#thank you for sending this and sorry for my very rambly answers i have had my wednesday night glass of wine!!!

[navybrat817]

Indulgence

Pairing: Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Female Reader Summary: When Bucky calls, you go to him. Word Count: Over 5.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, D/s elements, bondage, aftercare, established arrangement, insecurities, pet names, longing, possessive behavior, world building, mix of canon and non-canon, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm very excited for this new AU, lovelies! There's a deep bond between these two, but we know the road to love isn't always easy. ❤️Beta read by the amazing @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. And thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me ramble about this part. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You had only been asleep for an hour when your phone went off, your eyes barely open as you reached for the device and saw the familiar name appear. “Bucky?” You answered drowsily.

“Hey, angel,” he said roughly, the pet name bringing a sleepy smile to your face. It sounded like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I have tomorrow off,” you said, a bit more alert as you sat up. “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I got back a bit ago,” he replied, swearing under his breath. “It’s really late. I just…”

“Need me,” you finished for him, stretching your back as you stood up. If he wanted to tell you he made it home safely from his latest assignment, he would've sent you a text. You knew by now that a call meant he had to see you in person. “Give me a few minutes?”

“You sure? I understand if you’d rather go back to bed.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep until I know you will, too,” you said. It would drive you crazy. “I want to come over. Okay?”

You wondered if the call dropped since you didn't hear anything on the other end. “Okay. I’ll send a car,” he said. He never let you pay for a ride yourself. “Thank you,” he added so softly you almost missed it.

“You don't need to thank me,” you assured him, though you appreciated hearing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, your heart skipping a beat before he hung up.

You brushed your teeth again before you changed out of your pajamas. The outfit didn't exactly matter. If it had, he would’ve told you what you wear. It wouldn't stay on long anyway. You sensed that this was a night for him to simply blow off some steam or release anything still pent up from his assignment.

You were more than happy to help.

“On my way.” You messaged him a few minutes later as you went out to the car.

You politely greeted the driver before gazing out the window. If anyone had told you months ago that you’d be sleeping with the former Winter Soldier, you would’ve laughed at them for saying something so crazy. You never expected to meet the man, let alone connect with him. That was your life now though. You were sleeping with Bucky Barnes.

But it wasn't that cut and dry.

“I’ll be outside.” He sent back.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about Bucky, the man searching for himself again. After years of enduring horrific pain and having no control over his actions, he felt lost once he was free. In his eyes, he would never be able to right all the wrongs of the atrocities he was forced to commit, but making amends for his past was a start. It wasn't enough though to heal the cracks from within. It couldn't stop him from plunging into the deep abyss of his mind where it once felt whole.

He had to find a way to feel semi-normal again. He needed to do something good for someone else outside of his heroic duties. And he had to do so in an environment where he could express himself openly, honestly, and authentically with a person he could trust.

That was where you came into the picture.

If Bucky called, no matter what time of day and you were available, you went to his place in a car he paid for. You stayed until you were both satisfied. A more crude way to think of it was that you helped him fuck out his frustrations and gave him a means to inflict pleasure on someone instead of hurt. It was a routine you were used to by now.

“You wanna be my angel?”

You may be his angel, but you weren't his girlfriend. He wasn't in a place to have a typical relationship. You weren't just a fuck buddy either. You were his submissive of sorts, along with his confidant and a way for him to find release and some sense of normalcy.

While he sometimes fucked you like a whore, he never once treated you like one. He cared for your well-being and checked in on you the way a boyfriend would. He kept his place stocked with your favorite snacks. You didn't sleep with anyone else and neither did he. You looked out for each other.

Unlike your last boyfriend.

As far as arrangements went, you could do much worse. There were rules set in place. Bucky was honest about his needs and helped you heal your wounds from the failure of your previous relationship. But the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be with him.

Was it a recipe for disaster?

The drive seemed faster than usual because before you knew it the car stopped in front of Bucky’s apartment building. Your pulse quickened when you saw the brunette standing by the door, donned in his usual leather jacket. Even from a short distance, he looked massive and heat bloomed in your core as you knew what was to come. He moved to the curb with more grace than a man his size should have, his hard blue eyes set on you through the glass before he opened the door.

His gaze practically set your heart on fire and it went full ablaze when he tenderly smiled. He was stunningly beautiful even in the dark of night. It almost hurt to look back at him.

You had it bad.

“Hey,” he said, offering you his gloved hand to help you out. You hardly ever saw him out without his vibranium hand covered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” you smiled softly, giving the driver a quick thanks before you got out. “You, too.”

Bucky's large hand moved to the small of your back as he gently led you toward the building and opened the door. He didn't like to linger outside for too long. Neither of you spoke as he guided you to his apartment on the first floor and you didn't push him to make small talk. It was a delicate arrangement and some nights didn't call for filler.

Still, you tried to get a read on his emotions. There was a stiffness to his stance, but he didn't appear upset or angry. You also didn’t spot any obvious injuries.

“Were you hurt?” You asked as he took his keys out. He was only gone for a couple of days, but you knew how dangerous the missions were.

He turned and stared at you, not at all surprised by your question since you always asked. “No, I didn’t get hurt,” he assured you, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't exactly talk about it either. I’m sorry.”

You nodded in understanding. It was information you weren't privy to and you doubted he called tonight to talk about it anyway. He peeled back layers of himself, yet there was so much underneath that you didn't know about. You cared for him regardless.

“Bucky, you don't have to apologize for that,” you reminded him.

“I just feel bad. You can tell me about your work, but I can't always talk about mine,” he said, looking both ways before he poked his head into his apartment.

“My job isn’t as ‘exciting’ as yours,” you teased before he let you in.

Bucky had a nice place. The partially exposed brick walls paired well with the hardwood floors. Tasteful, but not extravagant. The thick curtains in the living room matched the drapes in his bedroom. Since he occasionally slept on the floor by the oversized chair, it helped to block out the sun. He didn't have much as far as decor, but he did have a piece of art that his best friend, Steve, drew hung up in the hall.

He also had a bowl that you made on the console to hold his keys, which he promptly set them in.

It meant something that he even let you into his apartment when others close to him had never been invited.

“Need anything to drink?” He asked, slipping his jacket and glove off.

He had an empty glass waiting on the kitchen island in case you did. While you indulged in a drink now and then, he wouldn't allow you to have too many. He refused to have sex with you if you were inebriated. Said it took consent away and you wouldn't be alert enough to use a safeword if necessary.

He wouldn't budge on that rule.

“No, thanks,” you answered, gazing at him.

His T-shirt strained against his biceps, one flesh and one vibranium. You could still smell his cologne from the small distance across the room, amber and cedarwood. Warm, comforting, dominating. All the things he was to you.

Not the monster he sometimes believed himself to be.

You eyed him as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, the need to soothe him coming forward when you caught a distant look in his eyes. He didn't even make a move to down his drink as he set his hands on the counter and stared off. Maybe he couldn't give you the details about what happened, but you could take care of him.

Because as much as he sometimes had to have control over you, both of you had power in your relationship.

“Bucky?” You gently called out, pulling him from his trance. “You can talk to me, even if you have to keep some things to yourself.”

His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Three months.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Three months since we started this,” he answered.

You realized he was right when you remembered the date. It felt longer yet still brand new. “Yeah. Three great months,” you smiled.

A knot formed in your stomach when he didn't smile back. “And you still feel safe with me?” He asked, gripping the counter so hard you thought it might crumble in his hands. “You really trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Your smile slipped, the questions like a punch to the gut as you walked toward him. You stopped a foot in front of him to give him some breathing room as he made eye contact. Where had that come from? What happened to make him question that?

“Of course, I feel safe. Not only do I feel safe with you and trust you, I know that you won't hurt me. You will always take care of me,” you said with fierce determination, yet with a vulnerability you couldn't hide. “If I didn't believe that, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t submit to you.”

You told him the same thing the day you two agreed on this arrangement. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't like your ex. He wouldn't just throw you away without a second thought or ignore your needs. You also had faith in him that he wouldn't harm you.

And as much as you trusted him, he trusted you that much more. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called you in the first place. That meant he still trusted himself around you.

He looked away and asked above a whisper, “Do you still think I'm a good man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart aching when his jaw clenched. “Bucky, look at me, please.”

He slowly made eye contact with you, a storm swirling in his stare.

“You are a good man,” you stated, needing to reach the part of him that believed it. “And it doesn't matter how many times you ask me that, my answer isn't going to change. Ever.”

Bucky was silent, his breathing the only sound in the space. You were worried that you said the wrong thing before he pushed himself away from the counter. Instead of moving back when he approached, you stood firm, ready to brace the storm. You sometimes felt like a mouse confronted by a lion when he got close, but it sent a thrill through you. Because you meant what you said.

You trusted him and he made you feel safe.

“I just had to hear you say it,” he whispered as he cupped your face.

A fire lit within you as Bucky captured your mouth with his. There was care and tenderness beneath the hunger and you found yourself clinging to his arms as you kissed him back. No one before him had ever kissed you with such desire, such passion. It had you chasing his lips when he pulled away too soon.

“Now go to my room, get undressed, and kneel on the bed facing the headboard,” he ordered, his voice low and allowing the words to sink in just in case you had any objections. Because he was done talking and ready to play.

So were you.

It took you a moment to answer since you had to bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered, feeling his eyes on you as you walked to his bedroom.

You focused on keeping your breathing even as you shed your clothes, taking a moment to fold them before you set them on the chair in the corner. The only time you left your garments on the floor was if Bucky put them there or had you put on a show for him. It was his space and you respected it.

He hadn't told you how long to wait for him, but your heart thumped as you knelt on the queen sized bed. You didn’t see any toys as you glanced around, but there was water, snacks, wipes, and the soft blanket you loved waiting on the nightstand. It took a moment for you to spot that there was a blindfold and scarf on top of the blanket. Your womb clenched in anticipation, an exquisite feeling knowing your patience and obedience would reward you.

Bucky walked through the door a minute later and shut it behind him. The energy shifted completely, both of you ready for each other. As much as you wanted to lift your gaze and look behind you, you kept your eyes downcast as he approached the bed. He cupped your cheek once he was close enough and forced your eyes to meet his.

“My beautiful angel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your skin as you glowed from the praise. He reached for the scarf and ran his fingers across the silk as he glanced at you. “As much as I hate to cover those beautiful eyes of yours and restrain you, I want you to concentrate on my touch tonight. Just let me have you.”

A shiver rolled down your spine as you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hands behind your back,” he said, moving to secure them once you did so. The silk was soft against your skin, almost as soft as the kiss to your shoulder. After years of being restrained, you knew he felt guilty at times taking your control away. The difference was you gave yourself to him willingly. “Tell me your safewords.”

“Green is good. Yellow to pause,” you stated, testing the scarf. He never bound you too tight, but it was enough that you couldn’t slip your wrists free. “Red to stop."

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You turned your head a fraction so he could slot his lips properly over yours. Gentle, yet hot enough to melt your insides. “My good girl.”

He maneuvered you so you were in the middle of the bed and spread your knees a bit further apart. He joined you on his knees, still fully clothed. Casting your gaze down again, you bit your lip when you saw the prominent bulge in his pants. A hand came up to grasp your chin before you could stare for too long and lifted your head. If you were still wearing your panties, they would’ve dampened from his darkened gaze.

“So beautiful and all mine tonight,” he said.

“I’m yours, Sir,” you whispered, the word “always” unspoken.

“And I know you were staring,” he smirked, his fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans. His impressive cock sprang free once he pushed his underwear and pants down far enough and you wished you could lean down and swirl your tongue around the large head. “Greedy angel. Just desperate to have my cock in you.”

“Yes, Sir. Please,” you begged.

He made a show of lifting the blindfold before he slipped it over your head, your body tensing up when your world went dark. Sight was one of the senses you relied on the most. It helped you absorb most of the world around you. And now it was temporarily gone. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest as you breathed a bit heavier. But Bucky was there, softly touching your face until you relaxed.

“Breathe, angel. I’ve got you,” he whispered, drawing a gasp from you when his lips touched yours. His hands mapped your body, brushing along your breasts down to your thighs. You felt him everywhere. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered as a hand moved around your back and forced you to arch. He was careful not to hurt your arms. “Please.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips closed around your nipple. You could practically feel that he looked up at you as he gently suckled. A wave of arousal crashed through you as he pinched the other. No one had ever lavished your body with such attention the way Bucky did.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured against the swell of your breast. “Helpless. Trembling. Needy.”

You didn't mean to let such a wanton moan escape, but he made you feel needed. He made you feel wanted. It was a beautiful thing to surrender to him.

“And I love that I'm the one you trust to take care of you.”

“I trust you with my life, Sir,” you moaned.

And your heart, even though he had the power to break it.

Your chest suddenly felt colder when Bucky pulled his mouth and hand away and you shook from the loss of his heat. His vibranium hand touched your torso to remind you he was close when he shifted closer to you on the bed. You gasped when he dragged his hand down and you were helpless to do anything but feel when it slid between your legs.

“You're doing so well for me,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers spread your sopping folds. He teased you, letting you soak his metal fingers as you mewled. He lightly bit you again when he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding along your slit, but not pushing inside you just yet. “You want me inside you? You need me to fuck you, don't you? Tell me.”

Your cheeks flamed as you whined. “I need you to fuck me, Sir,” you said, trying to widen your thighs to take him in more.

“I will. I'm going to give you everything you need,” he rumbled, gripping your hips with strong and capable hands to keep you still. “And you’re going to let me ruin your pretty little pussy with my cock.”

You panted with want at his possessiveness. Filthy words were something you never thought you’d hear from someone associated with The Avengers and they kicked your body into overdrive. You ached to have him split you open. “Ruin me, Sir.”

In one swift move he lifted you, pulled you into his lap, and buried himself to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you let out a cry, every inch of his cock stretching and making itself at home in your welcoming cunt. You couldn't brace yourself on his shoulders with your hands behind your back. You couldn't see the ecstasy in his eyes as he let you adjust to his size, but you didn't have to. Not with the way he dug his fingers in and groaned against your shoulder.

He took you to heaven when he was inside you.

“Color,” he said against your skin, thrusting his hips up once.

“Green,” you moaned, reminding yourself to stay still when you wanted him to move. “So green.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, gently kissing up to your ear. “Keep being good while I bounce you up and down on my cock.”

Your eyes fluttered behind the blindfold as he pulled you up and slammed you back down on his cock. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your heart beat frantically in your chest. It was difficult to string thoughts together, but they all went back to him and how good he made you feel. How he made you feel beautiful.

Flaws and all.

“It’s like your cunt was made for me, angel. Practically crying all over my cock,” his voice was smoky as sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips. The next moan was softer when he slid a hand up to your neck, resting it there as the other kept your hips flush against his. “You deserve to feel good because you are good. So fucking good.”

Your lower lip trembled as a sob worked its way to your throat, “Thank you, Sir,” you whimpered before he squeezed.

“And I. Deserve. You.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. You didn’t have to see his face to know the fury that surfaced. “My angel. Mine.”

It overwhelmed you as he bounced you in his lap, sinking you down onto him again and again. His thrusts were almost unforgiving, but the hand on your throat didn’t tighten anymore. He couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m your angel, Sir,” you moaned as he reduced you to a needy wet mess.

“I wanna tear you apart,” he growled against your lips. “And put you back together so you still feel me when you fucking breathe.”

“Tear me apart, Sir,” you gasped, a plea for him to use you more. Your thighs hit his as he thrust up and all you could do was take it. He touched places inside you no one else could reach, physically and emotionally, and you never wanted it to stop. “Please!”

“Tell me you need me to come inside you and I’ll let you come,” he ordered, the hand on your neck squeezing a fraction. “Say it.”

“Come inside me, Sir,” you begged.

“Bucky,” he breathed against your lips. “Say. My. Name.”

Your next breath was shaky. He always had you call him “Sir” on nights like this. Why was this different?

Your orgasm began to crest, but you couldn’t let go until you gave him what he wanted. And he’d give you what you needed. “Come inside me, Bucky,” you exhaled. “Please.”

He swiped his thumb along your pulse with a deep groan, his cock still driving up into you. “I will after you come,” he promised, his tongue sliding past your parted lips and pulling away all too quickly. “C’mon, angel. Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

The sob you tampered down earlier resuraced, wrenched from your throat as you came. Your release continued, practically leaking around his cock as tears slid out beneath the blindfold. You were beyond rational thought as pleasure spiraled through you, vaguely aware that he thrust through it to chase his own end.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunted, pulsing hotly inside you as he filled you up.

Both of you panted as you continued to drift from euphoria, your heart still beating wildly. You were warm, but your body shivered as he lifted you up. Your combined release slid from your aching cunt once he slipped free. You floated and wanted him to catch you, but you couldn’t put your arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when you let out a whimper. He made quick work of untying your wrists so he could lay you down properly and wipe away the tears still on your cheeks. “I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Your eyes stayed shut for a moment when Bucky removed it, but you cracked them open when you wanted to see him. Your vision slowly cleared as you blinked a few times, your mind still floating as he came into view. He called you an angel, but he was the one who had a halo around his head at the moment. A gorgeous angel who had unrightfully had his wings taken away. He smiled like he wanted to eat you alive, but his touch was nothing short of tender when he brought his hand to your face.

“So fucking beautiful. You did so well for me. Fuck, I just wanna clean you with my tongue and fill you up all over again,” he praised as you clenched around nothing and whined. As hot as it sounded, you needed a bit of rest after that. “Not tonight,” he smiled, keeping a hand on you as he grabbed a wipe.

A reason he had everything close by was because you craved his touch after sex. If he ever got too far away, you whimpered and reached for him. It made you feel needy, but he assured you that he needed to keep touching you just as badly.

It just wasn’t fair that he looked so composed.

Bucky continued to shower you with soft praise as he cleaned you up. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped the soft blanket around you, trembles moved through your entire body as he put his arms around you, too. He took aftercare very seriously. It was a way for you to feel cared for and nurtured while allowing your body and brain to return back to normal. He never wanted you to experience negativity or sadness after any sort of session, especially an intense one.

You were aware that he moved you closer in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of your head, but you weren't ready to speak yet. It always took you a minute to come back to yourself and he was never one to rush or push you. If relaxing in his embrace was what it took to return to the world, he was more than content to keep you in his arms.

At least, that was what he told you.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes. Your heartbeat was back to a steady rhythm, but you still weren't ready to move yet. You were warm and safe. Bucky was there to take care of you. But what about him?

Had you taken care of him?

Bucky had a faint smile on his face when you lifted your head, his shoulders relaxed and eyes soft. Like he was at ease with everything around him. “Welcome back, angel,” he whispered, peppering your face with light kisses.

“Hey,” you smiled tiredly, your voice a little hoarse as you brought a hand to his hair, happy that you could touch him again. Judging by the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment before he opened them, he missed your touch, too.

“You okay?”

“I am and so are you. You're okay.” It wasn't a question. Whatever haunted him earlier was gone.

For now.

He didn't tear his gaze away as he reached for the water behind him, which you gratefully accepted as he put it to your lips. “You amaze me, you know? You just came back to yourself, but you're talking about me being okay.”

“Isn’t that why you call me?” You asked with a small frown, taking another large sip. “To help you?”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not just about me. This is about you, too.”

You took one more drink before you could say something stupid. Yes, this was about you, too. How he didn't push too far. How he’d hold you after sex and talk with you because those things were important to you. How he made you feel cherished and wanted for a short while.

You just didn't want to admit that he was a constant in your mind. But would it be so wrong if you did? Even if he’d never date you, didn't he have a right to know how you felt?

Communication was key and you would have to eventually tell him if those feelings persisted.

“It’s about both of us and I just want you to be okay,” is what you said because it was the truth.

He set the water aside and cupped your cheek, his calloused hand a little cool, but nice. You almost wished you could hide from his knowing eyes, but he didn’t press you for more. “I am now,” he said, swallowing a little. “I just couldn't let you see me tonight.”

Worry filled his eyes like he may have upset you, but you shook your head. You had seen his scars, but he was never obligated to show you his body. “You're letting me see you now,” you said, scooting closer as he brought your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.

You thought about how the evening played out. How he asked if you thought he was a good man. How he demanded that you speak his name. And how he said he deserved you. Either something happened while he was gone or someone said or did something to get to him. You wished you knew what it was since he didn’t expand on what had been eating away at him before.

“And before you ask, you didn't hurt me,” you told him, knowing the question was coming. You appreciated that he cared enough to check.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good because I’d never stop hating myself if I did,” he admitted, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You don't deserve that kind of pain.”

Your heart swelled, not letting any past hurt enter your mind. He made you believe that you deserved better than what you had. It was a good feeling.

“Neither do you. And that's a reason why safewords exist. Both of us can use them,” you reminded him. Like aftercare, he took the words seriously. He listened to you. And if he ever got overwhelmed, he had every right to stop it the same way you did. “So no self-hate tonight.”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of self-hate,” he teased, tilting his head to look your way. “I really don’t want to go to therapy tomorrow.”

There was a forced calmness in his blue eyes as you assessed him. “You still don’t like your therapist,” you stated.

One of the conditions of his pardon was that he had to go to therapy. It was meant to help him process his thoughts and past experiences in order to work through them. Though he didn’t tell you what went on in his sessions as it was none of your business, he didn’t keep it a secret from you that the doctor was far from his favorite person.

You wondered if Bucky told her about you.

“What’s there to like?” He asked.

You smiled a little, knowing better than to poke the bear and say she probably wasn't that bad. “Well, being able to speak to someone who provides non-judgemental and empathetic support is one thing.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” he said, the affection in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say.

Moments like that made you think he cared. No, that wasn’t right. You knew he cared about you. But hearing things like that made you feel like there was hope for more and he wasn’t ready for that.

Hope was both a wonderful and dangerous thing.

“Have you met anyone else?” He asked suddenly, moving his hand to your back.

It was a question Bucky asked every time he had you over. He said from the start if there was another man in your life that you’d rather be with, someone who could offer you more, he’d step aside. There wasn't anyone else. You didn't want anyone else.

And while it was admirable that he would walk away if that ever changed, your heart ached at the thought that he’d easily let you go. Because at the end of the day he wasn't ready for a relationship. Not yet.

Even if he was, who said he wanted one with you?

“No, I haven't met anyone,” you said, feeling the warm breath of his exhale against your skin as his hand moved up and down your back. It relaxed you more and you found yourself fighting a yawn. “Have you?”

“No,” he chuckled. The crinkles by his eyes made him look carefree. “Not since you saved me.”

You shut your eyes, afraid that tears would well up if you looked at him. “I didn't save you. All I did was buy you a coffee one afternoon,” you whispered dismissively.

That day changed your life.

“I’m going to let that slide since you're sleepy, but I’m going to remind you when you're wide awake that you did a lot more than that,” he spoke. He held you a little tighter when you stayed quiet. You were more tired than you thought. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You let your eyes shut at his command. “Thank you for taking care of me, Bucky.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

There was something else unspoken in the air, but a tender kiss to your forehead stopped you from reading too deeply into it.

In the morning, he’d send you back to your place after he made you breakfast. He’d text you later to make sure you were okay. He would continue to check in and you would do your best not to fall for him more. Because one day he wouldn't need you anymore. You didn't know when that day would come, but tonight you could indulge in the fantasy that Bucky wanted you to be his girl.

Permanently.

I just want these two happy and together. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 2

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Part 1

You shut your laptop with a frustrated sigh and crossed out the last address you had written down on your pad of paper. The last two days you had been searching for a place to rent, only to be turned down due to your bad credit or limited income. You didn’t have the privilege of asking your family for help, most of them had shunned you once you got into your relationship and the few that did still speak with you were in no position to lend you money.

Your phone rang again for the 3rd time in 30 minutes, a blocked number popping up on the screen. You had ignored it the last 2 times for the fear that it was your boyfriend, but he should still be in jail with no chance of making phone calls, right?

Deciding it wouldn’t really hurt to answer it, you slid the call open and instantly regretted it once the familiar devious voice spoke to you.

“Hello bird,” he greeted with fake sincerity, using the pet name he made for you as a jab at your eating habits. The fear shot through you just as hard as the other night, rendering you speechless.

“I’m out baby. I’ll be home soon and we can sit down and talk about everything. Hopefully you were able to get the house cleaned, it was a mess the last time I was there.”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything more before you ended the call. Anxiety and fear began creeping into your body, making you scramble to grab a luggage bag from the closet before shoving some clothes, toiletries, and your laptop in it. Running into the living room, you peeked out of the curtains, hoping to see Aaron’s car in the driveway. No such luck.

So grabbing your keys, you left the house, not even bothering to lock it and threw your luggage into the backseat of your car. You tore out of the driveway and down the street like a bat out hell, unsure exactly how far away your boyfriend was. As reckless as driving 50 in a residential was, you took your chances of being pulled over and put as much distance between you and that house before dialing Aaron’s number at a red light.

“Hotchner,” he answered professionally from the other line.

“Aaron. He got out. I don’t know how, maybe his mom paid his bail. He called me and said he was on his way to me.” Your words were fast and frantic. You would've continued rambling had Aaron not stopped you.

"Y/N. Just take a deep breath for me, alright?"

The light turned green and you did as he instructed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, it doing very little to calm your frazzled nerves but appreciated it regardless.

"Now do you have anywhere you can go, maybe a friends house or family member? Somewhere you'd be safe?"

"No," you spoke. "I don't have any friends and most of my family disowned me when I got into this stupid relationship. The rest of them live on the West Coast."

There was a pause of silence as you felt him thinking over the phone. Most likely figuring out the easiest way to get rid of you and your problems.

"Alright. I have some down time before my meeting in an hour. Why don't you come by and we can figure out a plan. I'll send you the address, just take the elevator to the 4th floor."

A second later you felt the buzz of your phone from the incoming text message. "Ok. Thank you so much Aaron. And I'm so sorry for taking up your time." Tears threatened to fall but you held them back.

"Don't be sorry, Y/N. I want to help you. Don't worry, we'll get this all sorted out. Just text me when you arrive."

"I will," you replied before you both said goodbye and hung up. You put the address in your navigation and drove mindlessly through traffic, so many thoughts going through your head it made you want to scream.

The address wasn't too far from your own homes, arriving there in less than an hour and heading into the very drab looking building before taking the elevator, texting Aaron that you had arrived on the way up.

You had just made it to the front desk before seeing Aaron headed in your direction, giving the receptionist a small smile. "She's with me Lonnette, thank you."

You waited as Lonnette printed your visitor badge and handed it over with a friendly smile before following Aaron through the floor, passing by glass offices and cubicles. You were quiet, not really in the mood for small talk which you felt he sensed and didn't bother saying anything as he lead you up some stairs to an office that you presumed was his by the gold name plaque on his desk.

"Have a seat, please," he offered politely, closing the door and walking over to his side of the desk. "Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?"

You shook your head. "No thank you. I appreciate the offer though."

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down, moving some files to the side. "So I'm genuinely surprised to hear that he's out of jail. You said you think his mother bailed him out?"

"Yeah. I don't think she knows anything about what happened but whenever he asks her for money, she just sends it to him. I think she feels guilty for never being in his life so giving him money when he needs it helps her feel better about it." You rung your hands together, anxious about the whole situation as well as being there, talking with a man that was pretty much a complete stranger, bugging him for help.

"And he called you afterwards, telling you that he was on his way? Did he seem upset?" His tone was curious as if trying to get every piece of puzzle to fit perfectly in order to build an accurate idea of who your boyfriend was. It made sense considering his profession.

"I don't know. He's really good at hiding his anger until he snaps. He was talking like nothing had happened and we were just going to go back to normal." Your head whipped towards the open window blinds where someone was just walking by, Aaron noticing your jumpy behavior immediately.

"You're safe here. No one knows anything about what happened except you and I," he reassured you, making you relax just a little. "I don't think he'll be out of jail for long though, at least until he sees the judge for arraignment. I will personally see to that."

His words brought you a bit of placidity and hope as you still wondered why he would go through such lengths to help you out.

"I do have a small flat not far from here that I use occasionally for late nights at the office when I don't want to drive all the way home. You can stay there for now, until you find a place of your own if you'd like. Completely up to you, I don't want you to feel pressured."

Your eyes looked up from the floor to meet his, surprised by his offer.

"I- uh. I couldn't impose on you like that-

"You wouldn't be. I barely use it anymore, I prefer to be at my home with my son whenever I can."

Son? He has a son. Of course he does. He probably also has a wife or at least a girlfriend since you didn't see a ring on his finger. The thought of him with a son didn't bother you, in fact it only gave you more of a reason to trust him.

"If you're sure you don't mind," you said, trying not to sound too excited, relieved that you wouldn't have to go back to your boyfriends house. "Please let me pay some sort of rent or something though. It's the least I can do."

He shook his head no, his expression soft and nonchalant. "Don't worry about it. You're gonna need the money for your new place. Just promise me that you won't contact him or go back to that house unless you have some sort of escort, preferably by law enforcement."

You could be my escort.

You nodded in agreement, ignoring your thoughts.

“Alright then. I can send you the address and give you the keys now. I'm not sure if the fridge is stocked but feel free to add or throw anything away. There is a washer and dryer there so you can wash the sheets and anything else you need." He pulled his keys from his desk drawer and removed a ring with a single key on it, holding it out for you.

You took it gratefully and stood with him as he buttoned his suit back up and checked his watch.

"Could I at least make you dinner or something?" you blurted, not sure where such confidence came from. "I mean, I just want to do something for you in return for your incredible generosity." You couldn't stop the blush from burning your cheeks, your words successfully embarrassing yourself.

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, showing off just the slightest sight of dimples. "I'll be with my son tonight but maybe we could grab a coffee sometime tomorrow."

You smiled back, more than satisfied with his offer and followed him out of his office, feeling a few stares from people but avoided eye contact. Aaron walked you back to the receptionist and even had her add you as a contact so visiting would be an easier feat.

"Thank you again Aaron," you spoke, the anxiety you had been feeling for the last few hours, finally beginning to dissipate. He answered with a friendly nod and you entered the elevators. Once the doors closed and you were completely alone, you took in a deep breath. Maybe everything was going to be ok like he said.

[thebestsetter]

Thinking about (lovesick) Hiori Yo keeping a diary.

His parents have always been emotionally unavaible. For them, Hiori was nothing more nothing less than an experiment, the one destined to be what they've always wanted to be and yet never managed to acomplish: someone who wears the title of being "the best in the world".

He also didn't have much (if any) friends. All his time was dedicated to football practice, so the only people he talked to (aside from his parents) were his teammates. And they were nice, sure, but they were not his friends. They were more like acquaintances. The only one he could really call a friend was one of his teammates, Karasu Tabito, and even so he still didn't feel comfortable enough talking to him about the complex thoughts he had.

Because of that, he's never had anyone to talk with. No one to confide about his feelings and emotions. No one to talk about how he wanted to leave his home house (that place didn't feel like a home). How his parents fucked up his sanity. How he didn't really like football that much.

He couldn't keep all these things inside his head anymore. He needed to pour these feelings out. That's why he decided to start a diary.

Grabbing an old notebook and one of those common blue pens, he started writing. The diary was his most treasured possession. It stayed locked inside his bedside table, being away from all of the prying eyes.

Writing felt good. He wrote about his strained relationship with his parents. About soccer practices. About gaming tips. About pretty much everything.

His thoughts about many different themes were written there. That's why his journal didn't really have a specific theme.

Well, at least in the beggining it didn't have.

Because ever since a month or so, all the pages on his diary began to revolve around a girl. You.

He met you during a rather boring math class. The teacher was rambling on and on about algebrics or whatever, and time seemed to freeze because of how utterly shitty the endless class seemed.

"His explanation sucks, doesn't it?"

He heard a female voice coming from beside him. When he turned to the direction of the sound, he saw the prettiest girl he had ever met.

Her hair framed her face perfectly, it's color matching her eyes in the most beautiful way Yo had ever seen. The smile she had on her face seemed to shine, and Hiori found himself smiling back, too.

"Yeah" he sighed, then looked back at the teacher

"I just wish the old hag would shut up"

"I wish he would just shut up"

They spoke at the same time.

Looking at eachother, they both began to laugh. Hard. Clutching your stomach and tearing up kind of laugh. Snorting like a pig laugh. Wheezing. Hitting the table with your fist to try and stop with the loud laughing, but being phisically incapable of stopping.

"Hiori Yo and (Name) (Lastname). Do you want to share with the class what made you laugh so hard? I'm sure they want to laugh to."

"N-No, mister. We're sorry. We-We'll stop" you answered, still trying to stiffle your laugh

"Do not interrupt my class again, or else I'll send you both to the principal's office"

"Okay sir." Hiori answered, not believing a word the teacher said but still a little scared to have his parents find out he went to the principal's office

"Hiori Yo, huh?" You said "It suits you"

"Thank you, miss (Name) (Lastname)." Hiori smirked "Your name is very pretty. It also suits you"

"Oh, so you think I'm pretty?" You smirked, a mischevious and playful glint on your eyes.

"N-no!" Hiori blushed hard, averting your gaze. His accent got stronger like it always did when he became nervous, and he was quick to correct himself "I-I mean, yes! You're very pretty! B-but I didn't mean to say t-that. Not that you're not pretty! Is just that..."

He was interrupted by the sound of your laugh mixed with the bell signalizing the end of the school day. It's obnoxious sound was such a contrast from your sweet, honey-like melodic laugh.

"Don't worry, I was just teasing you!" You smiled at him, grabbing your backpack and getting up "Well, see you on the next advanced math period, mister Hiori Yo"

You then quickly left, leaving behind a red and speechless Hiori.

He has been obsessed in love with you ever since. He wanted to be with you all of the time, no exceptions. You were just so nice! It seemed like his problems disappeared when you were near. Life seemed brighter, and even his parents noticed the change in his behavior. He was more carefree, happier, lighter.

And never once did he forget to write in his diary. In fact, he wrote about you so much he decided to rip the pages about his parents and other things and make the journal solely based on you.

He wrote about the dates he wanted to go to with you. Wrote about how he wanted to hold hands with you, kiss you till you're both breathless, stargaze with you, game with you. Do basically everything with you.

He detailed how he wanted to confess to you: you would both be in a park, having a picnic, when he would suddenly pull a bouquet from his backpack and put his feelings on the table, making it clear he viewed you as more than a friend. And then you'd laugh and say you like him too, making fun of his strong accent and how much effect you had over him.

Not that he'd mind. As long as your attention was on him, you could humilliate him all you want. He was pathetic.

He even wrote about your wedding, the petunias he wanted to give you and how Hiori (Name) had such a nice ring to it.

He wrote everything in his diary. And that was his fatal flaw.

Because he also wrote about how he wanted to spend his practice time with you. How he wanted to give up on soccer and move in with you to a house on the countryside, just you and him. How he sometimes skipped practices just to go out with you.

"Mom? Dad?"

He would never have thought that, one day, he would forget to lock the diary up. And who would've guessed it would fall in the hands of his parents, who have no idea of privacy.

"Yo, we need to talk about this"

When Hiori saw the notebook in his dad's hand, he swallowed dry. He felt like crying just by imagining what they wanted to discuss about.

Maybe they didn't read it. Yeah, maybe they still respected their son, at least a little bit.

"W-what? How did you..."

"It was on your bed." His mom answered, a stern expression on her face "me and your father came to an agreement after reading it, and..."

"You read it?!" Hiori was furious and sad at the same time. Not surprised, no. He knew they would've done this. "You can't do this! My personal thoughts are in there! It's my diary! You're invading my privacy!"

"Bullshit. Teenagers do not have nor need privacy" his father cut him off "Whatever. What matters is that we read about that (Name) girl. And we've decided..."

No. He can say anything but what he thinks they're bout to say. He can't handle that.

"We don't want you around that girl anymore. She's getting in the way of your football practices. That's why...

We're moving you to a different school."

No...

No.

NO!

"No she's not!" Hiori screamed, pleaded. He wished that for once his parents would listen to him, think about his feelings at least one time. "I love her! I swear I'll do double the practice! Just, please. Please don't do this" his voice was wavering. He was weak. "Please don't keep her away from me. Please."

"We do this cause we know what's best for you. We're your parents. We know you better than yourself." His mom tried to reason.

"No you don't!" Hiori screamed "She's the best thing that has ever happened to me! You can't do this to me! You can't decide these things in my behalf!"

"We're your parents. We can and we did. End of discussion." His dad gritted out, not an ounce of empathy in his face. "And we also decided you're not keeping a diary anymore. We don't want you hiding things from us."

With a swift move, he threw the notebook inside the fireplace.

"NO!" Hiori screamed, running to collect the ashes and try to save the diary, but it was already too late.

In his knees in front of the fire, Hiori cried. The flames were dancing around as if mocking his sadness, laughing at his disgrace.

He stayed there for so long he lost track of time. His parents were no longer in the room, deciding to finally give their son space. But he didn't want space.

He wanted you.

He stayed motionless until the last flame was unstinguished. And when it finally was, so was his hope for a better future. A future without his parents playing with the strings of his life all the time, treating him like a puppet. A future with no pain.

A future with you.

And so, a single page that survived flew and fell in front of him.

He picked it up.

Dear diary,

I think I can make up with my parents. I didn't told her about the whole situation since I don't want to burden her, but from what she heard, (Name) said we just need to talk. And maybe she's right. Maybe they'll like her just as much as I do, and we can be a big happy family. She makes me feel like everything is possible. I'm sure I love her, and I want to spend all my time by her side...

He couldn't read it anymore.

With a scream, Hiori tore the page apart.

~A/N: Sorry anon, idk how to write angst ☹️

Masterlist

[cupcakeslushie]

I dont usually send asks, mostly cause im shy and don’t know what to say lol, but I wanted to share my appreciation for your Kendratello AU, cause it’s helped me recognize a toxic relationship in my own life.

I’ve never been a victim to SA or anything of the likes, so I can’t say I’ve been EXACTLY in Donnie’s place, but something that unsettled me early on when reading your AU was how…NICE Kendra would seem when alone with Donnie.

In a lot of media, especially in the media I saw growing up, the manipulative antagonist almost always had very obvious tells that show they’re evil when interacting with the victim. Maybe they’re talking about committing a very clearly villainous deed, keep the protagonist prisoner, something like that. But Kendra didn’t. Well, not always.

Kendra destroyed Donnie from the foundation up, and then rebuilt him back up to be who she wanted him to be, would punish him but then spin the situation around to be his own fault, but the rest of the time she would seem kind.

Only recently have I realized that someone very close to me has been toxic for most of our lives, and the reason it took me this long to realize it was because they would treat me kindly only until it became in their own interest to act otherwise. But I would take it, because I loved them and didn’t want to hurt their feelings, and I assumed that since they loved me, they wouldn’t ACTUALLY (emotionally) hurt me.

Spoiler alert: they did.

I’m not going to get much more into it, but your AU’s been very comforting to me ever since this happened, because it’s helping me come to terms with the fact that what happened wasn’t my fault just because our relationship seemed nice most of the time.

Your depiction of Kendra manipulating Donnie so realistically, and Donnie slowly but surely realizing that Kendra was hurting him is so powerful, and I thank you for that.

I’m so happy for you Anon 💚💚

It’s good to see these patterns, and depending on how toxic the relationship is, to speak up for yourself, or cut the person out, if they are unwilling to change.

Kindness is often a tool used by manipulators. But the biggest thing to ask yourself is exactly what you saw. Is this person only nice to me when they need something from me? And if so, then this isn’t real kindness. Good for you for knowing your worth!!

⚠️

sa related ask and discussions of very toxic relationships…

Personal experience rambling below. Toxic friendship and sa mention.

I’ll only be discussing this once, here, in this post. So I’m afraid if I get anyone asking for further info, I’m not going to reply /lh

I’m very sorry for what you’ve gone through. I hope you can find what you need to heal. Everyone’s traumas are so different, so please if you can, and haven’t already, speak to a professional that will give you help catered to you.

But I do want to immediately answer your question and say, yes, I have healed, for the most part. It took a lot of work and self-reflection that I didn’t want to do, because it was scary. But when I finally talked to someone, and realized I needed to take action in order to heal, that was when the process started.

For years, I thought my only options were to suffer in silence, and that what happened to me was my own fault, because towards the end, I was consenting. But I didn’t understand how my mindset and self worth had become so twisted.

My person (let’s call him J) was one of my best friends growing up. But as he got older, and more interested in…mature things, he changed. J would only ever agree to hang out together unless I offered to give him something to make it worth his while. Eventually I started to think these acts were all I was good for, as that’s all that made him happy to be around me. Pretty soon, J didn’t even have to push the ideas onto me. He only had to act uninterested or busy, and I would sit there and beg to do whatever he wanted.

The idea of rejection grew to be so painful and terrifying as he was one of only two friends that I had (the other being his sister. So if I lost one, I was so scared to lose the other). And I’d recently lost one of my closest childhood friends. Which he often used her cutting contact with us in his manipulations as well.

(It wasn’t until years later that she contacted me through Facebook and revealed that it was J that made her feel too uncomfortable, and as she already lived two hours away from us, and only visited once a year, it was just easier for her to cut off contact. I don’t blame her now, but without that knowledge, the thought that it was something I did, only helped J manipulate me.)

As I grew older, and I got better friends, I started to learn just how much I’d been pushed into only ever doing what he wanted, and how one sided of a relationship it was. He moved away, and that distance I was so scared of became a reality. But it was the best thing to ever happen. I still wonder what would’ve happened if he’d stayed in town. If we might’ve gotten married or if I would’ve finally stood up for myself. But all that matters is he is gone. There is always the danger of him coming home and me seeing him—we were neighbors, so his parents and mine still live right next door. Holidays can be kind of a high stress time lol.

That cafe comic is actually probably the most therapeutic piece out of the whole Kendratello AU I’ve done, as it’s always been a fear of mine that I could just turn around and he’d be in town visiting lol. Sending Kendra through that portal was highly cathartic. But even if that were to happen now, I have my coping skills, and I’m in a much better headspace. I think I would be able to handle myself.

I’m still a people pleaser, I don’t think that’s ever going to go away, even with all the work I’ve done. The biggest thing is, I know I’m worth more now. I can see real kindness, and catch the fake stuff much better by looking for those same toxic signs. The real friendships I’ve made have shown me what connection is truly like. It’s not a one-sided negotiation every time you get together. And if it is, then it’s probably not a healthy give and take. I’ve healed, but it is a constant effort.

Every new person sets off some kind of anxiety in the back of my head, but I don’t let that fear control how our relationship will develop. I’ve got the final say in what happens and what I get out of it.

[king-crawler]

HEY HI HELLO

Sorry for the random message here In the asks, it's ok if you don't see this or answer it since you probably got a lot already and I understand if you don't see this!/gen

But first of all, I just wanna say

I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT WATCHED YOUR ANALYSIS VIDEO SOONER IM SO FUCKING LATE MAN

It's so well done and so fucking funny, I was literally smiling and cackling through the whole thing, it's shocking how similar our humor is

NOT TO MENTION THE END SCENE AREE YOU KIDDING HOW DID YOU MATCH THE LYRICS SO PERFECTLY TO THE FUCKING LORE ITS INCREDIBLE 😭💜/GEN, POS

It's insane how much dedication is put into it, let alone singlehandedly feeding turbo fans as myself

Genuinely thought it's so nice seeing more content for a hyperfixation I've had since 2012, and the fandom coming back along with this video Genuinely brings me so much joy as someone who's loved this movie since I was a kid

Sorry for the ramble but genuinely thank you for making that video, I can't wait to see what other stuff you do, wreck it ralph or not I WILL be tuning in/gen, pos

Okay second of all

The main reason why I'm sending this is because of sometning I noticed while rewatching a scene in the movie

Now, this might be me over analyzing as I usually do but it feels TOO. OBVIOUS.

SO

IN the kart bakery scene where vanellope and ralph go to bake a kart, they obviously make their way into the building and into the main room

You see all the Karts of course, and It pans to the one vanellope chooses

Which, at first glance you wouldn't really pay too much attention, especially when watching it for the first time, she's just picking the model she likes

..but looking back at the scene

Vanellope's kart model, how it was supposed to look, looks very

Familiar

Because the kart she chose..

...is a red and white kart

With stripes down the middle, with a very similar shape to a..certain persons kart. Now this might just be nothing, it's probably just like I said, and over analysis on my part

But the kart the chose looks WAY too similar to turbo's, not to mention the stripe is down the middle, just like turbo's car on the cabinet art of him

And vanellope could've chosen ANY kart

But it was that specific kart she chose, out of any of the karts

Not to mention in some of vanellope's concept art...

(Art made by Lorelay Bove)

..Vanellope's concept design and turbos designs strike SCARILY uncanny resemblances to each others designs

From the helmet and colors

All the way down to her GOGGLES having the SAME. YELLOW. TINT. that candy's have in the movie, which have the same effect here. There's no way that this didn't have the intent to mirror turbo purposefully

So with that in mind, the kart vanellope chose in the kart bakery scene being turbo foreshadowing, wouldn't be too out of place, nor would it be too far off

Turbo's foreshadowing was always prominent, even in the smallest details you wouldn't focus on, just like he's infecting this world as a virus, little by little, everywhere. You. Turn.

Aaaand that's basically all I have to really say

Sorry for the long ramble, I've been thinking of submitting this for awhile now, especially after I told a friend about this and they mentioned that this should be submitted to you

So I decided to go ahead and just do it, no matter how wild my comparisons might sound-

Anyways, I hope you have a good day, night, or what time it may be, and keep being awesome! I can't wait to hear back if you see this! Bye-bye! ❤️🏎🏆

P.s

I've been quoting these since I watched the video and haven't stopped

Thanks for destroying my humor even more-/pos

Okay bye bye now-

-skitters away-

NO YOU'RE SO FUCKING RIGHT OH MY GOD VANELLOPE WAS ALWAYS A TURBO PARALLEL??? CHAT IS THIS TRUE. IVE NEVER SEEN THAT CONCEPT ART OF HER TEEHEE THANKS FOR SHARING

also God. This is 99% just a coincidence with zero merit because its such a common gesture- but Ralph and Vanellope doing their thumbs up.. maybe Turbo parallels ?? and like the EXACT same poses too:

Vanellope having one hand on the steering wheel and the other doing a thumbs up while facing the camera.

Ralph hunched over doing the double thumbs up with the visor tinting his face yellow. EXCUSE ME HMMM?? WHAT THE FUCK??

NOW COULD I BE CHERRY PICKING? PERHAPS. but when Turbo has barely a minute of screentime, there's not a lot i can pick from, and things SURE ARE LINING UP... (I'm cherry picking)

SO SHHHHHH... ❤️❤️❤️❤️ LET ME HAVE MY LITTLE CONSPIRASCY

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 42

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I've had a headache every day this week. I swear I want one good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sit on the sofa, the bird still firmly perched on your shoulder. Bragi shows you the twelve-string, strumming lightly between stories about his travel abroad. Laufeyson glowers as he sits in the high-backed chair recently cleared of its clutter. The stout blond is quite talkative, it makes you wonder why your boss even brought you here.

"I'll be playing at Walpurgisnacht, so you will see me tomorrow," Bragi stands and places the guitar in a stand among several other stringed instruments, "perhaps Fossegrim will come too... he likes to sneak into my bag."

The bird squawks and tilts up and down.

"Likes you too," Bragi remarks. "Not as fond as your companion, I'm afraid."

Laufeyson shifts with a huff, "shall we continue to ramble? I did come for a reason."

"I nearly forgot," Bragi declares, "you requested it so long ago I nearly forgot."

"Yes, well, I left in a hurry my last visit and could not drop by, my apologies," Laufeyson rises and dusts off his trousers.

"Right, up in my office."

They leave you without much regard. You set aside your empty cup as Fossegrim rests his beak against your hair. He is rather big, your shoulder is sore from his weight, and yet he is comforting. You sit straight and hold out your fingers shyly. He bends to touch them and dips his head. You pet his feathers, uncertain what to do with yourself.

You hear a thump from above and a grunt. You look up as the bird hops down to the cushion. You rub your hands together and stay as you are. You don't want to intrude, besides, the place is so crowded, there isn't much space to move. 

At last, you hear the stairs creak and the men's voices precede their reappearance. Laufeyson holds a wrapped parcel under his arm as a shank of hair hangs past his ear, dangling along his cheek before he sweeps it back. You wonder what happened.

"Sorry about the rug," Bragi chuckles as he scratches his neck.

"Yes, not to worry," Laufeyson dismisses, "as it were," he looks at his watch, "my mother will be less impressed with our delay."

"You will send my regards," Bragi smirks crookedly.

"I will let her know we saw you," he retorts, "let us be off."

He waves you over. You say goodbye to Bragi as you cross the room and the parrot wings over your head, rustling your hair as he lands on the banister post once more. He lets out a chitter and receives a hush from his owner.

"Best go before he grows more obnoxious."

You offer a tight smile as Mr. Laufeyson opens the door and you step outside. It's dark and the moon beams down brightly. You silently descend the steps and near the car. He doesn't say a word as he unlocks the door and you climb in opposite him.

He starts the car and steers onto the street without a word. You feel as if you've done something terribly wrong. You look at your lap and drag your sweat palms over your skirt.

"We need to be very clear about things, pet," he begins as the leather squeaks beneath his grip, "tomorrow, you must stay close to me. No more breaking the rules."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I'm sorry--"

"Do you remember the rules? That I asked you to be honest with me," he hisses, "yes? I know you recall, you are brighter than you look, aren't you?" He slaps the wheel, "if you need... time, or anything, you can tell me. You must tell me otherwise... otherwise how can our arrangement work? If I am ignorant of what you require, how can I provide it? You cannot be upset that I do not know."

"I... I'm not upset," you murmur.

"Yes, but if you were upset," he exhales heavily, "then I would like to know the reason for it. I--" He stops himself and shakes his head at the road, "I am only saying, if there is some issue between us, you cannot merely run away and hide."

"I didn't--"

"Yes, yes, you were reading," he cuts in, "I do hope you enjoyed your little story."

"It won't happen again, Mr. Laufeyson," you avow.

He takes a deep breath, "that's all?"

"I... I'm not upset, I said, I only..." you mull the words on your tongue, wondering if they'll even matter. "I've never been far from home."

He nods as he slows, idling at a sign, "very well."

You accept his response as he accepts yours. Tension lingers but neither of you wants to add to the boiling stew. So you look out the window and he glares out the windshield, driving on in repressed agitation.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson leaves you alone that night, bidding you to keep the door locked and nothing else. You know for certain he's unhappy with you. You've already put a damper Walpurgisnacht and it's not even begun.

You sit in the small cone of light cast by the lamp and try to read but find the task impossible. So you tuck away Jane and her troubles and lay down to sink into your own. You don't see the next day going well at all. No better than any that have come before.

Perhaps it might be better if you found a reason not to be there. You could keep the white dress on the hanger and just stay inside where you can't do anything wrong. No one would miss you very much.

It's Frigga's celebration and you aren't an Odinson, no one would know any better. Mr. Laufeyson would be free to enjoy himself and not worry about you irritating him. That's all you seem to do.

Your eyes close heavily and you tumble down into a turbulent sleep. Dread colours your dreams and wakes you several times in the grim hues of the moonlight. The fitful night drags on into a dull morning, shining over you until it sears through your eyelids.

Walpurgisnacht. April 30th. A day that feels like a page turning.

You sit up and sift slowly through the early hours as if wading through sand. You wash and ready in the bathroom, ignoring the memories of two nights ago, the echoes of your whines, and the coiling of his touch. Now, he won't even use you. This could be it. When you leave this place, you may also be departing this life. It might just be for the better.

The event doesn't begin until the afternoon. Frigga said as much before. So you pull on a pair of tan pants and a peachy shirt. You near the door but don't flip back the lock. You should wait for a cue. For permission.

You stand at the window and watch the day bloom. The dew gleams on the leaves and petals and the air is fragrant with spring. Oddly, it does feel refreshing.

There's a soft tap, one you're not certain you heard. You turn and lean on the window ledge and hug yourself. It comes again followed by your name. Mr. Laufeyson's voice is just as even-keeled as the night before. Empty of any expression. That's worse to you than anger.

You emerge, head down, and bid him a good morning. You're met by a curt 'morning' and he ushers you down the hall. You smell bacon as you descend and the crackle of grease hisses in a pan. You walk side-by-side with Laufeyson out onto the veranda.

Odin sits, stirring a cup of coffee with a silver spoon.

"Ah, good morning," he chimes, "Joyous Walpurgisnacht!"

"Yes, happy day," Laufeyson intones and sits. You take the seat at his shoulder.

Your attention is drawn by men in work clothes out in the yard. They must be setting up for the celebration. You wonder how you should ask to excuse yourself from the event. You might pretend to be unwell. You don't entirely feel great.

"Happy Walpurgisnacht!" A thunderous boom makes you jump and grab Laufeyson's arm. He merely groans as Thor approaches and drags out a chair, dropping down with a sigh, "father, brother... lady, isn't it a wonderful morning?"

"Son," Odin squints at his son's open shirt, his chest shamelessly bare to the sunlight.

"Mmm, coffee," Thor pours from the carafe then adds a handful of sugar cubs to his cup. Laufeyson helps himself to tea before offering you some with a twitch of the spout. You accept with a nod and a please.

"Coffeeeeee," an echo drawls in the air as Hela strides in, chewing a strip of bacon absconded from the kitchen.

"Ghostly as ever, sister," Thor guffaws.

"Ugh, must you?" She snarls as she slumps into a chair, "ew, do those buttons not work?"

Thor smiles as he looks down at his torso, "it's warm."

"Or maybe it's the hot air stuck in your head," she retorts.

"Children," Odin rebuffs, "please, it is a holiday. Let's try to get along."

Laufeyson says nothing as he sips from his tea. You peek at him, finding his eyes narrowly set on his father. Another twinge pinches in your chest. You hope you haven't made things worse between them.

"Oh, we are all here already," Frigga flutters in, canary fabric swishing around her, "wonderful."

"Wife," Odin outstretches an arm and she goes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Mother," the siblings murmur in unison as you eke out her name.

"We will begin breakfast soon, I just checked with the staff, it is almost ready, but first," she pokes her elegant nail in the air, "there is one matter I need attend to. It won't take very long at all."

She smiles at Odin as he returns the sweet expression, then her eyes meet yours. Her cheeks pinken just a little. She sweeps away and disappears through the open doors. You hear her trill as she speaks to the staff.

"She is up to something," Hela slithers.

Laufeyson hums in agreement.

"Father," Thor peers over at Odin as he brushes his fingertips over his beard.

Odin shrugs, "I haven't any idea."

"Liar," Hela accuses, "you are not so sly as you think."

"I swear--"

"He definitely knows," Thor insists, "Loki, doesn't he? You see it, can't you?"

"I suppose..." Laufeyson squints and lets his voice dissolve into nothing.

"Here we go..." you hear Frigga chime before she appears again, "happy birthday to you..."

The song begins as two maids carry between them a double-tiered cake decorated with perfect white dollops of icing topped with raspberries. Your stomach gurgles and your chest racks as you sit up, caught in headlights as Thor and Odin join in on the melody but Hela and Laufeyson merely lean forward curiously. You gulp and look down at your lap.

As Frigga leads the chorus into your name, your shoulders slope and you turn your face away, tears stinging your eyes. How could she know? As nice as it all is, it's too much. You don't deserve any of this.

"Birthday..." you hear Laufeyson whisper quizzically.

You brace the armrests and push yourself to your feet as the song ends and the cakes placed before you. Your lips tremble as you look around the table. You can barely squeak out your apology before you flee, Frigga's hand glancing off yours as she tries to stop you.

You hurry away from the veranda, hurtling up the path blindly. You plunge into the brush and around the curving trails, retracing the same route Odin led you the day before. You clamour up to the gazebo and hide within, collapsing onto a bench as you fold over and shield your head.

Why would she do it? You don't matter! It's all too much. You don't want to pretend anymore. You don't want to act like you belong. You want them to let you go. You want Laufeyson to just do it already and throw you away.

You sit, bent over, weak and shaking, just breathing, paralysed. You hunch amid the songs of birds and the rippling of water. You can't move. You just want to stay and never come out.

A scuff makes you flinch. You lift your head to look over as a shadow steps into the archway. You raise yourself up straight and face Mr. Laufeyson.

"I didn't know it's your birthday," he says.

You don't say anything. Why would you tell him? Why would he care?

He lowers his chin, sliding his hands into his pockets as he steps into the stone structure, "if I'd known--"

"It doesn't matter," you say, "it's just another day."

"Mm, well..." he begins in a fragile tone, "I wouldn't agree. Birthdays are special..."

"Not mine," you pout.

His cheek ticks and bows his head, nodding as he thinks, "but... my mother did try to make it special..." he chews on his lip as he looks at you, "she's worried."

"She shouldn't care so much. She isn't my mother."

"But she is a good mother," he argues, "and she only wanted to include you."

"And I'm just as ungrateful as my father said," you sniff, "I'm sure you'd agree."

"I don't."

"Sure. It's why you left me alone all night. It's why you were so mad that I dare read a book. I know, Mr. Laufeyson, I know."

"Know what?"

You huff and cross your arms.

"I know better," you stand and jut your chin out. "I broke the rules again, I'm sorry."

"The rules... that isn't-- why are you being like this?"

"Like what?" You challenge. 

"Please, I didn't come to lecture me--"

"I know the rules. I remember. I will be good," you drop your arms and force your spine straight, "I will apologise to Frigga and thank her. You're right. You're always right. I was wrong."

You go to step past him and he catches your arm, pulling you to face him, "stop."

"Mr. Laufeyson, is that not what you want? For me to be good? I'm sorry I made you look bad. I only... was surprised," you carefully measure your voice and force a smile, "tell me what to do, Mr. Laufeyson and I will obey."

His brows slant and he swallows tightly. He squeezes your wrist then releases you, "apologise," he breathes, "say thank you."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you reply and march through the door, "whatever you wish."

You keep your gait steady and set. He follows behind you and catches up. You return to the veranda in curdling silence. As the rest look up at you, you gather what's left of your strength.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I was only surprised and I... panicked."

"Dear, it's okay, I should've warned you," Frigga coos.

"I really appreciate it," you sit as Laufeyson pulls out your chair, "really..." you look at the pink cake, "I never had a birthday cake before."

As the words escape, you clamp your lips shut. It's only the silence that makes you realise how pathetic that must sound. You put your chin down and try to hide your embarrassment.

"Of course, dear," Frigga fills the dead air, "would you like to cut the first piece?”

[lvrslvt3]

ANOTHER BLANKET | h. lewis

main masterlist | youtube masterlist

pairings : harrylewis x reader

summary : reader is being harassed by a creepy man harry is a little too late to save her. [ words ]

warnings : creepy man, verbal sexual harassment, very mild violence, alcohol use, drugs mentioned. established relationship

notes : this is my first ever fic so i’m very sorry if it’s bad and for any mistakes, if you have any suggestions or requests feel free to say.

halfway through the third day of the festival you had left most of your group to go and see another band with a few of the girls you had met — not interested in the artist the boys were obsessed with.

obviously, despite harry trusting you with his life, the boys had instructed you to meet them by a certain group of port-a-loos so they could take you back to the campsite safely, the girls you were with had kept you company until it turned quiet and they had to leave to find their own tent, meaning you were now stood alone.

your outfit was way too revealing for the current weather since you hadn’t fully realised how cold it would be until now, when all the adrenaline and excitement was rushed out of you and all you wanted was to go to sleep. you were almost leaning against the makeshift toilet as you waited.

sighing out, you glanced down at your phone but harry hadn’t sent any more texts except the last one only ten minutes ago reading ‘on my way’. crossing your arms you tried to find any body heat as you looked for your boyfriend and his group of friends.

“you cold?” the voice almost made you jump but your body had slowed down with todays activities. at first glance you could tell that the man speaking to you was on something with his fuzzy looking eyes and slurred speech. you weren’t sure what he was on but you didn’t want to be around it.

you didn’t answer his question directly, instead just shaking your head with a polite smile. “i’m fine, thanks.” you expected him to go away but instead he continued to stare you down, causing you to pull up your low waisted trousers a little more to hide yourself from the creepy man.

“just waiting on my boyfriend and his friends to come and get me…” you felt extremely uncomfortable in his presence, so you used the trick you usually did. men — especially ones that are drunk or on drugs — didn’t fully respect you until they knew you had a man.

of course he was different, a lazy smirk finding its way onto his dirty looking face. “so?” he shrugged while taking a step closer to you, now only a little bit away from where you stood backed up against the loo’s.

you glanced down at your phone and typed out a text quickly before sending it, simply saying the words ‘hurry, creepy man’ because you knew it would have harry running across the field until he found you. “are you okay?” you questioned the man in hopes he would back away.

you were trying to keep him distracted so he wouldn’t be solely focused on getting close to you. “i am now i’m with you, baby.” his bad attempt at being smooth made you physically cringe, but you stood up straight instead of showing weakness.

“my boyfriend is on his way right now, he’ll be here any second.” you stated in hopes on scaring him off. instead, he took another step until he was directly infront of you. he smelled disgusting but he didn’t seem to notice or mind.

“i don’t see any boyfriend, girl—“

he reached out his hand to touch you just as you kicked him straight in the balls as hard as you were able to. he let out an very audible grunt before falling to the ground quickly after.. “you little bitch!” he swore out before hissing in pain again.

you took a few steps away from the man on the ground, ignoring his rambles when you heard the noise of people trecking over the grass using a very fast pace. the sudden noise only installed more fear in you — right up until you realised who it was.

harry, ethan and tobi were running toward you full speed, all of them looking relieved when they saw that you were fine. “there’s my little guardian angels.” a smile graced your face at the sight of them.

harry immediately began to check you were okay before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and placing a kiss firmly on to the top of your head. “jesus christ, you scared the shit out of me.” finally, you felt safe.

“no worries, i handled him.” you referenced to the man still on the ground. “what the fuck did you do to him, y/n?” ethan chuckled slightly at the agony the man on the floor was currently experiencing.

“i only kneed him in the balls, he’s overreacting.” you brushed the creepy man off while leaning further into harry’s chest, beginning to walk away from the scene, feeling glad the boys hadn’t spoken to the drugged out man.

“you’re not going off on your own again—“ harry squeezed your shoulder to get his point across, “i’ll come wherever you want, ‘kay?” he peered down at you as you nodded with a small smile on your lips.

“where’s the rest of yous?” you questioned as all four of you joined the much smaller crowd walking towards the tents. most people had headed straight for bed while others took there time. “they copped out early.” was the answer.

“yeah, like big losers.” ethan’s own comment sent him into a fit of laughter, far too drunk to realise that no one else was joining in. tobi chuckled slightly at his friend until they finally reached there campsite. you all had paid extra for a nicer area, in which there wasn’t campfires set by drunks ready to burn down all of your belongings.

“night, tobs, thanks for making sure i was okay.” you gave the boy a half hug before glancing at ethan that was already stumbling off to go and find his own tent. “need any help with him?” you referred to the almost black out boy.

“nah, he’ll be fine.” tobi answered before following after the ginger. “come on, then.” harry wrapped his arms properly around you to lead you to your shared tent, climbing in quietly to not disturb anybody else.

“i feel dead.” you murmured with a grunt while harry zipped back up the opening. you quickly changed out of your restricting clothes into a baggy shirt and some pyjama shorts, finally able to become fully comfortable.

“we’ll don’t die until monday,” harry joked as he aswell changed into sweatpants to sleep in, “i’m not driving home with those idiots.” he referenced to your friends that were currently in there own tents.

you only chuckled before climbing into the large sleeping bag you had purchased together, a very thin mattress underneath that kept you both off of the ground by a few inches and made sleeping a lot easier for the both of you.

“hurry up.” you groaned out while harry set his clothes away, “i’m freezing.” you complained until he finally climbed into your shared sleeping bag, the goosebumps on your arms slowly fading as you snuggled into him for warmth.

“alright, babe, i already have a blanket i don’t need another.” he teased you but held you closer until you were practically draped over him. you didn’t even bother to react — too used to your boyfriends teasing comments.

instead you let the silence respond to him so you could finally close yout eyes and let exhaustion take over. thankfully, you fell asleep quickly thanks to your sore limbs and harry’s overly warm body making the sleeping bag feel like your own personal oven.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Little thank-you post!

I have over 100 followers now! Don't really know why any of you are here, I am not funny nor am I interesting, nor do I actually post anything cool lol. But regardless, I'm really grateful for you guys and for your support! (As well as all the anons that reach out to me! Thank you to you all, as well! I enjoy when people actually talk to me, nobody wants to feel like they're rambling into a void lol)

As a sort of mediocre, I'm sorry thank-you, I want to outline what I've got in store for you all next:

Gonna release the BurningCheese playlist soon, it's over 30 songs long now lol. I want you all to jam with me. Rock out to the BurningCheese vibe. (And send me more song recommendations if you want, a lot of what I have now is thanks to homies making suggestions)

PART 2 OF "Mine Forever More" IS COMING VERY SOON! Now that I've played through episode 6 (and had a massive meltdown because BURNINGCHEESE IS CANON OMG /jk), I know what I want to do for the story now. Expect it to be posted within the next day or two! (And also look forward to more short stories, I have a lot planned)

Remember those BurningCheese fankids I've mentioned more than once before? Get excited, you're gonna see and hear about them again soon 👀👀👀

I've gotten asks about my "Reformed Beasts AU" that I've been tinkering with. I promise there will be a masterpost on the subject in the future. I kind of want to iron out my thoughts on the Beasts in general first, and how I headcanon their corruptions (like that "a thought about Burning Spice" post I made). Will probably write about Shadow Milk next, or maybe Silent Salt (I've made up a whole ass character for this guy that I've gotten attached to already lol)

I know I have a bunch of asks in my inbox I still need to answer. I'm sorry for the delay, I promise I will get to you all. I inhabit the real world and have real-world responsibilities like everyone else, unfortunately haha

Gonna remind you all again that my AO3 username is sleeping_mouse_1011, because people have asked me that, too. Do be careful, a lot of my works are NSFW to some degree (that's where I indulge in Yandere Spice lol). I encourage minors to stay here and enjoy my SFW stories instead.

Got a bunch of meme edits to make now, hope those make you laugh. I gotta cope with having no artistic talent somehow

I have thoughts and headcanons I'd love to share about other characters and ships besides Burning Simp and Pretty Cheese Lady lol. I'm actually NOT entirely insane, I am capable of rational discussion about things other than BurningCheese, I swear

Thanks again to everyone who takes the time to rifle through my nonsense posts and read my stories. It really means a lot to me that my works bring people joy. I know I'm still just some nobody on here, but even so. I hope I somehow manage to put a smile on your face. Even if it's more at my own expense than anything else.

That's all from me for now. Merchant out. Later, haters

[peterparkouryo]

rebound ii | ✧.*

✧.*

prompt; After Peter ends your relationship after admitting to being in love with someone else, you're a mess and very very miserable.

warnings: semi heavy angst, fluff if you squint

word count: 4.7k

part one part three

It's been four days since your birthday, and your break up with Peter. 

You were sad, no you were miserable since that day and you cried every chance you got. It's not because it was on your birthday, if it was any other day you'd probably be just as worst.

Today was Monday, which meant today was also another dreadful, long and dragging, boring day of school. You'd rather be in your bed, eating ice cream as you cried watching a rom-com that was just as bad as your life.

When you got to school, you went straight to your locker, put your things inside and got all needed accessories for your upcoming class. The first class you needed to be at was social studies, which thankfully didn't have him in it, just your friend Betty and his friend Ned.

"Hey, Happy belated birthday!" Betty quickly exclaims the moment you walk into the class room, a couple students glancing at you or her in curiosity.

You send a grateful and albeit, weak smile as you slowly but surely make your way to your assigned seat which just so happens to be right next to her.

"Thanks." You softly mumble just as you sit next to her, the blonde haired girl excitedly turning towards you with too much anticipation.

"So, how was your birthday?" She asked.

"Also, sorry I couldn't be there." Betty quickly added before you could answer.

You wanted to tell her that it was fine, that you enjoyed your birthday with just you and your mom but the last final hour of your birthday was truly the worst part of that whole 24 hour day.

"It's fine, umm, I guess it was okay." You tell her, leaving out the very heartbreaking details you so badly wanted to tell her.

"Did Peter shower you in presents? Did he take you on a date!?" Ohh, did he give you that necklace that you've been ogling for the past few months?" Betty asked, question after question.

Now, you had no other choice but to tell her, and quite frankly, you did not want that to be the agenda for the day, but curse Betty and her curious, bubbly personality.

"Actually, we broke up." You tell it how it is, not sparing to glance at her bewildered expression.

"Broke up?" She repeated in disbelief. 

You hum in response, digging into your backpack next to you and pulling out your notebook to jot down the notes on the board, completely trying to block out Betty and her confusion.

"When?" Betty quizzed, her eyes switching back and fourth from your notebook and your side profile.

"He broke up with me, on my birthday." You tell her, looking back down to your notebook, now scribbling nonsense.

Before she could even respond, you continue.

"Apparently, he was in love with Michelle, you know the girl from our math class? The whole entire time. Well, I don't exactly know when he fell in love with her, but it certainly was during our relationship." You rambled, holding back the frustration and tears that threatened to break through.

days you've been going through for the past few days. You still think it's your fault for why Peter broke up with you, he probably found you boring and you didn't give him the attention he needed, which is why you strongly believe he fell for someone much better than you.

You didn't hate Michelle, you actually genuinely liked the brown curly haired girl, she was quiet and observant and super smart, so you can see why Peter liked her a lot. She could also be dark at times from what you remember, and sure it confused you of how and why Peter liked that but maybe you didn't know your ex as well as you thought.

"Y/N, I am so sorry." Betty said, putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder, which you didn't shrug off because you honestly needed some sort of comfort from the past few days.

"It's nothing, I'll be fine." You lied, turning your attention away from her to look at the board once again as the teacher finally decided to teach the class.

--

It was finally lunch time, and normally you'd sit with Peter and Ned, but that was a no go. Well, it would've been a no go if the other tables weren't full and if Ned hadn't invited you to sit next to him. And who were you to decline an invitation from the nicest boy ever?

So, you made your way to the table that was made for awkward moments, only seeing Ned sit there happily eating his lunch.

"Oh, hi Y/N." Ned greeted you just as you sat directly across from him with your lunch tray in hand.

"Hey." You greeted back, showing a smile.

You knew you were going to regret sitting here, given the fact that Peter is bound to sit here as well and there's no doubt that Michelle would be sitting here also, but you tried to ignore that initiated gut feeling and focus on anything and everything else.

Maybe if Peter saw that you were trying to move on, he'd believe that you did, though all of that is complete and utter bullshit.

"So, you know how in our science class we have that upcoming project about disparities?" You hear Ned's voice ask, glancing at him just in time as he shoves a salty fry into his mouth.

You nod, playing with your food instead, the anxiety slowly creeping into your body.

"Well, I was thinking since you and uhh...you know what never mind. Do you want to be my partner?" Ned questioned quickly, eyes filled with hope.

"Are you only asking me because I'm the smartest in that class?" You tease, narrowing your eyes at him in amusement.

Ned lets out a whole-heartedly chuckle, but before he could joke back a voice you very much expected interrupts you both.

"Sorry, the lunch line was really long..." Peter says defeatedly, tossing his friend a bag of chips  as he sat down next to him.

Okay, so maybe you should've declined Ned's offer, but he was sort of your friend and you didn't have lunch with Betty anymore, plus sitting alone would probably be just as miserable as sitting here with your ex, who was in love with someone else.

You're sure you hear Ned respond to Peter's apology, but you're not quite too sure since your brain and ears are filled with anxiety, your head feeling fuzzy at Peter's presence. You could sometimes occasionally feel Peter's glances, probably curious as to why you're sitting here, but you wanted to make a point that you're over him and you didn't sit here because you cared about him still (which was a lie), but because Ned invited you and he was your sort of friend.

"Michelle's in the library today, since she's not really a people's person." Peter informed Ned after his question as of where the brown curly haired girl was.

You were thankful for that, you didn't think you could handle much more of misery.

You're not one hundred precent sure if they're dating now, but if they are you failed to notice, and maybe Peter is just deciding to take things slow since the boy did just get out of a relationship, with you.

The boys continue to make small talk, you ate in silence, or played with your food in silence until the lunch period was over.

And as soon as the bell rung, you hurriedly got up from the table, threw away your lunch and made a bee-line for the cafeteria doors, shoving and squeezing your way through the herd of students.

You sighed in relief as you made it into the hallway, holding a hand to your chest, almost, just almost crying right then and there but you remembered that you were in public, and at school too.

Just as the students that once littered the busy hallway made their ways to the next class that they had, you heard your name being called in the now shallow hallway.

You turn around hesitantly since you already know that voice all too well.

It wasn't Peter, but Michelle, coming from the library doors.

You always knew somehow god wasn't on your side.

"Hey, uh..." The girl started as soon as she approached you, a clad of books stuffed in her right arm.

"Hey.." You mumbled awkwardly, sparing glances at a few students who walked by to get to their next class.

Michelle was as awkward as you were, it was very obvious in the way that the tension around you surfaced rather quickly. You both knew why, it was an unsaid understanding.

"I think I owe you an apology." Michelle states, her eyes never leaving your face as you slowly trailed yours to look into hers.

"For what?" You dumbly ask.

You knew why, you just needed to hear her say it.

"I never meant for Peter to fall in love with me, and to hurt you. I honestly didn't think you two were a thing until a week ago." She admitted, and you could sense how nervous her voice was with that confession.

 You knew you had a reason not to hate her, she was just as confused as you.

"It's fine, really." You lie, showing a rather obvious fake smile.

"No, no, it's not. I know he broke up with you on your birthday which is a really shitty thing to do, and I also know that it's not fine. If I could take back his feelings for me and give them to you, I would." Michelle concluded, her aura anything but foulness.

It was really reassuring knowing that the girl felt guilty for your now ex's feelings for her, her showing you the unexpected sympathy, something you thought would be the last thing you would receive from her.

But it was always really confusing how if she has feelings for Peter as well, why feel sorry for you? You did want him to be happy, and if it wasn't with you, so be it. You didn't want to be the reason Peter's unhappiness wasn't fulfilled.

"Michelle, listen." You started, standing up straight to look at her.

"I may be going through a lot with this, but I don't want to be the reason Peter is unhappy. That's the last thing I ever want for him. So, if he wants to be with you..." You trailed off with a shrug, hoping she understood where you were going with this.

Instead of answering the girl just stares at you, her eyes confused, as well as her facial expression, the features slowly falling into a more understanding expression, something you wanted her to see.

"Are you sure? I didn't want to get in the way of any unsaid closure..." She says, pressing her lips into a straight line.

Closure. The word only used to resolve problems. You didn't think breaking up with Peter needed closure.

"Oh, right...closure. I guess we do need to talk." You sigh.

"I would before he decides anything else. I mean that is if you're ready, it's only been four days." Michelle tells you, pushing up her books more into her arm as they were slipping.

You knew she was right, you did say yourself you wanted Peter to be happy, even if it was in a short amount of time.

"I'll just text him and ask him to meet me in the library after school." You tell her, hearing the bell ring, signalling the final warning to get to class.

"Good idea, tell me what he says." Michelle says with a nod before walking past you, mumbling a soft 'bye', and you too decide to make your way to your next period.

--

You unfortunately kept true to your word to Michelle, and as soon as your last period was over you texted the last person you wanted to see, asking him if you two could talk and to meet in the library after school.

It only took him maybe five or six minutes to respond, saying a quick 'okay'.

So here you were, really nervous, scared, maybe even sad for obvious reasons, waiting at a table that was way in the back of the library, not wanting to be disturbed by any teachers or students that lingered around in the book filled room.

You silently played with your fingers, your entire body on fire with anxiety. You sort of wished he would hurry up so it can get over and done with.

To be quite honest, it reminds you of the time he admitted to having a crush on you. You both were nervous for two totally different reasons. You, being nervous because you thought he was going to tell you he didn't want to be your friend anymore (and rightfully so because of how he was acting during that time), and him, because he of course liked you.

Any oncoming thoughts were caught short as your gaze was met with a familiar head set of curls, and compelling brown eyes coming your way, in a dazed state.

"Sorry, I uh...was busy." Peter mumbled, setting his backpack (the third one you saw that week), onto the library floor next to the seat he pulled out to sit down at.

"It's fine." You shrugged off, your hands now in your lap, keeping your distance, something you hope he didn't notice.

"So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" He asked, looking at you expectingly.

It took a lot of will power to keep your composure.

"Well, I talked to Michelle.." You trailed off, watching his every movement, seeing his pupils dilate just tiny bit.

"Oh?" Peter questioned, slightly biting his lip nervously.

"Yeah, she said we needed some sort of closure before you decide to get into a relationship to her." You told him, looking down at your fiddling hands in your lap.

Peter took notice of how truly nervous you were, and he couldn't help but feel bad, knowing he was the main reason for this.

He also noticed the lack of sleep, due to the much obvious under bags in your eyes, something he had a feeling also had to do with him.

"Right, closure." Peter nodded, clearing his throat.

There were a load of questions you had for him, many that probably would help you better understand how, when and why he fell out of love with you the moment he spent more time with Michelle.

His distance from you during the upcoming end of your relationship put you in a spiral of thoughts, the kind of thoughts that kept you up at night. It also didn't help that you were already an over thinker and the thought of messing up your relationship with Peter always scared you.

Most people would say that dreams come true not nightmares. It wounded you more than anything that you biggest fear did in fact come true.

You didn't really care if he was going to end up dating Michelle, it was bound to happen anyway. You just wanted to know the when and why. You wanted to know what you lacked during that time so in future relationships, you'd be able to avoid it.

"Before we talk, I, um, bought you this." You hear Peter say, the boy reaching inside of his backpack, digging in it before retreating it with an item, holding it toward you.

You reluctantly look up from where your eyes were practically trained on your lap, your hands still shyly there.

It was a small box decorated in your favourite colour, purple.

"What's this?" You curiously asked, taking it from his expecting hand.

"Just a late birthday gift." Peter shrugged, obviously not aware of just how inappropriate and inconvenient his timing was.

"Oh." Was all you said before stuffing it in your pocket.

You'd open it later.

As the day went on, the awkward tension build up, rarely anyone now was in the library, a few ongoing studiers, parents with their kids, or just advocate readers. You wanted some sort of miracle to happen so you wouldn't have to go through this uncomfortable situation.

It was clear neither of you knew how to start this conversation. You had no idea what to say or how to approach the topic of the closure you needed.

You couldn't tell if Peter noticed how miserable your appearance was, both mentally and physically, but you knew he must have known somehow.

"I'm really sorry I broke up with you on your birthday, had I known...I'd probably would've waited." Peter finally speaks up, with a heavy lump down his throat.

Your hands bare on the table as you shuffle in your seat, preparing on a proper response.

The thought of Peter going to break up with your regardless if it was your birthday or not makes your heart feel heavy with a forlorn weight.

"It's, I, it's okay, I guess." You murmur, blinking rapidly for effect.

Another silence settled, and this time you did nothing (like you were before) to speak up and stop it. You thought the more quiet, the less talking and you wouldn't get hurt anymore if either one of you even tried to utter a word.

"I know I hurt you," The boy started, and you look up, waiting for him to continue. "But, I can't say that I, you know what, never mind." Peter waves off, struggling to find the write words.

"And you're barely saying anything makes this a lot harder than it should be Y/N." He says in defeat, reaching out to clasp his hands onto yours.

There was nothing on your end, nothing to be said, nothing you wanted to say. Though you needed closure, you really had no idea what to say. How do you tell someone that you clearly still had feelings for that you love him?

Peter of course, had no idea you even loved him, he of course knew you probably still harboured feelings for him, but he didn't know you had stronger deeper feelings for him. Had the boy not broken up with you on your birthday, you probably would slipped the L word, which probably wouldn't make anything better if you're being honest.

"I'm sorry, I just....don't know what to say." You admit, the warmth of his skin on top of yours sending a wave of shivers from your arms through your entire body.

"Start by telling me how you feel." Peter suggested, and that might not had been the brightest of ideas.

You felt like shit. There hadn't been a day that went by after your dreadful birthday where you didn't.

You squint your eyes at him, slowly removing your hands from his grasp.

"I feel like shit." You tell him, giving the boy a timid look, watching him nod slowly in understanding.

"Right, probably should've guessed that." Peter said shyly, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Sorry." He adds on.

"You say that a lot, but do you actually mean it?" You ask him quietly, watching his pupils dilate at your request.

"'Course I do!" Peter almost exclaims, his eyes now wide.

"I-, listen I know I hurt you bad, but the last thing I want is for you to hate me." He stated, pouting slightly.

You didn't hate him, and you think that's even worse.

"I don't hate you, don't think I ever can." You say, pressing your lips together.

It'd probably be a good thing to tell him you loved him, but you were in public and it would hurt even worst if he neglected your love (which would most likely happen) in such a public area.

Maybe you should wait till later, or just honestly get it over and done with, the sooner the better, you thought.

"If I'm being honest Peter, I think-" You begin, your heart pounding wildly against your chest. Your head screaming at you not to do it, but when have you ever listened to your head instead of your heart?

"I think I love you." You whisper at your quietest volume, and hopefully god was on your side,. Hoping maybe Peter didn't hear it, but you lacked the knowledge of knowing Peter's secret abilities.

Either time froze or Peter was stuck in place for whatever reason (you were sure you knew) it was. Things seemed to have frozen around you, the people you were once aware of now gone, just you and your ex in this moment. And was it such a vulnerable one.

You watch as the boy's mouth fell open and closed, trying to conjure up something, anything to say at your sudden confession.

Your heart fell deeper into your stomach as the silence grew, you wished this time it wasn't so evident, the lack of ventilate from him bothering your head.

After a two minutes of silence Peter quickly gets up from his seat, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder almost clumsily.

"I-, I havetogo, sorry." The boy swiftly says, stumbling over his words before nearly tripping over a few chairs.

You figured this wouldn't happen, which might have been ten times worst than him actually saying something in return.

--

You had wiped the falling tears from your face, the mirror in front of you mocking your actions, but no matter what, the wet substance from your eyes would still fall down a lot heavier.

You sniffled before exiting the bathroom, making a beeline to your bedroom, closing the door and cuddling up into the bed.

After your conversation (if you'd even call it that) with Peter at the library, the minute you got home, you were hit with a wave of saddness. You cried more than you did on your birthday, and now you wish you hadn't told your ex boyfriend you loved him, didn't matter anyway.

You were grateful your mom had a late shift tonight, you couldn't bare the thought of her seeing you at your worst, questioning why you were the way you were. You lacked to even tell the woman you and Peter were no longer dating. You figured you'd wait a few weeks then drop the bomb on her, hopefully she'd spare Peter, but given her personality, you truly doubt it.

The crying hadn't really stopped, so when your face hit your soft pillows and more tears that got more intense as the night went on, you weren't all that surprised.

What did surprised you was the obsessive knocking at your bedroom window.

You didn't bother to wipe your tears when you sat up from your bed, aiming your direction at the window, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion when you saw your neighbourhood superhero instead of some sort of bird.

"Spider-Man?" You questioned bewilderedly as you approach your bedroom window, opening it from its handle.

You knew of him from the news, and it was really shocking to you that him of all people were here at your window at something at night for whatever the reason was.

"What are you doing here?" You ask him again, watching the hero crouch on the railing of your fire escape.

"Believe it or not but I heard you..." He says steadily, and you rose an eyebrow at him.

"Not that I was you know listening or anything, but I was near by and my senses can pick up things from far away." Spider-Man quickly says, holding out a hand in defence.

"Oh." You say, tilting your head as you wiped your tears.

"Seemed like a damsel in distress sort of thing..." He trailed off, expectingly waiting for your response.

You had no reason to tell this stranger your secrets, you both knew that, but something inside of you wanted to. You hadn't even known the hero for five seconds and yet you were ready to tell him your deepest darkest confessions.

"It's nothing." You settled for, having some moral ground.

"Sad movie?" Spider-Man suggested.

"Yeah." You nod, sniffling a bit.

Maybe he thought you were in some sort of trouble, but the more you thought about it the less sense it made to to tell a stranger about your conversation with your ex at a public library. 

What advice could he possible give that would make you feel better? You don't know if he's ever even gone through something like that.

"Oh, well hope you feel better." Spider-Man offered. "Just doing my part of the 'friendly neighbourhood' motto." He adds, making you chuckle.

"Thanks." You smile.

You couldn't pin point it, but he seemed oddly familiar, maybe it was because he was so nice to you after your horrible day, week even, but you really appreciated his kind gesture.

"I-" He started, unravelling himself from his crouching position to stand on your fire escape.

"Y/N." Spider-Man says, and your eyes widen marginally.

Had you told him your name? You couldn't remember, but never the less even if you didn't, you wondered how he knew in the first place. Maybe you slipped it out from habit or he was some stalker type of hero.

The hero seemed to have noticed your confused state, the vigilante quickly ripping off his mask to try and calm your nerves, but you recognize his face all too well, instinctively going to shut the window, but unfortunately for your his senses way too quick for yours, his strength inhumane.

"Wait!" Peter cried out as you still tried to close the window but to no avail. 

Peter easily slides the window up, causing you to let go repulsively, backing up from it as he slowly climbed in.

Every bone in your body was telling you to run, but where would you go, who would you tell? Now you never would tell anyone about your ex being the Queens superhero, but you don't think you can bare having this secret known to you so suddenly.

Peter being Spider-Man is a surprise, of course, and him using his alter ego just to talk to you in some sense after quite literally running away from your confession was making your mind fuzzy to say the least.

You started to shake your head for no particular reason, watching the boy close your window before turning back to you, his hair wild most likely from the mask, and a evident pout on his face.

"You-, you love me?" Peter asked, his voice cracking.

You couldn't conjure up the right words, your mind blank with empty thoughts. It was still shocking to you that Peter of all people was the spiderling you only ever seen on the news.

You never paid much attention to Spider-Man, and if you did, you'd probably would have figured out that Peter was him if you connected the dots properly.

"Y/N, please answer me." He pleaded, breaking you from your train of thoughts. You were sure you looked like a deer caught in headlights at this point.

"I don't know..." You whispered, fiddling with with your fingers as sweat trickled down your forehead.

"But at the library you said-" Peter starts.

"I know what I said." You tell him, meeting his brown eyed gaze.

You blinked back tears, Peter approaching your figure, and you would had backed up to get away from him but you were stuck in-between him and the bed. Fortunately he placed his mask on top of your bed, releasing it from his brutal grip, you two now in close distance.

You were getting deja vu, the boy staring at your face, perfecting every angle he could before closing his eyes and exhaling a breath he had been holding in.

"You really shouldn't had told me that." He whispered, and you bit your bottom lip, nervously nibbling on it.

Peter reopens his eyes, greeting you with the honey colour you were familiar with, his pupils getting smaller as it adjusted to the light, you felt bad for the sad expression that was held on his face.

He slowly brings a hand up to your face, wiping a tear that had unknowingly fallen down your face before pushing some of your hair behind your right ear.

It's been a long time since he's showed you this kind of affirmation, the last time he ever did something remotely similar was the time he had broken up with you. You had no clue what he was thinking, was he going to kiss you, or scold at you for expressing your love for him when he clearly loved another? The possibilities were endless like the ocean, and so you wished he'd only say his motive so your anxiety wasn't so obvious.

Peter's eyes dip to your lips before glancing back to your eyes, him silently asking for permission. You give the boy a nod as your answer, mirroring his actions when he closes his eyes and leans in.

[olichat-reads]

Mrow | Part Four

Bakugou x roomate!reader

Summary: you finally get answers on how to break the quirk & return human

Words:

A/n: yall i fucked up :D this isn't the last chapter

Part Three

🌟

Zigzagging through the crowd you kept your eyes on your target, little legs racing as fast as they can, determined not to lose sight of what might be your key to undoing this quirk.

Having not notice the tiny ball of fur barelling towards her, the girl in question yelped in surprise as you launched yourself onto her leg, determined to latch on like a fucking leech until you had answers.

"Its you!" She cried out, big doe eyes looking down at you, snarling & fur bristling.

Yeah its me! Now turn me back human for the love of god!!

You honestly doubt a small furball yowling up at a full grown person was even the slightest bit threatening but the girl looked as if she might keel over in fear. Her wide eyes darted around to uncaring passerbys before returning to peer down at you.

"Please can we go somewhere less, um, crowded first?"

🌟

You ended up at the park not far away, not completely empty but a definite upgrade from the bustling streets.

Wait. You understand me?

"Um. Yeah. Kinda comes with the quirk," she started, fidgeting with her hands before the floodgates burst open with her rambling. "I'm so, so sorry for turning you into a cat. And- and about the other day! I don't do those kinds of things. I was just being stupid. I knew it was a bad idea even if my friends said otherwise-"

You watched the girl as she went on a tangent, babbling on frantically. You sighed, she was young, probably a highschooler.

Alright, alright. Calm down, kid, you're gonna scare yourself into a panic attack. I'm not turning you in, okay? I get it, you made a mistake. And honestly I don't think you could pull of a crime even if you tried, kid.

The girl cracked a nervous smile at that.

"Thanks Ms Y/n." You smiled at the use of your hero name. You didn't mind not being a big shot like Bakugou, but it felt nice to be recognized every once & a while.

Nah, I get it. I did stupid things too when I was your age. Oh. What's your name?

"Its Miyo."

Miyo. You smiled at that, lifting a furry paw to pat her knee. So now, can you turn me back human please?

"Oh, um," she stuttered, her entire demeanor dulling again. "I can't actually."

You felt your fluffy ears droop at that. What do you mean?

"The quirk breaks when you have an unbridled want to turn back human. To be honest, I thought you would've returned human by now. But I guess its not the most predictable, I'm sorry," she said remorsefully.

I just need to want to turn human? You ask, confused. Did you not want to return human this whole time?

"Sort of. But it has to be a very, very strong feeling to override the quirk. Most of the time it helps to feel extreme emotions that associate with needing to be human again. Like intense desperation, fear, stuff like that. Ultimately its all on you though, Ms Y/n," Miyo explained with apologetic eyes.

You sighed at that. Well, at least it was something. Thanks, Miyo. I-

You were interrupted by a loud explosion that made the ground beneath you shook. Switching into prohero mode, your body kick started into action, racing into the streets. Though you skid to a halt before disappearing into the sea of people, throwing one last glance to Miyo.

I'm going to be naked when I turn back human, aren't I?

"Yeah! Sorry again, Ms. Y/n!"

You sighed internally at that. Well. Nothing you could do about that.

Another explosion sending the ground shaking tore you out of your thoughts & had you throwing yourself into the crowd, darting towards the direction of the commotion, the adrenaline in your veins guiding you through the chaos.

"YOU FUCKING PSYCHO-"

You hear his booming voice before you caught sight of the explossive blonde. You took note of the two women that were apparently the cause of all the commotion & Bakugou's arms that covered in frost. You watched as one of the villains aimed for his arms again, creating chunks of ice that engulfed his hands all the way over his elbows. Bakugou blasted them off but you could tell he was struggling, his explosions smaller than usual.

They were aiming to weaken his quirk, you realized.

Bakugou didn't have his gauntlets. Added with the cold weather & the nature of the villain's quirk he was at a massive disadvantage.

Bakugou! You yelped as the other threw your roomate into a wall, her attack reminding you a lot of Nejire's wave motion.

Fuck. Fuck. What do you do. What do you do?? You didn't have your quirk. Even hand to hand combat was out of the question. You were a cat for god's sake!

You felt your heart drop when when you watch the shockwave wielder take aim for another attack.

Yea, no, fuck it.

You let the adrenaline take over & before you know it, you're rushing forward, little claws & teeth digging into the flesh of the villain's calf, eliciting a pained yelp from her. Distracted, she missed her shot, just barely missing Bakugou, her blunder allowing him to dodge.

You didn't have time to feel relieved though, having her attention turn to your little self, uselessly hanging off her leg.

Fuck.

"Sunny, get away from there!" That was all you heard before familiar hands intercepted you as Bakugou dove in for cover with you, narrowly avoiding a hit from the ice quirk's partner.

Having decent cover, those glaring red eyes looked over at you. "Are you insane?! What the hell is wrong with you??"

Bitch, I was trying to save your ass! Fuck off with the name calling-

You were interrupted with another blast that sent the two of you crashing into a boutique, the display of clothes cushioning what would've been a painful slam to Bakugou's back while you flew out off his hold, landing with a thud a little distance away.

Bakugou!

Dread filled your veins as you watched the pair tag team your roomate. You scrambled to get to him despite knowing there is little you can do. You couldn't just watch! But before you could even get close an explosion was sent your way, forcing you to hop backwards to avoid it, stopping you from getting too close.

Bakugou, you bastard!

"Fuck off, pipsqueak. I can handle this on my own," he growled out, eyes ahead but you could tell was directed to you.

Aiming a blast at the ice wielder, Bakugou risked a glance at you. "I mean it, Sunny- FUCK!" he got cut off as the other villain caught him in her wave motion, slamming him into a wall & pining him there.

No.

No no no-

Human. You needed to turn back human.

Now.

C'mon. C'mon c'mon c'mon please.

You wanted to. You needed to. Please. Please.

Please.

You gasped at the sudden shock that rushed through your body. Your sight glowed pure white, before everything stopped.

You dropped to the ground like a ragdoll.

You couldn't move.

You couldn't move. You couldn't open your eyes. It felt like all the energy was zapped from your body. Your heart seemed to beat in your ears. Once. Twice. Faint yelling seemed to seep into the black. You recognized that voice.

"-nny! Wh s wro ith ou-"

The cotton in your head made it hard to hear. But you knew that voice. You were sure of it.

"SUNNY!!"

Bakugou. Its Bakugou, right? He gave you that name?

That's right. You need to help him.

But you couldn't move.

Move, dammit.

You mustered everything to will yourself to get up, to fucking move, but your body didn't listen to you. Even a finger felt too heavy.

"HURRY THE FUCK UP, SHITTY HAIR!"

Bakugou is calling for help? Bakugou? Fuck, things must've gotten bad.

C'mon get up.

You needed to get up. You needed to help him.

"FUCK-"

You heard Bakugou's voice cut off as if he had the air knocked out of him.

You haven't thanked him yet.

He had to be okay.

You still owe him that hug you vowed to give him.

He HAD to be okay.

You felt your heart clench at every pained groan the villains beat out of your roomate. Your throat tightened up with guilt.

COME ON GET UP!

You'd cry if your body worked right now. Unshed tears burned the back of your eyes. You were begging at this point.

PLEASE.

Then, everything came rushing back.

Your eyes snapped back open, before immediately fluttering shut from the bright contrast. Pulling yourself up, you groaned as you reached a hand up to your pounding head. Wait. Hand. Hand!

A rush of victory tore through you, making you force your eyes back open to confirm your suspicions- only to have your heart drop immediately.

Fuck. Thats right. You changed back naked.

A/n: thank youuuu for being so patient with me. i know i take a WHILE to cough out fics but i'm doing my best i promise 🥺. i hope you enjoyed this part. hope the 'action' portion isn't too scuffed. AND I HOPE THE NEXT AND LAST (I SWEAR IT WILL BE THE LAST) CHAPTER WON'T TAKE AS LONG.

🌟

Part Five

Series taglist: @deadpoolsvodka @zbeez-outlet @fixed211 @arael-asuka @sadcookie365 @phrogfungi @trash-heichou-kacchan @sad0ni0n @woodzonesworld @mushi42 @yappydoo @kazxtora @nnubee @chuugarettes @voidsatoru @freakyundercover @momdisappointment @simp4rengoku @yaskna @zane2408 @lynn-writes-things @dinodumbass @jihyuniepark @julietdelamare @captainchrisstan @atrainb @wannabewolf @cupidcole @atsushiki @trashbin-nie @mothmanuwu @skyesayshi @nezykoi @theredtater06 @lanaxians-2 @alextheknight707 @vollkornpraline @misakik28 @carnationhcs @some-ryvant @blubearxy @dangerousluv1 @seokjin-bby @slytherclaw1227 @tjmaxx556 @kuleo26 @answer-the-sirens @stxrrielle @call-me-drartemis @ouch-thats-harsh @coodoritoss @thychuvaluswife @dynakats @naneko-nakooooo @letharue @sleepylittlebarista @moonbinnie0983 @ninashellhole @lovra974

[shadowkoo]

A Sweet Mistake

→ Summary: Your boyfriend texts you something rather surprising that sends you spiraling through past memories.

↠ yeosang x f.reader | 1.1k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, meet ugly au, (there’s also a dash of fluff bc why not)

→ Prompts: #32. “I dare you.” + #48. Sometimes you question how everything could have turned out if that day had gone differently.

→ Warnings: getting dumped via text, praise, being called a good girl (bc you are duh), talking on the phone while being fingered, Yeosang is kinda depicted as an dumb asshole but you’ll forgive me (and him) by the end lol

→ Author Note: Thank you for requesting @anyamaris I hope you enjoy! Learn more about my mini requests here. As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

Your phone dings, drawing your attention away from the book you’ve been devouring for the last hour. You blink several times before staring at the text you just received in total disbelief.

[ From Y♡ at 3:15 PM ]

‘I think we should break up’

A few seconds later another message pops up.

‘I’m sorry’

Your heart races as you reread both. He can’t be serious. No way. After how you spent all evening together? The fresh memory floods your mind…

- Flashback begins -

Yeosang smirks as his fingers curl inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Wait, wait!” you rush as you reach for your ringing phone, “That’s my boss's ringtone.”

“Go on, answer it.” His eyes flare, “I dare you.”

You’re not one to back down from a challenge, so you do. And at that very same moment, his lips find their way around your already sensitive clit.

“H-Hello,” you answer shakily, “Yes Ma’am, your schedule? It’s been confirmed and emailed to you. Uh-huh. Yes, okay. Will do.” You answer your boss's questions quickly and silence your moans with a hand over your mouth as she rambles on about flights for her upcoming trip.

Your breath catches in your throat as the heat grows hotter in your lower belly, you’re almost there.

Yeosang groans as your walls begin to tighten around his fingers. “God, you’re perfect,” he whispers before licking you right where you need him. “Let go for me, baby.”

“I’ll look into it and get back to you!” you rush out, quickly hanging up before she’s suspicious, and come undone onto your boyfriend's fingers and mouth, leaving behind a soft sheen of your release.

“That’s my good girl. I love you.”

- Flashback ends -

And that was just the start of the night. So what changed between then and now? He suddenly doesn’t love you anymore?

That thought sends a sharp pain directly to your chest and tears well in your eyes while you type a message back to him.

[ Sent at 3:30 PM ]

‘Why??? What’s going on?’

[ From Y♡ at 3:31 PM ]

‘I just think it’s for the best…’

‘I’ll come by your place later to pick up my things.’

So his mind is already made up. It’s a good thing that your workday is almost over. You need to go home and cry. Maybe you’ll doordash some dinner and ice cream too. You certainly deserve it.

The ride home on the train is quick, and thankfully no one pays any attention to you as tears fall silently. And before you know it, you’re staring at a box half full of things that belong to Yeosang.

Your fingers play with the bracelet around your wrist, the one he bought you for your three-month anniversary. Its charms are a sun, strawberry, and pie slice, all of which are a small reminder of the day you first met.

- Second flashback begins -

The soft spring sunshine tickles your skin as you walk to the train station in the mid-morning light. The birds are singing, flowers are blooming, and it seems like it’s going to be a good day.

You smile. Not just a good day, a great day.

All of those happy thoughts come quickly crashing down when something from above smacks onto your head, easily knocking you down to the ground.

You gasp after the sudden impact. “Ow. What the fuck?” Your fingers reach up and touch something gooey that’s now covering your hair and face. “Ew.”

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” a stranger asks, kneeling down beside you to help. “Here, I’ve got a couple of napkins in my pocket. Let me help you.”

“What is it? Why is it warm and sticky?!” you panic, not sure exactly what to do in this situation.

“It seems to be a type of dessert? A strawberry pie, perhaps?”

“You’re kidding,” you groan. “So someone decided to just throw a pie out a window? The universe hates me.”

The kind stranger laughs, “Or maybe the universe thought you could use a little more sweetness in your life?”

“Unlikely, but thanks,” you say, using one of the napkins he handed you to wipe your eyes clean. You can see better now, he’s a cute stranger - if you have to be totally honest. Of course you would meet someone attractive in a ridiculous way like this. It’s just your luck.

You lick your lips, it’s tasty at least. “What a waste of good pie.”

“I can’t believe it landed directly on your head. I watch the whole thing happen in slow motion,” he says, struggling to hold back another laugh. “I’m Yeosang. Normally I don’t laugh at pretty girls who almost get knocked out by flying desserts, so my apologies.”

“Apology accepted. I’m Y/N, normally I don’t smell like I came directly out of a strawberry bake off but here we are.”

- Second flashback ends -

And that was the beginning of it all.

Sometimes you question how everything could have turned out if that day had gone differently. For instance, if you would have been slightly late to leave for work you wouldn’t be sobbing while packing up his things right now. Which is the last thing you thought you would be doing after falling so easily for him.

But you’ve never been one to beg for someone to stay. You’ve always said, if they wanna leave, let them.

‘He’s worth fighting for.’ The voice in your head practically screams at you. ‘Don’t give up so easily.’

Your doorbell chimes, breaking your thoughts and letting you know that he’s here. He has a key, which is how he normally lets himself in, but you guess things are different now.

You take a deep breath before opening the door, not sure what to expect exactly.

“Hi,” he smiles nervously and looks down at his hands which are holding…flowers? “Can we pretend the last four hours didn’t happen? I had a momentary freak-out and realized that texting you about breaking up was a mistake.”

“What?” your brows furrow in confusion.

“I still want to be with you. It just kind of hit me earlier how much I love you and I can’t imagine you not being in my life. But everyone leaves me at some point, and to make it hurt less I thought that by breaking up with you, it would make a future difficult thing less painful in the present.”

“Well,” you ask, crossing your arms. “Did it work?”

“No, I’m an idiot.”

“That may be true, but I love you anyway.” You hug him tightly and let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Next time you want to run because you’re scared, just remember that I will always love you, even when you make mistakes - like believing that I’m going to leave you.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m still sorry.”

“Good. You should be.”

©shadowkoo 2024. All rights reserved.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Remember You Even When I Don't (8)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

You’re working today. You hadn’t wanted to, but a local congresswoman you had requested an interview with months ago finally agreed to a conversation in her office, and Bradley wouldn’t let you pass it up. It was only for a few hours, but he finds himself missing you while you’re gone. 

This is the first time he had really been alone in the house for a long period of time since he got back from the hospital a month ago, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had tried to read a book, or get lost in a movie, but nothing had really kept his attention. He was laying on the couch, the news on the tv in the background, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t fully dove into all that it contained, and he figured now was the time to do it, even if you weren’t here to answer any questions that he might have. 

It’s interesting, seeing himself this way. Groupchats where he was an active participant, talking about parties or plans he has no recollection of, or discussing flight schedules for the week. He swaps Star Wars and Harry Potter trivia with Fanboy and gym regimes with Hangman and sends music back and forth with Coyote.  

When he opens the text thread he has with you, the only one pinned to the top of his messages, his breath catches at the last message received. 

 I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.

It was sent the day of his accident, and he knew by the time stamp that it was sent after the crash. You must have texted that to him while you were waiting for news on his condition, and not for the first time, he feels both guilt and gratitude go through him; he’s so sorry that he’s hurt you like this, but he’s so glad he’s here now. 

He scrolls for a while, reading you rambling to him about your work day and bouncing ideas for articles off of him, jumping from one topic to the next while you know he’s in the air or teaching a class so he doesn’t have his phone on him. Based on his responses that come later on, he knows he never minded the almost nonsensical messages. Even now, he finds it adorable and enjoys reading through them. There are conversations about dinner and what true crime documentary the two of you were going to watch that weekend. 

There’s a little bit of everything in these messages between the two of you, but his brow furrows when he gets to a point about a week before his accident. 

I’m on my way home, he had texted you, You better be ready for me, Pumpkin. 

He scrolls further up, trying to find the beginning of the conversation that led to that, and he almost wishes he wouldn’t have. 

You had texted him earlier that morning, when he barely must have left the house to go to base, a picture of you. There was a playful smirk on your lips, and you had what looked to be the cap from his formal dress whites perched crooked on your head. That in and of itself wasn’t what made his breath hitch, though. It was the fact that you were still in bed, your arm draped over your chest where he could see everything but everything, you hanging onto only a single shred of decency. 

Fly well today, Lieutenant Commander. 

It had descended into a day full of teasing from there, each message dirtier than the one before. Descriptions of what you wanted him to do to you and him warning you of what he would do when he got his hands on you. He feels flushed all over, but he keeps scrolling up. He bypasses recipes you wanted his opinion on and a reminder of what the Hulu password was, and eventually finds more pictures. Some are more risque than others, but all of them make him feel like the temperature in the room rose by multiple degrees. 

There’s a tickle in his brain again, and he finds himself closing the messaging app and going to his photo albums. There’s a locked album there, and he knows, he just knows what it’s going to contain. 

He shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy. But he’s wracking his mind to try and remember what the code would be to get into it anyway, and he curses when he gets it wrong first once, then a second time. He enters your birthday on the third attempt and groans out loud when he’s immediately met with the filthiest images he’s ever seen. 

It’s a whole gallery of you, or the two of you together, and Bradley can’t stop himself from looking. He bites his lip as he takes in the photos, his mind so overrun with thoughts of how fucking stunning you are that he can barely think straight at all. 

He stops at one in particular, clicking to enlarge it, and loses all thoughts entirely. Neither of your faces are in it, but he doesn’t need to guess that it’s the two of you. You’re sitting back against his chest, his ankles hooked over your legs, forcing them wide for him. He can see your nails biting into his thighs, but it’s his own hand that draws his attention. With the hand that’s not taking the selfie style photo, his fingers are gliding through the wetness gathered between your legs. You shine against the dark wedding band on his left land, one that’s noticeably absent from his finger now. He’s practically panting as he stares. 

He’s so hypnotized by the way the two of you look together that he doesn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of you walking into the house. 

“Baby?” 

Your voice makes him jump so high that his phone goes flying out of his hand, a curse leaving his lips. He scrambles to pick it up when he sees you reaching for it as well, and your eyebrows are raised high as you look at him in surprise. 

“Hey,” his voice cracks, higher pitched than normal, and he blushes. Your eyebrows raise a little bit higher. “Hi, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yup,” he nods, faking a cough so he could try to clear his throat, his face flushed. “Totally fine.” 

It’s not difficult to see how skeptical you are, and it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact with you and not let his eyes flicker down your body now that he has an idea of what rests underneath the smart dress you wore. 

You eye him suspiciously, “Are you sure?”  

He contemplates for a moment, trying to figure out a way to get himself out of this conversation, because the longer you looked at him like that the hotter he became under the collar. He took a deep breath, nodding again. 

“I was looking at messages and pictures,” he says all in one breath, not liking the idea of completely lying to you. He rationalized that a different version of the truth was okay, even as the pictures flashed in his mind again. “Trying to see if anything jogged my memory.” 

You search his eyes, and he tries his best to appear innocent, willing the hardening in his jeans to go down before you took notice. He suspected you already might have from the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Did it?” 

If he thought hard enough he swore he could almost feel you. Your back against his chest, how soft your inner thighs left. How warm your wetness felt against his fingers as he took you to the edge. 

“No,” he stutters out after a moment, shaking his head, his face burning, “nothing yet.” 

________

He finds himself rubbing his thumb against the fading tan line on his left ring finger, something he had seen you do time and time again. He hadn’t really wondered up until this point where his ring was, but ever since he saw the picture with it so clearly against your skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

He’s helping you in the kitchen a few days later, mesmerized as always by how efficient and easy you made everything look. You roll your eyes when he comments on it.

“It’s cookies, Bradley. Nothing fancy.”

“But they’re from scratch. The dough isn’t pre-made. That’s fancy!” 

You laugh at him in response, shaking your head. You take the rings on your left hand off, sitting them beside the sink as you wash your hands before the two of you get started. It raises the subject back to the forefront of his mind. He had been desperate to ask you for the last few days, but hadn’t built up the courage to do it. But he can almost feel it on his finger now, can feel a ghost of your fingers as you slide it into place, and it’s suddenly more of a need to know. 

“Can I uh…can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“What happened to my wedding ring?” 

You pause from where you’re cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, your eyebrows raised high. You set it down gently, turning to face him. 

“Does it bother you…that I wear mine, still?” 

“No!” he insists, hating even the idea of you taking it off. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I promise. We just have never acknowledged mine? I know that I wear one - I remember wearing one, and I’ve seen it in pictures, too.” 

“You love your ring,” you tell him softly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you give him a small smile, though he can see the pain in your eyes, and shake your head. 

“You don’t fly with it on,” you explain, “you tried, at first, but you had been flying so long without anything on your hands that you couldn’t get used to it being there when you were operating the controls.” 

He thinks for a moment and the words come to him slowly. “You were the one who told me to start taking it off when I fly.” 

“I was.” 

“Why?”

Your lips quirk and you shrug. “I’m more worried about you flying safely than wearing your ring at all times. You keep it in one of the pockets of your flight suit when you go up in the air now.” 

Of course you were more worried for him. He should have expected nothing less from you and the way you effortlessly care for him. He can also picture that, he thinks. It’s easy to imagine not wanting to be separated from the physical reminder that he belongs to you, so even if he couldn’t wear it, he’d at least have it on him, in the inner chest pocket right above his heart. 

“So..” He doesn’t quite know how to ask his question, but you must read it on his face. 

You twist your own ring on your finger in the way you always seemed to do to center yourself. Pain flashed across your face and Bradley knew you were remembering, too. “They uh..they had to cut your flight suit off, before you went into surgery. You weren’t breathing and were bleeding…” you cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the visual from your head. “But it was still in your pocket. So. I have it.” 

He sets down the bag of chocolate chips he had been holding and walks the few steps to where you’re standing at the counter. When he holds his arms open, you don’t hesitate to step into them. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he breathes in your scent. 

“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he whispers into the strands of your hair, and he feels the way you squeeze him in response. 

“You’re okay now,” you speak into his chest, and he thinks he might feel you press a kiss there, directly over the spot where that inner pocket of his flight suit would be, where he kept you when he had no other choice. 

The two of you stand there wrapped up together for a long moment. When you lift your head, your eyes are glassy, but you give him a smile and a small kiss to his lips. 

Later, after the cookies have been made and devoured, you join him on the back porch. You had taken to sitting on the swing together and when you sit beside him tonight, he sees you rolling something between your fingers. His breath catches when he sees exactly what it is. You’re staring at it too, your gaze intense and pondering. He doesn’t speak, not quite knowing what to say. Eventually, you break out of your haze and meet his eyes. 

“You don’t have to put it back on,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him. His wedding band sits on your palm, shining against your skin. For a moment he sees you in white standing right in front of him, wildflowers in your hair.  

His fingertips brush yours when he takes it from you, admiring the piece of jewelry he wasn’t aware that he missed until it was back in his possession. 

“But it’s yours. I want - I want you to have it.”

He rolls it between his fingers, contemplating for a moment. He swallows, suddenly overcome with emotion he hadn’t seen coming and that tingling that’s starting to become familiar to him. You had picked it out yourself and he knows when he looks, he’ll see an engraving of your initials beside his. He was always so proud to be able to wear this, knowing that it symbolized being with you, a small way of telling anyone who saw it that he was lucky enough to be your husband. 

But he wasn’t him - not yet, not completely. Everyday brought him closer to thinking that he could be, though.

“Pumpkin, I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say. 

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek and turning his head to meet your eyes. You didn’t look mad, or upset, and you’re giving him the gentlest, kindest look anyone ever had. But your eyes didn’t hold pity or sympathy either - just a trust and love that he’s still not sure what he could have ever done to deserve. “Whenever you’re ready. And if you never are-” 

“I will be,” he cut you off; he wanted nothing more than to be ready. “I just…I still have something to prove to myself.” 

You nod, and Bradley leans forward to kiss you softly. He leaves his forehead pressed against yours when he pulls away, relishing in the calm you brought him. 

“I’ll get there,” he says, “I promise.” 

—------

He’s spent time alone, but he hasn’t spent time away from you with other people. He’s hesitant to accept the invite from Mav to visit the hanger he had here. But planes and his godfather had been a staple of Bradley’s childhood, an influence on his whole life, really. He had been cleared to drive earlier in the week, so that Saturday, he leaves early. He’s anxious at the thought of being away from you but he knows that the him from before wouldn’t have said no to the invitation and he was so determined to get back to who that was. And he knows that you have a life outside of taking care of him, too. You’re getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife later and he knows you’re excited, even if you hung onto him a little bit longer than a normal hug when he said goodbye. You had made him promise that he would call you if he needed anything and the whole way to the desert, his fingers twitched, wanting to call you just to hear your voice. 

Mav greets him with a large smile and a tight hug, “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Me too,” Bradley says. He means it, even if he does miss you already. He looks around the hanger, taking note of the few planes and motorcycles throughout the long stretch. It was a lot more than the collection he had when Bradley was 17. “What are we working on today?” 

Mav gives him his signature grin. “I want to show you something.” 

He follows him to the end of the hanger, where a large blue tarp is covering what can’t be anything but a plane. His godfather gestures to it. Bradley raises an eyebrow but walks up to it, grabbing hold of the tarp and yanking it back. Like he suspected, he’s greeted by a Cessna. It’s a classic 172 by the looks of it, a smaller four seater. It’s a sleek white in color with subtle burnt orange line work. Bradley whistles. It was beautiful in a way that only planes like this could be. 

“When’d you get this one?” 

Mav smirks, shaking his head. “I didn’t.” 

“What?” 

“Take a look at the other side.” He nods his head, urging Bradley forward. Confused and intrigued, he follows the instructions, walking around to the other side of the small plane. He gets what Mav was saying, then, and sucks in a breath. Right there emblazoned on the side, in an elegant script, was Pumpkin.

This wasn’t Mav’s plane; it was his. 

“You got her about six months ago,” he says softly when he joins him at his side. 

Bradley reaches up and runs his fingers over the name. It’s foggy, but he thinks he can remember now. He had always wanted to own his own plane since the first time his godfather took him up in one at 6 years old. It was always a pipedream, though. He was never in one place for long enough, and while he was generally good with saving money, it was a bigger purchase than he had ever made. But then the two of you got married and a permanent station here in California. Between both of your savings and what he still had of his parents life insurance, the funds were there. It was you who had made the suggestion of finally pulling the trigger, and it was him who had suggested a four seater instead of a two seater so that if the two of you ever had children, you could all fly together. You cried when he showed you the name he had painted on it. 

“Still needs some work done before she’s flyable. I thought maybe you’d want to work on it today.” 

An eager smile appears on his face and he nods, already peeling his jacket off and heading toward the toolbox. If Mav noticed that he didn’t need to instruct him on where it was, he didn’t comment on it. 

The two work in tandem for hours. It had only been six weeks since his accident, but he couldn’t recall a time since flight school that he had gone this long without being near a plane and it felt good doing so again. It’s easy, getting into the rhythm of twisting bolts and tinkering with the engine wires. He thinks it won’t be long until he can get this cleared to go in the air and he knows without a doubt that you’re going to be the first passenger. 

His phone buzzes in the early afternoon and he doesn’t hesitate to put down the wrench he was working with and dig it out of his jeans pocket. You had sent him a selfie earlier when you had gotten to brunch, sunglasses on and a bright smile on your face with a mimosa in your hand, and he hoped it was another picture. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s Phoenix calling him, instead. He picks up, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Nat?” 

“Your wife got stung by a bee. We’re on our way to the hospital.” 

He can feel the dread as it settles over him. His heart beats faster in his chest. “What?” 

She sighs on the other line, and he can hear commotion in the background. “She’s severely allergic, Rooster. We sat outside at brunch and we didn’t even realize it happened at first. She didn’t have her epipen on her so we had to call an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, but you should get here anyway, okay?” 

He feels like he can barely breathe, like the room is closing in on him a little bit. Mav must notice the panic written all over him because he’s quick to come over and take the phone out of his hand, taking over the conversation. He can barely hear him over the roaring in his head. You were hurt. He knew you were extremely allergic to bees. That was something he had remembered. You were supposed to carry an epipen on you at all times. He can’t remember if you’d ever gotten stung when he was there. He can’t remember how bad it got if you ever were. But now you were in the back of an ambulance and on your way to a hospital and he could feel his fear all the way down to his bones. 

“Bradley, hey. Look at me.” 

Mav is in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. He meets his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can see is you, struggling to catch a breath and being loaded into the back of an ambulance. 

“I’ll drive, okay? Let’s go.” 

He follows him to the car, not really calculating anything other than the fact that he was almost an hour away from you and what if there was traffic and why didn’t you have your epipen on you? 

“She’s going to be okay.” 

“But-” 

“Phoenix said the paramedics administered epi as soon as they arrived, and it didn’t take them long to get to her. She was awake and was already breathing easier when they left for the hospital. Didn’t even need to use the sirens.” 

That doesn’t make him feel better. Not really. Knowing that trained professionals weren’t panicking must have meant that you were okay, but he knows how serious anaphylaxis is, too. 

He can’t reconcile everything that he’s feeling right now. He has never, ever felt like this before. The thought of something happening to you is scarier than any mission he had ever been on, any enemy he had encountered in the air. 

“Mav I can’t - I can’t lose her. I just got her.” 

“You aren’t going to.” 

Bradley doesn’t say anything, can’t think of a single thing to say, and instead buries his head in his hands from his spot in the passenger seat. You were going to be okay. You had to be okay. Because he may not remember everything about the two of you, but he did know for certain that if something ever happened to you, he would never, ever recover from it. 

He doesn’t wait for Mav once they get to the hospital, the older man opting to drop him off at the front before going to find parking. He’s practically sprinting as he goes through the emergency room doors and vaguely, he remembers you telling him about the time this happened before, when you took yourself to the hospital and ended up needing surgery. He can almost feel that panic now, and it makes what he’s already feeling worse. 

“Can I help-“

“I’m looking for my wife. She was brought in because of a bee sting-“

“Sir-“

“She’s really allergic and-“

“Sir!” The nurse behind the counter snaps, raising her voice over his to get through to him. “I need your wife’s name if I’m going to find her for you.”

Oh. Yes, he thinks, your name. They need your name. 

It’s the first time he’s said your full name, and your first and his last name feel so right coming off his tongue. But he can’t focus on that right now, giving all of his attention to the nurse who is typing so slowly. 

Before she can even hit enter, though, he hears his callsign echo behind him. He spins, heart racing with anxiety, and spots Nat making her way over to him. She gives the annoyed nurse a kind, charming smile as she grabs Bradley by the arm 

“Sorry about him, ma’am. I got him from here.”

She pulls him away without another word, heading toward the hallway off the packed waiting room. 

“Is she okay? Nat, is-“

“She’s fine, Rooster. Coming down from the adrenaline rush that the epinephrine gave her, but she’ll be okay.”

“What about-“

Nat stops in front of a closed door, lowering her voice. “Bradley. She’s okay.” 

He’s pushing past her before she even finishes, spotting you on the bed through the glass and half drawn curtain. You look so small amongst the crinkly white sheets, still in the clothes you wore to brunch. Your makeup is a bit smudged and your eyes are red and he hates to think that you were scared enough to start crying. You’re holding an oxygen mask in your hand at your side. 

“Hi baby.” Even your voice sounds more pitched. He’s quick to make it to your side. 

Your breathing is slightly elevated, and the heart monitor is beating a little bit faster than he thinks is normal. He grabs the hand holding the mask, placing it over your mouth to start providing you with the supplemental air again. You make a small sound of surprise, but take in a deep breath of it anyway before pushing his hand away. 

“I’m okay.”

But your hands are shaking and your eyes are wider than normal. The skin that he can see is splotchy with hives. 

He looks back at Nat, who is still hovering in the doorway, an eyebrow arched and a small smirk on her face. He ignores the look. “Can you grab a doctor?”

You protest from the bed, but Bradley doesn’t waiver. With a fond roll of her eyes, Nat disappears from view. 

“Bradley. Sweetheart.” You grip his wrist, trying to get him to focus on you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re in the emergency room because you went into anaphylactic shock. You are not fine.” 

“But I am,” you insist, smiling softly at him, even as your body trembles as it works to burn through the adrenaline that was injected into it, “medicine worked just fine.” 

The door slides open before he can respond, an attending doctor who looks like he’s been up for longer than is healthy and in wrinkled green scrubs introducing himself as he walks in.

“Is she okay?” Bradley demands immediately, and the tired man looks startled for a moment at how abrupt the question was. Bradley stares at him, his eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for the answer. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He feels you tangle one of your hands with one of his and he squeezes back when he feels the pressure from you. He knows you’re trying to reassure him. 

“And you are…?” 

“I’m her husband,” he answers easily, the words falling off his tongue like he had said them a thousand times before. You suck in a small breath and tighten your grip on his hand again. 

“Ah,” the doctor hums, flipping through the chart he’s holding. Bradley wonders if all non-military hospitals move this slowly or if it was just because of how anxious he is at this moment, but he really, really needs him to answer his question. 

“Is she okay?” he repeats. 

“Bradley,” you murmur, but he keeps his eyes trained on the man in the scrubs and white coat. 

“She responded well to the epinephrine that was administered by the paramedics who brought her in,” he finally says, looking up from the chart and taking a step toward your side. He stops when he sees that Bradley doesn’t move an inch. He sighs, switching direction to go to your other side instead. “How are you feeling Mrs. Bradshaw?”

You answer his questions as they come, Bradley paying rapt attention the whole time. Your throat doesn’t feel tight anymore. You aren’t lightheaded, but you do feel a little shortness of breath. You feel jittery - wired, almost. You’re both assured that it’s completely normal as the drug works its way out of your system. They can give you something to try and calm you down, and they want you to stay for a few hours to make sure you don’t go back into the allergic reaction once the epinephrine has worn off. The thought makes his blood run cold. 

“Should she stay overnight?” he asks, but the doctor shakes his head no. 

“The standard observation timeslot should be just fine, Mr. Bradshaw. But we’ll make sure you both know what to look out for when you leave.” 

He walks out without saying much else. Bradley feels you tug on his hand, his name leaving your lips in a whisper. He meets your gaze and he watches as your eyes soften even more. 

“Sit down, honey.” 

He listens to you, dragging the chair beside your bed as close as possible. He rests his elbows on the mattress beside you, holding your hand tightly between both of his. 

“I’m okay,” you repeat again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers and taking a deep breath. “I…this really scared me.” 

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say softly, running your thumb over one of the hands holding yours, soothing the skin and helping his racing heart. Your touch is like magic to him, providing an almost instant calm that he desperately needed. Guilt curled in his stomach, knowing that even now, you’re the one helping him. 

“I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.” 

“We comfort each other, baby. That’s how this works.” 

“Why didn’t you have your epipen on you, Pumpkin? Don’t you normally carry it?” he asks quietly, a touch of urgency still in his tone. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you were alone and this happened, with no one around to call 911. He could have lost you, all over a silly little bee sting, and he can’t wrap his mind around that. He just got you. He had had you, he knew. But he was just getting you back. 

“I switched bags this morning and forgot to take it out of the pocket of the old one, I guess. I haven’t had to use one since college. I forget about it, sometimes.” 

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to rid himself of the worst case scenarios. He’s the one that normally reminds you to always have it on you, he thinks. He vaguely recalls having a spare in the glove compartment of the Bronco, and in the drawer in the kitchen and maybe one in the bedroom, too. 

Not for the first time, he curses his memory and the accident that took it from him. 

When he opens his eyes, his look is intense, “Never again, okay?” 

“Okay,” you say, but Bradley shakes his head. 

“No. Promise me. Please?”

Your lips part and you stare at him for a long moment. His gaze never waivers from yours. He needs you to listen to him. To hear him. 

“I promise,” you finally whisper. 

He rises from the chair, pressing a kiss to your lips. He keeps his forehead against yours, breathing you in. 

“Will you lay with me?” You ask quietly, shy in a way reminiscent of when you asked him to say I love you on the porch all those weeks ago. He hates that you felt you even needed to ask. 

With no hesitation, he maneuvered himself into the small bed beside you. He kisses your forehead once, twice, three times, holding you as tightly as he could. Your body still gave the occasional tremble but they had lessened now, your breaths coming a little bit easier, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease. 

“Sorry for being a mess,” he whispers into your hair. 

“Don’t,” you whisper back, and he feels you shake your head from where it’s tucked into his chest. “It means you care.”

The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them, not yet or here. You deserve more than a frantic hospital room confession.

-------

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! We're nearing the end, but I think everyone is really going to like the next chapter. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

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[kookygranger]

what is my boyfriend towtruck!Eddie doing on this fine 4/20 weekend?

Haha, I’m the worst person to ask this, @storiesbyrhi can vouch, but I’m so glad you did. If we don’t include our own experiences in our stories then who are we? 

For you and our tow truckin' boy @bettyfrommars ✨

Warnings: 18+ thank you, swearing, mentions of masturbation, drug use

On this rare Saturday with nothing on your to-do list that couldn’t be put off, you’d decided to take advantage of the miserable weather and curl up with a book. 

That’s where you were when your phone rang. Tangled in blankets, a warm mug of tea on your bedside table, your apartment lit in warm lighting from the strategically placed lamps around the place.

Your head was still in the story that had captured you for hours when you answered.

“Heello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“Eddie.” Your voice lifts in soft recognition, but the boy is hardly anymore grounded than you in this moment. “Did you just get off?” You place your book pages down in your little nest and glance at the rain still pelting your windows, hoping Hawkins was a little more dry today.

“Well, uh…that’s kinda what I’m calling about.” 

His tone helps you drift back to reality, back straightening at the hazy slur of his words. 

“…are you high?”

You can practically hear the goofy grin over the line, “Wellll, it is four twenty.”

You glance at the red numbers on your alarm clock, “It’s 6:48.” Shit, you should really get something together for dinner. The breathy laugh that escapes him makes you smile.

“No, baby. I mean like, it’s the 20th of April. Four twenty, get it? I guess I forgot how much you hate holidays.”

“That’s not a thing,” you laugh. 

“It is! Very important holiday to us wasters I’ll have you know.”

There’s a pause as you search through your memories of the boy you’d only known briefly albeit intensely. “Eddie, I don’t know…I’ve never seen you smoke, I had no idea.”

You hear a shuffle on the other end of the line, and you imagine him straightening up in his bed as his voice becomes serious. 

“Oh, well yeah–it’s kinda like what I’m known for. I used to…” he clears his throat, “Well actually I dealt in high school. I guess Robin never told you that. I mean I don’t now! And I barely smoke anymore–well compared to what I used to–I’d never while I was working obviously–“

Your giggles cut off his rambling, “Eddie relax, I don’t care.” His exhale of relief shoots through your ear.

“Shit, sorry I panicked for a second there.” You laugh again. “Guess I’ll just have to bring some stuff up next time I see you sweetheart.”

“Oh, well…”

“Robin I don’t feel good.” Oh god there it is. How is this supposed to be a good feeling? “Oh my god you’re so pale.” “This feels really weird.” Are you sitting up or lying down? Why can’t you feel your shoulders? Have you ever been able to feel your shoulders? Are you sitting up or laying down? “Oh shit, I think you’re greening out.” “I’m gonna throw up.” “I don’t know what to do!”

“I tried it once and I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Bummer,” Eddie mumbles, “I thought it’d be good for your…”

“High functioning anxiety and chronic pain? Yeah me too.”

“Shit, sweetheart.”

You shrug, “It’s okay. I’m content with a cocktail at the end of the day.” 

The playfulness in Eddie’s voice returns and you can just picture the dimples that punctuate his next words, “Well you can have one now and we could uh, talk.” You’re about to ask him what he thinks you’re doing now. “You know I’ve been thinking about two things all day.” His voice drops an octave, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Ever since I got in that truck this morning all I could think about was clocking off when I could roll one and talk to you.”

It’s almost cute. Your initial reaction is lovesick, but there���s something in his tone that’s throwing you off. 

“Wait…Eddie are you trying to have phone sex?”

“…no?”

You cackle, “You are! That’s why you called me high off your ass.”

“It’s one joint baby, calm down.” He’s defensive. Bummed that his plan didn’t work.

“All of this ‘cause of a made up stoners holiday?”

“No! I just miss you alright?! Is that such a crime? Wanted to hear your voice instead of just imagining it like always.” You almost don’t catch the last sentence over your laughing.

“Aw, you think about me when you jerk off?”

He scoffs, “Of course I do. Don’t–don’t you?”

You hum, “Yeah like 95 percent of the time.”

“What?!”

“You know how I feel about Christian Slater.”

“Whatever, I’m just gonna hang up and enjoy my time in peace alright.”

“Aw no! Wait, I love you, jerk off to me talking about my day.”

“Fuck you.” 

Your laughter turns into hysterics when the phone rings eight seconds after he hung up. 

“I didn’t mean that.” 

“I know you didn’t. Shall we start again?”

“Yes, please.” 

“Hey Eds. Did you just get off?”

More towtruck!Eddie and city girl here ✨

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

i know you will have a lot of messages about liam's death and won't presume i will be the first or last place you hear about it, but wanted to send a personal note to you specifically.

i followed you on and off when i was in the thick of my 1d fandom. i often do not agree with you as i do not believe many things you do. (but one reason why i appreciate your perspective is that i do think you would endorse me having my own opinions and interrogating those opinions regardless of what someone on the internet says.)

i haven't been on your blog in years. (i got a job i like in public service, and it keeps me busy, so only occasionally do i think about 1d.)

when i saw what happened to liam (who was, for a very long time, my favourite member) i found myself typing in your name.

this morning (my time, a few hours ago), i had spoken at length to my friends about my feelings that i had put so much time and care behind an abuser. (i am a survivor of dv, so that makes it even more painful.)

i also talked about my guilt over still feeling defensive about some aspects of liam's life (particularly the way he was piled on when he was just a little stupid or made jokes people didn't want to understand). i felt guilty for clinging to a belief that he was a good person who experienced addiction and mental health issues and that his story is tragic in so many ways.

(i will never forget how he spoke about drinking excessively for his boss photoshoot, the one where he was in his underwear. that, to me, will always be emblematic of how desperate he was and how sick.)

i'm rambling from the grief, but i thought you would help me make sense of this, and it didn't take much scrolling through a search for liam on your blog for me to find the post about abusers not being cackling evil masterminds.

i think it's really going to help me work through everything i feel. multiple stages and kinds of grief. so i thank you for still being here when so many already left, and i hope you are well, even though i know so many of us are not.

Thanks so much for this anon. It's so lovely that you let me know that you thought of me and shared your thoughts. It's awesome that you like your job and I'm really sorry for the guilt you experienced.

I really appreciate hearing your complex feelings - it helps me make sense of my own.

I had tried to answer honestly when anons had asked me how I was responding to Liam once Maya had described how I treated him. But I'm realising that there was a lot going on that I hadn't really processed. When I talked and thought about my response - I focused on what I was doing - how I was posting what I reblogged and not really my feelings.

I had so much affection for Liam - after Harry and Louis he was the one I responded to the most. The way he would just say things was charming, hilarious, and terrifying at different times (it's where my URL comes from). He was so transparent about wanting to follow the rules and wanting to make everyone happy - and hated when they were impossible individually and also conflicted. And I responded to that both as an observer and as someone else who had that very human reaction (I've been wondering if people who mention his desire to make people happy in their statements are intending to draw the connection between that need and the distress he felt.). My 'Oh Lima' tag - I think reflects the combination of responses I had to him.

That affection withstood a lot. There aren't many people who said they were voting Boris Johnson in the 2019 UK election - where my response was anything but life long range. But what he said was so absurd - and so compatible with the other ridiculous political statements he'd made - all I did is move him down on the list of objectively worst members of 1D and keep tagging things 'Oh Lima'.

I wasn't naieve. I knew there was a high risk that he was hurting people, particularly women he was having sex with. I've said as much at various points. I knew that there's a risk with any men, particularly touring musicians, and particularly people whose coping mechanisms for their distress are destructive.

So I wasn't surprised when Maya described how she'd been treated. I stopped allowing to respond publicly to Liam in that mode. But that didn't resolve or change how I felt. Years of affection, built up through empathy, just sat alongside the knowledge about what he'd done. I think that was a fine response - I had other priorities this year than resolve what I thought about Liam Payne. I think part of my inability to articulate anything immediately after his death was because existing tension.

It's really natural to feel guilty - but I hope you feel like you don't need to. I didn't feel guilty about my reaction to some of the pile ons about Liam. I hated the way that people felt righteous about making fun of everything he did. It matters if someone chases their girlfriend with an axe - it doesn't matter if someone does cringey dancing at the concert - and treating those as the same is incredibly trivialising with violence. I thought the response to him on Logan Paul's podcast was all about people pretending their desire to make fun of people was righteous.

His story was tragic. I knew one of the things that I was observing and responding to was Liam's distress. But that didn't make it easy to reconcile my what I'd seen, and his responses to distress that he'd hidden until recently. Learning to hold the line about the harm people do, and process our connections to them and understanding of their humanity - is an ongoing process for all of us.

I think it's really normal for our response to this to be multi-staged. What it brings up will be different for everyone. I'm still trying to understand what it means for me (I've realised since his death that wanting to keep everyone happy and follow the rules is causing a lot of my stress at work. And I probably identified with Liam more than I knew). I'm so glad you found my tumblr in this moment and that it was useful.

Everything you say here sounds very wise. It is a process. It's OK.

[cartoonsinthemorning]

Hi forgive me if this has been addressed before! I'm a little new to your fem!stan stuff (I saw your ask reblogged by Boston and snuck out of the back of their foodtruck to send this) but I love the idea and was wondering does stan pretend to be Stanford when he falls in the portal? (If that is the route that's taken in the au at least) because it would be really interesting to see if constance would enjoy the freedom that comes with being a man but at the same time I think it would drive (incel) ford up the wall if he came back and saw his sister running a successful business out of his house. There would be this extra layer of tension as ford has to grapple with his own learned misogyny. Though I also imagine exploring the multiverse and seeing the way gender is explored or even ignored in other worlds would probably force him to have some realizations before hand but whether or not hed really allow himself to internalize those realizations is another story. Bros got an easy excuse to not analyze his own sexism since hes trying to hunt down bill

And then when he comes back and sees his sister is doing just fine would probably wound his pride a little bit. All those fantasies and unfair expectations of their roles hes built in his mind are forced to come crashing down once again

I'm also just kind of obsessed with the idea of constance finally learning how to be /stan/ in gravity falls because she never had the freedom and safety to do so before. I'm sure a large part of rejection of any femininity whatsoever came from not having the option to do so in the past. But then she watches the kids over the summer and sees mabel embracing makeovers and grappling hooks hand in hand. Dipper is insistent on being a "man" but never once tries to tell mabel she needs to be a "woman"

This ask is all over the place sorry I think i had a point to the start of this and now I'm just rambling about your own au to you lmfao

Anyway love the concept (and your art!!)

-🐶

Hello! Thank you for passing by and sending me such a nice message, sharing your own ideas with me! and many thanks for the compliments too, of course ❤ That said, I'm afraid my answer will be a tad disappointing. Because, the fem!Stan I enjoy to imagine is cis, and I can't imagine a cis woman being able to consistently pretend to be a man for thirty years, without losing their mind (in the same way it's detrimental for most trans people to supress their true identity for a lifetime, non?). Especially, in the same way canon Stan is very masculine (with a sprinkle of femininity, despite his shame about it), I like to imagine Constance as a lady who is very proud and comfortable in her womanhood- despite her loud voice and direct and somehow brash manners. Even in her younger years, when she was classified as a tomboy by most, she loved girly things- dresses, make up, gossip magazines, etc. without issues. I think of Stan in her 60s wearing tacky jewelry, lipstick, and hair-curlers at night, tbh. That's why, in this AU, my mind skirts around the part were Ford gets stuck into the portal.

For example, I sometimes imagine 30s Ford simply having a change of heart and dismantling the portal, and (now former) Drifter!Constance living with him from that point on (and, of course, I elaborated this one up until Stan and Mabel get into the picture, but for the sake of brevity I'll stop here). Or, I bend canon a little, making up that the people of Gravity Falls only heard of some researcher who was gonna build and live in a shack in the forest, but they never actually got to see them, let alone find out if it was a man or a woman. It's a version were the chaos Ford caused in town while posses by Bill either never happened or he did it without getting caught by police or getting seen. And, about the name on documents and stuff-- Constance was a marinated and resourceful conwoman at that point, she simply found a way to make things work. Hell, they have the same last name- maybe this time she registered Ford as deceased, passed herself as his wife, and inherited the Shack and the rest of Ford's possessions. I know many, reading this, would think it's heartless of Stan, but to me this trick is fucking hilarious. Especially, I'm grinning like a maniac imagining how mad and appalled Ford would look as he realizes the trick Constance pulled- not only because what a fucking ASSHOLE she's been, to use his "death" to appropriate his stuff- but also!! secretly!! because WHAT the FUCK- he often fantasized about Stan being his wife, but this is the most cruel and ironic monkey paw situation EVER!! To reconnect back to your speculations about sexist!Ford being humiliated and mad about Constance running a business independently: I like it! it's fun to read! But, I have to go deeper. I usually think of Ford's sexism toward Constance to be the outside layer, so to speak. I think deep down Ford always knew Stan had the potential to be strong, resourceful and independent, despite what their ma, pa, teachers and other people said. Ford grew next to her, he knows what this girl is capable of, how determined she is. And that's the point...What he really dreads, what he really hates, is the idea she doesn't need him, at all. That's what would make Ford actually upset about Stan running a business: knowing that, hadn't she brought him back, she would had been fine, without him. Sexism would be the mental shield Ford uses to protect himself from this painful acknowledgment: He's just mad because his fraud of a sister thinks she's being successful, but all she accomplished was using her physical appearance and womanly ways to seduce and manipulate. That's all, really. I roll my eyes at him, here, which is a good indicator I got him in character, if I can say so myself. The last scene you shared, with Stan realizing her nephew and niece aren't as oppressed by gender roles as she herself used to be- and bypassing them, even- is SO sweet 🥺 I have absolutely no doubt in my mind: one thing that does NOT change in either the canon universe and the genderbend one, is that Stan would love and adore Dipper and Mabel- and learn a lot from them ❤ PS: is the puppy icon your anon signature? it's so cute! 🐶 look at this fine boy. Great choice.

[donteattheappleshook]

(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.” 

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great. 

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers. 

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement. 

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic. 

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside. 

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him. 

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.” 

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -” 

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open. 

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?” 

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong… 

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” 

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door. 

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum. 

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.” 

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’ 

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch. 

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her. 

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.” 

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end. 

He’s missed her so bloody much. 

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally. 

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.” 

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.” 

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out. 

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.” 

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions. 

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’ 

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.” 

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning. 

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all. 

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’. 

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist. 

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height. 

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.” 

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’ 

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything. 

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.” 

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try. 

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’ 

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.” 

“Thank you.” 

“It’ll never hold up in court.” 

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.” 

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.” 

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’ 

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart. 

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea. 

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?” 

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most. 

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.” 

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again. 

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm. 

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.” 

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.” 

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand. 

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.” 

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers. 

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.” 

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade. 

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.” 

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time. 

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner. 

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar. 

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away. 

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?” 

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.” 

She walks away. Beyond repair then. 

***

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else.”

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard. 

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.” 

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did. 

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.” 

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.” 

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station. 

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment. 

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.” 

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss. 

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves. 

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack  ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories. 

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window. 

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her. 

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To - 

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.” 

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up. 

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation. 

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.” 

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.” 

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?” 

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.” 

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her. 

“How much of last night do you actually remember?” 

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.” 

“I know.” 

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.” 

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much. 

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.” 

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him. 

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear. 

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.” 

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.” 

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.” 

“What rules?” 

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now. 

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were. 

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them. 

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him. 

“Milah?” 

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion. 

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.” 

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.” 

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times. 

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned. 

“You’re right.” 

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure. 

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to. 

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough. 

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before. 

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch. 

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.” 

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust. 

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.” 

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away. 

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’  

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult. 

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.” 

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.” 

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off. 

“Here.” 

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.” 

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -” 

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -” 

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his. 

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.  

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that. 

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.” 

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.” 

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone. 

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck. 

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader. 

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.” 

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer. 

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.” 

“My arm’s asleep.” 

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.” 

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him. 

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -” 

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.” 

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him. 

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt. 

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.” 

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck. 

*******

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