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honey-dewey · 3 years

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Gold in the Summertime

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Reader

Word Count: 2,545

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of injury, stitches, and needles, but it’s mostly just that sweet sweet hurt/comfort

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Very few good things ever happen at three AM in the Urgent Care. Let’s make a short list of things that will definitely not fall under the category of ‘good.’ 1) Having a patient who has apparently injured himself but refuses to tell you how. 2) Said patient hyperventilating and panicking until he actually breaks something because you tried to give him a tetanus shot. 3) The same patient’s three best friends yelling at you. 4) Singing to still the same patient to calm him down so you can stick him with a tiny needle so he won’t possibly die of tetanus.

A/N: The song that inspired this fic is actually a favorite of mine called ‘Gold in the Summertime’ by Matt Nathanson. Not required to read the fic, but it’s a cute song.

“Hey.”

“Oh hell no,” you said, turning to see your fellow night shift nurse, Tori, standing in the door of the break room. “No, I am not dealing with whatever drunken fool walked into that waiting room. It is three in the morning and I do not feel like screwing around right now.”

Tori raised an eyebrow. “Done?”

“Done,” you said, standing and preparing for the inevitable. “Who’s the patient?”

Tori handed you a file. You opened it, quickly scanning the information. F. Morales, forty two years old, in decent health, up to date with all his immunizations, served in the military, and was currently in the Urgent Care for a laceration on his left shoulder.

“How bad is it?” You asked, closing the file and following Tori to the waiting room.

“Eh,” she said with a shrug. “He isn’t gushing blood, so it’s not ER worthy. Probably just needs some stitches and a tetanus shot, depending on what got him.”

You blinked. “He didn’t say?”

Tori grinned. “Nope. Have fun.”

Groaning to yourself, you opened the waiting room door. “Morales?”

A man stood up, clearly the injured one in his group of friends due to the wad of cloth he was pressing to his left shoulder. “Yes?”

“Follow me,” you said, tucking the file beneath your arm. “So, what happened?”

The man grimaced. “Uh, I busted my shoulder.”

“How?”

The man was silent as you pushed open an exam room door and gestured him inside. “Well?”

“Well what?”

You sighed. “How’d you cut yourself?” You asked again, watching the man hop up on the exam table. You walked around to his back and slowly cut away the patch of his shirt that covered his shoulder. “And while you’re at it, you got a first name I could use, Mr. Morales?”

“Please just call me Frankie, most people do.”

“Most people?”

Frankie shifted as you examined the harsh tear in the skin. “My friends, those assholes outside, call me Catfish.”

You chuckled. “Military nickname?”

“Yeah.” Frankie winced as you pressed a finger against the wound.

A beat of silence, and then you had another question. “Is Frankie your legal name?”

“No, why?”

You smiled. “We need a legal name for the records.”

Frankie shrugged his uninjured right shoulder as you continued to evaluate the messy scrape on his left. “It’s Francisco. And that shit hurts.”

“Sorry,” you said, stepping back. “It needs a few stitches,” you decided. “But it isn’t horribly urgent so I’m gonna go grill your buddies outside to see if they’ll give me more answers about what happened.”

Frankie nodded, watching you leave.

“Would the party that escorted one Francisco Morales please follow me?” You asked, pushing open the waiting room door.

Three men stood up, and you led them down the hall a ways, so your conversation would be private. “Alright. Spill. He won’t tell me what happened.”

The man on the left snorted. “Unsurprising,” he said. “Fish is like a damn lockbox.”

“Benny,” the man in the middle hissed, nudging the man on the left. “Santi, you wanna take this? You saw it best.”

“Excuse you!” Benny objected. “I was there too!”

“You’re drunk.”

The man on the right, Santi, sighed. “Frankie got into a fight outside the bar we were at tonight. Some guy made a horrible comment about how women belong in the kitchen, I dunno, I didn’t hear that bit too well. But Frankie managed to win the fight with minimal injuries, right up until the guy’s equally shitty friend clipped his shoulder with a ripped in half beer can.”

You nodded, jotting notes down on Frankie’s file. “So what I’m hearing is that he was cut with a piece of likely filthy metal?”

“Yep.”

“Perfect,” You grumbled sarcastically. “You boys can head back to the waiting room. I’ll send him out when I’m done.”

The boys left, and you swung by the supply closet to grab a suture kit before heading back into Frankie’s exam room. “Still bleeding?”

Frankie looked up. “Yeah.” He had taken his hat off, fidgeting with the worn out brim. “Hurts.”

“I’ll bet,” you said, coming up behind him and gently taking his hand off the wound. “Gonna pop some stitches in, disinfect the hell out of this, then get your height, weight, the like, and send you off with a tetanus shot just for good measure. That old beer can probably doesn’t have any kind of illness, but we have to be sure.”

Frankie was silent, which wasn’t a good thing. You disinfected the wound, which sent him into a tailspin of hissed curses in your general direction, and before he realized what was happening, you were halfway done with the stitches.

“And that’s the last one,” you said, tying off the last stitch. “The stitches dissolve after a while, so you shouldn’t have to worry about coming back to get them removed. But do take care to change the bandages twice a day, and do not use this arm. I don’t care what you have to do, please do not rip these stitches.”

Frankie chuckled. “Yes doctor.”

Finishing up the bandage, you grinned at Frankie’s current shirt situation. “Do you want me to grab you a new shirt? I kinda ruined yours.”

“You did your job,” Frankie pointed out. “But yes, that would be nice.”

You ducked out of the room and grabbed a spare shirt from the nurse’s lost and found. “No one’s claimed this thing for almost eight months. I think the guy who owned it quit,” you said, handing Frankie the old Jack Daniels whiskey shirt. You watched him struggle to put it on, helping him a bit as the shirt got caught on his shoulder.

“Okay, follow me,” you said once Frankie was wearing a shirt again. He followed, just as asked, and you took his height and weight, texting both figures to Tori so she could prep a tetanus shot for you. In the meantime, you kept Frankie occupied, asking him questions about military things in the exam room.

“What’d you do in the military?”

“I was a pilot.”

“Planes?”

“Helos.”

“Fun. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. Those friends outside, are they?”

“Military friends? Yeah, mostly. I knew Santiago before all that though.”

A knock at the door interrupted your bonding session. Tori opened the door, holding a tray with the tetanus shot and a band-aid. “Sorry. Those shitty kids band-aids were all I could find.”

You shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m sure Mr. Morales won’t object to a Paw Patrol band-aid.”

However, as you turned back to Frankie, you realized he’d gone white as a sheet. “Frankie?”

Frankie shied away from you, despite you not moving. “Don’t,” he said, voice choked. “Please.”

Your heart squeezed at the desperation in his voice. He was very plainly terrified. “Frankie,” you repeated calmly, holding both hands up so he knew you were unarmed. “Hey, deep breaths.”

Frankie took a stuttering breath, and you sent a silent prayer out that he wouldn’t have a panic attack here. You sat next to him, keeping a few feet of space between you and him. “Do you want me to go get the boys?”

Frankie shook his head, eyes wide. You tried to think. Distracting him would do no good. You’d tried that before with other people, and with patients who were this panicky, a distraction made it worse. Trying to sneak up on him was somehow an even worse idea. With his background, he was likely to know when someone was trying to surprise him, and he could definitely defend himself. The only thing you could think of was calming him down and then sticking him as fast as you could.

It took a few minutes, but Frankie’s breathing returned to normal, and his muscles relaxed somewhat. You didn’t move, simply sitting there beside him and establishing yourself as a calm figure despite your reeling mind. “Frankie?”

He looked up at you, not saying a word.

“Are you ready to try?” You asked. “I have to give you the shot. I don’t want you to get sick, okay? Tetanus is a killer, and I don’t wanna see you dying in a hospital bed until you’re at least eighty, okay?”

A slow nod. You stood, making your movements obvious as you put on new gloves and opened an alcohol wipe.

“C’mere,” you said, gesturing Frankie closer. He scooted towards you, and you met him halfway. “This is cold, just a warning.”

You rolled up Frankie’s shirt sleeve, exposing his left shoulder. He shivered as you ran the alcohol wipe across his skin, and kept his eyes anywhere but on you as you uncapped the tiny syringe. “Frankie?”

Frankie whined, his breathing picking up again as his body barreled towards full panic mode.

“Frankie!” You recapped the syringe and set it aside, turning your full attention to Frankie. He jumped away from you, eyes wide once more. You stood back as he curled in on himself, breathing quickening too fast. He was hyperventilating. “Frankie! Listen to me! You’re not-“

You cut yourself off as the loud, ragged breaths began to turn into animalistic screams, Frankie losing his balance and falling off the exam table and crashing into the sink before hitting the floor. The thud his body made scared you, but not as much as his current panicked state.

“Tori!” You yelled, opening the door and yelling for your coworker. “Tori!”

Unfortunately, it was not Tori who came to your rescue. It was Frankie’s three friends, all of whom looked incredibly concerned. Tori was behind them, shouting that they couldn’t be back here. Santiago simply pushed past you and immediately rushed to Frankie’s side, the other two joining him as he attempted to console Frankie.

You, knowing your help wouldn’t be needed, tried to step away, but Santiago turned to call you back. “Come here!”

Sighing, you hesitantly entered the exam room. “What do you need from me?”

“What did you do to him?” Benny asked, clearly the most worried. “He hasn’t had an attack this bad in years!”

“I just tried to give him a tetanus shot!” You defended.

Santiago and the other man had gotten Frankie situated back on the exam table, sitting on his sides and keeping him upright as Benny rushed in and took his hands. “Fish? You with us buddy?”

Frankie, who had thankfully stopped screaming, whined. Benny smiled, squeezing his hands. “There’s our Fish. Hey, hey, no, look at me,” he directed as Frankie’s eyes drifted to you in the corner and his breath hitched.

Frankie’s head slumped against Santiago’s shoulder. He hummed uncomfortably, face scrunching as he shifted, trying to get comfortable.

“His shoulder,” you guessed softly. “Someone’s touching it.”

The man on Frankie’s right looked at his back. “Shit. Sorry Fish.”

Frankie sighed in relief and turned into pudding against Santiago’s shoulder. Benny still held his hands, humming softly. The other man, whose name you still didn’t know, stood and pulled you aside. “Hey. Did he tell you?”

“That he was trypanophobic?” You said, sliding your hands in your pockets. “No. But I figured it out pretty quickly when he went white as hell as soon as he saw the syringe. No one has a reaction this severe unless they have a phobia.”

The man nodded. “Yeah. Benny was right. Fish is kinda stubborn about these things. He hasn’t had an anxiety attack in years though. Sorry Benny gave you shit about triggering one. I know it wasn’t really your fault.”

“It was,” you mumbled, eyeing Frankie over the man’s shoulder. “It just wasn’t my intention.”

“Yeah.” The man looked back at Frankie. “Is the tetanus shot necessary?”

You nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Santiago looked at you. “How good are you at singing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“It keeps him calm,” Santiago explained. “He used to sing to the helos whenever there was bad turbulence. Kept him level. We’d do it while you give him the shot, but none of us can sing.”

Frankie made a small, strangled noise, and you almost freaked out until Benny smiled and you realized Frankie was trying to laugh.

Smiling, you grabbed the syringe, a new alcohol wipe, and the band-aid. Santiago moved so he was sitting mostly behind Frankie, still supporting him. The other man, who you faintly heard Benny call Will, sat back on Frankie’s right. Benny took Frankie’s hands and stood to the side a bit so you would have room to work.

“Oh, let’s keep this going, I wanna go all in,” you sang softly, repeating some cute and catchy song Tori insisted on playing whenever she could. “We’ll never be lonely in the dark.” As you sang, you opened the alcohol wipe and cleaned a patch of Frankie’s shoulder.

“Rooftop in soho, Prince on the radio,” you kept going, uncapping the syringe and taking Frankie’s arm. “The city streets glow, gold in the summertime.” You quickly, between words, stuck Frankie and pressed down on the plunger. He whined, shying from the pain, but you just pressed the band-aid over the tiny puncture mark and kept singing. “Summertime, summertime, summertime, I gotta get that feeling.”

Gently taking Benny’s place, you stripped your gloves off and put your hands overtop Frankie’s. “You did good, Frankie,” you said. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here so the boys can take you home.”

Frankie wobbled to his feet, still nonverbal and a bit unsteady. You ended up needing a break in the waiting room, which was still empty. Giving Santiago a bottle of water for Frankie, you sat next to Frankie while the boys started the car.

You absently hummed the song from earlier, mostly to fill the stifling silence. As you reached the part you’d sung for Frankie, you noticed, with a small jolt, that he was humming along with you.

“You like the song?” You guessed, and Frankie nodded.

“Here.” You pulled a pen from your coat pocket and took his hand. “Give the whole thing a listen,” you said, scrawling down the name and artist of the song on Frankie’s hand. “And then call me,” you finished, adding your phone number below the writing.

Frankie smiled. “Meet cute,” he rasped, voice practically destroyed.

You laughed. “This is more of a meet ugly, but sure.”

Santiago came back, helping Frankie to his feet.

“See you again?” Frankie asked, voice still pretty shot.

“Hopefully not,” you said, holding the door open for Santiago. “At least, not here.”

Just like that, Frankie was gone.

That sunrise, as you settled into bed, you got a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Song was super cute. Definitely adding it to my exercise playlist

You: Is this Mr. Morales?

Unknown Number: Just Frankie

Unknown Number was saved as Just Frankie

You: Okay Just Frankie. How’s your shoulder

Just Frankie: Hurts like a bitch, but I’ve had worse.

You: I’ll bet.

Just Frankie: Hey, wanted to ask you something

You: shoot

Just Frankie: do you always work nights?

You: not always, but mostly.

Just Frankie: cool. You free tomorrow at noon? I found this cool lunch place that has the best burgers ever

You: ever? I’ll have to see about that

Just Frankie: it’s a date then

You: It’s a date

#Triple Frontier #francisco 'catfish' morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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impalas-r-important · 3 years

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Love of my Life - (5) Don't play games with me

Summary: Game night ends with a surprise

Warnings: N/A. Let me know if you find any that I should be listing!

A/N: I know Jody isn't a big player at this point in the show, and that Donna hasn't even been introduced. But I love them and we're just going to pretend for the sake of the story!

Series Masterlist

It was your turn to make treats for game night, so after you had showered and dressed, you pulled together ingredients for cookies and preheated the oven. Sam, Bobby and Nick were in the living room and Dean had just joined.

“Of course, you show up after we’ve cleaned the place.” Bobby remarked as Dean sat down. The boys all talked and laughed for a while, and you were glad to see that Dean was finally warming up to Nick. Once you put the cookies in the oven, you began to clean up.

“I’ll wash if you dry.” A deep voice offered. You looked up to find Nick holding out a dish towel to you, which you accepted.

“I’m glad to see Dean is finally speaking to you.” You gave Nick a side glance.

“Yeah, me too. He’s a really cool guy, I’d love to pick his brain sometime.”

The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine and were done with the dishes in no time. Dean couldn’t help but watch from the living room.

“Dean, are you even listening?” Sam snapped his fingers and frowned. He knew exactly what Dean was watching.

“Yeah, sorry. What’d you ask?” Dean blinked a few times, bringing himself back to reality.

“What games should we play tonight?” Sam opened up an old cupboard full of card and board games.

“I’m always down for a little poker.” Dean said as he grabbed a few decks of playing cards.

Jody filed in soon after and brought Donna with them, who had been visiting. You yelled hello from the kitchen and pulled the cookies from the oven.

“Smells amazing.” Nick leaned over the tray and inhaled, then reached for a cookie. You quickly slapped his hand.

“You gotta wait until the games start.” Nick gave you an exaggerated puppy dog look. “Sorry, not buying it. Sam’s been giving me that look for years. I’m immune to it.” Nick huffed in defeat and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead.

Jody couldn’t help but notice the new hunter who was strangely close to you. She approached Sam with a headful of questions. “Sam, did I just see some guy give Y/N a kiss on the forehead?”

“Yeah, that’s Nick. He’s been hanging around here for a few weeks while he heals up from saving Bobby’s bacon. He’s a decent guy, and he’s got it real bad for Y/N.”

“Uh huh…” Jody paused to think. “I guess what I’m really wondering is why hasn’t Dean ripped Nick’s throat out for even standing 5 feet from Y/N?”

“I’m sure he wants to. But Dean made his choice, and I reminded him that. I hated seeing Dean lead Y/N on like he might eventually get back with her someday.”

“But we all know Lisa’s just a temporary thing, right?” Jody looked to Sam for assurance, but he stayed silent. “Right?!” She emphasized.

“I don’t know anymore. I don’t think she’s right for Dean, but he hasn’t given any signs of leaving her. Maybe it’s permanent.” Sam took a drink of his beer.

“Oh.” Jody looked back over into the kitchen to see Nick leaning against the counter watching you with adoring eyes as you moved the cookies from the baking sheet to the cooling rack. “She does seem happy with him, and hell she deserves to be happy. But I gotta admit, Dean and Y/N seemed like they were perfect for each other. Like a match made in heaven.” She scanned the room to find Dean sitting on a chair in the corner next to Donna, trying his best to look invested in their conversation, but stealing occasional glances into the kitchen. Jody excused herself from her conversation with Sam and placed her hand on Dean’s arm, interrupting Donna mid-sentence. “Can I steal Dean for a sec?” Donna nodded and smiled, and Jody signaled for Dean to follow her out of the room. She sat down on the bottom step of the staircase. Dean followed suit.

“Everything ok, Jody?” Dean asked with concern in his eyes.

“I should be asking you that.”

Dean looked taken aback by her question and simply responded, “Well I’m just peachy,” before finishing off his beer.

“Dean, you don’t seem happy. Maybe it’s none of my business, but I think you and I know each other well enough that I can ask… What the hell are you doing?”

“What?” A confused Dean looked at Jody with questioning eyes.

“I’ll say it once and then drop it, because I’m not one to nag.” Jody took a deep breath and exhaled. “You belong with Y/N, Dean. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it. You were literally made for each other. The first time that I saw you with Y/N, I knew that she was the one for you. I saw it in your eyes, and how you spoke with her, how you touched her. It was straight out of a crappy romance novel.” Jody looked at Dean, who was avoiding eye contact. “So, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, or between Y/N and Nick, or between you and Lisa. But I know what I know, and I know that Y/N is the girl for you. You’re not really you when you’re not with her.”

Dean played with the label on his beer bottle and remained silent for a few moments, as did Jody. She wanted to give him the chance to talk if he wanted to.

“I’m still in love with her.” Jody could feel the pain dripping from his words. “I wake up every morning wishing that she and Sam had just rang the stupid doorbell instead of leaving for a year the night they came back. I would have left with them and I’m know I would still be with Y/N now. But I made a commitment that I can’t bring myself to break.”

“To Lisa?” Jody placed her hand on Dean’s back. He shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to contain his emotions.

“To Ben.” He answered and clenched his jaw. “I don’t love Lisa and I would have left the second I knew Y/N was back. But when Ben looked me in the eyes and told me that he thinks of me as his Dad, his real Dad, I knew I had to stick around for the long haul. I know firsthand how an absentee father can screw you up, and I can’t do that to him. But I can’t keep pretending that everything is all right.”

“I see.” Jody nodded. “Have you told anyone else about this? Sam or Bobby?” Dean shook his head. “Well, I can’t tell you what you do in this situation, but I do know that you’re a good man, Dean Winchester, and I’m here if you ever need to talk through things.” Dean nodded and Jody stood up, pulling him up by the arm. “Let’s go play some games.” She smiled and led him into the living room where the furniture had been pushed to the sides of the room to make room for the poker table.

“There you are!” You greeted as Dean and Jody joined your group. You could tell Dean was off as he sat down across from you. His eyes met yours and you immediately recognized the pain in his expression. Dean took a deep breath, picked up the cards he had been dealt, and put on a fake smile. At this point in his life, he was an expert at putting on a happy face, but you knew him too well and saw right through it. You were pulled back to reality by Nick putting his hand on your knee, signaling it was your turn. You gave him a sheepish smile and played your cards.

Your felt your heart being torn in 2 ways. For a long time, you thought Dean would be your forever, and you knew a part of you would always love him no matter what. But he was with someone else and showed no signs of wanting you anymore. Nick, on the other hand, was caring and had opened his heart to you quickly. He was handsome and funny and sweet, and any girl would be lucky to have him. You felt in the wrong because you knew that even if you pursued a relationship with Nick, you wouldn’t be able to give him all of you. Dean Winchester would always own a piece of your heart, a big one at that, and you were reminded of that every time you looked at him.

Hours had passed and it was getting late. You had all had fun, but people were filing out the door. You organized the cards into their proper decks and put them away. Sam helped you fold the table up and Nick and Bobby were picking up bottles and cans and clearing plates. You didn’t see Dean and assumed he must have left with the group but thought it was odd that he didn’t say goodbye. You said goodnight to the boys and headed up to your room. Dean had been off all night and you were worried. Your hand reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You scrolled down to Dean’s name and debated whether or not to call him. As you pushed your door open, you were startled to find someone sitting on your bed. You immediately went into defense mode, grabbing a knife from the top of your dresser.

“Dean?” You asked softly, putting down the knife and joining him on the edge of the bed. He was looking through an old photo album that you kept in the drawer of your nightstand.

“I remember when we took this. Sam was so mad that we stopped in the middle of the desert for one stupid picture.” Dean held up a picture of you sitting on top of his shoulders, pointing to the “Welcome to New Mexico” state sign. Dean was wearing a grey t-shirt and sunglasses and you had your hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. This was one of your favorite pictures. You made the boys stop so you could take a picture anytime you passed one of those state signs and were determined to get a picture with all 50 of them. Dean thought it was stupid at first, but he saw how happy it made you. Eventually he joined in, and the two of you would make silly poses next to each sign, leaving Sam to be the photographer.

“There’s still a few states that I need pictures of.” You took the book from Dean and slowly flipped through the pages. This album was one of your most cherished belongings, but you hadn’t looked through it for almost a year and a half. The memories that these pictures brought back were always happy at first but following closely behind was the pain of knowing that you and Dean would never be that close again.

“How many? Maybe we can take a few road trips and hit the ones you don’t have. Could be fun.” Dean suggested, raising his eyebrows.

You wanted to say yes, pack a bag, and leave right that minute. That’s the kind of thing the two of you used to do. But things were different now. Your smile faded, and instead of accepting his invitation, all you managed to say was, “Are you sure Lisa would be okay with that?”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, silently agreeing that you had a point. He turned to look at you with desperation in his eyes and opened his mouth to say something before Sam walked in, breaking the tension.

“Hey, man, I thought you left. Thanks for helping clean up.” Sam said sarcastically as he flopped down on your bed. “Oh, man, I remember these pictures.” He took the book from your hands and scanned the pictures. “I miss these times. The three of us out on the road.”

“Me too.” You and Dean agreed in unison.

It was already late, but you and the brothers stayed up for at least another hour remembering stories about your past. You could hear Nick’s boot heavy on the stairs as he walked towards your room.

“Nick!” Sam yelled to get his attention.

Nick stopped and peaked his head in the door. “This must be the afterparty.” He smiled and you signaled for him to come in.

“Alright, you gotta tell us your craziest hunting story.” Sam demanded.

“Hmm…” Nick pondered and scratched his head. “Twin falls, Idaho, 2010. Four vamps, two werewolves, one ghoul, and two idiot hunters who thought they could handle it by themselves.”

“Sounds like the start of a crappy joke.” Dean chimed in.

Nick laughed and continued with his story. You all exchanged hunting tales until you grew tired and gave a big yawn.

“You know, my buddy found a case in Virginia. We could head out in the morning and help him if you guys feel up to it?” Nick suggested. “I’m dying to get back out there, even if I am limited.” He lifted his leg with the boot on it.

“I’m game!” Sam hopped off the bed. “I’ll go pack. Night guys.”

“Y/N?” Nick looked for your answer.

“Hell yes. I’m itching for a good fight.” You said sleepily.

“Sweet. See you in the morning.” Nick winked at you as he left.

“I’d offer for you to come, but…” You trailed off; your words directed at Dean.

“I know.” Dean nodded in acceptance. He readjusted himself to lay back on your bed, hands behind his head. “I miss hunting.”

“Hunting misses you.” You laid down next to him. “I mean, you’re Dean freaking Winchester. I’ve been told by a reliable source that some people call you The Ultimate Hunter.” You exaggerated your words and chuckled to yourself.

“More like the ultimate retiree now.”

You studied the ceiling and looked over to Dean, who had his eyes closed. It was at least 2 AM and you figured he was tired. “So, what were you doing in here tonight, anyway?” You figured you deserved an answer since he almost gave you a heart attack.

Dean’s breathing was slow and steady. “I don’t know. I just started walking and this is where I ended up.”

“Going through my stuff? You’re lucky I didn’t throw my knife at you. You scared the crap out of me when I first walked in.”

Dean smiled. “That’s what you get for beating me in poker tonight.”

“You mean kicking your ass in poker tonight?”

“Same difference.” He pushed you with his elbow a bit. The two of you lay in silence for a few minutes.

“You seemed off tonight.” You glanced at him.

“Just tired. Bobby’s couch wasn’t the most comfortable last night.”

“No, that’s not it. Are you feeling okay lately? You’ve been over here more in the past few weeks than you have in the past few months.”

Dean shrugged. “I guess it just sucks knowing that I’m being replaced.”

“Replaced?”

“Yeah. With Nick.”

“Uh, Nick isn’t replacing you.” Dean sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed.

“Sure feels like it. Sam has become fast friends with him, Bobby trusts the guy, and now the gang is going out on a hunt without me.”

“Dean, you know we’d love it if you came hunting with us, but you got out of the life and Sam and I are just trying to respect that.”

Dean rubbed his hands over his face. “But worst of all, I see the way he looks at you. I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.” You looked down at the floor, searching for the right words. “Hell, I still do, Y/N/N.”

Chapter 6

Tags:

@vicmc624

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom

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adultingautistic · 4 years

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sept 13 (tw for harmful stims) I just got through my first meltdown (an awful one) after my diagnosis, so it was the first time I actually knew I was having a meltdown, and I couldn't calm down at all, nothing would work. How can I be more prepared for next time? Like, how do I know I'm about to have a meltdown or a shutdown, and how do I calm myself down from either of those? I also noticed I did some bad stims, like hitting my head and biting myself, and I don't know what to do about that

First, I’m so glad you got diagnosed! It’s so wonderful to know the reason behind your behaviors. Simply knowing what a meltdown is, and that’s what’s happening, is a huge step towards learning how to make them less awful.

The best, best way to prevent meltdowns is to become aware of your reactions to your environment. To become aware of your sensory inputs, to notice when they are affecting you, and to believe yourself that they are. As autistics we are told so often by almost everyone we meet that “it’s not really that bad” and “it’s nothing, just suck it up”, but this is the exact behavior that can lead straight to a meltdown.

It is that bad. The horrible clothes your wearing are that awful, the food really does taste that disgusting, that beeping noise really is unbearable. Once you start to listen to yourself, and believe yourself, you can begin to take steps to take care of yourself. You can take off the horrible clothes and never wear them again. You can stop eating horrible food that will send you into overload territory. You can permit yourself to cover your ears or wear headphones.

Keep in mind that sensory input is only one of two things that can cause overload- the other is emotional overload. Yes, it really is that horrible when your routine is changed. Believe yourself, and trust your own feelings. Once you start to do this, you can start to take care of yourself.

An example from my own life is that for me, last-minute changes to plans are Absolutely Horrible. My brain can’t process them. When I wake up for the day, my mind knows what I’m doing that day and I make my routines accordingly. I need a certain amount of time to shower, eat, get dressed, etc, and I can’t change those routines or make them faster. I also need to eat at certain times and because of samefoods, those foods take a certain amount of time to cook, and I can’t switch to something that’s faster to eat. Because of all of this, I can’t suddenly go somewhere last-minute. If I had plans to be somewhere at 2pm, that means I had to eat at 1pm to make sure I don’t get hungry during the outing (because of samefoods, I can’t eat at other places). If I already at at 1, and then someone wants to change the plans from 2 to 4, now I will be hungry when I go, and this is HORRIBLY stressful for me.

So instead, what I have done as an adult, is tell people “I do not do last- minute plans. Period.” And I don’t.

If my mother or a friend calls me wanting to see me later that day I tell them “No, I do not do last minute plans.” I dont’ care how upset they might get, because I will be far more stressed if I do it their way, than they will ever be waiting a day to see me. So I avoid a situation that could send me into a meltdown, by doing self-care and protecting myself from last-minute changes to plans.

I also have an accomodation at work that says that I must have at least one day’s notice for meetings. If a meeting is scheduled for later that same day, I am excused from attending. This is how I protect myself from the emotional overload that could lead to a meltdown.

Now you may not have the same struggles with changes to routine the way I do. So you need to look at yourself, and what things contribute to your overload. This takes time to learn, and practice! And that’s okay. The more you pay attention to yourself and how you feel, the better you will become at recognizing the things that contribute to your overload. It took me years to realize that last-minute changes were so detrimental to me. Be patient, it does take time to learn yourself. But you can do it.

You will also get more practiced at noticing how you feel, and realizing when you’re getting close to a meltdown. At this point, you must put your own needs first, as this is an emergency. So yes, leave the party. Leave the table. Go for a walk outside. Use the bathroom. Do whatever you have to to remove yourself from the sensory and emotional inputs so that you can avoid a meltdown.

Once you are in one, it is like you said- you don’t have a lot of control over calming yourself down. Once you’ve reached a meltdown, you have to get out of the situation that caused it, as quickly as possible, and you need to stay there as long as it takes for you to recover, which can be hours.

I know that for myself, if I have a meltdown, I’m shot for the day. I can’t do anything productive or useful and I also don’t try to make myself. I just stare at the TV until it’s time for bed. Sleeping is the only way that I, personally, am able to truly recover from a meltdown. Once you are in meltdown you basically have to treat yourself as gently as you would if you had a high fever, and do whatever it takes to make yourself even slightly more comfortable. At this point, you’re like a sick person, all other activities are cancelled and you need to just rest, rest, rest.

As far as controlling harmful stims. During a meltdown, you already have lost almost all control. You’re already in survival mode, and your brain is doing those stims to try to regulate the horrible overload it is experiencing. So while most of the time I suggest finding ways to replace harmful stims with less harmful ones, during a meltdown, don’t. Your brain doesn’t have the energy for you to fight against it. It’s full, which is why you’re melting down.

Unless a harmful stim is so severe that it’s putting you in danger, I personally just let them happen, because fighting them will only make the meltdown worse and last longer. I do hit my head, hard enough to cause a headache, but not hard enough to cause bruising or bleeding. If you're just hitting your head with your own hands, fine. There’s no danger there. If you’re hitting your head on objects that can harm you, then I’d recommend trying to switch to hitting your head with your hands instead. Your own hands aren’t going to cause a concussion or other dangerous injury. It’s okay. Just hit your head. It’s your brain’s way of actually making the meltdown shorter. It needs an outlet. Meltdowns are severe things.

I do also scratch myself and that too isn’t going to cause permanent harm. If I try not to do it, then I just end up hitting things with my hands instead- you don’t have much control here. Your brain needs to regulate with hard stims, and it’s going to. The only way out is through. Triggering physical pain can be very regulating for your brain, and as long as you’re not in danger, I wouldn’t fight it during a meltdown.

If your safety truly is in danger, then I hope the people around you will restrain you (such as if you’re biting yourself so hard you’re bleeding, or from hitting your head on something dangerous such as stone or bricks). Being restrained is hell. You don’t want to go through it. But it’s necessary if your safety is truly in danger.

So you asked how to make a meltdown end quicker- and the answer is hardcore self-care. This means to remove yourself from the offending environment, it doesn’t matter whether it’s “socially correct” to do it at this time, your brain is in a severe state and it needs safety and you have to get it there. It also means to let your stims out, let them all out, as much as they want to, as long as you’re not in physical danger. Scream, cry, hit, bite, scratch, whatever it takes. Let the stims happen. These are your brain’s way of getting out of the meltdown. You’ll look autistic. But a meltdown is serious business, and it requires the best self-care you’ve got, and stimming is self-care.

But, the more familiar you become with your own triggers, and the more you’re able to avoid them, the less often you will have meltdowns. Especially once you’re an adult and have more control over your own environment, meltdowns can become very rare and some people can even avoid them completely. Continue to listen to yourself, listen to your brain and what it’s telling you, and do the best self-care that you can, and hopefully you won’t need to worry about how to survive meltdowns nearly as often.

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #meltdowns #tw: harmful stims #harmful stims #tw: self harm #self harm #stimming #stims #restraining #ask

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phantoms-lair · 4 years

Note

❧

“Another day, another mystery solved!” Fred cheered as they drove the Mystery Machine home.

“Like speak for yourself. I would love to have a quiet trip for once,” Shaggy complained. “I thought that Mole Monster was gonna carve me up like a turkey.” He shuddered in the memory.

“Okay, I know we’ve been doing our best not to bring this up,” Velma interjected. “But Shaggy, you’re an honest to goodness werewolf.”

“So what?” Shaggy asked confused.

“You can turn into a giant mass of muscles, claws, and teeth just by taking off your necklace. Yet you’re terrified by someone in a rubber mask.” Velma raised her eyebrow.

“Monsters are scary!” Shaggy defended.

“Give it up Velma, werewolf or not, Shaggy’s still Shaggy.” Daphne stated. “Something which we’re all very grateful for.” she added

“I guess you have a point,” Velma ceded.

“Besides, as long as I’ve got this amulet, I’m as good as human.” Shaggy proudly displayed the brightly glowing moonstone. “And I’m not taking this off for any reason.”

“Not even in the shower?” Daphne asked, aghast.

“Wet fur.”

“I revoke my objection.”

“I dunno, I think it would be kind of cool to be a werewolf.” said Fred.

“It’s not.” Shaggy’s voice was strangely flat. “It’s weird and creepy. At least with this I can actually be norma-” As he spoke the amulet pulsed a ring of pale golden light. “That wasn’t good, was it?” As he spoke his teeth and nails began sharpening.

Velma turned in her seat and saw the now brilliantly glowing pendant and the slow transformation her friend was undergoing. “Freddy...step on it.

By the time they had reached the house they shared, the transformation was almost complete. They hurried inside, Scooby keeping a watch so that no one saw them. On the way in, Velma noticed an envelope by the front door. Grabbing it, she noted the strange texture of the paper. She was the last inside, studying the the envelope intently.

Daphne was flinging the curtains closed. While they weren’t famous enough to warrant paparazzi, the occasional reporter would stop by unannounced to ask about their latest case and none of them wanted them to make a scoop out of Shaggy’s curse. “Velma, can you put that down, we have a much bigger problem on our hands.” Shaggy made a small whining noise.

“I’m not so sure it’s unrelated.” Velma broke the wax seal and began untying the string. “This envelope is vellum, sealed with string and wax. I’ve only seen one like it once before. The envelope that copy of Bisclavret was in.”

Shaggy’s ears perked up “The one which gave you the clue on how to turn me back.”

“Exactly. The note inside said it was left by someone I had spoken to about werewolf lore. Since we were at a werewolf festival, that could have meant anyone. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it’s been bothering me for some time. What are the odds that out of the twenty or so people who heard the prayer, only Shaggy became a werewolf? My guess is not as high as me just so happening to buy a magic amulet that would reverse the effects, at least temporarily. And then having an anonymous well wisher leave me a book that explains how to use said amulet.”

Freddy’s eyes narrowed, “What are you saying Velma?”

“That someone arranged, or at the very least knew this was going to happen. These envelopes are a way of sharing information when he or she thinks we need it. Aha!” The envelope opened and a few pieces of paper fell out, followed by a note card.

The pages were photocopies of a much older book. Prominently displayed on the page were drawings of a familiar moonstone necklace. On the card was printed: Why did Bisclavret run through the woods for days? Mayhaps the time would have been lessened if another would bear his yoke.

Velma read the card out loud for the other. “Bisclavret again. And this proves that there was no coincidence with the pendant.”

“But what language is this?” Daphne was looking at one of the photo pages. “It’s certainly not English, but it doesn’t look like Latin, or Cyrillic, or anything else I’ve seen.”

“It’ll take some time to decipher,” Velma agreed. “But I think the note is what’s important. The timing can’t be coincidental. If we received the book before Shaggy was permanently transformed, we might not have been focused on how Bisclavret returned to normal - or forgotten it under all the other werewolf stories we’d been hearing. Likewise we just so happened to receive this package on the day the amulet failed. Since it would take too long to decipher the pages, the note is the key.”

“‘Why did Bisclavret run through the wood for days?’ Well, he was a werewolf. He wasn’t affected by the moon, like in more modern variants. He could transform by taking his clothes on and off. Hmm,” Velma began pacing in full analytical mode. “But why for days? If he could transform back just by putting his clothes on...That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Shaggy asked hopefully.

“Why would Bisclavret stay as a wolf for days if he didn’t have to? Because he did have to. He had control over the mechanism of his transformation, but he couldn’t halt it completely. At some point he had to transform.”

“The amulet probably works the same way. Or rather it gives Shaggy the ability to be normal, but it’s not a cure. He has to spend some time as a werewolf, or it stops working. When I bought it, it looked like an ordinary necklace. But it’s been glowing steadily more and more. I think that was it’s way of showing it was ‘full’.”

“Great, so how do we, like, change me back?” The pleading in Shaggy’s tone was obvious. Which made Velma’s answer all the harder to say.

“We wait it out. Allow the amulet to discharge. When it stops glowing, it should be able to change you back.”

“How long do you think that would take?”

“I’m not sure, but given the whole parallel with Bisclavret…”

“Days?” Shaggy whimpered.

“Could be.” Velma admitted. That werewolf moaned and curled up into a ball.

“Rut arout re eggs?” Scooby asked.

“Eggs?” Daphne asked.

Shaggy uncurled slightly “The note said something about yolks, right?”

Velma shook her head. “Not those kind of yokes. It means...” She stopped. “Shaggy, toss me the necklace.”

He hesitated, he hadn’t taken the thing off since the festival he’d been cursed at. Still, it wasn’t exactly doing him any good as it was.

Shaggy tossed it over. Velma’s arm tingled as she caught it, which hopefully was evidence for her theory. She slipped it over her head and the necklace pulsed again. A strange tingly feeling swept through her body as bones and muscles rearranged. Fur grew in, along with claws, fangs, and a tail.

“Okay Shaggy, I see what you were talking about. This is weird.” Velma commented as she looked at her new self. “Wait, I have a muzzle, how am I even talking normally?”

Shaggy’s jaw opened and closed, no words coming out.

“Velma, are you okay?” Fred asked, concerned.

“Fine. A little weirded out, but fine. I have so many tests to run.”

“Tests? Velma what is going on?” Daphne asked, “You were wearing that necklace the day you got it and nothing like this happened.”

“It wasn’t ‘charged’ then,” Velma explained. “The key to the note was the word ‘yoke’. It has two meanings. The literal one is a harness farm animals use to pull plows and other equipment worn around their necks. This gave way to the second meaning of yoke - to have a burden on you. The note uses both of them, referring to Shaggy’s being a werewolf as his ‘burden’, which can be ‘harnessed’ by the item he wears on his neck.

“Why did Bisclavret run through the woods for days? Mayhaps the time would have been lessened if another would bear his yoke.’ In two sentences it tells us that Shaggy does have to spend some time transformed, but the amount of time can be shortened if someone else is willing to be a werewolf with him, and that wearing the amulet will achieve that.

“You know, I think you just said that in one sentence a lot more clearly.” Daphne said dryly.

“Our informant isn’t exactly trying to be clear. The first contact was meant to be seen as coincidental. My guess is the only reason this message is as overt as it is is he couldn’t figure out a way to-” Velma broke off. “Shaggy, are you okay?”

Shaggy did not look okay. He was bent over hold his head in his hands, his tail seeming to be trying to wrap around his waist. “Someone did this to me.” He finally said. “I thought it was some random magic thing, could've happened to anyone. But it wasn’t. Someone meant to turn me into a werewolf. Why? What did I do to them?”

~~~~

This is from ‘A Shaggy Wolf Story’, which was the original werewolf Shaggy thing I was going to write, but wanted to wait until Mirror’s Gaze was finished. Then Fangs happened

#Scooby Doo #Werewolf!Shaggy #Ghost Writing #spiffylindster

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ticklikeabomb · 4 years

Text

Grouch - Part 3

Pairing : Bucky x Plus Size Reader ; Avengers x Plus Size Reader

Warning : Language ; Bucky being an ass (again) ; Angst ; Mention of major death

Word Count : 1.5k

Disclaimer : I do not own the characters, nor the universe where they were created and interact in. This series/fiction is only for entertainment purposes.

A/N : I’m sorry it took so long but hope it was worth it :)

Steve woke up early. For several weeks now he was incapable to get some good night sleep. He blamed himself for not interfering between you and Bucky when he had the occasion, before it all went south. He blamed himself even more after discovering what Hydra did to you. Your legs and arms were replaced by Vibranium, your memories erased and your reflexes and fighting mode improved, meaning they transformed you as a Super Soldier. In appearance, you were no more but Steve was stubborn and he would not give up on you. He put some clean sweatpants and a tight white T-shirt and made himself ready for a run. After a quick stretch, he began his running routine.

“Did you sleep last night?”, asked Nat entering Tony’s lab. “What’s that?”, he responded ironically. A sad smile formed on her lips for a fraction before looking at him seriously. “You need to rest. We won’t find her if you’re not one hundred percent your best and right now, you look like a mess.” “Wow thanks love”, sarcastically replied the billionaire. “We all want her …” “Look I get it I do but you didn’t see her eyes. Her lifeless look. Her last words towards me.” Nat nodded in comprehension and patted his back. “I know it shook you up but if F.R.I.D.A.Y finds anything, the slight hitch, she’ll warn us. Go get some sleep Tony.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed after the Widow left the room. He decided to take her advice and informed the A.I to wake him up at any news. While the other Avengers were at their occupation, Bucky took refuge at the gym. His punches became more and more violent at each memory of you crossing his mind, especially the time he asked you on a date.

Flashback (4 years ago)

“What do you guys think about spicing this evening up?”, smirked Sam, a beer in his hand. Steve chuckled before taking a gulp of his own drink and letting his gaze wander across the dim lit club. Not getting the reaction he was looking for, Sam stubbornly continued. “Ah come on grandpas. When’s the last time you two got nasty in the sheets?” “Hmm Tuesday”, mumbled Bucky. The other two men looked at him dumbfounded. “You were on a mission on Tuesday”, said Steve. “Exactly”, smirked Bucky. “You did not? The target’s wife?”, choked Sam. Bucky’s grin was enough of a reply for both men to understand. “You could have compromised the whole operation”, commented Steve with a frown to which Bucky rolled his eyes at his friend’s strict policy. “What can I say, she practically jumped on me. I would have been a fool if I left a damsel on distress.” Steve took another gulp of his drink while shaking his head in disapproval.

“Alright, alright, let’s make some bets. Steve, I bet you don’t have the balls to go talk to that lady over there whose been eyeing you since we got here”, grinned Sam. “Ha ha ha very funny and she has not”, counterattacked Steve. Both of Sam and Bucky gave him a knowing look and Steve took a deep breath. “Ok, you’re lost Wilson”, said Steve and marched towards the woman in question and engaged conversation. The Falcon quickly checked his phone before turning towards Bucky with a smirk gracing his features. “I bet you to ask the next lady stepping foot in this club for a date.” “You’re sure you wanna play with me little bird?”, cockily answered Bucky. “Absolutely”, he immediately replied. “Fine”, exclaimed Bucky almost triumphantly. Both of them kept looking at the door until they saw you enter the club. Bucky’s smiled instantly faded away before mumbling through greeted teeth. “You got to be fucking kidding me!” “Seems like you gotta ask the new team member on a date Barnes”, chuckled Sam. “You said the next lady not that”, spat the former Winter Soldier. His friend frowned and turned his way, “What the hell is your problem man? Y/N is a good-looking woman, very nice, with a great sense of humor and sweet. I don’t understand why you’re being such an ass. You don’t even know her and a bet is a bet.”

“Why don’t you date her since you like her so much”, spat Bucky, his clenched fists beside him. “Because I don’t see her more as a friend and besides, I’m sure she’s interested in someone else”, he simply replied. “Who??”, immediately asked Bucky before regaining his composure. “Why? I thought you didn’t care?” “I don’t.” Sam hummed at Barnes’ non so convincing answer. Bucky looked at you up and down and clenched his jaw before drinking the rest of his drink and clear his throat.

You were finishing a line of shots with Wanda and Natasha when you felt a presence at your right. “Hello Barnes, having a good time?”, you asked without looking at him. He chuckled softly before replying, “How did you know it was me?” “I can smell your cologne from a mile away.” He took a deep breath before leaning in closer. “Always on duty I see.” You decided to face him and leaned on the counter, his eyes scanning your cleavage before he realized he was busted. “Danger is everywhere. Gotta stay sharp”, you simply replied. “Can I get you another drink?” You skeptically rose your eyebrow at his attitude. You didn’t know why he was acting that way towards you. Since you joined the team, his constant posture towards you was cold. You shook your shoulders and replied, “Sure, why not.” He kept small talking to you before he asked you on a date making you almost spit your drink out. “Excuse me?” “I figured that I came across as cold and was wondering if we could start over again over a diner?” You hummed in hesitation but eventually agreed. Who wouldn’t? The infamous Bucky Barnes charms didn’t leave you indifferent.

A few days later, after preparing yourself from head to toe, you arrived at the restaurant and were escorted to your table. Bucky wasn’t there yet. “Would you like something to drink Miss?” “No thank you, I’m waiting for someone.” The waiter nodded in comprehension and gave you some space. You checked around the crowded restaurant and it was even more disturbing since your table was in the middle of the room. Your patience began to ran thin when you realized that he was being 15min late. The other client’s looks weren’t helping and neither was the waiter who kept coming back to you. “I’m sorry Miss but it’s been over an hour and we have other clients waiting.” You nodded, fury consuming you. “I understand, I’m sorry.” The term walk of shame never sounded so correct. Shame, embarrassment and humiliation were the exact feelings would describe the state you were in.

As soon as you entered the compound’s elevator, you retrieved your high heels and took a deep breath, sadness taking over. Arriving at your floor, you heard some noises coming from the living room and cautiously, you decided to check on them. What you saw make your blood go cold. There he was, on the couch, a blond top model dry humping on his leg, his mouth on her neck. Feeling that they were being interrupted, the former Winter Soldier turned his face towards you and smiled, “Oh hey Y/N” “Are you fucking kidding me? I waited for you for an hour”, you spat. “You really believed I would go on a date with you? So naïve. It was all a bet with Sam.” He could as good as stabbed you right through the chest. You were seeing red and retrieved the hidden gun from your chest and pointed at his face, pulling the trigger. He managed to block the bullet with his metal arm at the last second. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”, he screamed while his date began screaming. “Next time I won’t miss”, you exclaimed deeply making him slightly shiver.

Present day

Natasha was the last one to join the team in the kitchen for some breakfast. Something wasn’t right. “Where’s Steve?”, she asked. “I don’t know, probably finishing his early jog”, replied Sam nonchalant. “That’s weird. He should be back by now”, she mumbled to herself. Across the table, Wanda was digging holes at Bucky’s head, who kept himself as quiet and small as he mastered. At that precise time, F.R.I.D.A.Y alerted the compound and turned the TV on. What they saw made them shiver. “No”, whispered Bucky. Hydra projected on all channels and media their last video in which we could see Steve strained on a chair and you, emotionless pointing a gun at him.

“My name is Madame Hydra and this is for the greater cause. Witness our power in action. The day has finally come for the universe to get the scum disappear for good. Isn’t it poetic, an ex-Avenger killing his comrade?” The next second, the sound of you pulling the trigger echoed and Steve’s head bursting backwards. The video ended and the news flash began, declaring Captain America’s death all over the world.

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werejusttouchingeachother · 4 years

Text

DUBAI 2019 [August 26th, 5:30PM]

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 T/W: cursing Words: 3234

Seoyeon slows the car to a stop in front of your apartment, glancing at you as you stare out the window in silence, lost in your own thoughts. The furrow in your brows is enough to tell her that you’re reliving New York and she sighs, pulling your eyes back to her.

“It’s very hot today,” you mumble softly, peering back outside the window. It’s evening but the sun still shines down brightly over the city, glinting over the tall skyscrapers in a way that it reflects down blindingly. Your apartment is at Jumeirah, overlooking the beach on the side that wasn’t facing the main street and even the turquoise ocean seems to be sparkling like diamonds underneath the sun’s bright rays.

“He kept telling how the sun hurt his eyes during the shoot,” you continued, chewing on your lower lip absentmindedly as your eyes scanned the beachside for a familiar small-looking man with a walk that made him look a lot bigger than he was.

“Y/N.” Seoyeon called your name and she grabbed your hand to get your attention. “Stop overthinking. Its Dubai, he can’t exactly roam around. He’s probably already at your place. And if he isn’t, I’m sure he’ll be there soon.”

You nod furtively, sighing loudly. You pause before lowering your head and whispering, “I don’t want a break, Seoyeon.”

“Who said anything about a break?”

“What if he does?” You question, turning to look at her. Her eyes widen when she sees your red nose—a tell-tale sign that you were holding back tears.

“I can’t do that again,” you admit in a croak and Seoyeon shakes her head at you, arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into a hug.

“Y/N,” she says soothingly, rubbing her hand on your back comfortingly. “He can’t either. You know that. Both of you went through hell the last time and you know better now. It’s not going to happen again, okay? You just need to talk to each other, address what happened back at your office. Clear the air and it’ll be easier to move past it. Stop stressing unnecessarily.”

You take a shaky breath as she pulls you back by your shoulders, smiling gently at you.

“Tell you what,” she starts. “I’ll come up with you. If he isn’t there, we can wait together for him.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Again, I wasn’t asking,” Seoyeon rolls her eyes at you, switching off the engine. “Get out. I can already feel the heat.”

Seoyeon and you wait for more than an hour at your apartment. She busies herself by going adventurous-cook-mode in your kitchen, gathering several ingredients as she decides to make pasta for the both of you. When she notices you sitting on the couch in silence, zoned out as you stare through the television screen without actually watching what was on it, she drags you into the kitchen to help her.

She’s just shut the door of the oven after placing the dish of pasta inside, peeling off the oven mitts when your phone begins ringing on the kitchen counter. Both of your heads turn in the direction of the phone and you leap across the kitchen floor to grab it when you notice that it’s an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” You answer hurriedly and feel your shoulders sag in relief when you hear Manager’s reassuring voice come through.

“Y/N, relax,” he laughs softly at the tension that he could undoubtedly feel radiating from you even through your voice. “He just came to the set right now. He was with Jongin at the hotel all this time so don’t worry. We’re almost done here so I’ll drop him off soon at your place.”

“Is he okay?” You ask, straining to hear his voice in the background of the other side although it’s in vain—the crew is loud as always, multiple people chattering at the same time.

“He’s… not the best,” Manager responds slowly as if to lessen the brunt of his words. “He’s quiet.”

You close your eyes as your shoulders slump in worry, running a hand over your face. Angry Baekhyun was fine—you could calm him down by clinging onto him, kissing and babying him until he finally gave in and grinned at you, reciprocating your affection.

But quiet Baekhyun meant hurt Baekhyun—the one who didn’t want to talk, the one who didn’t welcome hugs, who wanted to be alone gaming and angrily yelling at other players. It meant a closed-off Baekhyun and that always worried you.

Overthinking was a common battleground in your relationship, one that made you wary since both of you often seemed to be on opposing sides while within your own heads.

“Just bring him home quickly,” you respond to Manager, nodding at Seoyeon as she raised her eyebrow at you. “And thank you… Hyungnim.”

You could hear the slight smile in his voice as he replied, “You’re welcome, dear. I’ll see you soon.”

Hanging up, you turn to look at Seoyeon who is leaning against the counter.

“He was at the hotel,” you respond to her unasked question. “With Jongin. Just got to the set and Manager is bringing him here now.”

She nods, watching you. “That’s good. The food will be ready by then. He likes pasta?”

You shoot her a look and she immediately nods, quipping, “He loves food, he eats everything, got it.”

She checks the timer then and grabs the block of parmesan cheese on the counter, placing it back in the fridge.

“He’s quiet,” you say and she nods, turning to you.

“As are you,” Seoyeon states, shaking her head at you. “Stop it, Y/N. Your forehead is going to have permanent wrinkles from the way you keep frowning and worrying. Relax. He’ll be here soon so talk it out, just like I said. No running nor sweeping it under the rug. All right?”

You nod tiredly and she frowns as she looks at you then. “He’ll be here soon so go shower. You’re still in your work clothes which smell like cheese and dough now, by the way. Also, there’s flour on your skirt.”

“You need any more help around here?” You ask, looking around the kitchen which was spotless due to Seoyeon’s quick hands. You shake your head before saying, “You know, we could have just ordered in.”

“Shut up, you know I like cooking,” she snorts, washing her hands in the sink. “It kept that noisy head of yours shut too.”

“You should really meet Kyungsoo,” you suggest thoughtfully, giving her a small smirk. “I feel like the two of you would get along great.”

“I can only drop so many hints, genius,” Seoyeon rolls her eyes at you. “Your boyfriend picks them up better than your dumbass.”

You laugh at her statement before turning around and heading for the shower. The water is warm and instantly comforting against your tense body, relaxing you as you stay under the shower for a while to thoroughly wash away all the knotted emotions you were feeling. You smile as you hear Seoyeon singing in the kitchen as she puts the dishes away, feeling thankful for such a genuine friend who was always the first to offer any and every aid whenever you felt like you were on shaky grounds—whether it was to distract you from your worries, to give you a hug or even to drive you home.

You honestly didn’t know what you’d do without her.

You step out of the shower in an extremely faded old shirt that you weren’t certain belonged to you or Baekhyun, drying your damp hair with the towel. The entire house smelled like Italian—you can almost taste the freshly baked cheese that Seoyeon had so generously added atop the pasta. You head for the kitchen and begin to grin when you hear that she’s singing Tell Me What Is Love.

“Seoyeon, I got it,” you call out, voice slightly muffled by the towel. “You’re not even trying to be subtle anymore so relax, I will set you up as soon as he’s back from enlist—”

You stop as the front door opens and Baekhyun enters, his eyes meeting yours immediately. His gaze shifts to Seoyeon and he grins, cheerfully greeting her.

“Baekhyun,” you mutter, taken aback by his friendly demeanour and sudden appearance as you glance behind him. “Where’s Manager?”

“They needed him back at the set,” Baekhyun replied casually, closing the door behind him. “I think it was urgent. He apologised, said that he’ll meet you tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay, sure.” You nod, still feeling slightly hesitant as he looks around curiously.

“It smells amazing in here.” He looks at Seoyeon then, smiling excitedly. “Seoyeonie, did you cook?”

“Yes, I did,” she grins, straightening from the table where she’d been setting the meal. “It’s hot from the oven so wait a bit and then eat a lot, okay? I’ll just be leaving now.”

Baekhyun protests but she shakes her head, shooting you a look to which you nod. Muttering that you’ll text her later, you stand awkwardly with the towel still held to your head as she exchanges pleasantries with him before leaving the apartment.

Baekhyun turns to you then and you swallow, Seoyeon’s words echoing in your head as you open your mouth to start the dreaded conversation but he beats you to it.

“Later,” he says, the one word immediately making your eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Let’s not get into it right now. Your hair is still wet.”

“Let’s-my-what?” You blink, shaking your head at him as you hold your hands up in an effort to slow him down. “Wait, are you saying you don’t want to talk about what happened?”

“I said later,” he clarified, grabbing the towel from your hands. “Not right now. I can’t get into it right now. Can you go get your brush?”

“My what?”

“Your hair’s a mess, Y/N,” Baekhyun said slowly as if you were a child who couldn’t understand him. He sighs when you just stare at him in bafflement, walking in the direction of the room. “I’ll get it myself.”

“No, wait,” you grab his arm, stopping him. Quickly, you head for your bedroom and grab the brush from your dresser. You glance at your reflection and stop, noticing how your eyes were slightly swollen. You’d assumed the shower would have made it less noticeable but it still looked as if you’d cried and you were certain that Baekhyun hadn’t missed it.

You walk back to the living room and stand at the door when you notice him going through the albums that you had placed next to your sound system. He’d connected your phone to the speakers and the silent room was filled with soft music from the playlist you’d had on shuffle this morning.

“What?” You ask, noticing Baekhyun’s sour expression. “Why are you frowning?”

“This is Jongdae's.” Your eyes fall on the disk inside the player that he points to, seeing the familiar green design of the April and a Flower CD.

You pause in confusion before prodding, “Yeah? And?”

“Where's my album?” Baekhyun mutters in his all-too familiar pouty way as he rummages over your collection.

You roll your eyes at his whiny tone, unable to fight your amused smile. “It’s there, you big baby. Next to Dean’s.”

Baekhyun's eyes search the cabinet, fingers finally finding his album as he pulls it out from between the others.

You grab the towel from the back of the chair where he’d placed it and dry the ends of your hair that had dampened the front of your shirt.

“Hey.”

You’re bent over with the towel atop your head but his serious tone makes its way through your vigorous drying. You straighten immediately, pushing your hair away from your face as you ask quickly, “What?”

“This isn’t signed.” Baekhyun turns to you with the City Lights album held up in his hand. “I’m literally your boyfriend, what the fuck?”

He mutters curses beneath his breath as he searches around for a marker and finds it on the shelf below the CDs next to your notepad. Biting back a smile, you stand beside him as he uncaps the marker and lowers it to the album.

“Not on your face,” you instruct reflexively and he pauses, glancing at you.

“Why not?” Baekhyun smirks and you already know he’s going to say something dirty. “You can sit on it but my signature can’t?”

You smack his arm and he laughs, moving aside to escape your hand. He leans over the desk to sign it and stops then, hand freezing mid-air.

You blink at him in confusion before asking, “What?”

Baekhyun caps the marker again, placing the album back and giving you a small smile. “I'll do it later.” He glances at you, eyes falling on your hair. “Your shirt is practically see-through now, Y/N, come here.”

He takes your hand before you can respond, pulling you over to the couch. You feel out-of-sorts and disoriented at the way he was behaving, like you were stepping on eggshells around him.

After all, it wasn’t often that you fought. There were silly arguments, of course, but they usually ended with him doing crazy antics to make you laugh.

But this wasn’t a silly argument. This was a recurring fight that hit too close to what happened in New York and the way he was acting right now wasn’t helping—in fact, it terrified you more. It reminded you of the eerily calm manner he’d been in as he uttered those last words in your apartment at New York before leaving.

Maybe we should take a break.

You close your eyes, willing the haunting memory to leave your mind as you stretch your legs out on the couch and lean your head back. Baekhyun sits behind you, moving closer so your back is against him as his hands rub the towel over your hair. The music playing from your phone slows as the song reaches its end and you feel Baekhyun's hand stop slightly as the familiar intro piano chords of Chen's Love Words fill the room.

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s coming as he blurts, “Ya. Don’t you think this is a bit too much? You have the album on your phone too?”

You raise your hands to the towel on your head. “It’s a fantastic album, Baek. One of the best released this year, for sure. It helps me sleep.”

Baekhyun takes the towel from your grip, resuming his brushing. You lapse into silence and he pulls you further back so you’re up against his chest. His voice reverberates through your back as he asks, “You have trouble sleeping?”

You open your eyes that had involuntarily closed at the gentle massage of Baekhyun’s hands, shoulders immediately tensing at the unexpected question. You try to be as nonchalant as possible as you say, “Some long nights that I have to pull at the office. The songs are all soothing so they help.”

You pause, running out of things to justify your words and you continue to ramble, “It’s really such a perfect album, the vibes are perfect for this time of the year when it's getting cooler. I was so awed when I first heard it that I even texted Jongdae and he was so shy, whining ‘noooo, you're just teasing’ when I kept praising it, it was really cute—”

“Y/N.”

You stopped, lowering your gaze to your hands on your lap. He removes the towel from around your head, putting it aside and placing his hands on your hips. “You never did tell me. What happened with the old apartment?”

The words are already leading to a conversation that you weren’t certain you wanted to have. The fact that Baekhyun still remembered the first place you rented as soon as you’d moved here—a posh two-bedroom apartment at Downtown Dubai—took you aback and you fought to not show your surprise.

You hesitated before shrugging. “I did tell you. It was far from the office and this place is more convenient this way.”

Your tone was steady enough to pass off as convincing and you were thankful that your back was facing him.

Baekhyun grips your hips then and manhandles you as he turns you around until you're sitting cross-legged in between his splayed legs. He tugs you closer until you’re just shy from being on his lap.

Spoke too soon.

Placing a finger under your chin, he lifts your head. Warm brown eyes locking with yours, he says, “Now say that again while looking right at me.”

You gaze back at him in silence, trying to force the words out of your mouth but as always, the lie was choking in your throat.

It had been almost three years and it was still less difficult to lie to him on the phone. Not that you got away with it—he’d still catch your shifty tone—but it was easier than doing it face-to-face.

So like a coward, you decide to change direction. “What's wrong with this place? I know you liked the other one more but this isn’t all that bad.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at your words. “You're right, I did. It had that fancy pool. And there’s nothing wrong with this place—except that you don’t sleep on the bed, do you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden accusation. “What?”

He gestures around the couch. “This is your bed.”

You’re silent and he continues, “Look at the table. There's way too many empty containers from takeout and too many bottles of water.”

“Yeah, so?” You scoff. “I lay on the couch and eat while watching stuff, Baek. Obviously.”

He shoots you a look then. “Your glasses are here.”

“I left them here by accident before I left for work the other day, they’re usually in my room.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, Y/N. There’s a clock. A cable for your phone, stretching all the way from the TV, by the way. I didn’t even know they had extension cords that long. And oh hey, a blanket!”

You open your mouth and he cuts you off again with, “Before you lie anymore, your bedroom looks like no one is living in it. The bed has never been cleaner and I know you don’t make it because you believe there’s no point in making your bed since you just fall asleep on it at the end of the day again. If I swept through that room, I’m pretty sure I’d only find footprints in your wardrobe ’cause that’s all you use, Y/N.”

He emphasises the last bit to drive the point further home and there’s nothing left for you to argue so you look down, playing with your fingers again until Baekhyun takes your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

You know what he’s going to say even before he says it and you look up, meeting his eyes. They bore into you and you’re silently pleading with your gaze now.

“Babe.”

Don’t say it, don’t say it, dontsayitdontdontdont—

“Is this about New York?”

You flinch, his fingers tightening around your hand as if you were going to run and he was trying to make sure you wouldn’t. You can’t blame him either because New York hurt unlike any other.

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

Self-Promo Sunday: When You Can’t Walk, I’ll Help You Stand

** Now with exceptional artwork by @cocohook38! ***

(That’s why I chose this work to re-post this week; I want you to see the wonderful illustration she did for it! I don’t know how to get it into this post exactly - maybe I can’t? - but the link to it is HERE! Go see it for yourselves!!! Thanks again for that @cocohook38)

Can also be found on AO3 and ff.net

“When You Can’t Walk, I’ll Help You Stand”

By: @snowbellewells for Ouat Winter Whump

(This one shot takes place during 5B, but diverges in the episode where Emma finds Killian in Hades’ lair, and then gives them the time to piece Killian back together from his wounds and try to deal with what he’s been through. This may veer more toward hurt/comfort, but I’ve never written a piece that sets out to specifically focus on the whump before, so it was a new challenge. I hope you will - enjoy? That may not be the right word? - but at least find it worth reading.)

Emma couldn’t bring herself to dwell on what could happen to Milah as she waited with the boat, or where Gold had gotten off to and what sort of underhanded trickery he might even then be planning. She had taken a genuine liking to Killian’s first love as they’d trekked together into this deepest level of Hades’ nightmarish abode. Not only did they have the common purpose of rescuing the man they both loved, but there was a similar tough tenacity to the dark-haired woman, a hardened shell of armour formed from scars and a haunted look in her eyes that Emma understood all too well. Maybe it should have been awkward to be walking side-by-side with the woman Killian had given his heart to before her, or she could have felt threatened or possessive that Milah might endanger what she and Killian had when he saw her again, but that had not been the case at all. If anything, she had felt invigorated in her mission; if she could have anyone who would care as desperately about her goal as she did, she couldn’t have suggested a better volunteer. And right now, that was all she had room to worry over.

Instead, Emma vowed to get back to the other woman with their pirate as soon as possible, and she gathered Killian’s battered form toward herself gingerly, knowing as much as it pained her that any contact she made was only going to hurt him further. The sight of her love, the man she had given herself over to the Darkness trying to save, suspended in chains over the frighteningly roiling greenish pit of water, broken, bloodied and nearly insensate was a sight that wouldn’t fade away easily - in fact, she feared it might be permanently seared upon her mind’s eyes in horrific detail.

Her heart, still crammed up in her throat despite having reached him and managing to pull him over to the strange metal dias where he slumped in her embrace, nearly choked her, blocking her airway with the not-yet-dissipated panic she’d felt at seeing him being lowered into the seething river. Even as she tried to chuckle at his weakened, “You never listen to me, do you Swan?” she was still struggling to hold back her nausea at the state he was in, even as she tried to chuckle bravely for his sake and banter back, “And you love me for it.”

Her hands ached to brush along his cheek and trace over the beloved long-healed scar beneath his right eye. However, it wasn’t even visible to her through the dried blood caking large sections of his face and neck and the mottled array of yellowing, greenish and purple bruises that covered the rest. His dark leather beneath her trembling fingers was shredded in places across his back and shoulders and charred roughly in others. Where the material remained intact, she felt the stickiness of blood still wet over much of the surface and the roughly melted edges where the jacket seemed to have been burned - and she feared the same of his skin beneath.

“Come on, Killian,” she managed, her voice a mere breath at his ear, unable to muster more sound out of sheer stunned shock at the cruelty he had clearly endured. “Let’s get you out of here.” She didn’t want to hurt him further, but they had to get out of Hades’ lair and back to the others, the sooner the better. Trying to steel herself against the reaction she was sure he’d have, she slipped her hands under his arms, in hopes of lifting him to his feet and helping him stand.

As expected, a sharp hiss of breath escaped Killian’s parched lips before a bitten back groan made its way through his clenched teeth despite his determined efforts. Staggering slightly, she could feel his strained and abused muscles quivering as her pirate attempted to get his feet beneath him and aid her in supporting his weight. By pure reflex, Emma slipped an arm free and placed it on his lower back to brace him, but as soon as her palm made contact, a harsh cry of pain escaped him and he jerked away from the touch defensively, nearly buckling his knees and sending them both to the cold stone floor.

Killian’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his chest heaved for breath even as she grit her teeth and just barely managed to keep them upright. She couldn’t read his mind, but the way his body shuddered against her side told Emma he might well be revisiting some part of the trauma he had suffered. She kicked herself for having sent him into the episode and whispered apologies to him even as she tried to coax him into taking a first step toward freedom. Killian, however, was lost to the torrent of memories flooding his mind…

His bound hands were jerked over his head, pulling him to stand straight, stretched almost onto his toes, by Hades’ magically conjured rope that held him inescapably tight and in position. Though youth and young adulthood in indentured servitude and most of a centuries-long life lived at sea as a pirate gave him a familiarity with what was surely coming, it didn’t stop the fear that rose in his chest, or the intense desire to struggle, to attempt escape, however impossible, from his bonds. The dry-mouthed fear and dread brought on by the probability of a lashing struck panicked dread into the stoutest of hearts, and he was no exception. Once he had felt that scourge slice across his skin - and his back bore the healed-over scars from how well, even ages since they had been given - he couldn’t help but tremble at the prospect, even if he gave no other sign of pleading or weakness.

He heard the whip whistle through the putrid, sulfuric air and the fiery lance of agony struck deep on impact, a stifled cry breaking past his lips despite how he fought to hold it back and deny his tormenter the satisfaction. Though it had been ages since the days he knew this punishment well - whether in retribution for a nicked crust of bread from the galley to silence his half-starved growing belly, or for oft-uttered self defense when mocked for being small, fatherless, unwanted and abandoned, which was taken as impertinence and punished accordingly - the bite of the braided leather, tearing into his flesh a bit more with each stroke had not lessened in impact, either physically or with the emotional pain of those long-buried memories.

After the fifth lash, he felt the skin break as the whip criss-crossed a previous cut one time too many for the skin to remain intact. The feel of blood running down his back and beginning to soak the waistband of his jeans was a minor discomfort compared to the pain flaring over his shoulders, down his spine and out across his sides, but the combination made bile rise in his throat and he could just barely choke back a sobbed plea for mercy. He could not even sag to partially relieve the pulling against the tautly stretched and ravaged skin and sinew of his back, nor could he flinch or try to shield the worst areas of his suffering.

Tears ran down his cheeks unbidden, and Killian could only grit his teeth and hope that the soot, sweat, open cuts, and dried blood hid the trails that would give away his break into emotion. When the lord of the Underworld cackled in twisted delight, Killian hated that Hades might very well know just how broken he was.

The fallen deity released the magical ties with a quick flourish, and Killian collapsed weakly to the stone floor beneath him, stubbornly only emitting a low grunt of pain at the contact with all his injured body. Somehow, regardless of the despair slowly sneaking into his spirit and mind as the relentless and unendingly shifting modes of torment continued without ceasing, he still managed to grit his teeth and glare back at Hades with the fire and resolve of a formidable pirate captain when the villain knelt next to his broken body and jerked his head up by the hair to hauntingly question, “Have you given up hope yet?”

With all the strength he could muster, Killian growled with true hatred in his eyes, “Never.”

And for a relieving moment, Hades left to find a new way to harrow him.

When he and Emma finally shuffled at last from the cavernous underground chamber where he had been trapped, Killian went to his knees, no longer able to put his feet forward and support his own weight, even with Emma’s urging and support. At least they were out of the dank, winding maze of darkness below, and Killian almost felt that in itself more a miracle than he would have expected, even if they weren’t free of this cursed realm yet.

Emma appeared puzzled when she managed to half-drag, half-steady him to a shore where an empty rowboat awaited them. It sent off concerned warning bells in Killian’s head to see her wild-eyed glance flit nervously from side to side and her mumble to herself, “Where are they?” His dazed mind fumbled through guilty confusion wondering who she had brought with her and dragged into danger on his undeserving behalf. At the same time, his tongue had been clumsy and thick with dehydration between all the sweat and tears he lost without a bit to drink. True, his no-longer-living system shouldn’t need rehydration, but it didn’t seem to convince his mind he wasn’t thirsty; especially after the fires and ravages of the last few days which he had begun to fear would encompass his eternity.

Pushing past her confusion, Emma didn’t hesitate long on that bleak, rocky bank; somehow she managed to force him up once again, if only long enough to help him drag his heaving carcass into the small vessel awaiting them and collapse in its stern as she took up an oar. “We’re almost there, Killian,” she whispered, grim determination in her voice as she began to paddle. “Rest. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Again, he wanted to protest, to insist he wasn’t worth it, that she should save herself and leave him to his fate, but his weakened body wouldn’t allow him to speak his mind with sense.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were blinking open again, as the boat bumped against another rocky outcropping, still not under open sky, but seeming less dark, less encroaching somehow. Emma was leaning over him a mere moment later, asking if he was with her, and seemed to want to touch him but was biting her bottom lip as her worried eyes scanned his form, as if not sure where to touch that wouldn’t add to his suffering.

Other voices began to filter into his awareness then; a gasp and pained exclamation of his name, the dismayed and teary “Oh, Killian!” clearly belonging to Snow White. He heard a low, angry curse that was no doubt his fellow reformed outlaw mate’s voice, and David’s was an added murmur, as if trying to direct the others.

“Can you get out of the boat?” Emma asked him gently.

He tried to focus his swimming vision on her face, and breathed a pitiful admission that he hated himself for uttering. “I’ll try, Love...but...I-I’m not sure I can walk any further…”

She blinked tears back at that, finally seeming to have decided to at least risk squeezing his hand for a moment within her own trembling touch. “That’s okay,” she managed hoarsely. “Just step out, and my dad and Robin are ready to help you.”

He somehow managed to heft himself up, wobbling more than he should, and stumbled out of the boat onto solid ground once more. Dave and Robin both reached out to steady him, and he felt Emma hovering at his back, but none of them were quite able to stop his fall as he crashed to his knees once more and was sucked into another reliving of his torture…

Hades’ minions, two burly demons not quite human or beast, but some grotesque amalgam he hesitated to ponder, forced him to his knees on Hades’ barked order. Much as he tried to resist, to fight back, he had already been kept for days without nourishment or rest, plagued by dreams of his not coming back to himself in time and letting Nimue strangle the life from his beautiful Swan, of leaving the mark to do its work and allowing her boy and the rest of her loved ones to suffer in this hell he now inhabited, and the certainty that if he could get back to those he had once thought might almost be his family too, they would turn from him one by one, having at last come to realize the darkness that had always haunted his soul. Killian didn’t know if his infernal jailer had sent these visions or if they would have beset him regardless after the way he had fallen to the Darkness and given it free reign, but they gave him no quarter, and his spirit was wrung and weakened even before each new physical torment began.

The henchmen - he had the tiniest glimmer of solace at the momentary urge to call them Pain and Panic, remembering a distant better time when Henry had shown him the animated picture version of Hercules, Hades and the rest - had iron grips, and held him there on his knees, arms outstretched, unable to move or shield himself from whatever blow was coming next. His head lolled slightly forward, the slight drop in his guard and the thought of a happier memory made his reality all the more shattering, and it took him a moment to register the slight smoky scent in the air before Hades stepped into view with a burning, red hot brand in his grasp. The exiled god watched recognition dawn in his prisoner’s eyes with sadistic glee. “You’ve been disappointingly stoic in the face of all my trials, Captain,” he mused leisurely, looking for all the world as if he were about to sit down for a pleasant tea rather than torture someone into madness and despair. “However,” he chuckled, leaning in to pat Killian’s roughly stubbled and bruised cheek, “I think this might just do the trick.”

He stood back up and without further warning shoved the brand into Killian’s side. The fiery agony caused Killian to buck fruitlessly against the arms holding him in place; a long, low keening sound ripped from his throat unbidden as the smell of his own flesh sizzling turned his stomach.

“Aha!” Hades crowed triumphantly, moving slightly behind Killian to next press the brand to the pirate’s opposite shoulder. The brand singed through the tattered remnants of his jacket, practically melting the material into his skin and making the pain linger even once the fiery instrument itself had been pulled back. “I had a feeling this would pierce that thick armour of yours.”

Coming back to stand before his victim once more, Hades stopped to look at the man trying with all his might not to whimper or beg, still staring back at him with resistant hatred in those ice-chip blue eyes, the lord of the Underworld grinned insidiously as he jerked back the Captain’s already ripped-up sleeve to bare the dagger-pierced heart tattoo on his forearm. “Just one more, I believe. A permanent reminder for Captain Hook,” he chortled in fiendish delight, “that you might as well give up your foolish hope. You failed them, just as you failed her. You continually hurt, and eventually lost, anyone you ever dared to love.”

Killian flinched back into awareness of his present surroundings with a shattered cry. Pain still radiated from all the wounds that had throbbed in his nightmarish reverie, and it left him unsure of where he was or what was happening around him. There had been motion; he was certain that he had been moving, though not whether his own feet had been taking the steps. However, at the gasp which had escaped him and the whimpering which he realized gradually was coming from his own throat, everything had come to a halt.

Emma’s beautiful, golden hair and troubled face caught his sight as she moved to stand before him. Hesitantly placing her hands on either side of his face, her thumbs stroked his battered skin for several calming seconds. He couldn’t help the wince at even that most gentle contact, and yet he didn’t want her to stop. He tried to focus on her words and to nod in agreement when she murmured softly, “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry, Killian. But we’re almost out. Then we’ll let you rest, I swear.”

He realized that he was being mostly carried between David and Robin, his arms slung over their shoulders, and his head full of sweat and blood-matted hair lolled to the side and rested in the crook of the man he had hoped to call father-in-law’s neck. He was upright, but his feet were barely scuffling along, mostly dragging the ground as the other two men propelled him carefully forward. Snow and Emma were just ahead of them, coming to stand in front of a door that strangely resembled the entry to Snow and David’s loft back in Storybrooke above. The fact that Emma’s mother wore a bow and quiver of arrows over her sensibly sedate peacoat only served to confuse him further, and he wondered for a second if some sort of delirium had set in.

However, it seemed that the sights before him were real as Emma opened the door to reveal an almost perfect replica of the Charmings’ Storybrooke apartment. The only difference he could see at first glance was the fact that like all of the Underworld he had glimpsed so far, it was tinted with a sort of dark red lens, as if seen through fire or blood. Emma didn’t slow or stop, but lead them across the eerie copy of the living room to a separate bedroom just off to the side, where Dave and Robin finally eased him down to the soft surface of a bed - thankfully before he could lose consciousness again. Sight wavered unreliably in and out for several minutes, though Killian heard murmuring voices in low whispers at the doorway, before footsteps died away, the door closed, and then he heard the soft pad of light feet drawing back to his side again.

“Killian?...Can you hear me?” Her usually brash and confident voice sounded tear-choked and hesitant to his ears, paining him further to think that he had caused her distress even as he struggled to part dry and bitten-raw lips to make an audible reply. He might have been angry beyond all measure with her when he woke to realize she had turned him into the evil he hated in order to keep him alive, but all of that had faded away with the agony and apology in her eyes on the shore of that lake. What she’d been made to do in penance, the shock of Excalibur thrusting home within his body, the wave of light transforming her back into his savior, and that final (they’d believed so at least) goodbye had washed the bitterness and the desire for vengeance from his veins. Since then, there had only been room for pain and the gnawing absence of his True Love...not room for much at all beyond the missing her.

She was beside him once more; Killian felt the bed dip gently with her weight as she set herself down on the very edge of it near his hip. A moment later, her tender hand was carefully smoothing his dark fringe of hair back from off his forehead where grime, sweat and blood had plastered it. He managed to blink his eyes open enough to look at her briefly, hoping his expression would somehow convey the words he couldn’t produce to tell her he could hear her, he forgave her if she could forgive him in turn, he still loved her, had feared he would never see her face or feel her touch again, and even that comfort was enough for him to begin to heal.

Finally, Killian managed a small nod of his head, to which her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a sad smile. Humming low and soothingly in the back of her throat, Emma continued to run her fingers through his hair, despite how matted and dirty Killian was certain it must be. In truth, it wasn’t clear who was more calmed by the action - himself or his love. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before her fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot where Hades had jerked his head up by the roots of his hair and Killian could not help but flinch.

A distressed sound escaped Emma’s lips as she quickly withdrew her hand, already apologizing as she stood and hurried off - worriedly explaining how she had forgotten herself in her gladness to simply be near him again instead of beginning to treat his wounds.

The sound of water running gained his interest momentarily, and then he felt the bed dip beneath him once more as Emma returned to his side. A warm washcloth touched his face as she laid it over his forehead and eyes for several seconds before beginning to gingerly dab at the dried blood and grime smeared across his forehead and cheeks. She got up once, twice, and yet a third time, keeping the wash rag warm and damp so as to ease the dried matter from his bruised and broken skin without having to scrub any harder than absolutely necessary. And, even with the occasional twinges of pain at her ministrations, Killian felt his tightly clenched and abused muscles begin to relax at last beneath her care.

It wasn’t until she had finished washing his face and neck, unbuttoned and removed the ruined ribbons of his jacket and shirt to bathe his shoulders, chest, and stomach, tearing up at the damage that revealed, and urged him gently to sit up so she could cleanse his back as well, that he tried to tell her even a little of what had happened.

She tried to be strong, to remain calm and merely listen to him, to be there for him as he exorcised whatever demons and trauma he needed to release, but he couldn’t choke out much before the emotion welling up in his chest clogged his words and forced him into silence again. Emma couldn’t stop the first, or the second, silent tear which slipped down her cheek in response to what little he had been able to share (and the crushing guilt that she had helped to put him in his attacker’s clutches). Merely seeing the aftereffects written upon his skin was nearly enough to undo her. However, even if she couldn’t be as strong and solid for him to lean on as she had hoped, she could see he was clinging to control, to sanity, as desperately as one would to the last board in a shipwreck so as not to drown in the storm still swirling around him.

Even before she finished washing the blood from his skin, disinfecting and bandaging the cuts and stabs and burns, she merely pulled back and stared into his eyes, hands cradling his face until he drug in a ragged, rattling breath before she finally whispered, barely audible against his lips, “It’s okay, Killian. Let it go.”

For several long, tense seconds, Killian merely stared back at her - his faze so wrought, so broken, that Emma almost panicked, not sure that she could truly help him or that she would be enough. Then, slowly, the blue of his eyes clouded, washed paler by the wave of tears that suddenly began to run down his face as it crumpled, the removed and controlled facade collapsing at last as his shoulders shook with sobs.

Not knowing what else to do, but glad that maybe he was finally allowing himself what she suspected he needed, Emma pulled him to her chest, hoping she didn’t hurt him too badly as she did, and held on as he buried his head against her and let himself cry. Emma didn’t shush him or try to speak; she would soothe him when he was ready, but for the moment she sensed her pirate needed to fall apart, to release the pent-up pain and fear and anger. It made her wonder just how much he had kept buried, and for how long.

All the while as she held him, Emma found herself apologizing over his silent sobs, unable to stop, admitting that she knew how she had hurt him, how she had been wrong to disregard his wishes, and swearing that she would never let her needs so supersede his own again. She would do whatever he needed.

Eventually though, as the storm of emotion passed and his shaking stilled, she realized Killian was trying to answer her. Moving his head only slightly, she finally heard his murmured, “Emma, Emma...no, my Love...enough. We’ve both learned…and we’ve punished ourselves too much. It’s over, it’s forgiven…”

She was the one to shake her head then, almost unable to believe he could truly do so, her hand cradling the back of his head and stroking the strands of his dark hair. “Killian...what I did...I can’t make it right...I can’t undo what happened to you because I…”

His battered, beloved hand, scraped raw with knuckles swollen and bloodied, but still beautiful to her, came to cover her lips, stopping the flow of words, “Sh...sh…” he soothed. “Emma...all I need is for you to keep holding me.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Emma nodded tightly and pulled her True Love into her careful embrace once more. It wasn’t all going to fade immediately; he wasn’t healed with a single touch, but she felt for the first time since their whole ordeal had begun, perhaps even since she had picked the dagger up from the street and willingly become the Dark One, that they would be alright in time.

To his simple, bare request, she could only promise with quiet certainty, “Always, Killian. You hear me?... Always.”

Tagging: @cocohook38 @hollyethecurious @thisonesatellite @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @optimisticgirl @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @drowned-dreamer @laschatzi

#self promo sunday #ouat one shot #underworld 5b divergent ff #killian whump #ouatwinterwhump fic #cs one shot #cs hurt comfort

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written-prose-things · 4 years

Text

What did you just call me?

Summary: When an unknown hunter walks into Beacon Hills, Derek goes into Over Protective Alpha mode. Everyone gets puts into groups, which they're supposed to stick with at all times. Stiles gets stuck with Derek. Ya know, The Alpha He Has A Crush On. Over the next three days, they both realise exactly how much fun their normal life can be as well.

{this is the third chapter!}

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Ao3

The alpha is extremely vigilant about following the rules he lays down, so not having him in the room kicks Stiles into overdrive. Stiles flings himself out of the bed and towards his false-bottomed drawer. He pulls out the blue felt cover tome. Over the past month, Deaton gives him a book to keep when he masters its content.

Stiles flips through the pages quickly, which are warm with his residual magic. The page he needs falls open on its own.

The Re-Calling spell. Stiles gulps. He should be using a locator spell, but he wants Derek in front of him. Right. Now.

He’s only tried the Re-Calling spell on objects that he’s given to other people. But it has to work now.

He places his hand over the sigil, which has faded over time, on the coffee-coloured page and concentrated on Derek’s face, his smell, his “aura” like Deaton liked to call it.

A second later there was a loud thump against the window as Derek was flung onto it from the outside. Stiles yelped when Derek feel back with the inertia, onto the tiles of the roof.

Stiles rushed to open the window and looked down at Derek, who was groaning in pain. Below them, Scott and Boyd are standing on the ground, looking at Stiles like he’s the crazy one.

Stiles huffs, “I’m not apologising. I didn’t know where you were so I called you back.”

Derek, who’s in the middle of sitting up, stares at him with murder eyebrows, “You used a re-calling spell on me? You could have pulled my spleen out!”

Stiles shrugs, “Then the spleen would be the only part of you that followed the rule.”

Derek grumbles and sits up. Scott says loud enough for Stiles to hear, “So what should we do-?”

Derek flashes his eyes, “We just talked about this Scott.”

Both the betas bear their necks and Scott looks like a scolded puppy.

Boyd puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder and nods at Derek, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

The two betas rush out of Stiles’ yard just as the sun begins to rise. Derek lets out another sigh before climbing in through the window.

Stiles asks in what he hopes is a casual way, “What’s up with them?”

Derek replies just as casually, “Nothing.”

Stiles nods and walks off to the bathroom. He isn’t going to get a straight answer out of Derek just yet.

-x-

The day goes slowly. Jackson, Erica and Allison are missing and Scott and Boyd look dead on their feet.

Stiles tries asking them what the issue is, but he only gets mumbled responses in return. Lydia and Issac keep him company in the classes they share, but they too are busy holding secret conversations when they think Stiles isn't looking.

When the day ends, Stiles is more than happy to run out the door to where Derek is already waiting for him.

Stiles dumps his bag in the backseat and slides into the front seat next to Derek. The alpha smirks, “I didn’t know you could get into a car without falling down.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Why weren’t Erica Allison and Jackson at school today?”

Derek shrugs as he pulls the car out of the parking lot, “How should I know?”

Stiles scoffs. How should I know? For an alpha who loves to nag and hound his betas, Derek is acting suspiciously. The alpha is always ready to spam the betas with texts and voicemails when they’re missing. Not that Stiles grudges Derek’s helicopter parenting, considering his past. But the sudden lack of enthusiasm for the same is alarming.

Stiles pulls himself out of his inner monologue just as they reach the turn for the Deaton’s clinic. He has a “class” with Deaton on the days that Coach doesn’t schedule practises.

“I have to go-”

Before Stiles can finish his sentence, Derek’s pulling the car onto Deaton’s street.

“How did you know where I wanted to go?”

Derek replies shortly, “Deaton’s place on days with no practice.”

Stiles quirks an eyebrow, “So, you remember my schedule but not the others?”

Derek covers quickly, but Stiles knows him well enough to see the quick flash of bewilderment on his face, “I’ll remember their schedules when they start spamming me with unnecessary voice notes at all hours of the day.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and drops his feet on the dash, “Whatever, I know you’re lying.”

Derek only shoves his legs off the dashboard as they slow down in front of the vet’s clinic. And that’s answer enough.

Outside, Deaton’s waiting for them in front of the clinic’s door. Stiles and Derek climb out of the car.

Deaton nods at Derek and Stiles, “Derek. Stiles.” His head moving low enough for it to look like he’s almost bowing weirdly.

But Stiles has become used to the man’s quirks. He repeats a parody of the man’s action, “Deaton.”

Derek growls unexpectedly, “Why’re you doing that?”

Stiles looks up to see Derek’s eyes flashing at Deaton, but his question is directed at Stiles.

Stiles shrugs, “He started it.” Which is true. Deaton’s been acting weird for the past month, but it’s not too different from his usual quirkiness, so Stiles just went with it.

Derek growls at Deaton.

The vet replies frankly, “I can’t not Derek. You know how important traditions are.”

Derek huffs and looks away. Clearly, he can’t argue with Deaton’s obscure explanation, but he still doesn’t like it.

Stiles raises his hand tentatively, “Can someone explain these traditions for the novice spark, please?”

Deaton clears his throat and replies slowly, “As the new emissary to the Hale pack, you rank higher than I do. Therefore, traditions state that I must show you respect. However, by returning the gesture, you are establishing my superiority, which can be taken as a challenge to Derek’s authority.”

The druid’s trademark long-winded sentences make Stiles’ head ache. But he’s understood the gist of it.

“So why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Deaton shrugs, “Between attacks by Alpha packs and hunters, this didn’t mean like a pressing issue.”

The druid looks at Derek to gauge his reaction. If his responding grumble is anything to go by, the explanation has satisfied him.

-x-

When they start Stiles’ lesson for the day, Deaton rubs his hands together. Which is never a good sign.

“Today I’m planning on teaching you how to bend the rules of magic.”

“What do you mean?”

Deaton smiles which only serve to set Stiles on edge even more, “Have you ever tried object spells on humans.”

Stiles can’t help the blush that creeps up his face as Derek groans loudly.

Deaton turns to the alpha, “What?”

Derek shakes his head, “You’ll find that your novice has already started those spells.”

Deaton’s head whips back as he stares at Stiles, “What did you do?”

Stiles holds his hands up, “Calm down, no one got hurt.”

Derek growls at that and Stiles amends, “There wasn’t any permanent damage to anyone… I just used the re-calling spell on Derek.”

Deaton’s eyes widen in surprise, “Why did you do that?”

Stiles shrugs, “He wasn’t there when I woke up, I just tried something.”

Deaton nods, “And you were able to handle it?”

Derek interrupts, “No, I slammed into his window.”

Deaton nods, “Right I need you to practise the spell till you can handle it.”

Stiles startles, “You want me to keep banging Derek around?”

“No. I just bought a can of worms in the back for the gerbils that had been admitted. You can start practising on them.”

-x-

By the time Stiles and Derek leave the vet’s clinic, Stiles has seen enough worm guts to last a lifetime.

Almost all his attempts had ended with the carcasses of worms being splattered around Deaton’s back room, which he had to clean up with Derek.

They quickly make their way to Derek’s Camaro as a light rain has started.

Stiles whines once he’s sitting in the car, his head thumping back against the headrest, “ I don’t understand what went wrong! I didn’t pull your guts out and you’re a whole assed human being! Those were just worms. I hate this so much.”

Derek shakes his head, “I’m not a human though. You didn’t pull my guts out cause I’m a werewolf. My body was able to handle the pressure. The worms died cause you couldn’t handle your spark.”

Stiles laughs, “Ohhh, ProfessorWolf.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

They get in the Camaro and peel out.

-x-

Instead of going to Derek’s loft to pick up Stiles’ jeep, Derek takes them away from the heart of the county.

Stiles looks over at Derek, “You missed the turn for the den.”

Derek smiles wryly, “Oh, I totally forgot!”

Stiles replies with a deadpan, “Ha fucking ha, where are we going?”

Derek shrugs.

A little while later as the rain increases, they turn onto the highway and Stiles realises where they’re going. Stiles’ favourite place in Beacon Hills; No, his most favourite place in the world. Heaven on Earth…

Sadie’s.

Although it doesn’t look like much, a run-down diner tucked into a corner next to the highway, Stiles has been going there with his father for as long as he can remember. Sadie’s cultivated his love for curly fries and milkshakes.

The flickering light of Sadie’s is visible through the car’s window, getting blurred by the raindrops.

Stiles turns to Derek, smiling widely, “I.Love.You.”

He realises slowly, that maybe he shouldn’t be so blatant about his crush on the alpha, if Derek’s surprised face is anything to go by. But he tries to comfort himself because he would have said the same thing to the others if they had taken him to Sadie’s as a surprise.

Derek parks the car and stops Stiles from opening the door. Instead, climbs out and rushes to Stiles’ side, holding his leather jacket over the door, in an attempt to shield him from the rain.

As they both rush from the car towards the warm diner, Stiles feels goosebumps rise on his back. He tries to make himself believe that they’re from the cold and not from Derek’s arms surrounding him as he holds up the jacket.

When they walk into the diner, relatively dry, Derek covers Stiles in the jacket, patting it down to keep him warm.

Stiles knows he should insist on giving it back, considering that Derek is only wearing a henley and werewolf’s high body temperature be damned, he isn’t letting Derek get cold on his watch.

But, the smell of pine cones and soap that emanates from the jacket effectively stops his brain from working. When he wrestles back control from the primal part of his brain, Stiles realises that he’s still standing in front of the door, a hair’s breadth away Derek, who’s looking at him with a look that Stiles can’t describe.

It pains him to admit that Derek’s eyebrows have an emotion that he doesn’t know about. Instead of wallowing in it, Stiles turns away to look for an empty table. Derek walks away a moment later to order their curly fries and milkshakes.

In true Sadie’s fashion, the order takes a long time to be served. So much so that by the time they’ve picked up their to-go bag and walked out of the diner, the sky has cleared.

Only, it’s late enough now that the clouds give way to bright stars. Derek stares at the sky just as they’re getting into his car and says, “Have you ever been to the roof above the loft?”

Stiles shakes his head, “I didn’t even know you had access to the roof!”

-x-

When they walk into the loft, Derek leads him up the spiral staircase. Stiles realises that he hasn’t even seen the alpha’s bedroom.

Stiles reaches the top of the staircase two steps behind Derek to find an average looking room. Of course, due to the fire and his constant shifting, the room is a little sparsely decorated, but other than that, it looks lived in. There is one door on the wall in front of him, which Stiles assumes leads to the roof. Next to the door is a table and a chair, made of thick wood. A queen bed pushed against the wall in covered in fine cotton sheets and a variety of blankets. In front of the foot of the bed is a thick, brown-coloured rug that takes up most of the floor space.

Next to the bed is a cupboard built into the wall, with clothes settled haphazardly. Of course, compared to Stiles’ cupboard, it looks much cleaner. What surprises Stiles the most is the abundance of colour in the closet. Stiles realises that Derek chooses wearing the drabbest colours

Stiles thinks that if he was in charge of dressing Derek, he would make the alpha wear all the clothes that he’s shoved into the corner of his closet.

Stiles’ inner monologue on Derek’s clothing stops when he realises that the Alpha is staring at him.

Stiles also realises that the Alpha asked him a question, “What?”

Derek mumbles, “Is it good?”

“Your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure...It’s nice, I guess.”

“Okay.”

Derek abruptly opens the door and walks onto the roof, their bag of takeaway in his hands. That is officially the most abrupt and weird conversation he’s had with the alpha and Stiles wants to pursue it. But when he walks onto the roof, Derek’s already opened the bags of food and Stiles forgets everything under the influence of the smell of his favourite curly fries.

As they munch on the fries and sip their shakes, Stiles stares up at the stars. The sky is exceptionally clear that day, so he realises he can ask Derek for the information he’s been needing in the past.

“Hey, Derek.”

The alpha’s mouth is wrapped around the straw of his shake, but he hums in response listening to Stiles.

“Remember how you said you were going to teach me the constellations?”

Derek’s eyes twinkle in excitement. He sets down his milkshake lies down on the roof. He looks at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles settles down next to him slowly. Stiles realises that maybe Derek knows how important he is. Because Stiles can easily look up all the constellations he wants on the internet, learn their placing, history, discovery and other stuff. Instead, he’s lying on the roof of a rundown building, with only a leather jacket to keep him warm as he listens to Derek describe the constellations.

Stiles hums and nods every time Derek pauses, but his eyes keep slipping shut. Derek slowly shifts his arm under Stiles, allowing his to curl into the alpha’s warm chest.

Stiles falls asleep to the steady thump of Derek’s heart and his soft voice describing the constellations.

#sterek #teen wolf

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har-rison-s · 5 years

Text

pretty

request: Can I get a Stan Uris request? Reader is Bill’s older sister, maybe 15 while The Losers are 13, and the boys have a sleepover at the Denbrough house. She’s taking a shower and she forgets her towel so she yells for Bill to fetch her one but Stan is the one to hear her, so he gives her the towel. She notices he’s blushing and asks him what’s wrong, and he’s never seen her in a towel before and he blurts out that she’s pretty and it’s all cute and she’s like “you’re pretty, too, Stan”

A/N: What a cliché title.... Hi. Risky, risky, eheheheheh. Anyways, let's do this. An interesting and realistic, actually, request. At least I think so. I expect this to be a short one, but that's not bad. While this age difference made me squint a little, it's okay. Not if you're older, alright? I do not promote underage/of-age relationships. Happy reading!

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gif credit goes to owner!

Coca Cola cans, chip packets, crackers, water, jelly beans and bears, sour candy, slices of watermelon. Video games, cartoon series, board games, card games, television programs and films. Pyramids of cups, smelly socks, hats, pillows and plates. The perfect combo of a teenage boys' slumber party.

A perfect weekend for the boys. The Denbrough kids' mother decided to let their kids have fun alone, do whatever they want, for a weekend. She and her husband drove up state to visit her parents. They warned the kids not to burn the house down, and, boy, did Bill's friends try.

Y/N was already used to Bill's friends causing chaos everywhere they went, always being loud and quite annoying, she must admit. Especially trash-mouth Richie. She couldn't stand him. But, like said, she had gotten used to them and their loudness. At least there were only four of them, and they were younger.

“Don't tell me Brooke Shields is home, too.” Richie begs his friend. They've been playing board games for hours, the MTV channel serving as background noise and when they switched channels, they heard music coming from upstairs. The Losers Club immediately looked at Bill.

“Sh-sh-she doesn't mind us being here.” Bill says, innocently.

“But it's weird. She hears everything.” Eddie states. Stanley sighs.

“She has music on, dumbass.” He tells his friend, eyes narrowed.

“Or rather, we can hear everything.” Richie says with a thick essence of mischief in his voice.

“Beep-beep, Rich.” Stan says, sighing along with the other two.

“Say, Bill, does she have a boyfriend? Maybe he's coming over tonight?” Richie keeps pestering his best friend.

“Shut up, R-R-Richie.” Bill responds, careless to go any further with this stupid conversation. Richie snickers and looks at Eddie, waiting for him to join in laughing, but he doesn't.

“Bill, do you have Monopoly?” Stanley asks and Bill nods.

“In m-my room, up-upstairs.” He tells Stan.

“I'll get it, then.” The boy decides and walks to the living room's door to get to the stairs.

“We all know what he's gonna do up there. And it ain't gonna be Monopoly.” Richie comments, which earns him a nasty glare from Stanley and a punch to his side from Bill himself.

“Th-that's my-my sister you're talk-talking about.” Stanley hears Bill say to Richie.

Y/N decided to hop into a shower before she settles for watching a movie in her parents room and then going to bed. It is ten pm on a Friday night already, and she's got her friends coming over tomorrow, so she needs to have a good night's sleep. Even with her brother's never resting friends in the house.

She left the music in her room on while showering, but she also left her clean towel in the downstairs washing room. She realised it only when she was done showering - that there were no towels in her bathroom. Shit. She hopes Bill can hear her, she did hear him coming up the stairs.

“Billy!” She yells as loud as she can.

Stan almost falls off the stool he uses to get to the top shelf from hearing Bill's sister yelling. Bill has a bad habit of putting board games on the highest shelf in his room. And she definitely has a loud voice.

“Bill!” She yells again when there's no response. Not more than half a minute later there's a knock on her door.

“It's Stan, not Bill.” The boy says through the door. “Do you need some help?”

“Oh, hi, Stan. Come in, the door is open and I'm in the shower.” She simply says. Stanley hesitates, but creaks open the door. “I'm in quite a crisis. My towel is in the downstairs bathroom, the blue one in a red basket.”

“Need me to bring it?” He concludes.

“If you'd be so kind.” She says shyly.

“Right. I'll be right back.” Stan tells her and, after slowly and carefully closing the bathroom door behind him, rushes downstairs for the towel she asked for. She would be freezing soon.

“What's the matter, Stanley? Saw something you shouldn't have?” Richie teases and Stan only groans, rolling his eyes at Richie. He makes for the bathroom of the first floor, which is right through the kitchen in the Denbrough's house.

Although Bill ignores Richie's snide question, he is curious why Stan jogged down the stairs without the Monopoly and went into the kitchen. It is his sister, after all. But he also knows Stan. Stan's very polite and reserved.

Stan fetches the towel from the red basket and holds it close to him, folding it over his arm. He goes back up the stairs in the same speed he came down them. He finds Y/N's room and bathroom again and knocks on the door, to warn her it's him.

“Please, open the door in as wide a slit as the towel is thick. Catch my drift?” Y/N's voice comes from inside the room.

“Uh-huh.” Stan confirms. He creaks the door open and squeezes the towel through the slit, her hand taking it once it's through. Stan shuts the door and sighs. He tried to keep his eyes semi-closed while giving her the towel, and it's quite self-explanatory why he did.

He walks back to the door of her room, heading for Bill's bedroom again. But Y/N stops him once again from getting to the Monopoly. “Thanks so much, Stanley.” Her sweet voice thanks him and he can tell that she's come out of the bathroom.

“You're welcome, Y/N.” He responds with his back still to the bathroom door and her.

She chuckles. “You can turn around, silly.” She encourages him. Stan gives her a chuckle of nervousness and hesitantly turns around to face her. He doesn't like to admit it, but it's some sort of new teenage experience. His cheeks blush immediately upon looking at her in only her towel and wet hair. “What's wrong? Is something on me, my towel?” She fusses quietly.

“No, no, you're very pretty.” He suddenly blurts out, without thinking. Once he realises what he's said, he wants the ground to swallow him right up. Great going! Why did you have to say that from all things, Stanley? Why?!

Now Y/N blushes. And she smiles. She can tell he's gone full panic mode - his eyes are wide and cheeks redder than before. “You're pretty, too, Stan.” She says after all.

The boy gets even more flustered. He doesn't know what to say back. One thing only comes to mind. Come on, nothing can be worse than you already said. “Do you want to play Monopoly with us?” Stan asks and looks at her again, regaining his posture and the little amount of confidence he carries in himself.

“I'm not sure that your friends would like that.” Y/N admits. Stanley shakes his head.

“Screw what they like or not. If you want to, come play with us.” He tells her and she chuckles. “If you don't, that's okay, have a good night—”

“No, no, I'll play.” She convinces him otherwise. “Just let me change first.” Y/N states, smiling wide.

“We'll be—Well you know where we will be.” Stanley says and Y/N laughs. He even smiles at her, breaking out of his flustered state. He leaves her room and again walks into Bill's bedroom to actually get the board game they so much want to play.

Hope you like this!

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

In Our Bedroom After The War

[Broadway Kids]

Prompt: “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

Word count: 2944

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

Tommy can’t quite remember when Carrie stopped speaking. Some people said it was in the third grade after she brought that Bible to school and started praying in the middle of lunch, others said after the Christian Youth Camp incident and she swallowed so much water that she “permanently clogged her vocal cords” or something stupid. Whatever happened, something had made Carrie White go silent, and she’s been a target of mockery since.

Deaf and dumb. That’s what the other kids liked to call her. But she isn’t deaf, Tommy knows, because she always reacts to what is said about her with great offense and pain, and she certainly isn’t dumb because Tommy has seen her grades when her report cards are stolen and passed around by bullies. She’s a smart girl, very smart. If anything, he was the dumb one, because the amount of times he’s almost given away their little get-togethers was unbelievable.

It started a month into the school year, he believed. He went into senior year, while Carrie just started high school. He can’t quite remember what caused them to start meeting up in the hidden bathroom under the staircase in the C hall stair well, and he’ll admit that he had never imagined himself hanging out with the city’s resident freak and actually enjoy it, but he would seriously miss their reclusive meetings every Friday after school if they were to ever stop.

Today in particular was very special. 1) because he was finally going to try and teach Carrie about video games (she was fourteen! she should at least know the basics like Pokemon and Mario!) and 2) he had noticed that Carrie seemed a little off the past week and he wanted to ask her about it.

When you saw someone like Carrie White, you would assume that she was constantly in a state of anxiety and depression, but Tommy has learned to pick up on little ticks she does over time. Like how lately, she’s been tugging on her hair and biting her knuckles more often, something she only does if something is really bothering her. Because of their social status in the high school hierarchy, he was never able to ask her if she was alright, so non verbal forms of communication would have to do until their weekly meetup.

There’s the way he tried to avoid letting her out of sight, and if it isn’t that, then it's the way they move around each other in natural synchronicity in the hallway, like celestial bodies that have been caught in orbit for millennia. It's the way he makes excuses to walk alone to class just to make sure she doesn’t get any trouble on the way to her own. It's the silent conversations, an inquisitive look (“You okay?”) answered by a minute nod (“All good.”). It’s everything he wishes he had done for her before his final year of high school.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how Carrie would soon be all alone again after he graduates. Tried not to think about what would happen to her when he isn’t there as her silent guardian. Tried not to think about how sad he would be without seeing her every day anymore.

Tommy slipped inside the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid alerting anyone who may have been lurking around, and turned to face the rest of the space. Carrie is sitting at the sink counter on one of two stools Tommy had smuggled in there for them. She turned her head to look at him sideways, but she’s still got her nose buried in a sketchbook, which she still hasn't let him look at. He wondered what she's drawing. Maybe it's a treasure map. Or a secret code. Or that deer they saw earlier. Or him.

“The party has arrived!” Tommy has announced, his voice rebounding loudly off of the silent bathroom walls. He dropped his backpack on the floor, unlike Carrie had done, as hers was hung up on one of the hooks on the wall.

Carrie finally put her pencil down and swiveled around completely in her stool to smile at him. She doesn’t show any teeth with her grin, and it’s slightly wry, but it’s a smile nonetheless and Tommy is honored to get such a thing from her. He examined her quickly, luckily finding no new wounds from bullying, then crossed over. She hastily closed her sketchbook.

“One day,” He said. “One day I will see your masterpiece.”

Carrie gave him an apologetic look, her smile becoming a little more tight. She grabbed a nearby whiteboard to write on, but stopped when Tommy waved a hand.

“No, no,” He said. “No need for that! I’ve been doing really well in my ASL class- you can sign to me!”

Carrie looked skeptical, but Tommy doesn’t miss the flash of excitement in her warm honey eyes. It’s not often that someone understands her when she uses sign language.

“Come on, I’m smarter than I look! Don’t doubt my abilities to learn a new language!”

Carrie nodded. She held up her hands, shaking down the frayed sleeves of her shirt, and began to sign.

“What (something) we (something) today?”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t AS fluent as he thought, but Carrie looked so much more comfortable being able to sign! He could just use his context clues!

“Something very fun!” Tommy assured her. He took out his phone and turned on a playlist that they’ve been progressively adding more and more songs to (with Carrie having to write hers down and give the list to him, seeing as she didn’t own any electronics). You can tell who added what like this: if it’s Christian related or something grungy-chill, Carrie probably added it; if it has folk music vibes and/or a lot of acoustic guitars, it was probably Tommy, surprisingly enough; if it just generally sounds like it’s ripped from an indie movie, it’s kind of a toss up.

He took out the Nintendo Switch he got last Christmas next and set it up on the sink counter. Carrie tilted her head at it as if it were a peculiar flower that had just sprouted out of the porcelain countertop.

“Ever played before?” Tommy asked, although he already knew the answer.

“No. (something) I’ve seen (something) (something).”

“You’ve seen it before?” Tommy repeated, guessing just by the way Carrie had pointed to her eyes.

Carrie nodded.

“Well, now you get to play it!” Tommy beamed at her and she smiled back, but it seems a little forced. Something is definitely on her mind- he’ll have to ask once she’s a little more relaxed. “Hmm… How about Minecraft?”

“M-I-N-E-C-R-A-F-T. I’ve heard (something) (something).”

“It’s fun!” Tommy assured her, selecting the game. “Trust me, you’ll like it.” He put the controllers in her hands and she rubs her thumbs over the rubber protectors. “So the main goal is surviving,” He went on. “There's a lot of objectives actually, but surviving is always the first one. Once you get used to it, you can play in Survival mode and start making a good base and start getting tools and armor and stuff, then you can move on to other objectives. But for now you can just play in Creative. What should we name the world?”

Carrie thought for a few moments, and Tommy could practically see all the random names cycling through her brain. After a moment, she signed, “(something)”

Tommy blinked.

“One more time.”

“(something)”

“Can you fingerspell it, please?”

“V-E-N-U-S.”

“Oh! Venus! We haven’t learned planets yet.” Tommy said. “Wait- Venus?”

“V-E-N-U-S (something) (something) (something) cool place (something) live.”

Tommy laughed. “Can’t argue with that logic!” He helped Carrie type in the name and clicked through a couple of other settings before hitting “create world”. Within a few moments the world was up and running. Carrie’s character was off in no time, exploring the blocky landscape and sifting through her colorful inventory, although her movements were sporadic and jerky since it was her first time playing.

Decorating the base was by far Carrie’s favorite part. There were so many different flowers for the outside and wood types for flooring and even COLORED glass. The only thing that would make it better was if you could have animals and OH MY GOODNESS YOU COULD HAVE ANIMALS!!!!!!!!

For a moment, Tommy debated just leaving Carrie there and allowing her to design the base and play around however she wanted, but he couldn't. He was so worried that someone may waltz in and see her in the boy’s bathroom and then do something to her. Carrie being nearly drowned in one of the toilets, Carrie getting her head smashed against the sink counter, Carrie being raped, Carrie getting beaten into a bloody pulp- so many horrible scenarios forced their way into his head. Carrie getting her throat slit, Carrie getting her body stuffed in the air vent, Carrie getting sodomized with a mop stick.

Why? Why were kids so cruel to her? Why couldn’t Tommy protect her from everything? Why does he know he can’t?

There was a soft touch on his hand and he jolted out of his thoughts. Carrie flinched away, too, then signed something he couldn’t understand, but knew she was asking if he was okay by the pinched expression on her face.

“I’m okay,” He assured her. “Just thinking.”

She made the gesture of “what” and tilted her head. Then she pointed to herself.

About me?

“Yeah,” Tommy admitted.

That made Carrie’s nose scrunch up in a giggle.

“Don’t (something) S-U-E know.”

“If you think that I would cheat on my girlfriend with a fish, then you are very much wrong.” Tommy said. “What about you? What’s been on your mind?”

Carrie put the Switch controllers down and shrugged her shoulders. She began to play with the cuff of her sleeve, not really making eye contact anymore.

“Come on,” Tommy urged. “You can tell me!”

“People,” Carrie signed vaguely.

“People?” Tommy echoed. “People being rude to you?”

Carrie shrugged again, and it was clear she didn’t really want to talk about this anymore, nor did she seem to be in a mood to continue playing. Tommy packed up the Nintendo Switch and paused their shared playlist. He gave Carrie her backpack and they started to walk out of the school in mutual silence.

“Sorry,” Tommy said as they neared the parking lot. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Carrie shook her head, then signed, “You didn’t. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Well if it isn’t praying Carrie!”

Carrie went rigid, like she had been struck by lightning. She stopped mid-step and didn’t move as a group of seniors trot over, their faces alight with mischief and cruelty.

“Ross!” One of them called. “What are you doing with this freak?”

“Is she holding you hostage?” Another guessed, casting a look at Carrie.

“I bet she’s leading him out to his car to force him to let her ride him.” A third said. The group howled with diseased laughter at that. Tommy is appalled. Carrie looked ill. “Is that it, church girl? The need for sex has finally broken into you and you’re ready to sin?”

“Back off!” Tommy growled, shoving the boy away. He put himself between him and Carrie, becoming a barricade of sorts. “Leave her alone.”

“I wonder how loud she’ll moan,” A fourth member of the group mused.

“Can she even moan?” The second wondered out loud.

“If you plowed into her hard enough I bet she’ll make some sort of sound.” The first said.

Carrie darted left and sprinted for the nearby line of trees edging the campus. Tommy glared at the group of seniors, then followed, concerned.

The darkness of the forest quickly closes around them. Carrie is fast on her feet, but Tommy was an athlete and he caught up quickly. He snagged the back of her jacket in a loose grip. They stumbled together over uneven ground and exposed tree roots until Carrie collapsed in a hollow between two moss-covered rocks. Tommy slotted himself in front of her so that she’s shielded from all sides- the rocks and Tommy forming a barrier from the world.

He said nothing. He listened to the girl’s gasping breaths and knew that it’s nothing that words can cure- not anymore. Not after years of having no one, being stabbed in the back and spoon fed lies. He closed his eyes and immersed himself in the rustling of oak leaves, the distant calls of birds, the persistent harmony of crickets.

He wondered what Carrie used to ground herself.

He wondered if she grounded herself at all.

Slowly, softly, Carrie calmed to some degree. It comes faster than Tommy expected, but he assumed that’s just because she’s grown used to the treatment she gets. She shifted, wiggling her shoes beneath Tommy’s thigh. Tommy doesn’t shift. He won’t leave until she does.

“It’s okay,” He finally whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Carrie whimpered and made a sloppy gesture- Why?

“Because I care about you.” Tommy said. “Fuck what they think. I respect you and if they don’t, I’ll break their knees.”

He wanted to make her laugh or smile or at least stop crying, but Carrie just whimpered again. She swiveled around to face him, eyes flashing with tears.

“Why?” She signed again, sniffling miserably.

“We’re friends.” Tommy told her. “You know that, don’t you?” The look he got said that she didn’t believe it. “Come on. Tell me some things you know about me. You’d be surprised how well you know me.”

Carrie hesitated, then began to sign, “Your name is Tommy Ross.” She winced at how bland it was, but Tommy only nodded, brushing a bit of his dark brown hair out of his eyes. Carrie’s face scrunched up like she’s memorizing her timestaple in front of him, struggling to bring that gridded mess of numbers to mind.

“You’re the tallest (something) (something) everyone (something) your team,” She continued. The sky overhead is eye-wateringly blue, with crisply white cotton clouds scudding along the horizon. A light breeze shakes the leaves of a nearby oak tree that has the initials of some high school sweethearts carved into the base of its trunk. They’re a little crooked from where someone’s hand had slipped, the flat of a switchblade arcing a little too close to the bark, and making a J thicker, almost a U when you looked at it dead on.

“That’s right,” Tommy said. He knows his role here is only background noise. That’s his job, whether Carrie knows it or not, and he’s more than happy to fulfill it. He doesn’t mind being subject to the scrutiny of befriending ol’ praying Carrie because of it. Not if it’s what she needs to feel better.

“Your eyes (something) like a (something) green-brown, (something) (something) like slimy algae. You always have (something) stupid red sports jacket on. Your sneakers (something) (something) white, once upon a time.” She managed to tease him, uttering out a tiny giggle.

“What can I say, Carrie, I’m a filthy gremlin, like all boys are-” He joked, and she swatted him lightly on the arm. She bit back a laugh, and Tommy wished that she wouldn’t- Carrie tips her head back when she laughs, unabashed and on the edge of hysterical, giggling and snorting, shoulders shaking with mirth until she’s brought her gaze back down again, cheeks flushed from the exertion of being host to that much joy despite everything that she’s been through. No one holds the weight of trauma and mistreatment as heavily on their shoulders as Carrie White does- Carrieta, the library to all of those scattered instances of would-be’s-could-be’s-shouldn’t-be’s. And still, there is a smidge joy. It’s beautiful. He thought that she’s most beautiful when she’s laughing (don’t tell Sue, and if you do, make sure you let her know it’s completely platonic. but just don’t tell her at all).

“You have, like, (something) favorite red shirt, with a light brown hood on it. And S-U-E thinks it’s hideous.” Carrie continued. She’s tapping her foot against his leg, a gentle soothing gesture, and he lets her. He knew that it’s more for herself than him.

“You have a golden ring (something) onto a necklace.” Carrie signed. “But you don’t wear it (something) you think it (something) you look silly. But it’s really pretty.” Pause, and when she signed again, it wasn't about the necklace anymore. “It’s (something) (something) like having a sibling.” Pause. Carrie looked up at him with glittering eyes. “You’re Tommy Ross.”

The weight that she placed on his name makes his heart stutter, catching in his chest- the warmth that he felt towards her is almost unbearable, and he found himself grinning, mouth gone crooked in the gesture.

“I’m Tommy Ross, that’s right,” He repeated to her, as if they’re introducing themselves at some shitty college icebreaker. “And I’m not going anywhere, Carrie.” He went on, a touch of urgency in his voice- and she smiles, eyes closing, though hers are more reserved than his, somehow. There’s a tear bright in the corner of her right eye, and it traced a thin path down her face. More come. They pool at her chin, dripping off of her face, and soaking into the softness of the earth. His chest ached.

“And you’re not going anywhere,” She whispered, voice hitching a little halfway through. He swiped a thumb over her cheek, flicked the tear off into the green grass behind them.

“I’m not,” He promised. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” And his voice had gone soft, her name cradled gently in his mouth, like he’s afraid of breaking something precious.

#it hurts because carrie kills tommy in the musical #dont tag as ship or I WILL pee in your sink #carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #tommy ross #carrie fanfiction #my writing

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lihikainanea · 5 years

Note

Tigers libido getting high and Bill tells her she needs to rest, as she’s had a few orgasms and is feeling small. She obeys him, wearing his shirt and panties to try and sleep, but she can’t shake it. She hates that a few tears come up as she reached her hand into her panties. She knew it was bad because he just told her to sleep. Her head in the pillow, she starts whimpering as she felt so ashamed, but Bill walked in and tsk’ed at her, scaring her and making her curl up.

Ohhhhh my god, nani. Right in my soft, subby heart. It’s been awhile since we’ve had a real subby tiger, hasn’t it? Oh my.

Maybe this happened on vacation, when tiger is so far gone and all the usual stressors of life aren’t there–work, emails, cleaning, groceries–all of it is just…gone, so she’s able to slip even further into her small space and really just bask in it. And Bill has, of course, just been so good to her, spoiling her rotten with attention and affection and great sex. And every time they go at it, tiger just seems to get smaller and smaller and she is loving it and basking in it which makes Bill also bask in it, that he can provide that kind of release for her, and what she gets out of it. It is so many good vibes all around.

But the more they go at it the more tiger’s need for him intensifies, and maybe it’s smack in that cycle where she’s just insatiable. But it’s been an intense few nights, not always gentle, and there’s no way her body isn’t feeling it now.

Bill knows she needs a break, can see it in the way she moves during the day–a little slower, a little more sore–but then every night, she’s begging him again. She’s inconsolable about it, and part of it is the physical craving for him–she wants that closeness, that intimacy, wants him to make her feel so good again because god it’s addictive–but part of it is also her chasing that mentality. That small space. That space where she can disappear, give up all control, where she can be safe and taken care of and allowed to just…float there, in pleasure. To teeter on that edge and just bask in it. That small space is so incredibly gratifying and for a control freak like her, when she really starts to let herself enjoy it…sometimes she can’t get enough.

He was gentle with her that night, more gentle than he had been because it just seemed that her body was cranked permanently on oversensitive. And she wasn’t saying anything other than her usual whimpers and squeaks and whines–she was a little too far gone for moans, Bill learned that stage awhile ago–and while she wasn’t saying her safe word or anything close to it, she was still flinching a bit too much when he would touch her with more intent so he pulled back on it, went much more gently.

He tipped her over the edge once, twice, and that was enough for the night. She was too fragile, too worked up to be able to handle more so he put a gentle stop to it but she whined.

“More,” she begged, “Please, more.”

“That’s enough for tonight sweet girl,” he murmured, “You’ve had enough.”

“More,” she tried again. She pawed at him through teary eyes and he kissed her face, tried to get her to focus.

“It’s too much tiger,” he told her, stopping to soothe her when she whined, “It’s too much. But you can stay small for me, stay sweet just like this. I’ll take care of you. You can stay like this for as long as you want sweet girl, you can enjoy it, I’ll take care of you.”

He gives her his thumb and she’s way too out of it to fight it in any way–not that she would, because in this state, it’s all she wants. And she’s so small and docile for him, scrunching up to be smaller under him as she closes her eyes and he nuzzles her cheek. He stays like that–just giving her lots of pets and whispering sweet words to her. He knows he’s going to eventually have to check her over, make sure she’s okay, maybe get into some more fulfilling aftercare for her, but right now she’s still in her small space and he doesn’t want to break it for her. There’s really no reason for her to come down from it–there’s nothing here on vacation that needs her to be logical or rational, so to hell with it.

But then she shivers a little, and he needs to fix that for her. He also really thinks she should drink some water, because her throat was already hoarse today and now it must be even worse. He doesn’t want to snap her out of it too much and eye contact would do that, but he does want her to register that he’s leaving for a minute and he’ll be right back.

“Tiger,” he murmurs, “I’m going to get you my shirt, okay? And a glass of water.”

He waits, he knows she heard him but he wants to make sure it sunk in.

“Nod if you understand, kid,” he says, and he keeps his tone light and gentle. She sighs against his thumb, a happy sigh, and nods slowly.

“Good girl,” he praises and she almost purrs, “I’m taking my thumb back and I’m leaving the bed for just a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He’s basically just whispering it right into her ear, and she nods slowly again. She still whines when his thumb leaves her mouth but he soothes her, slips out from around her. He leaves a hand on her as long as possible but eventually he needs to step away.

And it’s not that she slips in the minute or two that he’s gone…it’s just, her body is on fire. Fucking fire. And she wants another release, just one more. And she would have asked for it, but she didn’t want to be the one deciding anything in that moment–it was too good, the way she was feeling, she didn’t want to ruin it by doing something like taking back control and asking for something. That’s a solid no in her small space.

But Bill is gone for a few seconds and all tiger can register is just that deep ache in her gut, a desperate need for just one more release. So maybe she reaches down, runs her finger over her clit but the pressure is too hard and she jerks, whimpering. But she tries again and–yes, yes that’s better. More gentle. And that’s what Bill sees when he walks back in–her hand between her legs but she’s shaking like a leaf. But Bill knows that if she’s this small and she’s doing this–it’s because she needs it. She needs just one more. So he walks over, keeping his movements easy and calm, and reaches for her hand to stop her. And all he was trying to do was offer his help–tell her he’ll do it for her–but tiger’s mind went the opposite way and her eyes flew open.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered immediately, “I’m sorry, I’m bad. That’s bad. I’m sorry…”

And it was like a sucker punch to his gut.

“Tiger, no..” he starts, but that’s the wrong thing to say because now the tears are coming. Because she thinks he’s telling her no, bad.

“Kid, you’re good. You’re so, so good for me sweetheart,” he changes up his words–eliminates things like no and starts saying things like good a lot more, so he can get through to her. He grabs her hand and puts it back between her legs, holds it there for her. She flinches and tries to take it away again.

“I’m bad,” she mumbles, and he kisses her face. But it’s not working, so he has to get stern.

“Tiger, eyes. Now,” and our girl–our good girl–she’s got this down, now. Her eyes snap to his immediately.

“You’re good for me, sweet girl,” he says, and the whole time he still has his hand over hers between her legs, “You’re so good for me. I just wanted to help you, not make you stop.”

And she holds his gaze. To comfort her, he slips his thumb into her mouth.

“Do you need one more?” he asks. She nods, slowly.

“Do you want me to help you?”

Another nod.

“Please, please…” she pleads and he shushes her softly.

“You don’t need to beg kid,” he murmurs, “But tiger–keep looking at me baby, there you go–this is a lot, okay? This is a lot for you. And I’ll give you what you need, but you need to let me take care of you after. Okay? You need to rest after this one.”

And she nods her agreement, so very, very gently, his hand starts working her over. He tries to gauge the pressure that she needs–she’s flinching so easily so he’s barely touching her, the lightest of grazes, and that seems to be what’s working for her. She comes in no time but her body has nothing more to give and she barely tenses, instead just letting it wash over her in soothing waves.

“Good girl,” he praises, “Enough for tonight, now.”

And guh, he’s in SUCH supreme aftercare mode, you know? Because this is going to need a lot. He lets her lie there, keeping his chest pressed against hers both to give her that sense of safety but also so he can feel when her heart starts to slow down. He’ll need to stay glued to her basically, because moving away just a tad incites that awful little broken noise that he hates. Eventually as she starts to come down a little bit–and not too much, because he would like her to hover there somewhere in between if she’s enjoying it–he’ll bring her into the bath, get her warm and clean, dress her in his clothes and sit her on his lap for something to eat. He’ll need to keep talking to her the whole time–his voice is something she always needs to hear in that space–but eventually I think she just…completely knocks out against his chest, right in the middle of a snack.

#Leilani answers #I could talk about this #all day #ALL #DAY #as is evidenced here #it is just my favourite dynamic ever #because there is SUCH love to it #and trust #and safety #guh #MY HEART #it's been awhile since I spewed feelings like that #sub tiger #vacation bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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mycupoffanfiction · 5 years

Text

His Second Chance Part 10

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: A few mentions of ass (I don’t know why this became a thing but it did), fluff, language, self depricating thoughts.

Word count: Approx 2900

Masterlist

Bucky continues to build confidence while trusting the Reader with some doubts on his mind and his insecurities. Have a lovely weekend 💗💗💗

Please don’t hesitate to leave suggestions or thoughts! TAG LISTS ARE OPEN! (Permanent list and His Second Chance list)

IF YOUR TAG ISN’T WORKING PLS MESSAGE OR ASK 💖💖

___________________________

“Excuse me, you never told me it ended up as a date!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms up dramatically. “Shh, shh, god do you wanna wake up the whole building?” Bucky hissed across the kitchen. The pair had taken to getting up early and spending time together before everyone else was up, though they still maintained their love hate relationship the rest of the day.

“So you took my advice Barnes?” Sam asked before spooning some fruit salad into his mouth. “No, I mean, yeah I guess.” Bucky sighed. Don’t give him the damn satisfaction. “How did it go? Did you kiss her?” Sam jutted his spoon out, pointing at Bucky as he slurped on his too hot to drink coffee. Recoiling a bit from the heat of his drink, Bucky placed his mug down and shook his head quickly. “No, no kissing.” He blurted out. Oh how I wish we had though, jus’ wanna feel her soft lips against mine. “You mean you went on a date with one of the prettiest and sweetest girls in the damn tower and you didn’t kiss her?” Sam sounded almost offended. “Well,” Bucky shrugged, pausing for a moment. “Look, we’re takin’ it slow, man.” Bucky waved him off as he dipped his spoon into Sam’s large bowl of fruit salad. Sam frowned before reaching forwards and stealing some of Bucky’s cereal.

“So are you going to ask her on another date?” Sam asked through a mouthful of cereal. “Your ma ever tell ya to never speak with your mouth full?” Bucky teased, quirking a brow. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Quit avoiding my question Barnes.” He smirked, knowing full well Bucky desperately wanted to ask you out again. “You gonna take her out again?” He repeated his question before shovelling more fruit in his mouth. “Of course I am, she’s real pretty and cute and smart, really sweet, funny.” Bucky listed staring off into the distance and then looked back at Sam a little startled. You just said that out loud. You said that out fuckin’ loud. Well done. Sam stifled a chuckle as he swallowed down his fruit.

“Who’s real pretty, Buck?” Steve asked, walking into the kitchen. “You know who he’s talking about.” Sam smirked, using his spoon to point at Bucky again. “I can hear you two from down the hall.” Steve gave them both a knowing smile before turning away to fix a protein shake before his morning sessions. Bucky’s cheeks burned bright red. God, what if she can hear this entire conversation? What must she think if she can? “So you gonna kiss her next time?” Sam kept going, glancing across at Steve for backup. “Yeah, Buck, I know you still got the forties in ya.” Steve grinned over his shoulder at Bucky as he spooned protein powder into a shake bottle. “It’ll happen when it happens.” Bucky sighed before trying his coffee again, taking a long sip from the now comfortably warm liquid. And not before. Wanna do this right with her, I need to do it right with her.

“Tony was talking about getting you on a psychological assessment, by the way.” Steve changed the subject after a short pause in conversation. “Said if you pass it you can start training to get back in the field.” Steve went on. Oh, oh not sure I’m ready for that. What if I start training and I hurt someone with this stupid metal arm? What if I somehow go back into Winter Soldier mode? What if I hurt someone or kill someone? Oh god.

“Buck?” Sam broke his train of thought, Bucky staring straight into his mug of black coffee. “Bucky?” Sam poked him with his spoon. “You alright, man?” He asked, glancing over at Steve who was vigorously shaking his protein shake bottle with far too much force and enthusiasm, scrunching up his face while he did it. “Yeah, I don’t know Steve.” Bucky shook his head. “Not sure my mind’s in the right place yet.” Bucky refused, sighing. “Alright pal, but you gotta do it at some point, just think about it, alright?” Steve clapped him on the shoulder before moving to leave the kitchen.

A soft oof and then a thump caught Bucky’s attention and he tilted to the side to see you had collided with Steve on your way in. “Sorry sweetheart, didn’t see ya there, ran right into me.” Steve chuckled, kneeling down to give you a hand back onto your feet. “You alright?” He asked, cupping your head and brushing your hair away from your face. Why can’t I be that soft with her? I’m just… Awkward. “Yeah, sorry Stevie.” You apologised, giving him a quick hug before passing him and entering the kitchen.

“Morning.” You smiled at both of the soldiers, squeezing Sam around the shoulders and pecking him lightly on the cheek before moving over to Bucky and settling into his side where you knew Bucky would allow you to stay and you could get extra close, leaning in and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek, only your lips lingered longer than they did when you kissed the other two good morning. Ooh I could get used to that.

“You alright? You just collided with a wall of Steve Rogers.” Sam chuckled, watching as you leaned into Bucky, his arm making its way around your shoulders. “I’m fine, not the first time it’s happened, Sammy.” You smile before moving away to get your breakfast ready. “Besides, I think Stevie thinks I’m super fragile now because he gave me a few days off training since the incident yesterday.” You flash a smile over your shoulder at the boys as you get a mug and put it in the machine. Not fragile, I think you’re bad- “Ass.” Bucky blurted out, immediately ducking his head and almost dipping his freshly washed hair into his coffee. Sam tried to contain his laughter while you looked at them both confused before twisting slightly to look at your butt. You were admittedly dressed in just a shirt and underwear, which you thought the boys were quite used to, especially since you were so easily open about this kind of thing. “Is there something wrong with my butt?” You asked so innocently, causing Sam to collapse further into laughter while Bucky’s cheeks burned bright red.

wHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Oh my good fucking- look at her! Bending weirdly to look at her butt because she thinks you were talking ABOUT HER ASS YOU IDIOT. Bucky let out a strange strangled noise before downing his coffee. “Sorry doll, I wasn’t- um, I mean, it’s just that-.” Bucky stammered. “He thinks you have a nice ass.” Sam interrupted, grinning like the fucking devil at Bucky, who gave him a murderous stare. Oh my- Wilson! “No, well yeah, but- look I wasn’t, urgh.” Bucky dropped his face into his hand. Take me to fuckin’ hell already. “You like my butt?” You asked, seemingly unphased by Bucky’s flustered state. “Yes?” Bucky wasn’t even sure how to approach that and he avoided looking up from his hand all together. “I like it too.” You grinned, turning back to make your coffee. Bucky looked up from his hand at Sam and glanced at you. How is she so okay with me just… I’m so bad at this.

Sam vacated the kitchen, having successfully messed with Bucky. “Doll, I’m real sorry about that.” Bucky sidles up next to you. You let out a breathy huff of a laugh and smile up at him. “I know Sam was messing with you.” You roll your eyes. “He does it so much with everyone that I know when he’s doing it now.” You leaned up against him. So that’s why she didn’t seem phased, smart girl. “But, please enlighten me, why did you just scream out ass?” You asked, amusement in your voice. “Actually, don’t tell me.” You winked. Oh she probably thinks I was staring at her butt or something oh no.

“So uh.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Yesterday, with the café was nice.” Bucky watched as you poured some sugar into your drink. C’mon there’s more smooth ways of saying that. “Do you… Maybe wanna do that again?” Bucky almost face palmed. That’s not the way to fucking ask that question, try again. Bucky sighed and shook his head. “Would you like to go on a date with me, doll?” Bucky asked voice shaking a little from nerves, your big doe like eyes staring up at him, cheeks bulging a little as you smile widely. “I’d love to, Buck.” You grin, nodding your head quickly. Yes! Fuck yes! You did it properly this time. “What did you have in mind?” You question, stirring your drink. Uh didn’t think that far. Okay, no, don’t let her know that though, you got this. “I’ll take you out tomorrow night, seven o’clock, it’s a surprise, wear something…” Bucky paused for a bit too long and you giggled. “I’ll make sure I wear something, Buck.” You winked, giggling to yourself as you walked away with your coffee.

You just had to fuck it up at the end, didn’t you Barnes?

“So, psychological assessment, huh?” You asked, walking alongside Bucky as he clutched the papers in his hand. “Mm, not sure how it’s gonna go.” Bucky sighed, obviously not too optimistic about his chances. “Hey, I think you’ll do fine, plus Pepper said if you don’t pass you can redo it in a few months.” You tried to reassure him. “I guess.” Bucky shrugged, glancing down at the papers he carried at his side. Tell her. Tell her, c’mon, she won’t judge you, you know she won’t. “Can I tell you something?” Bucky asked, looking around the hallway for any prying ears. “Always, Buck.” You smiled up at him, waiting for him to continue. At that moment Steve came around the corner, distracted by Nat as he chatted away to her. Don’t want them to hear, only (Y/n). Bucky rested his hand on your shoulder and gently pushed you backwards into a tiny utility closet. Oh this is very, very close.

You were so close to Bucky that you could feel his breath fanning against your face and your hands naturally rested on his chest. Your cheeks flushed hot, breathing becoming a little uneven as your heart beat fast at his closeness, how intimate this felt. “What’s so important that you don’t want Steve and Nat to know?” You whispered. You tried to take a step back, but you tripped on something, Bucky’s metal arm immediately stopping you from falling as it wound around your waist. “I got you, doll.” He whispered. Oh this is so not where I planned on this going, fuck I just wanted to tell her something so innocent and here I am in a closet hiding from Steve like I’m about to- yep, okay keep it cool, your body is literally pressed against hers. Bucky took a deep breath as you looked into his slate blue eyes, waiting patiently with a sweet smile curving your lips.

“I’m not sure I want to fight anymore.” Bucky murmured. “M’not sure I can do that anymore.” Bucky went on, shaking his head, loose brown strands of hair falling out from behind his ears into his face. “Not after the pain I- I’ve caused.” Bucky almost choked up and you took his face into your hands, your fingers brushing some of his hair back as your palms rubbed against his stubble. “Buck, you don’t have to fight if you don’t want to, but if you do fight with us, it won’t be the same. We don’t fight the innocent, you know that. No one here would ever use you to hurt people. You always have a say, a choice, a yes or no. Don’t like a mission? You can refuse it. You want out after a few months? You can say so and no one will judge you.” You whispered, trying to keep your voice as low as possible. “But if you stay and fight with us, you have a chance to help people.” You encouraged. Bucky looked at you with a fondness in his eyes.

Maybe she’s right, it’s not the same. Maybe this is a way to redeem yourself, reclaim what was taken from you. Bucky smiled down at you, hands squeezing around your waist a little tighter before he slowly leaned towards you, skin against skin. Oh my god, what are you doing? Doesn’t matter, her skin is so soft holy shit. Bucky’s thick stubble tickled and scratched against your face with a delightful tingle and you hummed at the sensation. Hot breath against your tender skin as his lips found your cheek and though it was small and quick, the sentiment and sincerity was all there. Bucky’s lips were soft, perhaps a little dry and cracked in places, but still soft.

You counted yourself lucky that you’d just received a sweet, gentle kiss on the cheek from Bucky, the man who always seemed too nervous and hesitant to initiate that sort of thing. A sense of pride filled you chest, pride for Bucky, that he’d been brave enough, not only to trust you with this information, but to kiss you as well. You just kissed her, Barnes! You’re getting better at this. Bucky pulled away, looking deeply into your eyes, his thumbs caressing your sides. “Thank you.” He whispered; the corners of his lips turned up into a smile. “Thank you, doll.” Bucky reaffirms before pulling you upright against his chest and turning to listen through the door behind him. I knew you could trust her; she always knows what to say.

No sound of movement comes and Bucky opens the door, pulling you out of the closet with him. “Oh my god!” Sam practically shrieks. “What were you two doing in there?” He exclaimed, causing you to chuff out a laugh as he examined your flustered features. Oh no, no, no, fuck meee Barnes. You could totally see how it did look like you’d just been up to something, you were sure your hair was a little messy and your cheeks were likely burning up from being in a cramped, hot space right up against an extremely attractive super soldier. “See you later, Sergeant.” You winked at Bucky before leaving his side and continuing down the hallway. Not sure if that made it better or worse, but god, hearing her say Sergeant makes you weak, Barnes. Very, very weak. Bucky feels the pull on his jeans and he almost grunts at the effect you have on him before taking a deep breath and falling into step with Sam, who gave him a knowing smile.

“Does it scare you?” Bucky asked, sitting down next to you on the sofa as you read a book. “Depends what we’re talkin’ about here, Buck.” You shrug, unsure what he’s referring to. “My arm, does it scare you?” Bucky asked, looking down at the appendage like it was offending him. “No, why would it?” You flick your gaze to Bucky quickly before turning your attention back to your book. “Well it’s just that-.” Bucky cut himself off, looking down at his metal hand. The image of blood seeping between the plates flashed across his mind and he could have sworn he saw blood oozing out of his arm at that moment. The snap of your book shutting pulled Bucky out of his mind and his eyes fixed on yours. You put your book down and shuffled across the sofa to be closer to him. “You want to know a secret?” You asked, reaching for his metal hand and grasping it gently in your own hands. Bucky nodded, intrigued. You sat up, tucking your legs underneath you as you sat up on your knees, giving you enough height to reach his ear.

You leaned in; a tingly shiver rolled down Bucky’s spine when he felt your breath against his cheek. The way you so delicately held his metal hand like it was breakable, like you could hurt him if you moved the wrong way. Bucky almost blushed at the gentle, beautiful way you handled him, it made his heart soar and swell that you touched him with such care, with such a sweet nature, it was nothing like he used to experience. “What it was used for before doesn’t matter now. Your arm is beautiful, it’s part of you and all of you is handsome, all of you is wonderful.” You were almost shy to say the words, a little blush creeping onto your features as you said it but you knew Bucky needed to hear those words, hear something that might soften the way he looked at his arm.

How can she think a monster is so handsome? I’m nothing but a monster. Bucky’s breathing hitched when you moved back slightly and your eyes met his. Your soft features, the way you looked at him. God he hadn’t seen a look like that in so long, adoration, love, even. But she doesn’t see the monster, she sees passed him, she sees you.

Bucky pulled you against him, your arms winding around his middle, a hand resting on his metal arm.

She sees you, Bucky Barnes.

_______________________

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skye-maxwell · 5 years

Text

Attention

Persona 4 | Souyo | Rated G

---

Yosuke sat on the couch with his handheld clutched tightly in both hands, completely immersed in his new video game. The graphics, story, and gameplay were completely living up to the pre-release hype, which was good since he had literally been waiting on this sequel for years. The original game had come out when he was a first year in high school, but the sequel’s release date had been delayed so many times he’d almost given up hope of it ever being completed. But now that the game was in his hands, he had been doing little else all weekend (aside from the occasional necessities like eating and sleeping).

It was now late Sunday night, and while he’d noticed that Souji had seemed somewhat restless the last couple days, his devoted attention to his game stopped him from investigating.

While Yosuke’s playable character ran toward what appeared to be the next save point, Souji entered the living room and plopped onto the floor near Yosuke’s feet.

“You tired, bud?” Yosuke asked, only sparing Souji a glance as his character grappled with an enemy he almost hadn’t noticed sneaking up on him.

“Yeah,” Souji said, turning to stare up at Yosuke.

Yosuke was just about to pause the game after taking down the one enemy, but then about twenty more enemies appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Yosuke’s character nimbly ducked in and out of cover, attempting to take the majority of the newcomers out from a distance with his assault rifle.

The whole time Yosuke was fighting his way through the barrage of enemies, Souji didn’t avert his gaze at all, staring intently at Yosuke’s face.

With his attention split between the game and his boyfriend’s odd behavior, Yosuke asked, “Uh, did you need something?”

“Attention,” Souji said bluntly, plopping his head on top of Yosuke’s knee.

“Seriously?” Yosuke asked, trying not to laugh as he cleared the last enemy and made another sprint toward the save point. “Attention?”

“Please.”

Yosuke’s gaze flicked between Souji’s face and his game (he could see the save point ahead, and it had been twenty minutes since the last one) several times, but then Souji lightly batted at Yosuke’s handheld, nearly knocking it from his grip.

“Okay, okay,” Yosuke laughed.

He put the handheld in standby mode, hoping the battery wouldn’t die by the time he got back to it so he wouldn’t have to redo that whole section again. Though if he did lose his progress, he could get through the section a lot faster a second time, and it was worth it for how happy Souji seemed as Yosuke finally set the handheld down.

“Play with my hair?” Souji requested, angling his body so Yosuke could have easy access.

“All right,” Yosuke agreed, realizing how neglected Souji must have been feeling.

He gently raked his fingers through Souji’s hair in long strokes at first, and then he transitioned into scratching in light circles like he knew Souji liked.

Souji closed his eyes, looking perfectly content even when he started to nod off.

“You falling asleep?”

“No,” Souji lied, his eyes still closed as he turned his face into Yosuke’s palm and kissed it a couple times.

“Ha, okay,” Yosuke said fondly. “You know you can come up here on the couch, right?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“But why?”

“No.”

Yosuke sighed and slid off the couch onto the ground, and Souji seemed to wake up for a moment, his eyes going wide before he practically pounced on Yosuke.

“I love you,” Souji said, wrapping his arms around Yosuke’s torso and tucking his head against his chest.

“Haha, thanks,” Yosuke replied as Souji’s sleepy warmth seeped into his skin.

More adamantly this time, Souji repeated, “I love you.”

“I know, I know,” Yosuke said, rubbing his hand up and down Souji’s arm.

Souji grumbled something incoherent and lifted his head to look Yosuke in the eyes.

“Love me back,” he demanded.

Yosuke cocked an eyebrow at his ridiculous Partner. “You know I love you all the time, right? It’s like, a permanent, unconditional state of being. You don’t have to ask me to love you back.”

Souji was still frowning up at him though, dangerously close to a pout.

Yosuke finally obliged and said, “I love you too.”

Souji replied happily, “I love you too also.”

Yosuke laughed, lifting a hand to stroke Souji’s cheek and then leaning down to kiss his lips.

When they separated, Souji sighed dreamily and buried his face against Yosuke’s neck, squeezing him tighter in his arms.

“You’re so weird,” Yosuke breathed, pressing a kiss to Souji’s hair.

A few minutes after Souji fell asleep, Yosuke cautiously reached for his handheld, wondering if he could manage to play one-handed or if he could somehow pry his other arm away from Souji.

As soon as the screen blinked on and the too-loud video game music started up, Souji knocked Yosuke’s hand with the back of his, sending the game system tumbling (the thankfully short distance) to the floor.

“Okay, fine,” Yosuke muttered. “If you’re gonna sleep, you know we can just go to bed, right?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Yosuke asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Okay, okay,” Yosuke said, quickly powering down his handheld and then pulling Souji in closer so they could sleep there on the floor like a couple of weirdos.

#souyo #persona 4 #fanfic #my writing #ficlet #attention #fluff #romance #humor #needy souji is needy #doge souji is doge #much romantic wow #will post on ao3 later

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devilbat · 5 years

Text

Jailbird

Warning: fluff, a bit of angst, crazy people. And I’m not sure what else

@scorpionchild81 requested How about a Tom Hiddleston x reader: being a single mom wasnt easy - and being a single mom dating tom was no walk in the park! She had gotten used to the comments, name-calling, some hate mail but nothing serious... But one day, walking her son home from kindergarten, some woman throws a tantrum at her and gets physical. She goes in protective mode of course, but still gets arrested and she has to call Tom for bail...

A/n: I tried my best to get this changed a little bit of things but not big. Hope you like it. Again kids are hard for me to write.

When you met Tom it was, well it was your son that met Tom. You were ordering coffee at you favorite coffee shop. He had went to find a spot to sit. Of course the kid had to bring his favorite toys, his collection of Avengers. Though he had like all 300 of them. You told him he could only bring 3. So armed with Spider Man, Captain America and his favorite which shocked you, Loki. Though it may have been you that had some influence on that, as you practically drooled over the god.

The line was taking forever and you were rather tired. Working two jobs just to keep your apartment and your son happy. Being a single mom wasn’t easy. After you husband passed. You met your husband who happened to be a signal father with a new born. You and Daniel’s father married after year, and you adopted Daniel. Who was almost four now.

You could hear him giggle most likely talking with his toys. You weren’t worried and you could see the door from where you were, that and everyone here knew you and your son. The line slowly moved along. As you finally got your coffee and a hot cocoa for Daniel. Making your way towards him you could hear him talking.

“This is Spider-man, his name is Peter Parker, and is Captain America, his name Steve Rogers.” The little boy held each action figure up, showing them off. His trying his best to talk after all he was four.

“And who’s this one.” The man asked. That Daniel was currently making friends with. No matter how many time you told him stranger danger. You still find him talking to someone. At least it was only at the coffee shop.

“This my favorite, evenone says he a bad guy. My mommy sayz he just needs a big hug. A bunch of other things that I don’t understand.” He beamed to the man sitting at the table. “You look like Loki.”

“Oh I do, do I?” The man asked. Looking around first before leaving g in. “Can I tell you a Secret.” Daniel nodded slowly eyes lit up. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.” He squeaked out nodded really fast.

“I’m loki of Asgard, and I’m burden with glorious purpose.” The spoke perfectly as Loki. Daniel’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really’y!” The boy squealed. Nodding more.

“Really. Im going as Tom right now so shhh, don’t tell anyone. I’m hiding from Thor. “ Tom still in his voice for Loki whispered, as he put his point finger to his lips.

“Promise.” Daniel whispered then locked his lips. “I want you to meet my mommy. Her name is y/n. She really, really pretty and she is all by herself raising me. Are you single.” You heard your kid speak as you approached eyes widened.

“Oh my god, Daniel!” You said a bit sternly. “You know you’re not to talk to strangers. I’m sorry.” You stated the man not yet noticing him.

“But mommy this isn’t a stranger he’s Loki.” He beamed, but whispered the name. Tom chuckled as he watched.

“Shh, we mustn’t tell you mom. She might tell Thor.” Loki spoke, making you look at him finally. His voice sounded way to much like Loki’s. And well you son was actually trying to hook you up with Tom himself.

Tom frequent the coffee shop, figuring out that you worked there. As well as a waitress at a pub. He fell for Daniel’s adorable charm, as you fell for Tom’s. After that you both started to date. Tom tried to keep you out of the media light as much as he could. But after six months it was all over the web. And a lot of hate came at you a long with it. After a year you moved in with Tom. That’s when everyone seemed to loose their shit over the fact that you moved in. Saying it’s going way to fast. That she will only hurt him like TS or she is only using him for the money because she has a child.

As long as no one confronted you. You took the blows as they came. You loved Tom to much to let people ruin a life you and Tom had made. Daniel adored the man. Even started calling Tom daddy. Tom had even made plans on adopting Daniel. Tom family love that little boy, as well as you. They didn’t care that you came with baggage. His sisters have even offered to babysit, so Tom and you could have date nights or just alone time.

No one ever confronted you until one day. You were walking to go get Daniel from kindergarten. You heard someone yell but chose to ignore it. Not until you felt someone roughly grabbed you wrist. A woman yelling at you, cussing, calling you all sorts of name. You ripped you arm from her grasp and walked away. But she ran in front of you blocking you way, when you moved she moved.

“Please move. I would like to get my son from school. Whatever your problem is take up with someone that cares.” You calm said. Attempting to brush by her.

“You and that little bastard of a kid are just want his money.” The woman hissed. It was one thing to call you horrible thing. It was another to call a child anything. When he didn’t have anything to do with people hating on you for being with Tom. You can’t help who Tom loves and he love Daniel. She then went and slapping you across the face. Still calling your son horrible things. After that you really didn’t know what happened. After getting into an altercation with the woman, defending yourself and your son. You still wounded up get arrested. Try hard to tell them what happened and that you need to get your son from school.

“Tom!” You squeaked though the phone. Giving you one call, someone to come and get you well bail you out. Tom had been worried sick. Not sure what had happened to you.

“Darling, where are you? They called me saying that you never showed up at the school. Are you all right?” Tom panicked voice rang in you ear.

“Can you um- I um-.” You sighed, how do you tell Tom. God he was going to be mad at you. “Can you come and get me?”

“Of course love, just tell me where you are.” Tom somewhat calm.

“At Scotland Yard.” You mumbled. Looking over at the officer then back at the phone.

“What? How?” Tom stubble over his words. Not sure what to say.

“I’ll tell you everything when you get here. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” You sobbed over the phone.

You waited in the holding cell for Tom. It felt like hours when you heard the metal doors open. Tom’s voice rang in your ears as he waited for the Guard to open the cell door. Once that door was open you ran to Tom. Still crying as you clanged onto him. Your eyes red and puffy from crying. Asking about Daniel making sure he was all right. Once you were in the car. You told Tom everything. He was clearly mad but not at you. Though you though he was.

“Tom, I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t know what came over me. I saw red.” You cried into your hands.

“Darling it’s all right. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the situation and that someone could do that. You were only defending yourself.” Tom cooed soothing you. His free hand rested on your thigh. “Let’s Get you home my little jailbird. We can take a nice bath. My sister has Daniel for the time being. Let’s get you calm down before you hulk out again.” Tom teased. Which made you smiled. Even though you wanted to be annoyed.

“I love you.” You giggled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“I love you too jail bait, I hope being in jail taught you something. That you shouldn’t drop the soap. Or maybe you should, at home that is.” Tom teased wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh my god Tom.” You smacked his chest. Rolling your eyes.

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Tom/Loki Tag’s: @theoneanna @graveyard-groupie @silverquartx @moonfaery @kcd15 @moonlightprime @youveseen--thebutcher @shockwavee @sabine-leo @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms @vethrvolnir, @darkprincessloki92 @archy3001 @chaoticwithpurpose @paanchu786 @metalheadspider @myownviperroom @arosewithdaisies @jilldsumner @witchbitch-stuff @too-cold-for-youhere @iamverity @sterwild @hiddlefan81 @matczvkv @desimarie12 @loser-alert @cest-le-temps-de-lamour @lucantis @sherlokiholland @kryptonite2116 @justthatfangirloverthere @littleredstarfish @amore-p-siche

#tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader

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wevegottogetaway · 5 years

Text

Don’t freak out, okay?

"Hey ’s me. So…don’t freak out, okay?"

Harry’s heart is already in summersaults. It’s barely been an hour since y/n has left for a girls’ night out so he didn’t expect her to call for another three hours when she’d have one too many Vodka cranberry and all she’d want is to cozy up in his arms while he plays with her hair until she falls asleep.

"Fuck, love wha’s goin’ on? Are you okay? Are you at the bar?" His words are rushed out as his mouth tries to keep up with the incessant whirl of thoughts fogging up his mind.

Aside from the occasional highly spirited night out, Harry would consider y/n to be a rather reasonable person. Rests assured that she will always take care of herself though he absolutely relishes doing so himself just because he can. That’s what love is in his book: taking care of someone even when they don’t need it. So least to say, this impromptu phone call is no common behavior for his love, hence his instant distress.

The wheezing quality of Y/n’s voice asking him not to panic is also not helping him tame the knot compressing his lungs.

"Christ Harry, I told you not to freak out."

"Fuck sake y/n, ’course m’freakin’ out, you just told me not too." By now he’s frantically moved from the couch where he’d been flipping through a new Bukowski book of his, unceremoniously tossing his reading glasses on the coffee table. With a permanent frown crumpling his features, he’s trying to put on his coat while simultaneously seeking his wallet and car keys.

Though he’s usually the first one to have a go at his klutzy tendencies, Harry’s never resented more his lack of motor skills than tonight. He’s almost tripped for the third time now as he tries to put on the second sleeve of his jacket while tucking his wallet in the other side’s pocket and sticking his right foot in the wrong shoe.

"Harry, that literally makes no sense."

Suddenly Harry halts the multitasking before taking a long breath. The anticipation is toying with his last nerve as he still doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. Realization comes upon him that he needs to get his shit together in order to be able to handle the situation.

"Love, m’losin’ my mind ‘ere. Please for the love of God, just tell me what’s goin’ on."

He first hears a small sigh before her voice finally travels through the phone. It’s quiet and completely ridden of wit and humor.

"Alright, I may have gotten into an accident and may be at the hospital."

There’s a few seconds of heavy silence as Harry’s heart skips a beat.

"It’s okay though, I’m okay now. I just- they’re gonna put some sort of- of cast on my ankle in a few minutes and then I need you- I need you to take me home." She’s rambling a lot, which tells Harry she’s not as collected as she tries to appear.

"Fuck. M’comin’ love, yeah? As fast as I can, just tell me which hospital." He’s out the door in a bolt, not caring if he left the kitchen lights on. There’s only one thing on his mind and it’s to be by her sides as soon as he can. Rationally he knows she’s out of danger and there’s no death to ensue. Hell, in a few months they’ll probably laugh about the whole thing, stamping it as another clumsy Harry episode (one that would put the best Chaplin movie to shame). Right now though, his other half is hurt and he won’t feel at peace until he’s there to take some of her pain away.

"I’m at the Royal Free Hospital."

"A’right, ‘m on my way, angel," he says while pulling out of the driveway. "Just stay put, I’ll be there in 5." Y/n has half the mind to retort that she can’t really go anywhere, given the state (or more like angle) of her ankle. She detects the anxiousness infiltrating his voice though and to be fair, she doesn’t feel the banter either, she just wants him there too.

"Thank you Harry. Just, be careful on the road yeah? I’m not leaving."

"Will do, angel. I’m just leaving the house now. I love you." He waits for her frail ‘I love you too’ before he hangs up and starts driving. Despite his promise, he doesn’t slow down when the speedometer needle climbs past the usual limit. It’s a short drive to the hospital anyway, so he makes it under 10 minutes, does a poor job at parking his car and jogs to the reception desk.

“Hello my name is Harry, could you tell me where I could find y/n y/l/n please. I’m her boyfriend, and I know I’m not technically family but please it’s really important.” Harry’s never used his favorable position to get his way in or out of things before but he considers it now for a hot minute.

The nurse isn’t even looking up at him though. Her eyes reflect boredom and indifference as they scan over the computer placed in front of her. In the same nonchalant fashion she announces in a dull voice, “Room 324, Third floor, the elevator is on your left.”

There’s a slight delay in Harry’s reaction, as he was expecting at least a short berating about hospital policy abidance.

Troubled by the lack of response the nurse finally tilts her head up to find a slightly dumbfounded looking Harry. “You do know she’s listed you as her emergency contact, right?” she asks eyebrow arched.

“Right...must have slipped my mind. Thank you for your help.” Now that everything makes more sense, he’s back in full operational mode.

Though he makes it in 3min flat, the walk to room 324 feels like an exhaustive journey of never ending hallways succeeding one after the other for Harry. It seems every new corner he has to take is taunting him and testing his patience, kinda like how kids feel during long drives when they ask ‘are we alsmot there’ for the 26th time.

And then finally, he reaches y/n’s room. The door is open and she’s sitting back to him on an examination table. Harry doesn’t wait a second more, before barging into the room half breathless even though he hasn’t technically run.

“Y/n! You okay?” he asks fervently as he circles the table to stand in front of her. His hands cup her cheeks but his eyes are looking at anything but her face as he scans her body for injuries.

“I’m fine, Harry. See? Just a twisted ankle.” Y/n does her best to quiet his worries though a part of her is really relieved to have him by her side.

“Shit. What ‘appened, love?” That’s the question that has caused the loudest ruckus in his head in the midst of all the others ever since he left the house. Now that he’s here though, it’s merely a tickling of curiosity that has him ask the question. More importantly, he engulfs y/n in one of the tightest hug he’s ever given. It’s one that soothes the straining in his guts, and warms his heart with the fact that his love is safe and out of pain (at least for the moment).

“I got hit by a car. I went to cross the street and the car just came out of nowhere. I don’t know I think the traffic jam was broken or something. “

“Jesus Christ, and you told me not to freak out,” Harry mumbles under his breath as his head - now resting against y/n’s forehead - shakes slowly from side to side.

“I’m fine, Harry. I promise,” she insists while rubbing her palms along his arms. “I was more shaken up then physically hurt. I’m feeling much better now.” She doesn’t mention that it’s mostly because Harry’s here but she sure does think it.

Somehow Harry seems to understand the unspoken thoughts as he softly kisses her. It’s really tender at first; lips caressing hers as if he’s scared to hurt her further. His hesitancy fades once y/n pulls him closer by his neck and swipes her tongue across his bottom lips. Harry immediately deepens the kiss, following her lead. There’s no lust, just intense relief. In a way this incident reminded them that life is so unpredictable and sometimes it only takes a deficient traffic light to turn one’s life upside down.

When they break the kiss, Harry barely leans back. The kiss was all he needed to relax and let go of the anguish that had built inside of him. A small smirk teases the right corner of his lips as he remembers something. "So…I’m your emergency contact now?"

He’s really smug about it as he can finally swap that awful knot of worry for butterflies swimming in his tummy. Y/n just lets out a sheepish laugh and closes her eyes in bashfulness. She’d done it a few months ago and kinda forgot about it with time. It’s not something to think about everyday, is it? But now she realizes she never actually told him.

"I- yeah, I did it a little while ago, when I had to bring Emily to the ER. I just- I realized I needed someone too. I know it’s dumb cause you’re a lot on the road but I don’t know, I really like having you here right now," she concludes with a kiss.

"I’m glad I’m here too, love. An’ you know I’ll always be, right? No matter what ocean separates us, you’re the one call I’ll never ignore." Harry wants to make sure she knows she’s his top priority. "Just, please never call me and ask me not to freak out right off the bat."

Y/n laughs whole heartedly at that. "I’m sorry, I know it’s bad, I just didn’t know how to tell you." She continues laughing as she pulls him for another hug. Her face is tucked in his neck just as his is. Then she turns slightly to free her lips from his skin, "I promise next time, I’ll think of something smoother."

"Next time!?" He recoils from her embrace just enough so he can lock eyes with her. "How about you never get hurt ever again? For my sanity’s sake, please?"

Y/n chuckles at his mini outburst before kissing him briefly. "I love you."

"I love you more."

Maybe the night didn’t go as planned but as always, it ends with a happy ending with his y/n. He’ll gladly take the unexpected hospital visits and grumpy nurse encounters if it means she’s still the one he has to take home 50 years from now.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles #creative writing #fluff #sorry I haven't posted in a while #things are a bit rough tight now

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