#the guilt in john's voice when he said he had to run

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part Six

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU .... eventually lol

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Idiots, angst, Buckys dumb for like no reason at all. Poor steve :(

A/N: Okay im uploading part 7 directly after this cuz yall were patient when i said i was uploading part 6 last night and never did lmao, also the next two are just kinda build ups bucky and reader gonna have some words.........

Masterpost

----

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair as he looks at Steve and Sam, who are both waiting, wide-eyed. “Do you remember that party at John Walker’s house? It was a couple of years after you dropped out, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes narrow, thinking back. “Yeah, I only heard about it because Wanda said it got messy. And Steve… you were the one who became the keg stand champion, right?”

Steve smirks at the memory. “Yeah, that was one for the books. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

Bucky looks down, his voice soft, almost reverent. “That night… something happened between us. We’d been drinking, and one thing led to another. We, uh, we…. slept together.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Steve’s eyes go wide, and Sam’s jaw drops. Finally, Steve manages, “Holy crap, Buck. You two just… jumped from being best friends to that?”

Bucky nods, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’d been in love with her for as long as I could remember. And that night… it felt like everything. I thought maybe… maybe it meant the same to her.” His face darkens, his voice dropping. “But when I woke up the next morning, she was gone. Just… vanished. Didn’t say a word. And after that, she wouldn’t even meet my eyes for weeks.”

Sam shakes his head, completely floored. “So you’re telling us that you two had this whole moment… and then she just left?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, still looking down. “I thought maybe she was spooked, it was a lot, so I gave her some space but…” He trails off sighing, “Maybe she regretted it, or felt ashamed. Hell, I even started to think she was disgusted with herself for… being with me.”

Steve rubs his forehead, staring at Bucky with a mix of disbelief and pity. “So you’ve just… never talked about it? Not once?”

“No,” Bucky says with a bitter laugh. “She wouldn’t, and I wasn’t gonna force her to. I figured if she wanted to pretend it never happened, then that’s what we’d do, yknow id do anything for her”

Sam scoffs, shaking his head. “Buck, everyone’s known she’s been in love with you since forever. She probably thought you saw it as a drunken mistake.”

Bucky stares at him, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“Your reputation in college, at least when I was there” Sam says bluntly. “She probably thought she was just another notch on your belt. Especially if she’d heard any of those rumours.”

Bucky looks between them, realisation dawning as he mutters, “She knew those were just rumours, were best friends, she knows me better than that, right? She had to have known they were just rumours.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “How was she supposed to know, Buck? Everyone around campus talked about you like you were this heartbreaker, this guy who couldn’t be tied down. Best friend Bucky and relationship you are two different Bucky’s to her… can you blame her for thinking that night didn’t mean anything to you?”

Bucky stares at the floor, his expression twisted with guilt and frustration. “I just… I thought she’d know I’d never do that to her. That she was different, of course she is different it's her, she has to know that!” He clenches his fists. “I thought she was the one regretting it.”

Sam lets out a sigh, leaning forward. “So let me get this straight. You both spent years walking on eggshells, thinking the other didn’t care, and you’re both probably miserable because of it.”

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “It just felt safer to leave it alone. I thought it was better to have her in my life as my best friend than risk losing her altogether. I’d rather have had some of her than none at all.”

Steve shakes his head, a small, sad smile on his face. “You two have been dancing around each other all this time. It’s like you’ve been playing some drawn-out, painful game of cat and mouse.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s hollow. “Guess we’re both idiots.”

Sam gives him a pointed look. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Bucky looks up, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know. I thought I’d missed my chance. But… if she still feels the same, if there’s even a part of her that still cares…”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “Then it’s worth fighting for, Buck. Don’t let another night slip by without her knowing how you feel, you’ve wasted enough time already”

Bucky’s face hardens with resolve, determination mingling with the lingering fear in his eyes. “You’re right. I have to tell her. I just hope… I hope it’s not too late. You’re a good friend, Steve. Thanks for this.”

Steve musters a small, bittersweet smile. “Of course, Buck. Anything for you.”

Inside, though, a quiet ache flares—a familiar, constant ache he’s learned to bury deep down. Unrequited love is painful enough, but what gnaws at Steve isn’t just his own longing. It’s the years he’s spent watching the two people he cares about most teeter on the edge of something real, only to pull back time and again. He’s seen Bucky’s yearning masked as indifference, her stolen glances that went unnoticed, and all the missed moments that could have been… if only one of them had been brave enough.

To Steve, there’s a nobility in his silence—a duty to let them find happiness, even if it’s not with him. It would be easy to resent Bucky for hurting you, for treating your feelings like a burden. But Steve can’t bring himself to feel anything other than empathy. Bucky’s been as lost as you have, caught in a battle he’s too proud or too scared to admit.

He knows, deep down, that his own feelings don’t matter here. What matters is that they have a chance, a real chance, at the happiness he’s always wanted for you, even if its not with him. And if he has to carry his love quietly, if he has to keep his own heartache in check for them, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Go tell her, Buck,” Steve says quietly, the weight of unspoken words heavy in his voice. “And don’t waste a single moment. You both deserve to know the truth.”

Bucky meets his gaze, nodding with a unsure but trusting smile. He has no idea of the sacrifice Steve is making in this moment, Steve watches him, swallowing the longing and sadness that’s always there but will never be voiced. In his own way, he’s choosing love too—a selfless love that finds peace in seeing her happiness, even if it’s not

with him.

Sam glanced at Bucky, his brow furrowing. “Hold on a second, what about Kate?”

Bucky’s face falls at Sam’s question, the name he’s been trying not to think about suddenly hitting him like a weight in his chest. Kate. Sweet, caring, loyal Kate, who had seen the best in him when he couldn’t see it himself, who had been there quietly beside him, hoping he’d come around.

He hesitates, avoiding his friends’ eyes as he tries to gather his thoughts. “I… I don’t know. Kate deserves the truth too. I thought maybe she was what I needed to finally… to finally move on.” He sighs, the regret heavy in his voice. “But that was just me lying to myself. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

Sam nods, a hint of sympathy in his expression. “Kate’s a good person, Buck. She doesn’t deserve to be anyone’s second choice.”

Bucky looks down, guilt clawing at him. “I know. And I hate that I’ve made her one. She should be with someone who’s all in… and that’s not me. It’s not fair to her.”

Steve studies Bucky’s face, understanding but also concerned. “So, you’re going to talk to her?”

Bucky nods slowly. “Yeah. She deserves to know. I need to be honest with her before I can… before I can even think about anything else.”

Steve claps a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Good. She deserves that much.”

That afternoon, Bucky texts Kate, asking if they can meet up. His heart pounds as he waits for her reply, the thought of ending things with her weighing heavily on his mind. She responds quickly, suggesting they meet at the same little coffee shop from the day before, and he heads there with a mix of dread and resignation.

When he arrives, Kate is already seated at their usual table, a soft smile brightening her face when she sees him. It makes the ache in his chest deepen—he knows that after today, that smile will probably disappear, and he’ll be the one responsible for it.

“Hey,” she says, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “You sounded serious in your text. Everything okay?”

Bucky nods, though the heaviness in his gaze betrays him. “Yeah, I… I just needed to talk to you about something. Something I haven’t been fair about.”

Kate’s smile fades slightly, a hint of concern clouding her expression. “What is it?”

He opens his mouth to explain, but the words get stuck, the weight of everything catching up to him. “Kate… I don’t know how to say this. You deserve so much more than I’ve been giving you. I haven’t been fair to you. I haven’t… I haven’t been fully here.”

Kate’s face softens as she reaches out, gently placing her hand over his. “Bucky, I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I know you’re… complicated. But I’m here because I want to be. Because I care about you, whether you’re all in or not.”

He shakes his head, guilt gnawing at him. “You deserve better than ‘complicated,’ Kate. I thought I could be the guy you deserve, but I just… I can’t be.”

She watches him for a long moment, and then her voice drops, quiet but sure. “Bucky, I knew what I was getting into when I fell for you. I know you’re still figuring things out, and I can be patient. I can wait if that’s what you need.”

Her words stop him in his tracks. There’s an unflinching loyalty in her eyes, a warmth and steadiness that he’s never fully appreciated until now. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch, and the weight of her gaze makes his chest tighten.

“Kate, I…” he starts, but she squeezes his hand, stopping him.

“Look, Bucky, I know there are things you haven’t told me, things you don’t think I understand. But I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I think… I think we could really have something if you let us.” Her voice trembles slightly, but she holds his gaze, her own eyes filled with a quiet determination.

For a moment, he’s silent, trying to process what she’s offering him. Kate’s hope, her patience, her willingness to wait for him—it’s more than he deserves, more than he ever thought he’d find with anyone. And he realizes, with a pang, that he can’t bring himself to end things with her today. Not with the sincerity in her voice, the openness in her gaze.

After a long moment, he forces himself to nod. “Thank you, Kate. For… for everything…”

She smiles, a relieved smile that makes him feel even worse, but he doesn’t have the heart to say anything more. The truth—the messy, painful truth—will have to wait. For now, he’ll accept her patience, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

---

You sit back on Natasha’s bed, letting out a long sigh, the wine making you feel just the tiniest bit lightheaded as you stare up at the ceiling.

“I can’t go home,” you mutter. “Bucky’s over at Steve and Sam’s tonight but, when he comes home, I… I just can’t face him right now. Not after everything.”

Natasha gives you a soft smile. “Of course, you can stay here. You’re always welcome.”

Wanda chimes in, wrapping an arm around you. “We’ll have a proper girls’ night. Forget about all that for now.”

You smile, feeling a wave of relief. As you settle back, Natasha glances over at you with a knowing look. “So… what about Dean?”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Oh, God. I completely forgot about Dean.”

Natasha grins. “I can text him, say you got cold feet or something?”

You shake your head. “No, just… leave it. Honestly, with everything that’s happened… I don’t know. I keep thinking… what if Bucky doesn’t feel that way anymore? What if all of that—what I thought we shared—meant nothing to him?”

Natasha sighs, squeezing your hand. “Look, whatever you decide to do, I’m here. I’ve always got your back, babe.”

She pauses, giving you a smirk. “But you know… we’d choose you in the divorce, right?”

You let out a laugh, grabbing a pillow and swatting her with it. “There will be no choosing! And no divorcing! Bucky and I… we’ve been friends since we were five. I don’t know what I’d do if he… if he really was out of my life for good.”

Natasha’s gaze softens. “Then don’t let him be. You’re braver than you think. Just… be honest with him. You might be surprised by what he has to say.”

You fall quiet, her words lingering, filling you with equal parts hope and dread as you lay back, trying to gather the courage for whatever comes next.

The sun is bright, and the streets are bustling as you and Natasha stroll through the city, bags in hand and laughter spilling between you as you move from shop to shop. It feels like old times, light and easy, and after last night’s heart-to-heart, you’re almost… hopeful.

You’re telling Natasha about the cute little coffee shop you spotted around the corner when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a familiar head of tousled hair. You stop mid-sentence, freezing as you take in the scene just a few yards away: Bucky, hand in hand with Kate, both of them laughing, utterly absorbed in each other.

Your stomach sinks. You watch, feeling your heart twist as Bucky leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his smile wide and unguarded in a way you’d never been able to see up close until now. He looks… happy. Truly, genuinely happy.

Natasha’s gaze follows yours, her face tightening with sympathy as she watches you take in the scene. “You okay?” she asks softly, though you can tell from her tone that she already knows the answer.

You tear your eyes away, blinking quickly to clear the sting in your eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s… let’s just keep going.”

Natasha squeezes your arm, and the two of you turn, heading back down the sidewalk. But as you walk, a hollow feeling settles in your chest, everything from the night before swirling in your mind—the confessions, the memories, the what-ifs. And now… this.

By the time you reach the next shop, you’ve already made up your mind. Bucky Barnes doesn’t think you’re worth it, and that’s that. Whatever you felt, whatever might have been between you in the past, it’s all in your head.

You glance over at Natasha, forcing a smile. “You know what? Let’s just forget about Friday. I’m not gonna… I don’t want to dwell on it anymore. He’s happy. I’m happy for him. I think… I think it’s time to just move on.”

Natasha studies you, a trace of concern in her eyes, but she nods, letting it go for now. “Okay. We’ll let it go. But… if you ever want to talk, you know I’m here.”

You nod, grateful. And just like that, you tuck the memories away, pushing everything—Friday night, college, all of it—back into a box in your mind.

After a long day of shopping, you and Natasha are finally heading back. She raises an eyebrow at the bags in your hands. “You know, you’re welcome to crash at mine again tonight if you don’t feel like facing him.”

You shake your head, trying to laugh it off. “Nah, I’ve got some work I need to finish up on my computer. Plus, I already paid rent for the month, and you know better than anyone how ridiculous rent is in New York. Can’t avoid him forever, right?”

Natasha gives you a look but doesn’t push it. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

You thank her and give her a quick hug before parting ways, gathering every ounce of courage as you head home. But when you open the door to your apartment, your heart sinks: Bucky’s there, sitting on the couch—with Kate. She’s nestled beside him, looking as comfortable as if she lives there.

As soon as you step in, Bucky’s eyes shoot to yours, and the intensity in them nearly stops you in your tracks. You can read him too well, even now. In those blue eyes, you see a mix of emotions flickering back and forth—regret, sadness, something that almost looks like relief—but you have no idea which is for you and which might be for Kate.

Kate is the first to break the silence, greeting you with a friendly smile. “Hey! How are you? Did you have a good weekend?”

You put on your best casual smile, keeping your gaze mostly on her and avoiding Bucky’s searching eyes. “Yeah, it was nice. Just got a little shopping done with Nat.” You hold up your bags, laughing softly. “Guess I went a little overboard.”

Kate laughs, glancing at the bags. “Looks like you did some damage! Special occasion or just a treat-yourself kind of day?”

You hesitate, then, glancing between the two of them. “Well, I’ve got a date on Saturday,” you say lightly, shrugging. “Needed something nice.”

“Oh!” Kate’s face lights up. “Natasha mentioned that on Friday. I’m so happy for you!” She’s smiling warmly, but you can still feel Bucky’s gaze piercing right into you, as if he’s trying to read something hidden just beneath the surface. He doesn’t say a word.

You force yourself to look away from him, meeting Kate’s eyes. “Thanks,” you say, giving her a polite nod. “Anyway, I should go put all this away.”

“Sure thing!” Kate laughs again. “Hey, if i dont see you before then, good luck on your date—he’s a lucky guy.”

You manage a smile, your heart twisting in ways you don’t want to acknowledge. “Thanks, Kate. You two have a good night.”

As you turn to head to your room, Bucky finally speaks up, his voice a little rough. “You don’t have to go, you know. You can hang out with us.”

You pause, turning just enough to look at him, this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to him and the words that come out cut your throat, you shake your head. “No, I’m okay James….thanks, though.”

And with that, you disappear into your room, shutting the door softly behind you. Only then do you release the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, leaning back against the door and closing your eyes as you try to settle your racing heart.

----

The week passed in a fog of work and silence, each day dragging as you went through the motions with an ache in your chest that you couldn’t shake. It felt surreal to be in the same office as Bucky, the silence between you heavy and stifling. The two of you used to share everything—your worries, victories, and endless conversations. Now, there was a chasm between you, one neither of you seemed willing to bridge. Each day stretched endlessly, and this was the longest you’d gone without speaking to him in as long as you could remember.

At first, you tried to keep things normal, focusing on your work, staying in your lane. But the tension between you was like a third person in the room, and it made everything feel unsteady. You couldn’t help stealing glances at him, watching the way he laughed with the others, though even that sounded hollow. You missed the easy camaraderie, the inside jokes, and the playful banter. Now, every moment felt loaded, thick with unsaid words and unspoken longing.

By Wednesday night, you were drained��emotionally and physically exhausted. You’d promised yourself you’d join the group for Wing Wednesday, but as the day wore on, a familiar dread settled in your stomach. The thought of sitting across from Bucky, acting like everything was fine, felt impossible. So, you stayed home, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, wishing you could shake the emptiness that clung to you.

The next evening, desperate to clear your mind, you found yourself at the grocery store. You wandered the aisles, filling your cart with essentials, hoping the routine task would offer a brief escape. You were reaching for a can on the top shelf when a familiar voice broke through your thoughts.

“Hey! You’re alive!”

You turned to see Steve approaching, a wide grin lighting up his face. He pulled his cart up next to yours, his eyes warm with that steady kindness that always made you feel a bit lighter.

“Yeah, just barely,” you replied with a faint smile. “It’s been… a rough week.”

“We missed you at Wing Wednesday,” he said, his tone light but laced with concern.

You sighed, biting your lip. “Yeah, I just… wasn’t feeling up to it.”

Without asking, he reached over and took a couple of your bags from the cart, lifting them effortlessly. “Let me help you with these.”

You walked beside him, the weight of your bags lightened by his presence. The chill of the evening air hit your face as you stepped outside, a reminder that life was still moving around you, even as you felt stuck.

“Thanks, Steve,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

He glanced over, his expression growing serious. “Hey… don’t push the rest of us away. Don’t push me away because of Bucky and his nonsense.”

A sad laugh escaped you, more bitter than you meant it to be. “I’m not trying to, Steve. It’s just… hard. It’s been hard for so long, and… I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

Unshed tears blurred your vision, and you looked down, trying to keep them at bay.

Steve’s expression softened, his voice gentle. “I know exactly what you mean.”

You furrowed your brow, glancing up at him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “What do you mean?”

For a moment, he seemed to weigh his words, as if deciding how much to reveal. Finally, he sighed, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “I’ve been in love with someone too… someone who I know doesn’t feel the same way.”

You felt your heart race, wondering who he could mean. You’d always thought of Steve as your steady friend, the one who was always there. A name popped into your head—Natasha, maybe? She was magnetic, effortlessly commanding any room she walked into.

“Who?” you asked softly, not wanting to pry but unable to help yourself.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place, before glancing away as you approached your apartment door. Ignoring your question, he murmured, “There’s a difference, though.”

“What difference?”

He paused, then looked back at you, a weight of unspoken words in his gaze. “Yours… isn’t unrequited like you think it is.”

You blinked, his words sinking in slowly. “What are you saying?”

Steve held your gaze, his voice firm but kind. “I mean, you don’t see how he feels about you. You’re letting your own doubts twist what’s really there. You think he doesn’t want you, but I can tell you he does.” He reached up, gently wiping away a stray tear from your cheek, his hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

You swallowed, your heart racing. “Steve, I—”

He raised a hand, gently stopping you. “Just think about it, okay? Don’t shut me out. I know you’re hurting, but… my life without you in it would feel empty.”

He offered a soft, bittersweet smile, and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning to go, leaving you standing at your door, heart pounding and mind racing.

[arthursfuckinghat]

Sorry just thinking about how lovingly Charles talked about where he'd buried Arthur, the softness and somber in his voice, the way he reassured John that Arthur got the proper burial he deserved.

"It's where he would have wanted to be.. a pretty hillside.. facing the evening sun."

[a-b-riddle]

Part 9 (unrevised version). Since I've gotten 6 messages and a good bit of asks requesting to view it. Here it is, not in its final form.

You had hoped Monday would have treated you better than the past two days, but walking up to your shop in the pouring rain to already see a body standing outside waiting wasn't a good sign.

Customers who waited outside your shop always made you feel uncomfortable. But when you finally got close enough, you took in the person before you.

"We don't open for another hour." Your voice flat as you fished for your keys.

"I'll wait." Was Kyle's reply.

"Then you'll have to do it outside." You said, the key sliding into the lock. He didn't argue as you shut the door behind you. Didn't even bother knocking when, after thirty minutes, you looked in the window to see that the wind was causing the rain to blow sideways.

You relented. Letting him in thirty minutes earlier. It was a small mercy, even if he was soaked to the bone. You almost felt bad when his chattering teeth were the only thing you could hear.

Almost.

"I take it John told you about our little talk yesterday." You said, going about your business. Engaging in the conversation as if you were talking about the shitty weather that had tried to drown him.

"He did." He gave a sniffle. Running a hand over his beautiful, wet face. Droplets still staking their claim on his skin. "H-he alssso t-t-told us we were on our own in begging for our own f-forgiveness. Ra-ra- rightly s-s-s-so."

You huffed. Guilt beginning to eat at you before you turned, disappearing to the back of the store and coming back with a shirt and a blanket. "You left the shirt here."

He had no shame and wasted no time in taking off his jacket and soaked shirt. His chiseled body exposed to you. It was almost instinct to reach out and touch the soft skin. You luckily possessed some form of self restraint.

"So are you here to promise to make amends as well?" You crossed your arms. You meant it as a sign that you were wanting to create distance, but honestly you didn't trust yourself. It was second nature. Kyle and Johnny were tied when it came to having to always touch you.

Probably why his ghosting sucked so bad.

"I'd like to take you out." You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. It wasn't until Kyle's face fell that you realized, "Oh, you're actually serious."

He opened his mouth, ready to no doubt give you the same exact promises of doing better that John had given you the day before. Fortunately for Kyle, you didn't have the time to entertain a conversation.

"Fine." You immediately relented. No argument. "That Indian place where I asked you to go four months ago. Seven. If you manage to figure out which place, then I'll be meeting you there. Otherwise you'll be eating alone."

Kyle stood still. Unprepared for the fact that you had... agreed. You actually agreed to let him take you out.

"I can pick you up."

"Not sure what time I'll be getting off today. Might go home first. Might just go straight there." You started opening tasks again. "I have to finish setting up. Seven sharp.

"Seven sharp." He repeated, his smile lighting up the room.

It made you feel sick.

It was 6:45 when your phone started ringing. It was Kyle. Confirming that he was at the restaurant you were supposed to go.

7:00. He had gotten the two of you a table. He'll go ahead and order you a drink. They had mango lassi, but wasn't sure if you wanted to stick to just water.

7:15 He tries calling you. When it goes to voicemail, a follow up text is sent asking if you're okay.

At 7:20, while sitting on the couch you text back. Sorry. Something came up. We'll reschedule, I promise.

If you knew giving them a taste of their own medicine felt so good, you would have done it ages ago. You felt no since of shame in sending it. You hated being petty, but you wanted them to know what it felt like.

John had a lot more of verbal outbursts coming his way and if Johnny was hoping for a chance, he would be lucky if you had sex with him again before marriage.

Ten minutes later, on the dot, there was a knocking on your door. Your food had arrived. Blindly, you opened the door. Only instead of the take out you had delivered, Kyle stood there. Yet again soaked to the bone and this time out of breath.

"How did you know I was here?" Was the first thing that had come into your mind. If anything, he would have went by the shop first, but no. He came here. You weren't the type to deviate from a schedule, but christ. Simon at your date and then the club. John at the shop on your day off. Now this. "I swear to fucking god this fucking stalking-"

"Easy now, Love. No one's stalking you." Bullshit.

Absolute bullshit. They were military. Really important and special connections type of military, but this was bullshit. They were keeping tabs on you somehow.

"I know for a fucking fact that place is only ten minutes away. So you didn't have time to check out my store-- where I should be-- before coming here. So I'm going to ask you again, how did you know I was here?"

"Okay," he shrugged. "Stalking. We're stalking you." Kyle was lying. We he nodded like a bobblehead, you knew whatever was coming out of his mouth was bullshit. The first time you confirmed it was after Johnny had volunteered to make haggis. Kyle told him it was good, no doubt hoping to spare his feelings.

"Kyle." You warned, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. He paused as if trying to form another lie, but coming up short. Sighing in defeat, he confessed.

"Blocking us didn't stop you from sharing your location." In that moment, you could have strangled him. They had been still using your location. Something you had given them as a way to find you if you ever needed help. Now those assholes were using it for their own benefit.

"Son of a-" you shut your mouth. "I can't do this with you right now, okay?" You didn't confess that your publisher had asked for a last minute zoom call in the middle of your busiest work hour to see how you felt about doing a few meet and greets, all expenses paid.

Good news, but still... overwhelming. You still felt like an imposter. That you didn't deserve the hype you were getting. Your story wasn't that good. Your characters didn't hold much depth.

"Everything okay?" You didn't want to tell him. Didn't want to give him the chance to offer the reassurance you desperately needed for something he had no idea about.

"Why?" You asked, changing the subject. "I just want to know why? With John I get that the job gets stressful and needing someone to take-"

"No," he finished. "That's not an excuse. It's a reason. Not an excuse." His jaw clenched. "There is no excuse for how any of us treated you."

"Then what was your reason?" you asked. "I'm finding it very hard that someone who quite actively avoided me suddenly wants to get back together."

"I slacked off?" He shrugged. "I figured there were four of us and if I wasn't able to be there, it wouldn't make a difference."

"If you're just going to lie, Kyle, there is no point in continuing this conversation." You go to close the door only for his hand to stop you.

He stands there, looking at the ground. Even from the this angle you can see him take his bottom lip between his teeth.

He's nervous.

You step back. Giving him the option of coming in and saying it is whatever it is he needs to stay. He may be an ass like the rest of them, but this isn't exactly a conversation you want to have in the hallway for your nosey neighbors to hear.

He takes the silent invitation. Walking in and not speaking until you click the door shut. "You want the truth?" His voice is soft, but there is something else behind it. Anger?

"No," you say sardonically. "Please. Lie to me." He sighed, but didn't say anything. You were exhausted. The past few days had been a back-to-back rollercoaster of emotions. You were drained. You didn't have it in you for this right now. "Kyle-"

"I thought you only kept asking because you felt bad for me." He said the words so quickly, it took you a moment to process them. He thought.... you felt bad for him? "Like you were still trying to include me even if you didn't want to."

"Why?" Was the only thing you could come up with. You didn't have the energy to try to come up with your own reasoning for his admission.

"Don't think I don't know how I am compared to the them." He scoffed. You always knew the hierarchy of their work, even if you didn't know all the details. John was at the top. Captain and head bitch in charge. Simon was the lieutenant with Johnny and Kyle as Sergeants. Kyle was the youngest of the group by two years, but still. What was there to compare?

"So you're not a Captain or Lieutenant?" you shrug. "Johnny is the same rank as you. And you are the youngest and I'm sure with time you'll get to a position-"

"Black!" He said. "I'm black. I am the only fucking black guy not only in this relationship. I'm the only black guy in the 141, in the unit."

When it came to Kyle, black was the last thing you thought of. You thought of his soft brown eyes or house his hands felt so smooth against your body. How his smile could light up the room and how beautiful, how head-turning gorgeous he was. "I'm just an after thought in everything else regarding the 141, why would you be any different?"

"Ky," you were going to be sick. Was this how he really felt? With you? With the others? With work? "You know I don't feel that way, right?"

"Do you remember that time we went out? That french place?" How could you forget. The maître d' had asked Kyle to put a card on a tab before the two of you were even seated. At first you thought it was preposterous. Why would you make patrons at a fine dining restaurant do that? This wasn't a pub for Christ sakes. Kyle told you not to worry about it and handed over a card.

The two of you never went back.

"Oh my god." It dawned on you. "When they asked for your card..."

"I..." he sucked in a breath. Trying to keep his composure. "It was fucking humiliating. I was a man dressed to the fucking nines with a gorgeous girl on my arm and before I even got the chance to blow my money, I was treated like I couldn't afford it. It wasn't because of what I was wearing or who I was with. It was because of me. Of who I was. Who I am."

"Kyle," words escaped you. Nothing in that moment to reassure him that it never dawned on you. That it stupidly never dawned on you how there were times that people did look at him different. You wanted to tell him that it didn't matter. That you were just as important and lovable and respectable as the others. That you loved him just as much. Words failed you. All you could say say was, "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed, before taking in harsh breath through his nose. "It's not an excuse. I got wrapped up in my own stupid fucking head about how other people looked at me, I forgot it only mattered how you did."

"And you did." You said, aching to reach out. To touch him. Offer some comfort. Hating that he ever felt like he wasn't enough. Knowing the feeling all too well. Even if he was the one to make you feel it. "You did matter to me."

"I know." He said. You were thankful he said it clearly. Not shrugging his shoulders or nodding his head as he spoke. "I'll do anything to matter to you again." He took your hands in his, even though they had ached to hold you closer. But he knew not to test his luck. "If you want to press restart and let's take it back to the very beginning, I'll do that. I will court you and woo you and make you fall in love with me all over again because I will never fall out with you. I can't."

You weren't prepared for this. You had prepared to leave Kyle waiting in a restaurant alone. Now your heart ached in your chest at the idea of letting him ever think he wasn't enough because of the color of his skin.

"It doesn't have to be now or tomorrow or next week or next fucking month." He squeezed your hands the same way had John had. With the exact same intensity and promise. "Just let me try again. I won't let you down this time. I'll put in the work."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to work to make this relationship work, Kyle." You protest, wanting to pull your hands away. Free from the spell his touch had seem to be putting you under.

He smiled. Not enough to show off his teeth, but enough where have of his face lifted up. "It's not the type of work with long hours and a shit commute. Loving you is the same kind of work an artist puts into making a masterpiece. Pouring everything into it and getting something beautiful in return."

Before you could comprehend it, your face was wet. "Kyle." Your lips quivered, a sob threatening to come out. "I never felt like I needed to spend time with you, Ky." You sniffled. "I fucking wanted to. I missed you." You were so close. You needed to reel it in. Get it together.

"I just didn't understand how you could." His confession broke any restraint you had. Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to subdue your cries. When Kyle pulled you to his chest, his arms wrapping around you, you allowed yourself to crumble.

Not even for yourself, but for him.

For the kind heart you now knew broke with every sideways glance from passer-byes. For the hateful and prejudice world you lived in and for how they could overlook such a wonderful man just because of something as basic as the color of his skin.

You weren't sure how long you stood crying. You weren't certain if the knock on the door behind him actually happened or something your mind had conjured to try and pull you from your fit.

Eventually you did pull away from him. Your face covered in snot and tears. Seeing that you still were in need of it, Kyle pulled you back to him, only this time your face wasn't buried into his shirt.

You stood there. His arms wrapped around your back while yours found their home around his waist.

"I used to love when you would come back to my place directly from base as soon as you got back from a deployment." You said, breaking the silence. "I would be waiting like a kid on Christmas waiting to see what trinket made you think of me. You made me feel like even though we were so far away, you still thought about me."

"Always." He said, before his lips pressed against the top of your head. "Not a day I didn't miss being here with you."

The two of you eventually settled down on the couch. Both on opposite ends with a hot cup of tea in your hands and the array of take out containers half empty. You had planned for a night of eating your feelings so there was luckily enough food for two.

"I don't want to say no." You admitted. "But I need time. Before I even think about saying yes to all of this again."

"Not all of this," he reminded. "Just me. I'm doing my part in groveling, let the others figure it out. Or at least that's just what Price told us. Although you would be doing all of us a favor if you talked to Johnny?" Your ears perked up. You hadn't seen or heard from Johnny since Friday.

"What's wrong with Johnny?" You asked.

"Lad didn't cope well with you going on your date." Not that you had fucked him and said it was a mistake.... or maybe he kept that tidbit to himsle.f

"It wasn't a-" you started.

"I know," he said. "Simon happened to be nearby." You shot him a look, letting him know you weren't buying that lie, before he continued. "But he didn't. Fuck you're lucky we were able to drag him out of your apartment before you got back and he made an even bigger fool of himself."

"What are you talking about?" You asked. "What do you mean by drag?"

"Johnny called Simon. Told him you were on a date and to bring your ass back. Although you had made it a point to fuck him and leave-- absolutely no judgement, by the way-- he was going to make it a point to never leave your bed."

"My top sheet..." You had come home to your comforters and pillows on the floor. When making up your bed, the top sheet was missing. You had just assumed you didn't put it on or maybe it was in the wash.

"Refused to put his clothes back on. Me and John couldn't risk carrying a naked, screaming Scot through the streets without making a spectical. So we rolled him up and carried him of like a rug. A very heavy, squirmy rug."

"Oh," your hand flew to your chest. "Johnny." He was the bleeding heart of the group so you weren't exactly surprised. He was also the one who blew up shit, so he was definitely one for dramatics. "So that's how Simon figured out about dinner. But the drinks-"

"Whenever Simon is home, he's your shadow. The only time we don't worry about you is when we know he's with you." That made you roll your eyes.

"You act like he's my guard dog."

"He is."

"Is not." You defended, your conversation from Saturday night coming back to you.

"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.

"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be."

"He's not." you said again.

"You're right." Kyle relented, shrugging his fucking shoulders.

"You're saying that like you're just not trying to argue with me." He took a sip of your tea. "Kyle!" He sighed before looking at you as if the last thing he wanted to do was continue on the subject.

"He is." He said. "Your guard dog."

"I mean he protects me, but all of you do." He shakes his head, a huff of air going out of his nose, almost amused.

"Not like Simon." He admits it almost as if he were ashamed. "I want to say something." He said it as if he were preparing you for the next words to come out of his mouth would change the course of the night. "I need to say it because it would make me less of a man and even less of a friend if I didn't. But I don't want you to hate me or yourself for it."

Why would you hate yourself for it?

"Fine." you agreed, giving him permission to continue. "I won't hold it against you."

"You were always the one to coordinate things to do. One-on-one dates. Helping John with paperwork when shit got to crazy and you were the only one the uptight asshole would let touch his files." You gave a small smile remembering how John had barked at a recruit to get the fuck out of his office before peppering you with kisses at your arrival. Giving small pecks of appreciation as he explained what he needed you to do and how to do it.

"Helping me after my shoulder injury and staying on my ass about the physical therapy."

"Well someone had to." You countered.

"This past Christmas when Johnny needed to get his sisters gifts so you made a whole day out of it going to see lights and ice skating." Johnny was the proud owner of a freshly bruised tailbone after landing flat on his ass and swearing off skating for the rest of his life. Feckin' ice.

"Okay?" You asked, not really sure where Kyle was headed for this. He had pointed out what a good girlfriend you were, had been. How you had always tried to be helpful and do whatever needed to help your boys out.

He stopped. He looked at you as if he were debating to tell you what he had warned you about. He looked down at the floor before taking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Fuck." He muttered.

"Spit it out, Kyle!" You whined, now clueless to what point he was trying to make by all the examples of what a good girlfriend you had been.

He looked at you with the same solemness that a friend looked at another friend before having to call them out on their shit, knowing that the pill they were about to be given would be a hard one to swallow.

"You never did that with Simon."

[multific]

Taskforce 141 When You Use Your Safe Word - Preferences 

Warnings: SMUT, Minors DO NOT interact

It was all beginning to be a little too much.

You knew you should stop him, but you didn't want to disappoint him. You wanted to last as long as he needed you to, you were his good girl after all.

As he said many many times.

But he also said to stop him if it gets too much, he just how much he can get lost in your pussy and how rough he can get.

So, you agreed on a simple safe word, "Red". 

It was for you to use at any given moment. No questions asked he would stop immediately.

You never imagined using it, but as he was mercilessly pounding into you, it became all too much.

You wanted it to end, you needed it to end.

"Red! Please! RED!" you said when you finally caught your breath...

John Price

He stops immediately.

Pulling out as he turns you around, checking your face.

"Sweetgirl, are you okay? Talk to me."

"Too much." is all you could muster. And John immediately felt guilt running down his spine.

He knew the day would come when he went too far. When he would overstimulate you to the point of no return.

"Okay, let's get you into the bath, eh? A nice warm bath." he said as he ran to the bathroom and ran you a nice bath, he then ran back and got you.

Soon, he was sitting next to you on the floor, one of his arms inside the bath, in the water, making sure the temperature was perfect.

"I'm so sorry, Darling. I should have known. You started to move away from me, but I just kept going..."

"It is not your fault John, I should have stopped sooner."

"I should have known."

"It is not your fault." you moved your hand and placed it on his cheek, he turned and kissed your palm. "Make it up to me by cuddling me."

"I will never let you go. I'm truly sorry."

"This is why I have a safe word, John."

"And you were a good girl and used it." he placed a kiss on your head, and he would make sure to cuddle you until the next morning and beyond.

Simon Riley

He would be ashamed but it would take him a second to realize what you just said, but when he does, he moves away from you immediately.

His hands would be shaking as he watched you sit up against the headboard.

"I'm so sorry." he would turn to leave, but you stopped him.

"Simon," your sweet sweet voice. So kind and innocent, he would turn to look at you. "Come back please, I'm cold." how could he ever say no to that?

He grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt, handing it to you as he put on the pants.

He moved close to you, leaning against the headboard, holding you, running his hand up and down your back.

"I'm too sore, it's why I made you stop, I think I'm just too tired."

"I'm glad you spoke up and said something." you moved and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Simon." you tried your best to reassure him, letting him know you were okay.

"I love you too."

Kyle Garrick

In one movement he stopped and looked at you, your back was to him but he heard you clear as day.

"It's too much, Kyle, please."

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?" he watched as you nodded and he moved back, turning you around and sitting you up in bed. "How about a shower?"

You nodded again as you slowly calmed down and your breathing evened out.

Kyle watched you closely, making sure you were okay, he even washed you up.

He then carried you to bed, laying you down.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is all good. I'm glad you stopped."

"Of course, I did! It is why I came up with a safe word for you. I'm glad you used it when it became too much." you smiled at him as he leaned down and kissed your lips. "Does it still hurt?"

"I'm more sore than hurt now." you said and he held you close. "It really is okay, Kyle."

He knew it was, and he knew it will be, he was just glad he had the presence to stop when he did.

Johnny MacTavish

It took him a moment to realize what you just said.

"Red?" he asked with a confused tone. "Shit." he moved away from you, but still stayed close. "What is it?" he asked and if you wouldn't be so out of it, you would have realized the worry in his voice.

"It hurts, too much." you managed to say.

"How can I help?" he asked, watching your face closely.

"Just hold me, let me sleep."

"Sleep, okay got it."

He pulled you close, turning the lights off as he soon heard your soft snores.

He felt so guilty for hurting you, but he was proud you spoke up.

He spent hours in the dark, thinking and overthinking.

He thought he should have noticed, that he should have realized, but he could recall that he was too focused on the feeling, he got lost in it, and he wouldn't have seen the discomfort because he had his head in the crook of your neck.

But one thing was sure, after this, Johnny would pay extra attention to keep his control and his cool and make sure you are comfortable and you enjoy sex as much as he does.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 1✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, John being a dick

Word Count: 5697

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The air in the bar felt thick, heavy with the scent of spiced cider and a faint edge of old whiskey, blending into the murmur of low conversations and a crackling rock song on the jukebox. You’d come here tonight for a quiet drink, something to chase away the chill of early autumn and the memories that always seemed to creep up on you this time of year. But all thoughts of peace vanished the moment you saw him.

Dean Winchester.

He was older, his jawline sharper, more rugged than you remembered. But it was him, sitting across the bar, just as cocky and self-assured as he’d been five years ago. He was laughing at something, a low, rough laugh, and you could just make out his voice. Next to him was a younger guy with shaggy hair—his little brother, you guessed. The kid was a bit taller than you’d imagined, but something in the way Dean looked at him told you it had to be Sam.

Five years.

It had been five years since Dean Winchester had walked out of your life, without so much as a word or even a backward glance.

Three months was all it had taken for him to slip past your defenses, just long enough to make you feel something real—just long enough for him to break your heart.

You’d told yourself you’d moved on, but now, seeing him here, you weren’t so sure.

You didn’t know if you were more shocked or furious. What the hell was he doing here, sitting at the bar in your town, like he hadn’t left a storm behind him? You felt your hands curl into fists at your sides, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched him lean into his conversation, completely unaware of your presence.

You clenched your fists tighter, the old hurt and bitterness simmering to the surface. Five years might as well have been five days with the way the memories rushed back.

Dean had been your first everything—first real crush, first kiss, first love, first time.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world, like nothing else mattered when you were together. But then, without so much as a word, he was gone. Left you staring at empty halls, his laugh an echo that haunted you long after he disappeared. You’d never gotten an answer, just silence.

And now, here he was, like some ghost from a past you’d never properly buried.

Taking a steadying breath, you pushed away the hesitation. You weren’t a teenager anymore; you deserved answers. And damn it, he needed to know that some things didn’t just disappear.

You took another step forward, just enough for him to catch sight of you from the corner of his eye. His head turned, and when he saw you, his face went slack with surprise, the hint of a smile fading as quickly as it had come. His green eyes—those same ones that had once looked at you like you were his whole world—widened slightly.

“(Y/N)?”, he said, your name a quiet murmur, almost like a question, as though he couldn’t believe it was really you.

The casual surprise in his tone snapped something inside you. For a second, you just stared back, holding his gaze, letting him feel every bit of anger that had built up over the years.

“Surprised?”, you asked, letting a little edge slip into your voice. “You look pretty good for a ghost, Winchester”.

He blinked, the surprise melting into something else—guilt, maybe, or regret, though he tried to hide it quickly behind that familiar cocky smirk. But it didn’t reach his eyes, and you could see he was still searching for the right words, like he hadn’t quite prepared for this confrontation.

“Didn’t think I’d run into anyone from back then”, he finally said, a little hesitant, his voice quieter than usual.

“Back then?”, you laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You mean five years ago, when you left without a word? Disappeared like none of it mattered?”.

His expression softened, and he glanced away, jaw tightening. “Look, (Y/N), it’s… it’s complicated”.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you looked Dean up and down, letting the silence settle between you. The discomfort in his face was almost satisfying, but it didn’t ease the ache in your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam giving you a small, awkward wave, clearly recognizing you too. He looked between you and Dean, shifting on his feet.

“Uh, yeah… I, um, need to use the restroom”, Sam mumbled, flashing an apologetic smile before slipping away, clearly eager to avoid whatever confrontation was brewing between you and his brother.

“Complicated”, you repeated, letting the word hang heavy between you. “That’s all you’ve got after all this time?”.

He flinched, looking up to meet your eyes, and for the first time, you saw something raw there, a vulnerability he hadn’t let you see back then.

“(Y/N), I know it sounds like an excuse”, he began, his voice dropping low, careful, like he didn’t want anyone to overhear what he was about to say. “But I had no choice. My dad… he needed me, and we had a job to do. I couldn’t stay, couldn’t keep you in that mess”.

You scoffed, trying to brush off the way his words still managed to stir something deep inside you, that same helpless longing you’d tried so hard to bury. “Right”, you mumbled, voice thick with the bitterness you’d been carrying. “So you just left, thinking it’d be better for me. Meanwhile, I was left to… to deal with the fact that I fell for you, Dean. Fell hard, too”.

He looked up, his expression softening with surprise and guilt, but you pressed on, feeling the words rush out, bitter and relentless.

“You waltzed in, got under my skin, made me believe… Fuck. I was such an idiot”. You shook your head, feeling the sting of it, years after you’d tried to laugh it off, to forget. “Every guy after you didn’t stand a chance, you know that? No one ever got close because, no matter what I told myself, I couldn’t get you out of my head. You twisted me up so bad in those few weeks, like some lovesick kid, just waiting for someone who never even bothered to say goodbye”.

Dean’s shoulders dropping slightly as he listened, as if your words were pressing down on him. He didn’t look away, though—he let you speak, let you throw every hurt and frustration at him without backing down. When you finally stopped, breath catching in your throat, he exhaled, like he was trying to find something, anything, to say that might make this better.

“(Y/N)”, he started, voice rough. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to come back, to give you some kind of answer. But I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to leave again. And my life, this life I was born into… it wasn’t fair to pull you into it. It wasn’t fair to you”.

You shook your head, fighting the sting of tears, refusing to let him see just how deep this still hurt. “So you just decided for me? Dean, I’m not some fragile thing. I could’ve handled it”.

Dean sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck, frustration and regret etched into his face. “Hell, (Y/N), you were only sixteen at the time. Sixteen. You were… you were just a kid. You wouldn't have been able to handle it”, he murmured, the words coming out almost reluctantly, like admitting them hurt as much as hearing them.

Your voice came out sharper than you intended, laced with every bit of bitterness and hurt you’d kept buried for years. “What, old enough to get fucked but not old enough to be talked to?”.

Dean flinched, the words hitting him like a slap. For a second, he didn’t look up, the guilt and shame clear on his face as he shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words. “That… that’s not what I wanted it to be”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted you to feel used, like it didn’t mean anything. Because it did… you meant something to me, (Y/N). More than I knew how to handle back then”.

Dean took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor again as he struggled with words he couldn’t seem to say. The regret was clear in his eyes, the weight of things left unsaid hanging heavy between you.

You could almost see the thoughts playing out in his mind, the memories stirring. Back then, you’d been the only girl to ever make him feel something real—something beyond the easy, shallow hookups he’d drowned himself in afterward. Every girl since had been nothing more than a distraction, a way to bury the ache that losing you had left behind. But with you… it had always been different. You were the one he could never quite forget.

But none of that slipped past his lips. Instead, he stood there, wrestling with the weight of his own silence, unable to give you the honesty you deserved. Maybe he feared it would only hurt you more, or maybe he knew that nothing he said would make this right.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet, almost desperate plea. “You’re right. You deserved so much better than what I gave you. I thought about coming back more times than I can count. Thought about finding you, explaining… But every time, I stopped myself. Figured you’d moved on, that you were happier without me dragging you down. And… I was scared”. He laughed softly, bitterly. “I was scared of exactly this. Of seeing how much I’d hurt you”.

His words hit you like a wave, but you kept your expression steady, refusing to let the hurt show again.

You sighed, feeling the weight of all those years settle in your chest, a bittersweet ache you’d learned to live with but never really let go of. “I thought so highly of you back then, Dean”, you murmured, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone. “I guess I was just a stupid little girl, thinking you were… I don’t know, some kind of hero”.

Your gaze flickered over him, taking in the familiar jawline, the strong shoulders, the way he still carried himself with that careless confidence. He looked so much the same that it hurt—like no time had passed at all, like he hadn’t been the ghost haunting your memories, the person you’d tried to convince yourself you were over. And yet, here he was, just as handsome, and the old ache you thought you’d buried crept back in, uninvited and relentless.

Dean looked away, swallowing hard, like your words struck something raw in him. When he met your eyes again, he looked almost small, a shadow of the confident guy you’d known, as if every regret he carried had finally caught up to him.

“You weren’t stupid, (Y/N)”, he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. And maybe I didn’t deserve it. Hell, I know I didn’t. But you were never stupid for believing in me. You were… you were just too good for someone like me. Still are”.

The honesty in his voice was like a knife, cutting through every defense you’d built. You’d wanted him to admit what he’d done, to see how he’d hurt you, but hearing it now, hearing him lay it out in plain words, didn’t bring the satisfaction you’d imagined. It only left a hollow ache where your anger had been.

Dean watched you, his gaze softening as the anger in your eyes began to fade, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. You’d spent years thinking he was just another guy who wanted what he could get and didn’t care who he hurt to get it. A fling, a mistake, a heartbreak that was yours alone to carry. But as you looked at him now, the regret in his face, the years of silence suddenly seemed to make a little more sense. Maybe it hadn’t been so simple after all.

You could almost see him back then, barely nineteen, just a kid himself, weighed down by responsibilities he never asked for.

-Flashback-

The sun was barely breaking over the horizon that day, casting a dim light across the worn-down motel room they’d been staying in for the past weeks. Dean had just started to drift back to sleep after another restless night when he heard his dad. He groaned, barely cracking his eyes open as his dad’s voice cut through the motel room.

“Dean! Get your ass up, we’re moving out in ten!”.

Dean shot up, a surge of panic replacing the sleep in his veins. “What? Now?”, he mumbled, scrambling out of bed, his heart sinking. They weren’t supposed to leave this town for at least a few more days—long enough for him to say goodbye, to figure out how to explain things to you without breaking every promise he’d made. Long enough to try to leave things right, to tell you why he couldn’t stay.

But John was already packing, barely glancing at him as he tossed weapons into duffel bags, his movements efficient, mechanical. “Got a new job lined up. No time to waste”. He gave Dean a hard look, that unyielding gaze Dean knew better than to question. “You knew we wouldn’t be here forever, son. It’s time to go”.

Dean swallowed hard, dread clawing at him as he glanced over at Sam, who was shoving his clothes into a bag, already resigned to the drill of their lives, even at fifteen. But this time, leaving didn’t feel like any of the others.

He’d thought he had more time with you. Thought maybe he’d found something real, something worth hanging onto, in the middle of all this chaos. He thought maybe you’d understand, maybe you’d wait. Or at least, that he could tell you the truth. That you were more than a distraction from a life that had always felt too heavy for him.

Dean swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to gather the courage to push back, to buy himself just a little more time. He cast a quick glance at his dad, trying to keep his tone casual, like it was no big deal.

“Can’t we at least wait until tomorrow? There’s… there’s something I need to take care of”, he mumbled, hoping that his dad might, for once, let him have this.

But John scoffed, barely pausing in his packing as he tossed another weapon into the duffel. “A thing to take care of?”. He looked up, his mouth twisting into a bitter, sarcastic grin. “Let me guess… that girl. The one who’s got you sneaking around like some lovesick little puppy”.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his heart sinking as he caught the mocking gleam in his father’s eyes. “It’s not like that”, he said, though even he could hear the weak protest in his voice.

“Sure it isn’t”. John’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he shook his head, chuckling darkly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to, Dean? I told you weeks ago to cut ends with her. You think this life has room for little Miss Perfect? Some snob who thinks she’s too good for all of this?”.

Dean clenched his fists, his pulse racing as he fought the urge to defend you, to say that you weren’t like that—that you weren’t some spoiled girl who thought herself better than their life. But he knew better than to argue. He’d heard this tone before, the edge that warned him that any pushback would only make things worse.

John went on, shaking his head with an incredulous laugh. “Can’t believe you’re even thinking about her right now. Thought I raised you better than that, son. No girl—especially not some high school princess—is worth dragging yourself through the mud for. What, you think you stand a chance of keeping her? That she’d stick around if she knew the real you? Give me a damn break”.

Dean’s face burned with anger and shame, his heart twisting at the casual cruelty in his father’s voice. He wanted to yell, to tell him that you weren’t just some fling, that you mattered. But every instinct he’d been raised with told him to keep his mouth shut, to hold his feelings tight, because showing them would only lead to disappointment, to the same disapproval he’d grown up under.

John’s gaze hardened, his expression turning cold as he looked Dean up and down, unimpressed. “Get your head out of the clouds, Dean. No piece of ass is worth it, and I’ll tell you right now—no girl’s worth going soft for. Not in this life. So pack up, and let’s go. You’re not risking everything just because you’re chasing after some girl who doesn’t belong here”.

Dean felt a sting in his chest, a hollow ache settling in as he fought to keep his expression steady, to hide just how much those words hurt. In that moment, he realized that arguing would only make things worse, that his dad would never understand. So he swallowed the hurt, burying it as he always did, and forced himself to keep his voice steady, distant.

“Yes, sir”, he muttered, voice barely more than a whisper, feeling the words settle like stones in his gut. He didn’t look up as he zipped his duffel bag shut, his throat tight as he wrestled with the urge to run out the door, to find you, to tell you goodbye.

But he stayed. He let his father’s words sink in, let them mold around his heart like armor. And when he finally climbed into the Impala, eyes fixed on the road ahead, he forced himself to believe what John had said—that you’d be better off without him, that whatever you’d shared was only a distraction from a life he’d never be free from.

As they pulled out of town, he forced himself not to look back, to focus on the road, on the only life he’d ever known. But the image of you, the sound of your laughter, the warmth you’d brought to his life lingered in his mind, haunting him like a ghost he’d never truly escape.

-End of the flashback-

Dean’s eyes flickered back up to you, and you could see the anger and disappointment simmering there, shadows of the memories that had clearly never left him. His father’s words, that hard, dismissive scorn, lingered in the depths of his gaze, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of the pain he’d buried all those years ago.

“I wanted to say goodbye”, he mumbled, almost to himself, the words barely making it past his lips. There was a heaviness in his tone, the regret palpable, and for a brief moment, he looked like that nineteen-year-old kid again, held back by forces he’d been powerless to resist.

Without another word, he drained the rest of his whiskey, his fingers tightening around the glass before he set it down. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rose to his feet, pulling his jacket on, the same guarded, closed-off look returning to his face. You felt the ache in your chest deepen as he moved, like he was preparing to leave you behind all over again.

He took a long breath, his gaze drifting over you, lingering in a way that seemed almost painful for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a war waging between the urge to stay and the instinct to leave—to protect you from the life he couldn’t escape. Even after all these years, there was something raw and vulnerable in the way he looked at you, as if seeing you now hurt just as much as leaving you had.

You saw his eyes trace over your face, lingering for a moment too long, taking you in as if trying to memorize you all over again. The softness in his gaze twisted something inside you, a reminder of what you’d once shared, of the way he’d looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

“You know”, he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, “you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen”. He paused, catching himself, a bittersweet smile pulling at his lips. “Well… woman, by now”.

You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, but you held his gaze, feeling the weight of his words, the years of unspoken things between you. It was the truth, you realized—the same honesty he’d kept hidden all those years ago. But there was a sadness there too, an ache that told you he didn’t think he could ever give you what you deserved.

“Dean”, you whispered, stepping closer, searching his face. “You don’t have to leave again".

He clenched his jaw, glancing away for a second, wrestling with himself, his hands clenching in the pockets of his jacket. “I want to stay. Hell, I want nothing more than to stay“.

Without thinking, Dean reached out, his hand warm as it cupped your face, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. He held you like you were something fragile, something he was afraid to let go of but equally afraid to keep holding onto. His gaze softened, his voice dropping to a whisper, rough and broken. “But I do have to leave, sweetheart”, he murmured, almost like he was convincing himself. “I always have to leave”.

The word slipped from his lips, “sweetheart”, and in an instant, you were sixteen all over again.

-Flashback-

The rain had come out of nowhere, heavy drops pelting down in sheets, turning the quiet evening into a storm as you and Dean huddled under the diner’s awning, laughing as you watched the parking lot become a sea of puddles. He was supposed to be walking you home after sharing a couple of milkshakes and a basket of fries, each of you pretending it wasn’t a date but knowing it was.

The rain showed no signs of letting up, and Dean glanced down the street, then back at you, running a hand through his damp hair as he chuckled. “Guess that puts a dent in my plans of playing gentleman and walking you home”.

You smiled, half-shivering as the wind picked up. “I’d say your plans were doomed from the start”.

He laughed, that easy, genuine laugh you’d already grown to love in the few days you’d known him. Then his gaze shifted toward the motel just down the road, a short, drenched run from where you stood. He hesitated, as if deciding whether to risk suggesting it, then shrugged. “We’re just five minutes from where I’m staying… probably closer than your place. Why don’t we wait it out there? Just until the rain lets up”.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm despite the cold, and with that unspoken agreement, you broke into a run together, both of you soaked within seconds as you sprinted down the empty street. By the time you stumbled inside his dingy motel room, breathless and laughing, you were dripping wet, water pooling around your feet as you shook out your arms and tried to wring out your hair.

“Looks like we didn’t exactly outrun the storm”, you teased, brushing a strand of soaked hair from your face as you looked around the cramped room, your nerves setting in as the reality of being alone with him settled over you.

Dean grinned, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. His own hair was plastered to his forehead, and water dripped from the collar of his T-shirt, but he looked at you with that familiar, slightly mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Guess not. But you know, there are worse places to be”.

There was a pause, a stillness that settled between you, the laughter fading as you met his gaze, the dim light from the single lamp casting a soft glow over his face. You saw something shift in his expression, a quiet vulnerability that made your heart race as he took a hesitant step toward you.

Without thinking, you closed the distance, your breaths mingling as you both moved closer, the world outside the room slipping away. Dean’s hand lifted, his fingers tracing along your jawline, gentle but deliberate, like he was afraid of scaring you off. His thumb brushed over your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that made you shiver, and he leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

“Is this okay?”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze searching yours.

You nodded, too lost in the moment to speak, and that was all he needed.

He closed the gap, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft, almost hesitant, like he was still holding back, afraid to take more than he was allowed. But as you melted into him, as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hand slipped to the small of your back, the kiss deepened, the world fading to nothing but the feel of him, the warmth of his touch.

His other hand tangled in your damp hair, pulling you closer as if he needed this as much as you did. The intensity of it surprised you, the way he kissed you like you were something he’d been searching for but hadn’t dared to hope he’d find. You felt every unspoken word, every promise he couldn’t make, in the way his hands held you, in the way his lips moved with yours.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and a little dazed, he looked at you with a softness you hadn’t seen before, a quiet reverence that made your heart ache. “You’re… something else, Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, a confession that felt like a secret he hadn’t meant to share.

The rain outside was forgotten, the cold fading as you looked at him, feeling, in that moment, that he was the only person in the world.

-End of the flashback-

The memory faded, but the feeling lingered, that same warmth flooding your chest even now, five years later. Standing here with him, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, the years between you seemed to vanish, leaving only that undeniable pull that had drawn you to him back then—the one that still left you breathless.

Dean’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand still cradling your face, his touch just as tender, just as careful as it had been that night. You felt the years of anger and hurt begin to unravel, slipping away in the quiet, unspoken apology in his gaze. Even now, after everything, he still had the power to make you feel like that sixteen-year-old girl, standing in the glow of his attention, melting under the weight of his presence.

Dean’s gaze held yours, his thumb tracing one last gentle line over your cheek, the faintest tremor in his touch. His voice, low and rough, barely broke through the silence as he murmured, “But this time… you get a goodbye”. His words hung in the air, laced with a finality that tugged painfully at your heart. His hand slipped away, falling slowly, as though he were reluctant to break the connection, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger on your skin even after it was gone.

Just then, you saw movement from the corner of your eye, and Sam stepped out from where he’d been standing a little way off, his presence cautious, like he was unsure if this was the right moment to interrupt. His gaze flicked between you and Dean, a mixture of concern and understanding in his eyes.

Dean glanced over at his brother, his jaw tightening briefly, then gave a short nod as if signaling that it was time. Sam shifted, visibly uncomfortable, but nodded back, clearly catching onto something unspoken between them.

You looked at Dean, your chest heavy, a thousand words hovering on the edge of your lips, none of them able to break the ache settling inside you. He was here now, right in front of you, and yet it felt like he was already gone again, slipping through your fingers like he always had.

“Dean…”, you began, your voice barely more than a whisper, not even sure what you wanted to say—only that the thought of him leaving, of watching him disappear one more time, felt unbearable.

Dean’s gaze lingered on you, his expression a mix of longing and regret. He gave you that small, sad smile again, the one that barely reached his eyes but held a world of unspoken words. "Take care, sweetheart", he murmured, his voice rough, each syllable feeling like a farewell he wasn’t quite ready to give. He brushed his fingers lightly over your arm, the touch so soft it sent goosebumps skittering across your skin, a reminder of the warmth he’d once brought into your life, now bittersweet and fading too quickly.

He turned to leave, his back already to you, and something inside you snapped—an urge, a need to hold onto this moment, to keep him here just a second longer. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand catching his arm, stopping him in his tracks. He turned back, surprise flickering in his eyes as he looked down at you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the distance between you.

Rising onto your toes, you slid your hand up to the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His breath catching as you pulled him down, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft yet fierce, filled with the years of longing and questions you’d never had the chance to voice. He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, and then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he returned the kiss with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, as his lips moved with yours, slow and purposeful, as if trying to make up for all the lost time in this one stolen moment. The world around you faded, the sounds of the bar, the ticking clock, all slipping away as you sank into him, feeling the strength of his arms, the familiarity of his touch. You felt his heart beating against yours, strong and steady, grounding you in a way only he ever had.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, breath mingling in the small space between you. His gaze was softened, his expression more vulnerable than you’d ever seen, as though he was as taken by surprise as you were by the depth of what had just passed between you.

“That’s a proper goodbye”, you whispered, a faint blush coloring your cheeks despite yourself, but you held his gaze, not wanting to break the connection.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a glint of that familiar warmth sparking in his eyes. You reached into your bag, your fingers brushing against the worn card you always kept there—a small, simple card from your bookstore, printed with your name and number. You handed it to him, your hand lingering as he took it from you, his fingers brushing yours in a touch that felt both comforting and electric.

“Call me”, you said softly, barely above a whisper, your voice carrying a warmth and a hope you hadn’t let yourself feel in years. “When you’re around again… I’ll pay you back with a milkshake”.

He looked down at the card in his hand, tracing his thumb over the print before glancing back at you, a mixture of amusement and something deeper in his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just held your gaze, as if committing this moment, this feeling, to memory.

Finally, he nodded, tucking the card carefully into his pocket. “I’ll hold you to that”, he said, his voice low, a promise wrapped in that quiet tone.

With one last lingering look, he turned, his hand trailing down your arm until his fingers slipped away. And as he left, you felt a strange sense of peace settle in your chest, a hope that maybe this time, things wouldn’t end with silence and an empty space where he’d been. The ache was still there, but it was softened by the warmth of his touch, his kiss, and the quiet promise that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 Not gonna lie.. I think this is my favorite so far

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573

[rebelfell]

Okay, I have some final (for now) thoughts on the two of them… 18+, MDNI 4.5k

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie munson

cw: blood/minor injury, pregnancy scare

eddie's interlude here, index here

The guilt is practically dripping off you as you slip back inside the house. It clings onto you like your damp dress, thick and viscous like Eddie’s spend that sticks between your thighs. It falls off of you in heavy droplets that splatter on the hardwood floors, creaking deafeningly loud when you try and make a break for it up the stairs.

The dishwasher is running in the kitchen, its low hum and the agitating water inside the only sounds in the darkened, still house.

Until someone clears their throat. 

“You have a nice walk?”

Your foot hovers over the bottom step and you flinch as a lone light flicks on in the living room, illuminating Vivian where she sits on the couch. And you don’t even attempt to explain yourself.

Because in less than a second, your sister seems to have surmised everything.

From one glance of you standing there dripping wet in her foyer, the dress that she bought you basically ruined, she can easily guess at your litany of crimes against decency. 

It’s why she was the Valedictorian and you weren’t voted Most Likely To anything.

She stands and strides towards you, the shiny material of her silk pajama set swishing around her legs with every step. Every inch of your skin burns with white hot humiliation under her gaze.

“Viv, I…”

She lifts her hand and you fall silent at the sight of the folded piece of paper between her fingers.

Instantly, you want to touch the pocket you thought you had slipped the note inside, even knowing it must be empty. She looks you over with stern eyes and holds it out for you to take.

“Get cleaned up and come back down,” she says.

You take advantage of her vagueness by getting in the shower. You let the scalding water run over your skin until it’s starting to tingle approaching numbness. You scrub Eddie from between your legs until he’s swirling down the drain along with the mud and bits of grass stuck to your feet.

You never meant to be gone as long as you were.

It wasn’t a plan. You really, genuinely believed you could go say a decent goodbye to Eddie and still be back to help Viv clear the table before she even noticed you were gone. 

And maybe you would have, had you not been so reluctant to leave his side.

You could have laid there forever with your head on his chest, listening to the rain with one ear and the beat of his heart with the other. With his hand cradling your head, his fingers stroking the nape of your neck like he was playing a song.

He didn’t try to convince you not to leave—at least not in so many words.

He said ‘I wish’ a lot, almost like he was casting a spell. I wish you could stay. I wish I could go with you. I wish things were different.

But his incantation doesn’t change anything.

He’s still got school to finish. Not to mention his friends, his band, his uncle—his life.

It’s all here and yours is there.

The hot water won’t hold out long enough for you to avoid what’s waiting for you downstairs, so you finally pull a waffle weave robe over your raw skin and tie it too tight around your waist.

When you return, Vivian is waiting in her seat at the far end of the dining room table. 

In front of her sit two glasses, clear crystal ones filled with two fingers of brown liquor. It’s not the garnet-colored port she takes in the evening, and you can smell the oaky top notes of some surely expensive bourbon that’s probably been in a decanter in John’s office for years.

She says nothing when she sees you, just nods at the seat adjacent to hers. 

You take it and sit there silently, waiting for all the admonishments you know are coming.

It’s all the same things you’ve been hearing in your head the entire summer—any spare moment that wasn’t filled with Eddie was riddled with that bitter, berating voice that sounded suspiciously like your mother’s coming from deep in the furthest recesses of your mind.

What were you thinking? How could you do this? You’re humiliating our family, you’re destroying our reputation, you’re making a mockery of all that we’ve built—everything we’ve worked for. You might as well go to the cemetery and spit on your father’s grave. That’s how much respect for him you’re showing, you spoiled, selfish—

“Did I ever tell you about my swim lessons?”

Her voice is soft. So soft, you have to look at her to be sure she really spoke. 

And even then, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Your…” You shake your head, confused. “Viv, you were all-state in swimming. What are you—”

“It was the summer we had the pool resurfaced. I started going to the country club with the girls instead. And there was this lifeguard.”

She swirls the glass on the table in front of her, the facets in the crystal catching the low light.

“He was young. Handsome. He came on to me so strongly, he was so…brazen.” The corners of her lips curled in a barely-there smile at the thought. “And I knew it was inappropriate, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I liked the attention too much, I suppose.”

You study the side of your sister’s face as she raises her glass and drinks. You knew things with her and John weren’t ideal, much as she tried to pretend they were. But you never imagined…

“He said he could give me private lessons. That he knew a hotel where we could meet with a pool we could use. It, um…it went on much longer than I’m proud to admit.”

She downs another swallow of her bourbon, finishing off the glass. You stare down at yours with tears threatening to well in your eyes as you speak and you try not to let them fall.

“It’s not just about attention, Viv,” you say. “He’s special. He’s important.”

Her lips purse and she nods mutely. 

“Maybe so. But you’re not stupid.” She tilts her head at you, coaxing you to meet her eye line. “I think you know this can’t happen. I think that’s why you’ve still got that look on your face.”

The next day, you make the drive back to the city. Alone.

You get the keys to your new place and spend your first night eating pizza on the one piece of furniture in it—a mattress that had belonged to the old tenants, who left it for you so they didn’t have to haul it away. It’s not bad, considering it was free, and you weren’t exactly in a position to turn it down when your bed is being slept in by your ex and his mistress girlfriend.

On Saturday, you sit on the front porch and read, waiting for Steve to arrive in the U-Haul with the rest of your boxes and the scant amount of furniture salvaged from your old life. 

You wave when he pulls up, only for your hand and face to fall when a familiar head of dark curls tied down underneath his skull bandana pops out of the cab from the opposite side door.

His smile is as nervous as yours feels when he gives you a tiny wave, and you do your best to act normal as the three of you start to unload. You fail miserably, though, when you go to pass him a box and his hand grazes yours, nearly making it drop.

You don’t say more than two words to one another the entire morning, never managing to find a moment where Steve is out of earshot. But you feel his eyes on you and can hardly keep your own off of him. By the afternoon, his white tank is nearly translucent with sweat, darkened patches of it sticking to his spine and ribs, the lines of his tattoos showing through the soaked material.

He stops periodically to tug it from his chest, trying to get some airflow. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to torture you.

Steve finally takes a break, sitting outside on the porch swing and draining a bottle of water. You’re in the kitchen, unpacking boxes of dishes when you feel Eddie’s familiar presence behind you.

Tucked away into the little nook in front of the door that leads out to the garage, you’re only just out of sight of the living room. It’s the first time all day Eddie’s felt safe enough to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, coming to stand beside you. “He just asked if I was busy today. I swear, I didn’t know what we were doing until I got there.”

You glance over your shoulder, keeping an eye and an ear out for your nephew, and look back at Eddie with your skeptical brow and discerning eyes. God, how he’s missed that look. It takes everything in him not to kiss it off your face.

“And you didn’t try to get out of it?” you ask.

“I did,” he smirks. “Just not very hard.”

“Eddie—”

“I’m kidding,” he chuckles, his voice and gaze softening as he licks his lips and stares at yours. “I just…I wanted to see where you live. I wanna know you’re gonna be okay.”

Shit. 

There’s a pang in the center of your chest at his words, a jolt that runs through all the nerves in your hand as if it’s fighting to reach out for him. But the sound of Steve’s footsteps makes you shrink, pulling away. Eddie swallows hard and nods resolutely before he turns to leave.

As he does, his pinky just barely grazes yours. 

So light, you might not have believed it happened had you not seen it with your own eyes.

You feel that jolt again, that tiny tremor in your muscles as your brain demands for your hand to reach out and wrap around his wrist, dragging him back into you. But the screen door slams, jarring you out of your swirling thoughts.

Steve huffs as he drops one of the boxes in your living room and pokes his head into the kitchen.

“Coffee table is the last thing,” he announces.

“Shit, shit, shit—FUCK!”

Expletives fly out of both Steve and Eddie’s mouths as the table slips from Steve’s grasp. It makes Eddie wince as the rough wood digs into his hand and the sting of splinters makes him lose his grip. Its legs hit the floor and Eddie stumbles forward, his hand coming down on the glass top that shatters almost instantly. Blood dribbles from his hand and Steve stares in shock.

Panic makes your chest seize and you swoop in, helping Eddie to steady himself.

He doesn’t make a sound, but his arm trembles as you hold it tenderly to assess the damage. The deepest cut is across his palm and there are some others scratches and scrapes along his wrist, but nothing deep enough to warrant stitches and no glass embedded in them that you can see.

“Steve, drugstore—bandages,” you order curtly.

He grabs your car keys, already out the door as you’re leading Eddie to the kitchen.

At the sink, you rinse his arm and hand as best you can, but it’s difficult to see if there’s any glass or splinters in them as it’s still bleeding. Pressing a paper towel against it and telling him to hold it there, you leave to look for your tweezers and return with them and a bottle of antiseptic from the bathroom. You rinse the wounds again and clean them. Eddie hisses at the sting, but he doesn’t pull his hand back, leaving it laying in yours as you bend close to study his palm.

Out of your peripheral, you can see the way his chest expands as he inhales the scent coming off the top of your head. He swallows the urge to tell you how he missed that smell so much he bought a bottle of your shampoo. But it still doesn’t smell quite right. There’s something missing.

Something specifically, unmistakably you.

“I’m sorry about your table,” he whispers.

“Don’t be,” you chuckle. “You did me a favor, I kind of hated that thing.”

Eddie smirks, thinking you were trying to make him feel better, but it isn’t a lie.

The thing was hideous. A wedding present from some relative or another you’ve always secretly suspected hated you. But of course Viv would never let you throw away a gift…

He hisses again and winces as you pull out a shard of wood. You shush him gently, rubbing small circles with your thumb over the pulse point in his wrist, feeling how his was racing. Your own isn’t doing much better, still thrumming with the spike of adrenaline when you saw him fall, when the sound of class cracking blotted out all other thoughts besides HELP HIM.

It was so loud in the moment, but now it’s too quiet. The room is too still and he’s far too close for you not to be thinking about all of the other times he’s been this close. It’s all you can do to keep your mind on the task in front of you until you hear his soft intake of breath.

“You know,” he starts quietly, “you’re not that far from Hawkins…”

“Hold still,” you say, even though he didn’t move. 

“But I could visit you, we could still—”

“Eddie, please.”

The brokenness of your voice quiets him for the moment as you grab one of your clean dish cloths and start to wrap it around his hand, letting his blood seep into it. Staining it forever.

“This will do until Steve gets back,” you murmur, tying it off. “Too tight?”

He curls his fingers, testing it. You still can’t look directly at him, especially not when he speaks.

“Tell me why,” he says softly, his good hand coming up to brush the hair from your face with his knuckles. “I know you wanna be with me too, I just…I need to hear why not once and for all.”

His hand covers the side of your face, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb across the apple of your cheek. He watches your lashes, waiting for your eyes to lift and meet his, but you refuse to let them. They flutter as you stare at his other hand still being held delicately in yours, eyes stinging with tears you blame on the isopropyl alcohol.

“You’re so young,” you sigh. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You should be out in the world, you should be making the memories you’re gonna look back on when you’re my age.”

Eddie’s head shakes and his hand slips smoothly under the warm curtain of your hair. He grips the back of your neck and dips his head down to make you look him in the eye.

“What good are they if you’re not in them?”

The edge of the countertop digs into your ass as he presses you up against it. He fists the back of your shirt in his injured hand, bunching up the material as he kisses you ferociously. It’s the last ditch effort, the Hail Mary pass with no thought or logic behind it—just pure, unbridled hope.

There’s no noise that can make it to your brain over your heartbeat pounding in your ears—just the sound of please, please, please whispered against your lips in between feverish kisses and sighs you can’t stifle as his knee slots between your own. He grinds his thigh against your heat, relishing the way your body unravels for him—shuddering, clenching, convulsing with need.

Neither of you hear the door.

“What the fuck is this?!”

Yours and Eddie’s heads snap sideways, your lips breaking apart but your hands still grappling and tangled up in one another. Steve stands in the kitchen door, the plastic bag he got from the pharmacy on the floor with the gauze and medical tape rolling across the tiles.

“It’s her?!” he exclaims, his eyes so big it’s like they’re exploding. “She’s who you’ve been losing your goddamn mind over? You’ve been sneaking around behind my fucking back?!”

“Steve, listen—”

“It’s not what you—”

Both yours and Eddie’s pleas fall on deaf ears. Steve backs away, holding out his hands as if to strike nothing and then raking them through his hair and dragging it back as his mind spirals.

“Stop, stop! This is so fucked, this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy—”

He’s shouting at nothing in particular, not even able to look at either of you, but jerking his hands away when you try and reach for him. It seems to bring him back to the moment, horrifying as it is, and he turns his crazed eyes back on you, face overflowing with anger and shock.

“How could you do this?! What the hell were you thinking?!” 

He looks back and forth between you and Eddie and neither of you is sure who his question is even directed at. You can tell he wants to leave, wants to run, wants to drive home and maybe never look you or Eddie in the eye ever again. But he can’t. Because even when he’s the maddest at Eddie he’s ever been…he can’t leave his friend behind with no way home.

Or maybe he’s just staunchly opposed to leaving the two of you alone.

“Just finish up so we can go,” he snarls, crossing his arms across his puffed up chest.

He stands over you, fuming and glowering at you both as you wrap Eddie’s hand in gauze. None of you say a word. And once you’re done, Steve just shakes his head and stomps outside to the truck. Eddie’s head hangs low as he follows, stopping to squeeze your hand one last time.

Later that night the phone rings and you snatch it up off the cradle, clutching it to your ear. 

The drive helped Steve calm down, though he threatened to make Eddie get out and walk about a half-dozen times. His friend evidently spared him the grittier details, and he took responsibility for all of it—flirting with you, going after you so relentlessly, doing whatever he could to see you.

You stare down at the dishcloth still stained with blood and the guilt forms a lump in your throat. 

“He says he loves you,” Steve mutters into the phone. “Do you…I mean, are you…”

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him quickly. “And this isn’t Eddie’s fault, either. I was supposed to be the one looking out for you and I let you down. I never should have let it go as far as it did.”

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself by gripping the frame of the door.

“I’m so, so sorry, Steve. I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

The line goes quiet as Steve thinks. You can hear the heavy puffs of air he’s pushing through his nose and you bite down on your lip, fingers twisting up the phone cord as you wait.

“So it’s over, then?” he asks at last.

And there’s no way you could know this…but somehow you can sense that Eddie is there. 

You can almost see him sitting in the kitchen, his elbows on the table, hands folded into a fist he’s resting his chin on, kissing his knuckles as he listens to the conversation.

You look one last time at the rag beside you.

The blood has darkened in the past few hours, oxidized from exposure to the air. No bright red pulsing life left in it. Dead.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “It’s over.”

It takes a couple weeks for Eddie to stop calling.

The first few times, it’s just to check on you. To make sure you’re doing okay. To see how school’s going. It’s mostly harmless. But you know it will do so much more damage if you don’t cut it off now. So you finally find the fortitude you never managed to in the summer and tell him you shouldn’t talk anymore. That you can’t.

That it’s only going to make it worse.

You’ll forget, you tell yourself.

Eventually you’ll forget how his rough hands felt running up and down your sides; or how he would squeeze and grip you as he took you from behind, pulling you up so your body was flush with his and you would stretch your neck to kiss him over your shoulder; how he would cover his mouth to block a moan as you took him into your mouth and he would look at you with those eyes.

Those big, round, pretty eyes you can’t help but to see in every cup of coffee you pour. And by the next time you visit your sister, his smell will have been washed out of the guest room sheets.

Ironically, it’s right after you tell him you can’t talk to him anymore that you realize you’re late.

You know there’s no way that you’re pregnant. Between birth control and your age, the chances are infinitesimal. You know it has to be stress. You know it’s all in your head, this odd and off-putting sensation in your body. And the test you take is just a precaution, nothing more.

Still, you can’t help but cry when it’s negative.

Not because you wanted a different result, but because it makes you realize the only way you might have wanted a kid is if it was his.

Time goes by. You visit Hawkins for some holidays, but you don’t see Eddie. Viv finds out (and passes on to you as subtly as she can) that after he graduated he and his band decided to go on tour, heading for California and playing at any dive bar that will book them along the way.

Every couple months, Steve sends a postcard from whatever country he and Robin are currently terrorizing on their post-grad “summer abroad” that’s now going on two years. He doesn’t write much, lots of different thoughts strung together, things he saw that made him think of you. 

Always trying to say he was sorry without coming out and saying it.

Eddie’s name only gets mentioned once, after he met up with them at a music festival in Berlin. 

You sort of love the thought of him there.

You think he must fit in well with all of the other eclectics, the artists, the musicians. Months later, you get a package in the mail with foreign stamps on it. There’s no name or note inside, just a teddy bear in a shirt that says “I ♡ Deustchland.”

It sits in your bathroom window until the golden brown fur on his back half is bleached beige.

You date here and there. You even fall in love once in a while. It’s not forever, though. You don’t know if you even believe in “forever” anymore.

Or if you ever did.

You get back into the hobbies you let fall by the wayside after you got married. You finish a novel and the University Press wants to publish it. You get some money for it. Not a lot, but enough that when the head of your department is retiring and asks if you want to buy the house you’ve been renting, you can swing the down payment.

You paint and decorate every room precisely how you like it, with absolutely no one’s opinion to worry about besides your own.

You hang string lights in the backyard and host garden parties that are mostly a flimsy excuse to drink wine with your fellow professors and gossip about how all the other departments aren’t nearly as fun as yours. It’s during one of these you find out you’re on the short list for tenure.

It’s not a bad life. It’s a good life, even.

Full and realized and complete.

There are bad days and better days, but some things are always consistent. Leaves turn color in the fall. They pile on the ground under branches that are barren by winter, only to bud again in the spring. And summer always comes back around, the days getting warmer and longer.

It’s at the end of one of those days you find yourself still at school catching up on grading. Summer vacation has all but begun, most of the campus deserted with everyone scattering on all their varied adventures once finals were done.

Your feet are aching in your heels as you slump into the seat behind the desk up at the front of the classroom, the pile of exams making your eyes tense with a burgeoning migraine.

One not helped at all by the stifling heat.

Your department’s building is so ancient—in desperate need of some updates and lacking in all modern amenities like air-conditioning. You flap a hand in front of your face the whole way over to the window. It squeals in protest as it opens and chipped paint flies off in little shards of white.

A breeze wafts across your face, the scent of freshly cut grass filling your nose. It’s one you’ve always loved, but still can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness when you smell it now. The sound of a weed whacker below draws your eyes to the man using it, trimming the grass along the edges of the concrete path that runs between your building and the one next door.

And he is just…stunning.

Still young, but older now. Muscles still taught and defined in most areas, but getting softer in others. Instead of ratty cut-off shorts and a tank top touting some metal band, he’s dressed in dark coveralls emblazoned with the logo of a landscaping company—Fantasy Greenscapes.

His company, in case you couldn’t guess by the silhouette of a dragon on the logo.

The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, flashing familiar glimpses of black ink on alabaster skin. His hair is still long and wild, but he’s got it tied back and pushed out of his face with a pair of protective earmuffs. A pair of sunglasses shield his eyes, but the mirrored lenses are just about the same shade as the deep brown pools you know are behind them.

The blades on the weed whacker slow and stop completely when he pauses, taking a moment to take off his glasses and wipe his face with a skull bandana you’d know anywhere.

And as he does, his eyes drift up towards your classroom window. He smiles when he sees you, teeth flashing in that same grin you see every night in your dreams, and he lifts his hand to wiggle his fingers at you in a wave.

prev┃next

I just wanna say thank you to everyone who read this story, particularly those who took the time to reblog and comment with your thoughts/reactions. It's only because of you that this vague, nebulous idea somehow morphed into this thing that contains some of my favorite writing I've ever done.

And for that, I'm eternally grateful. I hope you enjoyed this final part. Love you, mean it xx

[vampire-matcha]

Angst for no reason incoming (cw: cheating)

Johnny had been off ever since you picked him up from the airport last night. It wasn't unusual for him to be distant sometimes when he first got home. It was a difficult adjustment going from live fire back to civilian life, and sometimes he needed time to get back into the swing of things. But this time was different. He couldn't look you in the eyes. Instead of falling exhausted into your arms, he shied away from your touch. His body was stiff when you hugged him. He didn't rest his hand on your thigh the whole ride home. He didn't even kiss you.

You assumed he had seen or done something worse than usual. You assumed the deaths had been more brutal, more numerous. Maybe he had lost someone close to him this time. It's not like he could even tell you, all his operations were black. Strictly confidential. You were just a civilian.

You did your best to comfort him. You made him a hot meal, drew him a bath, offered to massage his sore muscles; but he picked at his plate until it was cold, locked the bathroom door, and slept with his back to you all night.

Something in your gut told you it was wrong. You ignored the pit in your stomach that warned you. You boxed his dinner up for him to eat when he was feeling better. You pulled the blankets tighter around you to drive out the cold you felt without him beside you as you slept. You pretended to be asleep when he silently rolled out of bed and crept out of the bedroom. You pretended not to hear his low voice talking on the phone in the living room. You pretended not to hear him cry.

He avoided you the next day, too. Answering in one or two words, barely eating, leaving the room as soon as you walked in. He barely spoke to you until that evening.

He called you into the living room, where you found him sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands, eyes unfocused staring out at the wall. His wedding band glowed in the lamplight. You sat beside him. Your hands reached to comfort him, but landed instead in your lap when you noticed how he tensed when you reached for him.

"I need to tell you something," he said, his voice low and monotone, his words careful and measured. He wouldn't look at you. His blue eyes were cold and stony, his jaw hard and clenched.

Oh no.

"What is it?" You asked, hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Your eyes scanned him for any sign of bruising, but his skin was clear.

He shook his head, a slow, even movement. His hands shook as he dropped his forehead onto them and closed his eyes tight. The faintest shine of wetness gathered at his lashes. He took a deep, trembling breath.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, the sound leaving him as if his soul were rushing out through his mouth.

God, please, no.

"John..." you uttered. Your stomach twisted. You heard the thump-thump-thimping of your pulse in your ears. "What is it?" You repeated.

Please, not this. Anything but this.

"When I was away..." No... "Bonnie, I-" Please, God, No- "I had sex with someone else."

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. His words echoed in your head as you processed his confession. Everything clicked into place as the seconds passed into minutes. His behavior since coming home wasn't that of trauma. It was guilt. He couldn't look you in the eye, couldn't even bare to touch you, because he couldn't carry the weight of his shame.

Your body and mind operated separately. You tried to sort your thoughts out, but your heart was running away from you. Your hands trembled as you fumbled with your wedding ring. Your throat felt as if you had swallowed a stone whole. Your face was wet with tears you hadn't even felt fall.

"Who?" You asked. Your voice sounded more like nails clawing at a closed door. Johnny gasped as he strangled down his own tears.

"My lieutenant," he confessed, his voice saturated with guilt. The watery words erupted from his chest like a violent geyser, as if he couldn't get them out fast enough; as if saying them burned his tongue, his throat, his stomach.

You sobbed at the revelation. You knew him. You'd shaken his hand. You'd thanked him for looking after your Johnny. Your Johnny! Oh, you were going to be sick.

Your legs carried you away from him, away from your husband and the future you two had together. They carried you into your shared bedroom, your marital bed now sullied by infidelity. Your hands locked the door behind you. You collapsed onto the floor. His arms didn't catch you. They didn't hold you close, they didn't comfort you. There was no comfort to be found on the cold tile of the bathroom you'd crawled into. You emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet and cried with reckless abandon.

You screamed and wailed like a widow. You mourned your marriage, your love, the future you could never have now. Your trust was broken. How could you ever repair what you had?

---

Pt. 2 Pt. 3

I honestly don't know where this cane from. I'm sorry guys. Maybe I'll continue this idk

[imasoftieforbarb]

i love the little fic u made of my request and you asked if the readers would like a part 2 AND IM SORRY IF IM BEING TO DELUSIONAL BUT

IF YOU HAVE TIME AND WANT TO OFC COULD U DO THE PART 2, I LOVE YOUR WORK SM I MEAN IT 😭⁉️

HERE COMES PART 2‼️

We’re gonna get into the movie stuff now

John Dory comes to check out Mount Rageous

As he makes his way through the ventilation he hears crying- but it doesn’t sound like Floyd so he moves on (a bit guiltily)

Once he finds Floyd (and lands face first on the dresser)

John Dory groaned as he pulled himself off the floor in a hurry “Yo! Floyd!”

Floyd looked up from his lap as his eyes widened “John dory? I cant believe it!” Floyd pressed his hands against the wall of his prison “I never thought I’d see any of my brothers again”

John Dory smiled before pressing his hand up to the glass in confidence

“Don’t worry bro I’m gonna get you out of here”

“No! You need to get out of here!” Floyd said urgently “you don’t understand- Velvet and Veneer are giant, pop obsessed succubi with NO talent and they’ve been stealing mine and Y/n’s- it’s only a matter of time now until they come back for more!”

John Dory thought to himself “Y/n? Like our old manager and childhood best friend Y/n? But- why did they take her?”

Floyd sighed to himself, misplaced guilt eating at him a bit “when you guys left, she followed me and after a bit we ended up confessing-“

“I KNEW YOU HAD FEELINGS FOR HER-“

“Shhhhhhh!” Floyd shushed his brother, though he couldn’t deny the smile on his face- he had missed this

“So she’s here?” John Dory said looking around, “I don’t see her anywhere!”

“She got taken by Velvet- as like a personal back up! I don’t know where she is- but if shes having her talent drained she won’t last as long, she isn’t a trained singer JD! I’m worried”

“Don’t worry bro- I’ll get both of you out-!”

JD tried many tricks to try and crack the prison his brother was in but to no luck

“It’s made out of diamond- and there’s only one thing that’s strong enough to shatter diamond” Floyd hoped his brother got the clue-

“A diamond shattering diamond hammer! Where do we get one of those?”

It went way over his head

“No, the only thing strong enough to shatter diamond is the perfect family harmony” Floyd said giving his brother a look of humour

“Of course! The prefect family harmony!”

Floyd nodded looking at his brother with tired but hopeful eyes until-

“Our voices sound like GARBAGE! We need more TROLL!”

“Run John Dory- save yourself” Floyd urged, not wanting to get his brother captured

John Dory nodded, grappling back to the vent and shouting that he’d be back with the rest of the family

During the rescue mission you’re nowhere to be found

Floyd’s theory is correct and you are drained far to quickly-

You turn into a crystal troll just before the rage dome show

Velvet decides to put you in her pocket like a little good luck charm

The perfect family harmony works and shatters the diamond perfectly

Floyd thinking of you as he sings the last line

“Just let me take you to a better place!”

When he wakes up from his crystal form and has a moment with his brothers he looks around and doesn’t see you anywhere

“John Dory, where’s Y/n?”

Everybody starts looking around not being able to see you

Not even Crimp knows where you are

“Velvet! Where’s the other troll? The one you took as a backup?” Veneer said, after confessing that they were frauds

“Oh her? She drained far to fast so I gave her another use” velvet stated- pulling you out of her pocket “she’s my little good luck charm- though she didn’t work so she’s useless to me now”

Floyd gasped, tears finally spilling over as he takes in your completely crystallised form in shock

“No… Nononono”

Veneer snatches you off velvet and hands you to the group of trolls on the floor with remorse

“Y/n? Come on- this cant be happening!”

Floyd brings you into a hug- sobbing as he realises there’s no hope for you

You, though crystallised, can hear everything around you

You try to open your eyes but they’re so heavy

“You can’t do this to me- not after everything we’ve been through together, it’s my fault” Floyd stated through his tears “I just want you back.”

Everyone looks down in sadness, shedding their own tears as they mourn with Floyd

Then

The darkness starts to fade from your vision as you blink a few times

You raise your hand to his face, startling him

“You’re so silly”

you say weakly, watching his eyes tear up again- this time from happiness and disbelief

“You never lost me in the first place”

He brings you into a kiss- putting all of his emotions into it

The crowd cheers as they realise you’re alive and as velvet and veneer are taken away in cuffs

[castiwls]

Love your blog btw:)

I saw you do platonic and was wondering if you could do one with the boys sister (if possible could she be older then sam but younger then dean) where there all dealing with the fallout of johns death

tysm!

by your side - d.w & s.w

Pairing; Sam & Dean x sister!reader (platonic)

Synposis; Johns death hit all of his children hard

Warnings; angst

Notes; I feel i kinda made John sound like a good dad in this lmao but how you wanna take it is up to you

Masterlist

The thought of your dad dying had always lingered over your head. Every time he missed a check in a voice in the back of your head screamed that it had finally happened. That John Winchester had made a fatal mistake and been killed by whatever he’d been hunting.

Dean had always assured you that it could never happen. But no matter what your older brother said the thought always lingered. Though in all the scenarios you’d imagined, you’d never imagined it happening like this. You’d never thought he would make a deal with a demon.

It had been a few days since Dean had been discharged and the three of you had decided to go up to Bobbys. None of you had really spoken about what had happened in the hospital. Dean had spent his time working on the Impala and you had locked yourself away in one of the guest's rooms.

You felt as if you were in a state of shock. You and your dad hadn’t always seen eye to eye but as you lay staring at the ceiling you couldn’t help but replay every memory of him you had. As you lay there you could feel tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

Your dad was dead and you never even got to say goodbye. John Winchester was by no means a perfect man, but he was your father and you loved him all the same.

A knock on your door had you quickly wiping your eyes before sitting up. “Co-come in.” 

The door squeeked as it opened and Sam’s head appeared. His eyes looked red as if he’d also been crying and you frowned. “Sam? What’s wrong?” You asked your younger brother. 

He didn't say anything as he shuffled into your room before lying down beside you. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “The last thing we did was argue y/n. He probably died thinking that I hated him or something” He sniffled slightly looking at you with teary eyes. Guilt had been eating Sam alive for the past few days. He’d never gotten to properly apologise and now he would never have the chance. 

You sighed before beginning to run a hand through his hair. “Sam. He knows you didn’t hate him. Trust me.” You smiled softly at him. “I know he never said it but deep down he was so proud of you.”

Sam hummed softly and leaned further into your chest.

“She’s telling the truth, Sammy.” Another voice chimed in. You felt the bed dip as Dean sat behind you. Sam kept quiet but you felt him relax slightly at Deans's words. 

Your brothers were all you had now. You felt Dean lie down beside you and you shifted slightly so you could see him. He rubbed a hand up your arm as he looked at your younger brother. 

After a while, Sam’s breathing evened out and you felt his hold loosen slightly as sleep took over.

“Are you ok? Seriously.” You whispered turning your head to look at Dean. The green-eyed man didn’t say anything for a moment and he just continued to rub your arm. “I…I don’t know.” He finally admitted. “Y/n what he said to me about-” He gestured to Sam. “what did he mean.” Dean’s tone was serious as he spoke. What John had told him was clearly causing more bother than you first realised. 

“And he only made that deal for me. I don’t understand why he would throw it all away when he was so close.” He frowned looking down at you.

“Maybe because your his son and he cared more about you than that damn thing that killed Mom.” Dean raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Maybe you were right.

He let out a sigh before shaking his head. “I don’t wanna have this conversation right now okay.” He wrapped his arm around you before settling down. 

“It’s late. We can talk in the morning.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go to sleep.” 

Dean closing off was what you expected but at least you’d planted the seed. He shouldn't feel guilty for what your dad did. You nodded and spared Sam a glance.

The youngest Winchester was still sleeping calmly against your chest and you smiled softly brushing a hand through his hair. You felt Dean’s arm tighten around your shoulder slightly. You knew the movement was his way of telling you to sleep and stop worrying over Sam. 

You let out a quiet sigh as you lay back on the pillows, placing your head on Deans's shoulder. “Night.”

“Night sweetheart.”

None of you were okay but you had each other and as you lay there for the first time in days you felt some semblance of peace.

[outermaybanks]

just a kiss - part ii - jj x bi!reader x kie aka 3 times you were oblivious and the one time you knew exactly what you wanted - part two to this

a/n: wrote this entire thing while high, no proof reading we die like men, definitely projecting... also i know nothing abt surfing so if it sounds crazy just pretend it doesn't. there's gonna be at least one more part to this. next part

July 5th - the third time.

When you woke up, Kie’s face was nuzzled into your shoulder, and even in your dazy state, the sight made your heart race. You felt a rush of guilt come over you, so you got out of the bed quickly, running to the bathroom to brush your teeth and splash your face with water. But nothing helped, even while splashing cold water on your face, you couldn’t get the image of your kiss with Kie, or your kiss with JJ out of your mind. 

When you met JJ, when he first started working for your dad, you knew he had a girlfriend, so you didn’t let yourself feel attraction towards him. Obviously, when you got to meet Kie for yourself, you did so already knowing she was dating JJ, so again, you didn’t let yourself feel attraction towards her. Now this felt almost like a sick joke. Were they making fun of you? Were they trying to use you for a threesome?

No, you quickly decided. These were your friends. You couldn’t let your anxiety ruin this for you, and until they did something that showed they had ill intentions, you decided to take them at their word, it was just a kiss, right?

When you returned to the living room, Kie was groggily stretching, JJ still fast asleep beside her. “Mmmm good morning, y/n. How’d you sleep?” she asked softly, but her voice was gravelly from her slumber. “Pretty good considering JJ seems to be a bed hogger,” you tease, gesturing to the unconscious blonde beside her. A small giggle fell from her before she got out of the bed. “Oh yeah, big time. Beds, blankets, boy has no concept of personal space… Wanna make breakfast with me?” She offered, making eye contact with you as she walked past to go to the kitchen. You couldn’t help your eyes flickering to look at her ass as you followed behind you, but you quickly looked away.

“I’m thinking… french toast… maybe some eggs,” Kie said as ran a hand through her hair. “Wow, JJ’s a lucky guy,” you reply with a small chuckle, she smiles at you before going into the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs. 

“Thank god John B has chickens, he always has eggs. Can you make sure there’s bread?” Kie asked, and you were quick on your feet.

“Got the bread,” you reply, bringing it over to her as she set a pan on the stove. She gave you a smile as she took it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was being flirtatious. 

“You ever do this before?” Kie’s voice was soft, but not quiet; gentle. “You kidding me? My dad can’t cook to save his life,” you answer, your tone is light hearted, but Kie gives you a worried look. “And…. your mom?” “Out of the picture. She’s got a new family in Chicago, and I… get to have pizza 3 nights a week,” you joke, and this time Kie smiles. “Can you crack some eggs into this bowl?” Kie asked, handing you a bowl. “That I can manage.”

After you crack a couple eggs in the bowl, you watch Kie pour some milk, then some cinnamon, and lastly she reaches for a small brown bottle. “Vanilla,” Kie explains, dropping some into the bowl. Kie hands you a fork, asking you to stir it up. “Here, watch me,” Kie says as she drops some butter in the pan, moving it around. She took a piece of bread, dipped both sides into the bowl, then dropped it into the pan. “See? Not that hard. Now you’ll know how to make french toast,” her tone isn’t judgemental, she genuinely seemed to want to help you, this took you by surprise.

You don’t respond, you just watch her flip the piece of bread in the pan until it’s golden brown, then put it on a plate. “Here, you do the next one,” Kie said as she moved out of the way. You hesitantly took her spot, and mimicked her actions dipping the bread in the bowl of egg, cinnamon, milk and vanilla. “You’re gonna want to flip it so it cooks evenly,” she said softly, before her hand covered yours with the spatula, guiding you. The whole thing felt… intimate. 

With Kie’s help, you guys made almost the whole loaf of bread into french toast. “Now, what about eggs?” Kie asked. “I like ‘em scrambled.” “Perfect, that’s my specialty,” Kie joked, rinsing the bowl clean before cracking a few more eggs into it, adding milk, salt and pepper.

While you watched her cook scrambled eggs, you heard a loud groan as JJ walked into the kitchen, still shirtless; you felt your face begin to heat up. “‘Morning,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to Kie, placing a kiss on her cheek. “French toast?” “Mmhm, taught y/n how to make ‘em,” Kie boasted, stirring the eggs. JJ turned to look at you, a sleepy smile on his face, and you felt your heart race. What was happening to you?

“You excited to catch some waves?” JJ asked, sauntering over to you. “Oh totally, so excited to faceplant,” you answer, making JJ laugh. “Man, I still can’t believe you never learned to surf.” “But who between us can replace a clutch, Maybank?” “Ouch, straight to my heart, y/n/n,” he clutches his chest over his heart, and you let out a giggle. “What’s for breakfast?” Both you and JJ turn to see Pope walking into the kitchen, wiping his eyes.

After Sarah and John B woke up, and you all ate breakfast, you loaded into the Twinkie, Sarah sitting in the passenger seat while John B drove, the four of you sitting in the back. When you got to the beach, John B and Kie wasted no time diving straight in, meanwhile you were staring hesitantly at the water. “You ready?” You turned to see JJ walked over with his old surfboard. “Already waxed her for ya.” You smile, despite the fear of what you were about to do. “Okay, so first, I want you to practice standing up on the board in the sand.” You furrow your eyebrows, “Thought you were gonna join them and I was gonna wing it?” “What? No way, I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a pro.”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks, and his kindness made you smile. JJ showed you how to go from laying down to standing up, and once you aced the movement, he took you out in the water a little bit. “Gravity’s a bit different, so same thing, just get used to the feeling,” JJ said from beside you. The water barely reached his chest, so if you fell off your board, at least it was shallow. You pushed yourself up like he showed you, but your arms wobbled a bit, JJ quickly steadied you. “Thanks,” you pant, out of breath from trying your hardest not to fall over. He gave you a nod and a smile, backing up a bit. You slowly shifted your weight to your feet, and put your arms up as you steadily tried to stand. Despite still being a bit wobbly, JJ clapped for you. “See? What did I tell you? Now we just gotta find some baby waves.” You got back down to lay on your board. “Wait here… seriously-” JJ said sternly before heading back towards shore to get his own board. He paddled out to get beside you, then sat up a bit, so you mimicked his actions.

“You’re doing a really good job for your first time,” JJ praised. “All thanks to you… Sorry you had to miss out on all the fun,” you said softly, looking over your shoulder just as Pope came up on a wave. 

“What are ya talkin’ about? As far as I’m concerned, they’re the ones missing out, all the fun’s happening right here,” JJ insisted, moving his hands between the two of you, making you chuckle. The smile on his face brought back the heat in your cheeks, so you did the only thing you could think of and splashed him, which resulting in you two going to full on war. 

After both you and JJ were properly soaked, and the laughter finally died down, you found yourself wanting more and more. JJ took you over to a spot where smaller waves were forming, and you practiced standing and moving with the wave, but you kept falling, crashing into the water. JJ never let you feel embarrassed, immediately praising what you had done right, and encouraging you to try again until finally, you rode the tiniest of waves, JJ acted like you won the super bowl.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking ‘bout, baby, yeah! Woo!” JJ cheered. You got back down on your knees and paddled back over to him. “I did it! Oh my god, I can’t believe I actually did that!” “Told you! Next time we come out here, you’ll be shredding with me and Kie.”

Your smile fell as a wave of guilt washed over you. You had been having feelings for Kie’s boyfriend, and worse, you also were having feelings for JJ’s girlfriend.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be awesome,” you tried to save. “You were right, JJ, that actually was fun.” “You were right, too, by the way,” JJ said suddenly, making your eyebrows furrow. “Right about what, Maybank?” You asked. JJ smiled, almostly shyly, looking down at his board between his legs. “You’re a good kisser.”

July 9th - the fourth time.

You were working in your dad’s shop, JJ had called off, and you helped your dad by doing JJ’s work. “It’s just not like him…” Your dad said, checking the oil dipstick, wiping it clean with a cloth. “JJ’s never called out before.” “Which is exactly why you can't punish him. Shit happens, dad,” you defended despite knowing JJ was fine.

Your dad gave you a knowing look. “Sweetheart, I’m glad you and JJ are friends. He’s a good kid, y’know. And I appreciate you helping me all day. After this car you can head off early, I’m gonna close up early.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, maybe you could go check on JJ.” “Daaaad,” you whined, you knew what he was hinting at. Your dad had always had a dream of you marrying a fellow car lover.

Your phone dinged from your pocket, so you quickly wiped your hands on a rag, dirty from refilling the coolant, before grabbing your phone from your pocket.

Kie ♡: miss you xx

You smile to yourself. “Oh, now what do we have here?” Your dad teased. “Stop it, it’s Kie, JJ’s girlfriend. Who I like very much for the record. As a friend,” you quickly added.

Your dad shook his head as you turned to lean against the car. You: miss u too <3

Kie texted back almost immediately. Kie ♡: when can i see you again?

You couldn’t bite back your ever growing smile, but then another ding.

Kie ♡: if i’m being honest i havent been able to stop thinking abt our kiss Kie ♡: have you?

You felt your heart race as your eyes scanned the words over and over again. You quickly glanced to your father, busy changing an air filter. That was the last thing

You: i can’t stop thinking abt that day period Kie ♡: i’m talking to jayj rn Kie ♡: we’re at the chateau Kie ♡: could you come over? Kie ♡: no pressure xx

It took you five minutes to type out your response, despite you having made your mind up the second she asked.

You: i’m omw

The walk to the chateau was a determined one. It had only been five days since you kissed both Kie and JJ, and like Kie, the memory was plaguing your mind. You got there in 10 minutes.

When you walked through the back door into the mudroom, JJ stood up from the couch where he had been seated. Kie was sitting in the armchair on the other side.

“Hey,” JJ said first. “Hi…”

JJ cleared his throat and sat back down. You suddenly felt awkward, and foolish. You had come here with no plan, no idea of what you wanted to gain from this. “Should… Should I go, or-” JJ asked. “I’ll say it…” Kie volunteered, scooting to sit on the edge of her seat. You hesitantly walked over to sit on the chair near the door, facing them.

“For a while, like before I even met you, I had been having these… feelings. Romantic urges for women. But-But I was already with JJ, so I just tried to ignore it. Then JJ met you, and we all became friends, and I thought you were… so beautiful and funny and kind. You can ask JJ, I told him like a week after we met,” Kie rambled. “It’s true,” JJ interjected, your head moving like you were watching a tennis match. “And when you told us you liked women and men… I got this…idea,” Kie continued.You quickly put the dots together and you let out a sigh of disappointment. Your worst fear was coming true.

“Seriously? You guys want me to be your unicorn?” “What? What’s a unicorn?” Kie asked. “It’s like when a straight guy and a bisexual girl are dating and have another bisexual girl around for hooking up with,” JJ explained, which honestly impressed you. “No, no, y/n, it’s not like that at all… I… I really like you. I wanted to talk about the possibility of you dating us- well- all of us, dating together,” Kie corrected, and it took you by surprise. You turned to look at JJ, but he was fidgeting with his hat, taking it off to run a hand through his hair before turning it to be backwards.

“I- I’m sorry, so just to clarify, you want me to be your guys’ what? Side piece?”  “No, I want you to be our girlfriend, mine and JJ’s, and I’d be your girlfriend and JJ would be your boyfriend.” “A throuple,” JJ spoke up, causing you to look at him again, this time he returned your gaze, wetting his bottom lip as you two held eye contact. “But-But we’d take it slow, I guess what I’m asking is if you would go on a date with us. See how it feels, and if we all like it, we keep going on dates.”

You had been approached many times by couples, mostly your friends’ boyfriends, for one night stands or casual hook ups, but never had someone suggested dating. You didn’t know what to think. A part of you felt like it was too good to be true, like you were falling into a trap that ended in you being humiliated and heartbroken, but you also felt like it was some sort of proof, proof that everything you had been feeling for both of them was not only real, it was mutual.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now,” JJ added.

“Yeah, right, no pressure, and if you don’t want to, that’s totally cool too, we get i-” “Okay,” you interrupted her. “Let’s do it.”

Kie’s eyes widened before a smile broke out on her lips, “Really?”

Your mouth opened, but you bit your lips as you internally debated whether or not to be honest. Your eyes moved from Kie’s, wide and excited, to JJ’s, focused and hopeful. You let out a chuckle, “I felt like I was going crazy… feeling things for both of you…” you confess, running a hand through your hair. Kie looked over to JJ before getting up to kneel in front of you, putting her hand on your knee. “You’re not crazy… I thought I was going crazy when I started having these feelings, and JJ-” Kie’s head turned to look at the blonde, now standing. “I mean, he liked you first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked from her to him, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked away.

“So… you guys want to take me on a date?” you ask sheepishly. “How’s… tomorrow night sound?” Kie asked, a shy smile creeping onto her lips.

You looked over to JJ, he was leaning against the wall, his head down but his eyes up and on you. “Tomorrow night it is,” you answer.

©ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳᵐᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²⁰²⁴

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Killing Me Softly (PART EIGHT/ DARK!TOMMY)

Summary: After Tommy gets mysteriously shot the responsibility to nurse him back to health falls on you. Will you be able to accept Tommy's apologies and give him a second chance when the guilt of how he has treated you slowly creeps up on him?

Warnings: Language, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, angst, controlling behaviour, toxic marriage, psychological mind games, Dark!Tommy (this is a dark fic, please read the warnings before continuing)

" Shot? What...what happened?" you said resting your back against the headboard, rubbing your eyes in the process as sleep continued to weigh them down.

" I don't know Y/N, I don't fucking know!" he replied in a panicked voice as he removed his peaked cap, pinching the bridge of his nose. " He's asking for you, come on let's go" he said grabbing your hand when you suddenly pulled it back. "He's your husband...what's wrong with you?" John asked as he furrowed his brow in confusion at your reluctance to follow. "What the fucks going on in here...?" he said looking around the somber room once again when the door suddenly flew open and Arthur came frantically running in.

"John! I can't get the bullet out by myself, you need to hold him still" Arthur said as he stood by the door, wiping the sweat from his forehead as blood dripped from his hands. As John ran out the door Arthur looked back at you, reaching his hand out for yours.

" Y/N. Tommy needs you" he said ushering you forward as he looked at the hesitation in your eyes.

"No..." you mouthed quietly, shaking your head as you grasped the bed sheets tightly in your hands.

" I don't have bloody time for this" he muttered under his breath as he let go of the door handle, quickly disappearing from the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed you listened to the sound of your husbands cries echoing through the house as an unpleasant feeling arose in your chest. Contentment, contentment at hearing him in pain, hearing him suffer. The same level of pain and suffering he had unforgivably inflicted on you.

" Where's my wife?!" You heard him yell between groans as you now stood at the top of the stairs, your feet unwilling to move any further. His wife. The wife he had abused since the day you committed yourselves to eachother, the wife he had embarrassed and belittled without hesitation, the wife he had tormented relentlessly with his sadistic games, and now what? He expected you to comfort him like any loving wife would?

"Arthur hurry the fuck up and get it out, else I'll do it myself!" You heard Tommy bellow whilst you walked slowly down the large wooden stairs, the sudden desire to see him in pain pushing your feet forward with each step you took.

Waiting by the living room door you watched John pinning Tommy's arms back behind him as Arthur sat in front of him ripping his bloodied shirt from his body, giving it to John who then threw it into the crackling fire next to him.

"Shit Tommy, two inches to the left and you'd be a dead man" Arthur announced as he picked up his pocket knife dousing it in alcohol. "This is gonna hurt like hell brother..."

" Wait, wait!" Tommy said through gritted teeth as he spotted you."Y/N sweetheart, come to me" Tommy pleaded as he pulled his hand away from John's grip, desperately reaching out for you. With the three brothers now staring back at you, you felt you had no choice but to go to your husbands side. With his hand now firmly wrapped around yours, you finally looked down at the bullet hole below his collarbone. Arthur was right he could have died it was mere centimeters from his heart, almost the exact same location as a previous gunshot wound.

" Did you call an ambulance?" You said turning to John as Tommy's grip tightened around your hand at the sight of the knife moving closer to his body.

" I'm not leaving this house Y/N" Tommy said as he looked up at you, his hair disheveled, a layer of sweat coating his face as he breathed heavily through his nose.

"John" Arthur said looking to his brother as the youngest pulled Tommy's arms back once again. With one last glance to you, Tommy licked the sweat of his top lip nodding to Arthur as he braced himself for what was about to happen.

" Three two.." with the countdown unfinished Arthur plunged the sharp blade through the gaping hole in Tommy's chest, squeezing his fingers around the bullet hole as he tried to pry the led from his body. You watched on as all the bravado he once possessed left his body as he whimpered and yelled in pain, his eyes scrunched shut as the knife pierced his already wounded body. "There's the sneaky bastard" Arthur smiled as the silver bullet fell into his palm. "Here, one more to add to your collection" he chuckled, dropping the small piece of led into a glass ash tray on the table beside him. "Now drink this" he added, picking up a bottle of whiskey that Tommy swiftly grabbed from his hands, downing a third of what was left within a few seconds. " Right. Hold on" Arthur said taking it back, pouring the rest of its contents straight into the open wound.

" FUCKK!" Tommy shouted in response letting go of your hand, his eyes now locked on Arthurs face as his fist came up to punch his older brother in the cheek, a punch Arthur dodged almost instantly.

" Come on Tom, soldier up" Arthur laughed patting him on the back as he exchanged a grin with John." Y/N, you bandage him up" your brother-in-law said as he walked off to get himself a well deserved drink.

" Arthur I don't know how to..."

" There's nothing to it Y/N, here" John interrupted, passing you the bandages as you looked down at your husband hunched over trying to catch his breath.

" Maybe it's best..."

" Darling...please" Tommy said grabbing your arm, his thumb gently rubbing across your skin. Swallowing harshly you sat down in front of your husband as he tried to focus his eyes on you through the pain radiating through his chest, groaning as he straightened his posture out.

" Bet your loving this ey?" he scoffed as his trembling hands reached for the packet of cigarettes next to him, his eyes following yours as you placed a square of cotton over his open wound. Ignoring his remark you continued to bandage him up as Tommy tried to catch your eye, needy for his wife's attention. "Hey" he said grabbing your hand as you finished fastening the bandage across his chest. " You don't fucking care do you?" he asked tilting his head, squinting his eyes in disbelief as his cigarette hung from his lips. Looking away you tried to stand up, only for Tommy to pull your arm, forcing you back down Into the chair, his jaw clenching in annoyance at your continued refusal to meet his eyes.

" What happened?" Polly said walking through the door as she hurried over to Tommy to check the damage.

" Fuck sake" Tommy mumbled under his breath unaware his Aunt had been called.

" Found him on the ground by the front door as we pulled up" John said as he walked back over with a drink in his hand, seemingly unbothered by his brother having just been shot.

" John I'm gonna need a bit more information than that" Polly said as she opened the bandages to check the wound, her eyes darting to you still sitting next to your husband, his hand firmly holding onto yours.

" Bloody hell Pol!" Tommy said wincing in pain as she pushed the flesh around the bullet hole checking for any fragments. " The bullet came out clean, Arthur saw to that" he said looking over to his brother who tipped his glass of whiskey in Tommy's direction.

" Where's his shirt?" Polly asked as she looked back at her nephews." Where's his fucking shirt?!"

" John threw it in the fire. Polly will you calm down, I've got thumping headache after tonight's events" Arthur complained as he let himself drop into a nearby arm chair, desperate to go home.

" Bloody idiots" she mumbled under her breath looking up at the ceiling as if she was asking a higher power why she had been unfairly blessed with three halfwits for nephews. "Now that I don't have his shirt I can't see if any cloth is missing and lodged inside, can I?" she huffed standing up.

" I put half a bottle of whiskey on it, he's good" Arthur said rubbing his forehead as he let his head drop back onto the cushion behind him, closing his eyes.

" For your sake he better be. And you still haven't told me what happened" Polly asked as she placed her hands on her hips, looking around the room at each of her nephews.

" Was coming back from the stables. Two chancers tried their luck. Took a shot at me" Tommy explained casually without giving anymore detail as he took a drag of his cigarette.

" I didn't hear a gunshot" you spoke up, your eyes darting around the room at everyone only to catch Tommy's, his brows raised in surprise at your outspokenness as an unnerving glint shone in his eyes. Swallowing harshly you looked away as Tommy squeezed your hand in response. Had you said the wrong thing?

" They would have used a silencer love" Arthur said putting his feet up on the sofa in front of him.

" Have you checked the grounds?" Polly asked pushing Arthur's muddy boots off the sofa with her foot as Tommy's thumb firmly rubbed small circles into the back of your hand, a warning to not misbehave, a caution to not dare speak again. Slowly disconnecting from what was happening around you, you looked up to see a small smirk form on the corner of your husbands lips through the cigarette smoke leaving his mouth, his stare boring into you as he looked down at the exposed skin where your dressing gown had come loose. Pulling your hand away you abruptly stood up closing your gown tighter around your body as you walked over to the window whilst the sound of conversation re-entered your hearing.

" I need to rest" Tommy said standing up as he looked over to you.

" What you need is a doctor" Polly answered, pushing him back down as she walked over to where you was standing in concern.

" We've already called one, he should be here any minute" John announced as he poured himself another drink, shaking the bottle as the last few drops spilled out.

" Y/N love, would you go get us another bottle of whiskey" she asked placing her hand on your arm. " Are you ok? " she said quietly, her eyebrows raised at the worried expression spread across your face. What was Tommy playing at? He had men guarding the perimeters of the property since the day he dragged you back to Arrow House. How could he have gotten shot?

" I'm fine Polly" you said as you left the room, Tommy's eyes following you as he went to stand up again, only for his Aunt to stop him for a second time.

Out in the hallway you broke down in tears. You wanted everything to just stop. The nights sudden events had set your already fragile state on edge, and with the constant threat of Tommy's ongoing punishment looming over you, you couldn't help but think this was another part of his sadistic plan.

" My wife's upset I need to see her" Tommy said as he got up from his chair.

" I'll check on Y/N, you stay seated" Polly said pointing her finger at her nephew. Falling back into his seat Tommy clenched his jaw, pinching his bottom lip as he watched his Aunt leave the room, his inability to control the situation only frustrating him more.

"He's in there" Polly said pointing to the living room as the doctor walked into the foyer. " Y/N, come here" Polly said with her arms out as she walked over to you. "You're not okay, has anything else happened ?" she asked as you shook your head in response, nervously biting your nails. "Look what happened the other day.." she began to say unable to even explain the previous days events herself. " What happened should have never took place, what Tommy did was unforgivable, monstrous. Y/N, if you're searching for the man he once was you won't find him, he died a long time ago, and I fear he would be far worse without you by his side. He's my nephew and as much as I hate the man he has become he is still family, but so are you love. I can help you Y/N" she said as she held onto your arm. " Do you want help?" Looking away tears welled in your eyes as you clutched your arms around your body looking to the front door.

" No" you sobbed shaking your head, as you watched Tommy's figure approach you both in the corner of your eye.

" Y/N let's go to bed, the doctors given me the all clear" Tommy said walking to you with a bottle of medicine in his hand as Polly nodded her head, letting go of your arm as a defeated look spread across her face. You was a grown woman she couldn't force you, she had offered help, it was now your choice to take it or not.

" I'll stay until the morning, make sure you take that" she said over her shoulder as she walked away back into the living room.

With his hand resting on your lower back Tommy led you up the stairs as you both walked up to the second floor in silence.

" No, not this room " Tommy said as he took your hand leading you to one of the many guest rooms down the hallway. Opening the door Tommy walked you in as his eyes lustfully roamed over your body.

" Why this room?" You questioned as you looked around at the dimly lit bedroom.

"Just come to bed Y/N " he said as he pulled back the sheets waiting for you.

"Your medicine" you said pointing at the small bottle in his hand as you climbed under the sheets, turning around away from him. A few minutes later you felt him climb in, his arm wrapping around you as a grunt left him mouth at the pain coursing through his body. Within seconds you felt Tommy's lips kissing along the back of your neck, his hand resting on your upper thigh caressing small circles into your skin as his fingers slowly reached under your gown.

" You were teasing me downstairs sweetheart" he moaned quietly into your throat, his lips smiling into your skin as he grinded his hips against your body. Quickly moving away you pushed his hand off you, pulling the bed sheets closer to your body.

" Fuck sake" Tommy muttered under his breath as he rolled onto his back. " If you won't let me fuck you, will you at least talk to me?" He huffed as he looked over to you curled up on your side of the bed. " Your husband gets shot and you don't bat an eyelid. You're not as sweet and innocent as you claim to be" he scoffed as he turned back to you, pulling the sheets away from under your chin. "Hey, I'm talking to you"

" How did you get shot Tommy?!" you replied as you turned around to face him unable to ignore his remarks any longer, your emotions so heightened you ceased believing anything he said anymore.

" I already told you Y/N" he said looking away as you turned back around pulling the covers away from him.

" In sickness and in health ey" Tommy chuckled as he leaned over to turn the bedside light off, his head falling back onto the pillow as exhaustion overtook his body.

" You forgot the rest of your vows Tommy"

It was early morning when you rolled over to see Tommy breathing heavily, sweat coating his body as his head turned left and right in a delirious state.

" Tommy?" You said sitting up as you shook his arm trying to wake him. He was burning up, his pillow drenched, how long had he been like this? For a moment you just sat there and watched him as he breathed heavily through strangled groans. You could leave him, let him pay for everything he had done to you. You thought to yourself as you watched him tremble in pain.

" Get a doctor" Tommy croaked out grabbing your hand as if he could sense your apprehension. Nodding your head you walked out the bedroom making your way down the hallway until you suddenly stopped, your hand gripping tightly onto the top of the stair banister as the sound of the dials on the hallway clock turning ticked loudly in your ears. Taking a step back you turned around, tears welling in your eyes as you started to walk in the opposite direction. Was you really going to do this? Let your husband die? A sudden wave of guilt washed over you as you wrapped your arms around your body in a desperate attempt to comfort yourself.

" Y/N?" You heard Polly's voice say behind you as you let your arms drop to your sides. Turning around your eyes nervously darted to the bedroom then back to her. " What's going on?" She asked approaching you as she looked at the door.

" It's...it's Tommy he has a fever. I was going to call a doctor" you responded trying to avoid her stare.

" A doctor?" She questioned as she looked behind you, knowing the only telephone in the house was downstairs. Nodding you turned your head away as you frantically played with the sleeve of your dressing gown. " Ok Y/N, I want you to go downstairs and call doctor Taylor, ok?" Nodding you hurried past her as she watched you walk away. Did she know your true intentions?

With the doctor having been called and now tending to Tommy with Polly by his side, you waited downstairs aimlessly wandering around the house. You didn't want to see him, you didn't want to face him, guilt was consuming you. How could you have been so malicious in your disdain for your husband that you was ready to let him die a painful death? You thought to yourself looking out the front door as one of Tommy's men walked past. This wasn't like you, you wasn't him. As anxiety pumped though your body you ran over to the open door, desperate to feel the morning breeze on your face when one of Tommy's men stopped you.

"I just need some fresh air" you said trying to push past him.

" No one leaves the house, Tommy's orders" he replied as he looked past you.

" No one, or just me?" You said as he finally looked down at you. " I see" you said folding your arms turning around when your husband's sudden cry caught your attention.

" Y/N!" You heard Polly shout, calling your name as you hurried up the stairs to the bedroom.

Opening the door you immediately looked away at the sight of Tommy's infected wound as the doctor pulled out a small piece of cloth from the bullet hole. Grunting in pain Tommy's fingers came up to wrap around the doctors neck only for his hand to quickly fall back down onto the bed, his body too weak to fight.

" Did Mr Shelby take the medicine I prescribed?" He asked looking between you and Polly.

" Y/N?"

" Yes last night" you said trying to think back, did he take it? Why wouldn't he? Where was it? You questioned as your eyes darted around the room in search of the small bottle.

" Doctor" Polly said nodding to the door as he followed her out to talk in the corridor whilst you stood at the end of the bed looking anywhere but at your husband.

"Don't worry, I'll be dead soon" Tommy said swallowing back the swelling in his throat. He was deathly pale, his whole body trembling in pain as he tried to reach for the glass of water beside him whilst you watched on at his helplessness.

" Fuck sake" you mumbled under your breath as you walked to his side of the bed. Siting down next to him you gently lifted the back of his head as you poured small amounts of water into his mouth. After only a few sips Tommy pushed the glass away as his head fell back onto the pillow, looking at you through exhausted eyes.

" Everything's in your name" he said in lagged breaths as he tried to search for your hand.

" Why are you saying this?" you replied looking back at him scrunching you brow in confusion.

"Come on darling, don't lie to yourself. You've wanted me dead for a long time"

" Stop it Tommy, stop saying these things" you cried as you pulled your hand away. Was he playing the cruelest game of them all? Was he trying to make you feel pity for him after everything he had done to you?

" I've always loved you Y/N " he confessed as you looked away, tears streaming down your face quicker than you could brush them away.

"Y/N a word" Polly said as she entered the room pulling you to one side.

" Picked out my coffin yet?" Tommy coughed trying to let out a strangled laugh.

" Shut up" Polly said turning to face him. "The doctor said he needs to make it through the night if he's going to survive this infection. I have to go into the city before everything falls apart, you need to stay here and look after him, I'll be back in the morning, ok?"

" Polly no, you can't leave me here alone with him, I don't know what to do"

" You don't have a choice, he needs you Y/N" Polly said as she quickly left the room, not giving you a chance to argue any further with her.

Turning around you looked back at your husband as he lay in bed, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead as his body tried to rid itself of the infection taking over. Pacing back and forth, a feeling of frustration overwhelmed you at the cruel twist of fate. You was now the one who had to nurse him back to health when the only thing you wanted to do was watch the life slip away from him.

" Just leave Y/N " Tommy said as he tried to get up from the bed.

" What are you doing?" you said in annoyance as you walked over to him.

" Let me die" he replied as he laid back down. You wanted him to suffer, but seeing him like this, desperate and weak made your inner battle of anger and guilt fight eachother for dominance.

" Just shut up" you said giving in as you walked over to the bowl of water by his bed, angrily dipping the cloth into the cold water. Sitting down beside him you started to dab the sweat from his body as Tommy looked up at you.

"Y/N..."

" Stop talking Tommy, I don't want to hear it" you said as you threw the cloth back into the bowl your hands coming to your face in frustration. Reaching out Tommy's hand slowly moved up your arm, as he tried to move your fingers away from your face.

"Y/N, I'm sorry" he said as you looked back at him, tears streaming down your face.

" No Tommy, you don't get to say that after everything you've done, you don't get to do this!"

" I don't deserve you, I never did" as the last words left his mouth Tommy slowly closed his eyes as the final bits of strength faded within him.

For hours you stayed by his bedside, wiping the sweat from his body, bandaging and cleaning his wound, hushing him as strangled moans left his mouth as he called out your name, begging you to stop the pain. And when he did sleep your eyes stayed fixed on his stomach as you watched it move up and down with each breath. Was you waiting for it to stop, was you afraid it would stop? You couldn't tell anymore. Why did it have to come to this? You thought as you continued to torment yourself with the satisfaction you felt when you first saw him in pain. You loved him, and now you cruelly found yourself having to decide if you loved him enough to continue to comfort and tend to him. Desperate for fresh air you stood up walking over to the window as you knocked over a chair with Tommy's clothes laying on top of it. "Shit" you mouthed to yourself, worried the sudden noise would wake him as you bent down to pick up his suit jacket when a small photo folded in half caught your eye. Turning it over you opened it to see a picture of you and Tommy taken before the war. It was old and battered, the edges torn and frailing, it looked like it had been through a war itself.

"You kept me alive" Tommy said coughing as he slowly turned his head to you.

" You've had this in your pocket all these years?"

" I took it to France" he replied as you walked over to sit beside him. Reaching out Tommy took the picture from you, rubbing his thumb over it as if he had done it a thousand times already, the movement engraved into his memory, a ritual he had repeated countless times before. Handing it back to you Tommy began to cough uncontrollably as you quickly reached for the the glass of water beside him, tenderly holding his cheek as you poured small amounts into his mouth.

"When I was in France" he started to say as he cleared his throat the swelling engulfing his body making it hard for him to talk. " I'd stare at that picture every night and take myself back to watery lane, back to you. It was the only thing that stopped me from running over the line. I've always loved you Y/N, I never stopped"

" And yet you killed for me in the name of love Tommy, killings that never needed to happen. Is that true love to you?"

" Your horse was lame darling"

" And my friend...was that a mercy too?"

A silence fell upon the room, Tommy had nothing to say. A battle within himself to make things right fought with his own reasoning that what he had done was justified. Had he suddenly begun to feel guilt in everything he had done? Maybe the unexpected feeling of deaths eyes bearing down on him had finally made him face his own monstrous actions.

" There's no going back to the start is there?" Tommy said as he weakly looked up into your eyes. Shaking your head tears fell down your cheeks as Tommy brought his hand up to brush them away with his thumb. Holding onto your hand Tommy swallowed harshly as his emotions threatened to spill over.

" Please, don't let go " he said gripping your hand tighter, his eyes closing once again as he drifted back to sleep. With tears burning your cheeks you reached out your hand as you gently caressed his face. Months of torment had come to an end, and for the first time in a long time you finally saw a small glimpse of the boy you used to know, the sweet loving boy you fell head over heels for. You could only hope it wasn't the fever talking and Tommy's remorse was as genuine as he had made you believe it was. As the hours passed by exhaustion started to take over. Closing your eyes you rested your head on your husband's stomach as the gentle lull of his body moving up and down with each breath he took rocked you soundly to sleep.

"You're still here" Tommy said as he woke up to you holding onto his hand hours later, your head still resting on his stomach. Bringing the back of your hand to his forehead you checked to see if his fever had passed.

" It's slowing down" you sighed, surprised by the sense of relief washing over you.

" You saved my life again" he replied sitting up, grunting at the continued pain stabbing him in his chest.

" I didn't do anything Tommy"

" You did Y/N, you kept me alive" he said as he leaned forward cupping your cheek in his hand. " Give me one more chance? He's not dead, the boy you once knew is still in there, help me find him"

" Tommy, everything you've done I can't forgive you for it. You've broken my heart so many times"

" I don't expect you to forgive me Y/N. I've lost who I was. I've done unspeakable things, but you, you can make me a better man. Please, just one more chance" he replied. His body having given him another breath of life he was now desperate for one more with you. Looking away your eyes flickered down to the photo of you both on top of the bed side cabinet that Tommy had kept in his pocket for the past decade. Your heart ached endlessly for the man you had first fell in love with all those years ago, stronger than any feeling you had ever known. The need to feel his arms wrapped around you, his warm body comforting you never left. He had a hold on you as much as you did with him. Was you as addicted to him as he was with you? His acts were evil, and there was no taking back what he had done, but even the worst of men could change couldn't they? Reaching up you rested your hand over Tommy's as he looked lovingly back into your eyes.

" Ok" you said nodding your head as tears fell down your cheeks. " Ok Tommy" smiling, Tommy leaned forward wincing in pain as he rested his forehead against yours.

" I'll be the man you want me to be" he said pressing his lips to your own in a tender embrace as your tears cascaded down between your cheeks.

Pulling back you was met with his piercing blue eyes staring back at you, a small smile on his lips as his thumb stroked firmly across your cheek. An all too familiar feeling suddenly settled in your stomach in response to his forceful touch as paranoia quickly rose within you.

Had he fooled you again?

NEXT PART

Tag list: @litteltourtius @aesthetic0cherryblossom @swordofawriter @casa-boiardi @muhahaha303 @fmo166 @call-sign-shark @priyajoyy @gypsy-girl-08 @missbeeentertainment @cryptidscool (unable to tag) @warrior-of-justice @runnning-outof-time @camilleholland89 @amberpanda99 @scarwxrld @pleasant-meadow @fleurfatale89 (unable to tag)

[heretoobsessstuff]

Hellooo sooo 👀 the fic i posted a snippet for a few days ago is finally here haha. Behold the sappiest corniest hurt/comfort fic you’ve ever read. It’s also posted on ao3 here if you prefer to read it there!

Title: What else can I be? All apologies

Summary: Gale’s repressed guilt of leaving John behind manifests as a nightmare. John comforts him

“Go on, I’m right behind you,” John said quietly. Gale nodded once and turned to walk towards the wall, eyes fixed ahead. John was right behind him. Gale’s heart was pounding, and his hands shook as he held them tightly in fists by his side. The distance between him and the wall seemed to drag on forever. Why wasn’t he reaching the wall?

Panic set in and took over his whole body. His chest, throat, and legs felt numb. Something bad was about to happen; he could feel it in his gut. His body knew it. Something was about to happen.

“Don’t shoot—don’t shoot!” John yelled. His voice shook Gale’s entire body. Gale turned around and saw John wrestling with the German guard, holding his gun on both sides, pushing him back with impressive strength.

“Go, Buck, get out of there!” John yelled again, his voice rough from exertion. Buck felt like his body was no longer in his control. He took one last look at John and jumped over the wall, leaving him behind.

The moment he was over the wall, he heard it—the gunshot. Loud and sharp. His ears rang with the sound. He slid down the wall, his body hitting the ground with a thud. He held his breath, feeling like hours had passed before he finally mustered the courage to get up on his knees. His hands gripped the edge of the wall for support as he pulled himself up to look back, and once he did, he couldn’t look away.

There, on the wet, muddy ground, lay John. Lifeless.

Gale didn’t know how it happened, but before he knew it, he was hovering over John. It felt like he was watching himself from a distance as he dropped to his knees and grabbed John’s shoulders, running his hands frantically over his arms and chest, trying to find where he had been hit. Trying to fix this somehow.

“John, John, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, please!” he begged, desperate when he finally saw it—a hole the size of a penny right in John’s chest, in his heart. Blood oozed steadily. He took off his scarf and pressed it against the wound, pushing hard. John’s eyes flew open at the pressure with a loud yelp. The scarf was immediately soaked.

“It’s alright, John. It’s alright, just—just hold on for me. Just hold on,” Gale begged again, his voice shaking and wobbling with each word. He looked up from John and looked around frantically. He couldn’t see anyone. No German guard, no American prisoner. Bile rose in his throat as he yelled, “Crank? Brady? Somebody help me, please!”

Tears leaked from his eyes, falling onto John’s face. John looked at him dazedly, his breath coming out in little whimpers. His hand came up to bat at Gale’s weakly.

“Hurts,” he grunted.

Gale gripped the scarf tighter. There was blood everywhere—John’s blood, painting Gale’s hands, arms, and clothes red, smelling sharp and coppery.

“I know, I know. I just need to—just need to press. It’s going to be alright,” Gale said, his voice hitching on a sob. His hands shook so hard he couldn’t grip the scarf properly anymore. He looked around frantically again, hoping, praying for someone—anyone—to come, to fix this. He couldn’t lose John like this.

But there was no one coming. Deep down, Gale knew it. There was no sign of Crank or Murph or Brady or Demarco. They were all gone, leaving him alone to watch John die.

“You left me behind,” John gasped out, his voice barely audible. Gale felt his heart drop to his stomach, cold settling deep in his bones. He could say nothing as he watched John grip the hand that was holding the scarf against his chest. His blue eyes looked dark with pain and betrayal. Gale remained silent, his tongue feeling heavy and numb in his mouth.

“You left me to die,” John croaked, breathing harshly as his hand gave Gale’s one last squeeze before it fell limp, his head falling back onto the dirt. Gale watched in horror as John’s last breath left his lungs in a choked exhale. He was gone.

John was gone. Lost somewhere Gale could never reach. He was gone and he hated Gale for it. Gale had betrayed him. Had let him get shot. Had left him alone to die. His grip on the wound wasn’t strong enough. He hadn’t held onto John tightly enough and now he was dead. Look at what you’ve done. His brain screamed at him. You were a coward. You have lost him forever. The light in his eyes is gone forever and he died with nothing but hatred for you. Nothing you could ever do will bring him back.

****

Gale woke up with a gasp. The sheets had woven around him like a cocoon. He gripped them tightly and thrashed around to fling them off of himself. He reached to his right blindly. Expecting to find a warm body fast asleep. To find John there. It was empty. Sheets long abandoned and cold.

The feeling of all consuming grief was immediate. It gripped him by the throat and closed his airway. Gale felt outside of himself. The room was floating around him and the edges of his vision threatened to turn black the more he gasped for air. His brain was struggling to pinpoint where exactly he was. A hotel room or behind the wall?

He couldn't remember anything. He couldn’t remember where he was anymore. His heart was too fast, pounding against his ribcage. He clawed at his chest, willing to control his breathing. The cold devastation of being left alone, abandoned by their men was wrapped around his lungs like a vice. You left John behind and he died in your arms.

He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He grasped his shirt as he breathed in short strangled exhales. His heart was too fast, almost like it was jumping out of his chest. Maybe he was the one who was shot in the chest. Maybe he was dying. The thought was chilling. He was dying. Drowning in John’s blood. This was it. That’s how he would die. Cold and alone and hated by the only person he had ever loved-

“Gale? Can you hear me?”

The strong voice cut through the haze. A hand reached towards him and pulled him out of the abyss he was drowning in. Distantly he could feel something or someone grip his shoulders. Shaking him. He could hear himself gasping for air but his body refused to cooperate.

“Gale? I need you to breathe darling. Can you do that for me?”

He was trying. He wanted to tell the voice that. But it was difficult and his lungs felt like they were on fire. The voice was familiar and warm and soothing. It sounded like John.

You idiot! His brain screamed. John is dead. Maybe I’m dying too. He thought again. That’s why I can hear him.

“You’re not dying. You’re alright. We’re home. We’re safe. Just breathe.” John’s voice said. Gale felt a hand on the back of his neck. Felt it running over the little hairs at the base of his neck that were damp with sweat. He choked on an inhale. The other hand grabbed Gale’s where it was clutching his chest. Thumb running over his hand in slow strokes. The touch was grounding. Home safe he repeated to himself. He felt air enter his lungs as he struggled to slow his breathing.

“That’s it. Good job, darling. Just breathe”

Somehow against all odds, John was here. Calling him “darling”, holding him and comforting him even after Gale left him behind. Even after he went to hide behind the wall like a coward and left John to wrestle with the armed kraut. John was the one who was itching to escape, instead Gale stole his opportunity to run ahead of him, leaving him there. Gale was overcome with a guilt so strong and sudden he felt bile raising in his throat. His face twisting as he was hit with a strong wave of nausea.

“You gonna be sick?”

John asked, reading Gale’s expressions like an open book. He nodded miserably as John moved him around so his legs hung over the bed, hand still gripping Gale’s.

“Okay. It's alright. You’re okay. Just hold on to me”

Gale could barely make out the words being said to him over the ringing of his ears. He tried to swallow down the nausea as he felt hands under his knees and around his back. Lifting him off the bed with ease. Carrying him towards the bathroom.

“There. It’s alright. I got you.”

Gale’s knees buckled immediately as he was gently lowered to the ground. John pressed against his back firmly to steady him as Gale reached out to grasp the toilet bowl. He fell forward as he heaved. Tears were pricked his eyes as he coughed harshly and heaved again.

“You’re alright. Just need to breathe. Slowly. Just breathe. In and out. You’re alright.”

You’re alright John’s voice kept telling him. It was comforting. Gale let out a shuddering breath as he felt a hand rubbing his back soothingly. In and out. Gale tried to focus on the voice. On the gentle touch on his face and hair. He felt a weight pressed against his spine, holding him in place. In and out. More air filled his lungs. He reached out blindly towards the voice and felt his hand being grabbed in a warm grip.

That’s when he felt it. His hand pressed against warm skin. He could feel it against his palm. Thump thump. Strong, quick, John’s heart beat against him.

He let out a small gasp, hand shaking where it rested against John's chest, feeling his heartbeat. He kept his eyes closed, willing himself to breathe. It felt like hours had passed when his nausea finally receded and he started to calm down.His brain worked slowly through the haze, becoming aware of his surroundings little by little. He moved slowly to let himself sit on the floor, back resting against the toilet seat with John’s grip steadying him. Pieces of the past few days started to come back to him in slow bursts of memory. He remembered now. He had gone to sleep that night and John had slept next to him. He had been okay. Alive. Just hours ago. He was here, talking to him now.

“John?”

He whispered, wanting to make sure he was there. That he was real.

“I’m right here, Gale. Can you look at me?”

Gale shook his head petulantly. He didn’t want to look at John and see the disappointment, the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes again. He felt John huff out a nervous breath as he rubbed up and down Gale’s arm.

“Alright darling. Take your time okay? I’m right here when you’re ready”

John tried to sound reassuring but Gale knew him better than that. John sounded scared. Worried. Gale didn’t want John to feel scared ever again. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh bathroom light as the room swam into view. He blinked bearily as his gaze fell onto the man in front of him. John was crouching on the floor, eyes looking sad and glassy with unshed tears. His curls looked wild and messy, sticking up on the top of his head as if he had been tugging on them. He was sporting a deep frown as he looked on with a concern Gale didn’t think he deserved. He still managed to school his features into a small smile as he locked eyes with Gale.

“There you are. You back with me?”

John asked softly. Pushing Gale messy hair out of his face and forehead. Gale couldn’t look away from him as he lifted Gale’s hand from his chest to press a chaste kiss against his knuckles.

Gale nodded. Biting his lip when he felt the beginning of a lump already forming in his throat.

“Okay. You’re okay. Let's just sit for a minute.”

John said, reaching behind Gale to grab a tissue and wipe Gale’s mouth gently. Before Gale knew it a cold glass of water was being pressed against his lips and he took a sip instinctively. The cool water felt nice against his dry mouth so he took another sip. His hands shook too much as he attempted to take the glass from John but he just batted his hand away. Murmuring a slow “I got it” as he held the glass against his lips.

You don’t deserve this Gale’s brain supplied harshly. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him as he reached out to press his hands against John’s chest again. He needed to feel him. Needed to feel the steady rise and fall of his breaths and the thumping of his heart again. Needed him alive and breathing.

“John”

Gale felt like John’s name was the only thing he could say right now. His voice sounded rough and faraway to his own ears. John gave him a worried look as he covered his hand with his own.

“I’m right here”

He assured him. Gale just looked on. Palm still firmly pressed against John’s chest. He almost died and I let him. He felt like he was going to lose it any second.

“Gale?”

He had been Gale tonight. Not Buck. Not John’s Buck. He couldn’t remember the last time John had called him Buck. The realisation hit him like a freight train. Maybe John did hate him. Maybe he wanted his name back.

“I’m sorry”

Gale choked out. His voice sounded rough and hoarse. His eyes finally spilling over as he lost the last remainder of self control he was desperately trying to keep. Tears were streaming down his face and into his cheeks and neck before he could do anything to stop it. He knew he had opened the gates now and once he started he couldn’t stop. John’s gaze softened in sadness, his hands coming up to wipe Gale’s tears away gently. Gale was talking before he could say anything.

“I let the kraut shoot you. Right here. Right in the chest. I ran and hid behind the wall like a fucking coward”

It was as if a dam had broken inside of Gale. It was like months of repressed guilt and fear that John secretly hated him finally caught up to him. A loud sob erupted from deep within his chest, more following immediately as his face crumpled. Maybe later he would feel embarrassed about all of it. Waking up from a nightmare and asking John to carry him to the bathroom just to dry heave and end up weeping like a child on the bathroom floor. But right then he couldn’t find it in him to feel anything other than desperation. Desperate for John to forgive him.

“I was all alone and I watched you bleed to death and I didn’t do a fucking thing. You hated me for it ”

He felt pathetic. You were the one who left him there, the snarky voice in his head said. Now he’s the one who has to comfort you for it.

“Hey, listen to me, Gale. None of that is real. None of that happened. You remember that. I’m here and I’m alright. It was all a bad dream”

John gripped Gale’s shaking shoulders, thumbs rubbing on his skin in small soothing patterns but the words couldn’t make it through the thick fog in his brain. He grabbed John’s face in his hands. Shaking terribly as he cried.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry John.”

He needed to tell John. Needed him to hear it. To see how sorry he was. John’s mouth was turned downward with sadness. He opened his mouth but Gale was speaking before he could say anything.

“I still left you behind. That part was fucking real.I will never forgive myself for it”

Gale could see the moment understanding washed across John’s face. They had been over this before. Gale had woken up from this same nightmare so many times and had told John he was sorry every single time. John had always comforted him. Told him there was nothing to be sorry for. Assured him that they were both here and they had made it. It had always numbed Gale’s pain temporarily. But Gale knew, it was like putting bandaid on a puncture wound. The relief never stayed. It always ate him alive. Lived in the dark corners of his mind constantly, waiting for the right time to strike but this time was different. Gale felt inconsolable. He felt like he needed to beg for John’s forgiveness. John held Gale’s hands on his face tightly. Tears clinging to the corners of his own eyes.

“Gale, listen to me. You didn’t leave me behind. It was my choice to stay behind and I would do that a hundred times over. I swear to God Gale there’s nothing you have ever done in your life that you need to apologise to me for.”

Gale squeezed his eyes shut but it did little to stop the tears. He pulled his hands out of John’s grip to press the heels to his eyes. Guilt and panic was making it hard for him to breathe. To think. He needed to do something. Needed to say something before he lost his mind.

“No, no I need to- I need”

Language was escaping him and Gale couldn’t stop crying. His breathing was coming out ragged and forced. He felt like the abyss was back to swallow him whole. John took hold of his wrists. Pulling them away from his eyes and holding him firmly.

“What do you need?”

John asked. Sounding desperate. Gale bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Tasting the saltiness of his own tears.

“I need you to forgive me. Tell me you forgive me. Please”

“Gale-“

“I can’t live with this anymore, John. It’s killing me.”

It felt like a relief to say it. To admit it to John that this was eating him alive. For a second John looked like he wanted to argue and keep telling him there was nothing to forgive like he had all those times ago. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Gale felt more and more desperate by the second. He was looking at Gale as if he could see right through him. As if he could flip through his brain and read his thoughts like a book. Gale had never loved him more for it.

“Please. I need you to-.”

John let out a shaky breath at the plea. Leaning forward to grip Gale’s shoulders tightly and pulling him close. Forcing him to listen.

“Okay Gale. Fuck I forgive you okay? Look at me.”

Gale did.

“Do you hear me? I forgive you. I forgive you”

Gale saw a lone tear travel down John’s cheek and fall into his hands. He closed his eyes against the sheer sense of relief at hearing those words. John forgave him. He felt the pressure and the grief and the feeling of impending doom weighing his shoulders down suddenly gone and lifted. He felt himself go limp as he fell forward with exhaustion. John didn’t waste time pulling him into his arms and wrapping around his body tightly.

“Thank you” Gale murmured into his skin. Over and over again. His body felt shaky and spent. He buried his face in John’s neck. It smelled like John. It smelled like home. John rubbed up and down his back and his arms. He kissed his jaw and his hair and forehead and neck and everywhere he could reach.

Gale wanted to continue. He wanted to tell John he’ll never get over that wall. That he’ll never feel not guilty about it. But he didn’t find it in himself to speak. John said he forgave him and Gale believed him. Always had and always would. He rested his cheek against John’s shoulder. Feeling himself calming slowly the longer John held him. He sighed out a deep exhale and let John hold up his weight. His body feeling drained but coming back to himself. John was still holding him tightly. Almost like Gale would fall apart if he let him go. Gale’s hazy brain registered that he had probably really scared John pulling a stunt like that. It had been a while since he had a nightmare that bad. He needed to say something. Let John know he was okay now.

“I’m okay”

He croaked. He sounded unconvincing even to himself. He felt John nod against his head and started rocking them both from side to side. The motion was surprisingly soothing. Gale closed his eyes.

“Gonna take you back to bed. Is that okay?”

John asked. Barely waiting for a response. Gale felt too shaky to even attempt to stand on his own. Not trusting his legs to carry him. He sighed out a quiet “okay” and he was lifted off of the floor swiftly, hands under his arms like he weighed nothing. John wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, walking him to bed. He felt weak, emotionally and physically drained but filled with a profound sense of relief.

“You should sleep, you’re exhausted ” John said softly, helping Gale settle back onto the bed. He pulled the covers up around him and sat down beside him. Gale felt shivers running through his body as he reached out a trembling hand to grasp John’s wrist. He could feel his fingers shaking against the warm skin.

“You okay? What do you need?”

John asked. Reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. Gale managed a small smile

“Just you”

John’s lips turned upwards into a fond smile Gale always loved. He immediately felt relieved to see it.

“You have me” John replied, wasting no time to get into the bed himself and pull Gale to his chest. One hand cradling his head and another wrapped around his back. He reached to wrap his arms around John’s waist. Fingers snaking up under his shirt to rub against his skin. John felt tense. Gale wanted the tension gone and the worried frown to disappear from his face forever. He leaned up to leave a soft kiss on his throat and felt John let out a quiet breath, face buried into his hair as he breathed in.

“God, you scared me. Took me a while to get you out of it this time ”

Gale wanted to apologise but was speaking again before he could say anything.

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he reached out to grab the blanket Gale had kicked off the bed and draped it over both of them. Gale sighed in content as the warmth of it embraced him.

“‘M good now”

Gale said. His face fit perfectly under the column of John’s throat. The sheets felt damp from Gale’s sweat and tears. He swallowed thickly. He wants to tell John he’s sorry again. I’m Sorry for being so broken. For needing your comfort constantly, even though what you went through was worse than me. I’m sorry you had to wake up to me screaming and throwing up so many times this week. I’m sorry you got shot down thinking I was dead. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were captured. I’m sorry-

”I'm sorry I worried you” he said instead.

He felt John huff in annoyance.

“Stop saying sorry”

Gale huffed a small laugh. Feeling lighter than he had all night. He felt John smile into his hair and then, as if he could read Gale’s mind, he said

“I love you, you know that right? Love you more than anything. You’re what kept me alive. Through everything. You were the only thing I wanted to make it back home for.”

Gale felt his eyes burning with tears again so he closed them and just held John tighter. He didn’t need to say anything. He knew John understood him.

“We’re alright. We’re safe. Everything’s okay, Buck. I’m here. Try to get some sleep now, darling”

Gale hummed. John had called him Buck. He sighed in relief, letting sleep take him as he dozed to the sound of John’s heart beating. Alive.

[mugloversonly]

What Happens Afterwards?

I read this post by @acowardinmordor and was obsessed with what happened next. Written with their blessing.

also on AO3

tw: overdose, drugs, near death experience, mentions of HIV

Summary:

Famous Eddie doesn't touch drugs...too bad Steve does After Steve ODs at a Corroded Coffin concert, he wakes up in the hospital.

Steve woke up groggy and confused. Is he in a hospital? Suddenly the night rushed back to him. He did a line, borrowed a needle. He’d meant to go back to the dressing room, but he hit the deck before he could. Shit!

He shot up and frantically looked around, hoping beyond all hope that he was alone. Luck was not on his side though, because Eddie was asleep in the hospital chair next to him. Steve took a long look at the love of his life. His eyes were red and puffy with deep bags. His hair was a tangled mess as if he’d been yanking on it. And his clothes were rumpled as if he hadn’t changed them in days.

Steve sighed. He really didn’t want to have this confrontation right now. Before that thought could even leave his brain, Eddie opened his eyes and met Steve’s. The pools of chocolate were filled with a myriad of emotions. He leaned forward and took Steve’s hand.

“Hey, Stevie. How’re you feeling?” He asked softly as he reached over and pressed the nurse call button. Steve was confused by the softness, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“How did I get here?” He asked instead, dropping his gaze.

“You were brought in as a John Doe after the concert baby.” He whispered, his voice thick. “They said you overdosed.” He didn’t sound angry, Steve would have preferred that. Instead he sounded guilty. Steve forced himself to look and felt bile rise up at the expression on Eddie’s face. “I’m sorry baby.” Eddie said. “I’m so sorry.” Tears ran down his already tear coated cheeks. Steve expected yelling, berating, and ultimatum. Anything but an apology.

“Sorry for what, Eds?” He asked. “You didn’t do anything.” That turned out to be the wrong thing to say as it turns Eddie’s cries into sobs. Something sour built a home in Steve’s chest.

“Exactly! I didn’t do anything!” He said emphatically, gesturing wildly. “You were missing! And i didn’t do anything! I let everyone else handle it while i panicked. I still played the show. I didn’t follow my gut and looked who the junkies were that night!” Tears streamed down his face, but the words rattled something in him.

“How long have I been here?” Steve asked hesitantly. Eddie took a stuttered breath.

“Five days. You’ve been here for five days. You were missing for over 24 hours.” He bit his lip trying to stifle more tears.

Steve was floored. Five days?! Wait…missing? “Oh, baby.” Steve said, mournfully running the hand not hooked up to anything along Eddie’s cheek. He melted into the contact and put his hand over Steve’s. “I’m sorry for putting this much stress on you.”

“For a minute there, I’d thought it came back.” Steve knew exactly what Eddie meant. The upside down. “But when I found out you ODed…I almost wish it had.” Eddie admitted. “This is all my fault.” He whispered unable to hold the tears back any longer.

Steve felt like he’d been on top of the world from what he could remember of the high, and he thought about chasing that rabbit. But the look in Eddie’s eyes, the deep well of pure devastation and guilt swirled together, made Steve pause. He couldn’t do this to Eddie again. “This isn’t on you.” Steve insisted. “I told you I quit. You had no reason to assume I’d be in that bathroom.” Eddie just shook his head.

“If I hadn’t forced you on the road, you never would’ve had access to this kind of hardcore shit in the first place. If I spent more time with you, if I never left you alone, you wouldn’t have felt the need to do this.” Eddie trembled. “I should have protected you better, I knew what that shit could do, I’m so sorry baby.” Steve knew then that there wasn’t anything he could say. Eddie would blame himself for this until the end of time.

That more than anything else, broke Steve down. “I’m sorry, love.” His voice trembled. “I shouldn’t have lied. I just didn’t want you to worry.” He flipped his hand up in offer. Eddie immediately filled it with his. He squeezed it as he continued. “You had so much to worry about, I didn’t want to be another. But I should have known that you’d worry anyway.” Steve looked away, ashamed.

“Baby…” he was cut off as a doctor came in.

“Well, Mr. Harrington. You’re lucky to be alive. The cocktail of drugs you took was extreme.” The doctor said.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked.

“The heroine appeared to be laced with meth. And the line he did was cocaine and ecstasy.” The doctor said calmly. Eddie gasped a shuddering breath and his hands shook in Steve’s grasp.

“I didn’t know the heroine was laced.” He said. “It wasn’t my needle.” The regret was finally showing up. At this the doctor’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Eddie yanked his hands away and covered his mouth.

“I’ll send in a nurse to grab some blood so we can run some tests.” He said. “In the meantime Mr. Munson, I recommend limited physical contact.” He directed that to Eddie with a look of sympathy. He nodded and the doctor took his leave. Tears sprang to Eddie’s eyes and ran down his face.

“You shared needles, Stevie?” He asked in shock, his voice quiet. His fear was clear on his face. “Have you been…doing other things for the drugs?” Steve had to come clean.

“I’d do pretty much anything for them.” He admitted.

Eddie stood up quickly and made to leave the room. “I’m going to go let Robin know you’re awake.” He dashed out before Steve could say anything else.

He fucked up. He always felt guilty after the high wore off, but this time it was horrible. He’s in the hospital, after disappearing for over a day. He should have been more careful. He knew sharing needles wasn’t the best plan, but at the time the high was worth it. But the look of betrayal, sadness, and the tiniest glimmer of disgust on Eddie’s face just now, was enough to make him never want to touch another pill. Sleep snuck up on him and he prayed that Eddie would be back when he woke up again.

His prayer went unanswered. The next time he woke up, it was Robin by his bedside. She was staring at the TV but she wasn’t really watching it. “Hey Robs” he said. She whipped her head around so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if it popped off.

“Steve! You’re awake!” She exclaimed. The smile on her face fell quickly. “You’re an idiot. If you weren’t in this hospital bed right now, I’d smack you.” He shrunk down in the face of her ire. “What were you thinking?!” She shrieked.

“I didn’t think it’d be that bad.” He admitted. The fire in her eyes could set the arctic ablaze.

“Not that bad? Not that bad?! You ODed at Eddie’s concert.” She began counting on her fingers. “You lied about being clean. You shared needles with some random junkies!” On the last point she threw her hands up. “How often have you done that? Don’t lie to me Steve.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Every once in a while when I get the itch for it. Maybe once every few months or so.” He admitted grimly. Robin’s eyes narrowed.

“So however many months you’ve been doing this, you’ve been sharing needles?” She clarified. At Steve’s nod she sprang up and paced the room. “Every time?”

“Not every time, but not rarely either.” He said as guilt started to creep into his stomach. She ran her hands into her hair and yanked on it softly.

“Have you been getting tested at least?” She asked.

“I’m not cheating on Eddie, Robin!” Steve yelled, hurt that she’d even imply that. She stopped pacing and turned to him.

“Okay, first. I didn’t say that. Second, your word has no credibility right now. I know you wouldn’t, dingus. That’s not why I was asking.” She grabbed his hand. Before she could continue, a nurse came in.

“Oh good! You’re awake. I’m going to be taking some blood okay?” She asked but really was demanding. She glared at Steve as he held out his arm for her.

“Is everything okay?” Robin asked. The nurse turned to her and gave a small smile before glaring again at Steve.

“With the patient, everything is looking like it’s returning to normal.” She snapped the tourniquet into place but when Steve flinched she didn’t look remorseful. She drew a few vials of blood, stuck a bandaid on, and pulled off the tourniquet all in silence. As she got cleaned up to leave, she finally spoke. “Look kid, it’s not my place. But that boy out there? I can take a guess as to what your relationship is with him.” She flashed a tiny pride flag pinned inside her scrubs. “He cares about you so much. He was beside himself when he came in and saw you, he had you moved to this room, he asked us if there was any kind of experimental treatment, anything to help you.” She turned that glare on him again. “He loves you to the ends of the earth and he will never leave you. You better clean up your act to be worthy of that devotion, because make no mistake. He would let you drain his veins and apologize for not bleeding out faster.” She stalked over to Robin and handed her a stack of papers. She jabbed a finger in his face, “don’t you dare break up with him in a misguided attempt to save him from you. You clean up your act. If not for yourself, then for him.“ With that she stomped out of the room and practically slammed the door behind her. For a moment neither of them said a word. Steve was filled with regret and Robin was a bit smug. She looked down at the stack of papers. Rehab clinics.

“Should we pick one?” Robin asked.

“I think I want to do it with Eddie.” Steve replied. “The nurse was right. And so were you. I’ve taken him for granted and my word means shit right now. I want to prove to him that I want to get clean.” Robin hesitated.

“Do you?” She asked. “You don’t seem particularly regretful about the actual drugs.” Her tone was soft even though her words were harsh.

“I do!” Steve exclaimed. “You didn’t see the look on Eddie’s face, Robbie. He was devastated and blamed himself for all of it. When I told him I’d do anything for the drugs he got up and left. I don’t think he’s coming back in.” He trailed off into a whisper. Robin took hold of his hand.

“Stevie, he’s right outside.” She said. At Steve’s confused look she continued. “He’s sitting on a bench right next to the door. He wanted to come back in, but I asked him to let me talk to you alone.”

“Why?” Steve asked. Robin’s eyes hardened.

“Because what I’m about to say, he wouldn’t like, but as your best friend I have to tell you hard truths. And Eddie's my best friend too so I have to protect him.” She took a deep breath. “You deserved his love once Steve. I truly believe that. But right now, his love for you is hurting him. And the only one who can fix it? Is you. He hasn’t slept or eaten practically at all since you disappeared.” Steve flinched at the word disappeared. “When he called me he was sobbing so hard I thought you died Steve.” Her eyes watered. “He kept repeating ‘it’s all my fault. I did this to him’ and Jeff had to take the phone to explain what was going on. When I got here, you were still touch and go. You died on the way here, Steve. They had to resuscitate you. The sound he made when the doctors told him that…” she shuddered. “I felt his heart shatter. The nurse is right. He will forgive you and he won’t ever stop loving you and he won’t ever leave you.” Her eyes got intense again. “So you need to promise me. Promise me! That you’ll take care of yourself. Because I don’t think I could survive watching him wither away if you leave him.” The emphasis she put on leave tore Steve apart. She didn’t mean break up with him. She meant leave him. “You don’t deserve his devotion. Not after you lied to him for months. But you have it. So now, you need to cherish it. Got it?” She asked. Steve could only nod as the dam finally broke. They held each other’s hands as they cried together.

~~~

“Can you get Eddie? Please.” He asked after his eyes dried up. Robin nodded and dashed out the door, waving Eddie inside.

Steve’s heart broke at the sight of him. He looked exhausted and his eyes were red rimmed as if he’d been crying for hours. Steve held a hand out to him and Eddie rushed to take it. Steve slid over in the hospital bed, yanking Eddie in after him. He curled around him and held him close being mindful of the wires in his hand as he draped it on Eddie’s chest. Eddie took a deep breath but Steve could feel the anxiety still thrumming under his skin. “I’m sorry, love.” Steve whispered. “I shouldn’t have lied.” He halted when he heard the sniffles. He sat up, peering at Eddie. His cheeks were wet again and Steve reached up to wipe them clean.

“Stevie, I have to ask…” he began. “And I hate to even think it. But…” he paused. “Did you…when you said you’d do anything for the drugs. Did you sleep with people for them?” He finally spit out. Steve wanted to be mad. He wanted to hiss and spit and rage at the accusation. But he knew that wasn’t fair to Eddie. He was within his rights to ask.

“No my love.” Steve promised. “Never.” Eddie nodded and sighed with relief. “I don’t know how much my word is worth right now.” He admitted. Eddie pressed a finger to his lips.

“I trust you.” He said. Those three words broke Steve. How could Eddie trust his word after everything? He asked him as much. Eddie just smiled softly. “I trust you because I want to. That’s all there is to it.”

“I’m sorry for everything.” Steve repeated desperately.

“I forgive you.” Eddie promised. “Now, let’s forget the past for a minute and focus on the future.” Eddie said. Steve looked over his shoulder to the door to the room and saw Robin and the Coffin boys. The boys were glaring at Steve but he knew it was because he hurt their friend.

Steve grabbed the rehab brochures and the two went over them until they found one that had a branch in DC. “I don’t want you to cancel the tour Eddie.” Steve was adamant. He ruined enough of the tour so far and he wouldn’t be the reason it ended. At least in DC he’d be close to Robin who would keep him in line. She promised Eddie daily updates (real updates) once Steve got out until the end of the tour. Eddie finally agreed after the boys convinced him he’d need the distraction so he wouldn’t be pacing around the house all day.

Steve leaned up to kiss him, but Eddie pulled away. The regret in his eyes was almost enough to soothe the hurt. “Not yet Stevie, okay?” He asked. Steve nodded but his head tilted in confusion. “Not until the blood tests come back.” He explained. Suddenly, Steve understood. He put himself at risk and Eddie too. The virus going around was deadly and Steve had been careless. Playing russian roulette with not only his life, but Eddie’s too and by extension the band’s.

The shame that filled him was so intense he reached over and retched into the nearby bed pan. Robin ran over with a trashcan and he kept heaving. Eddie rubbed his back as he emptied his body. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…” he cut off by dry heaving. He finally understood why Eddie ran from the room earlier and why the nurse glared at him. He’s a monster. He put the love of his life at risk of contracting a deadly disease just so he could get a fix. What the hell was wrong with him?

When he was finally done, he was exhausted. “Sleep baby.” Eddie whispered. Steve clutched tight to his hand.

“Will you stay with me?” He asked. As his eyes drifted shut.

“Forever.” Eddie whispered as Steve floated off into a dreamless sleep. His last thought was that he needed to prove he was worth forever.

~~~

The next time he woke up, Eddie was still there. Asleep curled up beside him. But in the chair next to him was someone he hoped not to see. Wayne. Their eyes met and he didn’t say anything, he just raised his right eyebrow and Steve folded. He apologized for letting Wayne down, for hurting Eddie, for lying about it. He begged Wayne’s forgiveness, but the man didn’t respond. His gaze flickered to his sleeping nephew and softened.

“You listen to me boy.” Wayne said. “My nephew is a gentle soul, quick to forgive and let things go. You should know that based on how he was after that spring break.” They both shivered at the memory. “So, he’s not going to want to hold you accountable. He’d rather just move on and take your word for it. But lucky for him, and not so lucky for you, I will be holding you accountable.” He leaned in. “I love you like one of my own Steve, I really do. But I love my brother too and he ain’t seen Eddie since they locked him up. Eddie forgave him within days, trusted him. I learned then, that if Eddie loved someone, he’d forgive pretty much everything just to keep them around. So I’ll tell you the same thing I told Al. Eddie is my boy, first. And I will protect him from anything that will hurt him, even if it’s himself. So I’ll be holding you accountable. You’re going to rehab?” Wayne asked. At Steve’s nod and explanation of where, he continued. “You’re going to give the rehab my information as someone who they can talk to. I’m going to call to check up whenever I see fit. Got it?”

“Yes sir” Steve replied. The nurse from before knocked and opened the door quietly. She paused as she saw Eddie curled up in the bed next to Steve. She gently shook him awake.

“Mr. Munson? We have both of your blood tests back.” At this Eddie was wide awake.

“You got some blood tests done Ed?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah, just um…just in case you know?” He trailed off not making eye contact with his uncle.

“Good news or bad news first?” She asked.

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie and Steve replied in tandem. They shared a private smile.

“Bad news, Steve you have moderate kidney damage. It won’t take much more to send them into failure.” She said with hard eyes.

“And the good news?” Wayne spoke up.

“Good news, you both are negative for any STDs. Including HIV.” The three men breathed a huge sigh of relief. The nurse turned to Steve. “You got lucky kid. Don’t forget that.” Steve assured her he wouldn’t and she left with a nod. He couldn’t believe he’d been so reckless. He turned to Eddie and was immediately pulled into a soft kiss.

~~~

“They said you’ll be discharged soon.” Robin said later. “Then what?” It was just the two of them.

“Then, Eddie drops me off at rehab and I get help. I stay clean. I do everything to be worthy of him.” He declared. Robin nodded her approval. Eddie came back from the hotel with all of their things packed away in a rental car. He slid into bed next to Steve.

“Hey, baby. You ready?” He asked. Steve nodded and they all left the hospital. The three of them piled into the car and drove Robin to the airport. She was going to fly back to give the boys some time alone. She hugged Steve and then Eddie. She whispered something in the his ear that had him tearing up. She went into the airport with a promise to call Wayne if she ran into any trouble.

Then it was just the two of them. They spent the first hour or so making idle small talk before the curiosity got the best of him. “What did Robin say to you?” He asked.

“Nothing important.” Eddie answered far too quickly.

“Oh, come on. You can tell me.” He knew he was being annoying but he didn’t want to think about what was awaiting him at the end of the ride. Eddie sighed, he never could keep something from Steve.

“She said if I could forgive you, I should forgive myself.” He admitted.

“You still blame yourself, love?” Steve asked. Eddie bit his lip as he nodded.

“If I hadn’t dragged you on tour, you never would have found that stuff.” Steve couldn’t let this stand. He knew he had to finally come clean.

“I was already doing it.” At Eddie’s questioning noise he continued. “As soon as we got to LA, I was looking for it. I did it at those events because it was free from someone else's supply.” He took a breath and glanced at Eddie before he admitted the next bit. “I didn’t get into this shit because I was on tour with you. I wanted to go on tour because I didn’t want to be away from you. That it would be way easier to get my hands on shit, just sweetened the deal.”

Eddie was quiet for a while after that. Steve glanced over and saw his cheeks were wet. He’d made him cry again. “So, you didn’t start them because of me?” He whispered.

“No love. And to be clear, even if I started on tour, it still wouldn’t have been your fault. You didn’t hold me down and force a line up my nose okay?” He reached out and wiped away a tear. “This was my choice. Just like going to rehab is my choice. If I didn’t really want to go, I wouldn’t.” His conviction was clear. Eddie pulled to the side of the road to kiss Steve softly before they drove the rest of the way in comfortable conversation.

They arrived at the rehab center and Eddie walked him inside. He checked in, Eddie handed over his credit card, Steve handed it right back and handed his over. The attendant smiled and swiped Steve’s card giving the boys a moment alone. They held each other close and kissed not caring at the moment who saw them. “I love you, baby. Don't forget okay?” Eddie whispered leaning his forehead to Steve’s.

“I know, love. I love you too. More than life.” He replied. He gave a final kiss to Eddie’s lips and followed the attendant into the center. He was determined to come out a new man.

~~~

Six grueling weeks later, Steve was out. He had a sponsor and group therapy sessions. Waiting to pick him up was Robin. Eddie was on the last few weeks of the tour. They had to extend it a bit to cover for Steve’s hospital stay. Robin gave him a long hug. “Ready to bust out?” She asked and they both got into the car. He lasted barely five minutes.

“How is he?” Steve and Eddie didn’t speak at all during his rehab. The center thought Eddie being on the road would be triggering to Steve. And to be frank, Wayne thought Eddie needed to distance himself from the process for a bit. Wayne and Robin had kept them both informed on the other.

“He’s okay. I mean…he misses you terribly, but he’s been coping on tour.” Robin said. Thankfully the drive wasn’t very long. Steve wanted to be in a familiar place, even if life outside of rehab was scary. They pulled up to Robin’s building and Steve stepped in after her.

There was a loud pop and confetti raining down on him. “Welcome home Steve!” Came several voices he was not expecting. The entire party was here. Wayne, Hopper, and Joyce too. But what brought him to tears was the sight to his left. Eddie was there, holding his arms open. Steve ran into them, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“I thought your tour didn’t end for a few more weeks?” He asked in between kisses.

“I lied about the end date to surprise you.” He admitted holding Steve close. “Are you surprised?”

“Very! A good surprised!” The two pulled apart so everyone else could greet Steve. Eddie didn’t go far, not letting go of Steve’s hand the entire time. He’d felt better in rehab once the withdrawals subsided. More clear headed, more aware. But he didn’t feel completely healed. Feeling the warmth of Eddie’s hand in his, Steve felt hopeful for the future. As he made eye contact with the man again, Steve silently promised to stay clean. Not for just Eddie. But for himself too.

~~~

He skipped the next tour as recommended by his therapist. The two men decided it would be better if he wasn't alone, so Wayne stayed with him. He'd been retired from the plant and wanted to move out to LA with Eddie anyway.

He and Eddie had a hard time, but they make due with calls and letters. On one memorable occasion Steve sent a racy Polaroid. That night, Eddie called already worked up and they had a wonderful time. The reunion was so sweet. They were locked in their bedroom for days, coming out only for food and water. The rest of their friends knew better than to come visit until the love birds made the first move.

The band wrote a new album and started a nonprofit for drug addicts. It helped those who couldn't afford to get clean and see therapists, providing them with clean needles and clean drugs to help ween off them. Steve didn't shy away from his overdose, or the affect it had on those around him and he encouraged the others not to either. Eddie did several interviews on how helpless he felt when his "best friend" was taken to the hospital as a John Doe. This spurred the nonprofit to add resources for loved ones of addicts too.

Steve had been sober for three years when he went on tour with the band again. For real this time. He got clean and he stayed clean. When he was offered something at a party, he couldn't say he wasn't tempted. But he'd look over to see his love laughing and knew he'd do anything to keep that sound in the world. He never wanted to jeopardize Eddie's happiness again and he finally accepted he was his happiness.

And the next time the band played The Garden, Steve was on the sidelines cheering for Eddie and the band. He made sure Eddie could always see him and know he was safe. That look of guilt and devastation he saw in the hospital never returned to Eddie's face and Steve was determined to keep it that way.

[wrightingdungeon]

E and X and L for Sam stardew, thanks!!

Oh Sam... He's so cute, needed some sweetness today, so thank you.

E - Emotions: Sam has no issues showing you his emotions; he's just an emotional guy, and he's perfectly okay with that. He wears his heart on his sleeve without any hesitation. If you cut your hand, he's probably crying with you. If you slam your finger in the door, he'll pretend to beat up the door. His emotions are his way of showing how much he cares. His reactions, though sometimes exaggerated, come from a place of genuine concern and a deep desire to see you happy. —

Sitting on the couch, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand, watching the movie. You had seen it before, but surprisingly, Sam hadn't. You felt a pang of guilt making him watch this beautiful movie about a man and his dog, knowing how it ended. The film had tugged at your heartstrings the first time, and you knew it would be no different for Sam.

You glanced over at Sam, who was happily petting your dog, oblivious to the emotional rollercoaster that awaited him. The serene expression on his face made you hesitate, biting your lip as you wondered if you should have warned him about Marley and Me.

As the movie drew to a close, Sam was now curled up in your arms, holding your dog close, tears streaming down his face. His sobs grew louder, and he clung to your dog as if trying to shield him from the inevitable fate that befell Marley.

“Farmer!” he cried into your dog, his voice breaking with emotion. You gently stroked his back, feeling his body shake with each sob. “I know, I know, I'm sorry, baby…” you cooed, trying to hold back a smile while soothing him. “You have your baby right here.” You gently stroked your puzzled-looking dog's head, chuckling softly.

Sam's grip tightened around the dog's fur, his tears soaking into the soft coat. “It’s John Wick all over again!” he sobbed, burying his face in the dog's neck.

L - Love: Baby boi is a sweet bean. He’s bringing you flowers with his eyes almost shut and nose dripping because he is in fact still allergic, but he does it anyway because he loves seeing your eyes light up. He loves loving you so much, and it shows with every gesture and in every sincere smile he sends your way. Whether it's surprising you with your favorite snacks, or simply being there to listen when you need to talk, Baby boi's heart is always in the right place, overflowing with love and affection for you. —

Hearing footsteps running towards you while you were in the field, you looked up seeing Sam sprinting to you, holding a Tupperware container. You lowered your scythe and wiped your brow of sweat. "What's up, Sammy?" you asked as he approached, his excitement palpable. 

"Mom helped me bake some cookies!" he panted excitedly, thrusting the container into your hands. "Ohh, so they aren't burnt this time?" you teased, chuckling at his embarrassed face. Opening the container, you blinked a few times before bursting into laughter. "Got a little hungry, baby?" you asked, trying to stop the fit of laughter.

"What! No!" Sam's mouth dropped open in shock as he looked into the Tupperware. Each cookie had a single bite taken out of it, leaving them in a comical state. "VINCENT!" Sam yelled, his voice a mix of frustration and a whine, realizing his younger brother had struck again. His exasperation was evident as he held his head low.

You couldn't help but laugh at the situation, tears starting to build as the image of Vincent sneaking bites out of every cookie was too funny to ignore. "Well, at least he has good taste," you said, giving Sam a sympathetic peck on the cheek.

"But they were for you…" Sam looked up at you, pouting. "Mom said you could taste love... I wanted you to taste how much I love you."

You smiled warmly, feeling a rush of affection for the earnestness in his voice. "How about we eat around the cookie monster bites?" you offered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Vincent might have taken a few nibbles, but that doesn't change how much love you put into these cookies."

Sam nodded, a small smile breaking through his initial disappointment. "Yeah... Thanks, Farmer."

X - XOXO: Can you walk with someone clinging to you? No? Well, you better learn fast. One of his primary love languages is physical touch. He's constantly holding your hand, intertwining your fingers with his own. Whether you're playing rounds of pool together or sharing a quiet moment in bed, he's always stealing kisses in between. He does respect your need for space, but when his energy is running low, he's searching for his charging port, seeking comfort from you. —

Walking into the Saloon, you smiled softly, the dimly lit bar already beginning to fill with its regulars. The air was thick with laughter and animated conversations, blending seamlessly with the occasional clinks and bangs emanating from the gaming room. Glancing towards the room, your eyes caught Sam, deeply engrossed in a game of Prairie King.

"Come on… Come on… Fuck!" Sam groaned, frustration evident as he leaned his head against the staticky tube screen. He had a determined look on his face. "Just one win…" His whisper sounded almost like a plea to the gaming gods.

Stepping quietly behind Sam, you observed his concentration, the glow of the arcade machine reflecting in his eyes. Gently, you wrapped your arms around his waist, leaning in to see the screen over his shoulder. "Come on, Sammy, you've got this," you encouraged softly, planting a tender kiss on the base of his neck.

“Farmer.” Sam jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, turning his head to meet your gaze. “Yeah, I got this,” he reassured himself, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he relaxed into your embrace.

After a few tense moments, you felt Sam's hands jerk up in the air, a triumphant shout escaping his lips. “YES!” he cried, spinning around in your hold and pulling you into a deep kiss and embrace. “I did it!” His joyous exclamation filled the room. “I did it, I did it!” Sam's chant was playful and light as he danced slightly in place, still holding you tightly in his arms.

Both of you laughed together, reveling in Sam's victory and the infectious joy. “Did what?” Abigail's voice cut through the happy cheering, her playful tone carrying a hint of curiosity as she approached, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Sam looked at Abigail giving her puppy eyes. “Let me stay at the top just for tonight?” he pleaded, pressing his palms together in a mock plea.

[fanfictionalraven]

Reno - Before

Title: Reno - Before

Summary: What actually happened in Reno…

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Reader’s father, Bobby Singer, John Winchester, Sam Winchester,

Word Count: 3,648

Warnings: Mild smut

Author’s Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published in 2017. Italics are flashback.

Read Reno here.

“Dad, come on!! I turn 18 in a week!!” You plead, following your father through the den of Bobby’s house. “I can handle myself!!” He sighs as he tosses his gun into his open bag. He turns to face you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders.

“I know you can, Y/N. But I promised your mom I wouldn’t take you out until you were 18. I didn’t get to keep a lot of the promises I made her, let me keep this one,” he says.

“Way to lay on the guilt trip, Dad,” you say, rolling your eyes. He smiles widely and kisses your forehead before turning back to his bag. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch him. “Just be careful. You don’t even know this guy.” He lets out a laugh and glances back at you.

“No, but Bobby does and if Bobby trusts him then who am I to argue?” He asks. You frown and nod again, knowing he was right. Bobby had recommended this other hunter when your dad had called him about the case suggesting the two work together. The other hunter had two sons. One was apparently a couple of years older than you and would be going on the hunt as well while the other, a couple years younger than you, would be staying with you and Bobby. The old grump of a man you considered your uncle steps into the room then and smiles over at you.

“Why don’t you go out back and work on your birthday present? Give your old man a little peace,” he suggests. You stick your tongue out at him before turning for the back door. You hear Bobby and your dad laugh and you can’t help but smile as you make your way out to Bobby’s old salvage yard.

Pulling your hair up into a bun, you stride across the yard to the old Mustang waiting on you. You’d been in love with the old car for years and Bobby had made a deal with you. If you were able to get it running, it was all yours. You were close, you knew it. You’d pulled piece after piece from the other cars laying around and Frankensteined the engine back together. The only thing you were missing was a spark plug. One damn little spark plug was all you needed and your dream car would be complete. However, that seemed to be too much to ask.

“Need some help, darlin’?” An unfamiliar voice asks from behind you. You look back to find a young man making his way over to you. You frown at the smirk on his face and roll your eyes, looking back at the engine.

“No thanks,” you tell him. He stops next to you and you cut your eyes over at him. “Look, darlin’. I’ve built this engine myself. Just because I’m a woman –”

“Hey, whoa,” he says, raising his hands slightly. “I never said you couldn’t do it yourself. Just asked if you needed some help.” You watch him for a moment, trying to determine if he’s serious. The smile he’s giving you seems genuine, even if there is a trace of something in his eyes you can’t quite place.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “You one of Winchester’s boys?”

“Dean,” he introduces himself, holding his hand out. You place your hand in his and shake it briefly. “Guess that makes you Y/L/N’s daughter.”

“Y/N, yea. You’re the oldest, right?” You ask. He smiles and nods. “My father better come back alive.”

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart. We know what we’re doing,” he tells you, laughing lightly. You nod slightly, watching him, before you look back at the engine again. “You’re not coming?”

“Dad promised Mom I wouldn’t hunt until I was 18, which is a week from today but he’s not letting up,” you say, leaning in and tightening a bolt. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spark plug for a ’65 Mustang on hand, would you?” You ask, looking up at Dean. He laughs and you smile when he does, noting the way his face lights up.

“You know, I had one in my pocket just this morning and took it out,” he says. You laugh and shake your head, standing back up straight. “You telling me there ain’t one out here?”

“I have turned this yard upside down and I swear there is not a single spark plug left,” you tell him. He nods as he looks around. His eyes land back on you and you see that flash of something in his eyes again.

“Why don’t you buy one?” He asks. You sigh and pick up a rag, wiping your hands off.

“Bobby doesn’t want me to spend any money on it. Period. It’s my birthday present, I just have to get it running without spending a dime,” you tell him. Dean lets out a laugh and shakes his head.

“Sounds like Bobby,” he says. You smile a little and nod.

“Dean!! Come on, we’re getting ready to go,” a man calls from the back door of the house. You both look over and Dean nods, waving his hand slightly in acknowledgement. The two of you make your way back to the house and Dean holds the back door open for you.

“Y/N, this is my dad John and my little brother Sam,” he says, pointing to the other two men in the room. John barely acknowledges you but Sam gives you a smile which you return politely. Your dad holds his arms open and you rush into them quickly. He presses a quick kiss to your temple.

“Be careful,” you tell him, quietly. He nods, letting you go. He smiles at you as he throws his bag over his shoulder, following John towards the door. Dean comes over next to you and pats your shoulder.

“He’ll be fine. I promise,” he reassures you. You smile slightly and nod. He gives you a quick wink before running out the door with his father and yours.

Three days later, the three men return to Bobby’s a little beaten and a little sore but victorious. You’re surprised when you’re just as relieved to see Dean as you are your father. You’re in the middle of cleaning up a particularly nasty cut on Dean’s left calf when he pulls a small box from his pocket and holds it out for you. Without saying a word, you take the box and open it. You look up at Dean quickly and he winks. Breaking into a wide smile, you turn the contents of the box over into your hand. A spark plug.

“Dammit, Y/N!!” Dean groans through gritted teeth. You roll your eyes, swerving to miss another pothole.

“Stop being a baby, Dean. You’re acting like you’ve never been shot before,” you say, smirking over at him. He shoots you a glare.

“This ain’t Speed, Sweetheart. You don’t have to drive like a freakin’ maniac,” he says, looking at the wound on his shoulder. You glance at it too and hide your frown.

Of course you were worried. Dean was your best friend and the only thought scarier than losing him was the thought of losing your dad. The two of you had been working a case in Reno, a poltergeist terrorizing an abandoned hospital. It had left one teenager dead and another seriously injured. Turned out, the old hospital was also the hang out for a local gang who didn’t take too kindly to a couple of strangers on their turf. Dean’s shoulder had gotten clipped when he pushed you out of the way as you both ran from the building.

“Hey,” Dean says, seeing the concern on your face. “I’m good. I’ve had worse, you know that.” That same old something flashes in his eyes.

“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about the upholstery you’re bleeding all over,” you lie as you pull into the parking lot of your motel. He lets out a laugh and shakes his head as you bring the car to a stop outside your room. You kill the engine and rush from your side of the car to his, reaching to help him as he gets out.

“I’m fine, Y/N. Just open the door,” he tells you. Rushing ahead of him, you unlock and push open the door, allowing him to walk in first. He sits on the edge of one of the beds as you start to dig through your bag. You find your hunter’s first aid kit, a needle, thread, and bandages, then grab the bottle of whiskey from the fridge.

“Do I need to cut that shirt off or can you strip?” You ask, walking over to him. He smirks up at you.

“Never knew you were into that, Y/N,” he says. You shoot a mock glare at him but can’t keep it up, breaking into a smile. He chuckles then starts to pull his good arm out of the shirt. It’s sticky with sweat and blood so you reach to help, pulling it over his head before carefully sliding it off his injured arm. He only winces once and you consider that a major success.

You carefully examine the damage as he takes a long drink from the bottle you’d brought. The bullet had entered his right shoulder and, thankfully, had gone straight through the soft tissue. There didn’t appear to be any bone or nerve damage. It was through-and-through so you wouldn’t be stuck digging a bullet out. A few stitches and Dean should be good as new.

You take the bottle from Dean and “sterilize” the wound earning a pained hiss from your patient. He takes another long drink from the bottle when you return it to him. Squinting, you carefully thread the needle. Dean takes a deep breath then nods, setting his jaw, and you steadily run the needle through his skin, closing up the wound. After the first few stitches, you catch Dean watching you, that something in his eyes once again.

“What?” You ask, watching your hand make another stitch.

“You’re cute when you’re focused,” he says. Your hand hesitates for a moment before continuing with its task. “The way you bite your lip like that-,” you release your bottom lip quickly, not even having realized you were biting it to begin with. “Kinda makes me wanna try.” Your hand slips and you look at him quickly. The look in his eyes sends a shock wave coursing through your body.

Over the past several years, Dean Winchester had looked at you in many ways. He’d looked at you in pride when you’d completed your first successful vampire kill. He’d looked at you in joy when you understood one of his dumb movie references. He’d looked at you in anger when you’d run off to crack a case on your own and nearly gotten killed. He’d looked at you in pain when Sam and John had their last big fight before Sam left for Stanford. He’d looked at you in sorrow when some idiot had broken your heart. He’d looked at you with that same, indescribable something he’d been looking at you with since the day you’d met. But never could you remember a time when Dean Winchester looked at you in pure, unadulterated lust.

Shaking your head, you manage to break eye contact with him and look back at his wound. You notice his eyes leave you as he attempts to pull himself together.

“Stop distracting me, idiot,” you say, trying to laugh off the sudden palpable tension in the air. Dean clears his throat as he looks around the room.

“Sorry I bled all over Roxy,” he says. You let out a laugh and shrug, moving to sit behind him on the bed.

“Payback for that time I bled all over Baby,” you tell him. Your hands quickly start to stitch up the exit wound on the back of his shoulder. Dean glances back at you, trying not to laugh.

“Yea, Dad was pretty pissed about that,” he says. You roll your eyes.

“Your dad is generally pretty pissed about anything that I do,” you say, looking up at him now. His green eyes are watching you and there it is again. Not the lust but the…something.

“He doesn’t like you,” he says plainly. You nod slightly. That was no surprise. You knew John Winchester didn’t like you. You didn’t know why but frankly you didn’t care. “Wanna know why?”

“Why?” You ask. Okay, maybe you cared a little bit. After all, he was your best friend’s father and you’d never done anything to offend him. Not that you could remember anyways. You set the needle and thread aside before picking up the bandaging.

“Says you’re a distraction,” he starts as you carefully wrap his shoulder. “Says I care about you too much and I’m gonna end up getting myself killed for you.”

“You keep trying to take a bullet for me and he’s gonna be right,” you tell him. You finish wrapping the wound and pat his shoulder gently before pushing yourself up from the bed. You feel his eyes on you as you walk across the room, stashing the supplies back in your bag. “You should go get cleaned up.” You hear him stand and make his way across the room. The bathroom door clicks closed and you let out a breath. “Pull yourself together,” you mumble.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Dean without his shirt on and to be honest he’d seen you nearly naked before as well. However, it was the first time he’d looked at you like he wanted to rip your clothes off piece by piece. The look in his eyes had left you shaken. Of course you found him attractive, you weren’t blind. But you’d never cross that line for many reasons. Firstly, he was your best friend. You couldn’t stand the thought of jeopardizing the relationship you had with him. But most importantly, you were hunters and hunters couldn’t have relationships, period. Your parents had both been hunters and your mother died trying to protect your father. Dean was already taking bullets for you, you shudder to think what would happen if you were a couple.

“You gonna ask me what I told him?” Dean asks suddenly. You jump, startled, and spin to face him.

“You keep sneaking up on me like that and you’re gonna get shot again,” you tell him. He’s standing just outside the bathroom door, still without a shirt. The blood that had obscured his chest was now gone leaving you with a perfect view of him.

“Well?” He asks. You look at him, confused. “Are you going to ask me what I told Dad or not?” You roll your eyes and sit down on the edge of the bed before starting to take your boots and socks off.

“I imagine you told him that he was right and you should never see me again. That I am a terrible hunter and distraction whose ass you are constantly having to save,” you say, smirking at him slightly. He breaths a laugh then walks over and squats down in front of you. He takes your hands in his and you watch him, curiously. “Dean?” He looks up and…something.

“I told him I was gonna marry you,” he says like it was the most natural thing in the world. You feel your eyes widen and your heart jump into your throat before it quits beating altogether. “I told him that meeting you was the best thing that had ever happened to me. That I don’t care about anybody the way I care about you.” You’re still staring at him, waiting for the punch line. This was obviously a joke; a really cruel joke that you were going to kick his ass for later, but a joke nonetheless. He’s waiting too, waiting for you to say something. You shake your head slightly, trying to gather your thoughts.

“Wh – what are you saying?” You ask him. He looks down at your hands, still held firmly in his.

“I’m saying…we’re in Reno, Nevada. There’s a chapel right across the street. You’re my best friend. Let’s get married,” he says, looking up into your eyes again. And then you do the only thing you can think to do. You kiss him.

You’d imagined this very moment so many times and yet your wildest fantasies could never have prepared you. His lips are soft against yours, just slightly chapped. Dean lets your hands go and slides one of his into your hair as his mouth starts to move against yours. Your hands find his neck, your nails gently scraping at the edge of his hair. You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you. His lips leave yours eliciting a whimper from you at the loss. He chuckles and moves to your neck, kissing, nipping, and gently sucking.

The two of you work in unison, inching slowly up the bed together until your head finds the pillows. Dean’s fingers slip under the edge of the Zeppelin shirt you’d stolen from him. They barely graze your skin before he starts to push it off of you, forcing you to raise up off the mattress slightly. Once your shirt is removed, one of his hands comes to the small of your back, supporting you, while the other works quickly to unhook your bra. He tosses it and lets you fall back onto the pillows.

His eyes meet yours and he holds your gaze as he slowly descends on one of your breasts. You gasp, arching up into him as his mouth works over your nipple. His hand gently kneads your other breast and you’re nearly breathless. He switches after a moment, his eyes never leaving your face. You groan when he nips at the skin and push back on his shoulders, gently.

“You have to stop that,” you tell him. He laughs lightly then comes back up to your lips, kissing you fervently. Your hands slide down his torso and you make quick work of his belt and the button on his jeans. You hear his boots hit the floor just seconds before you manage to get his zipper undone. A few shimmies of his hips and his pants are off. Your hand slips into the front of his boxers and he grunts, his hips bucking instinctively.

“No, no, no. Ladies first, Sweetheart,” he says, sitting up out of your reach. You smile and watch as he slowly, tortuously unbuttons your jeans. You raise your hips and he pulls them down with your underwear in one motion. You feel a heatwave roll through your body as his eyes rake over your naked frame slowly. His eyes meet yours as he climbs back over you and there it is again. Something.

4:13 AM

Time was passing slowly. You knew because you’d watched every minute tick by for the last two hours. Dean had been softly snoring next to you for nearly that entire time, his arm draped across your waist. You were still trying to figure out what had happened. One minute you had been cleaning Dean’s wound the next he was proposing to you. Nothing made any sense.

4:14 AM

You hadn’t exactly given him an answer but you were sure he was probably going to take you kissing him like that as a yes. And, God, did you want to tell him yes. Of course you wanted to marry Dean. He was your best friend and had been for years now. You knew exactly how you felt about him and now you could guess how he felt about you.

4:15 AM

John’s words echoed in your mind. Dean was going to get himself killed for you. You knew it was true. It had been true before any of tonight’s events had taken place. Hell, he’d taken that bullet for you earlier and it wasn’t even the first time. The thought of losing Dean by choice hurt; but, the thought of losing him by death hurt a hell of a lot worse.

4:16 AM

You feel Dean stir behind you and you freeze. He moves closer to you, pressing his still naked body against yours. His snoring resumes and you sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy. It was probably going to be the hardest thing you’d ever have to do. But you needed to be sure that Dean stayed alive and if that meant you couldn’t be in the picture any longer, then so be it.

4:17 AM

You raise his arm up carefully and slip out from under it, replacing your body with a pillow. Quickly and quietly, you make your way around the room, gathering up your clothes. You watch Dean as you get dressed without making a sound. Your boots you leave off so you can slip out the door noiselessly. You steal one last look at the man sleeping in the motel room bed and…

4:18 AM

You walk out of the room, leaving him in your past.

As you get into the car, you catch sight of the wedding chapel across the street that he’d mentioned. For a moment, you can see it. You can see yourself walking down the aisle. You can see Dean smiling at you, willing himself not to cry. You can see the two of you reciting vows and exchanging rings. You can see him carrying you out of the chapel and back across the street for a quick honeymoon. You can see a house and a picket fence. You can see Dean gently caressing your pregnant belly with that same something in his eyes. And in that moment, for the first time in six years, it occurs to you.

Was that something…love?

Read Reno - After here.

[chaotic-orphan]

A Month of Whump: Winter Whumperland Day 8 - John McClane

Russian roulette // forced to watch // held hostage

LISTEN DIE HARD IS MY FAVOURITE MOVIE AND THERE IS JUST SOMETHING ABOUT HOW HE IS ALWAYS COVERED IN BLOOD THAT GAVE SEVEN-YEAR-OLD-ME WHUMPERFLIES OKAY!!!

Also I know it’s late, but time is relative, okay?

*~*~*~*~*

“I knew you’d come,” Whumper said with a smile, but Whumpee wasn't paying attention to Whumper. Instead their gaze was locked onto Caretaker who was being held by two of Whumper's henchmen behind where Whumper sat. Whumpee swallowed as they watched realisation dawn on Caretaker’s face. Black blood dried from his left nostril, caked and flaking down his lips. He had dark red bags under his eyes, that contrasted with his too pale face. A giant black bruise took up the bulk of his left cheek, his bottom lip split open.

He barely even looked like Caretaker anymore. Just a shell of who Caretaker was. It had only been two days… the guilt flooded Whumpee the moment Caretaker met their eyes.

“Whumpee no! No!” Caretaker yelled, wild green eyes angry and glaring helpless at Whumpee as he struggled against two of Whumper’s henchmen holding him. “I told you to run!”

“I couldn’t leave you here,” Whumpee said, voice quiet and cold, switching their gaze to glare at Whumper. “Not with them.”

“I do love a good reunion,” Whumper said, standing to greet Whumpee. Whumpee was stiff as Whumper walked towards them. Caretaker was anything but, struggling furiously in the corner his hands tied behind his back, the henchmen struggling to keep Caretaker down.

“Don’t touch them!” Caretaker growled, then suddenly threw his weight to the left and knocked one of the Henchmen into the wall. Caretaker was about to do the same when he saw Whumper grab Whumpee by the throat and slam them back against the wall.

Caretaker froze in place, half hunched ready to pounce on the other henchman but all he could do was look at Whumper’s hand around Whumpee’s throat.

Whumper glanced back at Caretaker knowingly, while Whumpee glared at Whumper and grabbed their wrist with both hands.

“Caretaker, do I have to explain to you again? Who holds the power here, do you need a demonstration old friend?”

“Whumper—”

Whumper sucked in a breath and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wrong answer, Caretaker.”

“Wait, Whumper!”

Whumper blocked Caretaker’s view of Whumpee with his body, smiling down at Whumpee like this was a professional hazard.

Whumpee threw their body forward and got two inches of leverage before Whumper hummed and slammed them back, their head smacking off the wall.

“Whumper! Stop!”

Whumper’s right hook connected with Whumpee’s cheek and they cried out. Whumpee could still hear Caretaker’s struggles behind Whumper, even over the sound of their own as they tried to push Whumper off of them.

Another punch went to the bridge of Whumpee’s nose, then their jaw, then their lips and then again against their cheek. Whumper released Whumpee’s throat with the final punch and let Whumpee slid down the wall sideways, cradling a hand to their cheek.

He didn’t let Whumpee slide all the way down, grabbing them in the middle of their hoodie and half holding them up.

“Now, Caretaker, is that enough blood for you to learn your mistake or do we need more?”

“You’re a fucking bastard, Whumper!” Caretaker yelled, grunting with the effort trying to get free of the hands on him.

Whumper looked down at Whumpee apologetically. Then he grabbed Whumpee’s head and slammed it against his knee. Whumpee fell to the ground crying out and then gasped when Whumper slammed a foot on their ribs.

“Hurt me! Hurt me, not them!” Caretaker raged, helpless tears gathering behind his eyes. Whumper pressed his heel down harder on Whumpee’s ribs who blubbered, before turning their head as they gurgled a spit bubble of blood before spitting out a glob onto the floor. “Whumper please!”

“Ahh!” Whumper exclaimed happily, immediately taking his foot off of Whumpee’s chest and turning to face Caretaker. “There we go, and they say you can’t teach an old dog new manners.”

“Tricks—” Whumpee corrected, slowly getting to all fours.

Whumper turned and kicked Whumpee to the ground again without looking at them, instead drinking in Caretaker’s struggles.

“Mmm, I have some tricks, Caretaker. You’d know all about that wouldn’t you? I learned some of them from you after all,” Whumper said, something simmering behind the words, looking directly into Caretaker’s fury filled eyes. “Y’know, Whumpee, there was a time when Caretaker protected me this fiercely. A time before you came along.”

“It’s not Whumpee’s fault you turned into a psycho, Whumper.”

Whumper’s nostrils flared as he smiled. “Why, Caretaker, do you want to take the credit for it?”

Caretaker didn’t say anything, just stared at the face of his best friend and saw a stranger looking back at him. Whumper hmphed softly at Caretaker’s silence then turned back to Whumpee who was on all fours again.

Whumper leaned down and grabbed the back of Whumpee’s hoodie, dragging them to their feet with ease even as Whumpee struggled.

“That’s it, it’s alright, come on now, we’re going to play a game. That’s it, settle down now,” Whumper said shoving Whumpee down into a chair. Whumpee fixed their hoodie with a huff, wiping the blood from their nose on the back of their hand. They never took their eyes off Whumper as he walked around the small square table, only big enough to fit two people sitting at it. Whumper took the chair opposite Whumpee where he was sitting when Whumpee first arrived.

Whumper grinned at Whumpee when he finally sat down.

“God, you look so much like an old friend of ours,” Whumper said, looking over his shoulder at Caretaker. “Do you remember Friend? They always had that wildness to them, I only noticed now with the smeared blood and the murderous glint in your eyes. Caretaker was the one to put them down,” Whumper said turning his attention back to Whumpee and winking.

“I don’t care,” said Whumpee, voice cracking after being strangled. “Me for Caretaker, that’s the deal.”

“Whumpee—”

Whumper clicked his fingers in the air and wagged his finger at Caretaker’s protest. “Caretaker I swear to god I will gag you if you interrupt us again. Do you understand? The last word I want from you is yes or no.”

Caretaker let out a begrudging yes, and Whumper smiled again. “Good. Danny, can you get something to gag him with, I feel like we’ll need it before we are finished here.”

Whumper turned his attention to Whumpee again, a dazzling smile on his face as he interlocked his fingers on the table.

“Now, Whumpee. Your deal is a good one, however, I don’t like it because it’s only half good. Either I lose Caretaker or I keep Caretaker but that means I don’t one of you.”

“You can keep one of us though,” Whumpee argued.

Whumper smiled. “Yes. I know,” he replied calmly, then leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I have a better deal.”

Whumpee’s eyes flashed to Caretaker behind Whumper who shook his head before settling on Whumper again.

“Okay. What’s your deal?”

“My deal is far more favourable for both sides, Whumpee. I propose a game… a game of chicken you could say. If you win, I’ll let you and Caretaker go no strings attached.”

Whumpee’s heart pounded against their chest, hope fluttering it faster, harder, louder. They glanced at Caretaker again, whose suspicious eyes were focused on Whumper.

Whumpee swallowed. “And if you win?”

“If I win I get both of you.”

“No,” Caretaker said immediately. “No. Absolutely not, Whumpee walk away. Whumper—”

“Ah! Danny, just in time, shut Caretaker up would you?”

Whumpee stood up but a hand on each of their shoulders forced them to sit back down again. “Whumpee, don’t! Whatever it is don— argh— mmph!”

Whumpee shot up again but was forced back down and the chair pushed in further to the table keeping them sitting. The table edge pressed painfully against their ribs.

Whumper smiled at Whumpee. “Whumpee, I could just as easily take you both right now by force. You’re outnumbered. I could have killed you when you walked in the door but I didn’t, did I? Do you know why I didn’t Whumpee?”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes going back to Caretaker who huffed furiously around the gag.

“Because you’re a fucking monster?” Whumpee asked, raising their brows and dragging their gaze back to Whumper’s stupid smiling face.

“No. It’s because I invited you here for a negotiation in good faith. If you like we don’t have to play and I can just take you both—”

“No,” Whumpee said quickly at the same time Caretaker mumbled out something like a no behind Whumper.

Whumper smiled and sat back into his chair, smile turned smirk now. “So you agree to play then?”

“Yes,” Whumpee said again, not looking at Caretaker who cried out against the gag again.

“Good,” Whumper said. “Very good. Here’s the game.”

Whumper pulled out a revolver that Whumpee had only seen Whumper use once. Whumpee flinched back but didn’t go very far. Whumper grinned as he cocked the gun at Whumpee and Caretaker screamed and struggled with renewed energy against the Henchmen holding him back.

Whumper let out a soft laugh. “Just kidding. God, Caretaker, it’s so easy to rile you up.”

Whumper held the hammer and pulled the trigger before slowly lowering it until the gun wasn’t live anymore. Then he pushed his thumb against the ejector rod and took the round out of the chamber. Whumper then slowly turned the cylinder, and repeated this until all six bullets dropped rhythmically onto the table between them. The entire time Whumper kept eye contact with Whumpee, a soft smirk on his face as he watched Whumpee swallow back the lump in their throat.

“—umph—r—nn—” Caretaker screamed against the gag until the last bullet fell from the cylinder and into Whumper’s awaiting hand.

“You know this game Whumpee?” Whumper asked, cocking an eyebrow at Whumpee.

Whumpee’s throat was suddenly dry, so they swallowed again, before they replied nervously: “I thought you said we were going to play chicken.”

“A version of it,” Whumper said with a shrug. “Russian roulette. Caretaker, Friend and I used to play it all the time as kids.”

Caretaker had tired themselves out, now he stood limp in the hold of the henchmen, glaring daggers at Whumper. Even his stare didn’t have any real bite left to it. Whumpee looked at him with surprise written all over their face.

“Back when Caretaker was fun,” Whumper said, sliding one bullet back into the cylinder and spinning it with the palm of their hand before stopping it and sliding the cylinder back into place. Whumper grinned at Whumpee as he drew the hammer back, loading the chamber.

“I’m a good sport, Whumpee,” said Whumper handing Whumpee the gun. “You can go first.”

Whumpee went to grab the gun from Whumper but froze when they heard another gun cocking in the room. Whumper’s smile turned razor sharp.

“Just in case you get any ideas… if you try to kill me, Caretaker dies too.”

“I got it,” Whumpee said with an edge in their voice. Sick of all the threats Whumper had made in the last five minutes.

“Mmmm. Eager! Wonderful. I knew you’d be an interesting games partner.”

Caretaker cried out when Whumpee put the gun to their own head, swallowing hard. A shiver ran down Whumpee’s spine as they felt the weight of the gun in their hand.

If the shot was in the chamber they would be dead.

This would be it.

They never imagined they’d die from a stupid bet.

God this was so stupid, what were they doing?

Whumpee’s hand started to shake as the realisation slowly dawned on them. They looked at Caretaker who shook his head furiously at them, telling them not to do it.

Whumpee licked their lips trying to get some moisture back in their dry mouth enough to speak. “If I don’t do this, Whumper gets us anyways,” it was an explanation. An excuse that fell from their lips. “Thank you for everything.”

Caretaker cried out again when Whumpee pulled the trigger.

They let out the breath they were holding with a gasp as they dropped the gun to the table, trembling all over. Wild eyes went to Caretaker who had his eyes closed until he heard the gun clatter.

Whumper laughed and grabbed Whumpee’s shaking hands. “Look at that! That adrenaline spike, Whumpee! That’s how you know you’re alive. I barely get it anymore. Watch.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Whumper had the gun in his hand, while his other still held Whumpee’s and pulled the trigger without even blinking.

That stunned Whumpee more than their own turn had.

Whumper grinned and put the gun back on the table, then held out their hand. Whumpee’s eyes went down following Whumper’s movement but true to their word, not even a muscle twitched in Whumper’s hands.

“See why it’s fun now, Whumpee?” Whumper asked again, and Whumpee’s mouth went dry again, realising it was their turn. Again.

They had a one in four chance.

One in four.

25%.

Whumpee didn’t want to bet their life on the one in four chance that when they pulled the trigger they would die.

And yet, after seeing Whumper do it so casually, Whumpee found the familiar weight of the cool metal revolver in their hand once again. Caretaker mumbled out a pathetic “nnnuh” against the gag, but this time a strange calm overcame Whumpee as they pressed the barrel against their head.

They found Caretaker’s hopeless eyes and offered a smile.

“One in four. 25% chance I die, Caretaker. 75% chance I live.”

“Look at you, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed. “Playing the odds. I am so happy you decided to join me today. You are magnificent.”

Whumpee didn’t close their eyes this time.

They pulled the trigger.

The hammer shot against empty air and the recoil sent Whumpee’s hand back away from their head, letting their hand follow the movement to place the heavy hunk of metal onto the table.

“Safe again,” Whumper said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. Then he took the gun and Caretaker cried into the gag.

“-nuf! -umpr- s’enuf!”

Whumper paused this time. His eyes going to Whumpee but looking passed them.

“Someone take their gag off would you?”

Whumpee watched as someone drew the cloth down from around Caretaker’s lips and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Whumper stop this. Please. I can’t watch this. I can’t watch you die!”

Whumper didn’t move for a moment. “You mean Whumpee. You can’t watch Whumpee die.”

“I mean either of you,” Caretaker pleaded, voice genuine. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Whumper arched a brow at Whumpee. “Whumpee. Do you forfeit?”

“No,” said Whumpee. Whumper smiled.

“Sorry Caretaker. No can do.”

Whumper pulled the trigger.

Whumpee started forward, their entire body jerking at the sound. Whumper grinned at Whumpee and put the gun back on the table.

“What’re the chances Whumpee, eh?”

“Stop this! Stop! Whumpee! This is madness. It’s 50/50, you can’t logic your way out of that. Either you die or you don’t, please. Don’t. Whumpee please. Whumper! Listen to me, this is crazy.”

“I will gag you again, Caretaker. This is Whumpee’s decision.”

The words seemed so far away, muted from the blood drumming against Whumpee’s skull. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Fuck,” Whumpee breathed softly. Whumper’s eyes glistened when Whumpee raised their head to meet Whumper’s gaze. “You let me go first.”

“I let you go first,” Whumper repeated with a self-satisfied sigh. His grin grew to a knowing smirk, knowing this was how it would turn out all things going well. “You should have played the odds from the beginning Whumpee.”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes searching for something, something in the back of their brain. Some way they could still win, get Caretaker and themselves out of this.

Whumper let them go first. They were an idiot. The only way they could have won was to let Whumper go first, then if the game played out as it did and they came to the second last bullet Whumper would have had to stop the game and let Whumpee and Caretaker go.

Fuck!

FUCK!

Whumpee reached for the gun. Caretaker cried out. Whumpee savoured the look of surprise on Whumper’s face.

“Fifty-fifty,” said Whumpee, not trying to hide how bad their hand shook as they pressed the cool metal to their temple.

“Whumpee!”

“You’re bluffing,” Whumper said with a smile, but there was doubt behind his words. A game of chicken, Whumper had said. The game only really started when there was two rounds left unfired.

“Either I get free Caretaker and I, or I die and Caretaker—”

“Gets taken in by me,” Whumper said with a laugh. Whumpee narrowed their eyes at him. “Come on Whumpee, if you’re gone I have to take my anger out on someone.”

“You said we’re playing a game of chicken,” Whumpee argued. “If I pull the trigger and die then I didn’t lose.”

“Hmph,” Whumper mused, and maybe it was the crazy talking but Whumpee thought they sounded impressed. "If you're dead how would you know I'd keep my word?"

Whumpee narrowed their eyes and opened their mouth to reply, but Caretaker was the one to break the silence. “Whumpee, Whumpee look at me! Look at me!”

Whumpee fought to keep their gaze trained on Whumper’s face as he chewed on Whumpee’s words.

“Whumpee!”

Whumpee looked at Caretaker with sympathetic eyes. Caretaker had tear marks trailing down his cheeks which stirred up a wealth of guilt in Whumpee’s gut.

“Don’t you dare sacrifice your life for me.”

Whumpee swallowed, trying and failing to keep their voice even. “It’s my life—”

“If you do this and you die, you’re fine! What about me?! I’ll have to carry that guilt—”

“It’s my decision.”

“Really building the suspense here, Whumpee,” Whumper mused, “I’m on the edge of my seat. What a performance! You can pull that trigger now and die, or you can pull it and force my hand to let you both go. What’s worse Whumpee? Dying or living under my care again, hmm?”

Whumpee hesitated.

Whumper continued, “after all the lengths and hoops Caretaker had to jump through to get you out, you just walk back into my arms. Could you live with that guilt Whumpee?”

“Don’t listen to him, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “He’s lying.”

Whumper’s smile was knowing as he spoke again, “we both know I’m not lying Whumpee. Caretaker’s fate was sealed from the moment he betrayed me, and he wanted you to be out. To be free from me. You come back here, you beat me at my own game you both walk free, the only thing holding you back from this happily ever after is that trigger there, with your index finger resting on it.”

“Whumpee don’t! Please. It’s not worth it.”

“Do it Whumpee. I know you want to.”

Whumpee’s hand moved faster than they thought it would as they aimed the revolver at the henchman with the gun on Caretaker. Whumper laughed at the turn of events as the henchman behind Whumpee grabbed the revolver and snatched it from their hand, keeping Whumpee restrained all the while.

“No! You fuck! Get off me—” Whumpee cried as the henchman handed the gun to Whumper. Whumper took the revolver in his hand with a small surprised laugh.

“I knew you had it in you Whumpee, but to be fair, I don’t think I would’ve pulled the trigger myself. Let’s see, shall we if you would have died or not.”

Whumper turned their body and pointed the revolver between Caretaker’s ear and the wall and squeezed the trigger. Caretaker didn’t flinch.

Whumpee did.

The chamber was empty.

The chamber was empty... Whumpee could have done it. They could have freed Caretaker, they could have freed themselves if only they had the fucking nerve of it.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “It’s okay Whumpee. I wouldn’t have done it either, Whumpee. Whumpee?”

“Were they all empty?” Whumpee asked, voice blank and devoid of any emotion.

Whumper smiled. “Of course they weren’t. Watch.”

Whumper pulled the trigger again and this time Caretaker flinched and fell as the shot went off right at his ear, knocking his centre of balance off. Caretaker fell like a stone but was stopped by the Henchmen from falling flat on his face.

Whumpee started when they saw the blood trickle from Caretaker’s ear, furiously pawing at the henchman holding them back.

“You fucking dick!” Whumpee cried as Whumper reloaded his revolver whistling quite happy to himself. Whumpee twisted and turned and tried to get the arms holding them off so they could scratch Whumper’s eyes out of his stupid fucking skull.

When Whumper was finished loading the gun he checked the chamber and lowered it so Whumpee could see there was a round loaded before cocking the gun and pointing it at Caretaker’s head.

Whumpee immediately stilled and Whumper stopped whistling.

“There we go," Whumper cooed. His voice no longer jovial and mocking, but back to Whumper. The scary Whumper that had kidnapped Whumpee and tortured them everyday. The cold calculating monster. "You haven’t forgotten your training, of course, you’ll have to re-learn some of it, but I think this arrangement will be good for all of us. Something new.”

Caretaker was still half held up by the Henchmen on either side of him, face pale, eyes unfocused. He wouldn’t be able to move suddenly if he had to, and Whumpee was too tired to fight anymore, the adrenaline leaving their body in the same rush that it came with until Whumpee was deflated, body exhausted.

Whumper uncocked the gun, drawing the hammer up and clicking the safety on before holstering it again beneath his jacket. He walked around the table to where Whumpee was still held sitting on the chair and patted Whumpee’s cheeks lightly.

“No need to be a sore loser, Whumpee, you agreed to my terms. Fair is fair,” Whumper’s hand tightened on Whumpee’s cheeks tilting their head up to look Whumper in the eye. “I get you both. Bring Caretaker to the car, Whumpee’s coming with me and Danny here.”

One of the Henchmen handed Whumper an extra pair of handcuffs that he turned over in his hand and clicked open, grinning down at Whumpee. Whumpee was dragged to their feet, Whumper taking Whumpee’s wrist and slapping the metal cuff around their wrist until it bit into Whumpee’s skin. Whumper turned Whumpee until their back was to him and tightened the other cuff unkindly tight.

To add insult to injury, Whumper pulled on the taut chain yanking Whumpee back unbalanced into Whumper’s chest.

The perfect place for Whumper to whisper: “can’t have you running away again, can I?”

Whumpee remained stubbornly silent.

“Whumpee, come on now, the silent treatment? Maybe I should get you a leash and a collar, like a dog so you won't be able to run, hmm? You know, this little game of ours is only drawn even now.”

Whumpee stilled at the words. “What?”

“I’ll explain on the way to the car,” Whumper said, pushing Whumpee forward to walk out the door, hand on Whumpee’s upper arm forcing them on. “I’m an easy man to please, Whumpee. I like to be entertained. That’s why I got you, you were so malleable and vulnerable. You hung onto every word I said just because I gave you attention…”

Whumpee bristled at the reminder of how they were before they met Whumper but stayed quiet, allowing Whumper to finish his little Villainous, victory speech.

“Now could I have chosen someone else? Yes, but they wouldn’t have the brain you had Whumpee. I could tell you were like me from the moment I laid eyes on you, and today has proven it. You were bored with life before me, and you needed something to entertain you. Something to fight against, something to live for.”

“So I took you. We have our fun, but you beat me. You and your clever little cunning brain found a way to defeat me, you used my best friend's kindness against me and you managed to escape.”

“That wasn’t a game,” Whumpee hissed, “you were torturing me.”

“And wasn’t it so fun? I bet you’re just dying to see what I have in store for you now, but our Russian roulette makes us even. I guess you could say that this is the start of our third game together; two worthy opponents, battling it out against each other. Except this time,” Whumper said opening the boot of the car and shoving Whumpee in. Whumpee landed awkwardly on their shoulder, hands restrained uselessly behind them as they stared up at a grinning Whumper.

“This time, I don’t have a friend you can use against me. They’ll be right there with you, a new contender. Extra fun. Aren’t you excited, Whumpee? Maybe this time the roles are reversed and now I have a friend I can use against you. Get comfortable, I've moved my little estate and bought some land in the country. It's going to be a long, long ride.”

Before Whumpee could reply Whumper slammed the boot closed and they were buried in darkness. The sound of the empty chamber firing no bullet replaying in their mind like a broken record.

"Caretaker," Whumpee whispered into the darkness, "I'm so sorry."

*~*~*~*~*

@amonthofwhump