, they’re all by marriage though - Mike has a HUGE family but none of us are very close. I saw Amber about about a month ago though.

Do you know the story of how your grandparents met? No.

Do you have a relative or close friend named Peter? When was the last time you saw that person? No. The only Peter I knew was a boy from school who lived on the same road as me - he taught me how to skateboard and kissed me once lol. He was the year above me and I was about 12/13 and thought I was the height of sophistication lol.

Have you ever had an ex who wanted to get back together? What did you say to them? Yeah, and the answer was noooooo.

[coccyodynia]

things:

four years and a few days ago, i entered treatment for dual diagnosis care to treat my mental health and drug use

for about 4 straight years before that, i’m not sure i was sober for more than an hour at a time

i was really heavily using benzos and always mixing them with an extreme amount of alcohol

frequently confused as to who i was then, how people perceived me, and how i’m still alive

i’m extremely grateful i went to treatment, because if i hadn’t had some kind of intervention, i dont think i would have survived another year like that

i still really really struggle with relapses

and in the last two years i’m not sure i’ve managed to have a clean streak longer than 3 months

but i am trying

my drug abuse ended up being the last straw for some important people in my life, who would eventually leave my life bc of it

anyway moving on to other topics

i finally saw justin this week, for the first time in three months

it’s been a pretty weird 3 month period of not really knowing where we stood bc i couldn’t keep my feelings to myself, and he needed a break from that i guess

i understand it will never again be like it was when we first started talking

and tbh that really kills me, but i’m very grateful he’s a part of my life still, in some way

the connection was immediately really strong from the start and i really credit him with helping me a lot

he was probably the first person to verbalize “i’m here for you”, and actually follow through with that sentiment

meeting him almost exactly one year after reid left my life is probably worth mentioning here but whatever

ive finally been able to start seeing my therapist again, and i meet with her monday

right now she can only schedule me every other week, which is a really hard adjustment for me to make tbh

since october of 2019 i probably have had therapy at least once a week

im really struggling with staying sane bc my job has become an incredibly stressful place for me, which didn’t used to be the case

like work has always had some level of stress, sure, but this last month or so, i have been getting physically sick from the stress, crying at my desk every day, etc

but on the other hand, i’m also having these really meaningful yet overwhelming moments of gratitude for being where i’m at

like yeah nothing is perfect or even close, but i have created a life for myself that works most of the time

im finally experiencing a level of safety and security that i have honest to god never felt before, and i did not even know that it could improve this much

growing up i didnt have any sense of safety or security at all, which i didn’t realize until very recently

in the last year or so working with nicole (my therapist), i have finally learned that the things i was subjected to as a child were not normal, and that it was traumatic

about 6 months or so ago (possibly less), i learned i have complex post traumatic stress disorder

i had pretty much known for over a decade that i was borderline, before i was officially diagnosed

but i didn’t even have an inkling of an idea that i could be experiencing CPTSD, so when my therapist gently told me i was, my world view realllyyyyy started to shatter and shift

it has been very very difficult to come to terms with tbh

anyways i really miss writing and photographing and making art so i hope to return to that soon

i’m at work rn and i should probably start doing my job before the bosses get here so ta-ta for now thanks for reading this insane post

[moonlight0934]

Jason shoots the man in front of him, once, then twice, and then a third time. The image of this man standing over his baby brother is seared into his head, and he can barely push back the green tinting his vision. The only thing that pulls him back from the edge is Dick’s voice. It sounds muffled and far away, but he can make out Damian’s name. Jason turns around, his hearing starting to come back. Dick is hunched over Damian’s body, his hands pressed against Damian’s chest. It takes Jason a few seconds to realize what’s happening, but he feels his legs almost go out from underneath him when he does. 

Four Hours Earlier

Jason kicks his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back in his chair. It’d been a long day, and he was working early instead of his normal six to three night shift. He finished all of his work and got home by seven. So, he turns on the TV as background noise, and picks up a book. He quietly reads for a few minutes before his phone starts ringing. He glances at it, and sees Dick’s caller ID on the screen. So, he silences the ringing, and puts it back down. It only takes a few minutes for it to start ringing again, and Jason puts his head back. 

“I can’t get one night where they leave me alone?” he mutters as though the last time he talked to one of them wasn’t two weeks ago. Also, it was Damian, who busted in on one of his drug deals while actively fighting a rival gang. “What do you want?” Jason asks, sounding annoyed. 

“Damian is missing. I need your help.” 

“Where’d the brat run off to this time? Have you checked the Kent’s?” 

“Yes, he didn’t run off. He was kidnapped, and I’m sure of it.” 

“Ok, why can’t Bruce just track him down?” 

“Because Bruce isn’t here.” 

“Then call him. Where could he possibly be that’s more important than tracking down his son?” 

“He’s in the hospital. Can you please just stop arguing, and help me look for him?” 

Jason freezes, his throat getting tight. “Why is he in the hospital?” His voice comes out tighter than he means for it to. 

Dick’s tone softens as he answers, “He’s fine. Apparently he and Tim were out walking earlier when someone started shooting everyone in the area. They think that it was a random shooting, but Tim got hit. That was actually why it took us a while to realize that Damian wasn’t home after school. Some of the teachers saw him before class, but he wasn’t there when class actually started. His bag was still at school too. I need your help to find him. I haven’t told Bruce, because Tim needs someone there in case something happens.” 

“In case something happens? Like a medical proxy?” 

Dick sighs. “Yes. It’s not looking good right now, but he’ll pull through. He was shot in the chest, and he’s in the ICU. They think he’ll be fine, and that he’ll be moved soon.” 

“Ok, I’ll help. I still think we should tell Bruce though. I know he’ll want to come running, but we can’t lie to him about his youngest child being missing .”

“I know, I know. I just wanted backup, so I could convince him not to leave the hospital.” 

“Fine, where should I meet you?” 

“I’m almost at your safe house right now.” 

Dick hangs up before Jason can respond, and he grips his phone almost hard enough to break it. He grabs his guns, and heads outside to meet Dick. They end up searching for hours without finding any leads before Dick’s phone starts buzzing. 

“What’s that?” Jason asks, peeking over Dick’s shoulder. 

“It’s a distress signal. I think it’s Damian’s. We have to get to this location. It’s an abandoned amusement park on the edge of town. That’s really weird. I don’t know why anyone would take him there, but we have to check it out. Keep your eyes peeled.” 

Jason nods, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. They head to the amusement park. Even as they’re hopping the fence surrounding the property, they can hear laughing that breaks the silence. Jason frowns, reaching out to touch Dick’s arm. Dick barely glances at him before following the noise. Jason follows a little more cautiously. 

That is until he sees the scene that’s causing the laughter. One man off to the side is telling the others to stop, but no one is listening. Two men are standing in front of a small body while a third one is standing over him with his foot planted on Damian’s chest. Jason’s chest constricts as Dick races over. He kicks one of the first two men in the head, and everyone backs up. 

Jason starts shooting before any of them can do anything. Two go down immediately, and he shoots the last one in the arm. The one Dick kicked was knocked out cold on impact. The two men Jason shot are already dead by then, but he saved the rest of his bullets for the man that thought he could put his foot on Jason’s brother. He shoots him over and over again, unable to even stop. 

Then he sees Dick doing chest compressions on Damian as he sobs, and begs unintelligibly. Jason’s hand goes for his phone immediately. He calls Barbara as he crashes to his knees beside Damian’s head. He’s covered in blood, and his fingers are broken. They’re bent completely out of shape, though his chest doesn’t seem to be in much better shape. It almost looks caved in, not that the CPR is helping with that. 

“Jason, I’m surprised to hear from you.” 

“We need an extraction, and medical help right now.” 

“In costume, or out?” 

“Out, it can be an ambulance. Just call someone.” 

“Who is it?” Barbara asks, his voice all business. 

“Damian. He’s-” Jason has to pause for a second before continuing. “He’s not breathing. We need an extraction right now.” 

Dick motions towards Damian, and pauses his compressions. He still hasn’t said anything coherent, but Jason understands. He takes over rescue breaths while Dick continues with compressions. Barbara keeps asking questions, but he can’t tell what they are. He drops his phone back onto the ground, and doesn’t give it another thought. He keeps his eyes on his brother even as sirens start wailing in the background. 

How are they already here? It hasn’t been that long, has it? 

He breathes for Damian again before pressing his fingers into Damian’s neck. Dick is looking at him with so much hope in his eyes, but Jason just shakes his head. Paramedics run up, and Jason has to pull Dick away from Damian’s still body. Dick goes completely limp, and Jason pulls him in for a hug. He watches over Dick’s shoulder as they continue trying to reestablish a heartbeat. He keeps Dick tucked against his chest. The air stays trapped in his lungs until he hears them start to load him up. He’s not close enough anymore to hear the EEG over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. The lights are still on when they drive away though, and that’s the only reason Jason even knows that they succeeded. 

“He’s alive,” he whispers, but it’s enough for Dick to hear. 

“He is?” 

Gordon runs over to them. They’re both still collapsed on the ground, Jason’s arms loosely wrapped around Dick. Dick is crying again, but relieved this time. 

“What happened?” Gordon asks, kneeling down beside them. 

Jason lets his hands drop to the dirt on either side of himself. “Damian was kidnapped earlier. He was actively being assaulted when we got here. Someone was practically standing on him,” Jason says, his eyes distant. 

“Is he alright?” 

“No, but maybe he will be. Can you call the old man? Tell him what happened and that Damian is heading his way?” 

Gordon nods, and stands up. He’s still watching Dick, but he calls Bruce. Jason eventually forces Dick to his feet, and drags him to his car. They both get changed, and then head to the hospital. Bruce is waiting for them in the lobby. 

“Hey, what’s the news? On either one of them,” Jason adds. 

“Tim is stable, and in a normal room now. Damian is in surgery now. I don’t know anything else.” 

Dick sniffles, and Bruce wraps his arms around Dick. “Shhh, I’m here. You’ll be alright. We’ll figure everything out. Thank you for helping, Jason.” 

Jason nods. “Yeah, it’s no problem.” 

They end up sitting together for hours waiting to hear about Damian. They don’t talk, all three of them still unsure of what to say. Eventually a doctor comes out, and makes a beeline for Bruce. 

“Mr. Wayne, I’m here to talk to you about your son.” 

Bruce stands up. “We can speak over there. I’ll be right back.” 

Jason puts a hand on Dick’s arm, offering silent support. Dick leans into the touch, both of their eyes still trained on their dad. Bruce talks to the doctor for at least fifteen minutes before walking back over. 

“He’s out of surgery. He has eight broken ribs, four broken fingers, a broken cheekbone, and a fractured collarbone. They’re pretty confident that he’s going to survive though.” 

Jason feels Dick deflate next to him. “Can we see him?” 

Bruce nods, looking twenty years older than he did the last time Jason saw him before tonight. 

“Can you point me to Tim’s room?” Jason asks, standing up.��

Bruce nods again, and gives him directions to Tim’s room along with the room number. 

“I’m heading that way. Let me know if anything changes.” 

He walks to the elevator, and makes his way to Tim’s room. Tim, surprisingly, is awake. 

“Hey, Jason,” he says, sounding sleepy. 

“Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?” 

“Fine, I’m surprised you’re here. I figured you’d be with Damian.” 

“How did you hear about that?” Jason asks, sitting down next to him. 

“I have my ways.” 

“You’re hurt pretty bad. What happened?” 

“Bruce and I got shot at. I don’t really remember anything other than that. How is he?” 

“He’ll live.” 

“That’s not a good answer.” 

“Not really, but that's all I have to say right now. You should get some more rest.” 

“You should get some rest too. You look like shit.” 

“Wow, thanks, Tim,” Jason says sarcastically. 

He leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. Tim laughs softly though it sounds painful. 

“Get some sleep,” Jason whispers. 

Tim hums, and Jason allows himself to drift off. Tim is still asleep when Jason wakes up again. His phone is buzzing, and he looks down to see a text from Dick. 

Damian is awake. You should come see him. He’s completely out of it, but I think he’s going to be alright. 

Jason blinks, then looks at the clock. 

“I was asleep for seven hours?” he whispers. 

He glances back at Tim one more time, then heads back to Damian’s room. Damian is awake, but his eyes are glassed over. Dick has a gentle hand on Damian’s leg. Damian turns his attention to Jason as he walks in. 

“Akhi, you’re here. Baba said you were, but I wasn’t sure,” Damian says, his accent coming through more than it normally does. 

Jason blinks, entirely unsure of how to respond. He’s never heard Damian talk like that, especially not to him. “Yeah, I’m here.” He grabs Damian’s small hand in his own. “How you feeling?” 

Damian pauses, thinking about it. “High. I don’t really feel anything else.” 

Jason snickers. “Yeah, that makes sense. You’re probably on a lot of meds.” 

“I don’t think I like it. Can you tell them to stop drugging me?” 

“No, I can’t. We have appearances to keep up, remember?” 

Damian shakes his head. “No, I don’t. You’ll have to keep mine up for me.” 

Jason bites his lip, a smile still sneaking its way onto his face. “I can do that.” 

“May I get some more sleep?” 

“Of course you can.” 

Damian hums, and lets his eyes fall closed again. 

“He’s so cute isn’t he?” Dick coos, his face soft. His voice still holds a tinge of the grief from earlier, but he looks and sounds better. So does Bruce, who is still standing in the corner. 

“I’m going to see Tim,” Bruce says, giving all of them a smile. 

Jason nods before turning back to Damian. 

“I’m so glad that they’re both going to be ok,” Dick says. “Thank you for coming. I don’t think I could have saved him today without you.” 

Jason brushes his thumb over Damian’s knuckles. “Yeah, well, I don’t want the brats dead. We already knew you were useless anyway.” 

Dick smiles, and punches Jason’s shoulder. Jason smirks, but keeps his eyes on Damian.

Trust Issues

Damian watches through half open eyes as his family eats breakfast around him. He keeps his guard up, a feeling of anxiety and immanent threat choking him. He hasn’t slept in days, the smallest noise snapping him back to full awareness. Bruce looks over at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Why aren’t you eating, Damian?”

“I am,” Damian immediately lies.

Bruce looks confused at that, because of how obviously not true it is. Damian puts a singular piece of strawberry from his fruit salad into his mouth. Then he stands up, slipping out of his chair.

“Come on, Damian. We’re doing so good this morning. Tim is even eating.”

“Father, Tim agreed because he’s still asleep. He was eating, then he fell asleep with his bite of eggs half out of his mouth.”

Bruce turns to Tim, who is in fact asleep with his spoon only half in his mouth.

“Tim, dear, you’re going to choke,” Bruce says, taking the spoon out of his mouth.

Tim startles, pulling back.

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

Damian slips out of the room while Bruce is reoccupied with Tim. He heads up to his room to get dressed for school, though that’s the last thing he wants to do right now. He sighs as he walks into his room to grab his uniform. It’s only a few minutes before he’s coming back down the stairs, and heading for the door. Damian can hear Bruce trying to get Tim to fully wake up so he doesn’t fall face first into his eggs.

Damian walks out without letting anyone know that he’s leaving since someone will insist on driving him to school. The walk is quiet, though that’s only because it’s so early that no one with good intentions is out right now. Most kids aren’t allowed to walk, that’s why Damian usually isn’t either. It’s not that they don’t know he can take care of himself, but they have appearances to keep up. They have to look like they’re prissy rich kids, though Damian hates how he has to act every time he leaves the house without being in costume.

A few of the small time muggers eye him as he’s walking past, but his glare is enough to put them off till he gets past them. It’s still quiet as the light manages to get past the clouds, lightening the sky. Damian keeps his hands in his pockets.

The school is empty too since he’s early. The teachers are the only ones there, and they all seem surprised to see him as they pass him in the halls. He heads straight to the cafeteria to wait on everyone else to show up. It’s quiet, so he pulls out his drawing pad and colored pencils.

A feeling of apprehension creeps up on him even though he’s alone, almost as if something is going to jump out of the shadows. After a few minutes, Damian jumps to his feet. He looks around wildly, but doesn’t see anything. He darts out of the exit attached to the cafeteria, leaving his bag, and not even sure where he’s going.

His vision starts going in and out, his hearing cutting out completely. He redirects himself to head back home, but doesn’t even get a few feet before passing out. When he wakes up, he can’t recognize where he is. It looks like a booth of some sort. People are talking right outside.

“Man, it sure took a long time for that toxin to kick in. We had to follow him for almost eight days,” one complains.

“He was in his house for a lot of that time, shut up,” another replies, sounding annoyed.

“Still, you’d think it wouldn’t be that useless. That’s a long time.”

Damian blinks, looking down. He’s zip tied to a chair, rope wrapped around his wrists and fingers on top of the zip ties.

Someone kidnapped me? They gassed me with some sort of toxin? That must be why I was feeling the way that I was.

He pulls one hand out of the ropes with a smug grin.

Now, time to get out of here discreetly so as not to ruin my secret identity. I need to call in backup.

He pulls the other one out, then begins taking the zip ties off of his wrists.

As long as I don’t get caught, I should have no issue with this. Even if they think I escaped somehow, I could still come back in costume with my family. However, there’s only one door.

Damian walks over to the door, feeling much heavier than he normally does. He cracks the door open soundlessly. It’s dark outside, but it’s not hard for him to tell that they’re in an abandoned amusement park. The Ferris Wheel is looming over the buildings, stalls, and shut down attractions.

The guards are less than a foot away from the door, still distracted with their conversation. Damian slips out of the doorway, making a beeline for the next attraction. He makes it there without incident, giving him time to look for his emergency beacon. Luckily it’s there, still tucked into the heel of his shoe.

He clicks it before straightening back up. Then someone grabs him by the collar. A large man shakes Damian. He almost punches the man in the throat, but remembers why he can’t in just enough time to pull back. The man punches him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He feels the man throw him towards the two guards that were watching him originally.

One of them kicks him in the face immediately. This goes on for a while as they take turns hitting him while he just has to lie there and take it. Eventually he tastes blood coming up his throat, and at this point, he’s not even sure where it’s coming from. Though it doesn’t really matter if he’s throwing it up or coughing it up, either one is pretty bad.

I wonder what they wanted. They sure did do a lot to just kill me.

Someone stomps down on his fingers, breaking them. He doesn’t let out a single noise.

That’s probably why they’re still going. I haven’t screamed or cried like this is a big deal. I wonder if they’re going to figure out how badly I’m already hurt.

It’s only a minute later when exactly that happens.

“Hey, I think you’re going too far. He has to be alive to use him for ransom,” the second man calls, sounding worried. He also sounds far away, and Damian doesn’t feel like listening anymore.

A few more sounds bring him back from the edge, even if just a little bit. It sounds like a scuffle of some sort. Then someone grabs his head, startling him. He cracks his eyes open, seeing Dick above him. He’s in costume, his mask covering his eyes.

“Hey, Baby Bird. Just hold on, we’re going to get you to a hospital. You’ll be ok.”

“You came,” Damian whispers, blinking his heavy eyes.

“What do you mean? Of course we did. Don’t you trust us?”

Damian doesn’t respond, letting his eyes drop closed.

“No, Damian, open your eyes!”

Dick shakes his shoulders, but everything continues to fade. He doesn’t feel it as Dick keeps shaking him, and eventually stops hearing him too. Then nothing.

[rurousha]

From Fox River to Central City, Ch 3/14

Chapter 3 - Illinois

Earth-29 Illinois 2005

“What?” Cisco asked, stunned.

“No,” the brothers said again.

“What do you mean, no? Barry, you did say, ‘Come with me if you want to live’, right?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Dangit, Barry, you had one job!”

Barry pushed the cowl off of his head. Michael took in all the details of his face – his brown hair and concerned eyes, his worried mouth. Even in the dark, he was very easy to read.

Barry stepped over to Michael and gently grabbed him by the forearms.

“Michael, I know we’ve thrown a lot at you. It was only a few minutes ago that you were locked up in prison and superheroes and alternate realities didn’t exist. But you are in danger. We will protect you, I promise.”

“I believe you, Barry. I do. That’s not the problem.”

“It’s a little the problem,” Lincoln said.

“But we have family. Those people that Lincoln mentioned? The ones that framed him? They’ll come after them.”

“They killed my ex-wife,” Lincoln shouted. “They threatened my son! I’m not leaving without Veronica and LJ.”

“A son?” Barry repeated, surprised. He let go of Michael, and the chill in the air hit him full force.

Cisco groaned and pulled his glasses off. “Dude, I gotta close this breach. I’m spent, man, and I’ve already got to pick up Caitlin and Joe on Earth-4 in six hours. What are we doing?”

“OK, where’s your family?” Barry asked.

“Washington DC,” Michael told him.

“OK.” Barry pressed the lightning emblem over his right ear and said, “Iris? Yeah, we got them, but it looks like this rescue mission has a second part. Can you spare Cisco to come with me?”

There was a soft click, and Cisco touched what must be a wireless earpiece in his ear too. “Yeah, I’ll stay here for a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t miss the pick-up. ‘Kay. See ya.”

“Bye Iris. Love you too.” Barry dropped his hand from his ear.

With a wave of Cisco’s hand, the breach to another world closed.

“So… where in DC are they?”

~

Michael and Lincoln didn’t actually know where exactly Veronica and LJ were, so Barry couldn’t simply run there and pick them up. He also wasn’t too keen on carrying everyone across the country. Cisco could apparently open breaches from one point to another within the same universe, but he was exhausted and wasn’t sure about opening a breach that far regardless. Eventually, they decided to find a car and just drive there. Privately, Michael was grateful for the mundane transportation. He needed something to feel normal for just a few minutes.

Barry had a change of clothes in his backpack and changed into them in a flash of lightning. Then the group found a nearby car park. Nearby, in this case, meant about five miles away. Barry did make covering ground a lot easier.

The four of them searched through the cars for one that was unlocked or didn’t have an alarm system.

“Found one!” Lincoln shouted across the lot. It was the middle of the night, and no one else was around. He popped the door open. “Just give me a second to get it started. It’s been a while since I had to hotwire a car.”

“I can do it.” Barry excitedly ran into the open driver’s door before Lincoln had even fully opened it. Just as Michael arrived, Barry snapped his right hand, creating an electrical current between his thumb and index finger, and sent the mini lightning through the ignition. The car blazed to life.

“Yea-hah,” Barry cheered. “I’d always wondered if that would work.”

“Sure,” Lincoln griped, “Comic book magic. Why not?”

Cisco leaned in through the passenger door, which he had opened. “You know, you could have blown out the battery.”

“Shh, no one needs to know that.”

Michael and Lincoln got into the back seats while Cisco took shotgun.

Rather belatedly, Barry said, “You know, I don’t like that we’re stealing a car.”

“We’ve already broken two felons out of prison. We’re committed. Just drive.”

Barry hesitated.

“Barry, get us out of here,” Cisco prodded.

“Sure.” He shifted the gears, and the car started forward. Very slowly.

“Oh my gosh, dude. Do you even know how to drive?”

“I know how to drive! It’s just been a while.”

“Do you have a license?”

“I do. It just expired when I was in a coma, and I never bothered to renew it. Seemed kind of pointless… Also, I’ve never driven stick.”

“Okay, I’m gonna drive now.”

Barry and Cisco switched places.

“So… which direction’s DC in?”

That brought Lincoln to the end of his patience. “I’m driving.” He roughly pulled Cisco out of the driver’s seat and got in. Michael switched with Barry, who went without asking why he had to give up shotgun.

“How did we both end up in the backseat?” Cisco asked. No one answered.

~

“Maps. Maps app, why aren’t you working? Why don’t I have a signal?”

“It’s 2005 here, Cisco,” Barry said.

Cisco gave a dramatic gasp. “I regret joining in this rescue mission. It’s the technological dark ages here.”

“We were both alive in 2005, dude.”

“And I am forever ashamed of that.”

Michael looked over his shoulder at the pair in the back seat while Lincoln pulled them onto the highway. They were looking at a device in Cisco’s hand.

“Is that a combination of a phone and a laptop?”

Barry nodded. “A smartphone, yeah. If you follow the same technological development as us, then you should have them in a few years.”

Michael gave a small smile. Barry was right. There was a lot to process, but so far, it was extraordinary.

“We’re still using flip phones.”

Cisco gave a short laugh. “Hah! That’s adorable, and I’m so embarrassed for you right now.”

~

If they stuck to major highways, drove the speed limit, and rotated drivers, it would take them a little over 11 hours to drive to Washington DC. Odds were that the highway patrol were already on the lookout for them, but Barry said he could flash them around any checkpoints that they came across. So Michael did his best to relax as Lincoln drove.

Barry told them about his world while Cisco dozed beside him. Vigilantes and superheroes in cities with names Michael had never heard before. A particle accelerator explosion in Central City in 2014. Time travel in 2015. Alternate realities and aliens in 2016. Nazis in 2017. Now, an evil super genius in 2018. Barry Allen had been very busy since he got his powers. Oddly, it made Michael feel a little better. If Barry could handle all of that, then Michael assured himself that he could handle this.

“So tell me about your world,” Barry said. “What about these guys that framed your brother?”

Michael and Lincoln told him what they knew. Spelled out as best they could, they realized that they knew frustratingly little. It was only speculation that everything led back to the Vice President, and Veronica hadn’t gotten back to them about the exhumation to prove that Terrance Steadman was still alive.

“That is some crazy Burn Notice-level stuff, there, not-Snart,” Cisco said. His eyes were closed, but he had apparently been listening the whole time.

Barry was eating Chinese takeout. Michael didn’t know where or even when he had gotten it. “Hey, the whole getting arrested to save your brother thing is kind of sweet. But the fact that this makes you a bank robber is not lost on me.”

It turned out that Leonard Snart and Mick Rory were career criminals – an arsonist and a thief. Then they were supervillains, then superheroes. Michael just had to come to the conclusion that Earth-1 was very complicated.

“So you’re not really a murderer, and you’re not really a bank robber,” Cisco summed up.

Michael nodded once. Barry ate a gyro. Cisco scrunched his face up in suspicion.

“Let’s see about that,” Cisco said just before he put his hand on Lincoln’s shoulder.

Holding hands with Veronica.

Eating blueberry pancakes with LJ.

His hands shaking on the gun as he realized the man in the car was already dead.

Police storming his bathroom with bloody pants in the tub.

A cold, wood chair, chains around his wrists, water down his face, panic setting in, and his father’s face in the back of the room.

“Lincoln!”

Reality reasserted itself when Michael grabbed the steering wheel and turned them out of oncoming traffic.

“Sorry, sorry! That was dumb while you were driving!”

Lincoln slammed on the brakes and managed to pull over on the side of the highway. He bailed out of the car and scrambled to the grass beside the road.

“Lincoln?” Michael got out too and went over to his brother. Lincoln was leaning over, hands on thighs, panting heavily.

“That’s what this is, right? My life flashing before my eyes? My brain’s breaking down and coming up with this ridiculous superhero gimmick while I… while I’m…”

“Lincoln, no, Lincoln.” Michael moved in front of Lincoln and took one of his hands in both of his. “This is real. You are not in the chair, Lincoln, you are not dying.” Michael pressed both thumbs into Lincoln’s palm, cutting into the skin with his blunt fingernails as hard as he could.

“Ow. Ow, Michael!” This time, Lincoln sounded indignant instead of panicked.

“Focus, feel this, Lincoln. This is real. It is ridiculous, and it doesn’t make sense, but it is real. You are not dying, you are out, and we are going to go get LJ and Veronica, and then we are going to get through this comic book nightmare together.”

Lincoln laughed then, and it sounded only a little bit hysterical. “It is pretty comic book of them, right? Like, the outfits and the powers and everything?”

“It’s like they squeezed every sci fi and superhero cliché into one thing,” Michael agreed. He was smiling at Lincoln. “I’ll bet they have supervillains whose names either alliterate or are puns of their superpowers.”

Lincoln and Michael both laughed at that, and Michael felt the tension ease a little. They rejoined Barry and Cisco at the car.

“Sorry, man,” Cisco said again. Lincoln waved him off, and Michael got in the driver’s seat this time. He got them back on the road toward DC.

“So, what exactly did you do?” Michael asked of Cisco once he had reached cruising speed.

“I vibed him,” Cisco said. “I can touch people or their things and see, like, visions? Sometimes it’s a memory, or what they see, or even the future sometimes.”

“What did you see this time?” Barry asked.

“The night that guy was killed. It really wasn’t him, Barry. That guy was already dead by the time you got there, right Lincoln?”

Lincoln nodded. He looked relieved. Someone finally believed him.

Michael said, “Now if only you were admissible in court.”

~

Once back on the road, Barry gave Michael and Lincoln changes of clothes and shared some burritos with everyone.

“Did you steal these, Barry?”

“My card doesn’t work. I’m committed to a life of crime!”

“I blame Snart.”

“I do too.”

~

Nick Savrinn and Veronica Donovan bailed out of Nick’s office and onto the city sidewalks. Nick’s office phone hadn’t stopped ringing all morning, so they opted to take the paperwork home and leave the noise behind. They weren’t really supposed to be using the Project Justice offices anyway.

“Yes, Claira,” Nick shouted into his cell phone over the noise of the crowded street. “Just tell them no comment but forward me anything from the prison itself. Yes, I know. Thanks.”

He hung up, and Veronica struggled to get her papers to fit into her briefcase while trying to simultaneously flag down a cab.

“This is a real shit show, Veronica,” Nick said.

“I’m aware, Nick. But finding Terrence Steadman isn’t our priority anymore. Finding Michael and Lincoln is.”

“Well, if they have any brains at all, they’ll be halfway to Mexico already.”

A sharp, sudden gust of wind blew Veronica’s papers around, and she and Nick had to run to retrieve Steadman’s exhumation conclusions. They finally got a cab, and Veronica collapsed in the back seat with a heavy sigh.

“I knew Michael was up to something, but I didn’t do anything,” Veronica said. “I just hope they’re okay.”

The shrill ring of a cell phone cut through the cab. Neither moved to answer it. It rang again.

“You going to get that?” Nick asked.

“It’s not mine.”

The phone rang again. Confused, Veronica dug around in her bag and came up with a common flip phone. “This isn’t mine.” Still, she flipped the phone open and said, “Hello, who is this?”

“Oh, V. It’s really good to hear your voice.”

Veronica’s eyes widened in surprise, but she stifled the exclamation that wanted to escape. “How did you – God, are you alright?”

Nick looked at her in question, but she waved him off.

“We’re fine. But we need to talk to you. Are you somewhere private?”

Instinctively, Veronica looked around. She trusted Nick to keep her secrets, but she didn’t know how much the cab driver could hear. “No. Just give me a few minutes. Don’t hang up, okay?”

“I’ll stay right here, V.”

For several agonizingly long minutes, Veronica kept Lincoln on the phone while the cab drove to Nick’s neighborhood. She didn’t say his name. She didn’t ask where he was. She didn’t ask how he had gotten out or how he got this phone to her. She just asked every few minutes if he was still there.

Finally, finally, they made their way out of the cab and up the stairs to Nick’s apartment. As soon as the door closed behind them, Veronica called, “LJ, come here. Lincoln, we’re here. Everyone’s here.” She put the phone on speakerphone.

“Veronica, LJ, you both there?”

“Dad? Dad, is that you? How’d you get out? The news is going crazy. Where are you?”

“We’re here, Lincoln. Nick Savrinn, too.”

“Lincoln, this is Nick. Look, we know Steadman is still alive, and we can prove it. We just need more time, but that’s not going to amount to anything if there is a manhunt out for you. You need to turn yourself in before you get shot.”

“Don’t listen to him, Dad. Exhuming Steadman didn’t turn anything up. Just run.”

“LJ, everyone, listen. Proving me innocent isn’t going to work. The people after me are too good. But it doesn’t matter. There’s someone else after me and Michael and, well, we’ve got some help.”

“Lincoln, what are you talking about?” Veronica asked. “Who’s helping you?”

“Alright, you’re just going to have to trust me here. Every logical bone in your body is going to want to fight what you’re about to see. I know. I had a bit of an incident on the highway. So try to just shove that doubting part of you to the back of your mind and just go with what’s about to happen. It makes things a lot easier.”

“What?” Nick asked.

“The guy that planted this phone followed your cab.”

“What?” Veronica asked.

There was a blur, and then a man stood in front of them. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “You should hold your breath.”

“What?” LJ asked.

In another blur, the man, Veronica, and LJ were gone. Nick Savrinn was left alone in his apartment.

“WHAT?”

~

In an alley ten blocks away, Barry stopped and released Veronica and LJ to Michael and Lincoln’s waiting arms.

Exclamations of confusion and disbelief were repeated.

“Who is this? What is happening?”

Explanations were given.

“This is a superhero from a different reality.”

Warnings were shared.

“A murderous doppelganger?”

“That’s what we’ve been told, yes.”

Excitement was expressed.

“Are there sci fi guns?”

“Yes.”

“Can - ?”

“No.”

And Lincoln gave the best advice he could.

“Just nod and go along with it. Your stress levels with thank you.”

While Veronica and Lincoln argued over whether or not they would actually be going to another universe, Barry walked over to Michael and leaned on the brick wall next to him. “Don’t worry. Cisco’ll be here soon. He’ll vibe me and breach right here.”

“So we just have to not get arrested until he shows up,” Michael confirmed.

“Right.”

“Alright.” Michael nodded. Barry seemed completely unworried about the police. Michael supposed that they really weren’t any threat to the speedster. It was hard to not let Barry’s complacency make him feel lax himself. It wouldn’t pay to drop his guard while they were still in this reality.

He had mixed feelings about thinking that sentence.

Michael walked over to one entrance of the alley and scanned the area. There was traffic, of course, both on foot and by car, but not a lot. There was a public mailbox to his right and a fire hydrant across the street. There was a fire escape in the alley, and he and Lincoln had already pulled it down just in case they needed another get away.

It was bright out but chilly, and a heavy fog rolled in as Michael stood there. He shivered and rubbed his gloved hands together. He breathed into his hands to try to warm them up, but it didn’t help. He breathed in deeply to try again, but the air felt heavy, like ice in his lungs.

It really was cold.

It was Cold.

[nickfowlerrr]

This picture has ruined me. Now I need a fic with Bucky as your professor banging you in the library during regular hours.

clear your mind

pairing: professor!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

words: 7.5k

warnings: 18+ ONLY. smut. public sex. cockwarming. student/teacher relations. possible age gap depending on how you read it (reader is at least 25 or older but it’s not really specified and bucky is late 30s or older but again, not specified. imagine whatever you like.) i added an alternate kind of darkish ending that is separated with a divider near the end (duh) but of course you can choose to not read it and stick to the original cute ending lol. if i’m missing anything you feel needs to be added, please let me know.

notes: disclaimer: i never technically went to college so i don’t really know what i’m writing about lmao but when i say this was instant inspo, i mean instant. i’ve been in such a funk since i lost chapter four of keeping secrets, but this really ignited something in me so i just went for it. it was originally gonna be a little smutty drabble but then i started writing and it just became a whole one shot - not that i’m complaining lol. this was so fun to write, thank you @sammyisfat for sending it in! 🖤 i hope you all enjoy it! as always, feedback and comments are welcome and appreciated. and thank you in advance for reading and reblogging!

You were sitting hunched over, eyes scanning the same sentence repeatedly, trying to force yourself to focus. You were reading the words but you weren’t really putting them together. You were too bored to make them make sense. Your brain was far off and you were sure you were about to burn out completely at this point.

Why you thought going back to school after so long was a good idea was beyond you. Was the degree really worth it? You’d gotten this far without one, hadn’t you?

As you were contemplating your life choices, and working on convincing yourself to just screw it and drop out, you’d failed to notice the presence of two of your professors passing by.

You had been alone at the far back of the library, closed in by the sturdy cases of books around you, for so long you’d nearly forgotten you were actually there. You had needed solitude, lest the chatter of other students in study groups or working on projects distract you further than your mind already did on its own. Your back was to the open aisle so as not to get distracted by anyone passing by, either. The zone you were occupying was normally a hot spot, but on a Wednesday afternoon, not so much. And for that you were grateful.

The knock on the bookcase next to you accompanied by your name being called, almost in question, startled you as you quickly corrected your posture and looked toward the noise, adjusting the glasses you were wearing as you did. You were greeted with two pairs of blue eyes looking back at you. Standing next to the bookcase, waiting for your response were two of the most lusted after professors on campus. And that wasn’t just you thinking so. The way students fawned over both Mr. Barber and Barnes was near juvenile. They were like kids gossiping about their crushes in elementary school. It was always funny to you seeing the line of people waiting to speak with Andy at the end of class every Wednesday and Friday, whether they had a genuine question to ask or not. You couldn’t say you didn’t get it, though. He had great hair, a soft smile, kind eyes.. He was gorgeous. It was clear why so many people had a thing for him. But you always found yourself a little more than preoccupied with thoughts of Mr. Barnes. Though they were both at least six foot tall and unfairly attractive, easy enough to spread your attention between both of them, as most of their students did, there was just something about James that had you in a hold since the first day you met him.

It was your first day on campus and you’d accidentally bumped into him with your green tea as you were leaving the small corner cafe after your first morning class. You apologized profusely, but he’d claimed it was his fault, that he wasn’t watching where he was going. He insisted on buying you a new drink as he removed his tea damp jacket. You didn’t fight him on it, walking back into the cafe as he held the door for you. You introduced yourselves as you waited for the drinks to be made and spoke a bit. It wasn’t a super long interaction, both of you having places you had to be, but you would have sworn there was something there. And the glimmer in his eye as he smiled and told you he’d see you around convinced you it wasn’t one sided. You were instantly smitten, hopeful you would see him again, that maybe it could lead to getting to know him better, lead to something more.

That was until you walked into your afternoon class the next day to find him standing at a podium, setting up his orientation slides. You had been hoping all day to run into him, but this was certainly not how you’d been imagining the circumstances. Of course he was your professor. You breathed a humorless laugh to yourself as you found a seat. You got your laptop out and looked back up at the same time he looked up from his, making direct eye contact with him. You saw the instant he recognized you and gave him a tight lipped smile that he returned before you diverted your gaze back down. His look of disappointment matched your own, but at the very least, it made you feel wanted.. The “professor x student” trope was never really your cup of tea, but as the weeks went by, the stolen glances and secret longing stares you exchanged were starting to change your mind. After one particular heated night of self pleasure, absentmindedly picturing him while you were reveling in your own touch, imagining it was his, you knew you were really gone for him. And heaven help you, the idea of it really happening was growing hotter and hotter the more you told yourself you couldn’t. Imagining showing up to his office hours one evening and just letting him have you any way he liked. Letting him take you apart on his desk, or sucking him off under his desk while he works. God, you’d daydreamed so many scenarios.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to act on any of it. You didn’t know how to. More importantly, you knew you shouldn’t. It wasn’t like you were some barely legal star eyed student he’d be taking advantage of, but still, you were his student. You weren’t sure how that dynamic might play out or the optics of it for either of you. Instead you willed yourself to stay focused on the work, to keep your thoughts set on passing the course and that was all.

Even when you would find yourself needing actual help from him or needing to ask him about an assignment, you would always talk yourself out of it. You didn’t want to let yourself be alone with him, you couldn’t be trusted. You were worried you’d make a fool of yourself the second you got the chance. So instead, you’d get help from a classmate if you could or you’d end up just winging it. It had been working that far.

The real problem started just last week. This most recent section was challenging to say the least. You had tried the study group offered on Monday nights, but you got absolutely nothing done.

Your last essay assignment had been returned to you on Friday with a note on it, asking you to come by his office hours before the next class. You had been putting it off all week, but knew you’d have to go by Thursday. You just weren’t expecting to see him around any earlier than that.

“Professors,” you greeted, slightly taken aback.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Mr. Barber apologized. “Thought you might’ve heard us walking up.”

“I was uh, lost in the text, I guess,” you replied, giving them an awkward smile.

“Well, I’m glad someone’s reading it,” he laughed.

“Do you mind if we join you?” he continued, motioning to the otherwise empty table you were sitting at the end of. It was big enough to seat at least 8 people easily and it’d, of course, be rude of you to try and keep it for yourself. But what would they need to be in the library for anyway? The question must have been written on your face as Mr. Barnes answered it for you.

“The heat isn’t working in our offices. We’re just grading some work.”

“Right, yeah, of course. Go for it.”

“Thank you,” Andy smiled.

They took seats at the other end of the table, surely trying to avoid distracting you. You appreciated the gesture, but it was futile. As they worked on grading papers, they were talking and laughing every so often and even if they hadn’t been, their presence alone was not at all aiding you in your attempt to focus on schoolwork.

You’d given up trying to finish the passage you’d been reading and instead pretended to start making notes in your laptop. In all actuality, you were really just googling alternative career paths and the question: “Do you really need a college degree to be successful?”.

Thirty minutes later, Andy’s phone went off and he began to gather his things, telling Mr. Barnes, who he called ‘Bucky’, that he had a lecture in 45 minutes but he’d see him later.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Andy pointed at you as he passed by.

“Bright and early,” you affirmed with a nod and a small smile.

“Have a good night,” he smiled back.

“You too,” you returned.

The second he was gone, you became fully aware that you were now alone with Professor Barnes, the situation you’d been trying to avoid for the past almost three months. Despite your efforts, your entire focus was being pulled to the man just down the table from you. He was still grading, in the middle of someone’s essay as you glanced over to him. You admired the quirk of his brow as he read and how his tongue jutted out to lick his lip as his eyes scanned the words on the page. You pulled your gaze away from him and back to your laptop, deciding to close it and put it away, begrudgingly returning to your textbook. Just one more hour. You had promised yourself 2 hours of studying today minimum, you were halfway there. You could do it.

Not ten minutes later you heard the flipping of paper and glanced over to see he’d just finished the paper he was on, writing the grade on top of the first page. You looked back to your text just as he slid the paper down the table to you. You furrowed your brows as you watched it slide into your book. You saw the “C-” he had given it circled in red ink and immediately recognized the title. Your lips parted and you clicked your tongue as you looked back up to meet his eye.

“Anyone else that would’ve been a D,” he told you, sounding slightly disappointed. “Your work is normally a lot better than what you’ve been turning in lately. That’s why I asked you to come by my office hours.”

“Yeah, I- uh. I don’t know, I’ve just been having a hard time with this section,” you explained. “And I wasn’t ignoring your note, I was planning to see you on Thursday.”

“Well, we’re both here now, right?” he said and you nodded.

“Good a time as any,” you shrugged.

He got up and moved his stuff down the table to take the seat next to you. You closed your textbook and straightened up in your chair. Nerves eating at you as he sat and turned to angle himself towards you.

“My main concern isn’t really about you understanding the materials, all the concepts are there in your work, it's just..lackluster. Sloppily written, a bit jumbled here and there. Nothing like what you had been turning in at the start of the semester,” he said. “Are you sure it’s the section you’re having a hard time with?”

You looked at him for a moment, not really knowing what to say.

“What else would I be having a hard time with?” you questioned quietly.

It was his turn to look at you for a moment as he thought about how to word his response. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it before he finally spoke.

“You’ve seemed more and more distracted during class lately. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he said sincerely, his blue eyes gleaming into yours. He was already close, but you suddenly found yourself mindlessly leaning closer to him. You took a breath as you sat back, licking your lips ever so lightly without realizing as you looked away.

“I’m okay,” you told him. “Sorry I’ve seemed distracted. Well, uhm, been distracted. I don’t know why I’ve been having such a hard time focusing on this,” you lied, “but I appreciate your concern. I’ll work on being more present. And putting more effort into my writing.”

He smiled softly and nodded before he turned back in his seat, returning to his pile of papers.

You bit your lip as you sat there. Of course you knew why you were so distracted, but you couldn’t just tell him it was because of him.

“You know there’s a study group you can sign up for,” he said as he was still looking down, reading the new paper in front of him, red pen in hand.

“Yeah, I know. I just, uh, work better in smaller groups,”

“Alone isn’t exactly a group,” he lightly smirked with a slight tilt of his head.

“I’ve never really had the best focus when it comes to studying, anything. I get off topic and then I get everyone else off topic and then we end up having spent the entire session debating something trivial, like who the best Batman is,” you said.

“Christian Bale,” he responded.

“Obviously,” you agreed with a smile. “But uhm, yeah. Less distractions the better, so I try to avoid big groups. Though I’ll admit, just trying to stay focused on my own is a feat in and of itself,” you laughed lightly.

“Sounds like you just need someone other than yourself to hold you accountable. Have you thought about one on ones? I offer tutoring sessions that no one seems to want to take me up on,” he laughed. “I have three one hour sessions all still open for tonight, actually.. Not that you need tutoring, but you could use the time to work on your assignments without distractions - and I'd be there, of course, if you need any help.”

You told yourself to say no. You really did..

“Well it couldn’t hurt, right?” you breathed, a small smile on your lips. Just then the clock chimed three, drawing both of your attention.

“I have a class in twenty, I have to get going. But I’ll be in my office from five to eight, you can come whenever. Like I said, no one else has signed up, so whenever you can make it. Hopefully the heat should be working by then.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Please, James is more than fine,” he told you. “I’ll see you later.”

When he left, you packed up your things - letting yourself off the hook for your two hour promise. You were gonna be studying later now, anyway so it wasn’t like you just checking out for the day. Your apartment wasn’t too far from campus, so you drove home and decided you’d head back around 6.

You made yourself a late lunch/early dinner and then got your things together for when you’d leave. You figured you had time for a quick nap, so you laid down on the couch with the tv still playing in the background. After about 45 minutes, you woke up feeling more flustered than you had felt all week. You were starting to regret your quick agreement to his one on one offer, but you couldn’t just not show up now. You were getting yourself worked up over nothing, you were sure. Really what could you do that would be so bad? It’s not like you were planning on seducing the man. You’d probably just ask him to review the essay you’d been working on that would be turned in at the next class and ask for clarification on the requirements for the part of your midterm paper you’d been confused about for the past two weeks. You probably wouldn’t even stay the whole hour.

Checking the time, you decided to head back to campus. You’d get to his office a little after 5 and you’d be home by 6:30 at the latest. It’d be fine.

As you walked up to the sturdy oak door that led to his office, two cups of coffee in hand, your nerves started anew. You took a second before you knocked lightly. A few moments later, the door was pulled open as he greeted you, ushering you in.

“I got you a coffee,” you offered with a smile.

“That’s very much needed, thank you,” he smiled back, taking the drink you’d extended to him. “Please, have a seat.”

You took the only chair across from his desk as he sat.

“So, I was wondering if you’d be able to go over my essay for this week. See if it’s missing anything, or if it needs to be rewritten entirely,” you laughed nervously.

“Yeah, of course,”

“Great,” you breathed, “I just emailed you a copy.”

He pulled it open on his screen and you watched for a moment as he began reading before you pulled out your laptop to work more on your midterm. You couldn’t focus though. Not with him right across from you. The little noises he’d make as he read caught your attention repeatedly and when you’d glance up, you’d find yourself admiring the shape of his face, the quirk of his lips, the squinting of his eyes.

“The whole point of this is so that you have no distractions,” he said as he continued reading before turning to look at you. “Something distracting you?” he asked, his eyes finding your own with something akin to a playful glimmer shining in them.

You opened your mouth to speak but you just shook your head instead, taking a steadying breath.

“No,” you answered after a second. He looked at you hard.

“You sure about that?” he asked again.

“No,” you repeated softly.

“Well since you can’t seem to focus on what you’re working on, why don’t you come over here and we’ll go over this together.”

You stared at him, gawking before your body finally moved. You stood up and he did the same, pulling his chair back for you to sit in as you rounded the desk. He pushed you back in and then leaned down behind you so he was at the same height you were, looking at the screen.

You were stiff and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. He was so close. And he smelled so good. And he was so pretty. God, you didn’t know what to do. You really couldn’t focus, even as he read your words aloud and went over a line you’d blubbed.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked, standing to his full height as he spun the chair around, looking down at you. Your eyes immediately landed on his crotch before you quickly looked away, trying to not look so flustered.

“Sorry,” you eked out.

“It’s obvious you have something on your mind. You’re clearly distracted,” he said, finding your eye. “I think you just need to clear your head to find your focus.”

“Right, well, I don’t really know how to do that,” you breathed.

“Why don’t you let me try to help,” he returned softly as he leaned down and grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to meet his as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours.

You were definitely not expecting this to happen, but you weren’t upset in the least. His lips were soft and he tasted like coffee. Your hand found his hair as you pulled him closer to you, the gentle kiss turning into something hungrier the longer it went on. He pulled away suddenly and pulled you out of his chair before taking his seat and pulling you down onto his lap just as quickly, his lips returning to yours the instant he had you on him. Your arm wound itself around his neck as your other cupped his jaw, keeping his face close to you as he held you close to him.

Slowly, his hand traveled under your sweater and along your waist, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. He easily slipped his tongue into your mouth, eliciting a moan from you as he did. You felt his erection growing as you sat on his lap, smiling into the kiss as you teasingly rubbed against him, earning a groan from him in response. He broke away from you for a moment as you both caught your breath, “Tell me if you want to stop,” was all he said before he maneuvered you with ease. He sat you on the edge of his desk while he took your boots off before he pulled your leggings down your thick thighs, his touch sending chills through you as he did.

He made quick work of his trousers, pulling them down before he took himself out of his briefs. He sat back down on his chair as he looked at you with lust filled eyes. “Stand up,” he told you. When you were standing before him, he pulled you close by your wide set hips before his fingers hooked the band of your thong, dragging it down until they were past your thighs and dropped to your ankles. “Step out of them, sweetheart.”

You did as he said before he pulled you closer and got you onto the chair, positioning you so you straddled his lap, barely hovering above his hard cock. You were breathing heavily as your hands grasped his shoulders and his hands held your fleshy hips. He looked up at you like he was waiting for your permission and so you nodded softly down at him. He gripped himself with one hand and moved the tip of his cock along your wet slit, you gasped in unison at the feeling. He took his time and just played with you a bit until you were moaning, whining above him. Your eyes squeezed shut as he circled your clit before he moved to finally align his cock up to your slick entrance. He pushed his tip just inside of you and groaned at the sensation, his hands returning to your hips as he gripped you tightly, holding you there despite you wanting desperately to take more of him.

“James,” you whined. He shook his head.

“Call me Bucky,” he instructed headily.

“Bucky,” you whined further, trying to lower yourself further onto his cock.

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he laughed. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mhm,” you moaned as he took your lips in his again.

“You want more? Want more of my dick inside you?”

“Yes, yes, Bucky, please,” you mewled.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you,” he said, kissing you along your neck, “but then you’re gonna focus on your work, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed without really hearing him. You just needed more, you needed all of him.

He pulled you down further onto his cock torturously slowly as you gasped and mewled until he was seated fully inside of you.

“Fuck,” he grunted, eyes shutting in pleasure at the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him, at the warmth of your cunt around him.

You tried to move, but were stopped again by his hands holding you in place. He tutted as he looked at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart? We just agreed you’re gonna focus on your work now,”

“Huh? Right, right now?” you huffed.

“Right now,” he told you firmly.

You pouted as you leaned against his chest, your face pressing into his neck, even just that movement sparking pleasure through you.

“No pouting,” he laughed against your temple. You turned your face up to him, pout still in place before you leaned up further to kiss him again. Slow and heated, he got lost in your kiss. He almost didn’t stop you when you started rocking your hips against him. Almost.

You whined again as he held you still. His strength was impressive, you had to admit.

“Stop. Moving,” he growled, sending a new wave of arousal through you. “You’re gonna sit right here on my cock while we go over your essay and if you do a good job listening to me and stay focused, I’ll give you what you really want after. Understand?”

“Yes, professor,” you said quietly.

“Good,” he smiled, caressing your cheek as he looked down at you.

It was thirty five minutes of pure torture. He read a loud your entire essay and had you make corrections as he went, the entire time you could feel his thick cock throbbing inside your dripping cunt, just begging for any kind of movement. Near the end of your essay corrections, his hand dropped from your hip until he found your clit, slowly beginning to rub it in tight circles. You mewled pathetically and your walls tightened around his dick still deep inside of you while his lips attacked your neck with gentle kisses and love bites.

“You did so well, sweetheart,” he praised. “You took this from a C to an A with just thirty minutes of actual focus. All you had to do was face your distractions head on, find the right motivation,” he smirked against your skin.

“So we’re done with the editing then, right?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he hummed against you.

“Great,” you breathed as he brought you closer with his every touch.

“Fuck, you’re squezzing me so tight,” he groaned.

“I’m gonna come,” you mewled, breathing heavier still as his left hand tightened on your hip and his fingers worked your bud faster, sending you head first into your orgasm, his name falling off your tongue as you cursed and panted through your high, collapsing onto his chest.

“Oh my god,” he whined with a small gasp, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, can I come inside you?” he asked. You nodded your answer as you were still trying to catch your breath. He grabbed your face and crashed his lips into yours, hot and needy, while you felt him tense suddenly as his cock pulsed inside you and he moaned deeply into your mouth as he let himself go, you could feel the warmth of his release against your walls.

The evidence of your orgasm was all over his lap, coating his dick as he pulled you off of him.

“Holy fuck,” he panted. You didn’t think it was possible, but you felt yourself heat up even more than you already had been. “Hand me a tissue,” he said pointing to the box he had on the corner of his desk.

He cleaned himself up quickly before he pulled his briefs and trousers back up. He had you again on the edge of his desk as he bent down to clean you up, too, admiring the way his cum was leaking out of you before he grabbed your leggings from the floor, handing them to you. He pocketed your thong before he stood back up to his full height, towering over you.

“That was nice,” he laughed softly as he leaned down closer to you, his right hand framing your face, tilting it up to meet his eye, his thumb gently stroking the soft skin of your cheek before he leaned in to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

You smiled in response. “Yeah, it was,” you agreed.

“I hope you don’t find this inappropriate, but I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”

“The feeling is more than mutual,” you assured him. “But uhm. Is this..,” you gestured between the two of you, “allowed?” you questioned as you hopped off his desk to pull your leggings on.

“Well, it’s certainly not encouraged, but there’s nothing in my contract that explicitly prohibits it. I made sure a few months ago,” he said, eyeing you with a shy smile as if he hadn’t just come inside you after making you cockwarm him for nearly 45 minutes. It made you laugh. “I would prefer to keep this between us for as long as we can, though,” he hedged.

“Yeah, I completely agree. Don’t need these kids gossiping about me, too.”

“They do love to talk, don’t they?” he grimaced, causing you to smile at him.

“I’m sure we can keep this under wraps,” you said as you pulled your boots back on. “And I’d like to sign up for next week's one on one sessions, too, if you're available.”

“I’ll be sure to block it out for you,” he grinned.

“Might as well make it a standing weekly appointment,” you suggested as you walked back over to him from where he was perched on his desk.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he responded as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer while you stared up at him, your arms wrapping around him in return. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Dinner?” you questioned, pulling back slightly. “That doesn’t sound very underwraps,” you teased.

“A private dinner. At a private residence. My residence,” he clarified with a smirk.

“I’m free,” you nodded as you backed away and went to the other side of the desk as he turned around to watch you.

“Great, I’ll message you the address.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” you said as you grabbed your bag and slipped your laptop back inside of it. “I should get going, but, thank you. For everything,” you simpered. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. My door’s always open. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow it is,” you nodded in agreement as you walked to the door. But before you could open it, Bucky was behind you, turning you around to face him. His lips met yours in a soft, unrushed kiss before he pulled away slowly, opening the door for you.

“Have a good night,” you breathed.

“You, too,” he smiled.

Three weeks later you had a routine set in place. Nothing changed much in class, except you found yourself paying more close attention to the material now that you weren’t so hopelessly longing for your professor. Wednesday’s were your one on one sessions in Bucky’s office and Friday nights had been spent at his place. This last week, you’d even stayed the three day weekend with him. You knew you weren’t crazy when you had thought there was something real between the two of you when you had first met, but you didn’t expect to have clicked so well the way you had. Your chemistry was unbelievable and you got on so well together. Plus the sex was incredible.

Fucking in his office was so cliche, but that didn’t make it any less hot. In fact, it was really the only place you called him “Professor” these days. The title just made things that much sexier. It was Wednesday afternoon and you’d just gotten out of your last class for the day. You were going to head to Bucky’s office in a few hours, planning to go to your apartment to freshen up before picking up some food for you both on your way back.

You’d just finished changing into more…accessible clothes when your phone rang. It was a text from Bucky letting you know that the heat in his office wasn’t working again, so you’d have to meet in the library instead as they’d be working on the unit in his room. You frowned slightly, accepting that you’d changed for nothing, but at least the skirt was still comfortable. You texted back asking if you should still bring food and he promised he’d take you somewhere after instead. Apparently only two of his students in his 3:20 class showed up, so he dismissed them for the day. He was already on his way to the library, so you grabbed your things and headed back to campus.

You walked around the library looking for him with no luck before you decided to walk up to the second level, which was technically closed off for some construction work, in order to get a better view. You spotted him easily in the far back section of the lower level as you stood at the railing of the second floor. He was sipping on a cup of coffee and you smiled as you spied a cup of tea waiting for you next to his satchel on the table while he read over some work.

You walked back down to the first floor and made your way to him.

“Professor,” you greeted as you knocked on the bookcase blocking the table he was at from an easy view. He greeted you in return as he looked up from his work, a smile on his face. His eyes caught on the low v-neck of the top you were wearing, your cleavage on perfect display. His tongue jutted out along his lower lip as he admired the view. You cleared your throat as you looked at him with a raised brow.

He looked back up to your eyes, smiling charmingly as if he hadn’t just been caught leering at you so openly.

“I’m here to study, not be perved on,” you accused.

“You know you need to clear your mind to get your focus, first. And you know what helps clear your mind best,” he alluded.

“You know we’re in public, right?” you asked, voice hushed as you walked closer to the table.

“It’s a Wednesday, no one’s gonna come back here,” he said smoothly. “We’re hidden from sight.”

“Not true,” you denied. “I saw you from the second level,” you informed him.

“Was anyone up there?” he asked.

“No..”

“Didn’t think so,” he said smugly.

“There’s not right now. Anyone could come in at any time. It’s the middle of the day.”

“You’re right,” he aquesqued, hands up. “All work, no play today. I got you a tea,” he offered.

“Thank you,” you smiled as you took the seat across from him.

“Wow, why are you sitting so far?”

“Where do you want me to sit?” you laughed.

“Preferably, my lap,” he started, earning a humored scoff from you. “But right here would be good, too,” he said, gesturing to the seat next to him.

You got up and moved spots, getting comfortable before you pulled up your essay on your laptop.

“Still going through midterms?” you asked as you looked over to him making marks on the paper he was reading.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Have you gotten to mine yet?”

“Not yet,” he said absently.

You nodded as you took a sip of your tea. You looked back to your essay and found yourself trailing off. It was pretty much finished, just needed to be read through again for any edits you needed to make. It wasn’t enough to keep your attention. Too easy. You could do it later no problem.

Instead you took out your text for Andy’s class and started reading next week’s assignment. You didn’t have much else to do. Funnily enough, you’d been getting most of your work done earlier than normal so you’d have less to actually do on Wednesdays, instead spending your “study” time focusing on other things…

You weren’t paying attention to anything, lost in perverted thoughts of last week when Bucky had fucked you agaisnt the wall in his office, while twirling your pen as you stared down blankly at the words on the page, not reading them at all. Pulling you from your perversions, suddenly you felt Bucky’s hand smooth its way under your skirt and up your thigh. His hand was so warm and strong as he touched you, sending chills through you as he scooted his chair closer to yours. You didn’t stop him and absentmindedly spread your thighs for him as he inched his way closer and closer to your inner thighs before his fingers made their way between them, gently rubbing at your warm, barely clothed pussy.

You came back to earth as you remembered where you were and reached your hand under the table to hold his, stopping his movements.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, professor?” you breathed.

“Helping,” he responded. “What did I say about distractions, sweetheart?”

“Who says I’m distracted,” you whispered as you heard chatter coming from the other side of the bookcase before it passed as some students made their way to the front desk from the back office you weren’t too far off from.

“You have that far off look in your eyes,” he spoke quietly, “and I saw you squeezing your thighs together not ten seconds ago.” You exhaled a breath so softly you barely even heard yourself.

“Maybe we can end this session early and call it a day?” you asked, wanting to get out of the library and meet him back at your place, or hell, meet him at his car and let him take you apart in the faculty parking lot.

“No, I don’t think so. We both have some work left to do.”

“Bucky,” you whispered.

“No calling me Bucky outside my office while we’re on campus,” he reminded you. “You know better.”

You bit your lip before whispering sorry.

“You just need to face your distractions so you can get past them,” he said. “Let me help.”

You let go of his hand beneath the table and spread your thighs a little wider.

You almost stopped breathing completely when he slipped his fingers past your panties and gently pushed inside of you as one of the librarians passed by the aisle over. She peered behind the bookcase that was shielding you from the side to see who was at the tables and greeted both of you quietly before she returned to the aisle and reshelved some books. Bucky’s fingers didn’t stop for even a second as he returned her greeting and went back to grading.

The second you knew she was gone you panted a breath. “James,” you chastised as you sat in your seat still, making no attempt to actually stop him.

“More?” he questioned without looking up from his work, only speeding up his fingering, curling them inside of you. You bit down harshly on your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud, your thighs tensing with the impending wave of pleasure you were teetering on before he slipped his fingers out of you, a school boy smirk playing on his lips.

You exhlaed heavily and shakily before looking over to him, shocked. He finally looked back at you, still smirking.

“I wanna try something. If you want me to stop, tell me,” he said as he removed his hand from your thigh and stood up abruptly. You could see the outline of his erection through his trousers and found yourself getting more aroused. You didn’t know what he wanted to do, but assumed it'd be something at least a little discret. Along the lines of putting you in his lap again, or even just having you get him off. So when he pulled you up and spun you around, pushing you down against the table, you were surprised to say the least. You heard him unzip his pants as he pulled himself free and then pulled your panties down your thighs. You couldn’t even think as he prodded you with his cock, and gasped loudly when he finally pushed into you. His hand was on your mouth in an instant as he leaned over your back, his mouth next to your ear as he spoke. “Gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he panted. “You don’t want anyone to see us back here, do you?”

Your gurgled moan was his response as he began fucking into you, keeping your chest firmly againt the sturdy table, one hand on your mouth and one holding your wrists behind your back. You were panting as quietly as you could as he slid in and out of you, getting deeper with each thrust. He took his hand away from your mouth after a moment and gripped your hip to keep you a little more steady, trying to keep your hips from slamming so hard into the wood. The salacious sounds of his pelvis slapping against your ass with his thrusts were only making you more slick as he moved his hand from your wrists to keep your skirt pushed up as he fucked you from behind.

It was taking all of your willpower to keep quiet, your mouth open in silent moans as you tried to keep yourself breathing. His thrusts were getting more powerful the longer he went. Each time you heard people passing by, your cunt gripped his cock even tighter at the thrill of the proximity, and Bucky didn’t miss it.

“Who knew you were so fucking kinky,” he panted into your ear. “You like getting fucked in public, huh? Like the idea of anyone walking by and seeing you get fucked out of your mind? Seeing you getting claimed by me,” he husked.

You mewled as quietly as you could and nodded your head in affirmation. “I like it,” you whispered pathetically.

“I know you do,” he laughed before fucking into you deeper, making sure you felt every inch of his thick cock gliding against your velvety walls, squeezing him tightly.

“Professor, please,” you pleaded quietly.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunted as he gripped your hip harder still, pulling your ass flush against him before he began rutting into you desperately. He leaned his weight onto you as he kept you pushed down, flush against the table. His hand left your skirt and found your clit, adding to the growing pressure building in your abdomen as he rubbed you, fucking you and stimulating all the most sensitive spots along your walls. Before you knew you were, you came completely undone, the familiar white hot pleasure induced euphoria spreading through you as you came around him, squeezing him like you never wanted him to leave you empty again. And truth be told, you didn’t. You’d never felt so fulfilled or satisfied in your life.

He could barely move as you came around him, but after a few more thrusts, he shot his load inside of you, cursing under his breath as he came, panting. After a moment, he pulled out gently and slid your panties back up for you, pushing your skirt down before he fixed himself. You were still reeling from the intensity of it all when you stood, a little wobbly, from the table.

Cute planned ending:

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you breathed, turning around to face Bucky. “We really just did that,” you said, still in shock at yourself while Bucky grinned proudly before looking around a bit, just making sure you were still alone. He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you close, leaning down to kiss you deeply, letting you go for a second before kissing you harder again.

“We did. And now,” he said, ushering you back to your seat, urging you to sit down, “you're gonna finish editing your paper while I grade a few more of these midterms, no distractions.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered as you looked up at him still standing while you were seated once again. “I’m the one sitting here with come leaking out of me,” you complained.

“Is it that distracting for you, sweetheart?” he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Yes,” you responded.

“No problem. I can help with that, too,” he smirked as he got down on his knees, crawling under the table to kneel at your feet as your eyes went wide while you watched him. He pulled you to the edge of the chair before he slipped your panties off completely. “That essay better be ready to turn in by the time I get back up, do you understand?” he warned. You could feel his breath against your folds as he got closer.

“Yes, professor,” you mewled pathetically as you spread your thighs even wider for him.

Alternative kind of darkish ending:

You felt eyes on you as you turned around, but it wasn’t Bucky. You looked up to the second floor and could have sworn you saw Andy passing by, worry flooding through you instantly. You weren’t sure, though. Maybe he was really just walking by and hadn’t seen anything. Maybe it was no one at all and you were just imagining things. You almost didn’t even want to say anything about it, just act like you hadn’t seen, or thought you saw, anyone at all.

Until Andy came knocking on the bookcase, from the opposite direction, startling you as you gasped and spun around, hands flying to make sure your skirt was smoothed down completely, unconscious backing toward where Bucky was. Andy looked between you both for a second before he spoke, a knowing, devilish smirk growing on his face as he looked at you in a way you’d never seen him look at anyone before. Lewdly, leering, lustful, even.

“What’s goin’ on down here?”

You looked back at Bucky, hoping to find some kind of reassurance or protection, but he was completely unphased at the presence of his friend.

“You enjoy the show?” he asked, unamused.

“I think I could put on better,” he shrugged, eyes still locked on you, even as Bucky pulled you into his side.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Wanna let him try?”

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) – part 5

Note: This one kinda follows a canon episode, but I can’t remember how everything plays out so my bad if there are continuity errors LMAO.

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Warnings/Tags: they are fucking idiots! Drinking, intoxication, more feelings denial, some Carmy POV, coping with grief but like badly.

Synopsis: You have brunch with your mom and decide to pull some strings to help out Carmy’s business in a completely platonic and normal way.

Gangsters shoot out the front window of The Beef, your best friend pays you a visit, and you and Carmy reflect on what happened last night.

(Read on Ao3)

< Part Four > 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You met your mother for brunch at a spot near West Chicago Ave. It was further away from your bakery than you usually went for breakfast, but your mom liked their protein bowls. And besides, it wasn’t like you could do anything at the bakery right now. You were expecting a delivery of furniture this afternoon, and they’d need your signature, but that was it. If you went to work now, you’d wind up in your office, and you knew how you’d feel if you did that.

“How do you feel about the competition in the area? I saw they’re opening a Chinese restaurant on the corner.”

You shrugged, “I’m not too worried. Different cuisines and all that.”

“Well, good! You have no reason to worry, actually. I was talking to my friend Kristopher; you know Kristopher yes?” She asked, pushing blueberries around in her oatmeal, and waited for you to nod before continuing. “Kristopher was saying that the Beef is in a spot of trouble with back-taxes. I’d be surprised if they make it through the year.”

You choked on a piece of tomato. Jesus, what sort of mess was Carmy in? You coughed and drank a sip of ice water to clear your lungs.

“What do you mean? Why did Kristopher tell you that?”

“We were just talking.” Your mom avoided eye contact.

“Mom.”

“You came up in conversation!” She said quickly, “I mentioned your bakery and where it was located, and Kristopher’s local. He knows this area and he knows the person handling their case. That’s all. They sit next to one another. It was pure coincidence.”

“I don’t believe that.” You said with a hardened stare. The likelihood of Kristopher causally dropping that information during a benign social call was about as likely as pigs evolving wings in the next twenty-four hours. You knew your mom was coming from a ‘good’ place. She wanted to help you. It’s why she called in a favor from her friend in New York and brought that chef in, it’s why she called Kristopher and got legally ambiguous information from him. Her heart was in the right place. Her morals? Hard to say. You knew your mom to be cutthroat and ambitious. It’s what got her through law school, despite being a single mother in the midst of a divorce. She even had the courage to start again in Chicago while you were away at school. You came to visit for holiday break and discovered your mom packed up her life, left Cincinnati, and started her own law firm.

“Believe or don’t believe whatever you want, sweetie.” She smiled. “I just figured I’d mention it.”

“Can I have Kristopher’s number?”

Her eyebrows raised, “Really?”

“I haven’t talked to him since New Year’s. I’d like to say hi.”

Your mom believed you about as much as you believed her. She smirked and pulled her phone from her expensive, large purse. Your phone buzzed on the table as she sent the contact over to you. You appreciated that she didn’t ask why or press you for details. In truth, you weren’t sure you could explain it if you tried. You were in a rare position of power. It wasn’t like you to call favors and pull strings (your grandfather and mom excelled in those areas). But you’d make an exception…just this once.

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

Carmy couldn’t stop making stupid, little mistakes. It started with nicking the side of his finger while chopping onions. It wasn’t a big deal. He washed his hands, put on a band-aid, and slipped on two pairs of gloves. He waited for his body and mind to click into autopilot. It was like second nature to him, following into the rhythm and flow of the kitchen, and his hands would move faster than his brain, predicting movements, and reacting to things before they happened. Yet today something was off. The autopilot never kicked in. He crashed into Manny – all because he forgot to say “Corner”—and that mistake sent a tub of soapy water onto the floor in a flood of bubbles and citrus scent.

“Fuck.” Carmy scratched his forehead with the back of his knuckles. Marcus generously stepped away from his station with white, starched towels to help clean up.

He wasn’t on his game today. Syd was the first to notice and actually say something.

She asked. “Yo, Chef? You good?”

“What?” Carmy nodded, “yeah, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Alright…” Her tone remained dubious.

“One hour till open, Chefs!” He shouted to a chorus of a replied ‘Yes, Chef’. Someone knocked loudly on the back door near the dishwashing station. Carmy checked the time. He wasn’t expecting a delivery and typically the meat guy delivered at the front door.

Sugar glared at him when the door swung open. “I’ve been calling you! You need to answer my calls.”

“Sorry,” He blinked, “what’s going on?”

“Mikey didn’t pay taxes for five years is what.” Sugar sighed heavily.

Carmy tore his fingers through his hair and his stomach plummeted. “Shit…”

“Yeah, shit. We’re lucky that you’re such good friends with—” She said your name and Carmy’s world went sideways. His stomach twisted for an entirely new reason. How did Sugar know you? How were you connected to this fucking IRS mess? He briefly shut his eyes and all he could see was your body, dewy with sweat, pinned beneath his. You were just friends now. He couldn’t think about that. He needed to focus, he needed to stay on task, because Natalie needed him. He shook off the memory and led his sister into Mikey—His—office. Sugar started pulling out boxes and files from the filing cabinets while Carmy sorted through the mail on his desk. His heart flipped at each ‘OVERDUE’ stamped red invoice. Even in his urgency, he couldn’t shake the desire to know more and to have his questions answered.

“Start over. Who did you talk to?”

“I was working with this woman named Ezra, but then a man named Kristopher called me from the IRS.” She explained with her hair falling in front of her face, “he mentioned—” again your name on Natalie’s tongue, “and said that she was a friend of yours. Kristopher said he was taking over for Ezra and approved on an extension. I think it was something relating to bereavement?”

“What the fuck is this?” She flicked through a folder and then tossed it onto a pile.

“An extension for what?” Carmy pressed. His heart thundered inside his ears. You called in some kind of favor for them? Why? He pressed his teeth into his lower lip. Every time he felt like he had you figured out, you pulled the rug out from under him. You were a spitfire, honest nearly to a fault, and quick to deflect with proud shoulders carrying the weight of the world. Yet at the same time, you were empathetic, diligent, sweet, and funny. Often, he found himself thinking about something you said in passing and his lips would quirk upward.

“For the paperwork. I’m supposed to get it to them today, by 3pm, but Kristopher said we have until 11pm.” Sugar said with another heavy, burdened sigh. “How did Mikey organize any of this?”

“I don’t think he did.” Carmy shook his head.

“Good thing we have that extension then…” Sugar flattened her mouth into a hard line, “I can handle this if you need to get back out on the line.”

“No, no, we should be…we should be alright. I’ll keep helping.” They fell into silence with the occasional exclamation of hope, before reading the file and realizing it wasn’t what they needed.

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

“I’ve told you like twenty times, you can’t be here, my guy.” You said to the cluster of men who congregated outside your bakery.  You suspected, based on their slicked back hair and gold chains and heavy-handed expensive cologne that they were part of a family gang.

“But Richie won’t let us hang out in front of the Beef anymore and they’re doing construction down the street!” Crooked John complained.

“I am also doing construction.” You pointed out before accepting a clipboard from the furniture delivery service. At last, everything arrived and in mostly one piece. A few of the tables would need setting up, their legs screwed in and such, but the delivery service would handle that.

“Listen, John. Can I call you John?”

“I prefer Crooked John. It’s less confusing that way.”

“Fine.” You ran one hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face, “Crooked John. I understand the predicament you’re in, but the sidewalk is pretty stacked on this side, and it becomes a liability issue for me if ya’ll hang out here.”

“You want us to go back across the street?” Mr. Carl asked, “cause they’re just gonna send us back this way.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out your wallet. “How much for you to stay off my side?” You didn’t have time to be handling this. You needed to catch the L and get an Uber to your mom’s office. You were conducting interviews there while your working crew finished moving furniture and installing the security system.

“Hundred.” Crooked John said.

“Fifty,” said Mr. Carl.

“Hundred-fifty.”

Mr. Carl opened his mouth to raise the bid. You lifted your hand and signaled them to stop. You pulled cash from your wallet, counting it with efficiency, and holding the smooth, crisp bills to Crooked John and Mr. Carl respectively. They shared a surprised, impressed glance.

“Here’s two hundred. Keep it for yourself, split it with your buddies, I don’t care. Just get off my street.”

“Yes, Ma��m.” Mr. Carl nodded enthusiastically, “me and my boys will stay clear.”

Crooked John smiled. “You got it, doll.”

You ignored the weird misogyny. “This is a one-time thing and next time, I won’t be so nice.”

Crooked John and his friends finally left your sidewalk and allowed for the free-flowing movement of your contracted employees. You checked your watch. “Fuck.”

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

Gunfire hit the front of the Beef and Carmy’s instincts jolted into fight-or-flight.

He rushed out of his to the front of the store, “We good? Everyone good?” 

They were lucky, he figured, that the bullet didn’t shatter the entire window. He couldn’t imagine the cost that would have. He glanced across the street, but it was impossible to see if any other stores were affected. Your bakery was blocked by a moving truck, and he hoped that meant you weren’t hit too. Friends could care about that sort of shit, right? His chest tightened. Not for the first time since meeting you, he wished he had your phone number. A quick text would confirm you were alright.

And what if she isn’t? Carmy’s mouth went cottony and dry. A rapid, overwhelming sense of helplessness flooded his system, and he pressed his hands against his face. He felt Sugar’s gaze burning into the side of his head. He sighed and bounced a pen on his fingertips. He tried vainly to push you from his mind. It was like pushing a handful of sand against the wind. He slid to the floor, files around him, and glanced over at Sugar.

He finally asked, “Did you, um, did you talk to her?”

It took her a minute to reply. She shook her head. “No, why?” She looked away from the chaotic files and met his eyes. Sugar’s brow furrowed and he knew he revealed something.

“You’re being weird about this, Carmy. What’s going on?”

He answered swiftly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?” She pressed.

Carmy licked his lips. “I mean…it’s nothing, now. It was…it was…almost something – you know – for a little while.”

Sugar watched him with sympathy shining in her blue eyes. He found himself giving Sugar the bare bones of your connection. He told her how you bought the property across the street, and how your relationship was contentious at first, but now had smoothed into something softer and kinder like the erosion and transformation of sea glass. He skipped the detail of how you slept together. That experience had forever altered his view on relationships and sex, but that was a secret he’d take to the grave.

“I don’t see the issue.” She said, “It sounds like you’re friends and that’s a good thing, Carmy.” Her voice carried a note of pride. “You should have connections outside of this blackhole.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Carmy nodded. “I know that.”

Her eyes softened. She could read between the lines when he was being shitty and vague, and he knew she wouldn’t let him get away with it. He could secretly admit that it felt nice to talk about it. It felt nice to talk about you. The only people within the Beef who fairly knew you were either Marcus or Richie and he couldn’t imagine talking to either of them.  

Sugar asked, “What happened?”

“It’s just that…I sort of…I brought up the idea of us being more than friends. Because I – uh - I couldn’t get her out of my head, you know? But! It was nice sometimes because…because for a minute I wasn’t thinking about the fucking invoices or the deliveries from the butcher shop or Mikey’s shitty bookkeeping…” Carmy rubbed his jaw and stared at the wall.

“I’d have a smoke and I’d be selfish for thirty seconds and think about her. And…” He massaged his fingers, knuckles cracking faintly beneath his grip. “I felt like I could breathe for - for just – for just a second.”

“And I know she’s right. I’m not - we’re not - it wouldn’t be good for us to be together.” He admitted with a pained expression. There was the salt in the wound; the righteous, truthful salt. You both had more than enough bullshit to deal with. He was inexperienced, as a restaurant owner, and as someone’s boyfriend. He didn’t know the first thing about it. Hell, he’d crack like an egg under the pressure. You deserved better than someone like him. You deserved something without a metric ton of fucking emotional baggage and two whole notches on his belt (including you). And you were grieving. Although you hadn’t talked about it, he imagined you must’ve been close to your grandfather to bring so much heart into your bakery.

He really, really fucking hoped your bakery didn’t get hit by the gunfire.

“So, that’s what happened. I’ve got bigger issues to deal with but I’m fucking sulking over a girl.” He rubbed his hand over his face, “It’s shit.”

After finally saying everything aloud, his day and mistakes clicked into perspective. No wonder he was off his game. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and your conversation last night. He should’ve gotten your phone number before he left. He should’ve asked you to pick up coffee with him on the way to work. Anything, really, that might warrant the chance to know you better.

Now, he worried you would start putting distance between yourself and him. The idea of never speaking to you again, or never seeing you glare daggers at Richie, made his skin prickle with goosebumps.

“No, no! Carmy, it’s not.” She reached out and placed a hand on his knee. “We can’t control matters of the heart.”

“Yeah, no shit. You’re with Pete.” He grinned behind his palm.

She rolled her eyes. “Do you want some advice or not?”

Sugar was the only one among them to have a normal, functioning relationship even if it was with Pete. Granted, he had no fucking clue if Mikey had girlfriends, (or boyfriends for that matter) and his parents’ marriage wasn’t a good example. She must be doing something right if she was happy with Pete.

Carmy nodded.

“Take care of yourself. That’s the priority.” She said severely, then her tone softened as she continued, “ And once things are calmer around here…check-in with how you feel and see what happens. Maybe you’ll both be in a healthier space to explore something.”

“Yeah, yeah maybe.” He placed his hand over hers and squeezed, “Thanks, Sugar.”

She smiled. “What sort of big sister would I be if I didn’t give my baby brother relationship advice?”

Someone shouted from front of house. “Oh shit! Damn!” The attitude of the strangers’ voice was alarming enough to pull Carmy out of his office. A flash of red lights fractured and flickered beneath the hanging, blue plastic tarp. He touched Richie’s shoulder at the sight of their customers hovering near the busted window and trying to peer across the road. Anxiety tightened like a knot made of fishing wire inside his gut.

“Shit. What’s going on? Cops?”

“No, dude, it’s an ambulance.” Said Richie, “Do you think someone got fucking shot!?”

Carmy fingers twitched. “No way.” The words sounded flat and false to his own ears. There was a chance someone had been shot. A gun had been fired. It was only logical to assume someone could be injured. Why else would an ambulance be called? And what if it was you? Carmy pressed his fist against his chest where his heart pounded painfully inside his chest. What if it was? Again, the sense of powerlessness claimed him. If anything happened to you, he’d be the last to know. He’d probably read about on Twitter or something three days later.

Marcus said your name and it cut through the white noise in Carmy’s mind. He forcefully tuned himself back into the conversation happening around him.

Richie asked, “What? You gonna go over there?”

“What?” Marcus snorted. “No. I have her number.”

“Ooh!” teased Richie while humping the air, “Marcus making moves.”

Carmy hit Richie’s shoulder, “Shut up.” Richie should consider himself lucky that they didn’t have HR at the Beef otherwise he’d be written up every hour. “Don’t’ do that shit while we have customers, cousin. Come on!”

“Don’t be such a big baby!”

“For the record, she called me when I interviewed with her.” Marcus cut in while texting on his phone, “That’s why I have her number.” He grinned, proud and soft. “And she texted me to tell me my cake was fire.”

It wasn’t jealousy that writhed in his stomach. He had no reason to be jealous. But it was a little fucked up that Marcus had your number, and he didn’t right? Were you close friends with Marcus? Did you know him better than he implied? He squeezed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and forced himself to be present.

“We don’t need to focus on this right now—” Carmy said, “Marcus, back to your station. Richie? The customers?”

Richie scowled. “What? I’m not gonna tell them to stop gawking.”

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

Dani, a fifty-year old Hispanic pastry chef who lived her whole life in Chicago, sat across from you on your mom’s charcoal couch. Your first interview had been a little awkward, but there was something about Dani’s earnest and spirited nature that inspired you to give her a callback. This interview was significantly more productive and personable.

“And I made this carrot cake for my niece’s birthday.” She said, showing you a picture from her phone, and the cake was in the shape of a rabbit’s head. It was cute and you told her so. Dani’s coffee brown eyes warmed with the compliment. Your phone buzzed, open faced on the coffee table, alerting you of a text from Marcus.

You made a mental note to reply after the interview.

“Listen, Dani, I’d like to hire you.” You pressed your lips together. “I think it’s important that you know where I’m coming from. I’ve never owned a bakery. I’ve got experience in business management, and finance, and I could optimize a fiscal calendar with my eyes closed.”

You leaned forward, twisting your fingers together, “But I want to make more than just my grandad proud with this property. I want it to be something that I’m proud of too.”

“A noble and courageous goal.” Dani smiled.

Heat burned the tips of your ears, “I guess so.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out the hiring paperwork you managed to type up last night (at home, because God help you—you couldn’t get anything done in your office). You passed it to her with a brief quirk of a smile. The paperwork was your standard contract, wages, benefits, and so on.

“It’s only bulky because it’s written in Spanish and English. I remember you mentioned that Spanish was your first language.” Dani nodded, thumbing through the pages, and you continued, “Look this over and give me a call when you’re ready.”

She said, “Thank you.” A pleasant farewell, a handshake, and you were finally left alone. You kicked off your shoes and tucked your legs underneath yourself, picking up your phone. You tapped open your messaging app to finally read Marcus’ text.

His text read: ‘You good? Someone shot our window.’

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard to reply. You assumed everyone was fine, though your chest constricted with a minor worry that Richie could’ve gotten himself shot in the ass. Eh, Marcus would’ve said something if that happened. Your phone buzzed with another text and the banner dropped from the top of your screen to reveal your best friend’s name.

‘Surprise, bitch.’ She wrote. ‘Guess who is in Chicago?’

You immediately swiped over to your thread of conversation with her.

‘Dinner at Patty’s? 7?’ You texted her back with a momentary glance at the clock. You had two more interviews to finish before your day ended. You could finish up here, head home to shower and change, and meet Taylor there.

Her reply was almost immediate. ‘It’s like we share the same mind. Meet you there!! Wear something hot, cause I wanna go out afterward. The Neon Lounge just opened last week.’

You snickered and excitement colored the rest of your day in vibrant, orange hues that bubbled like champagne.

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

You didn’t make any true friends until college and Taylor was the first, and most loyal of them all. She was tall, dark-haired, with wide green eyes perpetually smudged by mascara. It was the type of friendship where you could go days without speaking, or months without seeing each other, and pick up right where you left off. The conversation flowed like a river downstream.

“You seeing anyone?” She asked.

“I am – I mean – I was fucking this guy for a little bit.” You said. It would be disingenuous to avoid mentioning Carmy. Sure, you were only friends, but Taylor knew every cobwebbed secret and unpolished truth of your life. Besides, you wanted to talk about it. If anyone could help you make sense of your tangled thoughts and feelings about the Beef’s owner—it was Taylor.

Taylor grinned and her nose ring gleamed in the restaurants’ moody lighting. “Details.”

“Well, I sort of hated him at first, for stupid reasons and then we hooked up in his car.”

“Love that.”

You found yourself bearing your heart between the appetizer dish and the main course. You told her everything. The incredible sex, the panic attack, the apologies, the complicated and primal emotional attraction that went beyond sex.

“I actually want to like hang out with him.” You admitted with a groan, “Can you believe it?”

“Yeah.” Taylor laughed. “I fucking can. I knew this would happen. I knew you’d eventually meet someone who made you crazy.”

You scoffed. “Shut up!”

“So, what’s the deal? You going on a date or what?”

“No, no. I – I ended it.”

“What? Seriously? Babes. C’mon.”

“Taylor, I can’t have a boyfriend right now.”

“Who says he has to be your boyfriend?!” Said Taylor, almost offended on your behalf. “You’ve done casual before.”

“I can’t do casual either! He’s got enough shit on his plate – I mentioned the dead brother, yeah? And I’ve got the bakery and grandad and a thousand other things.” You took a sip of chilled white wine. “It’s better like this.”

She pouted. “Bullshit. Do you want to know what I think?”

“You’re gonna tell me anyway, so go ahead.” You made a flippant gesture with your hand.

“Damn right.” She looked smug. “I think you feel a real connection with this guy and you’re running scared like you always do. Because that’s easier than being honest and opening yourself up to get hurt like how your mom did.”

Your jaw dropped and you sputtered a nervous laugh. “Wow! Not pulling any punches and bringing up the family issues, huh?”

“Just calling it like I see it.” She said, looking away while sipping her wine, though you caught her grin at the rim of the glass. You shook your head. Taylor might hold some truth to her words, but you weren’t going to change your mind about Carmy. It was better if you were just friends. Adding a relationship, even a causal one, would throw off the delicate chemistry of your lives and daily routine. It had nothing to do with the way your heart increased pace whenever you saw him.

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

He and Sugar eventually found the paperwork they needed in a blue file named ‘Shit’. It was a small miracle. He also didn’t fuck up too much throughout the rest of the day besides a small burn at the inner flesh of his wrist. Now that the lunch and dinner rush were over and the kitchen clean, Carmy fiddled with a spoon in his hands and let it hit the tips of his fingers, and his mind took ten-steps ahead and worried about you. Again. On his smoke break after dinner, he wandered to the front of the Beef, hoping for a chance to see you. However, the lights in your bakery were off and all the workers were gone for the day. If you had been there—he didn’t know (and not knowing was the worst part).

“Hey, Marcus?” Marcus turned away from his donut project at the sound of Carmy’s voice. “You, uh, you figure out the ambulance across the street?”

Marcus frowned. “Nah. She didn’t hit me back.”

“Huh.” Carmy pressed his tongue into the back of his teeth. “Okay.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” Carmy sniffed and nodded and broke away from the conversation before he was tempted to ask Marcus to text you again.

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

The Neon Lounge had two levels. The first floor contained the bar, the bathrooms, and the main stage for live music with dancing space. The upper floor had a few tables and balcony space to watch the shows from a higher perspective. The music thumped through the dark, black-lit illuminated space.  

The black lights flashed, turning white shirts stark and blue-tinged, and making the neon body paint stand out in streaks and swirls of green, pink, blue, yellow, and orange. You and Taylor painted each inch of exposed skin (because you were both a little drunk and it was fun). Taylor highlighted her verdant eyes with dots of neon green on her cheekbones. You painted swirling designs of neon pink on your arms with a smiled memory of Delilah.

You danced with the thumping bass reverberating through your bones. The crowd surged around you, jumping to the beat, and you threw your head back in a grin. You needed this, you realized. You needed to break the monotony and leave your stresses and heartache at the door. A muscular, shirtless guy with neon blue streaks across his chest gave you A Look. Taylor noticed it. You noticed it. She waggled her eyebrows at you as the mystery guy made his way through the dancing crowd to reach you.

His placed a tentative, seeking hand on your waist and you drew him in. This was how you forgot about Carmy. The best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. You linked your arms around his bulky shoulders and pressed your mouth to his. Taylor whooped.

“Get it, bitch!” She screamed above the noise of music.

You ignored the twisting guilty revulsion in your stomach. Carmy probably kissed other girls all the time. You weren’t exclusive. You never were and you never would be. You pressed yourself closer to the stranger, hoping to forget, and letting the music wash over you in powerful, swelling waves. He responded enthusiastically, cupping your ass, and delving his tongue between your lips. His aftershave was sharp and clean, and you desperately tried to not recoil from it. It was nothing like Carmy’s smoke-tinged, woodsy, and grease-tinged sweat. Stop thinking about him! You chastised yourself with a hard mental slap.

The stranger’s mouth dropped to your throat, and you tilted your head back to stare up at the lights. Their bright flash burned into your retinas and left after-images of ghostly blue and deep scarlet along the edges of your vision. Carmy’s face floated to the surface of your mind and his little boyish smirk before he left you a hickey on your breast. You swallowed harshly.

“I need a smoke.” You shouted into the strangers’ ear before pulling away. You hand-signaled to Taylor with two main fingers tapping your mouth. You also needed a drink. A strong one, preferably. You grabbed a shot from one of the shot girls carrying a tray around the outskirts of the dance floor. It incinerated the taste of the stranger’s tongue out of your mouth and burned beautifully down your throat.

You joined the rest of the smokers, huddled outside the building, in the cool night air. You borrowed a lighter (Taylor stole yours earlier in the evening) and plucked your phone out of your pocket. It was nearly 1 AM and you had two missed calls from an unknown number. No voicemails. It was likely a spam call trying to steal your social security number or convince you to buy erectile dysfunction medication. You inhaled a lungful of smoke and tapped the screen to call them back. The most recent call showed it arrived an hour ago.

It rang several times before connecting with a generic, robotic voicemail. The alcohol sloshed inside your skull and made you feel daring and reckless. Realistically, there was a small chance the unknown number was important. Given the hour and lack of voicemail, however, you doubted its legitimacy and used this opportunity to fuck around.

“Hey, uh. I don’t know who this is, but whatever you’re selling, you know, whether its Tupperware or holistic meds to make my tits bigger – I’m not interested. Alright?” You smiled into the receiver. “Alright. Cool.”

You finished smoking your cigarette with a gay couple making out next to you against the side of the building. With a strange clarity of thought, you realized you were glad you didn’t have Carmy’s number, because otherwise you would’ve texted him and showed up, sloshed and desperate, at his front door. You snapped a quick, cute selfie with the neon lights behind you before putting your phone away and returning to the pumping music and hot, unattached strangers.

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

Carmy woke with a startled jump. He pressed his hands to face, shuddering, as the nightmares left him in waves as slow as molasse. His clock beside his bed informed him that he was awake twenty minutes before his alarm. He fumbled for his phone and the words ‘NEW VOICEMAIL’ across the home screen made his heart leap.

He rapidly pressed the 1 on the lock screen until his phone opened. He brought the phone to his hear with shallow, nervous breaths. The first noise he heard was muffled, rumbling music. Then – your voice. Carmy released a heavy, relieved sigh that drew his shoulders into his chest. She’s okay. She’s fine.

He spent the day on a thin, razor wire, waiting for the inevitable fall and bisection of his composure. He tugged his fingers through his curled, sleep-mussed hair. It’s early and you’re likely sleeping, but that doesn’t stop him from opening his messaging app and typing.  

‘Got your number from Marcus. It’s Carm.’

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

Your phone vibrated noisily on the edge of the cool, porcelain tub. You lift your head from where it was pillowed on your arm and looked around—confused—before the evening comes back to you in snippets of hazy, soft-edged memory. This is Taylor’s hotel room. Your skin and clothes were smeared with pallid, white paint. It was rather unimpressive without the enhancement of the black-lights. You winced at the bright, painful light above your head. Why did you fall asleep in a bathtub with the lights on? God, past-drunk-you was a mess.

You blinked blearily at the text message.

‘Stalker.’ You write back. You went to save his number and typed ‘asshole’ in the name space before pausing and staring at the letters with a frown. You sighed, deleting it, and writing ‘Carmy’ instead. As you swiped back to the conversation and a few bubbles appeared on the screen. What was he doing awake at this ungodly hour? You rolled your tongue around in your dry, uncomfortable mouth.

‘Did your front of house get hit too?’

‘No.’ You worried your lower lip between your teeth before adding, in a second message, ‘You’re the one with all the bad luck.’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

You stared at the screen with your heart flip-flopping inside your chest. This was fine, right? Friends texted. This was normal. You could text him without getting attached. A few bubbles appeared and then disappeared. You drummed your fingers against the edge of the tub.

The bubbles appeared again then vanished. You rolled your eyes, bringing your phone closer to your face and typing furiously.

‘I can see you typing!! Say what you wanna say, pussy.’

Carmy’s message arrived a second later. ‘I’m glad you’re OK.’

A thrilling, pleasant sensation prickled across your scalp and down your spine. Your thumb clicked the edge of your phone and turned off the screen. You flopped back into the tub, curling your knees close to your chest, and groaning at the spots dancing in front of your eyes. You hoped the sudden sensation of nausea was from drinking and not from the confusing, heart-fluttering text you just received. What did he mean?

“He’s just glad my window wasn’t blasted to hell.” You muttered to yourself while draping your arm over your tired, weak eyes. “Professional courtesy. That’s all.”

< Part Six > > > 

[copperbadge]

The images don’t actually indicate this but my morning escalated so quickly.

I got up this morning and threw together a second batch of gluten-free mini bagels for little T, my coworker’s kid, who (if these work for him) will get to have bagels for the first time ever. I kind of enjoy how the bagel dough holds the form of my fingers after I’ve pushed it into the bowl. While that rose I was going to clean... 

NaClYoHo for the day was supposed to be about crafting supplies. I had my craft supplies scattered over what I thought was four locations: 

craft organizer boxes under the craft/sewing desk

a bin of stuff I am currently working on in the baker’s rack

a drawer in my hall cabinet

an end-table that has drawers that aren’t normally accessible because of the way it’s situated, which I thought was long-term craft storage

Turns out that I had, at some point, taken the craft stuff out of the inaccessible end table and filled it instead with stuff I thought I wouldn’t want access to very often -- mainly some ball caps and some less useful kitchen stuff (a tea set my gran owned, serving trays, etc). But I had a moth issue over the summer (resolved now) and I didn’t realize the moths had gotten into those drawers, so EVERYTHING needed washing. Gross. 

Still, I cleaned all the stuff in the drawers or packed it in a plastic bag for washing later. While the dishwasher ran, I got to work on my craft stuff, mainly the fabric. You can see the organized “fabric drawer” in the photo above. There’s some unusual fabric (lace, t-shirts) that I’ll need to go through but I want to store elsewhere; this also doesn’t include fabric for specific projects, which I sorted into separate bins, or cross-stitch stuff, which went into its own pile.

But by the time I was done going through every container and sorting JUST the fabric and organizing it all, I was mentally unready to address the real nonsense that is all the smaller craft stuff -- beads and findings and art markers and such. A lot of my craft stuff won’t need much organization (the glue-and-paint box, the origami box, etc) but sorting through all the smaller stuff is going to take more time and energy than I want to expend today, so the craftageddon will have to continue into next week. 

I felt like I really should push on, but I stopped to review how much I’d done and I really did spend significant time working this morning. I listened to “A Historically Bad Year To Retire” and “The Taylor Swift Ticketmaster Debacle” from The Journal, Friday’s episode of City Cast Chicago about property taxes and legal weed, “What’s Up Doc” from Radiolab which was a delightful and extremely touching tribute to Mel Blanc, and an episode of True Crime Obsessed (Finding Andrea Part 4) which did inspire me to go buy tickets to Patrick Hinds’ book tour reading in Chicago next year. That didn’t seem like a lot because they’re mainly short episodes, but all told it was an hour and forty minutes of work, so I feel accomplished timewise if not taskwise. 

Dearborn, whose motto is “no legs, no problems” kept an eye on me to make sure the fabric didn’t maul me when I tried to fold it. Polk often makes herself scarce when I clean, and especially if I’m throwing boxes around....

[ID: Three images; the first, top left, shows a bowl with the lid lifted and a stiff-looking gluten-free bagel dough inside. Visibly imprinted into the dough are several finger marks. Second image, top right, shows my now-organized fabric drawer, with a bunch of fat quarters in a cardboard box set into the drawer, and larger pieces of fabric visible outside the box. Final image is Dearborn the tortie, sitting on the back of the sofa, all four legs tucked under her, chillin’ while she watches me work.]

[mochamamii]

yandere!taeyong: no secrets.

▹ a/n : hello loves, I chose a really shitty title for this but whatever loll this is something I wrote in like a day, sometimes I write absolute filth for no reason, this is one of those times.

▹ triggers : yandere!au, detailed smut, unprotected sex + creampie, mirror sex, daddy kink but like not super heavy tho

▹ pairing : lee taeyong x chubbyfem!reader

▹ synopsis : keeping secrets from your yandere boyfriend probably isn’t the best idea...unlesss they’re lee taeyong (even then that’s risky bizness my friend.)

••

Taeyong sighed as he stared down at the text message on his phone, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles turned white. He peered out the window of his car to glance across the street once more, staring at your apartment building.

He was parked across the street, his car parked far enough away that you wouldn’t be able to recognize his car from someone else’s.

Taeyong was immediately reminded of the lit cigarette he had in his other hand when the unflicked ash fell, slightly singeing the patch of skin on his leg where his ripped skinny jeans had left him exposed. He cursed under his breath, rolling the window down just enough to toss the still lit bud on the ground.

He was so distracted by you, more specifically, the blatant lie he had just caught you in that he completely forgot about his surroundings for a moment, causing him to let the cigarette burn almost entirely without ever flicking the ash.

You see, you and Taeyong have been dating for just a few months now.  You were in that weird limbo stage where you were transitioning from casual dating to exclusivity. At least for you that’s how it was.

Taeyong had already moved past that stage months ago. He was serious about you, he was just being courteous by allowing you time to feel the same. But he was steadily growing impatient with you and all your sudden antics.

Things were going perfectly fine in the beginning. You were perfect, every bit of innocence and naivety that Taeyong wanted. You checked off all the boxes for him. And he didn’t need you to tell him that you felt the same way. Which is why it was pissing him off that you seemed to suddenly start pulling away from him slowly.

You’d begun acting strange. Avoiding him lately, whereas before you always obediently jumped at the chance to spend time with him. You also had refused to be intimate with him for a few weeks now, which wouldn’t have been a problem on it’s own. Taeyong was patient when it came to things like that and he was willing to go slow.

But in this instance Taeyong felt he had a right to be upset. Even in the few short months you’d been dating, Taeyong had managed to turn you into a full on nympho. Molding you into his perfect little sex kitten, ready to do whatever he wanted and whenever. What changed?

All of these things, amongst others, have led Taeyong to conclude that you obviously must be seeing another man. What else could it be? Things were going so well and then you suddenly changed up without any explanation.

And most recently Taeyong had caught you red handed in a lie.

He texted you earlier in the day to ask if he could come and see you. You replied back saying you had been at work. An obvious lie because Taeyong had been parked outside your house since last night, watching your front door to see if he could catch anyone coming in or out. He felt bad for stalking you, especially since he vowed to himself that he would try to be less invasive this time around.

He really liked you and didn’t want to scare you off.

So he left, giving up after nearly four hours of watching your house and not seeing anything out of the ordinary. He had only come back this afternoon in hopes that he might catch you on your lunch break. You worked nearby and it wasn’t uncommon for you to come home during this time.

He got excited when he pulled up to see your car parked out front already, the need to see you face to face building inside him. He hadn’t seen you in nearly a week, you claimed you were swamped with work and that’s why you didn’t have much time to spend with him like you normally did. Taeyong could tell you were lying to him, he had to stop himself from marching up to your apartment right then and there confronting you about your lies.

But he wanted to be sure. He needed concrete proof that he was right about what had been going on with you.

So he texted you a second time, asking if you had decided to come home for lunch today. He had seen you upstairs in your bedroom window, moving around, he knew you were home. If you texted him back with a different response he could confirm you were lying to him.

Unsurprisingly enough, you replied back, saying you were still at work and would probably be working late tonight.

He scoffed as he reread your message. Rolling his eyes in annoyance as he peered up at your bedroom window, straining his eyes to try and see what you were doing exactly.

Taeyong stayed put in the car for a while, trying to decide what the best course of action would be. He wanted to just march up there to you but he didn’t know what he’d even say.

Quite frankly, Taeyong was a little embarrassed. He wished he didn’t feel so affected by you. If it were any other girl he’d have dropped them a long time ago, deciding they weren’t worth the trouble.

But this was you we were talking about...His precious baby girl, the girl who he was actively trying to change for. He had been pegged as the crazy, overbearing, sometimes even violent boyfriend by nearly all of his ex’s.

They weren’t wrong actually. Taeyong was all of those things. But he was trying to suppress that kind of behavior just for you. He wanted you to want him too, he didn’t want to feel like he was trapping you into a relationship with him. Things were so different with you.

As angry and as hurt Taeyong was because of you lying to him, he still couldn’t bring himself to actually be angry with you. He was upset about the situation, but not at you. Honestly, once he saw you in person he wasn’t sure if he’d want to raise his voice and yell at you, or bury his head between your thick thighs.

God...it had been so long since he was inside you.

Only a week actually, but even that was too long for Taeyong.

Not wanting to sit and wrestle with his thoughts any longer Taeyong climbed out of the car. He jogged up the front steps to your door, trying to measure his breathing as he did so. He almost raised his hand to knock until he remembered you always kept a spare under a nearby potted plant.

He had to check under a few before he picked up the right one.

With your spare key now in hand, Taeyong could slip through the front door quietly. Even though during his stakeouts he never saw anyone go in or out of the house he still wondered if there was a chance you were being unfaithful. If not that, what else could it be?

Whatever it was, he was going to confront you about it today. No longer would he be left in the dark like this.

He unlocked the door, slipping in as quiet as a mouse. He pushed the door closed behind him, gently as not to alert you, wherever you were in the house. He kicked his shoes off at the door, knowing he’d be much quieter with sock clad feet instead of the heavy boots he had on previously.

Taeyong’s ears perked up as he heard you drop something on the floor upstairs. Considering the part of the ceiling he heard the noise from he guessed you were in the bathroom upstairs. Taeyong’s feet carried him up the stairs to your bedroom, the door was left open ajar already.

Carefully, he peeked through the crack to ensure you weren’t in the bedroom, even through the tiny space in the doorway Taeyong could see your figure standing in the bathroom connected to your bedroom. He pushed the door open enough to slip inside.

Taeyong stood under the arch of the doorway to your bathroom, watching you with curious eyes, your back was facing him so you were still unaware of his presence behind you, he could see you were struggling to open something.

Taeyong was about to speak up and announce himself to you until he took quick note of how your frustration turned to panic as you furiously twisted and pulled at the cap of…a pill bottle?

Now Taeyong was really curious.

With one last heave you released a large puff of air as the cap twisted off the bottle, Taeyong quickly sprung into action, taking two long strides across the expanse of the bedroom to get to where you stood in the bathroom.

He was too late though and you had already swallowed one of whatever those pills were.

“Taeyong?” You jumped, startled as Taeyong snatched one of your wrists to spin you around to face him.

Your cheeks turned red as you tried to inconspicuously hide your other hand that still held the bottle of pills behind your back.

“Give it.” Is all Taeyong said, his grip on your wrist tightening.

You shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, whenever Taeyong spoke in that demanding tone of his you’d always instantly obey and comply with whatever it was he wanted, not wanting to piss him off further.

But this time…this time you just couldn’t. You were too embarrassed, your hand felt frozen in place behind your back.

Growling, Taeyong spun you around and pushed you against the bathroom counter, pinning your arm behind your back as he retrieved the bottle of pills for himself.

You nearly toppled over because of his quick movements catching you so off guard. His firm hold on your arm pinned behind your back, catapulted you into the bathroom counter, your breasts plopping against the cool marble countertop.

Taeyong squinted his eyes to read the tiny print on the bottle, “What are these?” He asked, unfamiliar with the name of the pills.

You glanced up at him in the mirror, his jaw clenching as he tried to decipher what the long complicated name printed on the bottle meant.

It was as if you’d forgotten how to speak. Everything had happened so quickly and your mind was still taking a minute to process it all.

You had spent months trying to keep this one secret hidden from Taeyong. You went to any lengths possible if it meant protecting your secret. Even lying to him when necessary, which had become pretty frequent as of late.

All of it was catching up with you now.

Today would probably mark the end of your relationship, you were sure of it, there’s no way Taeyong would even be able to stomach the sight of you once he knows the truth. He’d probably think you were pathetic, too pathetic to be his girlfriend.

And you just couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye as your tower of lies came crashing down around you.

Your head fell, hanging shamefully as you tried to ignore Taeyong’s burning gaze.

Taeyong was growing impatient with you, wanting answers and wanting them now. His fingers tangled themselves in your hair, gripping your roots not so gently as he pulled your head back to force you to stare straight ahead, so you were looking directly at him in the mirror.

Your back arched instinctively as you stretched your body out to follow his hand, wincing slightly in pain as you did so.

“Tae…what are you doing here?-

You were cut off by Taeyong slamming his hips into your backside, pinning your own hips firmly against the counter as he trapped you under his weight. His hand in your hair moved to wrap around your throat from behind.

“I’m growing impatient with you Y/N. Tell me now and stop avoiding the question.” Taeyong said

“Tell me.”

Your eyes were slightly red, a little teary as you nervously glanced up at him once before parting your lips to speak.

Your eyes searched his black ones for approval, it’s like you were silently asking him without saying it,

Will you still want me after this?

Taeyong only softened temporarily as he took note of your reluctance, he used his free hand to rub small circles on your back to soothe you.

“T-They’re…appetite suppressants.” You answered shamefully.

Taeyong’s grip on you loosened as he listened.

“Appetite Suppressants?” He echoed, glancing down at the bottle and back at you.

Taeyong felt foolish and annoyed. You had been so secretive and sneaky lately, he was sure it was because you had another man in your life, not diet pills?

Taeyong screwed the cap of the bottle off with ease, dumping the rest of the pills down the toilet.

You had to swallow an audible groan. You had paid good money for those pills. They weren’t cheap over the counter pills, you had gone to your doctor to have them prescribe something stronger for you. Watching the pills be carelessly flushed down the toilet made you wince internally.

“You don’t need these. Stop taking them.” Taeyong demanded as he placed the empty bottle down on the counter.

“Understand?” He asked you, displeased with your lack of response.

“But…Taeyong. I need those.” You breathed softly, slowly raising up from the sink to turn around and face him.

“I need them Taeyong. I can’t just give them up, not yet, not till I’m-

“Why not?” He questioned.

Fat, ugly tears started to roll down your cheeks as you swallowed the lump in your throat, “I’m still not perfect enough for you yet.” You whispered softly.

It was hard to say it out loud but it was true. You constantly felt like a tub of lard next to Taeyong. You didn’t want to feel that way anymore. You wanted to walk beside him with pride. You couldn’t do that. Not yet at least. Not with your current body.

Taeyong really didn’t like that you were fighting him on this. You were so naturally submissive, always going out of your way to avoid conflict with people especially Taeyong, he could say almost anything and you would listen and obey to whatever he wanted or expected from you.

Mostly because it was just in your nature to be more on the submissive side, but also because you felt like you were incredibly lucky to have someone like Taeyong, who were you to be making demands?

Even when there were times that you disagreed on something and wanted to vocalize your opinion, Taeyong would whisper in your ear how much he loved you and how you just needed to let go and trust him.

Usually it worked too.

But Taeyong was in no mood to be that gentle with you, not that it would matter anyways. This is the one thing you know that you will always fight him on.

Your body.

Taeyong never entertained any conversations with you when it came to your weight and feeling insecure about your body. He waved them off as you being “silly” or something like that.

It wasn’t that Taeyong didn’t care. It’s just that he’s a yandere and has never known how to process any of his feelings in a relatively healthy way.

It’s easier for him to ignore the issue rather than confront it. He’s afraid he won’t know how to make you feel better. He doesn’t know how he can make you see the beauty that he sees.

“Don’t make me the reason that you’re desecrating your body this way.” Taeyong hissed, landing a harsh slap against your ass cheek for emphasis.

You yelped, already feeling the numb burning sensation spread across your afflicted skin.

Taeyong grabbed hold of your hair again, raising the top half of your body off the counter until your back was pressed flush up against his chest. He snaked one arm around your waist, locking you in place against him whilst the other remained tangled in your hair.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as you followed his hand to escape the painful friction at your roots.

You fell into place so naturally against Taeyong, your bodies molding together so perfectly.

Taeyong loved the way your body was so soft and squishy, he loved your thick full curves, your deliciously plump body is what had initially attracted him to you.

How could you possibly think that something already so perfect needed to be changed?

Taeyong pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, moving to nibble at your sensitive earlobe, “Darling. What’s it gonna take, hm?”

“What’s it gonna take to get you to stop obsessing over this?” Taeyong asked, his free hand beginning to roam your body.

“To stop…saying all these mean things about yourself?” Taeyong’s voice trailed as his hand slid down the length of your abdomen, his long slender fingers gliding across all of your rolls and stretch marks.

All you had on was an oversized t-shirt, Taeyong’s to be exact. One that he’d left over here before.

Seeing you in his clothes sent waves of electricity directly to the head of his cock, making him harden. He wanted you to wear his clothes all of the time, he wanted his smell to linger on your skin, letting everyone know you were his.

As much as he loved seeing you in his shirt he couldn’t wait to rip it off you.

Especially now with the way your hard nipples were poking through the thin cotton material, practically begging him to turn you around and assault them with his teeth and tongue.

He couldn’t wait.

He was going to do every dirty, lewd thing imaginable to you tonight. No part of your body would be left untouched once he was done.

He needed you to know that you’re beautiful. He had to show you just how in love with you and your body that he was. He didn’t know how to translate those feelings into words, just action.

Taeyong released his hold on your hair to be able to use both of his hands as he groped and fondled your body.

His hands moved up to your breasts, cupping them in his warm large hands through your shirt.

He kneaded them, moving to tug at your nipples through the fabric to make you mewl.

“Do you feel that baby?” Taeyong asked as he rolled his hips into your backside, his cock standing at full attention now, allowing you to easily feel his erection through his jeans.

“Do you see how badly I want you? Look at how hard I am and I’ve barely touched you.” Taeyong said , groaning as he rocked his hips against you once more. Loving the feeling of your round backside rubbing up against his cock. You were wet already and growing impatient with Taeyong’s teasing. Your clit throbbed painfully, desperately needing attention. You rutted your backside back against Taeyong, begging him to take you already.

Taeyong raised one of your legs up to rest on top of the counter, giving him perfect access to your pussy.

His shirt on you wasn’t long enough to cover the full expanse of your ass so as your leg raised up on the counter,  your glistening folds were revealed to him.

“Do you think you deserve to cum? After all you’ve done, all the sneaking around and the hiding? Do you really think I should give you any relief?” Taeyong teased as he used his fingers to slide up and down your slick slit, collecting your juices on his fingers.

“Please…” You begged with a pout, pushing back against him as you felt his fingers on you.

“Aht. Aht. No moving around or I’ll have to pin you against the counter like before.” He threatened as he stopped you from grinding your hips down against his fingers.

Feeling defeated you sighed, relaxing into his touch as you tried not to think about how badly you wanted to cum.

“Don’t look away from the mirror or I’ll stop.” Taeyong warned.

You nearly turned your head away momentarily to peek at what he was doing but decided against it at the last second.

Taeyong knelt down until he was level with your pussy. His warm breath fanned your skin sending shivers down your spine.

Taeyong’s soft wet tongue licked a single stripe along your slit, stopping at your clit to give it a single kiss before enclosing his soft lips around your bundle of nerves.

Your mouth dropped open as a moan fell past your lips.

Taeyong’s tongue worked quickly, alternating between lapping at your folds and sucking on your engorged clit.

You gripped the edge of the counter for support. You wanted to pull away from him when the pleasure became too intense but he smacked your ass whenever you moved so much as an inch away.

He released your clit from his mouth with an audible popping sound as he did so. Standing back up at his full height Taeyong took pleasure in seeing the way your eyes followed him in the mirror, eagerly waiting for his next move.

Taeyong unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans down just enough, his cock bouncing up and slapping his abdomen as he released it from the confines of his briefs. A bead of precum was leaking from his head. Taeyong teased you by rubbing the head of his cock against your folds.

“Do you want to come? Wanna come as I pound this perfect pussy of yours with my cock? I don’t think you deserve it. You’ve been a bad kitten lately haven’t you? Sneaking around, hiding things from me, saying awful things about yourself, and making me worry…” Taeyong said, resting his chin against your shoulder as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“I’m sorry…” You whimpered, grinding your ass back against him.

“Are you really though?” Taeyong asked, his eyes narrowing at you.

“Yes. I’m so sorry.” You whined, growing desperate for release.

“Are you ever going to do something like this again, kitten?” He asked, slipping his hands under your shirt to roll your nipples in between his fingers.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Taeyong smirked, loving the sound of desperation in your voice.

“Do you promise? Tell daddy you promise to never do this again and he’ll give you what you want okay?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice before you were repeating over and over like a mantra, “I promise I’ll never do it again, daddy.” You fluttered your lashes at him in the mirror, hoping he’d sense your sincerity.

That was all Taeyong needed to see before backing up and sinking his cock deep into your pussy.

He groaned as your walls hungrily sucked him in, greedily accepting every inch of him.

You arched your back, raising your ass even higher in the air for him.

Taeyong was relentless in how he fucked you. His nails painfully dug into the flesh on your soft hips as he held onto them for support whilst he pounded you from behind.

“Do you hear how wet you are? This pussy is practically milking my cock.” Taeyong moaned, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror.

He was right. You were so wet, the obscene squelching noises your pussy was making around his cock bounced off the four walls of the bathroom.

“Taeyong…” You moaned.

He moved one hand off your hip to rest against your hand that was lying on the counter, he grabbed your hand to lace your fingers together.

“That’s right baby. Look at yourself, look at how well you’re taking my cock…such a good girl for me, my beautiful good girl.”

You could’ve come right then and there just because of how dirty the words coming from Taeyong’s mouth were.

You felt warm and happy as he praised you, calling you a good girl for taking him so well.

Taeyong continued drilling into you, never losing the rhythm he had set or the speed he was going at. He kept repeating in your ear over and over how pretty you looked and how beautiful you were.

Usually compliments like that went in one ear and out the other, you never liked to dwell on them for long because you just didn’t believe them.

But now…right here, right now. Watching yourself in the mirror as Taeyong fucked you, the faces you were making, and the way your body instinctively rolled and grinded back against him.

Even you couldn’t deny the beauty of the scene before you.

You could see him in the mirror, watching as his hands gripped and groped at your flesh, his desire and want for you evident on his face, evident in the manner at which he was thrusting deep inside you as if his life depended on it.

Thrusting with a desperation that matched yours, you needed this, to feel him inside of you, filling and stretching your walls with a subtle sweet pain.

“Taeyong, I’m gonna come.” You warned, feeling yourself clench around him.

The essence of your shared arousal started to drip down your thigh.

“Then come for me.” Taeyong answered, reaching his hand around your waist to rub your clit, propelling you further into your state of euphoria.

You rocked your hips back against him, chasing after your own orgasm.

You moved to throw your head back and rest it on his shoulder but Taeyong was quick to push your head forward, reminding you with a slap on your ass to not look away from the mirror.

“I want you to watch as you come on my cock.” Taeyong growled, determination clear in his voice as he unsheathed his cock completely from your warmth only to slam his hips back into yours.

You squealed as Taeyong angled his thrusts upward to hit your g-spot. Your eyes welled with tears, and your hand gripped the edge of the counter as you braced yourself.

It only took Taeyong a few more strokes before you were clenching around him uncontrollably, your pussy creaming on his cock. You collapsed on the counter, too tired to hold yourself up anymore. You winced a little as Taeyong continued to drill into you, the pleasure turning into a slight burn as he overstimulated you.

You wiggled your hips, trying to bring your hiked up leg down from the counter whilst also inching away from Taeyong’s thrusts.

“Stay still.” Taeyong grunted, pinching your outer thigh.

Taeyong abused your poor cunt until he was ready to fill you with his seed. He made sure he was stuffed deep inside of you when he painted your walls with his cum.

Once the two of you had caught a minute to catch your breath, Taeyong carefully pulled out of you, making a mess between your thighs as he did so. Your empty pussy was now clenching on air, inadvertently pushing Taeyong’s cum out of your hole causing it to run down your inner thighs.

Taeyong leaned down to kiss the back of your neck, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you came down from your high.

Finally, Taeyong pushed himself off of you to allow you to rise up from the counter. He turned you around to face him so he could properly kiss you on the lips.

“Wait, where are you going?” Taeyong asked as you kissed him before untangling your limbs from his.

“To shower?” You answered, one hand already on the nozzle of the tap to turn the shower on.

You were a sweaty, sticky mess, in desperate need of a nice long shower.

Taeyong smirked, pulling you back into his chest, “We’re still not done here.”

Your face must’ve said it all because before you got the chance to whine about being tired Taeyong was already pressing you up against the wall.

“Spread your legs again. Nice and wide for me...Daddy’s going to make sure you get all clean again…”

[crowleywowley]

Wicked Game | pt. 3 | Javier Peña X Reader

Summary: a special visitor comes to town and throws things awry.

Rating: as always, 18+! Minors will be blocked!

Warnings/tags: smut, masturbation, infidelity, no use of y/n

A/N: woot woot part 3!! Thank you so much to everyone who read the first two parts and gave them so much love, you all deserve the world!! This chapter is specially dedicated to @iamskyereads because she has been SO supportive and amazing of this story. Everyone go love on her, her works are amazing!!!

Part 1 Part 2

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

“Hey baby.”

Your husband’s voice rang through your ears, the first time hearing it in person in over four weeks. It was just as soft and unemotional as you remembered; honestly you were shocked that he’d actually followed through with coming to visit. A part of you wondered if it were perhaps at the pressure of his father, who had always held a soft spot for you. It was most certainly not at the insistence of his mother, whom upon learning of your travel to Colombia declared you an ‘abandoner’ and said that you ‘ruined the life of her son’. Regardless, he was here, in your apartment, and it made your skin crawl.

He pulled you into a hug, which you returned with loose arms. “Hi honey,” your voice was muffled into his chest.

You pulled out of his arms awkwardly, and he left his hands on your shoulders. When he leaned down to kiss you, it took all you had not to wince and instead return it as if you were a normal, happy wife, happy to see her husband in her normal, happy marriage.

The kiss was quick and chaste, something you were thankful for, but you knew more likely than not he was going to expect sex later. Why wouldn’t he? That’s what married couples do, right?

“So? Tell me how things have been for you down here, I wanna see all your spots around town. My little journalist,” those three words were tacked on with a patronizing air, further punctuated by him grabbing your chin gently.

You gave him a dry laugh. “Oh well, uh… I don’t have many ‘spots’ here because you know… the drug war, and all that.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Oh, right.”

The silence in the room didn’t just wash over you, it made you feel like you were drowning. You had to get out of this apartment.

“We could go see my office,” you rushed out.

Unaware of your pounding heart, he smiled at you. “Let’s do it.”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

“So that’s Elisa, she’s one of the receptionists and probably my favorite,” you explained quietly, leading your husband through the reception area. Technically, you didn’t have to come in today, but you had garnered a reputation for being a bit of a workaholic, known to potentially haunt the office at any hour regardless of shifts.

He hummed in response, nodding slowly.

“Over there are all the photography folks. A bit snobby if you ask me, but we need them.” You lowered your voice even more for that fact, knowing if the photo people heard you they would launch into their spiel about how photos are what really tells the story.

Once you rounded a corner to a long hallway with several doors and a litany of unflattering florescent lights, you paused at the first door.

“And this is my office,” you told, pulling out your keys.

In journalism, you knew you had to be quick on your feet. You had to be able to roll with whatever punches were thrown your way, change stories at the drop of a hat when new information was discovered. This was a skill you prided yourself on in your career.

But when you opened the door, the last thing you could’ve expected to see was one Javier Peña, leaning against your desk, fiddling with one of your pens.

It felt like all the blood drained out of your body, the forty year old carpet soaking it all up. You were sure your skin had gone ghostly pale and your fingers, still wrapped around your keys, felt like they were made of air. In the back of your mind, a voice called out to you, telling you to get it together, and you stumbled through the vines twisting around your brain for a response.

“What are you doing in my office?” You coolly asked, willing your heart to slow the hell down for the second time that day.

Javier was, somehow, extremely calm, the only hint of anything being wrong was a clench in his jaw. He pushed himself off the desk and picked up a manila envelope that had been placed next to him.

“Forgive me, ma’am. Didn’t mean to scare you. I just have some new files for you from our offices and I was told to deliver them.”

His eyes shifted between you and the man next to you, who seemed to have no emotion over this interaction outside of a confused tilt of his brow. “Elisa let me in to wait. They’re… confidential.”

You knew the story was a lie, of course it was. He was faster on his feet than you ever could be and played it off. You’d told Javier that your husband would be coming sometime that week, and that he couldn’t come to your apartment, so he took it upon himself to go to your office. Briefly, your mind flashed to an image of you bent over the front of the desk, fingers desperate gripping the edges, while Javi held you down and drilled himself into you relentlessly. No, you shook the image from your head. Absolutely not. Not while he was here.

“Oh. Alright.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Well… thank you, sir. If that’s all, then you can head back.”

It made your chest ache to be so flat with Javi. He always made you feel so vibrant and alive, yet now you stood across from him, trying desperately to keep your eyes from searching his because you knew there would be too much emotion swirling in them for you to comprehend.

He moved towards the door, hand brushing against your lower back as he slipped past you. He stopped in the doorway for a moment.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” He gave you a tight-lipped, almost smile before turning to your husband. “Sir.” He nodded curtly before turning and making his way back to the front of the building.

As he walked away, you tried -and failed- not to focus on the way your skin burned from his touch.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

That night, when Javier arrived back to his apartment, he immediately stalked to the kitchen to make himself a drink. He felt like his brain was spinning and he needed it to stop as soon as possible.

How could he have been so reckless? He knew your husband was coming to visit. He knew you weren’t going to be alone for the next two days. Yet he couldn’t resist you; he felt like a hormone-wrecked teenager, getting into whatever stupid situation he could all for the sake of attention from a pretty girl. But it was more than that- you weren’t just some pretty girl, you were the most beautiful and complex woman he’d ever laid eyes on. You were irresistible to him and he almost risked blowing the whole thing because he had to see you.

He knew better than to get attached to people. It always ended up hurting someone, though usually it was him doing the hurting. Seeing you walk into the office with the lunk of a man you call a spouse made his heart- no, his entire chest- ache. Because even though you didn’t truly love that man any more, he was still the one you married. Not Javi.

The sharp ringing of a phone drew him from his pity party. He wasn’t sure who would be calling at this hour; Pops had gone to bed hours ago, and he knew Steve was busy playing house with Connie and the new baby. That only left one reasonable option.

“Periodista?”

“Javi,” you breathed out, voice crackling through the phone.

He felt his heart flip once more. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be with the old ball and chain?” The man mentally kicked himself as soon as he said it; he knew you didn’t need his bitterness right now.

Thankfully, he heard a scoffing laugh. “Said ball and chain is currently passed out in my bed, taking up the entire thing. I had get out of there, so I’m outside right now.”

Javier took the time you spent explaining to grab his drink and settle into the small loveseat that had come with the place. “Sounds fun,” he said after a sip.

“God, you don’t even know.” You kept your voice quiet. “Am I allowed to say that I miss you? Or is that off limits?”

He couldn’t help but smile at your timidness clothed in a joke. He knew it was wrong, but hearing that you weren’t happy your husband was there filled him with a sense of pride.

“That depends. How bad you miss me, baby?”

He knew you were rolling your eyes with a smile at that. “Very badly.”

Your tone was still small and his heart squeezed at it. He wanted nothing more than to pull you to his chest and stroke your hair until you fell asleep.

He sighed. “Yeah.. I miss you too. Even though it’s technically only been a few hours.”

You laughed at that. “The office doesn’t count. I was too busy picking my jaw up off the floor to miss you.”

“Sorry about that,” he answered with no conviction.

“No you’re not.”

He heard it in your voice. A switch had flipped, there was only one direction for this to go and it made something stir in his belly.

“No, I’m not.”

Thankfully he couldn’t see the way you shuddered at the low, raspy tone of his voice.

You hummed into the speaker for a moment. “You like almost getting caught. I bet you wish it had gone further.”

Images flooded his mind of you, bent over the desk, riding him in your swivel chair, pressed up against the door. He tried to keep them at bay but they were pushing through his already weak barriers.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it too, you’re just as dirty as me.” He attempted to realign and get the upper hand. “Maybe even worse. You’re a filthy little thing.”

You giggled. “Please. I bet you’re hard right now just at the thought.”

“And what if I was?”

There was a moment of silence. You were clearly hesitating, trying to decide if you wanted to cut this off or not.

“If you were… I would tell you to touch yourself for me.”

Javier truly felt like he was going to combust in that moment. Your whispered words sucked all the air out of his chest. He squeezed his cock through his jeans in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that had been quickly mounting. Was he really going to do this over the phone?

“Touch yourself for me, Javi.”

His resolve snapped. He was most definitely going to do this over the phone.

“O-okay.” He stuttered out.

Shifting the phone so it was pressed between his ear and his shoulder, he lifted his hips up to pull the tight jeans down. His cock sprang free, already aching from your simple words. He gave himself a tug before focusing back on the phone.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, tone low and sultry.

Javier’s eyes closed as he leaned his head back on the couch, hand beginning to slowly stroke.

“Thinking about how we could’ve fucked right there in your office.” He bit out. “I would’ve taken you right there on the desk.”

“God, that sounds nice. I would’ve loved that.”

His breathing was already picking up. “Yeah, I bet you would’ve. You would look so pretty for me, all spread out. Pretty little pussy begging me to fuck it.”

“Mmm-hmm. You love getting to wreck me, huh?” You asked with a teasing lilt. “Getting to show me who I belong to.”

That sent a whole new shock of pleasure up Javier’s spine. He was beating himself off faster, loud enough you could hear the slapping of skin through the phone speaker. There was just something about the possessive nature of your words that never failed to short circuit his brain. He knew you weren’t a possession, he didn’t own you. Your husband definitely didn’t. But he wanted to, in the sense that he could keep you safe from all the bad things in the world.

“Tell me- fuck- tell me who that pussy belongs to.”

He was already getting close, not bothering to edge himself tonight after being so tightly wound post-office encounter.

“Baby, please. Tell me. I need to hear you say it, I’m so fucking close.”

In a different light Javi would be embarrassed at how desperate he sounded. He was begging, through a phone, for you to tell him what he needed to hear. But there was no room for shame when he heard you practically purr your response through the speaker.

“It’s all for you baby. All of me.”

That was it- he came all over his hand and thighs, a loud, unabashed moan leaving his chest. He pumped his cock through the waves of pleasure, more cum spurting out of him than usual.

He hadn’t told you this, and likely never would, but in the almost two weeks you’d known each other he’d stopped seeing his girls from the brothel. It felt dirty to do so- ironically, like he was cheating. He knew you weren’t together and realistically, you probably didn’t care about his modes of relief, but just as he didn’t want to share you with anyone else, he didn’t want to share himself with anyone except you.

“Periodista, you’re going to be the death of me.” He said with a deep sigh.

Once again he heard you giggle. “Oh, stop. You love me,” you said playfully.

He knew it was a joke. You meant nothing by it.

But that didn’t stop him from squeezing his eyes shut and feeling his insides twist.

“Yeah, yeah.” He said after a moment. “Go back inside. Gotta get back to the mister.”

A sad sigh escaped you. “Yeah, you’re right.” He heard you open the creaky door before you whispered into the phone, the quietest one yet.

“Goodnight, Javi.”

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

Feedback/interactions always appreciated<33

Message me if you want to be tagged in the next chapter!

[wrenqueenisboss]

DSMP x gn!reader heacanons (reader with bad sleep schedule)

Them reacting to you having a really shitty sleep schedule. Warnings: cursing (mild), mentions of wounds, showed cuts, cleaning on injuries (tell me if I forget anything, please)

Dream:

(you and dream live together in Florida (without Sapnap))

Dream had been in a call with Sapnap and George for hours and it was 2 am at this point

he had been screaming/shouting and laughing so consistently you had developed a headache (another reason it was difficult to sleep)

he had recently broken another speedrun world record so he was celebrating with his besties 

you hadn’t gone to bed yet because you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep without your boyfriend there

(both you and Dream really like cuddles. neither of you can sleep well without the other)

so you stayed on the couch, scrolling through twitter on your phone as you laid down

Finally, you heard Dream end his call, saying goodbye to his friends. His door creaked the slightest bit as he opened and closed it

Dream was so shocked to find you sitting on the couch at this hour. he was concerned too

“Babe? You’re still awake?”

you chuckled. “obviously”

he walked over to you and cuddled into your side. “You should be asleep. It’s late.” his voice was slightly muffled because of how he had his head nuzzled into your neck

“I couldn’t sleep without you there,” you mumbled, running your hand through his soft blond hair

Dream suddenly felt guilty “staying up this late really isn’t good for you. But if it helps you get to sleep, I’ll go to sleep earlier too”

you hummed happily before falling asleep cuddling your boyfriend

you were so tired you didn’t realize Dream had picked you up bridal style and taken you to your guys’ bed

Sapnap:

(you guys are in different houses for this) (he’s streaming and is also on a discord call with Karl and Quackity)

he was streaming at 2:30 in the morning when he got a random text from you “hi :) ,” it said

He rolled his eyes affectionately before responding “it’s late, idiot” “go to bed”

you sent back “I can’t” 

Sapnap looked back over at his stream. The chat was spamming questions on who he could be texting that would make him smile like that

finally, Karl from the discord call noticed how quiet Sapnap was being

“Sap? is everything okay?”

Sapnap looked up. “Oh yeah. I’m fine. I was just texting someone.”

“Who?” Quackity asked?

Sapnap made sure to mute on stream. “My partner.”

Karl and Quackity were shocked.

don’t worry, you and Sapnap had discussed that you were okay with his friends knowing about your relationship, but you wanted to keep it off stream and private

“You never told us you had a partner!” Karl said, happily.

“Well, I do. And they desperately want my attention, so I think I’m gonna end stream.”

“nooooo!” Karl and Quackity said dramatically in unison. “Your partner is evil, taking you away from us!”

Sapnap laughed then unmuted, giving an excuse before he ended stream to FaceTime you

George:

(you live in Brighton with George) (the internet knows you guys are dating. They ship you so much)

George was in a discord call (without camera on) at a pretty reasonable time, but you were exhausted

you hadn’t gotten more than four hours of sleep in the past three days

Wanting to be near George you just walked into his room

he whipped his head around, surprised by the sudden noise of you opening his door

he took one look at your tired face and asked “are you okay?”

You laughed. “No, not at all. My sleep schedule is shitty and I feel like shit. I haven’t gotten proper sleep in three days”

George winced.

Sapnap and Dream screamed hellos into George’s headphones which made him take them off with a grimace

He unplugged his headphones and you heard your boyfriend’s friends’ greetings

you unenthusiastically waved before speaking in a tired voice “I’m taking your best friend. He’s needed for Cuddle Duty”

George smiled and shook his head playfully as his friends shouted in protest

“no!” dream shouted. “He’s-” he wheezed like a broken tea kettle “he’s my boyfriend” (George rolled his eyes at that)

Sapnap yelled, “don’t take him!!!! you’re a best friend stealer, Y/n! Shame on you!”

You frowned with mock malice. “Well, suck it up. ‘Cause I’m taking him.”

George actually laughed at that. “I guess that’s it. Bye, guys! I’m gonna help Y/n finally get some good sleep.”

Wilbur:

Wilbur was doing a YLYL stream when he needed to go get a glass of water

keep in mind, it was sorta late. Like, midnight.

so he walked into his kitchen only to find you snacking on some popcorn (potato chips for my friends with braces ;] )

he looks at you with fond sadness “my love, why aren’t you asleep?”

you look up at him with a sheepish smile “Will, you know I have a very shitty sleep schedule. I’m not gonna sleep tonight, I don’t think.”

Wilbur frowned. “I think not!” he said, moving to hug you from behind

he rested his head on your shoulder, breathing in your scent

“we’re gonna go to bed,” he mumbles. “It’s late”

“Uh... not really,” you said. “midnight isn’t that late. And plus, you’re streaming.”

Wilbur frowned again, remembering his stream 

“Oh yeah, my stream. That’s fine, I’ll just end it early. Laugh at a couple videos to make the perfect excuse.”

“That’s actually... a good idea.”

“Why do you sound so surprised, Y/n?”

You just chuckled and gently pushed yourself off from the counter, prompting Wilbur to let go of you and step back

You walked to your shared bedroom to get in bed

As you tucked yourself into bed, you finally realized just how tired you were. Your eyelids began to close as you were lulled into sleep by the sounds of your boyfriend’s laughter next door.

c!Technoblade:

he was just coming back from a patrol (protecting your guys’ home) pretty late at night when he saw you brewing potions at your desk

because it was so late, you had several lanterns lit around your workspace so you could read the tomes and instructions that you needed

Tech honestly didn’t expect you to be up this late

The voices (who love you) immediately erupt with concern

‘are they okay?’ ‘why aren’t they asleep?’ ‘are they hurt?’ ‘if someone hurt them... blood for the blood god’ ‘they look so tired’

Techno dropped his weapons in one of his chests then began to undo his armor

Noticing his presence, you dropped what you were doing and hastily walked over to him

“Let me help you,” you murmured as your fingers undid the buckles and clasps of his armor one by one

He thanked you when the armor was stored away as well, taking some more time to examine you

your sleep-lidded eyes had dark circles under them. Your movements weren’t as precise as normal, and to put it plain and simple, you looked exhausted.

“My love,” techno prompted, gently tilting your head up to get a better look at your eyes and face. “is everything alright?”

you huffed. “not really. I can’t sleep anymore and it’s really getting to me. It’s making me so clumsy.”

Technoblade’s shook as he chuckled. “I could tell. I’m surprised you didn’t knock into table on your way over to me.” It was true. On your way over to help him with his armor, you nearly ran your knee right into the heavy coffee table in the living room

You rolled your eyes and pointed at your work table. The desk that was usually so neat and organized now looked like a mini tornado had ransacked it

“The exhaustion has me so clumsy I broke a glass. I made a mess trying to clean it up, too.” 

You raise up your arms to show him the cuts on your hands and arms. There was some dried blood on your arms as well.

The Voices in Techno’s head once again exploded with comments of concern. He takes your hands in his, gently brushing his callused fingers over your wounds.

“I’ll help you clean these up and then we’ll get to bed, okay?” He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips 

“okay”

and you do just that

masterlist