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skinnyazn · 1 year

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The Masks We Wear

Ch.4 Takes place after In the Bleak Midwinter Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 4/4 Notes: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT THIS IS EXPLICIT SHIT, We did it folks!, the final chapter, Ghost realizes he's just body slammed Jag into the floor, what's he gonna do???, very very smutty chapter, thanks for sticking to the end!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST

Violent coughing filled the room as you struggled to get air back in your lungs. Your vision burned white, like blinking in the dark after staring at a light for too long. Specks flickered across the room while you struggled to focus. It felt like the corset was constricting tighter against your torso, squeezing all your organs to mush. Couldn’t breathe. The wood floor was cool against your palms as you sucked in another gasp of air.

The towering man in the skull mask stood motionless in front of you. Wide eyes behind blonde lashes stared down at your convulsing body. You’d never been on the receiving side of his violence; it was terrifying. People you know can hurt you the most. Stupid, stupid. The lack of oxygen and sedative were really messing with your head now. The beast of a man turned and strode soundlessly to the door.

You wiped the back of your hand under your nose and leaned flush against the wall, limbs heavy beside you, chest heaving. Simon hesitated between the doorframe. His bulk blended into the blackness; you couldn’t tell where the room ended and he began. He squeezed his hands into fists by his side. The leather groaned in dark.

Whipping around, he closed the distance in the blink of an eye. You immediately scrabbled for the knife as he crouched down, placing the point of its blade against his chest. Right over his heart. His eyes burned into yours like coals, smoldering and too hot and suffocating. Your hands trembled now. Couldn’t fucking breathe.

He ignored the discomfort of the knife as he leaned forward slowly, tugging off his gloves with fluidity. It was like you were frozen in place, heart threatening to burst if you moved—waiting to see if he’d strike you again and finish his job. What a way to go. But then, with the softness of his first kiss, he brushed his thumbs over your cheeks, smearing the black mascara that had run down. An apology. The tears had come from the coughing but now they wouldn’t stop.

“Jag…” Simon breathed, low and shaky and full of regret. His gaze darted to the blooming marks across your neck, then to your ruined face—eyes overflowing with shame behind those blonde lashes.

A warm hand covered both of yours. Your knuckles were white from how tightly you were gripping the knife. He hesitated—a silent ask for permission, then slowly pushed the blade away from his chest. Against your better judgement, you let him disarm you; the weapon thunked against the floor.

“Always making me cry…” Your voice faltered as you spoke.

He let out a shaky exhale, still holding you like some delicate thing.

“Sorry, luv.”

Love. That must be why.

You leaned back against the wall. “What are we doing here, Simon?”

“Was on a mission.” He didn’t remove his large hands from where he held you. “Four months to set up, Jag. Four.” Couldn’t meet your gaze anymore.

You shook your head slowly. “But I beat you to Ludovico.” It came out hoarse.

Simon sucked in a breath. “Nope. Was 'ere for someone else.” He paused. “Can’t get ‘im now, though. Mission failed.” The words enunciated; his eyes, back on you.

You sobered under that gaze, blinking to clear your lachrymal face.

“Oops.”

Simon let out a sharp exhale, nodding. The gold mask glinted in the darkness. “Yeah. Oops.”

You couldn’t breathe again, but for entirely different reasons this time. Heavy under the hollows of the skull, Simon’s gaze pierced you hotly. He always had such expressive eyes… You reached up and removed the gilded mask, disarming him now. All the rough edges and sharpness gone; only thin black fabric left. A calloused thumb stroked over your knuckles.

“You never replied…” he murmured.

Gentle hands lifted the rim of the black fabric, exposing his full lips and scars—your favorite part of his face. His bulk gravitated closer to you, closing the rift between your bodies. How could you find the words to convey the impossibility of it all? I was scared. I’ve never had a liability before. What we had burned too quickly, too intensely. I haven’t known peace since you.

“Oops,” you said instead.

And then his hands were on you as he pulled you onto his lap, kissing you to make up for the year’s absence.

They were wet and hot and thorough. His large hands worshiped you, caressing down your arms and over the binding of your corset, while yours punished him—clawing over the thick fabric of his costume.

“I missed you so fucking much,” you whispered in a moment of vulnerability. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t tell what from anymore.

He held your face still, pulling back to look into your eyes. You melted under that gaze. “So fucking much…” he agreed, kissing across your jaw and down your neck.

Moans filled the room as he grazed and sucked at your pulse point. Your hands fumbled with the back of his mask—fingers craving the softness of his hair. Despite all the fabric of your costumes, you could feel him getting hard as you straddled him and moved your hips. Moments ago you were terrified of the man under you but now you couldn’t feel safer in his arms. Stupid, stupid.

Simon stood in one swift motion, lifting your lean body up with ease. You wrapped your legs around his torso as his mouth fell back on yours, consuming it with hasty kisses. He stumbled over to the bed, lowering you onto the surface, but you let out a hiss at the contact. Being body slammed into the fucking hardwood floor earlier left you back aching. He pulled away.

“Tender?”

You nodded.

“Turn around, then.”

You obliged.

“Loosen this fucking thing,” you awkwardly reached for the corset strings as you bent over the bed.

His chuckle came out low and rich, and it sent a flush of heat throughout your body. But his touch was gentle as he undid the laces, kissing the bend of your neck while loosening the garment. You could finally breathe again.

Leaving it halfway undone, Simon moved to your pants—a much easier endeavor. He slipped them over your hips. Your skin prickled with the contrast of the exposed air.

“Fuuuucking ‘ell,” he said under his breath. It sent more goosebumps across your flesh.

You glanced over your shoulder as best as you could in your current, bruised state. It was worth it. Simon’s face was dark, filled lust and want—no, need; like you were salvational for a man lost in sin. He wasted no time before delving into your folds with his tongue and mouth. Your knees buckled and you pressed into the bed.

“Fuck, Simon,” you moaned into the surface, gripping a fistful of the sheets.

His hot tongue laved over your pussy, drenching it with a mix of his saliva and your wetness. Hungry, slick sounds filled the room as he sucked and kissed and worked you with his mouth. It felt so fucking good. His big hands squeezed your thighs, spanning almost their entirety. Rough and calloused, they chafed your sensitive skin as he moved them upward, spreading your ass apart. He dragged his tongue up to taste you further.

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasped into the bed, canting your hips as he sloppily ate your ass. His thumb massaged your clit and rubbed the slick between your folds while his tongue teased your entrance. All the pleasure was dizzying.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, luv,” he murmured against you, pulling back slightly to watch you writhe under his touch. He pressed harder circles into your clit before finally sliding his thumb up through the folds of your soaked pussy. Your legs buckled.

He switched to his middle and ring finger as he continued to eat you out. Loud moans were all you could manage at the pleasure of being finger fucked by him. You felt the heat building in your core as he undulated them inside you while thumbing your clit.

“Thassit. Need you to come for me, doll,” he said against you. The squelching sounds that filled the room were obscene. “Come on, take what you need…”

You pushed the building pleasure from your mind, concentrating on your breathing and the discomfort of the corset digging into your ribs.

“Need you to fuck me, Simon,” you ground out. “I wanna come on your cock.”

A growl was the only way to describe the animalistic sound that Simon emitted before yanking down his pants and replacing his two fingers with his dripping hardness. The breath was knocked out of you as he sunk all the way to the hilt. You missed how delicious it felt being stretched open by the Ghost.

His grip was tight around your hips as he pounded into you at a relentless pace. Each thrust threatened to split you in half as something primal took over him. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as you blithered incoherently into the sheets.

“Yes, fuck! Use me. Just like that,” the syllables were pounded out of you. “Please don’t fucking stop!” Your cries were muffled into the sheets.

Simon groaned and fucked you even harder at your begging. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours permeated throughout the simple room. You couldn’t hold back the orgasm that burst through your body as you came hard on his cock. His thrusts stuttered as you pulsed tightly around him.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl. Take everything you want from me,” he practically mewled. But you were so lost in your orgasm that you couldn’t even make out the rest of what he said as you spasmed underneath him.

It wasn’t long before the behemoth of a man followed. Hot cum filled you painfully deep, dripping out of you between each finishing thrust. You wanted to forever be ruined by him—to let him break you. Maybe he already had. Simon groaned into your neck as he sunk down on top of you—the weight of him crushing your small frame. He reached for your hands and ensconced them under his. It was perfection.

“Stay inside me forever,” you said as you felt him eventually get soft.

His breath warmed the side of your face as he actually laughed. It was a blissful sound. You clenched around him; he pressed you deeper into the bed.

“Anything you want, luv,” he murmured into your neck, slowly thrusting into you again. You could feel him growing harder as you moaned under his weight.

Simon traced small kisses across your cheek, over your ear, down your neck. The fabric from his mask scratched at your skin. Each thrust was languid, relaxed. Like time didn’t matter. It was maddeningly gentle. Your lips parted softly.

Twisting around to kiss him, a sharp pain shot through your spine and stopped you.

“Ahhh,” you hissed, and buried your face back into the bed.

“Sorry, doll,” Simon muttered, carefully getting off of you. The absence of him left you feeling hollow. He rolled to his side; your wetness and his cum shimmered against his massive thighs under the diffused moonlight; his cock somewhat hard.

You groaned as you righted yourself, sitting up ungracefully on the bed.

“Apology accepted.” You moved toward his trunks for thighs and licked up his length, tasting the both of you mixed together. Simon sucked in a breath—his dark eyes heavy on you. You placed a soft kiss on the head of his cock.

“Dangerous, Jag…”

Smiling, you got up and reached over on the floor, sliding your computer from the mess of your belongings. Simon watched as you took the hard-drive from the pocket of your pants that were still pooled at your feet. With some effort, you reclined on your side and inserted the drive to the computer. Its electronic glow illuminated your face as the data transferred. He chuckled at your resolve.

The beautiful man laid on his back, exhaling and pulling his fabric mask back down. Simon pressed into his comm.

“Soap, how copy?” It came out gruff. Un-composed.

You watched him over the rim of the screen. So that was Soap in the green and black.

“Soap, how—” Simon tensed; his jaw shifted under the mask. “…Heard all that?”

You smirked. What you would give to see the blush creep across his cheeks. Shifting your computer to the side, you climbed toward Simon, leaning in close to his mic.

“Hi Johnny.” Simon’s hands squeezed your ass hard as his breath hitched. All you could do was bite your lip in return. His gaze was lustful on you.

“That’s for sure,” The beautiful man cleared his throat, looking away now. “What’s the status of Yosef?”

Watching the way Simon’s chest rose, and how his eyes were now focused and sharp, made you think that maybe you had it all wrong. Maybe everything you wanted—needed—was right here. Laying calmly in front of you.

“Copy. Pull out and let’s meet at the rendezvous. This mission is over. We’ll find another way to secure Yosef.” This time he clicked off the mic.

Pushing away from the bed, you slipped off the rest of your costume. His cum dripped out of you; it’s tackiness on your inner thigh. You wiped it away before sliding on new panties, jeans, and a black turtleneck. You began to pack your things.

Behind you, Simon shifted on the bed. You could hear the rustle of fabric as he stood and dressed. He crouched down next to you and began collecting your belongings he had spilled earlier.

He handed you the computer. The transfer was complete.

“Thanks.” You secured it in your duffle.

“So.”

“So,” you replied, standing now. The skull mask was back on; all that vulnerability locked away.

“This is goodbye, then."

“Yeah… Suppose it is.”

“Right.” His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, wishing that there was more, before he turned and briskly walked toward the door.

“Simon?”

He paused.

“Where’s the rendezvous point?”

The colossus of a man turned around; his stance as rigid as earlier.

He hesitated before asking, “Why?”

“Well, seeing how my mission here is done, and how you’ll need my expertise catching this Yosef man again…” you trailed off and looked at him mischievously.

Simon walked back to you, cocking his head as he looked down. The outfit suited him; such a gorgeous man.

“Thought you worked alone, sweet’eart.”

“I did until I ran into this big pain in my ass—” but you were cut short as he lifted you and brought you back to the bed, his mask buried into the crook of your neck. You giggled as his hands found their way under your shirt and over your breasts. “What about Johnny?”

“Johnny can wait.”

“Should we switch the mic back on?”

He pinched at your nipple, giving you daggers for a glare.

“Easy now, Jag.” He continued kissing your neck. “Don’t want to make the boy too jealous.”

“Of me or you?”

But Simon only gave a gruff chuckle as he took his time undressing you again.

__________

I hope y'all enjoyed it! Here's the banter between Soap and Ghost while he was on the call.

“Soap, how copy? Soap, how—”

“You’re out o’ your mind, L.T..”

“….Heard all that?”

“Aye. Every single grunt and moan.”

“Hi Johnny.”

“Steamin’ Jesus. You’re both out o’ your minds.”

“That’s for sure. What’s the status of Yosef?”

“He’s still in the palace, but they’ve found out the data’s missing. Shit’s getting a wee bit squirrelly here.”

“Copy. Pull out and let’s meet at the rendezvous. This mission is over. We’ll find another way to secure Yosef.”

“Feckin' hell. We were so close… Heading to the rendezvous.”

__________

For those who asked to be tagged.

@deadbranch @k4marina @solidly-indulgent @embers-of-alluring @shuttlelauncher81 @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tomhardy41

#my fic #my writing #simon ghost riley #simon ghost Riley x reader #simon ghost Riley x f!reader #cod ghost #cod fic #mw2 fic #ghost mw2 #oc #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost x jaguar #lemon #smut #my fics #johnny soap mactavish

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baiboop · 4 months

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Sharing my Heart

hey y’all, i ended up deleting my fic off of ao3, im going to post the chapters here under the tag sharing my heart baiboop. the tag will be at the bottom of this to click and scroll through, i should be done uploading the chapters by this monday. i only have the drafts that were in my notes so im sorry if there’s any typos! reminder that the first 3 chapters are a recap of the actual episodes leading up to adam’s possession so you can skip ahead if you need to!

Chapter 1

Darkness and a cool, damp earth surround Adam. He’s confused, he can feel the granules between his fingers and the sensation of being completely trapped. Suddenly he’s engulfed by a wave of anxiety, brought on by the constricting environment he found himself in. His body flushes with the heat of nervousness. The pressure and weight of the ground trapping Adam momentarily leaves him stunned and unable to move. He starts to make an attempt of breathing before his train of thought finally kicks in.

‘Up. I’ve got to go up.’ Adam thinks to himself.

He knows where he is. He remembers now.

Adam can feel his lungs squeezing, the burning sensation of oxygen being withheld cause his chest to instinctively heave.

Dirt is in his mouth and panic is in his mind, but still, he knows where he is.

He’s been restored life by the angels.

He is ‘The chosen one’.

He is to be Michael’s sword.

He claws his way to the top using all of his adrenaline fueled strength. It’s a painfully slow process as he moves the moist dirt out of the way, making room for his limbs and he thinks he might die again from having to hold his breath for so long.

The inability to open his eyes is heavily contributing to the deep sense of panic, this emotion is currently being subdued by the adrenaline, and the adrenaline alone.

He wonders to himself why they had to resurrect him in the ground, if the angels had enough power to bring him back to life surely they could’ve brought him back to life on top of the ground right?

With the first breach of the surface Adam can feel sunlight and cool air on his fingers and the dorsal of his hand. Adam pushes and prods at the dirt, shoving his arms farther out. The more that his body becomes free, the looser the dirt becomes.

Eventually, Adam’s head and upper body emerge topside.

The exact second his face hits the cool air Adam gasps the deepest breath, he believes, humanly possible. The largest sense of relief Adam has ever felt is now present in his mind.

Panting, Adam starts to catch his breath before he trudges himself the rest of the way out. With his arms freed and the ability to breathe restored, he pulls his lower torso and legs out of his earthy grave. He stands up, wanting to stretch his legs out now that he’s out of the claustrophobic dirt trap he was previously in. Once fully upright his vision fades and he can feel a dizzy spell over taking him. The lack of oxygen and the adrenalines slow decline, is making it impossible for him to normally function. He gently drops himself to the ground and attempts to steady his erratic, anxiety-riddled breathing by counting breaths.

Breathing in

one, two, three, four-

Holding

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven-

Breathing out

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight-

Adam repeats this cycle about four times, just like his mom had him do in the past. He successfully steadies his breathing before he stops to consider everything that’s just transpired.

“Holy shit.” Adam says aloud. (Not that he necessarily thought anyone was around to hear.)

He surveys his surroundings taking in the dull grass and trees of the area. He was in a clearing, or maybe a meadow? He’s not sure. Why was he in a clearing?

Where is Zachariah?

Or Micheal? Or any angels?

He begins to look around, feeling the previous dread start to creep back in. His mind raced with all the scenarios, and the impossibility of it all.

Maybe they couldn’t find him? Maybe they changed their minds? Maybe he-

His thoughts were cut short by the soft rustling of wings and whooshing of air.

A second wave of relief fills Adam to the deepest pore.

They remembered him. He would let let Micheal in, and see his mom again. They promised.

Adam turns his body, the previous thoughts only consuming about 3 seconds between now and when the angel had first arrived.

He took a breath before putting on a smile and politely introducing himself.

“Hey, I’m Adam Milligan, are you Zachariah?”

The angel stared at him and Adam held his gaze, the angel had dark hair, beautiful blue eyes and his lips were a pale pink, formed into a permanent pout because of their wideness. The angel parted his lips, pausing a moment presumably to think-

“No.”

The angel replied in a monotone, slightly gruff voice.

Adams brows furrowed in confusion, “But-“ he started to speak however was cut off by the angels rapid approach.

The angel reached out, placing a hand on Adams shoulder. Before Adams surroundings melted around him, he noted the angel was an inch or two shorter than him, wearing a trench coat, blue tie, and white button-up.

He heard the flap of familiar wings, and his sense became assaulted by the inability to view, well anything. He shut his eyes, tight, hoping to avoid a headache and re-opened them a couple seconds later when he felt the jolt of his feet hitting wood floors.

A wave of nausea and disorientation hit him as soon as he had opened his eyes, he put his hand up clutching his forehead before turning to the angel.

“Hey man, what the hell was that?” Adam said brows still knit together tightly, with a look of vexation displayed on his face and in his posture.

Adam could feel the pins and needles in his hands and feet, he knows for the past three-ish minutes he’s been conscious he’s been running on pure adrenaline, even though it had previously started to wear off the- whatever the hell just happened- had pushed it back into overdrive.

He surveys the room, seeing four other male faces around him. His hand drops from its protective hold on his head and he starts to sway, weight shifting unevenly from foot to foot. He reaches out trying to grasp something to steady himself on but fails to lock onto any object. He hears one of the men talking to him, “Adam? Adam-“

He closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut, trying to block out the noise to soothe the pounding of his head. He feels unbalanced, like he’s falling. Oh shit he is falling.

Adam feels large hands tightly grasping his right arm and torso before he loses consciousness.

——

Adam feels a hand on his chest, accompanied by a white hot light pulsing inside every inch of him. This snaps him straight out of his unconscious rest and he bolts straight up, gasping in deep breaths.

“Where am I?” Adam demands, still panting from the shock. His eyes dart animalistic-ly, between the three men towering over him and the one sitting behind them.

Even through his haze, and the angels vague instructions, he has pretty much gathered these are not the people he’s meant to be with.

Did he get kidnapped? He thinks to himself.

Pulling his legs in closer, he starts to alter his sitting posture. Turning it more rigid, like he’s expecting a fight.

When he moved his legs in dirt crumbled off them, he now starts noticing the feeling of dirt caked all over his body and face, and in his hair and clothes. Previously he hadn’t noticed, but now his senses were reporting in normally.

“It’s okay just relax, you’re safe.” A soothing voice retorts. It came from the tallest member of the bunch.

Adam felt angry confusion hitting him in the gut. “Why would I relax? Who the hell are you?” He says, eyes still shifting between their faces, observing their reactions.

“Well you’re gonna find this a little- a lot crazy, but we’re actually your brothers.” Says the other, shorter male, in a less soothing and huskier voice.

The shorter ones eyes dart to the taller man next to him and they exchange a pained glance before the taller of the two starts up again.

“It’s the truth, John Winchester was our father too.” He says pausing before starting again.

“See, I’m Sam-“

Adam’s face shifts into one of displeasure at the instant recognition of the name. The whole thing starts to click as he realizes these are the men the angels told him would come for him.

“Yeah and I’m sure that’s Dean.” Adam deadpans.

The whole lot of men look at each other with startled expressions.

Adam can see the questions brimming on their faces and speaks up before they can start rapid firing their inquiries.

“I know who you are.” He states matter-of-factly.

“How?” Sam returns.

“They warned me about you.” Adam says, narrowing his eyes into a judging squint.

“Who did?” Dean questions.

“The angels.” Adam answers, staring blankly at them.

When Adam doesn’t continue his train of thought, the men pause again to look at each other. Clearly they’re silently debating what to do.

Adam feels a slight annoyance in their unspoken conversations and crosses his arms.

He eyes Sam, picking his tangent back up.

“Now, where the hell is Zachariah?”

——

After a long interrogation, (Mainly from Adam about what the hell was going on.) Sam and Dean convinced Adam to stay with them for the time being.

They offered him a shower and some hand-me-downs which he accepted with reluctance. He would’ve denied but the absurd amount of dirt covering him was more than enough to convince him.

Adam sat in the shower for an unusually long period of time. He scrubbed at his scalp, still feeling the granules of dirt locked deep into his head.

He was so confused. Why him? Why now? What’s even going on? His ‘brothers’ explanations made some sense, but that still left so many missing pieces that he was having trouble with.

The hot water on his skin felt good, it was a nice juxtaposition to the cold dampness of the dirt. Adam hugs his arms to his chest letting the water hit him in the face.

He’s alive. Alive again. He died? Oh yeah he did die. He shudders at the thought of being consumed by some unknown monster wearing his mothers face.

He remembers the pain. He remembers the sadness, the confusion, all of it.

He squeezes his arm, knuckles turning white with the tightness of his grip before letting go. He lets his arms drop down to his sides and stares at the water, watching it pelt the porcelain of the tub.

Adam turns the knob and the water stops.

He steps out of the shower, drying himself with a towel.

He’s been in the bathroom for close to an hour now but thankfully no one’s come to bother him. He figured they were trying to give him his space and he was grateful for that.

Adam walks closer to the mirror, fogged with condensation from the hot shower. He wipes it off with the corner of his towel, clearing a big enough area for him to almost fully see his face and chest in the small reflective area.

His eyes follow the contours of hid body, looking up and down what he could see in the mirror, and tilting his head down to inspect what he couldn’t see in the mirror.

He had no scars. None.

None from his death, none even from his childhood.

His knee no longer has a small thin line from falling out of his grandparents apple tree and landing on a rock, his finger no longer shows any proof of him slicing it with a kitchen knife while trying, and failing, to make mother’s day dinner to surprise his mom. Nothing, his skin is completely- new.

Adam’s breathing slows a little as he catches his own eyes in the reflection. ‘Is this even my body?’ Adam thinks to himself while tracing over his skin with his hands, trying to feel the familiarity of one’s own body.

After a bit more thinking, Adam is dried off and putting on his “new” clothes.

He’ll admit he’s going to miss the likeness of his old outfit but it’s nice to get into something that isn’t damp or covered in grime.

Not to say these clothes were particularly clean, they smelled like dust and had an odd feeling to the cotton material. However it was still a massive upgrade from the condition of his last outfit.

Adam opens the door and steps out of the bathroom, walking down the hall back to the living room. He entered into the smell of mildew and old wallpaper.

Bobby, the man in the wheelchair and owner of the house, offered him a seat on the bed. It was the same bed he had woken up on after he passed out, but the sheets had been changed. There was no proof of Adams dirt-caked body having ever touched the bed.

Adam thanked him for his offer and sat down.

The bed sat in front of a four paneled glass window, each panel covered with an old yellowing lace curtain. There was news paper clippings tapped to the red-patterned wallpaper and books strewn about everywhere. Adam had been taking in his surroundings, properly, when the rest of the four came into the room.

Dean brought a chair with him and sat on it, Sam half sat on a desk in the room and the angel that they had told Adam was ‘Castiel’ opted to stand in the corner of the room, just menacingly staring at Adam.

The men in the room all stared at Adam, the human three watching patiently, until dean started-

“Okay Adam, you got to ask your questions but now we have a few of our own. We want to understand what happened here, so, why don’t you just tell us everything? Start from the beginning.”

Dean said, face open and passive, looking for answers.

Adam shifted and cleared his throat before speaking.

“Well, I was dead and in heaven- except it kinda looked like my prom. I was making out with this girl her name was Kristen McGee-“

Dean cuts him off with a, “Yeah, sounds like heaven. Did you get to third base?”

Sam shoots a disapproving glance and eye roll at dean before he clears his throat. “Just uh, just keep going.”

Adams eyes move between the brothers, feeling Sam’s annoyance in the air he drops the topic of his heaven.

“Well, these angels, they popped out of nowhere and they tell me that I’m chosen.”

“For what?” Sam says, the worry displayed on his brow becoming deeper.

“To save the world.”

“Yeah? How are you gonna do that?” Dean huffs.

“Oh, y’know, me and some archangel are gonna kill the devil.” Adam says confidently but with a shrug.

“What.. What archangel?” Dean responds, a look of confusion and worry now present on his features.

“Michael. I’m his sword or vessel or something.” Adam clarifies, throwing his hands up as he does so.

“Well that’s insane.” Dean says almost chuckling.

Adam furrows his brow at the accusation and attempts to cut in, but Castiel beats him to it.

“Not necessarily.” The dark haired angel pipes up.

“How do you mean?” Dean replies with some aggression in his tone.

“Maybe they’re moving on from you, Dean.” Blue eyes scan over Dean, face cold and vexed.

“Well, that doesn’t make sense.” Dean says raising his voice a little.

“He is John Winchesters bloodline, Sam’s brother….It’s not perfect but it’s possible.” Castiel assures.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Dean says straight faced.

“Why would they do this?” Sam chimes in eventually, after watching the conversation unfold and feeling the heat of anger between Dean and Castiel’s words.

“Maybe they’re desperate. Or maybe they wrongly assumed Dean would be brave enough to withstand them.” Castiel says while glaring at Dean.

Dean clearly doesn’t like the fire in the angels eyes and glares right back.

“Alright, you know what, blow me Cas.”

Dean counters, leaving the angel to furrow his brow in confusion instead of malice.

“Look. No way. After everything that’s happened?” Sam rejoins with a humorless scoff.

“All that crap about destiny and suddenly the angels have a plan B? Does that smell right to anybody??”

The three men share glances, seemingly all of different stances on the issue at hand.

Adams eyes slide over everyone in the room. He feels a certain pressure arising and anxiety tugging in his chest.

“You know, this really has been a moving family reunion but uh.. I gotta thing so.” Adam trails off standing to leave before a large hand lands on his shoulder pushing him back down.

“Woah, sit down. Just listen to me for a second.” Sam pleads.

Adam sits back down and clicks his tongue. “Unbelievable.”

“The angels are lying to you they’re full of crap.” Sam states.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“And why not?”

“Because they’re angels?” Adam says in a mocking voice, trying to convey to Sam that his argument is stupid.

“Huh, well, did the angels tell you they’re going to roast half the planet?”

“Yeah, they told me the fight might get pretty hairy, but it is the devil so we gotta stop him.”

“Yeah, but what if there’s another way?”

After this comment dean sneers at his brother and rolls his eyes.

“Great. What is it?” Adam mocks again.

“Well, we’re working on the power of love.” Dean says with blatant sarcasm, seemingly rejoining the banter.

“Yeah? How’s that going?” Adam adds.

“Mmm, not good.” Dean says, cracking a humorless smile, which earns him an angry frown from Sam.

“Look Adam, you don’t know me but I’m begging you, please trust me. Give me some time.” Sam’s look of sorrow and empathy seemed honestly genuine. This lead Adam to contemplate his answer for a moment.

“Give me one good reason.”

“Because we’re blood.”

“Because we’re-“ Adam repeats, feeling frustration bubbling up inside of him. “You got no right to say that to me.” Adam says raising his voice, feeling the lines deepen in the scowl on his face.

“You’re still John’s boy.” Bobby says gruffly, with a look of sorrow in his old eyes.

“No.” Adam rejects.

“Shut up, none of you know what you’re talking about. John Winchester was some guy who took me to a baseball game once a year. I dont have a dad. So we may be blood but we sure as hell are not family.”

Adam pauses to think for just a moment before picking back up.

“My mom is my family. And if I do my job I get to see her again. So no offense but she’s the one I give a shit about. Not you.”

“Fair enough.” Sam replies

“But if you have one good memory of dad, just one, then you’ll give us a little more time please.”

#sharing my heart baiboop #midam #adam milligan #spn #midam spn #i also wrote this a couple years ago so sorry if it’s not that good #unfortunately i’m so busy with college or else i would revamp it #but i wanted to give it a place to live forever

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Puzzles & Pleas

A JSE Fanfic

A new part whoooo! As I’m writing this description I’m very tired so I’m not sure what to say. We’re basically following up directly from the last part, like literally only a few hours later. Chase and Marvin are having a nice visit with Jack, and at the exact same time, their other three friends are having a variety of bad times with Anti. Fun fun fun! Well, not for the characters, but probably for us. Enjoy :)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

“You look nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“I mean, it’s understandable if you are—”

“I’m not fucking nervous, Chase.”

The elevator doors opened, forcibly stopping the brief exchange. Chase stepped out onto the third floor, glancing back over his shoulder at Marvin. “Well, if you were, I was just gonna say it’s okay to be. Now c’mon.”

Marvin hesitated. Despite what his protests would indicate, he did look rather anxious. He kept twisting the edge of his shirt around. But he took a moment to steady himself and followed Chase out of the elevator, saying nothing.

“It’s just the same room,” Chase said, gesturing down the hospital hallway. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence for a while, passing by closed doors, each with a room beyond. Chase kept looking back towards Marvin. This would probably be the first time he’d left his house in a couple weeks, something that Chase knew from experience wasn’t good for your health. Marvin looked fine, physically. His hair was combed and pulled back in a ponytail, his shirt and pants neat. But he just seemed...not as energetic. If that made sense. Hopefully, this would be good for him.

They soon reached the room they were looking for. Chase was about to knock on the door when Marvin suddenly asked, “Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

Chase blinked. Then laughed, in an effort to lighten the mood. “Why would he be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I hardly ever went to visit him.” Marvin continued to twist the hem of his shirt. “A-and I haven’t seen him at all since he woke up.”

“Marv. Trust me. Jack wouldn’t be mad at you for something like that.” Chase instinctively went to pat him on the back, but Marvin leaned away, so he dropped it and settled for a reassuring smile. “He’s not that type of guy.”

“Would he be...disappointed?” Marvin asked tentatively.”I-I don’t want to make him feel bad, he probably has enough to deal with—”

“It’s going to be alright, Marvin. Jack knows you didn’t mean to hurt him by not visiting. And besides, you’re visiting now, aren’t you? So it all works out.” Chase waited for Marvin to say more, but he just nodded, breathing out slowly. “Alright, we’re gonna go in now, okay?” Marvin nodded again, and Chase knocked on the door before slowly opening it. “Hello? It’s me.”

Jack turned to look towards the door. The moment he saw Chase, he smiled, and reached to the side and adjusted the controls of the bed to a sitting position. “Hii Shhays.”

“Hey bro. Look, I brought a friend.” Chase stepped into the room, allowing Marvin to take his place in the doorway.

Marvin froze for a moment. He stared at Jack, taking in the bed, the wires, the oxygen tube. Then he waved. “Um...hi.”

“Mahfin!” Jack grinned even wider. “‘S good t’see yuh!” He waved Marvin over.

“Ha. Y-yeah, good to see you, too.” Marvin stepped inside. “Oh, uh, d’you want this open?”

“S’fffine.”

“Alright, then.” He closed the door.

“Hey, c’mon, Marv, sit down.” Chase walked over to the side of the bed, indicating one of the nearby chairs. “Get comfy in the plastic hospital chair.”

Marvin laughed, and followed Chase over to the bed. They both sat, and Jack leaned over to pick up his communication board from the nearby table. He pointed to the How are you? box.

“Eh. We’re alright, I guess,” Chase said, glancing at Marvin.

“I...well, I’ve been...” Marvin stopped, the words getting caught in his throat. “It’s fine, though. Probably nothing compared to what you’re going through.”

Jack frowned. It was a small, awkward gesture, something his facial muscles were still having trouble with. He indicated the I don’t think so box.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Marvin asked, confused.

“It means he’s doubting you,” Chase explained. Jack nodded.

“Well, I mean...it’s fine,” Marvin said slowly. “Honestly, I’d rather talk about you. Like, how are you doing? What are you doing? It can’t be too fun being stuck in here.”

Jack still looked unsure, but he shook his head, and tapped a box labeled I agree.

“You’ve got a TV in here now, though,” Chase said, pointing to the corner. A big box television sat on top of a wheeled cart. “It looks like the ones they used to bring into classrooms in elementary school, y’know?”

Marvin and Jack just stared at him. “I think that’s an American thing,” Marvin said. “Or at least, something that wasn’t common where we were from.”

“Ah. Well, they did it all the time. A couple classrooms had them bottled to the ceilings in the corner and you watched movies on it, but you were always too far away to see it properly.” Chase laughed a bit. “But still, there’s probably only so much TV you can take.”

Jack groaned, rolling his eyes. He emphatically tapped the I agree box.

Marvin smiled a bit. “Well, don’t you have hospital stuff to do? Like, examinations and shit?”

Jack pointed to the Yes box. “Therrs...th’rapy. Lotta it.”

“Yeah, like speech therapy, physical therapy, probably a million other kinds.” Chase nodded. “Oh, speaking of which, you sound much better! Good job, bro.”

“Thnkss.” Jack smiled a bit.

“Y’know, I did some, uh...I don’t know if it was physical therapy exactly, but I did some exercises as a kid,” Marvin recalled. “Because I was severely uncoordinated. Tripped over my own feet to the point Grandmam was worried about it.” He paused. “I don’t know what I mean by that. I guess I’m just saying I relate a bit. It’s probably not the same thing, though.”

“Nnoh, ‘sfine,” Jack assured him. “I geddid. Ah.” He made a face. “I. Get. It.”

“Good, then.” For a moment, there was just silence. It stretched long enough to get awkward, and just when Chase was about to change the subject, Marvin blurted out, “I’m sorry I never came to see you, Jack.”

Jack blinked. “Hm?”

“Well I did but—it wasn’t that often. A-and not since you woke up, and I’m really sorry about it, it’s just—I’ve been having...a...moment.” Marvin clenched his fists as he tried to find the words. Sign language wouldn’t work here; Jack couldn’t understand it. So he was stuck with verbal speech. Not always his strong suit. “You know, when you have...a moment? When it’s hard to do anything because you...don’t...really...feel like anything?” Chase nodded encouragingly, and Marvin took a deep breath. “It’s not because I didn’t want to come see you. I really did, I-I’m really happy you’re awake again! It’s just...my fault. I put it off for so long, and then I got nervous about it, like, that it would be weird to suddenly show up and start talking like nothing had happened—I-I do that a lot, y’know, that’s why I don’t really talk to anyone besides you guys—and it’s not you, it’s me, and I’m sorry.” He finished with a rush and then stopped, waiting, his posture stiff and tense.

Jack was quiet for a moment. Then, he leaned closer, reaching out and putting a hand on top of Marvin’s own. “Mahfin...Mmmahrf...Marrrfvin.” For a moment, he looked frustrated at his inability to pronounce his friend’s name properly, but then he took a deep breath, and moved on. “Mahrfin. ‘S not...yoh fahlt. Thin’s happen. ‘S alright. ‘M happy t’see yuh—yyou. Yohr herre now. An’ tha’s what’s...i-im....important.” And he smiled.

Marvin’s face swelled with a mix of emotions. Relief, hesitancy, joy. It brought tears to his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yeh. O’courrrse.”

“I...good. That’s...good.” Marvin wiped his eyes. “Y’know...if you’re having trouble, you could just call me Muffin or something, for the time being.”

Jack laughed. “Shurr, Maffin.”

The moment was interrupted by a faint buzzing sound. Chase jumped a bit, feeling something vibrate in his pocket. “Oh, uh, sorry guys.” He took out his phone, face turning red with embarrassment as the other two watched him. “I didn’t think anyone would be calling me.” He glanced at the screen. “Huh. I don’t recognize the number.”

“It’s probably spam,” Marvin dismissed.

“Maybe. Or it could be important. Like, the kids are in school now, what if their teacher’s calling?” Chase hesitated. “I’ll just—just see if it is spam, really quick.” He tapped the Accept button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello? Who’s this?”

——————

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Something was squeezing his chest, his lungs—something was inside him, it was—no, no it wasn’t. This was panic. That had to be the explanation. He had to calm down, and—and do...something.

Schneep had woken up a few minutes ago. It took him a while to remember what happened before that. How someone had been in his room. No...not just someone. He knew—it was him, it was—there was no escape, there had never been any escape—

Okay. Calm down. Breathe. Focus on the facts. He was lying on the floor. In a strange room that he didn’t recognize. Near the wall. And he wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t focus on that fact now, it just made it hard to breathe again, thinking about being watched, being stared at, being—stop. Calm. Breathe.

Maybe if he looked around, it would help. But there wasn’t much to see in the room. The walls were dark gray, the floor was rough white carpet. There was a circular black rug in the middle. And a window with blinds. Besides those features, the only thing of note in the room was...a desk. And its chair, with someone sitting in it. But he didn’t want to look towards that. What about...the window? Was there anything outside?

He hesitated, and briefly glanced back towards the desk. It looked like the chair’s occupant was busy, attention fully focused on the computer monitors on the desk’s surface. But he knew he was still being watched. Perhaps...if he moved slowly, then it wouldn’t be too strange? It would be natural?

Deciding that was worth a shot, Schneep cautiously sat up. His head was still a bit dizzy, and heavy, too. He grimaced, then glanced out the window. The glass was a bit dirty, and looked unusually...thick, if that made sense. Outside, he could see a street corner, and houses. This room was in a house like that, then? And it was at an intersection, with a pair of street signs marking the roads that crossed here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make out the street names this far away without his glasses. But one of them had some graffiti on it, a spray-painted square with a diamond inside it, and a black dot inside that. It might’ve been more elaborate than that, but again, he couldn’t quite make out the details.

“I see you.”

Schneep yelped, pressing against the wall as he turned to look towards the desk. Anti. He’d turned around in his desk chair and was staring at him now. Staring with those mismatched eyes that haunted his nightmares.

“Enjoying the view?” Anti nodded towards the window. “Sorry, not much to see. Nothing particularly helpful. Especially since you can’t read the street signs from this distance without your glasses.”

He knew what he was thinking?! Was he in his head again?! Schneep squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and opened them again. No, that wasn’t true. Anti was human, he’d never read his mind, humans couldn’t do that.

“What? Do you think you’re safe up here?” Anti tapped the side of his head and grinned. “Don’t be so sure. You’re so easy to—”

“Shut up, you are lying,” Schneep interrupted. “You—you cannot do that anymore. I know it’s a trick.”

“You don’t know anything,” Anti said, still grinning. “Because I’ve been watching you. I know you’ve heard me. And I know you’ve told others about me. Don’t you remember what I said about that? The more people know about me, the stronger I become.”

“That is more lies,” Schneep insisted, pressing his back to the wall.

“I’ve never lied to you. And I’m not about to start now. I’ve been watching you. I know you’ve seen my shadow in the corners, and my eyes in the ceilings.”

“How do you know about that?!” Schneep shrieked.

“Because I sent them, of course. To keep an eye on you, make sure you didn’t break any rules.” Anti sighed dramatically and shook his head. “I hoped it wouldn’t be needed, but I thought, better safe than sorry. And it turns out I was right.”

Schneep pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out Anti’s words. They had to be lies. He knew that Anti wasn’t some supernatural creature, he was just a man. Anti had to be guessing about the things he saw. Though...how did he guess about the eyes in the ceilings? Schneep couldn’t remember telling him about them, and that had to be a fairly specific hallucination. Maybe he really...? No, there had to be another explanation.

Anti laughed, and Schneep flinched at the sound. His eyes darted around the room once more. There was a door, but it was on the other side of the room, and he was willing to bet it was locked. Same with the window. He could try to break the window, but there was nothing to break it with. Unless he wanted to try and grab one of the computer monitors and throw it through the glass, but he knew he’d be overpowered if he tried.

“That’s right, you’ve got no way out,” Anti said, leaning back. “You’re lucky I haven’t tied you to a chair or anything. The only reason I haven’t done that is because you know it’s hopeless, anyway. Unlike certain others...wearing red jackets.”

Schneep felt a chill pass over him. Jackie. Of course. Anti still had him captive. “I-it’s different, now,” Schneep protested weakly. “They know about you, a-and me, and that we are not the same. They will be trying to rescue me this time.”

“Probably,” Anti admitted. He grabbed something off the desk and stood up, approaching. Schneep’s eyes widened, and he pressed further into the wall, pulling his legs and arms close. “That is, they’ll be trying a search and rescue as long as they think I’m involved.” Anti stopped, standing over Schneep, and leaned down. “So here’s what’s going to happen.” He showed him the thing he’d grabbed from the desk: a phone. “You’re going to call the lovely Dr. Laurens and tell her you left on your own.”

“What...wh-why would I do that?” Schneep stammered.

“Because you got scared. Because you didn’t feel safe in that hospital. Because you told her you saw Anti in the hospital rec room, and you think that he’s real, and that he can come after you.” Anti smiled. “It’s built on truth, isn’t it? Because you told her you saw me, didn’t you?”

Schneep stared at him in disbelief. He had told Laurens about seeing Anti in the rec room. At the time, he thought it was just him seeing things, but...had it been real? The whole time? And how did Anti know he’d told Laurens about that?

Because he hears your thoughts. He can twist them to control you.

No! No, that wasn’t real. But...the idea still lingered.

“What are you waiting for?” Anti held out the phone, staring at him. Staring, staring, staring. Always staring.

Schneep swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “..okay. I will call her.”

Anti didn’t say anything as he took the phone, still watching him as he dialed the phone number. Schneep tried not to think about it too much as he held the phone to his ear and listened to the call connect.

The other end rang for a long time, and Schneep swiftly grew afraid that nobody would pick up. But just when he thought it would hang up, the ringing stopped. “Hello? Who’s this?”

“Um. Hello.” Schneep reminded himself to breathe. “It’s me, it is—well, you can probably tell by the voice.” The voice that was shaking quite a bit.

“What the f—Schneep?!” The voice on the other end shouted in disbelief. “Why are you calling me?! No, wait, how are you calling me? I thought you weren’t allowed to have a phone there.”

“No, I—there is—something has happened,” Schneep said carefully. “I-I am not at Silver Hills anymore.”

“Well then where the hell are you?!”

“I am...I am somewhere...else,” Schneep said slowly.

“Yeah, where?”

Anti narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Get to the point,” he hissed.

Schneep froze for a moment. He needed to speak freely. “It’s because of—of him,” he said carefully. “You know who I mean, yes?”

“You mean...Anti?” The other end went silent for a minute. “Schneep where are you? Can you tell me, give me a clue or something? I-I’ll call the police, but if you could tell me anything—”

Anti frowned. “Put it on speaker,” he said.

Schneep’s heart sank. Impossible. Anti would immediately know that he hadn’t called the right person. He had to do something drastic. “Er ist es, er hat mich mitgenommen,” he said, speaking quickly. “Ich weiß nicht wo ich bin.” Anti’s eyes widened, and he lunged forward. Schneep cried out, and rolled to the side, just avoiding him. “Ich weiß nicht wo ich bin! Ein Haus an einer Straßenecke—Ich kenne die Straßennamen nicht! Das Schild hat Graffiti, es ist ein Kreis in einem Diamanten in einem Quadrat—”

“You little—!” Anti grabbed Schneep’s wrist and twisted the phone out of his hand.

“Bitte komm—!” Schneep didn’t manage to get the rest of the sentence out before—

Smack!

He fell to the side, half of his face suddenly alight in pain. For a moment, he was too dazed to respond properly. Then Anti grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him upward. He instantly started struggling.

“You worthless little fucker,” Anti hissed, grabbing a handful of Schneep’s hair and pulling his head backwards. “Can’t believe you did that. Fuck. You deserved that. Your friend’s gonna have worse for that stunt you just pulled.”

“N-no!” Schneep gasped. “Leave him alone!”

“No, you know the rules. You know how this works.” Anti glared at him. “You’ve just gotten cocky. So you need a reminder.”

Schneep felt a tear trickle from his eye. He hoped that call was worth it.

——————

“Schneep?! Henrik?! Are you there?!” Chase shouted into the phone, but got no response. There’d been a rustling sound, like a struggle, then Schneep had shouted, and then there was—there was another sound, a sound he’d most often heard when his kids would fight each other, and he had to scold them. That sound was a lot more sinister in this context. Especially considering the call had apparently dropped after it. “Fuck!”

“What happened?!” Marvin asked, shaken by the half of the conversation he’d heard. “Was that really—?”

“H-hang on, I’m gonna call his doctor first,” Chase said. He hurried to dial the number for Dr. Laurens, misdialing at first because of his rush and entering it a second time.

The call was picked up surprisingly quickly. “Chase? Is that you?” Laurens’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen doc, is...is Schneep okay?” Chase didn’t know how else to ask.

“Is he—oh, Chase,” Laurens said softly. “I was just about to call you. We...we don’t know where he is.”

“You...don’t know where he is?” Chase repeated, feeling the bottom of his stomach dropping out. He heard Marvin gasp, and saw him squeeze Jack’s hand, who was now sitting up as straight as he could. “What do you mean?”

“He never showed up to dinner. When Oliver went to check on his room, he wasn’t there. We’ve been searching the building and the grounds, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I thought—since you’re his friend, a-and his emergency contact—wait a minute.” Laurens stopped, realizing something. “Why are you asking?”

“Because he just called me,” Chase explained. “From some number I didn’t recognize. He said that—he said that Anti took him.”

“Shit,” Laurens cursed. “Chase, I need you to hang up right now and call the police. We’ll keep searching the nearby area, just in case. I-I’ll call you if we find him.”

“Y-yeah. Okay. And I’ll call you again after I talk to the cops.”

“Great. Go do that.”

“I’m doing it. Talk to you later.” Chase hung up.

“So he just disappeared?!” Marvin whispered harshly. “Just—just like that night.” He glanced over at Jack.

“Wh’s happennin’?” Jack asked, his features drawn.

“You guys heard that call, right? Henrik called me, h-he was speaking...haltingly, I think, with a lot of pauses, I think that’s the word.” Chase squeezed his phone case. “Then he freaked out and started shouting in German—I bet because Anti can’t speak it.”

“What did he say?!” Marvin demanded.

“I don’t know all of it, it’s been a while since I—give me a second.” Chase opened up a translation app on his phone and quickly typed in a few words, trying his best to match the spelling of the things he thought Schneep had said. He had to fill in the gaps. “Okay. He said that Anti took him, and that he didn’t know where it was, but it was a house on a street corner. He couldn’t see the street names, but mentioned some sort of like...graffiti? On the sign? A circle in a diamond in a square.”

Jack’s head shot upward, and he cried out.

“What?! What is it?!” Marvin leaned forward, checking all the wires and monitors.

“Nn—noh that!” Jack clumsily pushed him back. “That sss...ssymmbel. Know it.”

“Wh—you recognize the symbol?!” Chase repeated in disbelief. “Square-diamond-circle?!”

Jack nodded. “H-he...fffakes. Th’ fakes, th’ one...prtendinn tuh be yuh two. I...rmemmber now.”

“Huh?” Marvin asked, utterly confused.

“Right, you don’t know,” Chase realized. “Jack, he—he’s said some stuff about fake versions of us visiting him. Anti, in disguise. I-I know, I ran into him pretending to be you one time, and I heard about an imposter me from Dr. Emerson another time. Apparently Anti talked to him, said some freaky stuff.” He gasped. “You mean—he told you about this symbol?”

“Symmbl. Symbel to...to haf others recogniss him.” Jack pressed his hands to his forehead and leaned forward. “Put outssside...places he...h-has? I don’...don’ rmemrrr.” He fell silent, squeezing his eyes shut. “On a sighhn...steet signnn...ffahk. Fahk!”

“I’m gonna call the police,” Chase said, already dialing 999. “I’m gonna tell them everything, a-and meanwhile, try to remember anything else.”

Jack nodded, eyes still shut. Marvin squeezed his shoulder, an anchor to the physical world. He could hear Chase’s voice relaying what happened over the phone, but the words were indistinct as he tried to concentrate on his memory. Everything was all mixed up and blurred. None of it made sense most of the time. He remembered hearing voices, but he wasn’t sure when it was Chase, when it was this Anti, or when it was just a dream. But he’d definitely heard that description of a symbol before. When...when had he...when...when......?

——————

......

...

“It’s a calling card. Or a warning, if you want to think of it that way...simplified version of my...”

...

The man had no eyes. Or maybe he was just missing one eye. A blank, dark spot in the middle of a white face. He looked like a friend, but that dark spot was wrong. It told him it was a lie.

“Most people don’t know what it means exactly, only that it’s trouble. The area...claimed.”

And the voice was wrong. It...it sounded a bit like his own, actually? Was this...him?

Was that why he couldn’t move? Why he couldn’t look away?

“...outside safe houses, where I store my...and other equipment. They’re also secondary bases. Just in case...never know in this line of work. I don’t want...caught. Living...prison...just be the worst. You have no control.”

The man was smiling. His teeth stretched...his skin was melting. He—he couldn’t understand. What was happening? Who...was this man...? Was he him? Who are you? Who am I? Are we the same? I can’t understand. Something...something is broken up here. My thoughts...they’re scattering. Like throwing paper in a bowl of water, watching it soak it up, then stirring violently. Everything came apart.

“I’m never going to let anyone control me. No. I am in control. Everyone else...my little puppets. I like watching the shows.”

The white ceiling and walls were burning his eyes. It was curving, like a bubble. They were in a bubble. He was floating. He couldn’t feel anything.

“...times I worry about you telling people. But then I—” Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. “I remember you’re a veggie. People rarely wake...after something so severe. So...doesn’t matter. Maybe you can hear me. Maybe you can’t. Doesn’t...”

Green line. Up and down. Up and down. Crossing the man’s face. Cutting him in half.

“Why am I even doing this?”

Green light. Everything is green.

“I don’t even know. It’s a waste of time, a waste of resources, and a risk. Maybe...need it? I’ve never talked so freely. Not even to Jamie. He...a kid, you know. Always will be.”

Light is gone. Everything is black.

“...it doesn’t really matter what I say. I can tell you about the marks outside the houses. Ha. Hell, I can even tell you where they are. Like, for example, on the corner of—”

——————

Jack’s eyes flew open. “Ah!”

“Wh—?!” Marvin jumped a bit. “Jack?”

“Th’ steet! Strreet! Is—is—” Now the problem was just getting his mouth to form the sounds properly. “Ay...airrr...loom.”

Marvin blinked. “Air loom?”

“Hhay. Hhhhair loom.”

“Oh, heirloom? I don’t know that street, uh...” Marvin turned to look at Chase. “Did you catch that?”

Chase nodded in response, still on the phone, then returned to his conversation with the emergency line. “Um—maybe try on one of the corners of Heirloom Drive? My friend thinks that might be it.” A brief pause. “Uh, I don’t know.” And he looked over at Jack, pulling the phone away a bit. “Hey bro, do you...remember the other street? It’s at an intersection, right?”

Jack closed his eyes again. But this time, the memory wouldn’t even come to him. “No.”

“That’s fine.” Chase returned to the phone. “My friend doesn’t know, but on the phone call he said—my other friend—said that there was some sort of graffiti on the sign, that was a uhh square around a diamond around a circle. That probably helps right?” He paused. “No, I don’t think he’d see them. He’s near-sighted, and I don’t think he has his glasses. That probably means that the graffiti description is pretty vague, but it’s an idea.” Another pause. “Yeah, that’s it. Oh, wait, uh...I think Detective Nix was involved in this case? Can you tell him?” And another. “Yeah, his name’s Henrik.” And one last, long pause. “Alright, thank you ma’am. I’ll wait.” And he hung up, letting out a long exhale.

“It—it’s going to be fine, right?” Marvin asked anxiously. “They’ll find him?”

“It might take a while, but I think so,” Chase replied. “God...Hey, uh, Jack? You’re sure about this?”

Jack thought about it, then nodded slowly, head bobbing. That memory was a bit weird, but Dr. Emerson told him it was common to have dream-like memories, with everything that had happened to him. He was confident that the conversation was real. He couldn’t forget the times Anti came to visit, just because of how deeply unnerving his words always were.

“Alright. Well, they’re going to call me to update me on what happens,” Chase said. “Uh...not sure how long this’ll take. Visiting hours might end before they sort everything out.”

“Mm.” Jack shrugged. He picked up the communication board again—he’d just done a lot of talking, and needed a moment—and pointed to the I’m okay box.

“You sure?”

Yes box.

“Well we’re not leaving until they kick us out,” Marvin asserted, folding his arms. “If they call us back, you need to hear it. You just helped out a fuckton.”

Jack smiled, a bit lopsidedly. Thank you box.

Chase laughed, but it quickly faded. He looked down at the phone in his hand, already anticipating the call. “I guess...we just wait now.”

——————

There were footsteps passing by outside the room. At first, Jameson had tensed, waiting for the door to open and Anti to walk inside. But that didn’t happen. They just kept passing back and forth. You hear those, right? JJ asked.

Jackie didn’t respond, so JJ looked back over at him. He was lying on the bottom bed of the bunk and staring up, eyes glazed. Something he’d been doing quite a lot, JJ noticed. When he asked about it, Jackie always said he was daydreaming, which would be fine normally, but JJ was pretty sure that he was doing it too much. Well, he couldn’t blame him. But still, it would be nice if Jackie would look at him when he was signing.

Jameson walked over and, after a moment’s hesitation, shook Jackie’s shoulder. He blinked, made an odd gesture like he was asking someone to wait, then looked at JJ. “What?”

Have you been hearing the footsteps outside? JJ asked.

“Huh? Oh, uh, sorry. No. I wasn’t really paying attention,” Jackie admitted. “What do they sound like?”

Like someone’s running up and down a hallway outside, JJ described.

“Really? Well...I mean, I can’t really think of anyone but Anti who’d be doing that.” Jackie’s face scrunched up in thought. “Maybe he’s...doing something? I dunno. Running, though...it must be important.”

Jameson frowned. That was a good point, why would Anti be running about? I’m going to try to look outside, he said, walking over to the door.

“Look outside?” Jackie sat up, turning so he was on the edge of the bed. “You mean, through the gap?”

JJ nodded. He got down on his hands and knees and pressed his head to the floor, peering through the gap under the door. Nothing much to see. He got to his knees and was about to stand up...when he heard the footsteps again. Wanting to see what happened as they passed by the door, he quickly peered through the gap between the door and the doorframe. The steps were approaching—

Then the door slammed open, directly into Jameson’s face. He cried out as he fell, clasping his hands to his face.

“Oh my god, Jamie?! I’m so sorry!” Anti covered his mouth, staring down at him in shock. “It was an accident, I didn’t expect you to—are you okay?!”

Jameson didn’t answer. His face was in pain, and his nose in particular was throbbing. He pulled one hand away and saw it covered in blood, felt it trickling from his nostrils and soaking into his mustache.

“Shit. Fuck! I-it’ll be fine, I can—i-is it broken?” Anti bent over, grabbing Jameson’s head and trying to inspect the damage. But Jameson pulled away, waving at him to get back. “Hey, I just—okay, fine. This isn’t the time. We can look at it later.” Anti took his phone out of his pocket and checked the clock. “We need to go.”

Go? Did he say go? As in, they were leaving? Jameson stood up, keeping one hand on his face, trying and failing to stop the bleeding from getting everywhere. Why did they have to leave? More importantly, why was Anti trying to move the two of them? Unless...something happened that meant he had to move them. Like...the police coming. At that thought, Jameson started backing away.

“Jamie, this isn’t a joke, we need to leave now.” Anti insisted.

Jameson shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder at Jackie. Judging by the wide-eyed expression on his face, he’d come to the same conclusion as him. It was strange to see the glimmer of hope in his eyes. And that thought made Jameson’s heart hurt.

“Are you going to—?! Fuck, I don’t have time for this.” Anti rubbed his eyes, then adjusted the strap of the bag hanging off his shoulder. He stared at Jameson for a moment. Then followed his line of sight over to Jackie. For a moment, he hesitated, thinking about something. And then he made a decision. “Okay, fine.” Anti pushed past Jameson, reaching into his bag as he did so. He grabbed Jackie, yanking him upwards to a standing position, and pressed a knife to his neck.

Jameson gasped. “A-an!”

“I’m going to kill him,” Anti said calmly. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I can’t handle three of you after all. And he’s the most useless.”

“A...aan.” Jameson shook his head slowly. He didn’t dare to take a step forward. Jackie had looked terrified when Anti grabbed him, but the moment he said he was going to kill him, all emotion seemed to drain out of him. Now he was slumped, eyes blank, not there at all. Please, Jameson simply signed.

Anti looked him in the eyes. “The only way you can convince me not to is if you come with me right now.”

Oh.

So...that was the plan.

Jameson wasn’t sure why he wasn’t more shocked. No...no, actually, he knew why. But somehow, it surprised him to feel this lack of...well, surprise.

But in any case, he couldn’t let Jackie die. Alright, he signed slowly. I’ll go with you.

“Good. Follow me.”

Anti walked out of the room, right through the door, and Jameson followed behind him, quietly. He tried to catch Jackie’s eye, but Jackie wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. He just let Anti pull him along with the blade at his throat.

They went down a hallway and arrived in another, which they then walked down to arrive at a door. Anti pushed it open with his shoulder, and then they were in a small backyard, hardly more than a strip of grass. Jameson glanced at the neighboring houses, but they looked empty. But...maybe someone could see them? Maybe someone would call the police, if they hadn’t already been called.

There was a car parked in the gap between their house and one of the neighbors. It didn’t have anything distinct about it, a simple, gray, four-door car. But the trunk was a bit open. Jameson caught a glimpse of some sort of suitcase—maybe multiple suitcases—before Anti kicked the lid closed. “Stupid boot,” he muttered. “Jameson, get in the passenger side. Leave the door open.”

Well, he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Jameson walked around to the passenger side and got in, sitting stiffly on the edge of the seat. He wiped his face, clearing up blood from his nosebleed.

“Good.” Anti nodded once. He then shifted his knife to his other hand, still keeping it pointed at Jackie, and used his other to rummage around in his bag until he pulled out a small bottle. He popped the lid open. “Hold out your hand.” When Jameson did, Anti shook a few small pills out of the bottle and into his palm. “Swallow three of those.”

That was the part that got Jameson to finally say something. Or, try to, at least. “A-annn? Yuh...c-c-cannn’...beee sss—”

“Don’t do this, Jamie,” Anti said through gritted teeth. “I know what you’re trying to do. Just eat them, okay?” He put the bottle back in his bag and switched the knife between hands again. He pressed it firmly into Jackie’s neck, causing a drop of blood to trickle down from where the blade met skin.

Jameson nodded, and hurriedly threw the pills in his mouth. Anti watched him closely, making sure they were eventually swallowed. “Good,” he said again. Then he closed the car door. Immediately, Jameson heard the clunk of the lock. He was expecting that...but he wasn’t expecting Anti to walk back towards the back door they’d come from, taking Jackie with him.

“Hhh—!” Jameson pressed his face and hands to the window. “Aaaan! N-nuh!” He banged a fist against the glass. “Nnnuh! Nn—n-n-no!” He screamed. But Anti didn’t even look towards him as he disappeared back into the house with Jackie.

He tried pulling at the door, but of course, found it useless. And looking around the inside showed there wasn’t a way to open the car from the inside. That was probably a safety hazard, but Jameson was willing to bet that Anti had the car modified. He spun around in his seat, looking for anything that would be of help in the back. But there was nothing. Except for...a man. Asleep, sitting in the back seat. Pale skin and brown hair, with a yellow-purple bruise forming on his cheek. Jameson was confused for a moment, until he noticed the plastic medical bracelet around the man’s wrist and remembered. That was Henrik, wasn’t it? Schneep? He hadn’t recognized him. Of course, they’d only met once, and Schneep had spent most of it freaking out, thinking that Jameson was Anti. He looked unharmed, but he was clearly unconscious, and therefore couldn’t help them get out of the car.

Frustrated, Jameson started kicking at the door, leaning back to build up as much force as possible. He tried hitting the window. But it felt as solid as the actual door. This went on for a few moments, until he saw the back door opening again. And Anti came back outside. Alone.

That made him stop, fear shooting through his heart.

Soon, Anti sat down in the driver’s seat. “Alright, finally,” he said under his breath, glancing up at the dark, early-night sky. “We’ve wasted enough time—”

Smack!

Anti was too surprised to even cry out as Jameson’s fist connected with enough force to whip his head to the side. “Y—you just—” He pressed his hand to his cheek and looked at Jameson in disbelief. “Jamie, you hit me.”

Don’t fucking call me that! Jameson threw his hands in Anti’s face, almost hitting him again. Not after all that! You don’t deserve it! You’re the most horrible person I know!

Anti glanced back towards the house. “He’s not dead.”

Well I don’t trust a word you say!

“Just...” Anti sighed, and rubbed his cheek. “Just go to sleep and be quiet, Jameson.”

Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Jameson seethed. You’d like to have a perfect, quiet, naive kid brother that you can protect and therefore feel good about yourself for once. Well he doesn’t exist. Not one of those words describes me. Jameson turned away. Don’t ever call me your brother again. You make me sick.

Anti didn’t say anything in response, and Jameson refused to even look at him. The car started, then pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

As the house on the corner faded into the distance, Jameson’s anger lessened, overtaken by the fear and all-consuming worry he’d felt before. He could only hope that Anti wasn’t lying about Jackie. And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like relying on this...person for anything. But, unfortunately, he was at his mercy for the time being.

He had to find a way out. Not now, though. He could already feel the sleeping pills starting to take effect. But as Jameson closed his eyes, he swore that he wouldn’t let Anti be in control of anyone ever again.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #jacksepticeye au #septic egos au #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #antisepticeye #dr schneeplestein #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Submersion

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 3 - Drowning

Peter never thought he would see the day where he wouldn’t enjoy fighting side by side with Iron Man but here he is.

Words: 1759, Chapters 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

TW: Drowning

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Duck,” Tony called as he sailed over Peter’s head to knock over bot that was sneaking up behind him. Peter rolled his eyes but dropped anyway to stay clear the the incoming repulsers blast; he had both heard the sound of the heavy metal steps and felt his Spidey sense tingle to warn him of the upcoming threat and was already prepared to web it to the wall to be dealt with later but now he was just lying on the ground like an idiot while Tony took out the drone. His mentor had been super overbearing for the entirety of the past couple hours that they had been dismantling the reinforced bots and it was really starting to grate on Peter’s already thinned out nerves.

“I had that!” He hollered up toward the floating Iron Man armor, paying no heed to the comm in his mask that would perfectly translate his words without the extra effort and strain on his vocal cords. Peter didn’t care though, it felt good to yell and blow off a little steam. He violently punched through the chest plate of the bot he was fending off and then shook out his hand once it was shot off the side of the Brooklyn Bridge – he had definitely busted a knuckle that time.

Tony zipped away to head off a few more of the flying ones above them and said a quick, “You sure did kiddo,” which made Peter bristle up even more. He knew that Tony meant well and was just trying to help but he still over interpreted the words to sound condescending and demeaning – like he was here for no other reason than entertainment. Shaking his head to clear it, Peter hopped back into the fight. Now was not the time to get distracted and over-analyze anything.

“Shit!” He heard Tony shout both over the comms and through the air as he took a hit from the surplus of Hammer Tech as he was knocked to the far end of the bridge.

“Tony!” Peter called, his irritation of before quickly overshadowed by concern. He hastily fired a web to swing towards his mentor but ground to a halt when Tony coughed out an “I’m fine!” as the brilliant red and gold armor crested the edge of the bridge in the distance to smash into the drone above him. “I can’t leave you over there with all of them alone!” Peter protested.

“Just catch the outliers,” Tony said, breathing slightly ragged in exertion. “Some of them are bound to get past me.”

Peter felt his eye twitch in renewed vexation as he relaxed his grip on the webbing enough to let it go. Tony knew that he was the target of this latest attack by Justin Hammer and was, clearly, doing his level best to keep Peter as far away from the action as humanly possible. Twitching from his overload of adrenaline, Peter bounced on his toes and webbed up a partially destroyed drone that landed a few feet away.

“How many we got left K?” Peter asked, eyes following the fight with the assistance of his suits AI.

“I’m unable to tell Peter,” Karen’s bright, chirpy voice replied through his private comm. “They are cloaked from my sensors. I can ping FRIDAY if you’d like?”

“No,” Peter said, petulant, as he replaced his web cartridges. “Don’t bother.”

“Sure thing!”

Peter sighed again and leaned back against the smoking car behind him. He hated being useless and he hated twiddling his thumbs when he could be helpful; and he was pissed because he knew that Tony knew this about him. His Spidey sense tingled up his spine but Peter brushed it off after a quick survey of the area – it still occasionally did that for no reason if he was amped up.

“Finishing up here, kid. You all set?” Mr. Stark asked as he soared overhead with three of the drones following closely on his tail. Peter felt his eye twitch a little but responded in the affirmative, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice – there would be plenty of time to hash things out with Tony after they were back in the Tower. As the flight stabilizers of the Iron Man armor faded off Peter felt his Spidey sense twitch again just a second too late.

Clearly, both of them had missed one of the Hammer drones somewhere as Peter fell to the ground, the metal arms wrapped tight around his waist and arms and locked into place. He struggled as he was dragged back to the edge of the bridge but couldn’t seem to break the grip. His logical brain was working through equations and understood that, with the lack of space to move, he would be unable to escape.

All these thoughts came too slowly, though, because it only took a few seconds before he was pulled over the edge of the bridge and into a free fall, smacking into the cold water of the Hudson moments later. Unprepared, Peter’s lungs let out a burst of the limited amount of oxygen he had been able to take in as water rushed down his throat and his struggles renewed. He opened his eyes and felt them sting from the dirty water, the sunlight barely visible the lower they sank. His HUD was lit red and he could hear Karen’s muffled voice in his ear as his body convulsed and his vision darkened.

His last thoughts as he passed out were of May and Tony and the overbearing pain in his chest.

——————————————————————————

“Please tell me that was the last one FRI,” Tony begged from high above the smoking Brooklyn Bridge. He was sweating through the three-piece suit he hadn’t managed to completely shed before stepping into the armor and he was dying for a shower and a large mushroom and olive pizza from Mario’s.

“Area secure,” FRIDAY replied. “Karen has sent an SOS from the Spider suit – I’m sending the directions to your HUD.”

“Shit,” Tony cursed as he immediately blasted toward the opposite side of the bridge and the blinking beacon FRI was projecting for him. “Vitals?”

“Unable to read Boss,” the AI said. “The suit GPS is reading one-hundred and twenty-seven feet below the water directly under you.” Blood going cold at the implication, Tony increased his speed and broke the surface at high speed, eyes darting through the water to find the bright red of Peter’s suit.

Peter’s body was completely limp in the grip of one of the larger drones and Tony didn’t bother to unhook the two as he grabbed Peter and swiftly pulled him close before surging out of the water and back to land on the uninhabited bridge above him. FRIDAY helpfully removed his helmet as Tony activated his laser to release Peter from the drones grip, yanking the stretchy mask over the teenagers head. His lips were blue and his face pale under the bright mask and Tony crammed his unloved fingers to Peter’s carotid artery, heart sinking when it was still beneath Peter’s chilled skin.

“Fuck,” Tony cursed, positioning his hands over Peter’s unmoving chest and beginning his first round of compressions. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he continued, counting to thirty in his head before tilting Peter’s head back to clear his airway and administering two rescue breaths. Peter’s chest still didn’t move after and he felt no breathing so Tony took up another round of compressions. “Come on Pete,” he begged, tears beading at the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them fall and cloud his vision. “Not today. Not like this!” He gave two more breaths and had to lean back quickly when water gushed from Peter’s mouth. “There you go buddy,” Tony said, rolling Peter onto his side in the recovery position and patting his back firmly to help release the water from his lungs. “Get it all up now.”

“Tony,” Peter choked out, his voice sounding rough and warbling around his coughs. His lips were still a pale blue but were rapidly pinking as his lungs cleared of water and were able to absorb oxygen.

“Don’t talk,” Tony said, lifting Peter’s trembling body up to rest against his chest. “Just breath for now, ok?” Peter nodded as more water dribbled down his chin and he gagged, vomiting a mixture of bile and vile river sludge. Tony crinkled his nose in disgust but wiped the kid’s chin down anyways with the corner of his suit jacket. They sat for a few more minutes in silence as Peter continued to cough and retch before going silent except for the ragged gasps he was drawing in. “I’m going to take you to see Cho now alright? Just let me do all the work.”

Not waiting for Peter’s permission, Tony fully suited back up and cautiously maneuvered Peter into his arms where he laid limply with his head lolled against Tony’s chest. Tony felt his heart clench before taking off, pointing his thrusters in the direction of the compound.

“If I have to tell you to keep that mask on one more time,” Tony threatened, “I’m going to glue it to your face.”

Peter huffed, but obediently rested the oxygen mask back against the lower part of his face, his steady breaths fogging up the clear plastic and doing nothing to hide the look of exhausted indignation on his protégés face. “I feel fine,” Peter protested but Tony didn’t believe him. The kid’s voice was still raw and hoarse and he looked like he had gone a few rounds with the Hulk. Most telling, though, was the fact that Peter hadn’t yet tried to engage in an elaborate escape attempt from the MedBay.

“I’m sorry, when did you get you medical degree?” Tony retorted with an eye roll. “Dr. Cho is keeping you overnight on oxygen until your saturations are normal and starting you on a heavy duty antibiotic and breathing treatments. Do you want pneumonia?”

“No,” Peter answered, petulant but wiggling around until he was more comfortable in the bed and resting against the pillows propped up behind him.

“Then you’ll do as she says.” Tony said firmly, reaching out to run one hand through Peter’s gritty curls and down to squeeze the back of his neck. “Just give it one night okay? One night before you’re back out there figuring out new and improved ways to make me prematurely grey.”

Peter smiled and let out a chuckle before letting his eyes slip closed. “One night,” he agreed.

#summer of whump 2021 #Prompt: Drowning #spider man #irondad #summerofwhump #summerofwhump3

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steebersss · 4 years

Note

listen you say boba fett thigh riding im gonna go fucking feral!!! foaming at the mouth!! i'm on some grr grr bark bark type shit!!! if you wrote a drabble i would DIE (no pressure tho do what u want😅 you're awesome 💛)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Boba Fett/Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding, choking, breath-play, dubcon (it’s really all consensual and wanted but you are a bounty so), use of nongendered body parts/language, no use of Y/N

A/N: I’m crying at “grr grr bark bark type shit” tfjskdf, also sorry this is 1291923 years late

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

He was just sitting there.

That’s all he was fucking doing- sitting slack-legged, thighs spread, in the pilot’s seat, currently occupied with a glitchy hologram. And here he was, minding his goddamned business, unaware – or uncaring- why his bounty was suddenly silent, while you watched the way his sinewy muscles jumped with every movement, the way his tactical pants stretched so deliciously over his thigh as he slapped the malfunctioning console.

The ship rumbled around you with the quiet din of hyperspace, stream of passing starlight lighting the cockpit in a cool, blue hue, but that did nothing to hide the way your face flushed red, creeping up your ears and down your neck.

You watched him struggle, for a moment, eager to hear his snuffed grunts of frustration, but your eyes fell back to his fucking lap, and gods, you wished you could perch yourself up on it, just feel the solid meat of his thigh pressed right up against your-

“Can I help you?”

You blustered, caught peeping and he knew. Fett was turned away from you, still, as his fists stayed buried in the jungle of wires under the main communications console- but you knew he had some insane sense of awareness that ratted out your perverse staring. Your voice caught high in your throat when his hands brushed dangerously close to an exposed wire, one you knew would hurt, if not straight up kill him- an excellent bounty hunter, he was, but an engineer he was not. And despite the fact you knew his death would mean you lived, you still needed someone to pilot your ass down to a safe planet.

“No,” You whispered, jumping in your seat as a spark flew angrily from the mangled console, and you rose, finally, unable to withstand watching just how boorishly he tore at the poor thing. “But I can help you with-“

The world spun and you felt the air quite forcibly leave your lungs, back colliding heavily with the floor beneath you, thoughts rattling in your skull uselessly as you desperately tried to understand what just happened. It wasn’t until you felt the hand around your throat, a solid thigh between yours, immobilizing you that your lame brain finally caught up.

Oh, that’s right. It probably wasn’t the best idea to just jump up behind an experienced bounty hunter- of whom you were the bounty. You gasped for air, smaller, bound hands clawing at his gloved ones, cursing your love of mechanics and your soft heart.

“Don’t move.” He snarled, and oh, you squeezed your thighs around his involuntarily, core clenching at the sound of his breathless voice, adorned beautifully with his thick accent and an undercurrent of frustration. Your head swam with the lack of oxygen, your sex greedily rerouting what little blood-flow you had left to fuel your inappropriate arousal.

His grip softened, somewhat, when he felt you squirm, when he heard your gasps. Slowly, predatorily, his helmet tipped down, the dark cross of his visor landing square to observe the way you pressed yourself against his thigh, hips twitching, and whether it was from the lack of air or pleasure, he didn’t care.

“You can help me?” Fett jammed his thigh closer to you, helmet trained on the curve of your crotch meeting the meat of his leg, and you choked, face flushing with embarrassment and need. “I doubt it.”

At your pathetic inhale, the bounty hunter chuckled darkly, and fuck, the sound should send fear to your hopeless brain, but instead your body betrayed you, blush creeping down your neck to settle sweetly across your collarbones. Your tunic, as if in the conspiracy against you, laid just a touch open, baring a blushing shoulder to the man above you. His grip loosened, just enough to free your constricted airway, and you gulped down great gasps of air, vision blurred.

The rush of oxygen, adrenaline, and pleasure pushed a breathy, low moan from your lips.

“I asked you a question, quarry.” He growled, low, dangerous, and you nodded, inhaling sharply when he shifted his thigh, grinding against you. It felt as delicious as it had looked earlier, the pressure blossoming to liquid pleasure, heat racing through your core with every insistent nudge and you couldn’t help but moan earnestly, now, planting your feet onto the floor for leverage. Fett growled at that, animalistic and vulgar, free hand pawing at your tunic to reveal the soft curves of your chest.

“F-fuck-“ You whimpered, hips bucking on their own against his thigh, your underwear a right mess with the evidence of your building arousal. “Please-“

His thumb brushed against your nipple, coarse and gritty from the worn gloves, though fuck if you cared, fuck if it didn’t feel amazing. Electric pleasure ran up your spine, goosebumps chasing after it on your skin and you keened, hips rolling- seeking more. It didn’t matter anymore that he captured you, that you were being shipped off to certain doom, all you cared about was tending to your mounting orgasm, shaking thighs clamping tight around the bounty hunter’s.

“What makes you think you can ask for anything?” He spat, though the bite to his tone was gone, replaced with the airy breathlessness you’ve heard before and knew as arousal. You whimpered again, a quiet, heartbreaking sound and you felt him still, felt the thumb on your nipple still, and watched as he took a ragged breath in, hand around your neck shifting up.

You, with the last shred of your self-preservation positively disintegrated, pushed your hips up, your own thigh brushing his codpiece, eyes locked onto his visor as you gasped, “Because I know you want it, too.”

The choking pressure was back, harder than before, and your eyes rolled back into your skull, moans shamelessly spilling from you like the wet from your core. Fuck, you were so, so, so close, burning bright just from grinding yourself against his thigh with his hand pinning you down by your throat, squeezing the air and orgasm out of you. His hands rooted under your tunic, gripping your chest, your sides, grasping every soft part of you like he’d never felt before. That did it- the heady pawing so desperate like you- and you keened, high and stuttering as you came, fingers clenching helplessly around the exposed skin of his wrist, legs tense and taut unlike the absolute release you were feeling.

Your mind was pleasantly blank, thighs trembling and splayed wide, the seam of your pants where your legs met hips dark and damp with the proof of your orgasm. Dimly, you felt his hand slack around your- undoubtedly bruised- neck and heard his ragged breath from under the helmet, before he stood, adjusting his gauntlets.

Fuck it, you thought, remaining boneless on the floor, watching him return to the broken console like he didn’t just make you cum half of your brain out your ears. A sharp jolt and a stifled grunt from him pulled a quiet laugh out of you. He turned to face you, soundless, though you could feel his glare, his bristly pout.

“You know, I was a radar tech. But I guess you don’t need my help.”

He sighed.

#Anonymous #boba fett/reader #boba fett #boba fett x reader #star wars #rating: nc17 #my writing #drabble requests

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now-im-a-belieber · 3 years

Note

hello, my name is 🤡, i've come crashing down from my manic episode, prepare to cry

no nsfw, only A N G S T and bits of fluff here and there

◇ ever since the jump into normandy, you had been the shoulder that others would cry on. how you kept it together so well, watching your friends get gunned down or turned to pink mist, your fellow soldiers would never know

◇ you had lost count of the hours you had spent with shifty's head on your shoulder, babe's head in your lap, or lieb's face buried in your neck

◇ you'd shared a pack with luz once in a while and he would let you rub the tension from the muscles in his hands as you both just talked, about anything and everything

◇ you had been the one to help bull maintain care for his tank wound as it healed, during that time you had learned plenty about the burly arkansas boy

◇ really what they all needed was a kind, familiar touch and a friend to confide their sorrows in. and that's precisely what you had become, an ear to listen and arms to fall into

◇ no one should have to bear the weight of a war such as this, especially not those so young. yet it wasn't uncommon for you to carry three or four handkerchiefs with you

◇ the time that you did get alone was often spent in tears. the backs of the survivors must bear the hopes of the deceased, you knew that

◇ the reality was, you couldn't keep it together. not for long, anyway. part of you felt responsible in some way, for helping the men keep their heads up. even if they didn't have hope, you did, and thus the hopeless gravitated to you

◇ you and muck felt like the last real optimists left, and yet everything seemed to crumble around you and there was nothing you could do. you couldn't take away the pain, the everlasting ache, no matter how you tried

◇ in bastogne was where you lost it. when muck and penkala became pink mist in their own foxhole was when you OFFICIALLY lost your shit. in that moment, you couldn't even bring yourself to check on malarkey.

◇ between the artillery attacks, you had pulled a dike and staggered off into the woods. your heart physically ached in your chest, this crushing weight enveloped your ribs, your lungs stuttered in poor attempts to take in oxygen

◇ your head was throbbing with the onslaught of tears that overcame, the snow soothed the ache in your kneecaps as you just sat there sobbing.

◇ nearly an hour had passed before you were able to pick yourself up and return to the platoon. with eyes puffy and ringed with red, nose red from rubbing and dried tears staining your cheeks, it was impossible to hide what had happened

◇ bull was at your side in a matter of moments, arm around your shoulder in a tight embrace. he had figured this might happened, and gave you a comforting squeeze. "you wanna go see malarkey? he's over with lip."

◇ he released you upon your nod, with lipton glancing over his shoulder at you after handing over hoob's luger to malarkey. don looked to you when you appeared beside carwood, and promptly scooched over

◇ don gave you a small smile, then stretched out an arm in order for you to settle against his side. "your turn."

WHOOOOO IM IN PHYSICAL TEARS IN MY PATHOLOGY LECTURE

xoxo, 🤡

1. "the backs of the survivors must bear the hopes of the deceased, you knew that."

2. "your turn."

HOLY SHITE

clownie this is some of your very best work im actually astounded. like this made my heart physically hurt like OMFG

#🤡 anon #band of brothers

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rulesofthebeneath · 4 years

Link

@lookslikezombiesatbest @lilmissperfectlyimperfect :3

tw blood mention, child abuse mention

Chapter 5

Grace was lost.

Ever since Rory had left that morning, after an hour of running lines and another hour of trying to tease information about Grace’s crush out of her, Grace was alone. James and Erin were out on their date, Skye was completely unreachable, and Grace was too unreasonably irritated by Rory’s good-natured attempts at reconciling their friendship to talk to them about it.

That left one confidant for her, but he was the very one that Grace didn’t want to know about this. Everything around Ajay was so complex: her feelings for him, his supposed feelings for her, the juxtaposition of someone who’d recovered from cancer and someone who probably never would. Ajay was too good for her, too good to be hurt by her. Every time her thoughts wandered towards him, she shut herself up by imagining him at her funeral.

Deeper inside, her mind was like a tempest. Thoughts of wanting and needing the love and validation and just plain closeness that came with having close friends rose up and circled around before raining down as heavy guilt-hail, knowing that she was condemning each of them just by getting close.

Against her will, her fingers typed out a text to Ajay.

Grace: hey do u have a sec

Ajay: Are you okay?

Of course he’d ask if she was okay. It was just going to make her eventual death worse if he cared about her.

Grace: it’s weird but i kinda feel like i shouldn’t have friends, i’ll just end up making a lot of people sad when i die.

The words came out of her before she could stop them. She’d kept these thoughts to herself for far too long, and they spilled out of her.

Ajay: That’s how I felt when I was in treatment. Like I would only ever hurt people that I got close to.

Grace: but you were never actually going to die tho. it’s different

Ajay: 60%

Grace: ?

Ajay: You keep saying that I wasn’t actually going to die. The doctors said the survival rate for my cancer was 60%. That’s not exactly great odds, Grace. I was scared, too.

Grace immediately felt guilty. She’d always thought of osteosarcoma as a relatively easy cancer, just costing an arm or a leg before you were ready to go home and live a life in remission. Ajay seemed fine; it was hard to think about that just three years ago he could’ve died.

Grace: shit, im sorry

Ajay: No, it’s fine. But you should keep that in mind. I might have had less time to deal with what you’re dealing with, but I do understand it.

Grace: maybe. thanks for talking. i think i just held this inside for too long

Ajay: No problem.

Ajay: Actually, if you’re just sitting around, would you like some cookies? I made some extra.

Despite herself, Grace smiled. It would be a lot easier to face these feelings with another person, especially someone like him who drove all the thoughts out of her head and made her heart lighter than she’d thought it could ever be. Like it or not, she’d become addicted to him. Maybe if she could just keep him as a friend, she could find a way to suppress her feelings for him.

That thought flew out of her mind once her mother pulled up to Ajay’s house and saw her off with a knowing smile. She pushed her cart up to the Bhandari’s front door and rang the doorbell. She heard a lot of loud footsteps heading up to the door quickly, and backed up just before a small boy that looked almost exactly like Ajay threw the door open.

“Who are you?” he asked loudly. Not knowing what to say, Grace stuttered for a moment before Ajay came to the door wearing just a t-shirt and shorts, balancing on crutches. He didn’t have his prosthetic leg on, and once he saw Grace, he quickly turned red.

“Grace!” he said, gently pushing the kid out of the way and towards the kitchen. “Mo, go help amma finish packing, okay?”

“Okay bhai!” Mohit said happily and trotted off. Ajay nudged the door open with the leg of one of his crutches, and gestured Grace inside with a nod. She closed the door behind her. A woman called out to Ajay in a language Grace didn’t understand, and he responded with some equally incomprehensible words. A door slammed, and they were alone.

“My mom and Mohit are going camping,” Ajay explained.

“Clearly I surprised you,” Grace said, not sure where to start. She took him in: his stained yellow Cedar Cove Fair t-shirt, his ratty black gym shorts, the sliver of brown skin that peeked out from under the hem of his gym shorts. His face was flushed and his hair was mussed, and maybe it was just because she was surprised because of how dressed down he was, but she thought he looked beautiful.

“You didn’t respond to my text, otherwise I would’ve changed…” he said. “Actually, wait, let me go change right now.”

“No, wait,” Grace said, settling down on the couch that Ajay had clearly just vacated, because it was playing some show from the History Channel on mute. He stopped and pivoted.

“Remember what I said about not wanting to put on appearances for people I want to get close to? And anyways… I think you look nice like that.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to look homeless in front of the girl I have a crush on,” he said, a small smile on his face. Then, he turned and hopped down the hall, leaving Grace staring at him as he left.

Crush? Grace thought. So he DOES like me! She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face, and how, regardless of any anxieties she might have had before, her mind just filled up with him. She knew it was a bad idea, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care right then. Crush!

He reappeared in the hallway, still legless but wearing a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans pinned up on the left side. “Compromise,” he said.

I have a crush on you, too, she wanted to say. You look really hot in those jeans. Do you want to go get lunch? My treat, wherever you want to go.

Instead, she gestured to the TV and said, “What are you watching?”

He settled down next to her, closer than he would’ve usually been. Grace couldn’t tell if it was because of lack of balance on crutches, or because he’d wanted to be close to her. She figured it was both.

“Nothing special, just some documentary about swords,” he said, just as the screen did a cut-scene with flames as the transition.

“Dork,” Grace said, nudging him slightly. He shot her a grin. Even more beautiful, she thought.

“So where are those cookies?” she asked instead, and Ajay started to stand up to go find them but his left crutch got tangled in her cannula. His crutches crashed to the ground and he barely managed to catch himself on the coffee table, and Grace’s cannula was painfully yanked out of her nose.

She inhaled sharply at the pain and sudden motion, but she didn’t get enough air and the breath sent her into a coughing fit. Ajay struggled to prop himself up on the coffee table, and only when he was seated did he notice that Grace was struggling to breathe and coughing violently.

Grace had started to become dizzy from the lack of air, but she had enough presence of mind to ease the nubbins of the cannula back into her nose after she felt Ajay tuck the split lines of the cannula back behind her ears. She calmed down as the fresh oxygen tricked into her lungs and focused on breathing deeply and slowly, painfully swallowing the coughs. Throughout the process, Ajay's hands rested on the sides of her face, his worried expression coming back into view as her vision faded back in.

She closed her eyes and rested her cheek in his hand, trying to avoid the heat of shame spreading over her face like a blush, and trying to keep the tears that had formed in her eyes while she was coughing from rolling down her cheeks, but to her horror, they did anyways. Ajay made a concerned sound when he saw it, and then Grace felt the pad of his thumb pressed against her cheek, wiping the tears away.

Not wanting to seem any more pitiful than she already did, Grace reluctantly pulled away from Ajay’s hands, causing him to pull back as well, but he left one protective hand on her knee. She wiped the rest of the tears away and let out a forced laugh, which did a little bit to clear Ajay’s concerned expression.

“You okay?” Grace managed, her voice still a little weak from the debacle. She cleared her throat.

“I’m fine,” Ajay replied, his fingers rubbing the fabric of her jeans over her knee. “I hit my hip a little on the way down, but it’s nothing more than a bruise. I should be the one asking if you’re okay.”

“I’m okay now. Um, thanks,” she said, hesitating. “Thanks for helping with the cannula. And I’m sorry I tripped you.”

Ajay just shook his head, though a smile was the predominant expression on his face. “No need to be sorry. Let’s just chalk that up to an unfortunate accident, alright?”

Grace nodded, and Ajay’s hand on her knee came up to her shoulder and squeezed, a gesture that was purely friendly by all means but somehow felt more intimate with the way he looked into her eyes. She had to be careful not to stare into them for too long, or she’d get lost in them.

Luckily, before she had to make the choice to tear her eyes away from him or not, he broke the spell by leaning over to pick his crutches up off the ground and standing up, hopping into the kitchen and returning with a pan of cookies in a bag slung over his shoulder. He deposited the pan on the coffee table, then took his place back on the couch next to Grace and handed her a cookie.

“Here. To apologize for tripping over your cannula.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Thanks. You’re forgiven.” She bit into the cookie.

Half an hour of conversation passed easily between the two, although it was increasingly filled with tempting glances and casual touches-- a shoulder shove, a playful poke-- that seemed too intense to be just friendly. The short time ended when Grace’s phone buzzed insistently from the table. Ajay handed it to her, and she answered the call. It was from Rory.

“Where are you?” they demanded, then paused. “Wait, never mind. I need you to come over.”

“What’s wrong?” Grace asked, put off by the anxiety she could hear in their voice. Ajay shot her a concerned look.

“It’s Skye. Look, can you just come over?”

“Sure. Uh, I’m with Ajay, so I’ll ask him to drive me over, we can be there in 20 minutes.”

“Oh, great, you’re with Ajay? We actually need him, too.”

“You need-- Rory, what’s going on?”

Over the line, Rory sighed. “Please just come over. I’ll explain it all to you then.” With that, the line went dead.

“What was that?” Ajay asked.

“Rory needs both of us over at their house. They said it’s something about Skye?”

Ajay’s eyes hardened, and Grace saw a terrifying darkness in his expression.

“Alright, come on.”

Without any further ado, Ajay propped himself back up into a standing position on his crutches and grabbed his car keys that were in a dish on the coffee table.

“Open the door for me, would you?”

Grace did so, and soon they were both in the car on the way to Rory’s house. Ajay bit his bottom lip, and then started talking.

“Listen, Grace, I’m not sure how much Skye has told you about her home life, and it’s not really my business to say, but it’s pretty well-known in the theatre program at Berry that her parents are assholes.”

Grace nodded. “She said something strange a few weeks ago, about them using her and her cancer to make money? But then she just dropped it and I didn’t want to bring it up again.”

“Probably best. Last year in our spring musical, her parents decided to sponsor a trip to compete in this theatre festival. But they also decided that that meant they got executive control over the show, and over her. They’re manipulative and horrible people, and if this is about something else they’ve done, I won’t be surprised.”

Grace chewed on the inside of her cheek. She’d heard Skye’s offhand comment in the light booth, and she’d noticed the darkness behind the girl’s blue eyes and goth makeup, but she hadn’t thought it could be that serious.

“It’s out of my depth,” she explained to Ajay. “I don’t know how to help with this.”

“You can’t,” he replied. “I don’t think there really is a way to get rid of the Crandalls. But what we can do is just be there for her, let her talk to us and comfort her if that’s what she wants, okay?”

Grace nodded again, and then the two were silent for the remainder of the drive over.

Rory greeted them at their front door, stress clearly shown on their face. Wordlessly, they gestured down the hallway.

“She’s in my room,” they said quietly, obviously not wanting their voice to carry upstairs. “I don’t know much but if I had to bet anything, I’d say someone hit her.”

Ajay cursed under his breath and clenched a fist.

“How bad?” Grace asked.

“I don’t think anything’s broken, but she’s got a black eye and a busted lip, and her nose is bleeding like all hell.”

Grace’s eyebrows raised, and Ajay’s eyebrows pinched together. “Can we see her?” he asked.

“Yes. Yeah, I think that would help. Come on,” Rory said, leading Grace and Ajay up the stairs.

Skye was sitting on their bed, an ice pack held up to her cheek and a cross expression on her face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, and Grace immediately looked away and stopped walking at the entrance to the room. Ajay continued in, and leaned in close to Skye.

“Let me see,” he said, leaning precariously on his crutches. Rory quickly fetched a seat for him before he could fall over.

Hesitantly, Skye removed the ice pack from her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding, leaving behind a red crust down her lips and chin. The side of her lip had also swelled somewhat, and a purple bruise was forming around her eye.

After inspecting her for a few seconds, using his fingers to tip her chin so he could get a better look from different angles, Ajay sighed and sat back.

“Nothing’s broken,” he said, “Not as far as I can tell. You’ll live.”

Skye rolled her eyes and pressed the ice pack back against her eye.

Grace was starting to get weak from standing for so long, and Rory offered her the chair from their desk. She sat in it gratefully, and wheeled it over so she could get closer to Skye. She took the redhead’s ice-cold hand.

“What happened?” Grace asked. Unwilling or unable to sustain eye contact, Skye cast her eyes downward.

“My parents. They wanted me to come see a client with them, so they could exploit me to get more money. I said no. My father, I guess he was just stressed about the meeting going well, and he started throwing stuff. A book hit me. I don’t think he meant to.”

“And then you came here?” Ajay asked.

Skye nodded. “Nobody hit me, I was just in the way.”

Grace reached out to tuck a strand of Skye’s red hair behind her ear, and when Skye looked up, there were tears brimming in her eyes. Skye brushed them away angrily.

“I guess my life isn’t my own,” she said sharply. “If I just did what they told me, everything would be fine.”

“No, Skye. They shouldn’t use their own daughter,” Grace said, squeezing Skye’s hand. “I don’t really know what you’re going through, but I know it’s not right for them to manipulate you like that. And even if your dad didn’t mean to hit you with the book, he still did.”

The tears started spilling over onto Skye’s cheeks, but they weren’t sad tears. By the way the girl’s small body shook and her hands curled into fists, Grace knew that she was angry.

“No,” she said, “it’s not right! They don’t get to treat me like this. They’ve been shitty parents my entire life.”

“Do you wanna hit something?” Ajay asked, and Skye, Rory and Grace all turned to him in surprise. “When my parents were getting divorced, all I wanted to do was just explode. Keeping it contained isn’t healthy.”

Skye considered this, and then turned to Rory. “Do you have anything punchable?”

They gestured to the plushies at the end of their bed. “Go wild.”

Skye turned to face the plushies. She was silent for a second, then yanked her elbow back and walloped a stuffed bear as hard as she could.

“Hell yeah,” Grace said, cheering Skye on. “Give him what he deserves.��

Skye punched again, this time a precise hit on the nose of a stuffed lizard. A smile grew on her face, making her look slightly deranged. She hit another plushie, and another, and another. Her hits became less and less precise until she was wildly swinging, knocking the plushies off the bed and around the room.

“Fuck you, dad,” she said emphatically, launching a stuffed pig into Rory’s window, causing a crash as it hit the plastic blinds. “And fuck you too, mom,” she shouted, accompanied by a stuffed sheep being drop-kicked across the room. “I never asked for anything from you! I never wanted anything except… except... “ her voice got softer and softer until the last word was a whisper.

“Except love.”

Then, to everyone’s horror, she sank down onto the mattress and started sobbing.

Rory looked to Grace and Ajay, who both looked alarmed. “Think we should give her some space?”

Ajay nodded. “Probably best.”

Grace closed the door behind them, muffling Skye’s sobs. The girl’s cries tore at her heart, and she longed to fix everything, but she knew she couldn’t. This was Skye’s healing process, and Grace knew that they had done well by leaving her alone. That didn’t make it any easier for Grace to walk away from the room, though, wanting nothing but to hold the redhead and make her believe that everything would be okay eventually.

Once they got back downstairs and out the front door, the three collapsed on the swing on Rory’s front porch.

“If I could hurt him, I would,” Ajay said, glaring at nothing in particular. “Make him see what he’s done to her.”

“I’m with you. But he’d just hurt us too, try and blackmail our families or something.” Rory chimed in.

“I know. But if I could just…” Ajay’s hand curled into a fist again, and Grace put her hand on top of his, gently unrolling it.

A car pulled into the driveway, and Rory stood up. Grace waved at Mrs. Silva as the woman stepped out of her car. Rory pulled her quickly inside, explaining the situation and leaving Grace and Ajay outside.

Once the door closed behind them, Grace leaned her head onto Ajay’s shoulder.

“Shit,” she said. He just nodded. Their hands were still linked, and Grace was holding onto him for support. She’d never seen anybody like that before, and she couldn’t even conceptualize how much Skye had been affected by the years of abuse that her parents had been enacting on her.

“You’d think,” Grace said, “that surviving cancer would entitle you to a little gentleness.”

Ajay turned to lean his head back on Grace’s, thinking about what she’d said.

“I think that if there’s one thing I’ve learned about life, it’s that nothing really entitles anyone to anything.

#fanfiction #choices hssca #hssca #choices fanfiction #choices: high school story #high school story class act #ajay x mc #my fanfic #moof

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zagandamnation · 5 years

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I'm Happy Anyways Jason Voorhees x Gender Neutral!Reader

Jason voorhees, a legend told over campfires. A story of a little boy who died and was brought back by his mother before she was murdered so he may protect the grounds of camp crystal lake. I y/n, am the only known person to survive his wrath. The tall behemoth of an undead man is quite soft and gentle, especially to the nature of this world, and me...usually.

Today was going well but alas i seem to have accidentally broken one rule of the rules jason set for me: never, EVER go near the entrance of camp. I hadn't meant to, i didn't realize i walked so close, now im cornered by some teenage boys who were under the influence. I may be an older person in their 20s, but i was quite short compared to some. "Hey, come on, come have some fun!" I am backed into a cabins outside wall "n-no...I'm fine, i have to..." i tried moving to the side, only to be pinned "l-listen you little shit, you WILL have some fun with us...you wouldn't wanna hurt that nice face now would you?". I gulp, awaiting some sort of pain to follow the closing in movement of the boys, then the screaming started. I open my eyes to see the one who pinned me on the floor, intestines all over, looking up i see jason with the others by the necks. One boy's neck in each hand, jason crushes their throats, sending blood from the orifices of their head all over. Jason drops the bodies, focusing his good eye on me, charging me "jason please, i didn't know i was so close!" But i was cut off by a hand hoisting me up by the throat, cutting my oxygen off.

He walks with me minute after minute, my sight slowly fading as i begin to pass out from lack of air, right as my vision completely turns black, i was thrown onto a matress in our cabin. Coughing violently to grasp air into my lungs, jason stands over me, heaving his chest in aggravation. "I..I'm sorry jason...i honestly didn't mean too...." he tilts his head, pulling from his pocket on his jacket, a small little knife, one i know too well. I slowly back up onto the bed towards the headboard, jason lumbering his way towards the bed, slowly leaning down to start crawling up the bed towards me, much like a panther, waiting to pounce.

My back hits the headboard, startling me, but not slowing jason down as he finally crawls up to me, mask brushing my nose. He slowly moves his hands towards my pants, hooking his fingers under the waistband of both pants and underwear, my top half following. Soon enough i was naked, sitting under Jason's huge muscular body, scars littering my skin, some accidental, most by jason. He raises the hand holding the small blade to my skin running gently along the scars, varying in depth depending on how severe the infraction was. He found a spot on my chest, right over my breastbone.

I take small shakey breaths as he catches my eyes with his good eye as he drags the knife slowly across my breastbone in a straight line. I hiss, tears coming to my eyes and all noises catch in my throat. This was how it was, i break a rule, i must be punished, if i make a noise of any sort, it would count as a rebellion against his punishment, equaling a worde punishment. He stops after the cut reaches 5 inches long and only halfway down to the bone, blood pouring over my chest. Jason sets the knife over on the side table, turning to look at the blood run down my stomach. Right before the stream reaches my bellybutton, he lifts his mask off, revealing his deformed, zombified head. Leaning down, jason opens his mouth and lick up the stream of blood in a single flick, swallowing and coming back to lick my cut unto the bleeding slow enough to be able to be bandaged. He stares me down, bare faced, giving me a look of lust.

We went on to do the deed, him doing his traditional ritual of climaxing inti my wound, allowing his seed to seep into the crevasses causing severe burning. He patches and cleans the wound, pulling me gently to cuddle facing his large chest, he soon passes out, slight snoring coming from his broken off nose. I look up and memorize his face, finally ignoring the constant pain from my chest, smiling lovingly at him and snuggling into him, huffing a giggle when he squeezes tightly. I soon drift off to sleep in the arms of my capture, my torturer, my lover. This was my life now, he loves to hurt me, use me, then comfort me. I enjoy it, it lets me know he absolutely loves me, he has a hard time telling me on paper, so this is his way of showing it. Protecting me from those bastard people who come here to harm, from the harshness of life, and I'm happy about. I love him, and i love his punishments, i wouldn't change a thing. I love Jason Voorhees.

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catboyfeli · 5 years

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a quick drabble i wrote about my ocs when i was upset a while back! the ending is shit so ignore that lol. characters name is caitlyn :) also pls review im a starving five year old

The fire crackles in my hand. I'm illuminated in a blue glow. My skin is burning beneath the growing flame and so are my eyes from the tears pushing their way past. It feels like my flesh is slowly melting off. I welcome the feeling as I fling out my arm, a scream ripping through my vocal chords.

Why did he leave? I loved him. I was in love with him. I still am in love with him despite the way my stomach turns inside itself at the mere mention of his name.

Riley.

Riley Riley Riley Riley Riley Riley

The flame is the same color as his eyes and I want to tear my own out so I never have to see that shade of blue again.

Riley was my best friend. He was the sweet and silly boy I fell in love with. He was my melody while I was the lyrics and he was also the rhythm that tied the whole song together. No, we were the rhythm. We tied the song together. It was us. We were beautiful.

Now where are we? Where is he?

Both of my hands are lit up in flames and my lungs burn just as hotly. I feel tears sprinting down my cheeks, running away, leaving me, just like him. In my ears is the crackling of my own emotions spinning wildly around me. My vision is a whirlpool of blue blue blue I hate that color I hate him

I hate that he held my heart in his hands the way no one else did or ever could. I hate that I let him so willingly and God, I trusted him with my very soul and being. He held my life in the palm of his stupid little hand and then squeezed. He squeezed until he couldn't squeeze anymore and as I gasped for air, he dropped me. He dropped me from the height of the sun and even still I long to feel his hand in mine once again, the same hand that carelessly squeezed my heart to oblivion.

He was my sun and my sky and the oxygen in my lungs. No amount of cliches could convey how much I needed him and how much I still need him now. His light shone down on me like I was someone special I was special to him, so what happened?

Blue is all I see when I look up. I realize now the burning I felt wasn't just my weeping eyes but also the dancing of the flames around me. The trees stick out of the ground like tall, angry giants. They're towering over me. I hear their whispers.

He left for a reason.

You weren't good enough for him.

You showed him your most vulnerable side.

You're alone now.

He didn't want you anymore.

His promises were all lies.

Who can you trust now?

You're nothing to him.

The world feels like it's going to collapse beneath me. My head spins as does the flames in my palms. Shut up shut up shut up! Make them shut up! I already know, don't remind me!

The flames continue to spin and so I spin on the balls of my feet, nearly losing my footing as I begin to run.

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therealsymmetra · 7 years

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//Six Feet

“Don’t look back, keep running,” Bray’s voice was hoarse as they dashed through the frozen wilderness.

His hand was pressed firmly to the smaller Awoken’s back, keeping them within arm’s length so that he could easily cover them if needed. He could hear their panicked breathing, nearly matching his own, the frigid winter air stinging his chest with every breath. He felt like his lungs were bleeding, like he would soon collapse in on himself, but the sounds of dogs barking and men yelling kept his burning legs from stalling.

They dashed out of the tree line, ambient light from the compound behind them casting an eerie glow on the fog that hung lowly across the ground. Their boots crunched over snow, and as they traveled further into the mist Bray started to feel the beginnings of hope, that he and Cas had made it unlike the others. They were free. It wasn’t until Cas slipped from his grasp that that hope began to fracture. He heard them yelp, go down quickly and a peculiar rumbling noise echo out from beneath their feet. He tried to stop himself only to slide as well, searching wildly for Cas as he hit the ground hard. All the air left him for a moment as he tried to stop himself from slipping further away from where he and Cas last were together. It was then, laying on the ground that he realized their grave mistake. He swiped at the earth below him, pushing aside snow to be face to face with a thick sheet of ice. Bray didn’t know the area well before he was taken to the complex, they could have very well wandered onto some kind of body of water, frozen due to the winter.

“Bray!” He heard Cas cry, not too far from him, his heart jumping into his throat as he searched them out, squinting through the night until his eyes adjusted and the moon peeked out from behind thick dark clouds.

He saw them, a couple yards away, on their hands and knees, white hair hanging in their face as they tried to right themselves.

“Cas don’t move!” Bray warned, a hefty creak echoing out from where Cas was trying to stand.

“They’re coming!”

“I know, I know, please, don’t. Move.” Bray tried to even his voice, tried to calm them, but he could see the panic grip them as the voices grew closer. Bray dropped onto his stomach, pulling himself painfully slow across the ground, the slipperiness of the ice losing all meaning as it caught on his jacket and pants.

“I’m coming to you stay down Cas.”

They weren’t listening, they were too frightened, he could tell in the way they kept throwing glances over their shoulder back from where they came. The ice continued to groan and shutter, with every move Cas made Bray could feel it vibrate out to him.

“Stop! Cas! Listen to me, please love! Listen!”

“I can’t go back! I can’t go back!”

“Cas!”

The ice gave one last protesting groan before the sound of shattering glass filled Bray’s ears. If it wasn’t the frigid water that would kill them Bray knew they couldn’t swim. He saw their lower half splash down into the water, the utter panic on their face as they scrambled to find purchase.

“Bray! Oh my god, Bray!”

“I’m coming! Just hold-,” another deafening crunch followed by the frantic struggles of a body trying to tread water before silence.

“Cas! Shit, Cas!”

He knew his shouts were futile, that any effort made to find them, to bring them up would be pointless, but he pulled himself across the ice anyways, shoved his arms into the water that near instantly numbed his skin and soaked his jacket, he moved to plunge his head under when he felt someone grip his hood and yank. Blinding white light washed over his vision, his breath caught in his throat as suddenly he wasn’t on the lake anymore but on dry ground, staring up at the sky, the clouds moving in to blanket the moon in darkness, then there was the man.

“Thought you two could just waltz on out then?”

Bray’s breathing was labored, his face wet with tears he hadn’t noticed he was crying, but hatred boiled up inside of him, energy coming even as his muscles felt stuck with ice. He scrambled up with a shout, launching himself onto the other man, fists flying, hands so numbed he couldn’t feel the impact, only the crunch as he broke his nose.

“You fucks! You sick fucks! You did this! You fucking killed them!” He screamed.

He wasn’t sure what came next, all he could remember was something hard and heavy colliding with his face, knocking him sideways and onto the ground, blood filling his vision, one eye having gone dark as he struggled to lift his head from the ground.

“That ones on you Bray, if you hadn’t run, she woulda been safe.”

It was a different voice, he knew this voice, a man by the name of Joffrey, older than the rest but just as cruel. Time seemed to skip, he wasn’t sure how long, but when he opened his eyes again the moon was somewhere else and the wash of oranges and pinks started to paint the sky as the sun had started to rise. He was being dragged, his right eye having still gone dark since they hit him, his knuckles throbbed and he was sure he had broken his hand at some point.

“There’s good, throw ‘im in.”

Bray sucked in a breath as he tried to right himself but the energy never came. They were somewhere outside the complex, that much was certain seeing as no half fallen buildings could be seen from where he laid on the ground. He felt arms underneath him, hoisting him up, he was larger than most but with such a sluggish mind he had no way of fighting back. He tried to will his brain to work, to start up, but as he was dumped from a short height he couldn’t get himself to move. It wasn’t until he tried to lift his arms, tried to kick out only to find sturdy wood that he started to panic, that the adrenaline started to course through him. He saw faces, far away and blurred, moving as if part of a movie that kept skipping, like his mind kept stalling.

“Rest in peace abomination,” was all he heard before he was enveloped in darkness.

Something was very wrong, this was all wrong. But his head hurt too much to process it, they were mistaken, he was alive. They knew that right? He was alive. Why was he in a box? He was alive.

“I’m… I’m alive… wait…” his voice was raspy and forced, like he was trying to breathe through a straw.

“I’m… I’m alive! Wait! Wait I’m alive!” He screamed, aching fists pounding halfheartedly on the lid.

“I’m alive! Stop it! Help! Help me! I’m alive!”

He felt the wooden coffin groan around him, shuttering slightly before he felt a drop then silence. His pounding became more insistent, more frantic, then he heard it, the shuffling of dirt, the sound of movement becoming farther and farther away until he couldn’t hear anything but his own breathing.

“Please! Stop! Cas! Cas help me! Please, god! I’m still alive!”

He felt sobs shake his voice, he was suffocating on his own tears as he tried to tear at the wood above him. His shoulders hurt, shoved at a wrong angle, his legs ached from how they were positioned, it was all too small, too cramped, he felt like he had been squeezed into a trash compactor. It was becoming harder to breathe and if he didn’t know better he would have thought he was under water.

“Please—god I’m dying. I’m dying down here… Please, Cas,” he started to choke, oxygen becoming harder to find, the darkness around him utterly crushing him. He closed his eyes, tried to find their face amid the panic that flooded his brain, he was so cold he felt like he was burning. A ringing drowned out everything else, it pounded in his temples, behind his eyes, and slowly but surely it was all that he could sense.

Air was hard to find at first, his stinging lungs making it difficult to take in a chest full, but there was a creaking above him, before a splintering sound.

“Are you sure?” Came a voice, rough and far away, one he didn’t know.

“Yes yes, they’re here,” came another, this one softer, accented slightly.

“Okay, let’s get them out then.”

There was the sound of more splintering, and suddenly sunlight burst over his eyesight, causing him to hiss and recoil, even if everything in his body told him he need to get out.

“There they are!” Came the second voice, and then there was a robot. Small, looking like some kind of star, they flitted back and forth for a moment before settling on his shoulder.

“My person!” They chirped gleefully.

“Hello, I know this must be jarring for you,” a hand reached forth and he took it without hesitation, the need to get out of the hole around him his only current motivation.

As his eyes adjusted he was greeted by a man, dark skinned, human, cropped hair and kind eyes. He wore heavy utilitarian armor and he too had a small robot that floated just over his shoulder.

“Where…” he nearly startled himself, his own voice deep and raspy.

“It’s best that we get you to the temple first, get you settled, then we can explain everything.”

He nodded in response, glancing back at where he had come from.

“My name is Saladin, do you know yours?”

He looked around, as if his surroundings would give him some indication of who he was.

“Bray!” the little robot chirped, he hadn’t realized but they had moved from his shoulder to hover beside him.

“You shouldn’t give him a name if he-“ “-Bray.”

Saladin paused, taking him in a moment.

“My name is Bray.”

The little robot chirped happily, spinning around his head before settling on his shoulder.

“Alright then Bray, shall we get moving.”

“Wait wait! What about me?”

Bray pulled them from his shoulder, taking them in a moment.

“Cas,” he said, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at the name, “your name is Cas.”

The little thing didn’t moved, staring up at him and if it could show expression he was sure they were wide eyed, but soon enough their shell shuttered with excitement.

“Cas! I am Cas, I am your Ghost!”

Bray nodded, letting the Ghost float up beside him.

He returned his attention back to this Saladin and smiled.

“Alright then, Cas, Bray. Shall we?”

#my writing #Bray #Saladin #hey guys is it a self insert if.... you know... this happens

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allforthecourtt · 7 years

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writing prompt (if u want) : andrew and neil met before while neil was someone else and broke andrew's heart by leaving/vanishing/faking death/idfk and then neil just shows up like no ?? u are like chris or some name and u r dead what is going on and how dare u

so we’re going to pretend im not the shittiest person ever and didn’t take like a week to write this 2000 word thing but anyways hope u like it :)

(PART TWO)

—————————————————————————————–

The shock of the exy racquet crashing into Neil’s stomach was secondary to the shock that came from seeing Andrew Spear again. While his lungs screamed for air, his brain screamed for an escape. To run. And never stop running again.

The edges of his vision turned as black as the shirt Andrew wore the first time they’d met those few years ago. It had been a startlingly warm day, aided by the fact that Nathaniel and his mother had just migrated south again from Montreal. California was everything and nothing that Nathaniel, no, Chris, had expected. It was hot, and there was the smell of salt in the air from the Pacific Ocean – that Chris had known would be there. He hadn’t counted on people being so open. Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to Andrew, a spot of darkness against the ever sunny sky. Andrew had never been an easy read.

The first time Andrew spoke to him, it was because he had gotten into a fight with a teacher. Neil had left the classroom at the end of the day with his head down, hugging his books close to his body. He didn’t know how long he’d stay here, but the fact that his mother had let him attend school was a good sign that they’d be in California for a while. Still it wasn’t a good idea to make friends or have ties here. Nobody should remember his face.

“You know,” Neil had heard him say as he passed a tree on the edge of the school’s property, “For someone who’s trying to keep a low profile you sure do love to get in a fight.”

He turned and came face to face with the blonde. Andrew hadn’t mastered the look of complete apathy yet and his eyes revealed the tiny spark of interest Neil had put there.

“For someone who’s barely four feet tall you sure do love antagonizing people,” Neil responded.

“A talent.” Andrew narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Christopher Bassett,” Neil lied.

Andrew’s hand rubbed absent mindedly at his inner forearm, covered by long sleeves. “No. That’s not it.”

“That’s all there is,” Neil lied again.

“You’re a bad liar.” Neil scoffed, but Andrew ignored him and continued, “but I mean, California is supposed to be full of actors, so what’s one more, right?”

“Why do you care so much?” Neil finally snapped at him.

Andrew sighed. “Because I don’t trust you.”

“And that matters to me?” Neil asked.

“It should.”

Neil laughed under his breath. “Okay, well, let me know when you have a real reason and maybe I’ll talk to you.” Neil turned and started to walk away from Andrew when he felt the other boy grab his arm and stop him from leaving.

“I recognize the look on your face, okay? I’m…” Andrew took a deep breath, steadying himself, “I’m a foster kid too. I just want to…. You’re safe right?”

Neil paused, “What?”

“You’re safe, aren’t you? You… The place is safe, right?” Andrew asked quietly.

Neil’s brow furrowed as he searched Andrew’s stoic face for a reason that he’d be asking that question, but there was nothing present in his emotion. No matter how hard Neil tried he couldn’t get a read on him.

“Yeah,” Neil finally answered, “I’m safe.”

Andrew nodded once and then released Neil’s arm from his grip before leaning back against the tree. “I’ll see you here tomorrow,” he said. Not quite a question, but not quite a statement either. Neil just nodded and then started on the path towards the house he and Mary were squatting in.

He met with Andrew every day for the next month and somehow in that time the two of them had formed, if not a friendship, then a mutual understanding. Andrew lived in theoreticals, as Neil discovered, and he spent the majority of his time with Andrew hypothesising about what they would do in the case of different situations. Like a zombie apocalypse or something as equally stupid. Neil didn’t actually care about the hypotheticals as much as he just enjoyed taking a break. It was nice to think about surviving something other than his father.

One day, Neil got particularly into detail about how he would survive an attack on the school by Al Capone-like mobsters when Andrew interrupted him.

“Who are you really running from?” Andrew asked.

Neil paused, forming a lie in his head that he didn’t quite finish before blurting out the truth. “My father,” he confessed.

Andrew didn’t say anything. He just nodded and then encouraged Neil to continue his daring attempt to save the 9th grade math teacher. That was what Neil liked most about Andrew. He knew when to stop pushing for answers.

About a week later Neil approached Andrew with his own theoretical when Andrew stopped him from talking with a hand over his mouth.

“Chris, I need you to just shut up and listen. Don’t respond, because I don’t need to deal with your shit right now too. Understand?” Neil nodded and Andrew took his hand off of his mouth. Neil noticed how warm his skin felt under where Andrew’s contact had been, but he ignored it.

Andrew continued, “I have a brother. An identical twin apparently. And I don’t know what to do. He wants to meet me but I can’t let him anywhere near this town. He found about him. About Aaron. And he’s going to hurt him. I want to see him, but… but I can’t let subject him to this. I… I couldn’t subject anybody to this. To him. I need to tell him to stay the hell away from me, don’t I? Don’t I?”

Neil blinked, taking in what Andrew was saying. What his words were implying, and everything suddenly clicked.

“Andrew,” Neil said calmly, “You need to get out of that house.”

Andrew stared at Neil. “What? No. I can’t. I can’t leave Cass. She’s worth it.”

Neil swallowed, trying to figure out how to get Andrew through this break down. He watched Andrew methodically fiddle with the long sleeves on his shirt and wondered silently how Andrew had been dealing with this alone. Andrew made eye contact with Neil again and seemed to calm slightly as he took in Neil’s startled face.

“What will make this better?” Neil asked, “What do you need from me, Andrew? Take it.”

Andrew’s hand found the back of Neil’s neck and he surged forward, pulling Neil down to meet him and clashing their lips together in the middle. This wasn’t Neil’s first kiss, but it was the first one he ever felt like participating in. He kept his hands at his side, unwilling to touch Andrew more than he knew was okay. When Andrew broke away from the kiss he just glared at him before turning quickly and starting to walk away.

“Andrew,” Neil called after him, “Andrew, please.”

“I hate you,” Andrew replied without ever turning around.

Neil got back to the house late after taking time to run and clear his head. He was confused about the kiss, and especially confused about the fact that he wanted to kiss Andrew again. While he had expected to be chastised by Mary about being tardy, what he hadn’t expected was to have his duffle bag thrown at his face the moment he stepped the through the door and to hear Mary’s panicked, “We have to go. Now.”

Neil froze in place. “What?”

“Abram.” Mary stepped forward and squeezed Neil’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We have to leave. I saw one of his men today. It’s only a matter of time. We have to get out.”

“But…” Neil started to object before Mary’s grip tightened enough to quiet him.

Neil’s face must have given something away because Mary sighed and loosened her hand. “No but’s. We can’t stay any longer,” she said, “I know you made friends and everything but we have to go.”

“Yes mom, I… I understand,” Neil said quietly, “Just let me use the bathroom first, okay?”

Mary nodded and returned to checking to make sure all of their guns were loaded. She was so focused she didn’t even notice Neil slipping through the bathroom window and running off towards Andrew’s house.

It took a few minutes for Andrew to open his window after Neil insistently tapped on it several times.

Andrew rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he took in Neil’s state. “What the fuck?”

“Andrew, I have to leave.” Neil’s tone was urgent. “My past found me. So I can’t stay anymore.”

“You can’t run forever,” Andrew said softly.

“No,” Neil agreed, “I can’t.”

“So stop running.” Andrew said.

“I can’t.” Neil answered.

Andrew closed his eyes for a moment, taking time to center his thoughts. “Who are you?” He finally asked.

“The only name I can give you is Abram,” Neil told him. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I really am,” he said. And then he turned and did what he always did best. Neil ran.

——–

Neil’s thoughts returned to the modern day with the oxygen in his lungs. He had liked being Neil Josten. Why did this asshole have to ruin everything? Why did Andrew turn up every time? Like sobriety after months of wallowing in the intoxication of a normal life. Of an identity. He was a somber reminder that Neil Josten didn’t exist, and could never. A reminder that Neil could never have anything in his life.

“Fuck you,” Neil choked out between gasps.

“So where have you been for the past five years?” Andrew asked, “Running?”

Neil glared up at him. “Surviving.”

“Dammit Minyard,” Wymack said storming into the room, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

“Oh, Coach, if he was nice, he wouldn’t be any use to us, would he?” Andrew said mockingly.

Neil zoned out of the rest of the conversation. Taking the time to studying Andrew’s reaction to him. He’d heard that Andrew had been put on medication, but seeing it was different than just knowing about it. And it hurt to look at Andrew like that. He looked so broken with a forced smile that could never quite reach his eyes.

“Do you know him?” Neil overhead Kevin whisper to Andrew.

Andrew scoffed. “I’ve never met Neil Josten in my life.”

Neil walked away before the promise of the Palmetto contract could tantalize him any further. He planned to keep walking until he left this town and the identity of Neil Josten all together but Andrew caught him in the parking lot, tossing the unsigned contract at his feet.

“I thought I told you once that eventually you’d have to stop running.” The smile had vanished from his face, as though Andrew’s system was blocking out the effects of the pills momentarily.

Neil shook his head. “I can’t, Andrew. It’s not that simple.”

Andrew laughed, a bitter and teasing sound. “Then make it that simple. Do you want to play exy?”

Neil took a deep breath but like he always did he told Andrew the truth that mattered, “Yes.”

“Then sign the fucking contract.” Neil stared openly at Andrew, drinking in the sight of his face after so many years. Thinking briefly of the only kiss his mother had never beaten him for.

“Stop that,” Andrew said suddenly.

“Stop what?” Neil asked.

“Stop looking at me like I’m your fucking answer.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Just sign the contract, Abram,” Andrew said walking away, back to the foxes. Back towards the promise of a future that was just within Neil’s grasp. And he wanted to badly to reach out and take it.

Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe it was time to finally stop running. Neil took a deep breath and sat down in the parking lot outside his school, knowing full well that he’d already made the decision about what to do with the contract. And all he needed was a pen.

#aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #Anonymous #writing

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wemermaid4this · 7 years

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Lance and the other Paladin land on a planet with an Ocean or something. Lance starts drowning, and get sick because of it.

As a life guard, this really got me inspired. I apologize that it is really long though.

Title is:

Dry Drowning.

He’s never felt so betrayed before.“Lance. Can I come in?”He’s leaning his entire weight against the door.“No! Leave me alone!”Shiro sighs from the other side, it sounds like he’s given up on talking to Lance, and The blue Paladin can’t be more thankful.He wipes away the tears that escaped his eyes, and tries to take a deep breath

They had landed on a planet to hide from the Garla, and what kind of luck would they have that they ended up on a planet with an ocean.

It wasn’t the same as earth, there were no trees, just vast empty lands and large bodies of water. The water here was different too: It was thicker, heavy but just as salty.Lance couldn’t resist, he has always had a pull towards water, both on earth and when he pilots Blue, he is constantly reminded of that deep connection.So there is no surprise that he jumps in.

It’s the worst 45 seconds of his entire life.Every memory of the ocean with his family start pouring in, and that’s when the panic attack occurs. He wonders if he will ever spend a day at the beach with his family, will he ever get to see them again?Are they worried or do they think he’s dead?Even if he had a chance to go home, would everything really go back to the way it was?There are two many questions, and not enough answers.That’s when the panic starts. His throat feels like it’s being choked, and he doesn’t feel like there is enough oxygen so he takes shallow breaths.It would be fine, if it wasn’t for the tingling that pokes at his body like pins and needles.That’s when he starts drowning.Now there is no oxygen, just a body of water that’s filling his lungs.His heart beats like it’s trying to explode from his chest, still he can’t move.

Shiro jumps in to save him, and Lance owes him his life, and possibly an explanation, but he can’t.That’s why he’s locked himself in his room, refusing to look at the other Paladins, refusing to look at Shiro.

“Is it safe to leave him alone like this?” Pidge asks.“He doesn’t want to be bothered right now, we should just let him rest and see how he is tomorrow.” Hunk assures.“He swallowed a lot of water, that can’t be good.” Keith pushes.That’s when Shiro arrives at the sunken couches. The Paladins wait silently, hoping for more information to ease their concerns.“He didn’t want to talk, let him rest but keep an eye on him.” Shiro ordered.

The water in his lungs burn, the panic attack and the crying has subsided but a deep wet cough settles as a replacement. It doesn’t allow Lance to sleep, right when he thinks he can lay down, a burning cough rattles his chest, forcing him to sit up again.He’s absolutely exhausted, but he promises himself he will not cry tonight.

He is sure that everyone else is fast asleep, and Lance is jealous. If he could just close his eyes and will his body to sleep, he knows that he would feel better, but it doesn’t happen, no matter how hard he tries.Using the wall as a crutch to stand on his own two feet. His legs feel like jelly.He sighs but it ends up as another coughing fit.His fever muddled brain tells him he needs more water, it’s the only explanation for the crap he is feeling.

When he makes it to the kitchen, he finds a plate and a liquid pouch on the counter, and he knows it’s from Hunk.He smiles internally.Ignoring the plate all together he rips the pouch open and quickly downs the Alteans water.“Your going to make yourself sick.”Surprised by the voice he coughs up some of the liquid and he can’t manage to stop.“Woah, hey it’s okay.” The voice says rubbing Lance’s back.“Leave me alone Keith.” Lance manages.He doesn’t move just continues to rub his back.He can feel the heat radiating through his shirt and he side steps to face the boy.Pressing a hand on his forehead, he frowns.“You’ve got a fever.”Lance wants to tell him that he knows, but he just leans into Keith’s cold hand, and whimpers.“Lance.” He doesn’t know what else he can to say or do to ease the boys spiking fever.“I’m going to get Shiro, he’ll know what to do.”Lance shakes his head, he doesn’t want to make a huge commotion, he just wants to sleep.“N'ng don’t….”It’s too late, Keith is up and out of the kitchen.Lance sighed. He doesn’t want to be there when they get back, so he makes a move to his bedroom.He’s made it as far as the hallway, when Keith and Shiro come running up to him.“Lance, are you okay?”He doesn’t say anything just leans against the hallway wall and nods his head.He slumps to the ground , and Shiro is right at his side.“Easy there Lance. What’s going on, you need to tell me so I can help.”“It burns.” He croaks.Keith and Shiro share a concerned look.“Okay Lance, you gotta tell me what burns.”He presses his human hand up against Lances’s cheeks then brushes back his hair to feel his forehead.Lance tries to swat him away“Nng… No my lungs!” Lance whines.“His lungs?” Almost on key, he starts to cough, harsh wet cough that rattle in the back of his throat.“Shit he’s drowning.”“Drowning? Wait what!?” Keith asked.Shiro doesn’t explain himself, just picks up Lance to bring him to his feet.“We need to bring him to the med bay, get Coran and Allura, Im going to need their insight on Altean equipment.“Shiro, what’s going on is Lance going to be okay?”

“M'fine, just need ‘sleep.”

“Shiro ignored him."He must have swallowed a lot of water the other day. I think he has water in his lungs, and if we don’t keep an eye on that, he’s at a risk for dry drowning.”

“Shit, yeah okay I’ll meet you at the Medical Center with Allura and Coran.”

He’s off before Lance can protest.

“Im fine I-” he pauses to cough, but this time it’s deep, and he tenses when he feels a muscle spasm on his right side.He’s wheezing but he uses every breath he can to talk to Shiro.“Sleep…just sleep.” He’s almost begging Shiro.

“Lance.”“Shiro.” He mimics.

“What happened out there? In the water? If you tell me what happened, I’ll take you back to your room.”It’s a fair trade, but the expression lance has, says the opposite.

He just shakes his head.“Then we go to the infirmary.”“…no…” Lance whimpers still shaking his head.Shiro growls under his breath.“M'sorry.” Lance whimpers.“Lance…”“I’m sorry.” He repeats.

“Lance, tell me what happened out in the water.”Lance squeezes his eye shut before opening them so Shiro Can see his blue orbs.“Mi familia…” It’s the first time Shiro has ever heard him say something in Spanish, on their down time they used to beg him to say something, anything, but he always told them it doesn’t work that way.“Is that your family? Did you see them in the water.”Lance looks at Shiro, like he knows he’s talking but he can’t translate the words fast enough.“Lance can you hear me?”“Si?” He questions, like he isn’t sure those are the right words.“Lance?”“Si…Si..yeah. Yes, my family the, mis recuerdos…mi familia."Lance, I don’t understand. Come one we need To go to the infirmary your delirious.”“No.” He wheezed.“You promised, sleep, if I told I you then… then. He swallows back the tingle in his throat. "Sleep.” He whined before another coughing fit started.“Okay, okay. I’ll help you to your room, but I’m still going to see if Allura Has anything to help with your cough.There’s a glaze that runs over lance’s face, and Shiro isn’t sure if Lance is even listening anymore."Shiro.”“Yes, Lance?”He says while trying to help the boy move into his room.“The water scares me…”Shiro just lets him ramble on.“It gives me memories, and I think of my family, and-” he stops to let out another harsh cough, this time salty water and saliva come up.“I think that I won’t ever see them again, and I panicked I.” There are fresh hot tears that run down his face.Shiro has managed to get him to his room.“Shhh. You don’t have to tell me anymore.”He helped Lance lay back down, and almost instantly exhaustion forced him into a fever sleep.“Im going to go find Keith and the others, im going to be right back.”He’s positive that Lance didn’t hear any of it, but it’s mostly to satisfy his own guilt for having to leave him alone.“Don’t worry bud, we’re going to get you all better. I’ll be right back with the others.”

#Sickfic #Langst #Sick Lance #Voltron #lance mcclain

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