#also I was just at my therapist too so I guess that loosened some shit up I actually like realized some shit that made me embarrassingly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buckys-black-dress · 3 years

Text

see through

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

a/n: i dont have much to say other than that it's 1 am and i needed to get this out of my system. chapter 4 of play the game is underway, i promise. also, there will be a pov switch in this fic!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. = POV change!

wc: 4.1k words

[ neighbor!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Every Friday night, without fail, you saw the light filter into your apartment.

Notice how you said night?

Yeah, it was almost two in the morning, by the way.

And why was there light coming through the chiffon curtains you had hanging on the rod above your window?

(Great choice on your part, by the way.)

Well, because of your neighbor.

You've seen him a few times, actually. Usually on the street outside your buildings, or just out and about. Never spoke to him, though. He was quiet, kept to himself. Didn't seem very friendly or willing to exchange a greeting if he ever saw you.

But you never took it personally. Maybe he was having a bad day. Every time you saw him.

But that's besides the point. The point right now is that you can see the lights blaring in your room. From the apartment across from yours.

Should it even be possible for light to travel that far? I mean, we don't even live in the same building. You think to yourself as you watch the colors dance in the dark.

You debate getting up and yelling out your window to tell him to shut that shit off or to invest in some blackout curtains. You were tired of sacrificing your sleep every week.

But then you decided against it, because you quite frankly could not be bothered to get up from the warmth of your bed. You'd tough it out for the night, but the next time you saw him, you'd have a few words for him.

The next morning, it was almost ten when you woke up. You didn't have your shift at the coffee shop you worked at until three, so you took your time in making your way out of bed.

You noticed the curtains of your neighbor's apartment were still open, but you could see his figure moving across the room. He was clearly on the phone with someone, and he didn't look too happy. You wondered what could have him so angry at such an early time of the morning. He seemed like a person who could use someone to talk to, someone who he could vent to.

But before you let your thoughts get ahead of you, you turn away from the window, heading back into your kitchen to eat breakfast and get ready for the long day ahead of you.

"Hi, what can I get started for you today?" You ask as brightly as you can muster at the moment. You were halfway through your shift, another three hours until close.

"Uh, just a large black coffee." The gruff voice says, and it takes you a second until you look up and look closely.

It was him.

"O-okay, that'll be $3.27." You say, and he hands you a five dollar note before grumbling,

"Keep the change."

"Thanks, and your name?"

He gives you a look that's asking, 'what the fuck do you need my name for?'

"For the order." You try and salvage your dignity, because it feels like the stare shrunk you to a speck of dust.

"James."

That's all he all but growls before turning back to find a seat.

As your coworker takes over the cash register, you grab the biggest cup and fill it with his desired coffee.

You try to not think about it too much, but the anxiety you feel rising up inside you and just calling his name to give him his coffee feels absolutely ridiculous.

"Are you just gonna stare at the cup or give it to the customer?" The voice of your coworker, Jenna, rings in your ears and you look up at her, snapping out of the trance you were in.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it today, I guess."

"Everything alright?" She asks, and you nod.

"I'm fine, it's just... that's my neighbor." You nod your head towards where James is sat, in the corner by the window as he watches the raindrops run down the expanse of the glass.

"The one who doesn't let you sleep?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he'd take it too kindly if I tell him about that. He seems to have a lot on his own plate anyways," You explain, and she just nods.

"Well, that sucks, but you still need ta' give the guy his coffee." Jenna smiles and walks back to what she was doing before.

You gently slide out from your spot behind the counter and walk to his table.

"Here's your coffee, James. Enjoy, and- uh, let me know if you'd like anything else." You tell him while placing the steaming cup in front of him.

He murmurs a thank you that you barely catch, but you don't quite have the time to sit and wait for more of a reaction.

For the next several hours, James sits right where he was. He doesn't do anything in particular, either. He just watches outside, as the rain continues to pelt down on New York City, and as people come and go from where they were.

Eventually, about an hour left until close, you offer another cup of coffee.

"Do you want a refill? On the house." You ask gently, waiting to see if you'll get brushed off again.

"Uh... are you allowed to do stuff like that?" He asks, and you're a bit taken aback at the sudden concern.

"I don't think you should worry yourself too much, James. Free coffee's free coffee." You smile lightly, and grab the cup before filling it up without his confirmation. You could tell he wanted to say yes but didn't want to seem rude.

"You didn't have to..." He grumbles, and you simply shake your head.

"I know, but you've been here a while, and what kind of employee would I be if I let a customer sit here without any sustenance?" Your lips ply into a tiny smirk, trying to get him to loosen up a bit.

He seems so guarded, defensive. Like any moment, he's ready to run if need be, you inspect to yourself.

"You'd just be a regular employee, Y/N." He says, but the way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine; and you can't tell if it's a good or bad one.

You unconsciously look down at your name tag, pinned to your black apron that's branded with the café's logo.

"Well, I felt like being nice. I hope you can deal." Your voice comes out short, but he knows you mean no harm.

As you walk back to the counter, you see a small smile playing on his lips, but he doesn't allow it to manifest on his face. You take that as a small victory for your last hour of work.

(bucky's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The girl who works at this café is annoying.

But she's got a nice smile. And she's nice to me, Bucky thinks to himself.

He sips on the new coffee you'd just poured for him, without his consent, he thinks bitterly.

But it was a nice gesture.

Why can't you just take a nice gesture?

Because your brain's been scrambled eggs for 70 years. You don't know what to think about anything these days.

He watches you fiddle with the espresso maker, cleaning it with a rag, which you then dip into a bucket.

You look extremely familiar to him, but he can't exactly pin where he's seen you before.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, trying to recall where he'd seen you, but for a moment, he comes up with nothing.

Ever since he's been living back in the real world, he hasn't been outside too much.

He goes on the occasional walk, or goes to the tower to see Steve and Sam.

But other than that, he spends a lot of time in his Brooklyn apartment. He watches movies that Steve suggests, or he invites Steve and Sam over to have beer and watch TV with him.

He hates how lonely it gets, though.

Bucky wishes that he had someone.

Someone who could understand.

And don't get him wrong, he loves Sam and Steve. They fill in the gaps in his days, and they make them better.

Sometimes, thinking about having something to do that day is what makes it. He likes having something to do, something to plan for for when his friends come over.

But it feels like a teeny, tiny part of his life is missing. A person shaped-hole in his heart.

But Bucky doesn't spend too long thinking about it, or it'll send him into a spiral about failure and how he needs to 'push himself to get out there more.'

Or that's what his therapist says.

"Hey, we're about to close, and we usually throw the pastries out at the end of the day. Do you wanna take these home, by any chance?" Your voice rings in his ears, snapping him out of the impending slippery slope of his lack of love life.

He hesitates to answer for a second, looking at the brown paper bag pinched between your fingers.

Bucky can tell you were nervous when you spoke to him. He knew he made you uneasy, and it killed him inside.

He hated that. He just wanted to have a normal conversation with someone. But everyone seems to know who he is.

Who he was.

"Uh, what is it?" He croaks, unsure of what to say at your gesture.

"It's a few cookies and a chocolate croissant."

"Sure, I'll take 'em." Bucky simply answers, watching as you hand the bag over with a soft smile and watches you walk back.

You sweep up the floor and put up all the chairs, except for the one Bucky's sitting on. You leave his table alone, and bid farewell to your coworker who was scheduled to close with you.

Bucky doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he gets up after he sees you walk out the door, and follows you home.

Damn, if you like a girl, you usually ask for her number or somethin'. Not follow her home to make sure she's safe, you idiot. Bucky's inner voice speaks and sometimes, he wishes it would just shut up because he knows he has no game nowadays, but this is all he knows to do.

He realizes the way you're walking is familiar, and not at all of the way he was supposed to be going. That made him feel a little better, less like a creep. He's about half a block behind you, and when you turn onto the same street he lives on, he's really confused.

Did you know he was behind you? Are you trying to play a trick on him?

But before Bucky can speak up or say something, you walk right past his building, and into the one right next to it.

All of a sudden, images of you right on the street in front of your buildings flash through his head. He's seen you because you're his neighbor. Bucky's seen you right there, getting ready to start your run through the neighborhood, or probably on your way to work, now that he's seen where you work.

But he feels like there's somewhere else he's seen you; somewhere familiar.

He shakes his head, wondering why he's so caught up in you. He thought you were beautiful, but he feels a pull to you that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Bucky's hands move to unlock his door, sliding the key in and twisting the lock open.

He enters, staring at his dark apartment. It's moments like this, when he spends a long day alone, that he wishes there was someone.

Someone to come home to, to hug, to kiss, to share dinner with.

Some to fall asleep with at night. Someone to keep the terrors of the dark away.

But there was no one.

And then his mind thought back to you. Your hair, your face, your warm hands that touched his while you passed him the brown paper bag of treats.

Bucky wishes he was man enough to ask you out. Not even that, just to talk to you. Have a normal conversation, to get to know you.

But that wasn't in the cards for him anytime soon, he thinks.

For now, he focuses on taking things one at a time. And right now, all he wanted was a nice, warm shower and to get at least three hours of sleep tonight.

He's in his room, forgoing the lights for now, before he looks out his window.

For a moment, he believes his eyes are playing tricks on him.

There's absolutely no way that you are standing right there, right outside his window.

Well, in your own apartment, of course.

And there's absolutely no way in hell that Bucky is watching you undress right now.

As soon as you pull off your top, Bucky turns around before he could get more than a peek of your black lace bra, and he feels a burn in the pit of his stomach.

He can't tell if it's shame, guilt, or arousal.

(y/n's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't stop thinking about James all day.

After yesterday, you wondered why you couldn't shake this feeling about him.

He'd made it quite clear that he's not a people person. Or maybe he just wasn't a you person.

But again, you tried to not take things too personally these days.

Sometimes, you wondered, though, as you looked through your bedroom window to his some nights.

You imagined what it would be like, watching one of those movies with him at night. Making dinner with him. Having coffee in the mornings before work, wondering what he did for a living.

You chastise yourself for your thoughts, thinking that you were crazy for these ideas you were coming up with out of nowhere.

As you pull off your clothes to get ready for bed, you feel the same emptiness fill your heart when your head hits the pillow, and another day has gone by where you're all alone.

The next day, your shift was at ten in the morning so you were up early.

You took your time in rolling out of bed. The warmth of your duvet was holding you down, and you couldn't help take a peek out your window.

You see that the room facing yours is finally housing a body in the bed. In all the time you'd been living across him, you've only seen him on the floor.

You feel a warm flutter at that. Whatever reason led him to actually sleep in the bed last night was, you hope you played a role in it.

You make your way to the café, and although walking in the rain wasn't ideal, you made it, somehow.

You clock in and head to the register, ready to take the millions of orders that come in through the day.

"Hi- oh! Welcome back. What can I get you?" Your tone of voice made it clear you were surprised, but was trying to not let it show.

"Uhm, just the same as yesterday, and... Can I get a chocolate croissant?" Bucky's gruff voice tells you.

You ring him up, wondering if you should say something about him being your neighbor. Although, he didn't seem too keen on looking you in the eye right now, and you wonder if you did something to make him uncomfortable yet again.

He seems to have this issue quite often.

Little do you know, this time, it isn't because of you or anything you did.

Well, nothing you did on purpose.

Nothing you were aware of at the time.

Anyways, you tell James to go take a seat and that you'd be right out with his order.

"Here you go, James," you place the plate and mug on the table, and this time, when you hear him say something, you turn around with furrowed brows.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you said." You apologize, waiting for him to repeat himself.

"I- nevermind, it was stupid anyways. You probably have to get back to work." He mumbles while looking back down at his pastry.

"James, whatever it is, you can tell me." You offer with a kind smile. "I can come sit with you during my break, if you don't mind?" A hopeful smile crosses your face.

"Uh, I- yes, yeah, that would be nice." He struggles for a moment, but finally nods his head in confirmation along with his words.

"Alright, James. I get off in an hour for my break." You simply tell him with a soft grin, and you can practically feel his eyes burning into you as you walk away.

The blush creeping up your cheeks also stays there until the remainder of your shift.

As you plop in the chair across from James, you inspect him for a moment.

He was attractive, you'll admit.

Okay, he was more than attractive.

"So, James, where are you from?" You ask, your own cup of coffee in front of you on the table.

"Well, I'm Brooklyn born 'nd raised. Never was a time I didn't live here. You?" His lip twitches, looking out the window fondly.

"That's nice. I moved here when I was nine, so I guess I've been here a while. But no matter where I go, there's nowhere like home." You smile.

"There really isn't, huh? This place is irreplaceable." He gives you a crack of another smile, and you find yourself yearning for more from him. Just a tooth, something.

"Well, do you live around here?" You ask, deciding to play coy. You wanted to see what he'd say.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Over on DeKalb and Clinton." He clears his throat, the hint of a smile on his face melting right off.

"Huh, that's so funny. I live on those streets too." You grin, waiting to see his reaction.

"O-Oh really?" James doesn't really know what to say without giving away that he knows where you fucking live.

"Yeah, isn't that funny? Which building?" You're pressing, and you know he knows, but you're having your fun right now.

"T-the uhm... I live in the Washington." He's now making zero eye contact with you, and you're close to breaking.

"What a coincidence! I live in the Oakley!" You're in a fit of giggles when his face drops, you just can't help it anymore.

"James, can I tell you something?" You ask in a coquettish manner.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll tell me even if I say no." He gives a tight smile as a joke.

"I don't wanna sound like a creep, but I knew you lived in the Washington."

"Oh," James releases a breath of relief, "thank God. I knew you lived in the Oakley, but I didn't wanna sound like a stalker either." He says.

You laugh, sliding a hand on top of his resting on the table.

"Y'know, you do this really annoying thing where you leave your movies running on full brightness on your TV, and I can see it through my windows at night." You laugh at the incredulity of the situation.

"Oh... I never even thought of that. I'm sorry, Y/N." He looks genuinely remorseful, and now you feel bad for any bad thought you've had about the man that lives across from you.

"It's alright. No big deal." Your smile does a good job of convincing Bucky that you truly weren't bothered by his actions, but he still felt bad.

"Y'know, maybe I could make it up to you?" He asks, and you feel a blush moving up your chest. "Like, maybe over dinner?" His voice is timid, you can tell by the way he tilts his head down while speaking.

"James," you slide your hand into his this time, your smaller one resting in his large metal one. "I'd love to go out with you sometime."

Before he could react, you stood up from the chair.

"My break's over, but I get off at 3." You lean down and pull a pen from your apron, scribbling your number onto a napkin. "Here."

You walk away before he could say anything, but there's something about him this time that you notice.

He's blushing, too. And he's smiling. A bright, white, blinding smile.

You think of that smile throughout your whole shift, until you see he's still waiting for you when it's time to go.

"So, do you like Chinese or Italian better?" He asks with a crooked smile.

bonus scene:

six months later

You and Bucky are laid across your bed, the TV blaring a movie that neither of you are paying attention to. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg thrown over both of his, and his hand running through your hair.

"You wanna know somethin' doll?" Bucky asks, and you feel his chest rumble under your head.

"Yeah, everything okay?" You ask while leaning up on your elbow to get a good look at him, trying to gauge his mood.

"Everything's okay, just remembered something." He laughs, his hand moving to hold your jaw in it. You shivered at the touch, but smiled fondly at the action.

"When I first saw you at the coffee shop, that first day when you gave the free coffee and pastries... I followed you home."

Your brows furrow and it's clear that you were confused as to why.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe, and then it turned out that you lived right next to me. So I went up to my apartment and wondered what I'd done right in a past life to have you live right next to me, and then I saw you lived right across from me." His face was tipped upwards, like he was replaying that night in his head.

"You followed me home just to make sure I was safe?" You asked in disbelief that he did something so nice for you, when at the time you thought he hated you.

"Of course, sweetheart. It was dark out and there 're some real jerks out there, y'know." One corner of his mouth lifts up in a soft smirk. "Didn't want anything to happen to ya."

You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, appreciating his gesture.

"I really thought you didn't like me back then, so this is a nice little secret you've been hiding from me." You giggle when he pulls you back in for a real kiss.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I could'a hated you if I tried, baby. You're too sweet. And at the time, I was still getting used to being out in the open without being a national security threat." You both laugh lightly, dropping your head down.

A moment passes where you bask in his words, letting them soak in. And then a thought hits you, and you can't help but become more curious. Now you need to know the answer.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, hon." Now Bucky's brows are pulled together, and you reach up and smooth out the wrinkle with your thumb.

"Did you ever... see me doing anything in here? Like, I usually keep the curtains open, and even if they're closed, they're pretty see-through..." You trail off, giving him time to craft his response.

You have a feeling you know the answer, considering how he turns red like a tomato in an instant as words leave your lips.

"I... there was this one time, but I swear, I wasn't trying to peep on you or anything, it was the same day I followed you and I just so happened to look into your window, and you were getting undressed, but I swear, I turned away as soon as I saw what you were doing, baby-" He was rambling, trying to save himself from sounding like a complete creep after all he's just told you.

"Did you like it?" You ask, innocently, but he knew what you were trying to do.

"I-I- You were getting undressed, sweetheart, of course I liked it... are you kidding me?" Bucky's grasping for the words, trying to make you understand.

"Well... we could always recreate it, but maybe in the same apartment this time?" You cock your head to the side, your doe eyes stirring a feeling in his abdomen.

"I think that's an excellent idea, honey." Bucky's hands grasp your waist as you slide on top of his lap. "After all, I am a hands on learner."

fin. i hope you enjoyed!

#bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes reader insert #neighbor!bucky #bucky barnes au

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canvas-the-florist · 3 years

Text

Learning to Listen

Ships: Past Romantic Prinxiety, Romantic Intruality,

Warnings: Messy breakup, swearing, unintentional bigotry, mentions of sex, brief (VERY brief) making out

Summary: Virgil, Roman, Patton, and Remus move into a house together as housing during college. It works out great until Virgil and Roman breakup and Remus discovers some things that could complicate his own romantic relationship with Patton (none of the characters are unsympathetic they’re just stupid.)

Word Count: 1.8K

“I’m just an over glorified fuck buddy to you, aren’t I?!” Virgil yelled through the thin walls and Remus flinched at the noise. Roman and Virgil decided to have an apparently much needed fight. He was glad that Patton wasn’t home to witness what he assumed was a breakup. Remus didn’t know whether or not he was going to have to comfort Virgil or Roman.

“No! I just- Virgil you aren’t listening to me! Like you ever do!” Remus turned up the music in his headphones, despite it already at max volume. His eardrums were probably going to explode, with blood and whatever cartilage did when it couldn’t handle the stress of hearing.

“Are you breaking up with me?!”

“Yeah, VIRGIL, I think I am!” Remus was impressed that they had gotten to that part after two hours. But hey, they got there in the end, right? He heard the door of the room open and slam shut. He paused his music and looked up to see Roman looking deflated. Roman walked over and sat next to Remus silently. Remus didn’t say anything, not wanting to fuck up his brother’s day anymore, even though that sounded like fun. Roman screamed into a pillow and fell the back of his head onto Remus’s lap, slapping his phone to the ground. “Did you manage not to hear any of that?”

“Oh I’m pretty sure your voice could’ve broken the windows if you tried harder.” Remus supplied. “I don’t know exactly what the fight was about though, you guys were talking like normal people at the point.”

“What would you know about normal people?” Roman responded snarkily, before shaking his head softly and corrected himself. “Sorry. That fight was a lot, I’m not sure the adrenaline of it has burned out yet… Remus, is it weird that I thought we were doing really well? I didn’t even notice Virgil wasn’t happy with it. I really fucked up.”

Remus thought briefly to his own dating life. He realized he related more than he wanted to. “Yeah, you really boinged that one, dude. But, I’m sure it’ll be okay. If it doesn’t work out I can decapitate Virge for you. He’s my best friend but you’re my brother.”

Roman laughed lightly, and tears rolled down his face unto Remus’s legs. His laughter quickly turned to sobbing into Remus’s shirt until Patton came home from work 30 minutes later. He opened the door humming to himself until he saw the twins on the couch, Roman’s makeup running and generally looking like a mess.

“Is… everything okay?” Remus shook his head and Patton nodded to himself. “Where’s Virgil?” That simple question got Roman to crumble down horizontally on the couch again. Patton thought to himself with furrowed brows about that response. Remus pointed to Virgil’s room and Patton followed, knocking on the door. He went in after a few seconds to see Virgil curled up in a ball, shaking and clearly not alright.

He couldn’t even choke a word out. Patton closed the door and sat on the ground in front of him. Without questioning anything he opened up his arms in case Virgil wanted a hug. He did. “Okay kiddo, breathe in for four seconds for me. Now hold it for seven-”

This went on until his breathing was stable. Virgil’s fist was closed around a piece of Patton’s shirt. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Patton asked, tightening his grip. He had begun to suspect what might’ve happened and almost wanted to cry about it himself, but it wasn’t about him right now. “Not that you have to but if you need to, I’m here.”

“No, my therapist has told me to communicate better. Which, ironically, what I was trying to do with Roman…” Virgil trailed off, loosening his grip of Patton’s shirt and looking up to his ceiling. He doesn’t really seem to want me other than to have sex and after mentioning that it eventually turned into a screaming match. And then he… then he broke up with me. I should’ve listened to him before but I didn’t. Patton I don’t know what to do.”

Patton bit his lip for a second. Only sex, huh? He thought back to himself and Remus. They sort of had the opposite issue… This wasn’t about that though. Virgil still wanted a response. “I wasn’t there, Virgil, and this isn’t my relationship we’re talking about. I- do you want suggestions or do you just want me to listen without giving any opinions?”

“Suggestions would be cool.”

“Alright,” with that permission Patton tried to think of his best friendly advice. ‘Communication’ was usually always the answer but it was some sort of subsection of that Patton wasn’t sure how to explain. Listen to Roman? Be clear about your wants in a romantic relationship? It was hard for Patton to follow those in his OWN dating life. He realized more and more issues to bring up to Remus after this resolved somehow. “Well, it would probably be helpful to listen to what Roman wants in the relationship and have him listen to what you would want. And then… based on that, work on how to do that together or if that’s not compatible… Break off the romantic relationship because it would probably be healthier that way.”

Virgil whistled lowly. “Dang, Pat. I was sort of expecting a follow your heart thing. But, thank you. I guess that would mean confronting the issues, which is quite honestly terrifying. I should probably do that now or something…” He stood up, holding his head from doing it too fast and made his way to the door. Patton remained on the floor a moment longer before following.

Remus was back to listening to music while Roman was scrolling on his phone as Remus played with his hair idly. Virgil grabbed the fabric of his jacket before walking to the loveseat. He heard Patton close his door and almost jumped out of his skin. He took a deep breath. “Roman? Maybe we should try again with that discussion… I don’t want this to be screaming. I like you, a lot. What do you say?”

He made brief eye contact with Roman, seeing the dried tears and puffy eyes, but he nodded and sat up. Remus gave Virgil a raised eyebrow but said nothing. “Okay.” Roman croaked. Patton walked to the kitchen almost immediately to give both of them glasses of water to fight back against what the yelling and tears did to their throats. “You can start.”

“Should we leave?” Remus asked, as Patton handed the glass to Virgil and then Roman. Patton sat down at the one chair in the room, but didn’t get comfortable just in case. “I mean it’s your conversation.”

“You can stay. I don’t want to yell again. A mediator would be good.” Like it helped before, Remus thought to himself, but stayed put. Virgil cleared his throat with a small cough and took a sip of water. “I’m starting? Okay. I feel like I'm not getting a lot of romantic affection lately in our relationship that I would really appreciate. We don’t really kiss or anything and I would like to know if that’s because of me or not. You can go now.”

Roman blinked and used a tissue from the side table to clean up his face as he spoke. “Thank you for telling me that, Virgil… I didn’t realize that you wanted affectionate stuff that badly. I feel like I don’t need that in my relationships and I’ve been questioning my sexuality and romantic orientations for a while. And I probably should’ve brought this up earlier but… I think I’m…” He looked down at the ground. “I think I’m aromantic.” He sounded like he was about to cry again. Remus looked at Patton with wide eyes.

Patton returned the look as Virgil talked next. “Oh. Roman, I’m so sorry about the fuckbuddy comment, shit. I didn’t realize… but I’m proud of you for finding that out about yourself. Maybe it would be healthier if we broke up, huh?”

Roman laughed, new tears falling down his face. The two embraced each other, laughing while crying. “Yeah, I guess we are breaking up then!”

It would hurt for a while, and the change was definitely huge but it was better. But after witnessing that Patton and Remus knew that they had to talk. The only question was who would be the first to bring it up?

Remus and Patton were on Patton’s bed, making out. Which was fine, neither of their roommates were home and it was fun. The issues came up when Patton’s hand went under Remus’s shirt. “Is this okay?” He asked. It all came crashing down when Remus shook his head no. They stopped immediately and fell onto the bed looking up at the ceiling next to each other. “We should talk about this. Not that you didn’t want to, just that we need to define better boundaries for our relationship.”

“You’re right. We should talk about this.” Remus gulped. Apparently it was already happening. After two weeks but it still didn’t feel like enough time. “Patt, I love you… But I don’t know about fucking.”

“Crass, but I get it. Are you… asexual?” He looked over at his boyfriend, who shrugged. “Well, that’s fine too. So no sexual stuff. Got it. Anything else that would cross the line that we should talk about?”

Remus was tempted just to shrug again but didn’t. “I don’t know yet. After Roman finding out he’s aromantic I’ve been thinking. I still want to be with you, but can I give you everything you want in a relationship? I don’t think I… I don’t think I NEED or WANT sex at all, but I haven’t decided yet. I’m so fucking confused.”

“I may want it, Remus but I don’t think it’s a need in our relationship.” Patton reassured. And he wasn’t lying either. He believed what he was saying, glad that his conversations with Janus had also gotten him to check his own wants and needs in general. “I think I’m alright like this, but it’s important for me to know for sure.”

He reached out for Remus’s hand, and he took it. They looked up at the ceiling, with a feeling of clarity that helped them relax. It wasn’t really a change at all, but it gave reason to actions and made sure they wouldn’t make the other uncomfortable. And that was worth it.

Taglist: @vpow @loveroffandoms @yourfellowsmolgay @moth-bugs @vsem-5

#remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #prinxiety #intruality #past prinxiety #romantic intruality #asexual remus #aromantic roman #sander sides #sander sides fanfiction #writing #emile writes #fake shitpost

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griff-us · 3 years

Text

Title: Being So Normal Part: One Pairing: Black!Reader/Bucky Barnes Summary: Neither of them are very good at being normal. Good thing the spectrum of normalcy these days is anything but the definition of the word. In other words: two broken people mend together. Warnings: typical canon level violence, mentions of past abuse both physical and emotional, alcohol abuse and mentions of, drug abuse and mentions of.

Chapter Theme: Being So Normal, Peach Pit

Notes: Just a little self-indulgent series that's been sitting in the back of my brain that I have finally decided to work on after kinda scraping the previous one.

Sort of a Neighbors's AU mixed with a Coffee Shop Au. Lots of character introspection for the reader, and Bucky, and some fun and drama along the way. This will no doubt be a slow slow burn.

Hope yall enjoy and feel free to leave any comments or hit me with questions! Oh, mood board slapped together by me! Also, no Beta. Tbh I'm lazy and impatient so excuse any mistakes.

Saturday: 11:30pm

Sam was the one who convinced him to come---or maybe forced would be the better word. Life has been returning to somewhat normal for the two of them; Sam shouldering his mantle as Captain America, and James slowly easing into his role as Sergeant Barnes rather than The Winter Soldier. But, it’s not all easy, at least not for James. Normalcy is not his strong suit, not when the urgency of survival had been drilled into his skull for the past hundred years or so. Sure, he was comfortable, but not necessarily happy. James is lost, and no one can tell that more than Sam.

And that is how he’s found himself in this crowded club with flashing lights and a bass beat that he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It’s not that the environment is too much---it’s just that he feels so...odd out. After all, Jame’s idea of a night out used to be something more akin to a jazz bar and dancing. Not whatever gyrations and wiggling around the kids called dancing was these days.

God, he really is old.

“You gotta loosen up man, you’re killing my vibe.” Sam, as if on cue, shoulders into him. James scowls, making sure to keep a tight grip on his beer---if you could even call it that. The brewery it was from managed to pack so many damn spices and fruit in it that it tasted more like a cocktail than any beer he’s come to like.

“You’ve got a weird vibe then, Sam.” the other man laughs, elbows resting against the bar top behind them while he scopes out the scene. It’s a typical New York club; fashion being the forefront of it all, the entire reason anyone is out right now is to be seen and admired. Among other things.

“That cutie over there keeps tossing you looks, you should go say hi.” James follows Sam’s gaze across the bar. A gaggle of young women crowds around a booth, all of them eyeing them and whispering to one another. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer.

“I think you mean they’re looking at you, Sam.” The super soldier turns back toward the bar to push his empty glass to the bartender who only nods his way and produces a refill without another word.

“Eyes up, Sergeant, they’re coming over.”

James doesn’t pay any mind to the coming onslaught; it’s always the same really. Sam is descended on by a group of gals excited to meet the new Captain America and even more enthralled when they realize he’s pretty damn charming. Not that he’s jealous in any way. Annoyed? Sure. See, he just isn’t one for new people---especially the kind that Sam tends to attract sometimes. The airheads, the young ones just waiting to hook up and never talk again. He just can’t vibe with it, can’t grasp it. Maybe he is too old for this modern age of love and romance.

James just turns his attention to the muted TV over the bar, his back facing the chatty group of women behind him while they flock to Sam like vultures starving for a meal. The news flashes between stories from all over; follow-ups on the last of the Flag Smashers, some weird disturbances in a tiny town somewhere far off, and a local story on a stray cat that is just “too cute to not have a home.” He snorts, lips smacking from the twang of his beer.

“Sorry about them.” The tiny voice from his left nearly makes him jump, and James can only blame the blaring music for his lack of attention.

“Huh?” He peers down to see an average height woman; with big brown eyes and skin a deep tan and sunkissed. By all accounts, she is stunning---and looks nearly as out of place in this massive club as he does.

“My friends---” her head jerks towards the group of women still fawning over Sam, who no doubt is loving all of the attention. “I tried to explain to them that you guys are just normal people too," she thinks they're normal? "but the alcohol made them all braver than they normally are.” The woman rolls her eyes but by the soft smile she wears he can tell she means no malice.

“And what about you?” James leans his full weight on the bar top now all the while inching closer to the woman. He can read the confusion on her face. “Are you feeling braver than normal?” she flushes at his clarification, and an easy shrug rolls from the shoulder.

“I’m just the mom friend trying to make sure my friends don’t end up dead, in jail, or worse.” James can’t help but laugh at that.

“A mom friend, huh?” gloved fingers pluck the pint glass from the bar and neither of them breaks eye contact while he swallows nearly half the glass.

“Yeah, kind of how I’ve always been; just an eighty-year-old woman at heart I guess.” James gives her a crooked grin: he could understand that.

“You’re too young to talk like that.” he elbows her gently, suddenly so comfortable with her presence that he can feel himself loosening up a bit.

“Then what’s your excuse?”

Brows cock high, that twisted little grin never once wavering from his face. He likes her---the idle and quiet wit, the way she matches his quips with equal stride.

“What’s your---” but before he can finish the group of girls are flagging her down, yanking her arm in one direction while they all gossip about how someone managed to snag Captain America’s number. James watches while she shoots him an apologetic smile while she is all but dragged back to their booth across the dance floor. Before he knows it, her face is lost in a sea of people.

“You would pick up the prettiest one.” Sam’s voice yanks James from his thoughts, and he looks up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little flirt session. You get her number?”

“I’m going home.” James slaps a crisp bill on the bar top and Sam laughs, all loud and boisterous.

“You didn’t even get her name, did you, man?”

“Good night, Sam!” with hands shoved deep in his pockets, James turns heels and heads home.

Sunday: 8:am

The mornings were his favorite time to jog. Consider it a coping mechanism---not that he necessarily needed to go for mile-long runs or work out, what with the serum, but it was the only time his mind was truly quiet. So, James kept to a strict schedule of an hour or so run every morning followed up by a tall dark roast. Only today, he is late by nearly an hour to get to his usual coffee spot; which wouldn’t be terrible but James lives for routines. Without one, his entire day is skewed.

It’s eight in the morning when he strolls into the coffee shop, a tiny little place sat precariously on the corner of two streets only a couple blocks from his apartment. Clad in joggers and a simple black t-shirt, he strides up to the counter; eyes glued to the menu board for any new sweets that may catch his eye.

“Well hi again.” brows grow taught at their center---he knows that voice. James looks down to see the same woman from the night before. Black hair is piled high on her head and rather than the slim little dress from the night before she sports simple leggings and a graphic shirt of which the reference he is utterly lost on.

“Oh. Hi...uh....” blue eyes look for a name tag, and he finds none. Damn it.

“Y/N” she smiles wide at him, much like she had in the club only this time, with better lighting, he can make out the dimples that crease each of her cheeks.

“Y/N.” he repeats her name back slowly. “Uh, nice to meet you, or see you again. I guess.” he points to himself, “I’m Bucky.” said so lamely, so simply, he really can’t blame her for laughing at him.

“I know. What can I get for you, James?”

James.

That throws him; tosses him so off-kilter the man can hardly remember his order. Sure a couple people call him James, well really only his mother and his therapist when he’s in deep shit but…. To hear a name nearly forgotten to himself, and from her? Well, it turns his brain to static.

“Just a large black coffee and one of those brownies please.” She nods and starts to prep his order, all the while he stands there like an idiot with a ten-dollar bill in his hand and his heart in his throat. Finally, he finds a safe landing back on earth.

“How was the rest of your night with your friends?” Y/N groans while she pours him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Catty. I finally got the last one home around three in the morning. Got home just in time for a nap before I came in here.”

“That sounds---awful.” James trades her the coffee for the ten, and watches while she works the register.

“Wasn’t so bad. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.” Y/N offers the change back to James but only nods his head toward the tip jar.

“Sounds like you earned it. Did you just start working here?" he's never seen her working here before, and per his routine, James is here around this time at least five times a week.

"Covering for a friend, I usually work the closing shift if I'm not teaching." Teaching? James would assume she'd be on the younger side to teach.

"I'll have to come more often around that time then." he watches while round cheeks twitch, and flush.

“Deal. I’ll uh...see you around, James?”

“Y-yeah. See you around, Y/N”

#james bucky barnes #james barnes #reader insert #bucky/reader #bucky/you #james bucky barnes/reader #james bucky barnes/you #mcu fic #mcu reader insert #reblogs more than welcome #actually encouraged #thank

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allsassnoclass · 4 years

Text

you could bring down my level of concern

Michael is having a bad night. Ashton picks him up for ice cream

read on ao3

It’s just after one in the morning, and Michael doesn’t trust his ability to keep it together. He’s felt like his skin has been pressed too tightly the entire day, and that was before he realized that there’s an entire book he was supposed to read for his contemporary literature class, sitting untouched on his dresser. He’s got so many tabs open on his computer of assignments that he needs to finish, and he keeps forgetting that he has to email the financial aid office or he’s going to get a late fee on his bills but he can’t exactly email them now at one in the morning because they’re going to think he can’t get his life together on top of being an idiot for forgetting for so long. He’s been restlessly switching between different social media platforms and opening up Netflix only to close it again when nothing seems to fit, steadfastly ignoring the book, the articles he’s supposed to read with it, and all of the other homework for his music classes.

Shit. He didn’t practice today, and his professor is going to be able to tell when he has his lesson tomorrow.

Michael shifts and unlocks his phone again, but nothing has changed in the three seconds he’s been gone. He stares at his home screen for a moment, a picture of him and Ashton from before they got back to campus this year, smiles wide and tucked close together.

He saw Ashton two days ago, but he hasn’t really seen him for at least two weeks. With the new university policies, they’re not allowed to hang out in Ashton’s dorm room or Michael’s apartment anymore, nor be outside together without masks. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if they both were off campus and could sneak around, but Ashton is an RA. He’ll get immediately fired if they get caught, and if he somehow does manage to get the virus his entire floor will be put into official quarantine. It’s not just them who are at risk, and Ashton is too much of a bleeding heart to put all of his residents through that.

As such, Michael has eaten lunch outside with Ashton and facetimed him and spent a lot of time cuddled up to Calum to make up for the fact that he’s technically not allowed to touch Ashton (although no one has noticed them holding hands across the table, or a quick hug before they part for classes).

It’s getting chillier. When snow starts to fall, Ashton is going to need to concede to hanging out in Michael and Calum’s apartment, because they’re both going to go crazy without it.

Michael already feels like he’s going crazy. He has assignments and his dishes are dirty and he has no money and everything absolutely sucks and he misses his boyfriend, so he pulls out his phone and sends can you pick me up.

After a moment, he adds please.

Ashton could be asleep already, because he’s been trying really hard to seem well-adjusted for his senior year, and the thought makes panic bubble uncomfortably in Michael’s gut. He can’t get himself to start his tasks, and he can’t stop picking at his cuticles, a bad habit that everyone has been trying to help him break, and he’s been missing Ashton vaguely since they got back on campus but thinks he’s going to cry if he doesn’t get to see him tonight.

What if Ashton doesn’t want to see him?

Ashton wants you around, Michael says to himself, trying to remember everything his therapist has told him for when he feels like this. Just because outside circumstances are making it difficult doesn’t mean that he suddenly hates you.

His internal voice doesn’t sound very convincing. With the way everything has been going lately, Michael wouldn’t be surprised if Ashton suddenly dumped him and Calum moved out and Luke and the girls stopped talking to him so he was miserable and alone. That’s just about the only way things could get even worse, right?

He doesn’t want to jinx it.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and Michael glances down to see Ashton’s name pop up with the message be there in 5.

Everything snaps into focus when Ashton is near. This strange crawling sensation under his skin might not fully go away, but maybe it’ll lessen, and maybe Michael will be able to think about school without wanting to throw up.

He slips on a hoodie, shoves on some shoes, and barely remembers to grab his wallet and keys before he’s slipping on a mask and out the door, rushing down the stairs to get out of the apartment building. The night air does nothing to sooth him, feeling dense and muggy through his mask rather than light and crisp like he wants. Still, he looks up at the sky and tries to let the slight breeze he can feel against his forehead calm him a little, just enough to hold him over until he can get in Ashton’s car and hopefully breathe properly again.

He’s still trying in vain to find a star that hasn’t been drowned out by light pollution or clouds when Ashton’s car arrives, engine squeaking in a familiar way when he pulls up to the curb a bit too fast, as always. Michael makes his way to the passenger door and gets in.

“Hey, stranger. Need a ride?” Ashton quips, and Michael crumples. Ashton looks soft, wearing pajama pants and a large sweatshirt, hair messy and eyes tired but smile intact. Michael wants to cry, but instead he just feels uncomfortable, like Ashton is a stranger again and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“Hey,” Ashton says gently, “what’s wrong?”

Michael shrugs.

“Okay,” Ashton says. “Do you want to take off your mask?”

He does, putting it in the pocket of his hoodie, and Ashton smiles.

“There he is,” he says, bringing a hand up to Michael’s cheek, and Michael leans into it, chasing the feeling of Ashton’s hands on his skin.

He’s missed this. Ashton seems to understand, shifting so he can thread his fingers through the hair at the back of Michael’s neck, then drawing him forward into a kiss. Michael’s hands come up to grip Ashton’s sweatshirt at the first brush of lips, pressing into it like he’s been drowning and Ashton is his first breath of fresh hair. Ashton makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, but responds in kind, opening his mouth when prompted and licking into Michael’s, taking control in the way they both like best. When they part for air a minute later, they don’t go far, pressing their foreheads together while Michael tries to make his fingers loosen their grip.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ashton asks eventually.

“No,” Michael says. “I don’t know. You’re doing it, I guess.”

He starts to pull away, and Ashton pecks him quickly on the lips again before he lets him.

“Where do you want to go?” Ashton asks.

“Away from campus,” Michael says.

“Ice cream?”

Michael nods, and Ashton starts the car.

The drive is quiet. Michael makes no move to turn on the radio or get the aux cord, and Ashton lets it be. Michael stares out the window, letting the houses and street lights pass by on the familiar route. There’s a Baskin Robbins attached to a Dunkin with 24-hour drive through, and they’ve made a lot of midnight runs there since they started dating. Some of Michael’s favorite memories from last year include sitting in the parking lot together, talking and laughing and sharing bites of ice cream when one of them got an unusual flavor. They managed to fit in two trips during the first weeks of the semester, but haven’t been able to go recently due to the campus lockdown.

About halfway there, Ashton reaches over and takes Michael’s hand, thumb rubbing soothing circles on it. Michael tries to focus on that, rather than the stretched-out feeling still present under his skin.

They pull up to the drive through and Ashton shifts the car into park. Despite the place not being busy at all, it has astoundingly slow service this late at night.

“Do you want your usual?” Ashton asks, and Michael nods. When they do eventually order, Ashton gets one scoop of cherry and one scoop of vanilla, and he gets Michael the chocolatiest thing on the menu. Ashton pays, and once they get their items he pulls into their usual parking space in the corner and turns the car off.

“So,” Ashton says when they’re a few bites in, “I really think you should tell me what’s wrong.”

Michael takes another bite of his ice cream and considers if he knows who to articulate this.

“I feel… bad,” he starts. “Just--like my skin is too tight, or something, and I can’t focus on anything but I also can’t not focus on anything. I’m tired but can’t sleep, the world is basically fucking ending and I’m somehow expected to read an entire book by tomorrow. I have so much I’m supposed to do and can’t make myself do any of it, and it’s not even that I don’t have the time, because nothing is happening! I hate trying to do music classes online, I can’t fucking see my friends, and I miss--”

He stops. Ashton waits patiently, letting the silence stretch out until Michael is ready to break it again.

“I miss you. I know we’re doing our best with what we can right now, but it still sucks.”

Ashton reaches out again, gentle hand landing on his arm. That makes Michael feel the closest he has to crying all night, but it’s still not quite enough. He wishes this were the type of upset that could be solved with a long hug and a cathartic cry, but it’s not. This discomfort is the type that gets into his bones and stays for a while.

Michael wishes the gear shift wasn’t in the way, so he could tuck himself against Ashton and hide there until this entire thing is over.

“Going to school right now fucking sucks, and I’m proud of you for handling it as well as you have been,” Ashton says. It’s a nice thing to say, but it’s useless right now. Michael knows that going to school right now sucks, and Ashton is always proud of him for doing the bare minimum. He hums anyway, because Ashton’s trying to help.

“Let’s eat our ice cream and make a plan for the rest of tonight and tomorrow,” Ashton says. “We’ll figure out the homework stuff, at least, and get to spend time together properly.”

“Can we sit on the hood?” he asks, and thankfully Ashton nods. The night air is crisper without his mask, or maybe it’s because they’re a bit further from the heart of the city. Either way, Michael presses close, not willing to forfeit time spent touching Ashton.

Luke is the clingiest out of all of them, but Michael hadn’t realized just how much he enjoyed touch until the virus hit and it was taken away from him. He was craving Ashton’s long before he wasn’t allowed to have it, and if he didn’t know that Ashton needs the money being an RA provides he would have begged him to quit and move in with him and Calum.

They talk about easy things as they eat, like the shift to Michael’s favorite type of weather that had happened recently and Ashton’s floor programs that he’s planning. Michael tells him about how Calum almost burnt the apartment down and they just barely avoided having the alarms go off, and Ashton gives an anecdote about residents trying to smuggle two of the campus lawn chairs into their rooms while he was on security.

“They’re just so stupid sometimes,” he says. “It really is not hard to get away with stuff like that if you put your mind to it, but they obviously didn’t.” He turns the story into an entire bit, complete with a funny imitation of their bad excuses when he caught them, and it makes Michael laugh. Some of the weird feeling dissipates.

Ashton gets out his notes app when they finish eating, and Michael leans his head on his shoulder to watch him type up the plan.

Michael will do his music theory homework tonight, but he’s going to stop once it hits three in the morning to go to bed regardless of how much is or is not done. Ashton will type up a detailed summary of the book he was supposed to read, since apparently it was his favorite when he took the class last semester as part of his major requirement, and have it emailed to Michael by the time his alarm goes off at 8 the next morning. Hopefully that will be enough for Michael to do the forum posts he’s supposed to, and he should still have time to do his ear training before class. They can meet up for lunch, then Michael can go to his other two classes, take a break until dinner, spend a bit of time in the practice room, and do his homework for the next day in the evening.

Calum has a study group then, and Michael likes working in the living room while he zooms the others. It’s easier to stay focused when Calum is, as well, and they’ve gotten into a routine of playing two rounds of Fifa, Smash, or MarioKart during well-timed breaks.

Marked out like this, the tasks look less overwhelming.

“Can you write that I need to email the student fees office during lunch?” he asks. Ashton nods and adds it to the list. “And dishes after dinner.”

It’s not too bad when it’s notated like this, and if he doesn’t get his theory homework done tonight he won’t completely fail the class as long as he does all of the other work, although he knows that letting himself slip with one assignment always makes it easier to neglect them in the future, to near-disastrous results. His lesson might be less-than-stellar tomorrow, but at least Dr. O is nice about it. He’ll be disappointed, and Michael might cry because he hates falling short of his expectations, but he won’t be mean.

“Doable?” Ashton asks. Michael nods. Ashton takes a screenshot of the note and texts it to Michael, then grabs his hand as they sit in silence for a few more minutes.

“We should get back,” Michael says eventually.

“We can stay a bit longer,” Ashton says. He tightens his grip on Michael’s hand, and maybe

Ashton has been missing him just as much. Michael presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“I have to do my theory homework, and you’re ready for bed,” he says.

“Wait,” Ashton says as he starts to shift away. Michael pauses, and Ashton’s hands shift to his waist, leaning in for a deep kiss. He melts into it, toes curling at the single-minded focus Ashton dedicates to it. They shift for a better angle, Ashton leaning against the windshield and Michael following him down, and it takes all of Michael’s self-control to pull away before things become too heated.

“I don’t want to give the Baskin Robbins employee a free show,” he says. Ashton’s fingers dip under his hoodie and shirt, chilly from either the ice cream or the fall air. Michael shivers at the light brush at the small of his back, and Ashton gives him a lopsided smile.

“It’d be the most interesting thing they’ll see tonight,” he says.

“It’ll also get the police called on us for public indecency,” Michael says. “Can’t believe I’m having to be the responsible one about this, Mr. I-Am-A-Mature-Resident-Advisor-Who-Will-Do-No-Wrong.”

“You make me feel adventurous,” Ashton says. Michael hums and kisses him again, and Ashton doesn’t try to escalate it.

“Okay,” Ashton says. “Let’s go back.”

They get in the car, and Michael pulls up a gentle playlist for the ride back. Ashton hums along to the first song, and something else in Michael’s gut dissipates. He still feels a bit weird, but he thinks it’s manageable now. He has a plan, and he has Ashton, and if previous experience is any indicator he should feel okay by the time he wakes up tomorrow morning.

Michael watches Ashton tap out an easy beat on the steering wheel with his thumbs, and takes another deep breath.

Things are kind of fucked now, but it won’t be like this forever. He’ll be okay.

#my writing #mashton #5sos fanfic #this is genuinely just. so much projection #so much #also though as I was writing this I fell in love with the universe so #maybe college mashton will be what I work on when nothing else works

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years

Note

4 and 24 for the angst prompts for anyone of your choice? 😘😘😘 BREAK MY HEART LICI!!!

Okay I don’t know how heartbreaking this is but I have done a little Lizette and John that’s canon. So please enjoy.

4. “Do you know what it’s like?” 24. “How much does it hurt knowing you lost me?”

I’m not sure why I ordered soup from this place, they didn’t even have my favorite one today. The spinning of the rice in the vortex from my spoon has my mind occupied as John sits across from me. He’s been picking me up from school more and more lately, ever since mom said he could see me whenever he wanted. It’s mixed feelings in my heart as I spend more time with him. We’re starting to run out of the basics to talk about, and I never thought I would feel this much anger towards him again. I thought knowing John actually loves my mom would help but it hasn’t...and that scares me a bit. I don’t want to end up like him. I’m not him.

“How are the early applications going? Do you need any help with them?” John hasn’t touched much of his food either, he knows the inevitable is coming.

“No I got them covered,” I’ve had them done for a month now. Just before he started coming by more often.

“Liz,” he starts softly, like I’m a child. His child, “what’s wrong?”

I snort, “Nothing. Everything is fine. You just have to remember that I took care of everything on my own.”

He sighs leaning his arms on the table, “I know and I’m sorry,” he’s reaching for my hand before I snatch it away. His blue eyes look hurt, “You shouldn’t have had to do it on your own.”

“I have mom,” she’s all I’ve ever had but that’s starting to change too, “it wasn’t always perfect but she was there for me.”

“I wanted to be, Liz,” I watch as he restrains himself from crossing his arms, “I would have always been there for you had-.”

“Had you not been the leader of a deadly cult,” I cut him off shaking my head, “Yeah I know John.” My words come out shorter than I originally intended, but fuck him! Why did I ever want to get to know him? “I know how shit went down, it was covered in depth, the news outlets did a fine job of that,” drunk me was smarter, trying to protect me like mom did. I should have listened to Val that night, she warned me what would happen. The bowl is pushed from me a few inches, “I’m pretty sure it’s going to be taught in schools at some point.” It’s a straight lie, never could bring myself to admit that it already was. I never told mom how it was covered briefly, a footnote, an example that cults were still around in the twenty first century. Their only other mention was some of the students that chose them, Eden’s Gate, as a subject for their paper, college sociology sucked. Back then it was something that happened so long ago, felt like talking about the Mansons, and I did my paper on some other subject that seemed meaningless now.

Looking back on that class now, the looks given to me during the presentations of said paper made more sense. They figured out who I was before I ever knew anything about my connection to them. Mom did a good job hiding it all and my brain did a hell of a job tuning out everyone around me. I’m sure the one therapist I had as a child would say it was a learned coping skill.

His jaw clenches and moves slightly to the left, “Well guess it’s good that you’re graduating early.”

“You really think that will stop the stares? The whispers?” I wonder if he’s noticed the looks from some of the older people here that would recognize his face. Or maybe it's from the scene I’ve started to make.

“Look, Liz, I understand that this whole situ-.”

My nails scrape against the plastic table, the small sound hurting my ears, “You understand,” my voice is low as I’m glaring at the table, “Really? That’s what you’re starting with?” I laugh looking him in the eye, “I don’t think you do. Tell me do you know what it’s like, what it’s really like to find out your life has been a lie? How mom’s vacations were because she had anger problems and nightmares about her time in Montana. Living without her for the first few years of life all so she can prevent social services from taking you from her forever. Or how ‘bout because of your sperm donor’s family mom actually resorted to being a murder and torturing people too,” I hiss the last part not wanting people to hear about mom. She could still get in trouble for it I’m pretty sure. The news of that from mom had sent me reeling, I stayed at Val’s for a week before I calmed down enough to come back home.

He looks down to his gloved hands sadly, “I didn’t know that wo-.”

“John do you know what it’s like to know that what the kids at school said to you turned out to be true. How much it hurt to be rejected for something you never thought possible, to think it was all lies because it was just easier to accept you were unlikeable.” I feel the lump in my throat form at those memories, “To have the permanent reminder,” I point to the scar on my upper left lip, “that parents told their children to hurt you because ‘daddy’ was a monster and so she deserves it because she’ll end up just like him.” I feel my arms shaking as my volume increases, “To worry that the only friend you’ve ever had in your life will leave because everyone else did once finding out you were the spawn of the devil,” “You’re just like your father! Nothing more than the devil. Devils produce more, no way around that.” Those words never stopped hurting, she was five when grandma said them as punishment, “How my own family decided I was too much to take care of while mom was sick because they all worried I would turn out like you!” My hand is holding onto something soft, silky as I continue, “The pain you’ve caused me and mom, how could ever possibly know what it’s like or even begin to understand it John!”

I feel the water run down my face, noticing how I’ve become inches from his face. He’s silent, still, everything I had wanted him to be. Be the cold and calculating man people described him as and not the joke locals made him out to be, seeing his blank look now….i want the loud, over the top, dramatic man. Prove he was just putting on a show for me. Some false idea of him actually being a father. “Say something!” I’m glad that we’re outdoors as I yell in his face, my hand having hit the table. I look to see my other hand gripping his tie and shirt, just have to count to three, then my grip can loosen.

“What do you want me to say?” His voice is calm and unnerving to me. A chill runs up my spine. Is this how mom felt hearing his brother’s voice? His question stuns me as I no longer have an answer. My hand slowly releases him, “You’re right. I don’t know what any of that feels like. That I can’t begin to understand or know the full extent of what I put you and your mother through.” He’s smoothing out his shirt taking deep breaths, I see the anger management is working wonders, “I know there’s nothing I could ever do to make that up to you. But I’m trying Liz. I’m trying to be here for you now.”

I sit back down slowly, “Why not sooner? Why wait for me to find you?”

“I was respecting your mom’s wishes. Giving her space,” I can’t decide how much of what he’s saying true or not anymore. “I hurt her. I lost her,” he averts his eyes, “in more ways than you can ever know. I didn’t want her to leave but she turned into something I didn’t recognize. I just wanted the woman I fell in love with back.”

“Kidnapped,” the word leaves my mouth on instinct and he looks up stunned, “The woman you kidnapped back. The mom I deserved!” Everything is spinning and I don’t know how much of him I want in my life anymore. Is it even right to have him in my life? He’s committed so much wrong and I don’t know what kind of idiot mom was to fall for his tricks but she must have been kinder...softer. The mom I thought I had this whole time, a lie. An act. Someone that was dead and gone in his bunker surely, all by his hand. Everything in my life has been harder because of him, he’s the root of this life.

I can’t think, everything is tangled and a mess. If my mom ever had a bleeding heart I must have inherited it to have played this game with him this long. I inherited his rage too, his old car was proof of that. There was no straight answer and I can’t live like this. I had a goal, a plan, everything was black and white, but now the colors are becoming muddled. I hate him and that’s all I need to know right this moment.

My hand reaches for the warm soup bowl, throwing the contents in his face, “I don’t ever want to see you again.” I snatch my things, jerking the table, a glass of water spilling on him also. I regret that the soup wasn’t hotter, “Tell me John,” I tell him looking over my shoulder, “how much does it hurt now knowing you just lost me too?” I don’t wait for an answer, speeding to the nearest bus stop, jumping on the first one at random. People look away pointedly as I cry pulling out my phone calling the one person who’s never lied to me to come and get me.

#lizette eden oc #salvations two paths #canon for later down the road like post chance events #have I posted liz writing that wasn't her at five years old

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erin-bo-berin · 5 years

Text

Nightmares

I’m back with another smutty Spencer fic. This time it’s a combo of fluff and smut. Also sorry for the crappy quality video. I couldn’t find a gif of the scene that inspired this fic, so I just attached the video of the scene. Enjoy!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Word Count: 2,499

Rated: M (Smut)

Your entire body shook, terror making you tremble as if it were freezing cold in the room. It was actually the opposite, in fact. The room was too warm making you feel like you were suffocating. If you weren’t going to die by the knife that was currently pressed against your throat, you were sure you were gonna suffocate.

“Put the knife down Cooper,” came the stern voice of the FBI Agent only a few feet from you and the monster that had a death grip on you.

“You don’t have to do this,” a second voice said. You barely registered that the statement came from a young blonde woman; also FBI.

“You don’t know shit about what I have to do!” Spat the man from behind you. His voice was enough to make your skin crawl. You wished you could be anywhere but here. Maybe it was all some sort of sick dream and you were gonna wake up to the sound of your pesky alarm clock at any moment.

Your eyes pleaded, saying everything you couldn’t voice aloud to the two agents.

Help me. Please don’t let him kill me. I’m terrified I’m going to die right here.

The first of the two agents’ eyes flitted to your face. You noticed them soften just the slightest before his eyes snapped back to the figure behind you.

“We don’t want to shoot you. All you have to do is drop the knife and let her go. She has nothing to do with this.” His voice was firm, his gun still pointed straight at the perp.

“Lies, lies and more lies,” he tsked, not loosening his grip on the knife.

“Either you shoot me or you arrest me and send me to prison. Not really a winning deal now is it?” You could hear his sick, twisted grin in the words he said. You’d already seen enough of it and wanted to forget it forever.

“Living is better than being shot dead isn’t it?” This from the female.

“But...” Cooper paused, “I don’t get any fun out of either.”

The next few seconds happened in a whirlwind. A searing pain came from your stomach immediately followed by a warm, wet feeling. You cried out, hands flying to your stomach not fully understanding what had just happened. He was going to kill you, he was killing you.

You woke up to screaming, hands shaking you. He was back, he was going to finish you off.

“Y/N, Y/N, it’s me. It’s me. You’re okay.”

It took a moment to realize that the screaming was coming from your own lips, the shaking coming from your boyfriend, Spencer. Your breathing was heavy, your heart was racing faster than it should be and you were sweating. You knew the signs of your panic attacks almost better than anyone else. Except for the individual in front of you.

“You were dreaming. You’re safe. Focus on your breathing.” His hands were on your shoulders, taking deep breaths with you as your heart rate finally slowed and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer pulled you towards him, his embrace feeling like the safest place in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Don’t apologize.”

He pulled away, his index and thumb fingers immediately pulling your chin upward so you could look him in the eye.

“Was is the dream again?”

You didn’t answer with actual words, only a nod.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” you mumble even though you knew your therapist had instructed you to. It was to aid you in separating your dreams from reality; to keep you from bottling it up.

“Would mint chip ice cream make you change your mind?” he smiled softly, knowing your weakness for the minty chocolate treat.

“I suppose it would.”

You got up, following him down to the kitchen and sat at the island as he fixed you both a bowl of ice cream.

“Good thing I always have an emergency carton of it then,” Spencer smiled.

Your heart warmed watching your boyfriend scoop ice cream. He always knew how to take care of you.

A bowl of three scoops was set in front of you before he joined you, sitting in the chair next to yours, facing you.

“Okay, go ahead,” he prompted you.

With a shaky sigh, you began to recount your dream.

“I was back in that room again-“

You had been the last victim of a notorious psychopath only referred to as Cooper. You didn’t want to know his full name and you’d never asked. He was known for kidnapping his victims and brutally torturing them with his favorite tool of choice: knives.

It was a stroke of luck that Quantico’s Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI was already elbows deep in the case when you became his next target. They were closing in on him and he had no idea. Their raid came just before you were too badly injured. When they arrived you’d only sustained a couple dozen shallow cuts on your arms only having spent less than a few hours with him.

That was, until guns were pointed at him and his knife was at your throat. He’d never slit any of his victim’s throats simply because it was too quick. He much more enjoyed the slow torture of bleeding cuts starting from shallow to as deep as he could manage without killing the person. You had never been and haven’t since been so terrified. But there was also a part of your dreams that was always left out. It was torturing you in a new way, trying to make you believe you were still in danger, that danger never really went away. But the next part was crucial to your story because it changed your life.

Milliseconds after the searing pain came a gunshot. It sounded far away from where you were. A heavy, dull thud sounded next to you, but you didn’t pay any attention to it as you sank against the wall behind you, sobbing so hard your whole body was shaking. Arms came around you and a hand rubbed your back, a gentle voice reaching your ears.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It was Spencer who had held you while you sobbed. Your bloody hands still pressed against your stomach, your tears soaking the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t until after you were at the hospital that you found out the thud you heard was made by Cooper. One wrong move on his part cost him his life and you didn’t have one sorrowful bone in your body for him.

Spencer didn’t leave your side the entire time you were at the hospital. Your slashed stomach fortunately wasn’t life threatening, but was still deep enough to need stitches. You still had the scar to this day, even long after the ones on your arms had faded.

You didn’t see Dr. Spencer Reid for a while after that. But you were so grateful to him, to the whole BAU that you eventually sent a thank you note to them just to express your gratitude for saving your life. You also sent a separate, more personal one to Dr. Reid, letting him know how much he meant to you for all that he’d done.

It wasn’t long after that that the check up phone calls ensued. Spencer would check in with you just to see how you were recovering even though the stitches were long gone and most of the physical pain had disappeared. Phone calls somehow turned into meetings thus blossoming into something neither one of you fully expected.

It was exactly a year later that you two shared your first kiss. Unsurprisingly, your relationship began not long after.

It had been four and a half years since that day and you were doing a lot better, but the dreams still happened occasionally.

“I guess I just still feel guilty sometimes,” you concluded your monologue, Spencer sitting attentively while still eating his ice cream.

“Baby, why?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “None of it was ever your fault.”

“I know. I just feel guilty that I survived and a lot of others...didn’t,” you whispered.

“Y/N, if this job has taught me anything it’s that bad things happen. I don’t know why and I know it’s not fair. But what I know is you can’t dwell on the bad because then it steals your joy. And there’s no better way at defeating the evil than letting it know it can’t have your happiness too.”

You smiled, the gesture chasing away the remnants of fear your dream had left you. Your boyfriend may have 3 PhDs, but you secretly believed he was a philosopher in a past life.

“Besides, you were meant to survive to come into my life,” he smiled, his hand brushing back a loose strand of your hair.

“I mean, I know I’m not terribly exciting, but it’s kind of an honor to know that you were meant to survive for someone as great as me,” he joked, earning him a gentle shove from you as you laughed and disagreed.

“But I’m serious,” he said, actually becoming serious once again, “I never expected to walk into that house and have my entire life changed forever.”

“Well technically I thought for 3 months you were dating J.J. before I found out about Will.”

“Do you know she actually laughed for a good five minutes when I told her that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh that hard,” he shook his head, picking up the dirty bowls to deposit into the sink.

“Hey, how was I supposed to know?” you defended, “It kinda looked that way from afar.”

Your laughter died down as you watched him rinse out the dishes in silence.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He looked surprised. It was his nature to take care of his loved ones when they were hurting, it always had been.

“Just for being you.” You smiled as he leaned over the counter and kissed you gently.

“Why don’t you head up to bed while I finish up here? I’ll be there in a second.”

You nodded and headed towards the stairs. You stopped just out of view from the kitchen and watched him as he was finishing cleaning the kitchen. You could feel your heart swell with love just watching your boyfriend doing a menial task.

You were seated on the bed, phone in hand when Spencer returned.

“Hey you, why aren’t you asleep?”

You shrugged, “Just waiting for you.”

It was true, his cuddles were amazing and his presence in itself was so much more comforting than you could explain.

He sat down in front of you, taking your phone from your hands and setting it on the nightstand next to the bed.

“You doing okay?” His hazel eyes searched your face as if looking for any physical trauma, even though yours went further than skin deep.

“Yeah.”

You smiled as he took your face in his hands and rested his forehead against yours for a moment before connecting his lips with yours.

If a picture could say a thousand words, this kiss could too. All your pain and all your love for Spencer melded into one as you kissed him, falling back against your pillow.

He pulled away momentarily, gazing down at you with such love in his eyes you could feel your entire body flush with warmth and happiness. Here, in this moment, no bad memories could reach you.

It happened slowly, really without either of you knowing, but pajamas came off piece by piece, hands exploring gently, lips touching every inch of exposed skin.

Your pajama top was the last to come off, his hands slowly moving up your sides, his lips descending downward to meet his hands. He paused when he got to your scar and your breath hitched. Not only were you self conscious about such an ugly scar, but it was a constant reminder of what you had experienced.

You watched as his fingers traced it lightly before he kissed it gently.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking up at you as your hand ran through his hair and gave him a small smile.

He returned to your mouth, kissing you sweetly before moving his lips to your ear, whispering, “I won’t let anything happen to you ever again.”

You inhaled sharply, both at his words and at the fact he’d almost effortlessly entered at the same moment.

It wasn’t often that sex with Spencer was slow and on the lovemaking side, but it was as if you’d done it a million times the way your bodies seem to adjust to the slower pace instantly. Your arm was around his neck as his hips moved slowly, more in a way of prolonging than agonizing. He pulled your hand off him, lacing your fingers together before resting your connected hands on the bed beside both of you.

“Spence,” you gasped softly, your eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t know a slower pace could feel so good.

“I’m right here,” he reassured, kissing your collarbone, hand squeezing your own. You knew those 3 words meant more than just him physically being close to you.

Your legs pulled him closer and deeper within you, your silent gaps becoming moans. You felt him shiver once when your moans had become desperate pleads of wanting more.

His own groans became more decipherable as both of your bodies moved in a sweet dance, bringing you both near the edge of a sweet bliss.

“Oh my god Spencer,” you moaned, louder than you had meant to, your climax approaching rapidly.

Your eyes found his face as he completely shattered above you, his eyes closed, a moan falling from his lips. You bit your lip to keep from crying out as your own release wracked your body, a string of expletives that probably weren’t as appropriate in the tender moment, escaping you.

He was panting as he nudged his nose against yours, flashing you his thousand kilowatt smile. He kissed your cheek and then your lips before pulling away completely from you and laying next to you, his head propped up by his arm.

His fingers traced circles on your hip as he watched you trying to catch your breath.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your entire body felt warm and tingly, like you had just consumed an entire mug of hot chocolate while under the comfort of a cozy blanket. You felt your eyes sliding closed as sleep threatened to take over.

“I love you, Spencer.” You smiled when you felt him pull you closer to him, his arms wrapping around you like he once did on that fateful day, so many years ago.

“Guess what?” You whispered, your voice heavy with drowsiness.

“Hmm?”

“That chased the nightmares away.”

#Spencer Reid fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #Criminal Minds #spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #criminal minds gifs #smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

colour me blue, chapter one (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 7422

Vanessa knows as much about the heart as any cardiologist in a hospital.

The four chambers and the valves that connect them. The way that they’re responsible for pumping blood around the entire body, spreading oxygen to where it’s needed the most and keeping the cells alive. How the heart is like the engine of a finely tuned machine, a ticking clock beating out a rhythm that the rest of the body falls into step with.

Vanessa also knows what happens when the heart begins to fail.

AN: This fic started as a drabble to take a break from my WIPs but then turned into its own beast. It was…an absolute process to write but definitely pushed me in ways that helped me grow as a writer, which is always a good thing. CW in this fic for medical terms, hospital stays, uncertainties re: long term illness. I usually don’t like to give away spoilers, but I will say that there will no main character deaths in this fic, just to be clear. Writ is the absolute best - not only for giving me the prompt, but helping me brainstorm, pushing me to keep writing when I was ready to leave this fic in my google drive forever, and being the best encouragement one could ever ask for. They deserve the world <3

Vanessa knows as much about the heart as any cardiologist in a hospital.

Vanessa also knows what happens when the heart begins to fail.

Her dad keels over during Christmas Day brunch when she’s five, clutching the dining room table with a grip that loosens as he falls off his chair and onto the floor. Vanessa doesn’t understand what death means at the time, not really, at his funeral. The fact that her dad isn’t away on a work trip, that he isn’t ever coming back. That he isn’t going to walk in the door one night in his uniform the way that he always does.

That the stone in the cemetery bearing his name is a finality, a marker that takes his place in this world, now that he’s no longer here.

Vanessa is twelve and her lungs feel like they’re clawing their way out of her chest in gym class, when the teacher is making them run faster, damnit. She doesn’t know that she isn’t supposed to feel like she is going to pass out when she jogs, or as if her insides are collapsing inside of her ribs. She’s not supposed to be seeing white spots in her vision as some of her classmates carry her to the sidelines when her body can’t push her any farther. She shouldn’t be constantly lightheaded, grabbing onto tables and bookshelves and chairs just to keep herself upright.

There’s appointment after appointment and test after test, specialist after specialist because Vanessa’s mother is fiercely protective, overwhelmingly worried after their unit of three becomes a unit of two. She pushes and pushes and pushes until they get an answer, but it’s one that makes Vanessa’s mom nearly keel over, too.

It’s genetic. Autosomal dominant. Passed on from Vanessa’s dad, making the walls in the chambers of her heart stiffer, rougher. Keeping them from being able to properly pump blood to where her body needs it the most. Enough to create the possibility of heart failure at any time, when the well oiled machine will simply crumble under the pressure.

Vanessa’s told that she’s lucky that they’ve caught it so early. That this means they can test solutions and try different medications to maybe make it easier for her heart to pump, to reduce the strain that it constantly shoulders. When the medications don’t work it’s okay, really, she’s told, because there are less invasive surgical options. Ones to try that don’t put her under for that long or have an extended recovery period and will allow her to bounce back quickly.

Except that she never does. Her heart never heals, never reaches its maximum potential. Hell, her heart never lets her be a regular person, because it’s breaking down more and more no matter what the doctors do. No matter how many surgeries she has.

Vanessa’s twenty five and has to quit her job because she’s used up all of her sick days, and because getting up out of bed in the morning is impossible when her body feels so weak.

Her mother hopes, prays, lights candles for the possibility that things will get better. That Vanessa will bounce back, that she’ll get to go back to living without having it snatched away from her like it had been from her father.

Except life doesn’t feel like it’s being snatched away, to Vanessa. It’s being dangled in front of her, possibilities that she isn’t quite able to reach because she’s too weak and can’t exert herself because her heart can’t take it, and maybe, just maybe, another procedure will work. Another surgery.

Until she’s twenty six and lying in a hospital bed and in complete heart failure because nothing has worked, and she can’t walk the five steps to the bathroom without the support of a walker.

Because Vanessa needs a new heart.

Vanessa’s been in the hospital for three months and her current nurse on the cardiology floor is making her scowl.

“It’s not going to be forever. Probably just a few weeks. Then when the floor is less busy, they’ll bring you back.” Asia’s trying to explain why they’re moving Vanessa to another unit the best she can, Vanessa knows. Vanessa just doesn’t get why it has to be her.

“I’ve been stuck here long enough. Why are y’all moving me? Why not someone else on the floor?” Vanessa crosses her arms, careful not to tug on the various wires attached to her chest that are connected to the monitors behind her displaying her heart activity.

“Because apparently the universe wanted to make my day harder and give me a headache, like the one that I’m getting from this argument with you.” Asia lightly swats her shoulder before her features soften. “Look. They don’t move people to other floors unless they’re stable. Which must mean that the team needs to keep less of an eye on you, which is a good thing.”

“I guess.” Vanessa grumbles as she says it, because still. Being the one that gets booted off of the cardiac unit because it is too full isn’t a good feeling, not in the least. Instead, it makes her feel like she doesn’t matter to the team, not if they’re fine with pushing her somewhere else.

“Look on the bright side,” Asia tugs on Vanessa’s phone charger from where it’s hanging off of the side of her bed, blending in with the various wires that are protruding from Vanessa’s frame. “Maybe the room you’re moving to will have an actual working outlet.”

“It better.” The electrical outlet closest to Vanessa’s bed is sporadic, often failing to charge her phone when she plugs it in. She uses the call button more often than not to get the nurses to plug her phone into outlets that she can’t reach from her bed, ignoring their muttered comments of that’s not what the call button is for, Vanjie.

“Besides, you get to bond with a new crop of nurses.” Asia fiddles with the monitors above Vanessa’s bed. “Aren’t we boring you yet?

“What are you talking about? I love kiki-ing with y’all.” It’s true. Being in the hospital for an extended period of time can be…lonely. There’s only so long that friends and family will continue to visit, before they realize that the hospital is Vanessa’s new normal. Before they get bored of her.

Before they stop visiting.

But she’s got nurses and therapists close to her age, ones that she’s trying her best to bond with. It’s worked with most of them, especially Asia. The cardiac nurses get her. They’re nice, they gossip with her about their lives and feel like coworkers, at most. Coworkers that give her medication and help her transfer out of her bed and try to keep her alive.

“I’ll miss your ass, that’s for sure.” Vanessa sighs as Asia fiddles with the electrode stuck to her collarbone.

Asia snorts. “Will you miss me prodding your arm at 7 a.m. to take your vitals?”

“Better you than some random whack nurse I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t be mean to them before you even meet them. I heard the general internal medicine team is nice. Kameron is, at least.” Asia’s voice rises slightly as she says the name, and it piques Vanessa’s interest.

“Who’s Kameron?”

“No one.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes. “That sounded hella suspicious.”

“She’s a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” Vanessa nudges Asia’s side, laughing as she scowls.

“So goddamn nosy. Tell me why the other patients don’t needle me like you do?”

Vanessa grins. “‘Cause I know you love spilling shit too, that’s why. I’ll be sure to say hi to Kameron for you.”

Asia’s cheeks turn slightly pink. “Don’t you start.”

The general internal medicine unit is chaotic.

Doctors, nurses, family members running back and forth between rooms, instructions being yelled left and right, beeping machines that somehow did not seem as alarming when Vanessa had still been on the cardiology unit.

While on the cardiology floor, Vanessa had shared her hospital room with a pleasant enough elderly lady who slept for most of the day. So much, in fact, that Vanessa had never actually spoken to her.

Vanessa’s worried about who they’ll place her with now, as she’s wheeled into her new room. Someone in the throes of delirium who will be up at all hours of the night? Someone who turns the TV up way too high, not letting her sleep? Someone who has too much family that comes to visit, meaning that the room will never be quiet again?

But the girl lying in the bed closest to the window is none of those things. Her hair, albeit mussed, is pulled back into a high ponytail, and her makeup-free face is somehow the most beautiful thing Vanessa’s ever seen.

“Hi.” The girl waves at her, a tentative smile on her face and Vanessa realizes, coincidentally, that she has forgotten the entirety of the English language.

Vanessa’s normally bold, brash enough that she has the confidence to go after girls that she’s into. Except that it’s easier when she’s wearing more than a hospital gown, when she’s standing on her own two feet and not feeling like she’s weaker than a year-old baby.

Vanessa squeaks out something that sounds close to a hi, and wants to groan when it makes the girl’s brow furrow.

“You okay? Not in too much pain, are you? I can call the nurse with my call bell-”

“Nah, I’m fine.” Vanessa mumbles the words under her breath, trying her best to tame the mess of her hair with her fingers as discreetly as she can.

“Okay.” The girl shifts in her bed slightly to face her, and Vanessa notices the way that she flinches in pain as she does. “So, fellow inmate. What are you in for?”

The words make Vanessa let out a surprised laugh, make her feel less wound up. “Got a heart that’s been right messing with me.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “Why, did someone break it?” Her expression is deadpan as she says it, and it makes Vanessa snort.

“Funny. What about you?”

“Appendix nuclear explosion.” The girl points to her abdomen, and Vanessa’s eyes widen at the sutures that criss cross it. “They didn’t get it fast enough and now it’s a mess that they’re still trying to clean up.”

“Damn.” Vanessa lets out a whistle. “So, Miss App-app-appendick, what’s your name?”

“Appendick?” The girl holds back a giggle.

“What?” Vanessa shrugs. “It sounds right, don’t it?”

“Close enough.” The girl’s smiles are reaching her eyes, and the sight makes the tightness in Vanessa’s chest lessen, if only a little. “Brooke. Yours?”

“Vanessa.” She’s not sure, really, why she doesn’t tell Brooke that her name is Vanjie, considering that most people call her that, anyway. But something about the girl makes her want to hold back on it, see what the girl thinks of her actual name.

“Vanessa. I like it.” A small smile builds on the edge of curve of Brooke’s lip, and for a second, Vanessa feels her regular confidence flow back towards her.

That is, at least, until a nurse bounds into the room, muttering about how it’s about time that Vanessa goes to the bathroom, since she hasn’t had a bowel movement since yesterday, and we can’t have that, can we?

Oh, well. She’ll get her game back, somehow.

Vanessa finds out that she likes having a roommate who’s actually awake for most of the day.

Brooke is fun to talk to, almost enough to sometimes make Vanessa forget that she’s stuck in a hospital bed. Almost. Vanessa learns that Brooke is a ballet dancer, part of the corps and working towards becoming a soloist. She’d been performing in a matinee when her appendix ruptured, managing to hold off from collapsing in pain until the curtain call, when she could safely bend over in the wings without any audience members seeing her.

Brooke’s form underneath her gown is toned, long, looking every part of the graceful dancer she is. Vanessa’s lying if she says that she isn’t mesmerized by the way that Brooke reaches over to grab water from her bedside table, especially with how it’s done with an air of delicateness, lightness.

“What about you? What’s your story?” Brooke’s propped up by pillows, turned on her side slightly when she asks the question. Her grey eyes aren’t cool but rather they’re warm, inviting, waiting for Vanessa to talk.

Vanessa, for her part, pauses.

“Oh, y’know,” she tries to keep her face light, her voice casual, “Some shit happening with my heart. Felt some weird beating the other day and they wanna look into it more.”

It’s a lie, maybe, but she doesn’t regret it.

Ever since she was young, Vanessa’s only been known as the sick girl. The girl who’s always in the hospital. The girl who had missed so much school when she was a kid that she’d had to be taught by a teacher in the hospital. The girl who is unable to keep a job for too long because she has to take off work again and again, days when she’s so weak she can’t get out of bed, other days spent in clinics and at appointments with specialists monitoring her useless excuse of a heart.

Vanessa hates it. Being defined by something that she has no control over, something that she wish could fix itself because it’s taken over way, way too much of her life. For once, just once, she doesn’t want it to be a big deal. Even though she’s in a hospital.

Brooke, for her part, buys it. “Wow. Hope they find out. Nothing too serious, you think?”

“Nah.” Vanessa shrugs. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”

God, she wishes.

“What do you do for work?” Brooke looks at her expectantly and it surprises Vanessa, almost, how fast she lets the subject change, because she’s not used to it. Her friends, her family draw out conversations about her shitty heart for ages, fake pitying expressions on their faces that Vanessa wishes she had the power to slap away.

“Makeup artist.” Vanessa grins when Brooke’s face lights up. “I work at MAC, and got a few freelance clients on the side.”

So what if MAC shifts are far and few between because she’s not a dependable employee anymore? She’s trying. It helps to be in a job where she gets to rest, sit down quite a bit. Her body wouldn’t be able to handle it otherwise.

“Is that why you still have mascara on while in the hospital?” Brooke’s smile is cheeky and it makes Vanessa snort.

“Maybe. Can’t ruin my brand and be fully makeup-free.”

“You’re still cute without it, though.” Brooke winks at her, or at least Vanessa thinks so, and the sight makes her heart do a little flip in her chest. Is she flirting with her? Vanessa can’t tell. But she’s absolutely going to play into it.

“So are you, you tall, leggy model.” The words leave Vanessa’s lips before she can stop herself, but Brooke is grinning, thank god, hasn’t taken them in a bad way.

“Leggy, huh? You can tell even under these blankets?”

Vanessa shrugs. “You can’t get up and show me, so a girl’s gotta assume. How tall are you?”

“Five eleven.”

“What?”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open and Brooke’s laughing, laughing at her, but goddamn. Brooke really is an Amazon.

“Why, how tall are you?” Brooke can’t tell from all the blankets that Vanessa is under, but she doesn’t want to answer, really, not after hearing that Brooke is five eleven.

“Five three.” Vanessa mumbles the words, scowling when Brooke claps a hand over her mouth. “What?”

“You’re tiny!”

“Am not.”

“Practically pocket-sized.”

“I’m tall in personality!” Vanessa huffs and crosses her arms. She’s not that short, she isn’t.

But Brooke’s still grinning. “So tall. Though I do like short girls.”

Vanessa’s brain is about to short circuit. Is Brooke flirting with her? Or is the extended time being cooped up in a hospital bed making her brain go a little bit loopy?

Vanessa normally has game. But right now she can’t do much more than stare at Brooke open mouthed, something that Brooke is clearly enjoying.

“You’ll let bugs fly into your mouth if you keep it open any longer.”

“Shut up.”

They’re eating shitty hospital food for lunch and Brooke is antsy beside Vanessa.

“Okay, what?” Vanessa turns to Brooke because she’s been tapping the railing of her bed for the last half an hour. Vanessa wouldn’t press the issue except for the fact that Brooke keeps biting her lip, clinking her fork on her plate, her eyes all shifty.

“Nothing.” Brooke looks away from her, down at the pasta on her tray that doesn’t appear to be very appetizing, from the way that most of it is still in the bowl.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Brooke bites her lip. “They rounded this morning while you were asleep.”

“As they do every morning at 8 a.m., yeah.”

“They wanna do another exploratory surgery.”

“For your appendix?” Vanessa’s eyes widen. Brooke’s complications must be worse than previously thought.

Brooke pauses. “Hey, look at you pronouncing appendix correctly.”

“Shut up.” Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “We’re talking about you right now.”

Brooke sighs. “They wanna see if they’ve missed things. I mean, aside from the first surgery, I’ve never really had any, and I don’t want to go under again. What if things go wrong?”

“Hey, hey.” Vanessa wishes that Brooke were closer so that she could reach over, squeeze her hand. “They do tons of surgeries every day here. They know what they’re doing.”

“But what if this time, they don’t?”

“You don’t know that. But you gotta trust that they do without assuming the worst before it even happens.”

“I guess.” Brooke sighs, and Vanessa wants to tell her, she really does, about the various procedures that she’s gone through as a child to make Brooke feel better, but at the same time…

It’s nice not to be the focus of medical attention for once.

“When are they thinking of scheduling it for?”

”A week.”

“Does this mean I can film you coming out of sedation?”

“What?” Brooke looks over at her, lets out a laugh, the exact effect that Vanessa wants.

“Bet you’ll say hysterical shit.”

“You better not.”

Vanessa grins. “Sorry, didn’t hear you there. Can’t wait to hear all the crazy things you say.”

“Nooo.” Brooke whines, and Vanessa doesn’t want to tell her that she won’t come back to the unit until the sedation has worn off, because her reaction is making her crack up.

“Maybe you’ll spill all your deepest darkest secrets.”

“Absolutely not-”

“Maybe you’ll confess your love for your nurse.” Vanessa holds back a laugh at Brooke’s look of horror.

“Anita’s at least 60!”

“And quite the looker. Hey, maybe you’re into cougars.”

“Ugh.” Brooke makes a face but she’s grinning too, Vanessa can see it. “Definitely not my type.”

“So what is your type?” Vanessa meets Brooke’s gaze with a raised eyebrow, a challenge. Two can play at this game.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Brooke wastes no time in answering, winking again, and Vanessa’s definitely not imagined it this time around.

She’s glad that Brooke goes to take a sip of her coffee, so she can try to come up with at least something coherent. Sure, she’s become more used to being Brooke’s hospital roommate as the days go by, but her gay ass sure hasn’t yet.

Vanessa’s cardiologist and physiotherapist and nurse pop into her room one day while Brooke’s asleep.

“Bad time?” Nina’s holding a clipboard, rifling through the sheets in front of her. Vanessa’s known her cardiologist for long enough that she doesn’t have to call her Dr. West anymore. It’s both a great and terrible feeling.

Vanessa gives her a look. “You really think I got anything else to do right now?”

Her physiotherapist, Kameron, snorts, though tries to stifle it under Nina’s gaze.

“Fair enough.” Nina leans against the wall, peeking over at Brooke. “Are you worried about her overhearing? We can move you outside into the hallway if you want-”

“She’s asleep. Doesn’t matter.” Vanessa waves a hand. “So, any news on the waitlist?”

“Moved up a couple spots, though not by much.” Nina’s face is apologetic, and it makes Vanessa want to scowl.

“Why am I so damn low on it?” Vanessa doesn’t want to show how scared she really is about it. She’s been waiting for months, months, unable to do much or exert herself lest her heart give out on her. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and for things to go south. It’s like she’s walking on a minefield, about to step on explosives at any time that will finally take her out.

She wishes it could stop.

“You’ll move up soon enough. These things are dynamic, they fluctuate.” Nina’s words don’t even look as if they’re convincing to herself, which bodes well for Vanessa. “In the meantime, we’re thinking we may trial another medication. We’ll see if it helps with oxygenation a little bit more.”

“Sure, why not.” Vanessa’s resigned as she says it, because really, will it even make a difference? Will anything actually change for the better?

After so many years, she’s stopped hoping. It’s hard to hope when it feels like she has no fight left in her anymore.

Her situation has been the same since before she was a teenager, and nothing’s changed. She’s still living a half life, one that she can’t fully enjoy because she always has the worries in the back of her mind. Ones that keep her away from everything that she wants to be able to do.

But she has to tolerate it. She has no choice, not when her doctors and nurses are walking away, waving at her as they go to consult on another patient. Not when they have nothing left to give to her.

Vanessa and Brooke fall into a routine, of sorts. They binge shows, alternating episodes of Schitt’s Creek and 90 Day Fiancé because they can. They complain about the shitty hospital food, trying to bribe the nurses to get them something better from the cafeteria, a tactic that never quite works.

It’s another week before Vanessa meets Brooke’s family, arriving in a flurry of buttoned up peacoats to fawn at her bedside.

“Honestly, Brooke Lynn, why do you have to work so far away from home?” Brooke’s mother is smoothing her hair, tucking it behind her ears, and Brooke looks younger than Vanessa’s ever seen her.

“I can’t control which ballet company gives me a job, Mom.” Brooke’s eyes are happy, when her sister and her mom pull up chairs at her bedside. It makes Vanessa’s heart tug, just a little.

“Still, I wish you were closer and we didn’t have to take two flights to get here.” Brooke’s mother sheds her coat on her chair. “Though the food they gave us was quite nice.”

Brooke snorts. “You’re the only person who actually likes airport food.”

Brooke’s sister turns towards Vanessa then, and the sudden eye contact makes her freeze. Vanessa hadn’t wanted to bother Brooke and her family; she had wanted to look busy, but it’s too late, because Brooke’s sister is waving at her.

“B, you didn’t even introduce your room buddy.”

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “Room buddy?”

“Hey, it fits.” Brooke’s sister shrugs.

Vanessa finds her voice then, because Brooke’s family looks nice enough. “Vanessa.”

“Nice to meet you, dear.” Brooke’s mom has kind eyes and Vanessa feels a longing in her heart that isn’t being caused by her existing cardiac problems.

“Nice to meet y’all, too.” Vanessa grabs a book from her bedside table, buries her face into it while Brooke and her mom and sister continue talking, trying to ignore the realization that her own mom hasn’t visited in weeks.

It’s not her mom’s fault, it’s really not. Vanessa has to remind herself of that. She gets it.

The fact that her father died of the same thing makes it…eerie. Vanessa feels like a ticking time bomb, one her mom clearly doesn’t want to watch as she slowly reaches end of her timer, when history will inevitably repeat itself. Vanessa understands why her mom wants to stay away and avoid watching her daughter go down the same route. Save herself from the pain as much as possible and instead burying herself in her work.

It doesn’t stop Vanessa from feeling lonely, though.

She misses having people. Having her mom brush her hair out of her face, hold her hand while she’s getting tests done. Be there to listen with her with the doctors spew more and more predictions about how her heart is going to hold up.

It’s not that Vanessa can’t handle the burden, be the foundation on her own. She just misses having reinforcements, strengths around it.

She misses her mom.

Brooke’s mom and sister leave for the night, but not before bringing the two of them McDonalds. The sight of the bags, with the mouthwatering smell from the food inside wafting around the room, makes Vanessa pause.

Technically, she’s supposed to avoid foods with excess sodium, as the extra salt makes her heart work harder than it’s supposed to, wears it down faster. But at the same time, she can’t bring herself to care.

She picks up a burger.

“I haven’t had McDonalds in ages.” Vanessa’s missed burgers, she really has, because there’s only so much bland hospital food she’s been able to take.

“I’m more of a Swiss Chalet fan, myself.” Brooke’s still munching on her burger, but Vanessa tilts her head.

“The hell is that?”

“Food place in Canada. Lots of roast chicken and gravy.” Brooke’s eyes are already getting a wistful, a faraway look in her eyes as she’s thinking about it.

Vanessa wrinkles her nose, because it doesn’t sound that appetizing. “That’s some white people fast food.”

Brooke shrugs. “It’s good. The gravy is nectar from the gods.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” No wonder Brooke doesn’t mind the hospital food as much. Vanessa looks over at her, the way she’s tossing back some French fries. “Real nice of your mom and sister to bring me some food, too.”

Brooke smiles, her face all warm and Vanessa’s glad that she has support from her family, at least. “They’re great.”

Brooke pauses then, looking over at her, and Vanessa can tell that she’s figuring out how to word a question. One that Vanessa already knows is coming.

“So, I’ve never seen yours come to visit.” Brooke’s voice is light as she looks down at her food, clearly trying to avoid eye contact. “Do they live far, too?”

Vanessa bites her lip, takes a bite of her burger to give herself time before she has to answer. “Oh, y’know. My mom works a lot, that’s all. Besides, we talk here and there on the phone.”

It’s a lie, and Vanessa knows it, and Brooke does too, from the way Vanessa can see the gears turning in her head. “I’ve never heard you talk to anyone on the phone except-”

“It’s while you’re asleep, drop it.” Vanessa scowls, crossing her arms. She doesn’t mean to snap, she doesn’t, but she doesn’t want to talk about the fact that her mom doesn’t fucking visit and that her friends are too busy with their own lives and settling down and she’s been left behind.

She doesn’t want to.

“Okay, sorry.” Brooke holds her hands up in defeat and Vanessa almost feels bad. Almost. “Won’t bring it up.”

“Good.” Vanessa takes a bite of her burger, chewing with a little more force than necessary, and she wonders why she’s feeling a bit more out of breath than usual.

Kameron knocks on their door while Vanessa and Brooke are discussing the finer points of the latest season of Stranger Things.

“I’m just saying, the ending was a cop out-”

“Was not- ”

“Ahem.” Kameron’s grinning at both of them when Vanessa’s about to talk about the next potential season. “As much as I want to join in this discussion, I gotta take you one after the other for physio.”

Vanessa lets out a grumble that is mirrored by Brooke, and it makes Kameron snort. “Y’all are quite a pair. So, who’s gonna suffer first?”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open when Brooke immediately points in her direction. “Traitor!”

Brooke shrugs. “You snooze, you lose.”

Vanessa huffs but does her best to sit up nonetheless, letting Kameron bring her walker over to the side of her bed.

“Can I ditch this thing yet? I feel old as hell.” Vanessa hates the damn walker. It only serves to remind her of how weak she’s gotten.

“As soon as you can walk the length of the unit without near collapsing on me, it’s gone.” Kameron’s hand is on her back to steady her as she stands. Vanessa hates how much she has to lean her weight on the thing.

“Walkers are for the elderly.” Nonetheless, Vanessa clutches the handles to keep her balance.

“Technically, it’s a rollator.”

“Giving it a fancy Transformers name ain’t helping.”

Brooke’s watching them with a thoroughly entertained expression. “You always this much fun in physio sessions, Vanessa?”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at her. “I’m a delight.”

“Not sure if that’s the word I’d use.” Kameron snickers, poking her shoulder when she begins to protest. “C’mon, time to walk and build up that strength.”

Vanessa’s drained after one lap around the unit, gripping the handles of the walker with shaky hands and Kameron’s hands keeping her half-upright. By the time they get back to the room, Vanessa’s bed feels like heaven rather than the prison that it usually is.

“You good?” Brooke’s brow is furrowed in concern as she sits up from her own bed, ready for her turn to walk with Kameron.

“Yeah, fine.” So what if the words come out in a slight wheeze? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything. “I’m good.”

Except that Vanessa feels like her body’s made of lead, pulling her down, down, down into the earth to never be able to get up again. Not with the way she’s exhausted from just one lap around the floor.

“That tired you out more than usual.” Kameron’s brow knits in concern as she lowers the head of Vanessa’s bed.

“I’m fine.” Still, Vanessa has to close her eyes, catch her breath as she says it. Not a convincing lie.

Thankfully, Kameron lets the subject drop, and part of Vanessa hopes that Brooke’s laps around the floor take longer so that she has a second on her own to contemplate how messed up her life really has become.

“So, she says it’s to match the ‘rainforest’ theme that’s been chosen for the party, right? Well, get this. She goes orange and green. Orange and green! Who fucking wants that for a look?”

Brooke’s laughing at everything Vanessa is saying and Vanessa can’t help the way she preens a little, embraces it. “What did it turn out like?”

“Oh, hideous.” Vanessa waves a hand, laughing when Brooke claps a hand over her mouth. “She looked like a fucking weird snake creature.”

“Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.” Brooke’s giggling, and Vanessa never, ever wants to stop hearing the sound of it. “Are you this indulgent with all your clients?”

“Only the crazy bitches who’d try and fight me if I didn’t do exactly what they wanted. Even if the final look was more scary than anything.” Vanessa pauses, remembering the client, along with every other person she’s done makeup for. “Didn’t want them to speak with no manager.”

“You should do my makeup sometime. It would be fun?” Brooke phrases it like a question, and her smile is tentative, but it makes Vanessa gasp, try and sit up, before falling right back down on her pillow.

“Are you kidding me? Absolutely. I’ll make you all banjie, fit my aesthetic.” She’s excited just thinking about it. Brooke’s high cheekbones, her eyes, her bone structure-

Vanessa’s only ruminating on all of it because of the possibilities for makeup, that’s all. No other reason.

Nope.

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “What’s banjie?’

Vanessa can’t help but grin. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Vanessa makes a mental note to her own body to get its shit together. To allow her to fucking sit up again without running out of breath, becoming light headed, feeling weak. She has a new client, after all.

The attending doctor and resident and nurses pass by for their evening rounds as Vanessa’s describing the kind of makeup look she wants to try out on Brooke. The attending frowns when he looks up at the monitors above Vanessa’s bed, a sight that makes Vanessa’s stomach churn in unease. She hates that look.

“Miss Mateo’s sats are getting pretty low, aren’t they?”

“Hello? I’m right here.” Vanessa stops just short of lifting up a hand, snapping it in the healthcare team’s faces. She hates the way they pretend to talk above her sometimes, as if she’s not privy to conversation about her own body.

The attending pays her no mind, turning towards her nurse instead. “I’d say lets try nasal prongs for the next couple hours, see if that increases her oxygen saturation.”

Vanessa tilts her head slightly, looking up at the monitor behind her. Eighty nine percent. She knows from years and years of being in the hospital that anything below ninety five percent is considered low, and that dropping saturation levels mean that she’s not getting the oxygen she needs, that her heart isn’t doing a good job of pumping the blood to where it’s supposed to go.

She doesn’t want a tube by her nose, though. It would make her look sicker than she already is.

“Don’t I get a choice?” She grumbles the words and only the resident hears her, sympathetically reaching out to pat her shoulder.

“It’s only to help you.” The attending doctor doesn’t even look up as he says it, and it makes Vanessa bristle.

The doctors to round on the next patient without much room for argument, and Vanessa’s nurse is apologetic as she brings over a set of nasal prongs.

“They’ll make you feel better, promise.” Scarlet hands over the tubing to Vanessa so that she can put it on herself, and part of Vanessa appreciates it, that someone at least is recognizing her competency.

“Don’t mean I gotta like it.”

Brooke turns to her as Scarlet leaves the room. “Gotta say, you pull them off well.”

“Don’t you even start with me.”

“Latest fall trend?”

Vanessa snorts in spite of herself. “I know what you’re tryna do.”

“What?” Brooke’s face is the picture of innocence, and it makes Vanessa feel a little bit lighter, with how she’s playing along.

“Tryna make me feel better.”

Brooke tuts. “I’m doing nothing of the sort. Just saying that you’ve started a new couture look. Might have to pick up a pair myself.”

Brooke winks at her, and Vanessa can’t help the small smile that’s growing on her face. “Still. Thanks.”

“I get how it feels, being stuck in here. It’s…not easy.” Brooke bites a lip. “I’m glad it’s you that I’m sharing a room with, and we have a blast, but I feel-”

“Powerless?”

“Yeah.” Brooke’s looking up at her, all traces of previous joking gone. “Like we’re disconnected from everything on the outside.”

“God, I get it.” Vanessa really does. Everyone’s moving on without them, getting farther and farther in life. Working, settling down, doing something with themselves. “Everyone’s doing things while we can’t.”

“At least this isn’t going to be forever. We’ll be back out there in no time.” Brooke’s smile is encouraging, and it makes Vanessa’s stomach turn a little, because Brooke will.

She won’t.

Though she doesn’t want Brooke to know. Doesn’t want her to worry.

“Yeah, we’ll get better before we know it.”

If only.

Their room feels just a little bit too empty to Vanessa when Brooke is whisked away for her surgery. It’s strange - back on the cardiology unit, she had relished the chance to have some peace and quiet. Now, though? She can’t stand the silence.

Their little micro-universe feels like it’s slipping away as Brooke begins to heal. She needs to stay in bed less, being less tired as the days go on, walking more and more with physio.

Vanessa’s happy for her, she is, because being stuck in a hospital bed is not something she would wish on anyone. The mundaneness. The feeling of helplessness. Watching everyone come and go, walking past their room without any inkling of how lucky they are just to be up and moving.

But at the same time, she wishes she was improving at the same rate. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen any time soon. Vanessa’s been needing the nasal prongs more often than not, no matter how much she grumbles as she wears them. She gets lightheaded, weaker, without them, closer to passing out the longer she tries to keep them off to prove that they’re not necessary.

Her stupid excuse of a heart is truly testing her patience.

Kameron doesn’t push her to walk anymore, something that makes Vanessa pissed, because she’s still gotta try, damn it. But at the same time, she’s grateful. She doesn’t want Brooke to see how weak she’s gotten. Hell, she doesn’t even want to know the whole scope of it herself. She doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.

She wants things to go back to normal. Well, as normal as they’ve ever been. For Vanessa, normal is being able to walk and talk and work and not be in the hospital. That’s all that she wants.

Brooke is dangling her feet from the edge of her bed one afternoon when they’ve finished a Jeopardy episode. “I’m still hungry.”

“We just had lunch.” Vanessa’s half right, because Brooke had her lunch. Vanessa’s not that hungry.

“You haven’t been out of bed in days. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s grab coffee from the cafeteria.” Brooke’s looking excited by the idea, standing up and slipping on her shoes. Without her walker, since she doesn’t need it anymore.

Vanessa’s only a little bit jealous.

“I’m tired as hell.” It’s not a lie, because Vanessa really is. Except that there’s not a time these days that she isn’t.

“Are you sure? Want me to bring you something back?” Brooke’s question makes Vanessa smile, just a little.

“I’m fine.”

Vanessa doesn’t want Brooke to know that Kameron downgraded her to using only a wheelchair, rather than the walker. It’s embarrassing. She doesn’t want to use it. So, she’s not going to. So what if she’s going to be in bed forever now?

Brooke is unfazed. “‘Kay. I’ll be back.”

She’s waltzing out of the room before Vanessa can even say goodbye, past the four walls that are slowly becoming the only part of the world that Vanessa is exposed to these days.

Vanessa tugs off the nasal prongs when Brooke gets back. Brooke raises an eyebrow as she does, but doesn’t comment. Hands her a muffin instead.

“I wanna get out of here.” Vanessa’s made up her mind.

Brooke takes a sip of her soft drink. “Thought you were tired.”

“I’m always tired. I don’t wanna be tired here.”

Vanessa doesn’t want to have to die while staring at the same four walls day in and day out. A prison of her body’s making, her heart the instigator that’s dooming her to a half, trapped life that may not even last that long.

If this is all she’s going to get, if this is the extent of her future? She doesn’t care anymore.

“Are you even allowed to leave the unit?”

Brooke’s question is valid, but it makes Vanessa scowl, tuck the red bracelet that denotes she can’t under her sleeve. “Doesn’t matter.”

Why should it even be an issue? Why does Vanessa have to spend her already shitty existence trapped where she doesn’t even want to be?

“Pretty sure nursing will ream you out if you try and go.” Brooke’s biting her lip now, and Vanessa’s starting to regret ever roping her into it. Someone who still has an inkling of self preservation left, someone who’s still trying to play within the rules.

Brooke deserves better than her.

“They’ll get over it. Come on, it’ll be fun.” She wiggles her brows, and she can see Brooke’s resolve beginning to break. “We can be like Bonnie and Clyde or some shit.”

“Okay, but didn’t Bonnie and Clyde rob people-”

“Irrelevant.” Vanessa waves her hand before pointing at the wheelchair in the corner of the room, still folded up and unused. Brooke gives in, walking over to grab it and bring it towards the side of her bed. Success.

Vanessa takes a deep breath before attempting to get up. Sure, physio and nursing had drilled the importance of having two people helping her transfer to and from the bed. Saying that she’s a falls risk, that she can hurt herself with the slightest of missteps.

But when Vanessa’s able to get her butt into the wheelchair with just a smidge of exertion, she smiles for the first time in days. Nursing and physio can suck it.

Brooke giggles as she pushes Vanessa’s wheelchair into the hospital’s atrium, past the piano and the front desk and the small garden. “I feel like we’re fugitives.”

Vanessa cranes her neck to look up at her. “Does that make me precious cargo?”

Brooke snorts. “You’re priceless.”

Vanessa can’t help the way that she peeks around the hallways as the walk, eyes out for any nursing from their unit, any therapists or physicians that could spot them and wonder why she’s not on the unit.

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. She can go without her nasal prongs for twenty minutes. She can handle being up in the chair for the length of time it takes to get a fucking coffee.

At least, that’s what she’s trying to tell herself as Brooke pushes her up to the Starbucks.

Brooke’s debating between a London Fog or a latte, and Vanessa’s never noticed, really, how pretty Brooke’s eyes are. How her face lights up while she’s scanning the menu, how delicate her movements are as she goes to pay. Even as a patient in a hospital, Brooke manages to glow. Vanessa’s not sure whether to be jealous or infatuated.

But by the way she can feel her own cheeks heat up as Brooke passes her drink to her, she has an inkling of which one it could be.

Vanessa’s breathless as they head back, dropping her head to rest on her hand. She’s still giggling over the pianist’s song choices in the lobby, and can hear Brooke doing the same as she pushes her chair.

The elevator ride back up to the unit feels final, as if they’re reaching the end of something. Vanessa tries to ignore the feeling and push it away, to focus instead on how she and Brooke had people watched in the lobby, giving every passing by patient or doctor or nurse an outlandish backstory. How Brooke had given her a sip of her drink, taken a sip of hers in return. How Vanessa hadn’t felt like a patient for once, ignoring the aches and pains in her body and the straining in her chest so that she could focus on the way Brooke beamed at her, eyes alight and full of so many possibilities.

Except the lightness in her chest drops, pulling her back down deep into the earth like an anchor as soon as the doors of the elevator open back up.

Because there’s a gaggle of nurses. Doctors. Her cardiologist. Her… mom?

A group of people looking very, very, mad.

Vanessa shrinks in the wheelchair as she hears Brooke gulp above her.

Whoops.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #hospital au #sick fic #holtzmanns #colour me blue

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httpjeon · 6 years

Text

— casual clothes | jimin (m.)

jimin/reader | fluff, smut | therapist!au

wordcount: 4.2k

contents: sex with your therapist, drunk sex, forced orgasm, dirty talk, praise kink, forced orgasm, dirty talk, praise kink, orgasm encouragement(?)

─ synopsis: seeing a therapist for your sexual troubles is one thing but to land yourself in bed with the very man who knows your problems is a whole other thing.

note: don’t have sex with ur therapists.

blog masterlist

“I’ll see you guys on Monday!” You called, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you walked out of the music shop you worked at. Jungkook and Taehyung, who were closing up and planning to go out like any young men would do on a Friday night, bid you goodbye as well.

“Be safe, dude!” Jungkook called from behind. You raised your hand up and waved to let him know you heard him.

It was 5:30 and you had to get home to prepare for your therapy appointment. You mentally cursed yourself for thinking it was a good idea to have your appointments on Friday evenings. Who really thought of that, honestly?

Still, however, you got ready and head to the office you’d grown used to being in over the course of 2 months.

Park Jimin was the therapist that you had been referred to after regular therapy wasn’t working. At first you had been apprehensive about seeing a sex therapist, not having really believed you had problems sexually. But as you saw him more and more, you realized this is exactly what you needed.

He was a very nice man, rather young with a bright smile that was always contagious. He had black hair that he always wore down, covering his forehead which made him look even more young. He also wore circle-lensed glasses, which he would sometimes push down his nose and gaze at you over with a burning stare as you talked.

Today he was wearing a pair of jeans and a button down blue shirt, which stuck you as odd because he was always dressed in expensive clothing.

“The office is trying something new,” Jimin explained as he took a seat in his usual armchair. “Casual Friday is what it’s called. It’s rather nice, not having to wear a tie, though.” He laughed, making you smile.

“It’s surprising to see you look so relaxed,” You said, making him smile kindly at you.

“Alright, shall we start your session?” He asked, reaching to his table to start an hour on the clock. At first this made you nervous and under pressure but now it made you feel compelled to get everything out in the open so you would have time to discuss it. “So tell me how you week went.”

“Well,” You sighed, thinking back on the events that went down just last Sunday. “I tried to get with this guy...his name was...Chongsoo,”

“You had sex with him?” Jimin pushed, not at all bothered by the bluntness of his question.

“Y-Yeah,” You nodded, biting your lip as you thought back on that night.

“How did that go?” He questioned, picking up his notepad, the clicking of his pen signalling to true start of your session.

“Not great, he was doing everything right,” You began, furrowing your brows as you thought of how to word it. “I just couldn’t...you know.”

“Orgasm?” Jimin finished, writing it down. It wasn’t the first time you’d ever told him about your troubles actually getting off but he always rewrote it.

“Yeah, and he got mad at me, I guess?” You shrugged. “He was one of those guys who is determined to make his partner get off before him and when I didn’t, he told me I was broken and just finished before leaving.”

Jimin tsked at your story, writing it down and shaking his head. He was silent for a minute before placing his pen down in his lap and folding his hands.

“You know that’s not true, right?” He asked, smiling sympathetically at the unsure gaze in your eyes. “Plenty of women have trouble achieving orgasm, _____. You’re not different to millions of other women, even men.”

“It’s not just...with a partner that I have the problem…” You confessed with a sigh, running your fingers through your hair as Jimin picked his pen back up.

“You mean when you masturbate, you still can’t orgasm?” He asked, looking at you over the rim of his glasses to wait for your response. When you nodded, he turned his eyes back down to write it down.

“Maybe I’m too stuck in my head but no matter how much I try I just can’t. It’s honestly frustrating. I want to be able to enjoy myself like everyone else,”

You came out of the appointment feeling frustrated and down on yourself. As you returned to your car, your phone began to ring in your back pocket. Picking it up, you were greeted with the loud voice of your friend Lisa.

“_____! Come out with us tonight!” She nearly shouted, making you pull your phone away from your ear to save your eardrums. You could hear voices in the background, probably with some of your other friends.

“I don’t know Lisa,” You mumbled. “I’m pretty tired.”

“_____!” Another voice, your friend Joy, shouts. “Please!”

You’d always been weak when your friends begged you, so before you could think about hanging up and ignoring them, you agree to go.

The blaring hip hop music in the club made you flinch, knowing you’d get used to it soon. You weren’t exactly dressed for a night out, in you basic jeans. However, as your girlfriends scattered to hopefully find themselves a nice guy to spend their night with, you made a beeline for the bar, ordering 3 shots without hesitation.

“Long day?” The bartender asked, not bothering to hold back his smirk when you downed all 3 in rapid succession.

“You could say that,” You replies mindlessly, closing your eyes as you waited for the alcohol to hit your system.

It didn’t take long before you were 6 shots in and feeling pleasantly fuzzy. The music was no longer obnoxiously loud, but instead vibrating your bones in an almost pleasurable way.

If you had been sober, there was no way in hell you’d find yourself on the dance floor.

If you were sober, there was not a chance in hell you’d let a random guy grind behind you to the beat flowing through the speakers.

But you weren’t sober, so that’s why you allowed the strange man to press sloppy kisses on your neck. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and usually that would make you appalled, but it was mixed with his soap and cologne and made an absolutely addictive scent.

When the song ended, his grip on your hips loosened enough to allow you to turn around. Through the flashing lights of red and white, you were able to see his face and he was…

Beautiful.

He was wearing an expensive looking silk shirt with half the buttons undone, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest and just a little tease of muscle in his abdomen. Around his neck was a black choker and his hair was swept back, exposing his forehead and eyebrows. His eyes were dark and sharp and you could tell he was anything but sober.

Still, he was the most attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on.

For a moment, you forgot about yourself and leaned up to press your lips against his. His reaction was instantaneous and his arms were around you waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your eyes widened as there, in the middle of a dance floor, you could feel his erection pressing against you.

A heat flared up inside you, meeting his eyes through the sweaty haze that filled the room. He carefully wrapped his fingers around yours and began to tug you away from the dance floor.

The cool night air nipped your cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to clear to alcohol filled brain as you let him lead you to the parking lot out back. His car was black and sleek and you briefly wondered what he did for a living as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Y-You’re drunk...you can’t drive…” You slurred, furrowing your brows.

It had been the first time you spoke to him.

Suddenly, he eyes widened and he looked up at the sky.

“Shit, you’re right…” You giggled, making him laugh too as he slammed the door shut and lead you back to the sidewalk.

“I’ll call a cab then,” He muttered, pulling out his smartphone and dialing a number he seemed to have memorized.

It took him only a moment, talking to someone named Hoseok, asking him to pick him up. When he hung up, you spoke again.

“You know the taxi driver by name?”

“Ah, he’s a friend of mine,” He shrugged, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

You took a glance at him again, the cool air having finally cleared your mind enough to take in his appearance as more than just a sexy man.

“Wait-” You gasped, jumping back from him. “Dr. Park?!”

His head whipped towards you from where he had been staring down the road, watching for the cab. As soon as he met you, it seemed to click for him too.

“Shit,” He cussed, stepping back from you as well. “I-I had no idea it was you!”

“Oh this...this is awkward…” You mumbled, your face heating up in embarrassment, now almost completely sobering up from the experience.

Just as Jimin was about to speak up, a black taxi pulled up with the window rolled down.

“Hey there!” The driver, Hoseok, spoke with a bright grin. “Hop in!”

Jimin cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze as he opened the door, waving you inside. You hesitated for a moment, this whole experience feeling taboo. However, you crawled in, wanting to escape the embarrassment.

When Jimin crawled in behind you, he struck up a conversation with Hoseok, allowing you to zone out.

The first thing you noticed was that Jimin’s house was very nice. When you walked in, you could smell vanilla and spices and it immediately calmed your nerves. You pulled your shoes off, leaving them by the doorway next to Jimin’s.

“I...I hope you don’t mind coming here,” Jimin muttered, voice soft in a way he used in your appointments when he tried to calm you down as you cried. You cringed at the thought, following him into the kitchen as he busily began to prepare tea. “After all, I already broke a handful of rules before this so I figure taking you to my place to sober up isn’t really doing anything worse,”

“I honestly didn’t recognize you,” You mumbled, sitting at his table as he placed a teacup down in front of you. “You look really different with your bangs up and no glasses,”

“So I’ve been told,” He grinned, pouring hot water over the teabag, causing the cup to fill brown. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, if I had known it was you I wouldn’t have touched you. It’s against the law to do anything like that with my patients.”

“No, no you didn’t know...neither did I…” You waved him off, picking up the cup to take a sip.

The kitchen filled with silence as Jimin prepared his own tea. It was tense and made you get lost in your own thoughts.

This man knew all about your...problems in bed. Maybe the reason he backed off so fast when you knew he had been aroused was because he didn’t want to sleep with a...broken girl.

That’s ridiculous! You scolded yourself. He backed off because he wants to keep his job.

“Hey,” Jimin cooed, placing a hand on your shoulder, smiling softly. “I know that look...what are you thinking about?”

“N-Nothing!” You quipped, taking a deep gulp of your tea.

“It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, _____,” He whispered, sitting across from you now. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We’ve gotten so much progress done in our appointments, I don’t want you to have to go to someone else…”

“W-Well, if I’m honest,” You began, but he cut you off.

“You’ll have to go to someone else anyway,” He finished, sighing when you nodded.

“I-I just can’t look at you the same now,” You mumbled, cheeks feeling hot. “B-Because now I’m going to only think about how hot you look with your bangs back and how I want to kiss you again,”

His eyes darkened at your words,standing up from his seat and rounding the table to stand beside you. You placed your now empty cup back on the table and looked up at him. His hand cupped your jaw, the rings on his fingers making you shiver when they made contact with your cheek.

“Are you sure you wanna do this, baby?” He asked, the pet name making you whimper.

“A-Are you sure you want to?” You countered, meeting his eyes.

“Trust me,” He cooed, leaning down, brushing his lips against yours. “I’ll make you feel so good,”

You leaned closer to kiss him but he pulled back, smirking at the pout you gave him.

You felt the heat return to your body when he took your hand again, leading you out of the kitchen to the stairs.

You were about to sleep with your therapist.

His bed was the softest you’d ever felt. However, it felt even better with him hovering on top of you, holding his body weight on either hand beside your head. His lips were pressed to yours, leaking out little sighs of pleasure as you tangled you hands in his hair.

You couldn't help but cling to him, his hands beginning to roam along your body, touching you over your clothes. Your body felt hot, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

Whining, you wished he would just cut to the chase, used to quickies rather than this log, drawn out session.

"Patience," Jimin cooed, voice much lower than you had ever heard it before. "I'm not like all those assholes you fuck, baby,"

"W-What do you mean?" Stuttering when his hand brushed over your breast, your bra and shirt limiting the amount of stimulation it provided but you still trembled at the feeling.

"I mean," He pulled away from you completely but kept his hands on your body, teasing the hem of your shirt to brush his fingertips along the sliver of skin exposed. "I'm going to make you feel good,"

Finally, he began to lift your shirt up. You helped, putting your arms up to make it easier for him to untangle it from your body. Once it was off, he gently dropped it off the side of the bed.

With your upper body, aside from your breasts, exposed, he was touching you much more directly now. His fingers were soft, touching you as if you would break. The intimacy of this whole ordeal had goosebumps rising up on your skin.

"Jimin," You whispered, arching your back when he cupped your breast through your bra. Giving a gentle squeeze before he slipped his hand beneath the hem, finding your nipple easily. You were panting as he rolled the hardening bud between his fingers.

You hadn't had someone pay attention to your breasts like this in so long. Hell, when you touched yourself, you didn't even pay attention to your breasts.

"Are you wet?" He suddenly asked, voice raspy now. "Is that little pussy dripping in your panties? Getting them nice and messy for me?"

His filthy words had you keening. You couldn't take it anymore, reaching behind you to unhook your bra, pulling it off before tossing it to the side. You had expected Jimin to scold you, but instead he leaned down and kissed you again. His hands cupped both your breasts this time, squeezing the soft flesh in his palms, making you whine. Pulling away from the kiss, he replaced one hand in favor of enveloping your nipple in his hot mouth.

With one hand free how, he wasted no time in diving into your jeans, but not into your panties. Instead, he placed his palm over your heat, adding light pressure to tease you but not give you much pleasure. When you whined, you felt him smirk against your nipple, giving you a punishing nip for your complaint. Still, he began to run his fingers over your core, just barely caressing your clit through your panties.

"You are wet, baby," He muttered, pulling his mouth off your nipple to give attention to the other one. With your nipple wet with his saliva, the cooler air in the room made it harden even more. "You're soaking through your panties, you know?"

"C-Jimin?" You whimpered, arching your hips into the air pitifully.

"What is it baby?" He whispered, looking up at your through hooded eyes.

"C-Can you touch me?" You asked, voice trembling with need.

"Since you asked so nicely," He cooed, finally diving his hand into your panties but not before undoing the button of your jeans to have more room.

The feeling of his fingers touching you, sliding between the swollen folds of your pussy was euphoric. He briefly brushed over your clit, making your legs tremble before he carefully slid a single finger inside, moaning at the feeling of your juices coating his digit. The thought of feeling this hot, tightness around his cock made it twitch in his pants, having been hard for so long that it was growing painful. But he pushed his own need aside in favor of making sure you felt the most pleasure he could give.

"Fuck!" You whined, angling your hips so his finger would hit your g-spot, making your eyes roll back.

"Fuck, lets get these jeans off," He muttered, yanking his hand out of your jeans, making you whine in disappointment. He ignored you, however, choosing to focus on getting you undressed. Neither of you bothered to get Jimin's clothes off. "Fuck, look at that pretty body," He complimented once you were finally bare before him, on his bed, splayed out like a sexy gift for him.

With your jeans and panties now discarded, he laid himself on his stomach between your thighs. Your face heated up, not expecting this out him. However, he merely offered you a wink before his tongue was suddenly swiping up the length of your slit, collecting all your juices in his mouth.

"Ah," You sighed when you barely grazed your clit once again.

With your juices collected in your mouth, he suddenly spit, letting it all fall back down on your clit. He used two fingers spread your folds, exposing the hard bud to his greedy tongue. Your juices and his spit mixed together, causing a dripping wet mess to form on the bed beneath you and all over his face. He didn't seem to mind as you noticed him grinding against the bed.

His tongue and lips were finally giving your clit the attention you so desperately had been yearning for. You clutched at the covers, needing something to hold onto. Jimin's eyes were closed, moaning into your heat as he ate you out like you were his first meal in days.

"Jimin, c-can I...can I suck you off?" You asked suddenly, causing him to halt in his movements, gazing up at you through messy bangs and dark eyes.

"No," He growled, going back to suckling on your clit.

"Wh-Why?" You panted, arching your hips more into his invading tongue as he began to lap at your hole.

"Because this is about you, baby," The use of the pet name was a contrasting difference to the tone of voice he used, almost as if he were scolding you.

"I-I told you," You whimpered, reaching down to tangle your fingers through his soft locks. "I can't cum. I'm b-broken,"

This time Jimin completely froze, pulling away from you with a glare on his face. The last thing you expected was for him to get up from the bed, turning his back to you. You sat up, curling your legs into your body as you watched his tense body from behind.

"I-I'm sorry," You mumbled, afraid you just ruined the moment.

Jimin didn't reply, making you eyes sting with shame. You picked at a stray string on his comforter, thinking of what to say. But before you could attempt to fix your mistake, Jimin was quickly stripping.

"Lay on your side," He commanded, still not turning to look at you as he dropped his silken shirt to the floor, revealing the strong, flexing muscles of his back that you didn't realize he had.

The sound of his jeans unzipping spurred you into action, moving so your head was on his pillow, his scent filling your senses as you laid on your side as he had instructed you. You watched Jimin strip the rest of his clothes before he turned to you, letting you get a view of his phenomenal body. He didn't have abs, but he had a well-defined v-line that led to his thick, pink cock which was wrapped in his hand as he jerked himself off for a moment.

"Condom?" He asked quietly, still pumping his cock.

"N-No need," You whispered, licking your lips at his heated stare. "I'm on the pill,"

"Are you sure?" He asked, dropping the dominant persona he had put on, making sure you were 100% sure.

"I-I trust you," You words seemed to have set something off inside him because he was quickly clamoring onto the bed with dark eyes again.

His hand gripped your hip as he slid up behind you, spooning you.

"Lift your leg for me, baby," You did as he ordered, feeling exposed as you felt the cool air against your soaked core.

Both of you groaned in unison as he began to sink into you. Your walls burned at the intrusion but the position allowed the tip of his cock to brush against your g-spot. Leaning your head back, you felt Jimin press a soft kiss to your hair before he pulled out until just the tip remained inside. You held your breath, pausing for a second before he sunk back in with a wet noise and slap of skin.

Under normal circumstances, you would have been embarrassed about how wound up you were, but with Jimin, you couldn't bring yourself to feel that way. His hand looped under your knee, opening your legs as far as they would go.

You'd never felt so vulnerable and exposed as he hammered his cock into you, abusing your g-spot with brutal thrusts. It felt so, so good. There was no holding back your moans in the onslaught of pleasure he thrust upon you. He was panting and groaning little praises in your ear all the while.

"That's a good girl," He cooed, biting his lip as you clenched on him. "Gonna make you cum babygirl, fuck, you feel so good,"

A feeling you hadn't felt in a long time began to coil in the pit of your stomach, making you reach up to claw at his pillow beneath you. Jimin slid his arm not holding your thigh beneath your head, letting you hold onto his hand.

"I-I think I'm gonna cum," You whimpered, almost in disbelief that someone was finally going to get you off.

"Yeah? Fuck, you're gonna cum for me?" He growled, abandoning his hold on your thigh in favor of circling your clit. The added stimulation had you crying out, burying your face in the pillow as it became too much. Jimin cooed to you, pressing a kiss to your head. "Just let it go, sweetheart, let it go. I've got you, babygirl, just cum for me,"

At his encouragement, you came. Everything went white, you were unable to feel anything except the overwhelming pleasure that took over your system. You were vaguely aware of Jimin still cooing to you before he began to groan along with you.

When you finallt returned to earth, Jimin was carefully pulling out of your still-spasming hole. His hot cum leaked out, being pushed onto your thighs and the bed by your clenching. Jimin was a sweating, panting mess, you noticed as he got up on the bed.

You were still hazy, the orgasm causing you to nearly black out at its force. Jimin returned, holding a warm, wet rag which he used to clean up his spilled cum.

"How was that, babe?" He asked, voice no long thick with lust, but now soft and calming.

"I think..." You swallowed hard, closing your eyes with a sigh. "I think you nearly killed me."

Jimin's laugh rang out in response.

You sighed as you stared at the new therapist's office. After sleeping with Jimin, there was no way in hell he could still counsel you.

He referred you to a friend of his, someone he knew would be able to help you more.

Kim Namjoon was his name.

However, as you stood in front of the building, you grimaced. The idea of going to see someone now seemed redundant. Your phone buzzing twice interrupted your thoughts. Pulling the device from you pocket, you identified a familiar name.

From: Jimin

You coming over after your appointment?

You grinned, biting your lip as you typed your reply before sending.

To: Jimin

I think I'll postpone it. On my way now.

With that said, you turned your back on the office, wanting to see Jimin as soon as possible.

#bts #bts smut #jimin smut #bts scenarios #jimin scenarios #bts imagines #jimin imagines #bts preferences #bts reactions #park jimin #bts jimin

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chain-unchained · 5 years

Text

September 6

Another Friday, another long trip into Zuzu City. It really wasn’t that bad if Shane was having a good day, or even a decent one, but the trip was hell if he was struggling. This was especially true for today; the whole night, his back had been repeatedly and painfully spasming, meaning sleep was pretty much out of the picture. When he mentioned it to his therapist, they suggested that it was possibly due to his depression, and said that if it continued or got any worse to call and they’d work on either upping the dosage on his medication or trying a different one to see if that helped.

But that didn’t really do anything for him now, and he was really dragging his feet along as he finally got back into town. ‘Ugh, I just want to go to bed.’He thought, rubbing his face with a yawn. Stepping onto the path that lead both to Ashe’s farm and towards town, he paused. ‘… I know I should at least drop by and say hey to him, but I don’t know if I’ve got it in me…’

After some intense contemplation, he moved his hands to the small of his back and pressed against it as he arched backwards, trying to pop his spine in the hopes that it would ease the pain a little. As much as he didn’t feel up to it, and as much as he could hear his bed calling to him all the way from home, Ashe deserved at least a little bit of his time that day. It wouldn’t be fair to him otherwise, and there was a good chance that just being around that happy go lucky doofus would put Shane in a slightly better mood.

It was frustrating that such simple things as visiting his cute as fuck boyfriend still took so much effort. Some days it felt like he was really getting his life together, and then he’d have a shitty day like this one and it felt like he was back to square one. At the very least, he hadn’t had another relapse; that had to account for something, surely.

“Brush, brush, brush the knots out~” Ashe sang cheerily, running a coarse-haired brush through the mane of his newest family member—a beautiful bay gelding he’d named Silva. “Who has the prettiest mane in the valley? You do~”

Silva snorted and stamped her front right hoof into the dirt with a flick of her tail. She was still a young mare, full of energy and plenty of attitude, and she hadn’t quite decided if she liked Ashe or not yet.

“C’mon, don’t you snort at me like that.” Ashe moved to brush her tail, and as if to test his reaction, Silva kicked one of her hind legs as he got near them. “Whoa—hey now, was that really necessary?” He looked to her face, and she innocently turned away with a flick of her head and a whinny. “I know getting your hair brushed isn’t fun, but you don’t want to get mats, do you? So just settle down and—”

He went to brush her again, very narrowly avoiding another kick from the fiesty mare. “Jeez! That one almost got me!” He fumed, puffing his cheeks out as planted his hands on his hips. “What’s gotten into you? Are you just in a bad mood today?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say I am.” Shane joked, making Ashe jump a little from the unexpected sound of his voice. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“You scared me…” Ashe let out a breath as he turned to face the taller man, smiling happily despite his racing heart. “I’m happy you came to see me though~” After a moment, the smile began to fade. “Are you having a rough day?”

Shane sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah… it’s just one of those days. My back was killing me last night so I didn’t get any sleep, and it hasn’t stopped hurting all day. In fact, it’s probably gotten worse…”

Slowly he reached out to Ashe, gently taking hold of his upper arms as he rested his forehead against the shorter teen’s shoulder. “Are things always gonna be this hard…?” He murmured, asking no one in particular, squeezing Ashe’s arms slightly in frustration. “…. Sorry… I’m just… so tired of having to try so hard just to function like a normal person. It’s exhausting.”

Seeing Shane like that, it was all Ashe could do to bring his hands up and slowly run his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “I’m sorry that today’s been so hard.” He said softly, wanting to offer at least some small comfort to him. “… Would a massage help at all?”

“Nah… I’ll be alright. I just needed to vent a little—” As Shane spoke, he attempted to straighten up, and a pain sharp enough to steal his breath away shot up his back; agonized, his hands unconsciously gripped Ashe’s arms tight enough to hurt, though just for a moment. “… Actually, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Smiling sympathetically, Ashe slid his hands down Shane’s arms and took hold of his, gently pulling him towards the porch; he sat his boyfriend down on the steps and moved to sit behind him, ever so slightly nervous since he’d never really given a massage to anyone before, much less the person he was dating. Unsure of how much pressure he should use, but having seen just how much Shane’s back was bothering him, he went in rather forcefully, pushing his fingers into the muscles in Shane’s back. Instantly, Shane went rigid, letting out a sharp hiss of pain, and Ashe immediately pulled his hands back, eyes wide. “Ah—s-sorry! That… that hurt a lot, didn’t it?”

“I-It’s fine…” Shane hunched over and planted his hands on his knees for support, trying to get his breath back; after a few seconds, he looked over his shoulder to Ashe with a pained half-grin. “Maybe just a little gentler this time, chikadee.”

‘Ch… chikadee…?’ Ashe felt his cheeks heat up at the nickname. “O-Okay.” He shifted closer and put his hands on Shane’s back again, this time using much less pressure as he worked his fingers in a circular sort of motion. The muscles in his back were so tense and rigid that the pressure still drew a hiss from Shane, and he paused again, his brows furrowing together; glancing back at him, Shane shook his head and gave him a feeble thumbs up to continue this time, turning back around and letting out a sigh as Ashe began to move his hands again. “D-Does it still hurt?”

“Only a bit.” Shane closed his eyes and let his head droop forward. “… Hey, chikadee? Can you go a little lower?” He asked, and of course Ashe was happy to do so. “…. Little lower…. Liiiittle lower…” He visibly jolted as Ashe’s fingers started kneading that ‘magic’ spot. It was the spot on his back that was easily the most tense, and Ashe could feel the knot in the muscles. “Fffff… stay right there.”

For several minutes, Ashe steadily worked away at that one spot, slowly feeling it loosen beneath his fingertips; he kind of wondered if this actually felt good or not, but Shane had stopped making those little winces and hisses of pain, so at least it seemed like it didn’t hurt—at least not as much, anyway. “Is this helping at all?” He asked hesitantly. “….. Shane?”

“ZzzzZZzzz….” It had helped more than he’d realized; Shane was out like a light, finally at ease enough for his exhaustion to win him over.

“….” Ashe smiled and shifted closer, gently pulling the snoozing man back to rest against him and folding his arms around him. “You dork…” He murmured, pressing a shy kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “Sleep as long as you want….”

It was only ten or fifteen minutes before Shane came to with a quiet snort, forcing his eyes open with no small amount of difficulty to find himself gazing up at Ashe’s smiling face. “Ah, shit… sorry, I didn’t mean to doze off like that.” He apologized, embarrassed. “I… wasn’t out for too long, was I?”

“Mm, not really.” Ashe loosely wrapped his arms around Shane’s neck, his hands resting against the man’s chest. “Probably fifteen minutes or so. I guess the massage helped~”

“Yeah, it did.” Shane moved his hands to gently hold onto Ashe’s arms. He was always surprised by how stick-thin they were, even with all the strenuous farmwork that Ashe did day in and day out. But it still felt nice to be held by them like this, to feel the warmth of his boyfriend against him. “… Hey. C’mere for a sec.”

“Hm?” Curious, Ashe leaned down a bit; Shane reached his hand up to gently cup his face, shifting to sit up enough to press their lips together. It was only the second time they’d kissed like this, and Ashe could feel his heart skipping several beats in his chest as he closed his eyes and pressed into it. With the same ease as the first time, Shane’s tongue slipped into his mouth, gently rubbing against his and eliciting a faint shudder from the farmer. Back in Shane’s hey-day as a gridball player, he’d gotten around quite a few times, and even though it had been years and years since he’d last been with someone, he still remembered a few tricks he’d learned in those days.

He remembered also not to overdo it for the sake of romance, pulling back after just a few short seconds to gaze up at Ashe’s flushed face. “Thank you, Ashe.” He murmured, brushing his thumb against those pink-tinted cheeks. “Not just for the massage, but just… for everything.” In that moment, he was glad that he decided to suck it up and come say hello. “…. I really need to get going. Jas and Marnie are probably wondering where my ass is.”

“Oh!” As Shane reluctantly got to his feet, Ashe clapped his hands together excitedly. “I can give you a ride there if you want. Just let me get the cart hooked up to Silva and—”

Shane glanced over to the fiesty mare, who had wandered over to some of the bushes surrounding the farm and was contentedly munching away on one. “Chikadee, I dunno how I feel about you riding her just yet.” He admitted, a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Ashe getting bucked off. He’d had his reservations about Marnie selling her to him in the first place, since even Marnie—who in her youth had won more than a few horseback riding competitions—had trouble dealing with her. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I can handle walking. You don’t mind me cutting through your farm though, right?”

“Ah, no that’s fine, but…” Ashe’s brows knitted together. “Are you sure?”

“Ashe,” Shane turned to face him with a serious expression on his face, “when I got here, that horse nearly kicked you. I’m not hurting that bad that I’d want to risk your safety like that.” He could tell that even despite what he was saying, Ashe simply didn’t get that Silva’s behavior was dangerous. “…. Promise me that you won’t try to ride her until she mellows out. Okay?”

That wasn’t something that Ashe was excited to hear; he’d gotten Silva so that he could ride her, after all. “…. Okay.” He conceded reluctantly, even though he really felt in his heart that Silva wouldn’t ever actually hurt him. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Shane leaned close and pressed a kiss to the top of Ashe’s head. “I’ll see you tomorrow... Oh, before I forget. Make sure you don’t make any plans for the 21st next month.”

It was such an odd request out of nowhere. “Oh-kay…. Why though?”

“You’ll figure it out.” For some reason, Shane wasn’t even surprised that Ashe didn’t remember what the 21st was. “Okay, I’m going. For real this time.” He made his tired legs carry him towards home, before he could think of another reason to linger at Ashe’s side; as much as he enjoyed being there, he was so tired…

It was a sign of the passing seasons that by the time he’d gotten back to the ranch, the sun was already halfway hidden below the horizon. During the summer when he’d come home from therapy, it had barely even started its descent, and there were still several hours of daylight left. But now it was already becoming dark out, which meant that soon his walks to and from the ranch, both to work and to therapy, were going to start to suck. Especially if it was raining… He groaned just thinking about it.

“I’m home…” He called as he let himself in. The plan was to spend a good… five minutes or so with Jas, or however long he could manage, then go and sit in the shower for however long the hot water lasted, and then go to bed and fucking pray that he could actually get some sleep that night.

He heard the rapid pitter-patter of Jas’ shoes against the floor as the girl raced from her bedroom. “Shaaaaane!” She cried out happily, jumping up and tightly hugging him with no knowledge of his sore back. “I missed you!”

“Oof—” Using every ounce of willpower he had to repress the yelp of pain that rose up in his throat, Shane caught his goddaughter so she didn’t fall. “Hey there, squirt. I missed you too.” Honestly, he should have expected that kind of greeting, since it was how she’d reacted to him coming home for the last week or so. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Guess what, guess what!” Jas bounced up and down in his arms, barely able to contain her excitement. She didn’t even give him a chance to answer before she proudly told him ‘what’. “My report card came today, and I got straight A’s again!”

“Wha—no way.” Shane pretended to be staggered by the announcement. “Again? I guess that means I owe you 50g, huh?” He set the girl on her feet and made a big show of pulling out his wallet to pull out her ‘good grade allowance’, his fatigue and discomfort eased a little by the pride he felt at her repeated accomplishments, and the fact that he actually could save up now to give it to her. “That was the real reason you were excited that I’m home, isn’t it?”

“Nooooo!” Jas giggled and held out her hand expectantly as Shane plonked five shiny gold coins onto it. “I was excited because I love you~”

Shane paused as she gave him that heart-melting smile of hers; after several seconds, he pulled out two more and added them to the others. “I love you too, squirt.” He answered with a smile as she hugged him again. He kind of both loved and hated that she knew how to play him like that. His back throbbed painfully a moment later, reminding him that as much as he wanted to spend the evening with her, it just wasn’t something he was up to doing that night. “Hey, Jas? I know we always have our special time together when I come home, but… do you remember what I told you, about me sometimes needing to be alone for a little while?”

Hearing that, Jas was immediately distracted from the shiny coins in her hand. “Are you having a bad day?” She asked, looking up to her godfather with worry written on her face.

“Kind of.” Shane put his hand on top of her head. “I think tonight, I just need to be by myself. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, though. Okay?”

He expected to see her little face fall with disappointment at those words, but to his surprise, Jas just nodded her head in understanding. “Okay~” She agreed with a smile. “I hope you feel better.” She gave him another hug and headed back to her room to play with her dolls. “Night night~”

“Uh…. Night, kiddo.” Shane watched her go off, slowly rubbing the back of his neck. Jas had taken that way better than he’d expected her to. ‘Yoba, she’s growing up so fast.’ He thought, letting out a slow breath as he stiffly made his way to his room. ‘I’m just glad that I’m not missing any of it now…’

#sdv #stardew valley #sdv fanfic #sdv fanfiction #stardew fanfic #stardew fanfiction #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fanfiction #sdv shane #stardew shane #stardew valley shane #sdv farmer #stardew farmer #stardew valley farmer

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chromecutie · 5 years

Text

Not A Ghost - part 17

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst @ra-ra-rasputiin @holamor @empressme-bitch @marvel-is-perfection @hazilyimagine @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash @whitewitchdown @master-sass-blast @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

The excitement over lighting the bulb was short-lived. After the first lightbulb, Rhonda had gotten ambitious and stole a few bulbs of various sizes from a supply closet. In her practice room, she laid them in a circle on the floor and stood in the middle. She had worked at it for nearly an hour, and though maybe she should have been glad she could now get them to flicker without touching them, she was frustrated with being hard-pressed to do more than flicker.

She stepped out of her circle of bulbs and paused the top 40 pop song playing on her phone. “Sia,” she muttered with annoyance, “Thinks she’s an artsy Rihanna or some shit.” She huffed and started searching on her music app, “I need something I know.”

Rhonda’s taste in music was all over the place, but mostly gravitated to two moods: Marilyn Manson, System of a Down, and Rammstein, or Missy Elliot, Christina Aguilera, and Destiny’s Child. She found a playlist fitting that second mood and started nodding her head to a bass beat that would have some good thump on better speakers. Without thinking about it, her feet started moving and her hips winding. Her old, worn dance hoodie found its way off her body, tossed carelessly on the slightly dusty hardwood floor. The familiarity of the beat and the sexy, unapologetic lyrics had Rhonda turning and stepping all over the room, whipping her hair and sweeping her arms in powerful arcs. She smiled, and sparks lit from her cheeks and fingers. The bulbs didn’t light, but she wasn’t even thinking about those anymore except to step around them. Movement, and the freedom it gave her, dissipated all her frustrations as long as she could feel the floor under her feet. Song by song, she felt better, until--

“We should find you some twerk tutorials,” someone said flatly from the doorway.

Startled, Rhonda’s rhythm broke and she ducked into a low fighting stance.

Ellie was leaning against the door frame. Her smile faded when she realized why there was a rule about not startling Rhonda. “Sorry, um,” Ellie edged into the room. “I know I should knock or something--”

“How long were you standing there?” Rhonda’s heart was racing, and she tried to breathe slowly, force herself to calm down, and not let on how scared she was for that split second.

The teen raised her shoulders and answered, “Just...two and a half songs? I forgot how cool it is to watch you go.”

Rhonda paused the music. She wanted to fuss at Ellie, but couldn’t make herself do it. Instead, she asked curtly, “What’s up?” Acutely conscious that her arms were bare, Rhonda snatched her hoodie off the floor and quickly pulled it back over her head.

For someone who kept a stony face so often, Ellie had an absolutely darling smile. When she grinned, Rhonda saw the little girl who used to play with black nail polish and liked trying on Rhonda’s X-Men boots. “Colossus said to come get you, lunch’ll be ready soon.”

Rhonda couldn’t resist smiling a little herself. “All right. Give me a minute to put the tripping hazards away.”

Ellie helped her box up the dozen or so new lightbulbs. “So? Who are you liking on that playlist we made?”

She snickered more than she meant to, “Well, not Sia.”

Scrunching her nose, Ellie shook her head, “She’s overplayed.”

“Panic! At the Disco is fun, though,” Rhonda stacked the boxed lightulbs neatly on the floor by the wall. “I dunno why I wasn’t always into them, they’re great.”

Ellie beamed, “They did get better, though.”

They finished the bulbs and headed down the hall toward the stairs. “I’m not wild about the new Metallica album,” Rhonda admitted glumly, “Nothing tops their old stuff, I guess.”

The younger woman carefully rubbed her eye without smudging her eyeliner. “Nah, but it’s better than St. Anger.”

Scoffing, Rhonda muttered, “Anything’s better than that shitstack.”

“Have you listened to Hozier yet?”

“Who?”

“Ho--” Ellie stopped and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Hozier. Yukio would give me a ton of shit for this, because I tell her I don’t like him, but,” she grabbed Rhonda’s shoulder and stared her hard in the eyes. “He’s objectively good. You gotta try him. The whole album.”

“Okay,” Rhonda chuckled, “It’ll be the next thing I listen to.” She gave a sidelong glance, “Why did you tell Yukio you don’t like him?”

Ellie rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn’t knock herself unconscious. “When ‘Take Me to Church’ first dropped, it was super overplayed and everyone and their mom was obsessed with it. It is pretty good, though.”

They started walking again. Ellie said under her breath, “And if he does a show anywhere near here, we’re going.” When Rhonda gave her a sidelong glance, she added, “For Yukio.”

“You two seem really good together,” Rhonda hooked her arm through Ellie’s.

Let the record show: young badass Negasonic Teenage Warhead was blushing. She said through gritted teeth, “She’s the best and I would kill for her.”

Rhonda thought she might rupture a sinus from how hard she was trying not to laugh. “Yeah?”

“Also?” Ellie slowed her walk.

“Hm?”

“She wanted me to ask you if, uh, if you’d let her,” Ellie winced, “Fix your hair?”

Tugging a strand of frizzy, mousy colored hair, Rhonda scrunched her mouth to one side, “It’s pretty crusty, huh? I dunno how all this grey got here.”

Ellie playfully shoved her with her shoulder, loosening their linked arms as they went down the stairs. “You used to tell me you started going grey at fourteen and that’s why you dyed your hair every color you could find!”

“You remember that?” Rhonda’s jaw dropped. “That was a secret!”

“I never told anyone,” she giggled.

“You told me just now!” Rhonda was laughing too.

Ellie laughed harder, “You--but? You’re the one who told me!”

On the first floor, they passed a parlor that was used as an office now. The door was open and Rhonda saw a familiar form. “Hey, Ellie?” Rhonda pulled away. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen, ok? Tell Piotr I’ll just be a minute.” With a nod, Ellie broke away and walked off.

Nerves making her chest tight, Rhonda hesitated by the door, debating whether she should enter at all.

Michelle sighed and without looking up from her work at the desk, said, “Either come in, or keep walking, Rhonda.”

Taking a deep breath, Rhonda forced herself to walk calmly into the room. She cleared her throat and nodded, “Michelle?”

“So you do know my name,” Michelle turned and stood--and looked down at Rhonda with a chilled glare.

Finally giving her a good look, Rhonda realized Michelle was tall. She had to be about six feet tall, built like a mythical queen with long, willowy limbs and a perfect bunch of thick, dark curls bouncing just past her shoulders. Her skin was such a warm, glowing sepia brown, Rhonda guessed she would shine like a human chunk of tiger’s eye if she stepped in the sun. She was gorgeous. It was no surprise she’d caught Piotr’s eye--she looked like an exquisite sculpture in a museum.

Rhonda, by comparison, was shorter, stockier, and though she was looking much better than a few weeks ago, would still compare herself to a pile of dry leaves.

Michelle impatiently drummed her fingers on the edge of her desk, “Is there something you want?”

“I am...I’m sorry...about before.” Rhonda looked like she was going to choke from trying so hard to swallow her pride. “I should have said thank you.” She stole a glance at Michelle’s face, then looked down to fidget with the hem of her hoodie. “You made Piotr happy at a time when...that probably wasn’t easy. And he, um, ha,” she forced a light laugh, “He deserves every ounce of happiness he can get, right?” She was nervous and uncomfortable under Michelle’s gaze. She sighed and looked up at her again, “You took care of him. Thank you. I dunno if we’ll ever be friends, but...I don’t want to be enemies.”

Michelle gave her a stern up-and-down glance with her golden hazel eyes. “He really believes you’re still some kind of sweetheart. This is the first time I’m tempted to believe that.”

She moved suddenly, and Rhonda instinctively took a quick step back. Michelle rifled through a few papers on her desk before grabbing a business card, holding it up, but not extending it to Rhonda just yet. “You still haven’t been to see Charles.”

Rhonda’s jaw worked, “Not yet.” She realized Michelle was tense too.

The taller woman shrugged with one shoulder, conceding, “Look, I get it. If you’d rather talk to someone else, this is a colleague of mine.” Finally, she held out the business card for Rhonda.

Both were careful not to let their fingers touch as Rhonda took the card. She fidgeted with the corners with her fingernails, looking at the name and phone number for a therapist who specialized in mutants. “He’s not a telepath?”

Michelle huffed and rolled her eyes, “He’s not, but what do you have against us?”

To retort, Rhonda raised her eyebrows and tossed her head, over-enunciating for sassy effect, “If I wanted to talk about it, I’d say so, out loud, with my noisy face hole.”

“Whatever,” she adjusted back to her seat and got back to work. “I just better not hear about you stabbing anyone else.”

As she edged out of the office, Rhonda grumbled under her breath, “Like you’ve never wanted to stab Kurt. Have you met him?” By the time she reached the kitchen, she'd stashed the card in her hoodie pocket.

#colossus #piotr rasputin x oc #piotr rasputin #colossus x oc #angst #fluff #long fic #not a ghost

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yougotthatbilly · 5 years

Text

Dangerously, You’re Beautiful | 01

�� member: lee taeyong → genre: fluff | angst → au: best friends to lovers!au | love triangle!au ↳ summary: ❝If you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.❞ -Johnny Depp

chapters: 00 , 01

“Stop that.”

You lazily look to your right, shooting Taeyong a questioning look. “Stop what?”

“You’re gonna have permanent wrinkles in your forehead if you don’t relax. Your shoulders are up to your ears and even your ass is clenched.”

You almost make a comment on the fact he looked at your ass long enough to notice, but then you realize that yes, your body is extremely tensed up. Your shoulders drop and the muscles throughout your body gradually loosen as you lean into the podium in front of you.

The store is dead when it was expected to be a lot busier, but that’s what happens when festivals are in town during sales. You barely got any sleep last night (honestly this time) and you’re seconds away from slumping forward or hiding in the break-room and letting Taeyong handle things for the next few hours. Taeil wouldn’t mind. He loves you.

“Want a massage?”

“Huh?” you ask, once again glancing at him because you barely heard him over your thoughts of sweet talking him into being the only manager on the floor for some hours. Taeyong lifts his hands up and wiggles them suggestively. The words no, it’s fine are on the tip of your tongue but who are you to say no to a free massage?

“You know I’m not gonna press you on why you’ve been weird,” he starts after finding his way behind you, his fingertips softly digging into your shoulders, “but you also know I’m here if you need to talk, right?”

Of course you do. He’s always there for you, even when you don't realize you need someone to be. Only a couple of months into your friendship, he was there for you when you thought you were completely fine on your own. Being the observant and kind hearted person he is, when he saw how your feet were dragging and your smile was too fake when interacting with customers he tried to talk about topics that would normally spark your interest and pick up your mood. Months later you don’t even remember why you were feeling so glum that day, but even with him barely knowing you, he knew exactly how to make you feel better. The two of you coincidentally had overlapping breaks and Taeyong stepped behind your slouched form as you were leaned over the counter in the break room, wrapping his arms around your middle in an unexpected hug. And when you straightened up a bit in shock, he only slouched more, rearranging his hold on you so he could hook his chin over your shoulder and hold you tighter. He didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t force you to speak. The way he felt against you, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, you remember it all so vividly. Sometimes your mind goes back to that very moment when you’re left alone with your thoughts at night.

His cheeks had a coral hue to them when he apologized after your shifts ended, explaining his actions as a good hug usually brings his mood up because the comfort lets him know people actually care and they aren’t just asking what’s wrong because they feel obligated to. Taeyong asked if he crossed any boundaries or if it possibly made you feel uncomfortable. You felt the complete opposite. You didn’t want him to let go. You wanted to turn around and return the embrace, but in the moment you were too stunned, too overwhelmed yet too comfortable in his hold, enjoying how secure you felt wrapped in his arms. You assured him it was fine, that you realized you really needed it. Then when he, still embarrassed by such an impulsive move, asked if there was a significant other in the picture, seeing that the conversation had never been brought up between the two of you, the sirens sounded in your head.

You shouldn’t have felt the way you did when there should only be one person to have that effect on you.

Taeyong apologized profusely when you answered in affirmative and it took a couple of days for you to convince him everything was fine. He didn’t have any other intention than cheering you up, so he did nothing wrong. He just wanted to be there for you. You were in the wrong with how all rational thoughts about being in a relationship and how Johnny would’ve felt if he saw the scene unfold before him didn’t cross your mind.

Taeyong’s consideration is just another characteristic on the list you deny you’ve made.

You nod. You know.

If you’re in a shitty mood around Doyoung he doesn’t want to be around you because you kill his vibe (maybe you should reconsider the friendship, but then again you’re not even that close). Yuta isn’t the best person to run to when you’re sad unless it’s simply for comfort and not actual advice. Taeyong is the only male aside from Johnny that gives you his full attention and doesn’t come to you with his problems without even checking to see how you’re feeling. When you asked about it, asking why he always asks about you when he’s the one in need of a shoulder to lean on or advice, his response was that friends are not therapists so you should always ask how they’re feeling, too. His maturity and way with words are on that nonexistent list as well.

Maybe it’s just in his nature to care about others (plausible seeing he’s a Cancer), but you can’t help but love the fact that he’s always there and think that maybe you just have a little special spot in his heart like the one that’s found its way inside of your own recently. But then again, there’s a good possibility it’s been there for months but you hadn’t realized it’s existence until recently.

“There’s just been a lot on my mind lately and I’m just trying to figure things out by myself for now.”

“Take your time. Don’t stress too much over whatever it is, okay?” His thumbs work in between your shoulder blades and your eyes drift shut, head falling forward. “Everything will fall into place eventually. You just gotta be patient.”

Another lazy nod.

It’s the typical thing to say to someone in this situation, the only thing he really can say with how vague you’re being, but his words still make you feel a little better.

“In times like this, I drink Jasmine or green tea and it helps a lot,” Taeyong softly suggests. His focus moves to the small of your back, almost making you completely melt into the podium beneath you.

The feeling of a presence in front of you stops your response, Taeyong’s scripted greeting opening your eyes. The holy shit he lets out and his body warmth leaving you lift them. Taeyong is excitedly walking over to a surprised looking Donghyuck, pulling him into a hug.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in years, kid.” Taeyong sounds excited, like he’s been reunited with his long-lost brother and it’s pulls at your heartstrings. “Why are you here and not in class or something?”

“Winter break,” Donghyuck supplies, Taeyong making a sound in remembrance, “and I’m actually here to see somebody but—”

“But I don’t exist anymore?” you finally cut in, playfully scoffing. Donghyuck’s eyes go wide in your direction, words trying to leave his mouth but all that comes out is stuttering and the boyish smile you’ve grown fond of over the last several years. Taeyong steps back when you make your way around the podium to bring Donghyuck into an even tighter hug than the one Taeyong gave him.

“I didn’t recognize you with your head down and then,” he gestures Taeyong, who’s watching the two of you similarly to how you watched them only moments ago.

You release him to hold him at arms distance by his shoulders, examining him from head to toe. “You’ve gotten taller.” His cheek is warm when you lift a hand to cup it, swiping your thumb against the smooth skin a few times. “And you’ve gotten skinnier. Are you not eating?”

“Yes, I’m eating. I’m just dropping my baby fat,” Donghyuck shrugs sheepishly.

A flash of a memory of his chubby cheeks make you pout exaggeratedly. And then the pout turns into a down curve of disgust when your eyes travel further up.

“What the hell happened to your hair?”

Donghyuck’s left offended and is the one pouting now as you move your finger back and forth between the too big gap between his bangs and his eyebrows. Who the hell got scissor happy with the poor kid?

“I tried to trim my bangs but I got distracted,” he grumbles, glaring at Taeyong when the latter snorts. Taeyong puts his hands up and slowly back-steps into another part of the store.

At least the vibrant red his hair has been dyed is pretty.

“Anyway,” You make your way back behind the podium and return to your previous position leaning against it, “what’s up? And how’d you even know I was here?”

“Well, the semester ended and I figured seeing my precious face would make your week a thousand times better. So here I am.” He gestures himself with a grin.

You squint at him. “Why are you really here, kid?”

“I’m on break and I wanted to see my favorite sister.” Donghyuck shrugs.

“Donghyuck.”

“Okay, fine!” He lifts his hands up. “Mark asked me to visit you since he won’t be back until the end of break, so here I am.”

Donghyuck’s a great actor with a great poker face but you’ve known him since he was seven. “And?” you press once more.

“And I’m here to ask if I can crash at yours for a couple weeks,” he gives you an awkwardly endearing smile.

“I mean, I guess.” You shrug. “But seriously, how’d you know I was here?”

Donghyuck lifts up his phone and wiggles it a little. “We still share locations, dummy.”

Oh, how you missed that mouth of his.

“And your parents don’t care?”

Donghyuck scoffs. “I’m eighte—no they don’t. They trust you with my life.”

Your retort is cut off when an older guy comes into the room with a few shirts and a pair of jeans, you do your job and walk him to a fitting room.

“Where did Taeyong go?” Donghyuck asks when you’re back.

“Probably went to help out in the front.” You shrug. But on the topic of the brunet, the question that was repeating in your mind earlier resurfaces. “How do you two know each other, anyway?”

“Remember Jeno?” You’ve heard name a few times in the last years but you can hardly put a face to it, and it must show because Donghyuck continues. “The kid with the smile,” he deadpans.

“Oh.” The kid from that soccer game your mom forced you to take Mark and Donghyuck to that kept smiling and blushing whenever you said anything to him. “Aw, how is he?”

“Great.” The red-head waves off. “Anyway, Taeyong’s his older brother. If it wasn’t me and Mark, it was me and Jeno. Tae’s like my big bro.”

Huh. With this new information you wonder if you and Taeyong went to the same middle or high school and never crossed paths since the two of you only lived a neighborhood away from each other back then. What would’ve happened if the two of you officially met sooner? Would you have gotten along back then? Would you have clicked so fast and effortlessly all those years ago like you did last year?

Would you be w—

“Talking about me while I’m gone?”

Taeyong’s voice isn’t loud nor is it harsh, but it still startles you out of your thoughts, and your body jerks in alert. Both males laugh at your reaction, only laughing harder when you pretend to buck up at them.

He takes his place back next to you and hands you a warm, large cup before reaching forward to ruffle the red hair on the younger male’s head. Dumbly, you look down at the cup in your hand, bringing it up to your nose to sniff the content inside through the small horizontal hole in the lid. Jasmine and honey. “How did you even…?” A quick glance with a wink leaves you puzzled, and the warm feeling in your insides has nothing to do with the sip you take.

“Kid.”

“Hm?” Donghyuck asks half-heartedly, eyes still glued to the screen of his phone. He doesn’t look up even after you’ve made your way in front of him, hovering. He just raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment, thumbs flying across his screen.

You kick his shin.

Donghyuck lets out a dramatic sigh before locking his phone and looking up and you with an attitude. “Yes?”

“You wanna eat or keep being gross with Mark?”

The ‘tude is wiped off instantly and he’s now blushing. “W-what are you talking about? He’s just updating me on how Cana— how’d you know I was talking to him?”

You open your mouth to let him know he’s only that attentive and smiles that much when he’s speaking to your younger brother, how it’s been like this for years, but three knocks on your front door cut you off, and the quirk of Donghyuck’s lips confuses you.

“I got us some food since you like to starve people,” he winks as he stands up and lightly pushes you out the way to get the door.

The door opens to reveal Taeyong with bags of fast food in one hand and deadpan expression on his face. You can tell even from the distance you’re at that Taeyong’s trying to keep a straight, almost annoyed face at the younger, but you also see the exact moment his eyes change emotions, a defeated smile pulling his lips up with an eye roll.

The power of Lee Donghyuck, basically.

“You’re lucky you caught me when I was about to pass by,” he grunts when Donghyuck hugs him. You’ve never really seen Donghyuck openly initiate any kind of affection with anyone other than yourself and Mark, then Taeyong’s smile gets wider and wow your heart. Just like any other day, Taeyong’s eyes drift to where you’re standing, and he nods in acknowledgment before beckoning you over. “Here,” he passes the bags to Donghyuck when he lets go. “Go eat. I gotta talk to her real quick.”

The smile on his lips transitions into a thin line when Donghyuck is gone and he flicks the side of your head just hard enough for you to flinch and pout. “How are you gonna say the kid can stay with you but have no food and have him starving all day?” he deadpans, tilting his head when you don’t respond quick enough.

“I forgot I needed to go grocery shopping, dad.” The last couple of days you’ve been snacking on whatever and kind of forgot there was a growing teenage boy (man?) in your apartment now. “I was actually just about to take him out. If I would’ve known he reached out to you, I would’ve told him to ask you to get some real food and not—” Taeyong squints and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, challenging you to finish that sentence. “I mean, thanks for the food?” You smile cutely.

“Right. Enjoy your food.”

“Aw you got me food, too?”

His glare is back but it only makes you childishly stick your tongue out at him.

“Anyway, I might swing by later to get him on my way back from Jae’s. So if you don’t have plans, you should come along.”

His phone makes a noise, gaining his attention before he squeezes your shoulder gently in lieu of goodbye, then he leans forward until he’s right by your ear to yell his goodbye to Donghyuck. You flinch and swat at his gut because you know it was his intention to burst your eardrum and Taeyong just laughs as he turns on his heels and walks away.

Donghyuck’s food is halfway done and you’d feel bad if you didn’t know he’s always been a really fast eater.

“So are you coming?”

You shake your head, unraveling your food. It’s date night. You’re meeting up with Johnny at the movie theatre to watch that new scary movie he’s been dying to see. You haven’t had a proper date in weeks when you used to have one every Saturday night and you’re excited because this is what you need. The last time you saw Johnny you weren’t in your right state of mind, not thinking of what you should’ve been. Tonight is going to be about to two of you and your relationship with no outside factors clouding your thoughts. You miss Johnny’s big hand and the heat it transfers to your thigh when watching movies, his fingers tensing and squeezing when there’s a jump scare.

“It’s date night.”

“Date… night?”

His confused tone lifts your eyes away from your fries and onto his equally confused facial expression.

“Yes?”

“You’re still with Johnny?”

You nod, still not understanding his tone.

“Really?”

“What do you mean ‘really?’”

“I don’t know, I thought you and Taeyong were a thing,” he shrugs and goes back to his fries.

Your jaw works slowly as his words echo in your mind. “... what made you think that?”

He shrugs again. “Your interactions, your body language.”

“As in our body language towards each other is more intimate than what friends usually have?”

He snaps and sends finger guns your way. “Exactly. Figured you were together or fucking at the very least.”

The last assumption chokes you. “Donghyuck.”

He just smiles and stuffs the last of his fries into his mouth.

The rest of your meal is silent, your mind running wild with the thoughts of how often you lean into Taeyong’s touch, how often you crave it, and just how obvious you might be if Donghyuck noticed within the span of a couple of days.

With your teeth digging into your bottom lip, you pace in front of your bed, phone in one hand while the other scrubs at your eye in mild frustration to save the base makeup you have on. You’ve gotten dressed for your movie date and you were in the middle of adding a touch of highlighter to your high-points when you heard Donghyuck’s phone ring, the latter answering it with a greeting followed by Taeyong’s name. You felt childish pressing your ear against your closed bedroom door to hear his side of the conversation better. He hummed a few times, then told Taeyong that you already had plans and wouldn’t be joining them, and all of a sudden you wanted to join them.

Well, you haven’t seen Donghyuck in close to a year. You’ve barely spent time with him since he temporarily moved in, having been at work earlier and only saying your greetings with a ruffle of his hair while on your way to your room when you got back in. You were exhausted and needed to fall face first onto your bed asap. You should definitely spend some time with him, and now would definitely be the perfect time to do so. You don’t have to plan anything because you’re sure Taeyong has gotten everything planned out already, and then the latter being there is just a little bonus.

You unlock your phone with your thumb, go to your call log, and tap the third contact from the top.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe. What are you doing?”

“Trying to decide if I want to wear jeans or joggers tonight,” Johnny chuckles.

“About tonight…” you say after a beat, teeth back in your bottom lip. You hope he hasn’t done his hair already.

“Uh oh. What’s wrong?”

“I was wondering if we could possibly reschedule for next weekend?”

It’s silent on the other line for a few seconds, so you move the phone away from your ear to see if he hung up (which you know he wouldn’t do but there’s a guilty conscious for you) or lost connection.

“Yeah,” Johnny sounds unsure once the phone is back on your ear. “Is there a reason?”

You’re going to break skin if you bite any harder.

“Remember Donghyuck?” He hums. “He just came back in town and I’m letting him crash here for a little. It’s been a while so I wanted to take him out tonight, also as an apology for starving him all day,” you chuckle, voice even and believable to your own ears.

Well, it’s not a complete lie.

The tone of Johnny’s voice changes immediately. “Of course, baby. Don’t sound so guilty. I’m sure Donghyuck really wants to spend time with you after not seeing you for so long.” He laughs softly. You can practically see him waving a dismissive hand in the air. “We can just go Friday or Saturday night.”

A small relieved smile tugs at your mouth as a sigh leaves it. “Thanks for not hating me. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You can hear the smile in his voice, envisioning an eye roll. “Call me when you get back in, ‘kay?”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll talk to you later.”

He’s so understanding it breaks your heart but you’re doing your best to delude yourself into believing you’re really going to this outing just for Donghyuck.

As soon as you hang up the same three knocks from earlier pound against the wood of your front door, startling you. A glance as your reflection in the mirror connected to your dresser makes you grimace, the sight of your half done face and hair not so pretty. Speed walking to the door that connects your room to the bathroom, you push it open and do the quickest winged liner you’ve done and quickly yet carefully put some mascara on. You put and misplaced strands of hair where they belong and barely remember to grab your jacket before exiting the bathroom using the other door that leads into your hallway. You’re just in time to see Donghyuck slipping his shoes on and Taeyong leaning against the door, stopping in the middle of his sentence when he spots you coming towards them.

“Well don’t you look like a snack.” Taeyong wiggles his eyebrows at you, eyes raking up and down your body. “Hyuck told me you had plans so I’m guessing you’re going out with J—”

“With the two of you? Yep,” you cut him off, giving him a quick smile and diverting your attention from his face to your shoes as you slip them on. Your heart is beating loudly from a combination of the rising guilt you feel from cancelling on Johnny and the guilt you feel from being happy you get to see Taeyong again and spend time with him outside of work today.

He eyes you suspiciously, making eye contact with Donghyuck with a brow arched in confusion. The latter just shrugs.

“So where are we going?”

“To the dessert shop that just opened by my place,” he says unsurely, opening the door. “My car or yours?”

“Can I drive?”

You and Taeyong immediately shut down Donghyuck’s request. His lip curls up in offense, but he gets over it and links his arm with yours as you all make your way down the wooden stairs.

“Try this.”

You bring your fork up to Donghyuck’s mouth, feeding him some of your cake. Taeyong opens his mouth and makes a noise expectedly.

A bit of icing gets on the corner of his mouth at the forkful your feed him, so you swipe at the small glob with your thumb then lick it off.

Donghyuck clears his throat. “What happened to your date?”

“Yeah, what changed?” Taeyong ask, attention back on his plastic fork, licking a clump of icing off of it.

You’re momentarily distracted by the way his pink tongue laps at the icing, but then Donghyuck’s shifting body beside you snap you out of your trance. “Oh,” you wave a dismissive hand. “He’s beat from the long shift he worked. And it worked out perfectly because now I can bond with Hyuck,” you smile, pinching the youngest’s cheek as his face goes from confused to a fake scowl.

“Damn, well I’m glad you could be here with us.” Taeyong smiles, reaching forward to steal more of your cake.

“Me, too,” you nod, biting your lip at the thought of if Taeyong was anticipating your company. When he invited you, was he just doing it to be nice since he was picking Donghyuck up from your place? Or did he genuinely want you to come? You shake your head slightly, knocking the unnecessary thoughts out. You shouldn’t be thinking so hard over an invitation to get dessert with a couple of the closest people to you. It’s not that deep.

You and Taeyong tease Donghyuck and ask questions about how college life is, and when things go quiet and everyone’s doing their own thing for a while on their phones, it’s hard not to stare at the male sitting in front of you as he runs a hand through his hair and slumps in his seat, licking his lips as he focuses on whatever is on his screen. He’s just so effortlessly attractive.

It’s also hard to not notice Donghyuck’s intense gaze on the side of your face.

Donghyuck’s eyes either translate to he’s trying to read you, or that he knows something, and when you raise an eyebrow to silently question him, he just shakes his head before asking Taeyong a question, starting up another conversation.

#taeyong scenario #taeyong scenarios #nct scenario #nct scenarios #back at it again with shitty endings #i hope this version is okay rip

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anoddconstellationofthoughts · 5 years

Text

pansexual pride cakes (or pan-cakes, if you will)

pairing: steve rogers x bucky barnes

warnings: coming out (and the subsequent mild panic attack)

word count: 1533

summary: “Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator. “Who shit in your cereal today?”

This is your chance. Take it.

bucky comes out to steve. what more can i say?

also on ao3

Ideally, Bucky never would’ve done this.

Ideally, he never would have done a lot of things, but the world is a really shitty place, and sometimes, you just gotta suck it up and roll with the punches.

Fucking punches. Bucky hates the punches. Even more, than he hates beets. And he hates beets. Eugh.

The kitchen lights around him hum abruptly as they wake up.

“Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator. “Who shit in your cereal today?”

This is your chance. Take it.

He says nothing. But Steve nods.

“Yeah, I get it. Let me know if you decide you wanna talk.”

“I will.”

Steve smiles at him and starts pulling out what seems like a random variety of fruits and vegetables. Ugh, beets. “Mkay.”

They’re silent for a moment, Bucky sitting on the kitchen’s island counter and Steve chopping things and chucking them haphazardly into a gigantic blender that he pulled out of a shelf as easily as one would take a spoon out of the drawer. Bucky hates himself for wanting to stay in the moment forever. You came in here for a reason, Barnes, he reminds himself. Now follow through.

He grits his teeth. He’s tortured people before. Why is it so hard to simply say something?

“Hey, Steve, you know Wanda?” The words just barely make it past his locked jaw.

“Who, Wanda? I do not know this ‘Wanda’ that you speak of.” Steve jokingly side-eyes him, pouring milk into the blender, but there’s worry in the look.

Bucky grimaces. “Okay, fine, stupid question. I just…” he trails off. Steve doesn’t say anything, though he does turn to face Bucky. “I, um, apparently, I tend to think very loudly, sometimes? Now that I’ve gotten control over my mind, mostly, it’s freed up a lot of my own thoughts, so they’re a lot louder now. Like, they’re all louder now, even the ones I try to ignore. And so Wanda and I were talking about stuff, mostly stuff from our past, she touched my hand, and suddenly I was in one of those thoughts, the ones that I try to ignore, and… she saw all of it.” The memory of Wanda’s shocked then carefully controlled face flashes behind his eyes again and he swallows the bile that’s begun to rise in his throat.

Steve just nods. “So now things are awkward?”

Bucky huffs, playing with the hem of his shirt. “It’s different than that.”

“Different how?” Steve’s as calm as ever. How is he calm, he doesn’t get to be calm, this isn’t fair, I’m not calm and I’m a trained assassin for God’s sake, what the hell–

“You don’t get it, I’m– I’m– I’m–” Everything is crashing down on him again and he starts to feel his muscles lock up, logic and panic firing arrows and javelins at each other, warring for control of his limbs.

“Bucky, breathe, breathe, please breathe, Buck, I need you to breathe–” Panic creeps into Steve’s voice, but Bucky doesn’t notice, won’t notice, can’t notice until a pair of arms are around him, strong and suffocating and far too tight, and for a moment Bucky struggles against them, but then the strength drips down through his body into the floor below and stays there, and his mind is not empty, but quiet, and he can breathe again, so Bucky lets himself droop down and sink into the body holding him. Somewhere within of himself, he’s aware that the body is Steve, rubbing his back and making gentle “shh”-ing noises, and that the cloth where Bucky’s head rests is now wet. He doesn’t have enough energy to care.

“I’m here, Buck, I got you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting go, it’s gonna be alright now, Buck, I’m here,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s neck. His breathing presses his chest against Bucky’s in a slow, steady pattern, and Bucky tries to match it.

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about, Buck,” Steve says roughly, “nothin’ at all.”

When Bucky finally manages to peel himself from Steve’s arms, he's a wreck. He hops off of the counter just to lean against it, and Steve, God, Steve turns around and starts the blender, buying him some time to breathe.

Shit, Barnes, now's the moment. Go.

Bucky clears his throat.

“HEY, UH, STEVE, I’M PAN.”

Shit.

Steve flicks off the blender, pausing just long enough to make the edges of panic creep back into Bucky's system. But when he turns around, he's grinning: full on, ear-to-ear grinning.

“Really?”

“I, uh,” Bucky clears his throat again, still watching his words hang in the air, “yeah. Yeah, really.” Steve launches himself forward and wraps Bucky in a hug almost tighter than the first, but this one feels closer somehow. Probably because Bucky’s now the small one, and the way his head is tucked under Steve’s chin feels unreasonably comfortable. “Not how I was meaning to tell you, though,” he mutters.

“How were you meaning to tell me?” Steve’s voice is genuinely amused, but Bucky barely notices.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” Bucky stares at the blender, “maybe a nice picnic, I’d bake the pansexual pride flag into a cake–”

“You’d bake the pride flag into a cake?” Steve pulls back and Bucky finally sees his ridiculous grin. Bucky feels a smirk grow in response.

“Yeah, you know, like those Pinterest gender reveal cakes.”

Steve giggles and Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know that Anaya and I have been talking about getting a new hobby, and she thinks baking is a great idea.”

“Alright, so the therapist thinks it’s a good idea. So, what, you’re gonna open up a store and start baking pride flags into cakes?”

Bucky nods, slowly. “...Yes.”

“Can I have one?”

Bucky blinks, stunned. “Sure…?”

“Okay,” Steve’s grin becomes impossibly brighter, “bisexual variety, please.” He winks then goes back to his smoothie.

“Bise–” Bucky gapes. “For real?”

Steve sticks a spoon in the blender and stirs the contents around. “Of course, Buck. Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes! On multiple occasions!”

Steve chuckles, putting the top back on the blender and placing the spoon on the counter. He turns to meet Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky finds himself suddenly trapped by the other man’s serious gaze.

“Well, I’m not lying. Not right now.” Steve pauses for a moment. “If it’s not too much... can I ask what thought Wanda saw…?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, and steels himself, pushing down the residual panic. “Oh, uh, I guess…” he down at his feet.

Do it do it do it do it. The cliff’s right there, all you have to is

jump.

“It was maybe… you?” He winces and continues watching his feet intently.

Steve is quiet. “Me?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Like…”

“Oh. Oh.”

Bucky forces himself to look up, past Steve, and drills a hole in the cabinet behind him with his eyes. “Yeah.” He forces a cough and starts to spin on his heel to leave. “I should go–”

“Buck.”

A hand shoots out to grab Bucky’s wrist. The metal one. Bucky stares at it. “Yes?”

“You’re such a drama queen Buck, Jesus H. Christ, come ‘ere.” Steve pulls Bucky into yet another hug, burying his head in Bucky’s neck and breathing him in. He sighs deeply.

“You need to stop doing this, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice is muffled from Steve’s unfairly large shoulder.

Steve laughs and pulled him tighter. “But why would I do that?”

“Because I like it too much.”

The taller man loosened his grip on Bucky, shifting to rest their foreheads together. Bucky sucks in a breath. “Maybe that’s the point.”

He’s right there.

Just do it do it do it do it.

“Your eyes are so blue,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky is acutely aware of the fact that he’s only wearing boxers and a very, very thin t-shirt.

Steve’s phone buzzes, startling them both.

He leans back to grab it, one hand still resting on Bucky’s back, and reads the message. He raises his eyebrows, expression bland.

“Whelp. Guess Sam’s almost here for the run. Gotta go.” Steve gestures towards the smoothie. “Help yourself while I’m gone.”

“Steve!”

“What?”

“Okay, a, that smoothie has beets in it; I’m not touching it, and b, there is no way in hell you’re leaving me here.” Bucky plants his feet on the floor, both arms wrapped around Steve’s waist. “I won’t let you.”

“Hmm. Love ya too, gorgeous,” Steve leans forward and plants a chaste kiss on Bucky’s forehead. The shock temporarily breaks down Bucky’s defenses, and Steve dashes away. “Bye!”

Bucky bolts after him, “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”

* * *

15 minutes later, Sam gets a text, saying, “Rain check on the run. Could you pick me up some sunflowers? Like a bouquet. Also, you won the bet. Thx bro, you’re the best!”

Sam groans, and calls to see if T’Challa wants to run with him instead. The king owes him 20 bucks and a new pair of shoes.

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nowanoddconstellationofthoughts · 6 years

Text

pansexual pride cakes (or pan-cakes, if you will)

warnings: coming out (and the subsequent mild panic attack)

word count: 1533

summary: “Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator.

“Who shit in your cereal today?” This is your chance. Take it.

bucky comes out to steve. what more can i say?

also on ao3

Ideally, Bucky never would’ve done this.

Ideally, he never would have done a lot of things, but the world is a really shitty place, and sometimes, you just gotta suck it up and roll with the punches.

Fucking punches. Bucky hates the punches. Even more than he hates beets. And he hates beets. Eugh.

The kitchen lights around him hum abruptly as they wake up.

“Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator. “Who shit in your cereal today?”

This is your chance. Take it.

He says nothing. But Steve nods.

“Yeah, I get it. Let me know if you decide you wanna talk.”

“I will.”

Steve smiles at him and starts pulling out what seems like a random variety of fruits and vegetables. Ugh, beets. “Mkay.”

He grits his teeth. He’s tortured people before. Why is it so hard to simply say something?

“Hey, Steve, you know Wanda?” The words just barely make it past his locked jaw.

“Who, Wanda? I do not know this ‘Wanda’ that you speak of.” Steve joking side-eyes him, pouring milk into the blender, but there’s worry in the look.

Steve just nods. “So now things are awkward?”

Bucky huffs, playing with the hem of his shirt. “It’s different than that.”

“Different how?” Steve’s as calm as ever. How is he calm, he doesn’t get to be calm, this isn’t fair, I’m not calm and I’m a trained assassin for God’s sake, what the hell–

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about, Buck,” Steve says roughly, “nothin’ at all.”

Shit, Barnes, now's the moment. Go.

Bucky clears his throat.

“HEY, UH, STEVE, I’M PAN.”

Shit.

Steve flicks off the blender, pausing just long enough to make the edges of panic creep back into Bucky's system. But when he turns around, he's grinning: full on, ear-to-ear grinning.

“Really?”

“How were you meaning to tell me?” Steve’s voice is genuinely amused, but Bucky barely notices.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” Bucky stares at the blender, “maybe a nice picnic, I’d bake the pansexual pride flag into a cake–”

“You’d bake the pride flag into a cake?” Steve pulls back and Bucky finally sees his ridiculous grin. Bucky feels a smirk grow in response.

“Yeah, you know, like those Pinterest gender reveal cakes.”

Steve giggles and Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know that Anaya and I have been talking about getting a new hobby, and she thinks baking is a great idea.”

“Alright, so the therapist thinks it’s a good idea. So, what, you’re gonna open up a store and start baking pride flags into cakes?”

Bucky nods, slowly. “...Yes.”

“Can I have one?”

Bucky blinks, stunned. “Sure…?”

“Okay,” Steve’s grin becomes impossibly brighter, “bisexual variety, please.” He winks then goes back to his smoothie.

“Bise–” Bucky gapes. “For real?”

Steve sticks a spoon in the blender and stirs the contents around. “Of course, Buck. Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes! On multiple occasions!”

Steve chuckles, putting the top back on the blender and placing the spoon on the counter. He turns to meet Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky finds himself suddenly trapped by the other man’s serious gaze.

“Well, I’m not lying. Not right now.” Steve pauses for a moment. “If it’s not too much... can I ask what thought Wanda saw…?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, and steels himself, pushing down the residual panic. “Oh, uh, I guess…” he down at his feet.

Do it do it do it do it. The cliff’s right there, all you have to is

jump.

“It was maybe… you?” He winces and continues watching his feet intently.

Steve is quiet. “Me?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Like…”

“Oh. Oh. ”

Bucky forces himself to look up past Steve and drills a hole in the cabinet behind him with his eyes. “Yeah.” He forces a cough and starts to spin on his heel to leave. “I should go–”

“Buck.”

A hand shoots out to grab Bucky’s wrist. The metal one. Bucky stares at it. “Yes?”

“You’re such a drama queen Buck, Jesus H. Christ, come ‘ere.” Steve pulls Bucky into yet another hug, burying his head in Bucky’s neck and breathing him in. He sighs deeply.

“You need to stop doing this, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice is muffled from Steve’s unfairly large shoulder.

Steve laughs and pulled him tighter. “But why would I do that?”

“Because I like it too much.”

The taller man loosened his grip on Bucky, shifting to rest their foreheads together. Bucky sucks in a breath. “Maybe that’s the point.”

He’s right there.

Just do it do it do it do it.

“Your eyes are so blue,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky is acutely aware of the fact that he’s only wearing boxers and a very, very thin t-shirt.

Steve’s phone buzzes, startling them both.

He leans back to grab it, one hand still resting on Bucky’s back, and reads the message. He raises his eyebrows, expression bland.

“Whelp. Guess Sam’s almost here for the run. Gotta go.” Steve gestures towards the smoothie. “Help yourself while I’m gone.”

“Steve!”

“What?”

“Hmm. Love ya too, gorgeous,” Steve leans forward and plants a chaste kiss on Bucky’s forehead. The shock temporarily breaks down Bucky’s defenses, and Steve dashes away. “Bye!”

Bucky bolts after him, “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”

* * *

15 minutes later, Sam gets a text, saying, “Rain check on the run. Could you pick me up some sunflowers? Like a bouquet. Also, you won the bet. Thanks bro, you’re the best!”

Sam groans, and calls to see if T’Challa wants to run with him instead. The King owes him 20 bucks and a new pair of shoes.

#idk how this happened tbh #request from a friend #but here take it anyways #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #coming out story #bisexual steve rogers #pansexual bucky barnes #nena writes #not very well but she does

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janeofcakes · 6 years

Text

Chapter 78

**I’m back! And here’s another chapter for y’all.**

(Two days later and John is scheduled to go home the next day. While he has been dying to go home to familiar surroundings and his own clothes, his own things and the life he shares with Sherlock, his thoughts are also full of nervous energy. He and Sherlock have spent a significant amount of time in his hospital room, readjusting to one another. In fact, Sherlock has seldom left his side - talking, laughing, bouncing ideas off one another. It’s been wonderful. Sherlock told him about Jim’s plan to explode Mycroft and a piece of Parliament along with him in more detail than Jim gave him, as well as other foiled schemes. He stops every so often and worries that he is talking too much, but John always assures him that he is talking the perfect amount. Each time, Sherlock smiles shyly and blushes and kisses John softly.

Sherlock catches him up on Mrs. Hudson, who has caught him up on Sherlock in return during her visits. Even though it was clearly a very difficult time for his flatmate, Mrs. Hudson manages to put a positive spin on every story and John can’t help but smile because she sounds much like she is talking about a son, not just a tenant. Likewise, John smiles during Sherlock’s stories when he refers to Greg and Molly with more friendship and affection. He rarely mentions Mycroft and, even though they were not on particularly good terms before the kidnapping, John is certain something happened between them while he was away. He makes a note to himself to ask Sherlock about it at some point.

In any case, the sum total of his days in hospital have assured John that he and Sherlock will be just fine when he moves back in. Better than fine. Being with Sherlock is not what worries him. It’s BEING with Sherlock that troubles him. They have shared many kisses and touches over the last few days, some quite heated, but they have not gone beyond a certain point. John has been shirtless the whole time and Sherlock has touched him, but has not ventured passed his belly. Even that has been hesitant, and any lower is off limits.

This is both a relief and cause for concern to John. First, while he definitely wants Sherlock to touch him and fully intends to have sex with him again in the future, he does not want to now. The fact that Sherlock is clearly more than willing to give him all time he needs is a comfort. However, John has no idea when he will be ready to resume a proper physical relationship and, as patient as Sherlock can be, he can also be a brat. How long will the man be able to wait? What if he gets tired and wants out? Suppose he brings home another man some night to make his point. God, that would kill John. He knows he should just talk to Sherlock about it, but that makes him nervous too. So, he keeps all of his feelings to himself and muddles through.

John sits silently in the hospital bed, gazing at the wall across the room without seeing it. His eyes are wide and a few small steps from panic. It is early afternoon. Sherlock left nearly an hour earlier after they finished eating lunch. He was somewhat vague about what he was up to, but John knows it has something to do with the flat. Perhaps he feels obliged to tidy it before John’s return. Whatever it is, John is thinking about being back home now and his mind is charging full-on into every fear of what could happen.

While he may be, in many ways, scared out of his mind, John is frustrated. He has never been one to panic, has always been solid as a rock and calm under pressure. Even before all the catastrophe that is war, John was well prepared for stress. Being a combat medic only solidified his resolve. So what the fuck is wrong with him? He has never worried like this. He has always taken things as they come and look at him now.

He knows the answer, of course. So does Sherlock. That’s why neither of them has said anything about it directly. PTSD.)

G: Hey.

(John jumps in surprise and nearly tumbles from the bed. Greg rushes to his aid.)

G: Shit! Sorry. I didn’t realize you were that distracted. I mean, I could tell you were thinking, but…

J: No trouble. It’s nothing. I was just...somewhere else, I guess. (clapping his hands on his thighs) So, what’s up?

G: Mm. (with a knowing look) I had some time and thought I’d pop in. See how you’re doing.

J: You heard I’m going home tomorrow.

G: Yep. You’re nervous?

J: Is it that obvious?

G: I wasn’t made detective inspector for nothing.

J: (with a little laugh) Right.

G: You wanna talk about it?

(John looks at him hesitantly. He’s not sure how to explain or even where to begin. Greg just waits, looking at him with kind, brown eyes.)

J: You have to understand. I have no idea how I’ll react. It was a disaster last time. I could’ve killed him so many times and this was for so much longer and was so much worse.

(Greg nods thoughtfully.)

J: He’s been nothing but understanding. I just don’t know... I’m afraid I’ll punch him in the throat the first time his hand strays below the waist.

G: I see where you’re coming from. After your last experience, it makes sense that you’d feel this way. (John looks at him expectantly, seeing that he isn’t finished. He continues with the most genuine expression John has ever seen on him.) Honestly, John, that’s not what I see.

(Greg scoots his chair closer to the bed and leans in as if to emphasize his words.)

G: Your demeanor is nothing like it was last time. There’s no comparison. You’re not afraid to touch Sherlock and you don’t hesitate for a moment to let him touch you. You shared a very intimate moment in front of me, Molly, and Mycroft. Bloody Mycroft! And didn’t give a rat’s ass.

J: (looking pensive) Okay, so maybe it is different somehow, but I don’t know that any of it means the nightmares won’t start. That I won’t start to pull away again.

G: How does that make you feel?

J: You sound like my old therapist.

(Greg shrugs and revises the question.)

G: How does he make you feel?

(The words spill from John’s mouth before he can even think about them.)

J: Free. Like I’m home. I feel safe in his arms and I don’t want to be anywhere else.

(Greg has a pleasant and surprised smile on his lips when John’s mouth snap shut in embarrassment. The doctor’s cheeks flush pink when he sees his friend’s face and he looks away, then back. A moment of silent understanding passes between them. So absorbed in this wordless communication are they that they are both startled when the door to the room flies open and a certain tall consulting detective strides in.)

S: I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted...Greg. I didn’t know you would be here.

G: (standing) I thought I’d pay John a visit and congratulate him on going home tomorrow, but I was just on my way. If you two need anything, please let me know.

J & S: (talking over one another) Thank you. Thanks, Greg.

(Sherlock turns his head toward John and smiles. He quickly removes his coat and scarf and sits in the chair Greg just vacated.)

S: As I was saying, I meant to be back earlier, but I wanted everything to be ready at home and it took longer than I expected. I should have called you.

J: It’s fine. (sighing and taking the man’s larger hands in his own) But we do need to talk before tomorrow.

(Sherlock steels himself for what is to come, for the worst possible circumstance. While John has been very receptive to him, he knows it guarantees nothing and he can see in John’s eyes that something is troubling him. His next words come out as more of a statement than question.)

S: About the events of the last 65 days.

J: (slowly) Yes...and about living together again. I need things to be...different for a while. I don’t know how long. I just… I have some requests.

S: Oh. (trying to hide the disappointment in his voice and the flicker of despair in his silver eyes) Of course. I can move my things into your old room tonight if you’d like. You can have as much space as you need.

J: (brows shooting up to his hairline) What? No. God, no. That’s not what I’m talking about. Not at all.

S: It isn’t?

(John shakes his head with a smile of endearment on his face. Then the smile fades and he bites his lip, looking down at Sherlock’s hand and giving them a squeezes before continuing quietly.)

J: The only way for this to make any sense is for you to know what happened to me while I was with him. (meeting his eyes) Are you up to that?

S: John, I once said I would listen to all you want to tell me and help in any way I can. That still holds true. Whenever you are ready, whatever you want to say, I am here. The decision is yours.

(John looks at him in silence. He had thought about what to say, how to begin for the better part of the night while he lay awake in Sherlock’s arms. He thought he was prepared, but now the words fail him. He can only look at his flatmate’s face and imagine what it will look like once he starts talking. The thought is too much to bear, but he can’t go back now. He doesn’t want to go back.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His eyes are already moist and he lowers them in shame. Before he even notices Sherlock moving, his arms are wrapped around John and pulling him close. Sherlock wants to tell him he doesn’t have to say or explain anything, but he knows how John Watson works. He not only wants to tell Sherlock, he needs to tell him. Keeping it bottled up will crush him, give Moriarty power over him, and there is no way John Watson will live under that man’s thumb.

Sherlock loosens his hold a bit and looks into John’s eyes, deciding the best thing to do is try to prompt John so he feels he has a place to start from. He slides his hands back down to hold John’s and speaks quietly.)

S: He sexually assaulted you.

(From the pain in his eyes to the way his voice caught in his throat over the word “assaulted”, John can imagine every torturous thought and feeling in Sherlock’s mind.)

J: (whispering) Yes.

(Sherlock’s eyes well up.)

J: Every night.

(An uncontrolled breath of shock escapes Sherlock’s lips, his eyes wide in despair and disbelief. John watches as his face crumbles. He is powerless to stop it, but he opens his mouth to try. Before he can, Sherlock suddenly jerks his hands away and rubs them furiously over his own eyes. John looks at him with wide eyes, feeling every fear is coming true. Sherlock doesn’t want him anymore, not after all that has happened. His soul is cracking and falling apart piece by piece, never to go back together again.

John feels as though he’s dying a little more with every passing second and it will only get worse, but he can’t stop now. He must tell Sherlock everything or it will haunt him the rest of his life and he won’t, he won’t let Jim control him.)

J: He...he started by drugging me. Then he used threats. It became very violent the last couple weeks.

(Sherlock’s breath catches and John stops. Tears are streaming down both men’s faces. Visions of the last two months play out in John’s mind in seconds and he is suddenly crushed under the burden he has carried. Guilt and shame, betrayal. Everything he has tried keep from destroying him since the night he broke and succumbed to Jim’s demands presses down on his chest and his head. The pain of it is incredible. And Sherlock doesn’t want him anymore, not after what he has done. John would have thought he’d be rendered mute by all of his feelings, but instead, words begin to pour from his mouth like a dam that burst.)

J: I’m sorry, Sherlock. God, I’m so sorry. I said I would never go to bed with him willingly. I promised myself. I promised you! And then I...I did. I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t fight. I even fucking kissed him when he told me to. He came back again and again, night after night, and he never let up and I just went along with it and wanted...I wanted to die. But he was always there and he said he would kill… (stopping abruptly and shaking his head) And I did NOTHING! HE FUCKED THE SOUL RIGHT OUT OF ME!

S: John!

(Sherlock grasps his arms firmly, but gently and looks deep into his eyes, hoping with all his might that touching John this way doesn’t upset him. John goes silent. He looks lost and lonely, so lonely. Sherlock speaks steadily and quietly and makes sure never to break eye contact with his flatmate, the man he loves, the man he must comfort somehow.)

S: You did not allow him to do anything. You were not willing and coercion does not change the fact that he forced himself on you. It was emotional torture and it was vicious. You are not at fault or disloyal or damaged. He used your greatest loves against you and he relished it like only a madman would.

(John shakes his head and bites back sobs, wanting to believe Sherlock, but fearing that he is just hearing what he wants to.)

J: I can’t tell you anymore. I...I can’t.

S: (exhaling in quiet anger before responding, seeing it all clearly) He didn’t threaten you. He threatened me. He used me and you are afraid I will blame myself for that.

J: Yes, yes. (breath shuddering in his throat, misinterpreting Sherlock’s anger) And that you...won’t want me. You don’t want me anymore.

S: (eyes wide) What?

J: I’m...I… You could never want me after the things I’ve done. It’s okay. It is. I understand.

S: No! No! Listen to me, John. I love you as much as I ever have. I want you. I want to be with you. Now and for my whole life. I want to marry you.

J: (quiet, in disbelief) You don’t.

S: I do. (He cups John’s face in his hands looks at him with the most serious eyes.) I love you, John Watson. Nothing that has happened or that ever will happen is going to change that. You are the other half of my heart, the part of my soul that was always missing. No matter what Moriarty did to you or persuaded you to do, my feelings for you, my opinion of you will not change. I admire you and trust you and respect you...and I love you. Please believe me, John, because it’s true. Every word.

(John is sobbing openly now and nodding his head, bobbing in and out of Sherlock’s warm hands.)

J: I do. I believe you. I believe you. (He buries his face in Sherlock’s neck and cries, his whole body trembling.) I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

S: You have nothing to be sorry for, John.

(He wraps his arms around John and holds him tightly, tucking John’s head under his chin and kissing his head. John clutches at his body and sobs almost uncontrollably. The two men remain this way for some time. Sherlock comforting his doctor silently until the sobbing begins to lose its intensity and the quaking of his body lessens.

Sensing John’s need for a break, Sherlock shifts his body and John’s with it so they are both lying on the bed. His arms are still wrapped around John, who rests his head against Sherlock’s chest. Half of his body on Sherlock’s body, John feels warmth spread through him, making what was once cold, what he hadn’t even realized was cold, warm again. Alive. He blinks slowly, a serene expression on his face. Somehow, in spite of everything, John feels safe and loved. As the last tear falls, he feels something stir in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt since he was taken from Sherlock’s side. A small smile finds his lips as he snuggles in closely to his detective and lets his body relax completely.)

S: John? (He pauses a moment, stroking John’s hair softly.) I know there is more you want to tell me, but give yourself some time. I’m not going anywhere. Get some rest now. We can talk again when you’re ready.

J: (very quietly) Thank you.

#Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #sherlock and john fanfic #hurt john

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meltingalphabet · 6 years

Text

Why won’t you love me?

“Even though I was with Marcus, I wanted Nate to notice me. I didn’t realize that it’s not always nice to feel wanted. I have my boyfriend - sorry - ex-boyfriend, to thank for teaching me that.”

I wanted to stop the tape, remind her to stay focused, but I could already tell this statement was going to be a long one. This was far from how I wanted to spend Christmas day, but I understood that she needed to tell someone the whole story, her story, and it wasn’t worth it to rush her.

“Marcus isn’t bad… I wouldn’t have dated him if he was bad” she emphasized the word, as if it were a sliding scale and “bad” was the extreme. “But, I guess I’m not as good a judge of character as I thought.” She looked pained.

I cleared my throat. She sighed and looked back up at me. “I started dating Marcus about a year ago.” She thought for a moment, “yeah, pretty much exactly a year ago. He had been crushing on me for… well for forever. My longterm boyfriend had broken up with me the week before our office’s annual Christmas party - I remember because I was annoyed I didn’t have a date to go with - so…” She groaned at the memory. Her face scrunched as if she tasted bile at the back of her throat and was about to be nauseous, “I drunkenly made out with Marcus under the mistletoe. It was late and I was a mess. But the next morning I woke up and Marcus had bought coffee and a croissant from the bakery down the block. We didn’t even have sex, he had just… put me to bed. He even slept on the couch. Yeah, he’s a little… obsessive, but…” you could hear the air quotes, “he’s sweet. Or, at least I thought he was. But he took care of me and… and I guess that was the first time a guy’s ever really done that. And, well” she paused, “I guess that’s what I needed. I am almost forty and, as my mother constantly reminds me, I’m not getting any younger.”

I nodded, feeling more like a therapist than a police captain. I touched the button on the side of my phone, seeing if there was any word. Wondering if I would be more needed elsewhere. But it was Christmas and the force was out seeking a homicidal maniac, for the first time with an actual lead, so I sat back and continued to listen to Ms. Monroe’s story.

Her eyes were locked on the back of a picture frame on my desk. It was a picture of Myra, my wife. Bridget’s eyes were focused but also, not… They were focused on the black back of the picture, but her mind was far, far away. I resisted the urge to take the photograph, to hide it in my desk drawer, to keep her cold, focused eyes away from my wife. I thought of Myra, pictured her sitting on the couch, watching Love, Actually for the third time this season. God, I hate that fucking movie.

“Then I met Nate.” Her voice was breathy and her eyes glistened at the mention of the name. If she was an anime character, this is the part where her big wet eyes would reflect penciled in twinkles radiating inside her giant pupils. She was still looking at the back of my wife. The back of her picture. Before I could stop it, my hand shot out and nudged the picture forward, towards me. Bridget looked up at me, startled. The spell broken. She blushed slightly, and continued, “Nate started working at our company a few months ago as the IT guy. His official title was helpdesk specialist or something.” She waved away the nonsensical title as if it irritated her. “He replaced Terry, who left to go work at some stupid startup that I know will be bankrupt in six months if it isn’t already.” Bridget rolled her eyes. She said Terry’s name as if it had coated her tongue in an unpleasant lemon flavor. Apparently, Ms. Monroe did not approve of Terry. Her nose was turned up into sneer as if he were the human equivalent of discovering shit on the sole of your shoe. She leaned in towards me, her eyes looking up at me conspiratorially. She lowered her voice, “he was a republican.” She quickly sat back upright and looked at me gravely. I nodded my head as if in understanding. There was no need to tell her that I too, am a republican, and no, I’m not a piece of shit, but thanks.

She nodded back at me, her focus loosening again, as if her hate of Terry had been the only thing normalizing the situation. She stared down at her fingernails. “Nate is…” she trailed off, picking under her thumb nail. “He’s perfect.” She finally finished. She looked up at me, not sheepishly like I would’ve expected, but with a sad kind of longing that made her look much younger than she was. “He’s young and handsome. Smart, kind. He’s the drummer in some punk band. I’ve dragged Marcus to a few of their shows.” She gave her fingers a small secret smile. “They’re terrible.” Her voice was light with laughter. The voice that people only use when discussing the quirks of someone they love. “He just… He has so much life. So much character. I can feel him enter the room without seeing him, without hearing him. I can just feel his presence.” She looked up at me and we stared at each other for a moment. I had nothing to add to this school girl crush, so I did what years in the force could never teach me but two daughters and wife could: I stayed quiet and waited. “See, Marcus doesn’t really have any hobbies. He doesn’t even have a favorite type of movie. It’s not that we disagree on whether to watch a romantic comedy or an action film, he just has no opinion. He watches what I want to watch and likes what I like. Unless you consider painting tiny figurines of wizards and dragons as a passion.” She snorted.

I do consider that a hobby, but I didn’t say anything.

Her blue eyes danced above my head as she eyed the dusty corners of the small beige office. I sat patiently, waiting for her to continue. She didn’t. There was a reason why Deputy Black wanted me to conduct this interview.

I cleared my throat. “And Nate is the man you believe to be in mortal danger, correct?”

She nodded, her eyes widening with fear. “Have they found him yet? Have they found Marcus? Is Nate ok?” Raw anxiety formed broken jagged paths through her voice.

I touched my phone again, out of habit more than anything. I knew I hadn’t received any updates. “No news yet, but we’ve got almost the entire force out tonight. We’re doing everything we can to prevent another death. In the meantime, please continue with your stor…” I cleared my throat again, stopping the word short, “statement.” I amended.

“I should have broken up with Marcus. It would’ve been the adult thing to do. Break up with Marcus, ask Nate out, then go from there. But I’m an idiot, a coward, and idiotic coward.” She looked exhausted, “I didn’t want to break up with Marcus, because…” her eyes darted to the side of the desk, “I wasn’t sure Nate was into me and I didn’t want to be alone.” She admitted looking up at me, her eyes pleading for forgiveness, “not again.”

I nodded.

“But that’s why I think he’s in trouble.” Her voice was louder, stronger. Her tone serious, grown confident with genuine fear.

“I know, Ms. Monroe. We’re doing everything we can. Please, tell me about the gifts you mentioned earlier.”

“Yeah, the gifts.” She shuddered slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I think Marcus knew I was into Nate. I mean… I tried to hide my crush. Like I said, I don’t even know if Nate thinks of me that way, so I try to treat him like just another co-worker. I guess more than just a co-worker, but still just a friend.” She looked briefly guilty, and then continued, “I started getting small presents last Thursday, December 14th.” She nodded towards the charm bracelet sitting in an evidence bag on my desk. “The day of the first murder.”

I couldn’t stop the image from flashing into my mind: Helen Roger hanging limply from one of the tall oaks in the park. A jogger had found her body at about eight am during his routine morning run. Her neck had broken with the impact. A coldness crept from my spine as I remembered her pale face. Her eyes were much too large, bulging from her eye sockets. They were turning a white I never want to see again. Her pupils grey, no longer searching for help, but gone forever into the void.

I ignored the cold sweat forming on my brow and took a large silent breath to slow my heart rate before I asked, “what was the present exactly?”

Bridget tapped the evidence bag with a long fingernail painted a festive red. “It was the bracelet and the partridge in a pear tree charm.”

Helen’s swollen filmy eyes popped into my mind.

I steadied myself and swallowed. “And you think the charm was a message? That Mrs. Roger was the partridge in a pear tree?”

Bridget nodded, her eyes wide. “I didn’t realize at the time, but now it makes sense. It’s a pattern.”

“You mentioned a note before, but you no longer have it, is that correct?”

“Yes. The box was sitting on my desk when I showed up for work, wrapped in a soft pink paper. There was a note that read ‘To my true love on the first day of Christmas.’ And it was signed, ‘your admirer.’” Rosey splotches grew over her cheekbones.

“But you didn’t keep it?”

“I.. I didn’t want Marcus to find it.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want him to get jealous.”

I studied her for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “And what made you believe that Marcus wasn’t ‘your admirer’? Wouldn’t that have been your first suspicion?” Now I was the one with air quotes in my voice.

She shrugged, “women just know, you know? Marcus isn’t creative enough to do something like that. He bought me socks for my birthday. A bracelet, let alone a charm bracelet, is not like him.” She picked at her nail, eyes trained on a coffee stain in front of her. “But I guess I was wrong.”

“What did you do with the bracelet?” My internal voice chided myself for asking the question, since it was more out of personal curiosity than professional necessity.

“I hid it in my desk drawer.”

“So Marcus wouldn’t find it?”

She nodded.

“And you continued to receive these… presents. One every day, correct?”

She swallowed. “I didn’t realize they were connected to the murders until yesterday.”

“I understand, Ms. Monroe. You had no reason to suspect anything. Please describe each gift for me. In the order you received them. They’re all here in the evidence bag, correct?” I asked.

“Yes, they’re all there.” I noticed her gaze caught everywhere but the bracelet, sitting between us like a disowned child. “I received the charm with two turtle doves that Friday.”

“December 15th.” I added.

She nodded. “Like the first gift, this one was wrapped in the same pink paper and was sitting on my desk when I arrived in the morning. It was the same day you found that couple.”

Mrs. and Mr. King had been found that morning at the bird sanctuary up the river. The caretaker had discovered them as she began to open for the day. They were both in their late twenties, married for four years, Mrs. King’s mother explained to me on the phone later that day, her voice wet with tears. I didn’t tell her that they had been found naked, Mr. King positioned on top of Mrs. King in a staged act of intercourse. The wooden handle of a small knife stuck out from her breast.

“Cause of death for Mr. King was poison, surprisingly enough.” The coroner told me. Surprising because poison victims aren’t often staged like this, as a calling card to the cops, or the victim’s family, or to the victims themselves. Or maybe just as a giant “fuck you” to the living.

“Was Mrs. King poisoned as well?” I asked.

The coroner shook her head. “No, she died from the stab wound. I’d say about a half hour after her husband died.” She picked up the picture of the bodies from the crime scene, examining it like one would a painting at the Louvre. “It’s a macabre Romeo and Juliet. Him poisoned, then she stabbed, taking her life to follow him into death.”

“Why position them as if they were having sex then?”

She looked up at me, her forehead scrunched in thought. Finally, she said, “I think it’s one final expression of their love for each other.”

I shook my head in disagreement. “No, that’s not it… love can’t be staged by a madman. I think… I think it’s a power thing. Like rape. He forced them to make the ultimate sacrifice as lovers, and forced them into a position of intimacy and love. A scene that should be personal and private, but he put it on display.”

“Their love raped and soiled for the masses.” She nodded, the photograph hanging loosely in her hand over the corpse of Mrs. King, a white sterile sheet covering the shame the killer exposed for all to see.

“And then the next day you received the charm of the french hens.” I said, no longer asking. The story obvious from here.

Bridget nodded, her face pale.

The sisters. Three elder sisters had been abducted from Sandy Hills Retirement Home early December 16th. Sometime after 3am according to the nurses on the nightshift, one of which had helped the eldest sister use the restroom around 2:45am. Their bodies were quickly discovered in the manger scene outside of St. Peter’s downtown. Their bodies had been positioned so that they were kneeling around the statue of baby Jesus. Their ankles were tied tightly together behind them, and their wrists were tied in front of them. The soft skin of their inner forearms turned up towards the sky, long red lines forming angry crosses on each of their wrists. They had been murdered there, in the manager, their blood painting the holy scene as large sticky pools formed around the crib. Their delicate faces and bodies bruised. The smell of hot iron mixing with snow was strong, filling my nostrils like angry bees attacking my sinuses. It was then that talk of a serial killer began to echo through our minds, our meetings, and the media around us, leaking out to the town, creating fear and panic during the happiest time of year. The theatrics alone connected the murders, despite each victim and scene contrasting drastically from each other. Until this month, three murders in as many days had been unheard of here.

“Then on December 17th you received the four calling birds charm?”

“Yeah.” She said, her voice strained. “It was a small metal charm with four birds in a nest.” The children's choir. He hadn’t killed just four, he had killed all seven. None of them had yet seen their thirteenth year. Their choir director found them in the school’s auditorium, where they were going to rehearse for the Christmas show. Their tongues had been cut out, fishing line threaded through the tips and formed into a loop so the sick bastard could hang them from the tree that decorated the left side of the stage, like dry, thick ornaments. Their bodies sat on the benches where they would’ve sang that very night, blood staining the metal ridges on each surface, so thin and close together that the blood would be almost impossible to completely remove. The overflow dripping from the open sides of the benches, falling to the polished wooden floor with a thick drip. Drip. Drip.

“There was a note with that one.” Tears formed around the edges of Ms. Monroe’s eyes.

I waited for her to continue.

She cleared her throat and recited, “four calling birds, voices sweet as honey, pure as snow, for my true love, may I admire the echoes of your song for years to come.”

“And let me guess, you threw that note out too?”

“I didn’t realize…”

“It’s ok, Ms. Monroe. I believe you.”

On December 18th, Mr. Harold Goldberg was found slain in the backroom of his jewelry store, his throat cut from ear to ear, his fingers removed except for his thumbs and each digit placed in one of the candlestick holders of the menorah on his desk, blood coagulating at the base of the gold symbol for Divine wisdom. The coroner informed me that his fingers had been removed before his throat was cut.

“I didn’t realize…” she repeated.

On December 19th we received a call from a house off of Longfellow road. The owners of the home were in the process of finishing their basement, and the construction workers had arrived that morning to find human intestines hung along the bare rafters like a Christmas garland, small twinkling lights wrapped around them, winking at their audience. I remember my stomach sinking like a rock when we got the call, the images of the other murders still so fresh in my mind. When we arrived the men showed us to a section of brick wall that had not been completed the night before, the mortar still fresh. It took three hours for us to catalog, and then remove the bricks, careful not to disturb the body we knew to be inside. One of the men identified him for us: their contractor, Peter Zinferd. There was a large cut from his sternum to his genitals, the skin of his stomach open like the cardboards walls of an advent calendar, exposing his insides, which were disturbingly empty.

“I didn’t realize…”

Elizabeth Turner, lead ballerina for the community theater’s upcoming production of Swan Lake, was found December 20th floating in a fountain at the middle of the park. She bobbed in the red water like a lightless buoy. Her feet had been cut off pre-mortem.

Bridget began to sob.

Two women were found brutally dismembered in a room at the Blueberry Inn downtown on the 21st. They were only identifiable by their shredded maid uniforms, clinging to what remained of their torsos. Jill Thompson and Mary Higgins had come in to work at 8am that morning and were found at 10am. How the bastard had done it so quickly and quietly is a mystery. Instead of fanned splatters, their blood was in solid, purposeful marks as if the murderer had painted the walls with their body parts.

Ms. Monroe’s body heaved up and down, her slim shoulders shaking with the force of her cries which echoed off the plaster walls of the small office.

We still hadn't been able to identify the girl we found in an alley on the ninth day. She was outside the emergency exit of Tiger’s Paw, a dance club near the heart of the city. Her head had been removed, her neck now a jagged raw mess. Seeing the bone and muscle reminded me of walking into a butcher shop, the naked meat a moist red in the cold white light. She was wearing a tight black dress and strappy heels. She had wanted a night of thoughtless fun, a night to lose herself to overpriced alcohol and loud music. Maybe even lose herself to the sexual embrace of another. Yet, instead, she has lost all identity. Without a face, it was difficult to estimate her age, but I could tell she young, probably about the age of my eldest who just celebrated her twenty-first birthday in November.

Bridget sniffed loudly, her body still racked with sobs that escaped her mouth sharply in short bursts like coughs. She calmed herself enough to continue, but I had to struggle to catch her words, “I should’ve noticed. I should have realized Saturday. That… that poor man.” Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t continue. Mr. Jason Larson, the manager at a big box store. His eyes had been gouged out and shoved deep down his throat, his heart removed. Using a sharp blade, the killer had cut a deep slit into the base of the organ, which was placed with care at the top of a Christmas tree.

“I should’ve realized the connection!” Bridget cried suddenly, startling me out of my reminiscence. “I should’ve seen it!” Her voice rose with a cry.

She stopped and breathed sharply, hyperventilating. I stood and was beside her in two steps. I placed my hand on her back and lowered my face so it was level with hers. “Ms. Monroe, it’s ok. Try to hold your breath. That will slow your body and hopefully your breathing.”

Bridget closed her mouth, her lips pressed tightly together. Her body shook with the effort, but she locked eyes with me and refused to let herself breath.

“Good. Very good, Bridget.” I patted her on the back softly. After a few moments, she let the air inside her lungs escape with a violent explosion. But she was able to inhale deeply and slow her breathing. “Better?” I asked.

She nodded and I returned to my seat. Bridget looked shaken. Both her hands cradled the styrofoam cup of coffee in front of her, her knuckles turning white with her efforts to stop them from shaking.

“Hindsight is 20/20.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it’s all I had. How was she supposed to connect her bracelet with Mr. Larson being found in the display window of the Lord & Taylor where he worked.

Mrs. Monroe straightened her neck which gently rocked beneath her head, as if her head was suddenly made of lead and she was too weak to fully support it. “I… I didn’t realize until the next day.” Her throat was rough and raspy with pain, the bottom of her right nostril glistened with snot. She inhaled deeply as she tried to resolve herself, then continued, her voice still weak, but calmer. “There was a note on the eleventh day. It came with the eleventh charm: a small silver woman holding up one of those flute things you always see Peter Pan or Peter Piper with - I can’t remember which. Then I saw all these facebook posts about her, the girl, Piper.” Tears started to blur her words again, her voice rising an octave, “She was only six years old.” A sob choked in the back of her throat as she lost all of her strength and fell into her arms which rested on the edge of my desk..

Piper. Poor Piper. So little and frail. Her mother reported her missing at 4pm after trying to pick her up from school. She had waited in the pick-up lane for ten minutes before asking one of the teachers supervising if her daughter was running late. The teacher went into the building and returned moments later to say that Piper’s teacher had seen her leave the classroom at her usual time. The mother, a Mrs. Carol Dosher, immediately panicked. Staff searched the school for the young girl, but she was nowhere to be found. We came as soon as we were called, hyped up on the knowledge that someone was going to die that day, but no one knew who. Our stomachs twisted as we realized that the only thing we knew for sure was that we would be too late. Always too late.

Her body wasn’t discovered until 5am Christmas morning, this morning, even though it felt days, weeks, months ago. A fisherman saw her as he was walking down the pier. He had pulled her out of the water, a job I’m ashamed to admit I’m glad I avoided. She had been tied to the leg of one of the docks, so he cut the ropes with his jackknife, tearing them with the blade urgently, not noticing as it cut dull grey lines into her thin arms. Dark blood oozed out lazily, stiff from the cold and the absence of a heart beat.

The coroner said that she had been alive when the murderer left her, but that the tide had made sure she didn’t survive the night. High tide was at about 3am that morning, so her mouth and nose wouldn’t have been fully submerged until then..

“Would she have frozen to death before the water got to her?” I asked, keeping the hope from my voice to try and sound professional. I internally begged the heavens that the child went with the numb death of freezing instead of screaming herself hoarse as the cold water slowly ate at her, rising over her chest, tightening like a vice around her ribcage, threatening to break it with it’s cold strength. Unfamiliar fingers of frost reaching up her neck, searching patiently for a way to invade her small body, to take it as their own.

“Unfortunately, no.” The coroner’s voice was quiet and soft as she kept her eyes on the file in her hand. I tried to remember how old her son was. Probably not much older than Piper. Maybe even the same age. “Not with the mild winter we’ve been having.” She didn’t continue.

I nodded. It would’ve been cold enough to hurt, but not cold enough to release her.

“Can you tell how long she was out there?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Based on the bruising where she had been tied….” Her face grew dark and I had my answer. Night comes early this time of year. The fishermen who still fish in winter are few and far between, and the men that’d be out on Christmas eve would’ve been even fewer. No one would’ve been around to catch him doing it. No one would’ve been around to hear her cries. To save her.

Bridget mumbled something into the wooden desk. I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She kept her head down, her forehead resting on her arm.

“Can you repeat that Ms. Monroe? Louder for the microphone.”

She lifted her head, her face was red and wet. She wiped her nose with her sleeve, leaving a trail of snot. “I finally realize the connection this morning. I woke up to a small pink package inside my front door: it had been slid through the mail slot. After I opened it, after I checked my phone, saw that’s poor child’s picture, only then did I realized the murders were connected to my charm bracelet.” Bridget looked down, ashamed. “I’m so sorry.” She said, her voice shaking. “I’m so so sorry.” She was asking for forgiveness, but not from me. She needed forgiveness from someone with more power to heal than me.

I looked down at the note that lay on my desk in a clear evidence bag. The words scrawled in red ink, “Why won’t you love me?”

We sat in silence for a moment.

“And that’s why you’re here, because you connected the murders with the charms.”

She sniffed, fresh tears flowing down her face. I looked at the yellowish smear of snot on her right sleeve, stretched out over the cloth like a burst bubble of gum sticking to the bottom of someone’s chin. “Marcus has been out every night this week. We usually go to dinner or a movie every few days, but he keeps saying he’s busy.”

“And you think he knows you like Nate and will target him tonight?”

She looked up at me, her eyes fierce with earnesty, the brevity of the situation hanging heavy in the air. “Nate’s a drummer.”

My office door opened and Detective Lancer came in. He closed the door solemnly behind him and looked at Bridget, his face tight with bad news.

“I’m sorry Ms. Monroe, but we were too late.”

A choked sob escaped her throat, and she dropped her head into her hands.

Lancer looked at me and continued, “we found the body at the music store on High St. It was officer Rodriguez's hunch. His kid takes guitar lessons there. He says it's one of the only places with practice space for bands in the area.” He handed me a photo of the crime scene. A young man with brown hair was dangled over the drumset, his face against one of the drums. The end of something wooden stuck out of his neck at a jarring angle: a drumstick had been forced through his jugular, exiting at the back of his neck. “The room was being rented by a band called The Rivals.”

A noise broke from Bridget that was part sob, part scream.

Lancer passed me an evidence bag, “we found this note on the body.”

I looked down at it and shuddered.

“We talked to the owner of the studio - who is understandably freaked out - and he said the victims been taking lessons from a local musician for months.”

I looked up from the note. “Sorry?”

“I guess the victim was in every night this week by himself, practicing. Something about learning how to drum as a Christmas gift. Said the guy’s girlfriend had a thing for musicians.”

Bridget stopped crying. She raised her head slowly, wide eyes looking at me with horror. We stared at each other as Lancer continued, shaking his head sadly, “poor guy. What we do for love.”

“The murderer…” I started.

Lancer shook his head, “The guy who was giving him lessons was long gone when we got there. We’ve got cars out looking for him now.”

I looked back down at the evidence bag in my hands. I recognized the handwriting from the other notes. This message was written in the same bright red ink:

Merry Christmas, my love. Now we can be together. Forever.

#nosleep shortstory shorthorrorstory horror christmasstory christmashorror

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