#❛ iv . | when i’m facing death i’ll grab its throat — “ how does it hurt ? “ ; headcanons .

[teconkaals]

Walking With A Ghost 10

Not knowing what to answer, John remained silent. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he understood even if he didn't share it, but the lump in his throat was too big to let him speak. Amelia shook her head, bit her lower lip, and put her hand up to her eyes. "I'd like to be alone," she asked. "Sure, yes. I'll come see you in…" "No," she cut off, her voice breaking. "You don't need to come back anymore."

Angst but with confort, I promise.

⚠ Sensitive content: Medical hospitalization, non-explicit suicide attempt, blood, torture mention.

AO3 Chapter link: Chapter 10 - Broken Heart

Fanfic Masterlist: Here

Next Chapter: Chapter 11 - Rest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 9 - Unforgiven

Wordcount: 8020

Rating: Mature

Tags of the fanfic (some of them): hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, blood and violence, happy ending, non explicit sex

A/N: I'm sorry it took me so long to publish, life has been a bit difficult for me. I hope you are well and that you like it! In the next chapter we will return with Ghost and Soap. Take care of yourselves.

I don’t give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform (I’m publishing on my Ao3 account both English and Spanish).

JOHN PRICE - SAS BROKEN HEART SAS CAMP, CREDENHILL, UK FEBRUARY 19, 2017, 07:25

The ringing of the phone woke John up. He reached out for it, rubbed his eyes to clear them, and squinted at the screen.

It was Emma.

He sat up abruptly and picked up, his heart pounding in his ears.

"How’s Amelia?" he whispered.

"Stable," she replied. "It has cost us a lot, but she’ll survive. And no, you can't come see her. She is in the recovery unit and it’ll still take her several hours to wake up. I’ll call you as soon as she does."

"Emma…"

"No," she cut off. "You can see Simon, if you want. He's conscious."

"I will."

John hung up the call and breathed deeply. Relief lifted its weight from his shoulders and he cried again, this time with happiness. Both Simon and Amelia were fine, they would survive, and that was what mattered at that moment. Price showered again and left his room, heading to the infirmary to ask for his Sergeant's room and advanced through the building until he located it. John knocked a few times and went in when Ghost gave him permission.

"Captain," he greeted.

Simon was lying on the gurney, with an IV connected to his arm and a bandage on his head. Despite being one of the privileged few to be able to see Ghost's face, John was surprised that such a young face had such a tired expression. He knew what Simon had been through and it hurt him that life seemed to give him no respite; first what happened to Roba and Ghost’s family and, then, the death of Roach and Rebel. Price sighed, trying not to think about it, and grabbed the chair that was in the room, moved it to the stretcher and sat on it.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Simon shrugged, though he could only move one of them.

"I'll survive. They say I’ve to stay under observation for a few days for the concussion on my head," he huffed. "I don't think it's necessary."

John couldn't help but smile.

"And the shoulder injury?"

"The bullet went in and out cleanly. It hasn't hit any tendons or bones, so I just have to let it heal."

"Glad to hear it."

"How… is Amelia?"

"She... almost didn't make it," John looked out the window. "But Emma told me that they’re able to stabilize her."

"Good thing," Simon whispered with relief.

"She's still unconscious from her sedation, so I haven't been able to see her. I'll let you know as soon as Emma gives me any new news."

"I appreciate it."

Silence fell in the room, a comfortable and familiar silence between them. Although they enjoyed talking, most of the time they kept each other silent company.

"You're not going to ask me what happened?"

Price looked at him and frowned a little.

"I wanted to wait for you to feel better."

"I'm better now."

The Captain raised an eyebrow and let the comment pass. He didn't agree with Simon, but he wasn't going to argue either. John took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms.

"Alright," he conceded. "Tell me what happened. Who was thrown down the cliff?"

"König."

Price stared at him, feeling his body tense.

"Was he the arms dealer?"

Simon nodded.

"Amelia and I followed him through the corridors," he looked down at his hands, which rested on the blanket that covered him. "He floored me down and shot me before facing her," he shook his head. "He knocked me out and I couldn't do anything to help her."

"Not your fault, Simon," Price replied, looking at him with a sad expression. It hurt him a lot to see him like that.

"When I regained consciousness, Amelia had been able to throw him over the cliff."

John was aware that Simon had avoided the comment again.

"You came out alive and did a good job."

"I'm sorry, but I disagree," Simon replied tartly. "Amelia’s near death and they haven't found König's body. I won't rest until she wakes up and he appears."

"Simon…"

"Don't bother," he interrupted. "Nothing you say will help me."

The Captain sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"I'll tell Emma to send the psychologist on call."

"For what?" Simon growled. "I’m fine."

Price frowned and looked at him seriously.

"I don't think you're feeling well, son."

Ghost snorted.

"Do whatever you want. It’ll help me just like the last few times."

John took a deep breath, defeated. He had tried everything he could to get Simon to open up to a specialist; for him to tell them what Roba did to him, the loss of his family and his partners’ death so he could turn the page. However, it was becoming impossible for Price. Simon remained silent throughout the session, saying goodbye politely at the end and never returning. John once decided to send him on leave away from Credenhill, to see if it would help him, but it didn't. Ghost took advantage of it to go hunting in the forests of northern Norway and returned just as taciturn. It was at that moment that Price realized he wasn't going to get anything.

"Have you eaten?" he asked to change the subject.

"Not yet," Simon replied.

John stood up.

"I'll get you something."

"No need, I'm not hungry."

The Captain glanced at him and scratched the back of his neck. Although Simon was very good at hiding how he felt, Price had learned to read him and understood that he didn't need company.

"Would you prefer if I left you alone?"

Simon nodded wordlessly and Price sighed dejectedly. He put a hand on his shoulder in a supportive gesture and left the room. John left the infirmary, went to the cafeteria to get a coffee and locked himself in his office to review overdue reports. The attempt to distract himself worked quite well for a few days, resting only to eat with Simon and sleep. The Sergeant's injuries were slowly improving, although Emma had not yet discharged him because she was concerned about his mental health. She had also tried to get him to talk to the psychologist and he had recognized that he couldn't do anything with him. Both Price and Emma agreed with his suggestion about giving Simon medication, however, they were aware that he wouldn’t take it once he was discharged. Still, Price wasn't going to throw in the towel; he would keep looking for a way for Ghost to talk about his problems, with whoever it was, and try to move on. Unfortunately, during those days all he could think of was Amelia.

Emma had let him see her two days after the operation and John had never felt so heartbroken. Amelia looked awful, intubated and with several IVs connected to her arms, including one red with blood. She was covered in bruises and bandages, her left wrist was in a cast and her right leg was immobilized. Slowly, Price moved toward the stretcher and took off his hat, swallowing hard to suppress the urge to cry. He closed his eyes and took Amelia's good hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed it.

"We had to remove her spleen and a kidney," Emma commented softly. "Her left wrist and right femur are broken, as well as some ribs that have pierced her lungs and liver. She also has a severe contusion to her head and several gunshot wounds."

"Fucking hell…" John whispered.

"It's a miracle she's still alive."

John turned to her.

"Is she... out of danger?"

"We think so," Emma acknowledged, looking at him carefully. "At the moment, she seems to be evolving favorably, but..." she sighed. "Her injuries are very, very serious, John. We're going to have to keep her under observation for quite some time."

He nodded and looked back at Amelia. If it weren't for all those instruments, and the sound of the heart monitor, she seemed to be sleeping. Just like the night before, in his arms.

Before you broke his heart.

Price closed his eyes and shoved the thought away. He turned around, put on his hat and, thanking Emma, left the room. He didn’t visit Amelia again until several days later, when they called him because she was going into surgery again. He waited five hours until the surgeon informed him what had happened; something about a sutured wound that had ruptured and caused internal bleeding, the truth is that he didn't dwell on the reason because he only cared to know how Amelia was doing. They let him in to see her for a few minutes and, although they told him that everything seemed to be in order, John saw Amelia much worse than the last time. Much paler. He tried to convince himself that it was his own mood that was preventing him from being positive and he approached her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and kissed her forehead.

John left the room and focused back on work, returning to the routine of reviewing reports, supervising new recruits and eating and dining with Simon. The Sergeant continued with the same attitude, eating just enough to stay healthy and speaking little. Even though he usually had things to talk about, Price didn't feel up to giving him more conversation.

When Emma called him again a few days later, he feared the worst. However, the doctor had good news.

"She's awake," she informed him. "We’ve done tests to check her neurological status and she’s fine. You can see her whenever you want."

As soon as John hung up, he forced himself to take a deep breath to calm his urge to cry. Price got up, putting on his hat, and headed toward the infirmary. He took out her cell phone again as soon as he entered and dialed Simon's number.

"Amelia's awake," he informed him.

Silence fell

"How... is she?" Simon’s usually grave voice sounded much lower and Price could sense a worried tone in it.

"Emma says that neurologically she's fine," he sighed. "The rest... only time will tell."

"I see."

"I'm in the building, on my way to see her, do you want me to pick you up?"

"No. I'll go later."

"Are you sure?"

Simon sighed.

"I need to get ready for it, Price."

John realized that he wasn't the only one who had a hard time seeing Amelia so broken. He felt like an idiot for forgetting.

"Of course. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

"I will," he paused briefly. "Thank you, Price. For everything."

Simon hung up and John frowned, a little surprised by his words. Price had a little bad feeling because it was rare for Simon to say thank you for something; However, he forced himself to shake his head. He was sure it was due to both of their tiredness combined with the relief of knowing that Amelia was awake.

He sighed and stopped in front of the door to Amelia's room and his heart skipped a beat when he heard her voice on the other side, indicating that he could come in.

"John?" Amelia said when she saw him, raising her eyebrows in a gesture of surprise.

"Emma called me," he replied, closing the door behind him and moving toward the stretcher. There was a chair next to it and he sat on it. "How are you?"

Amelia snorted.

"Alive, that's what counts," she paused and looked away. When she spoke, she did so in a lower voice. "Emma told me I've almost died twice. It's… weird. As a doctor I'm not used to being on the other side, you know?" she added with a half smile.

Unable to help himself, Price took her hand and she looked at him.

"It's normal to be scared," he commented. "You need to talk about it?"

Amelia shook her head, watching as his thumb stroked the back of her hand.

"I've been mentally prepared to die on the battlefield for a long time. And after Gary... well, you learn to have perspective."

John nodded.

"Still, you can call me for whatever you need."

"Thank you," she paused. "How's Simon?"

"Stable. His injuries are lighter than yours. The bruise on his head has healed well and the wound on his shoulder is progressing..."

"I'm not talking about his physical injuries," Amelia interrupted him abruptly.

Price frowned and looked at her blankly.

"He's okay," he replied. "I spoke to him about ten minutes ago."

Amelia frowned as she looked at him, shocked.

"He hasn't told you," she whispered, stunned.

“What?”

"König forced him to watch while he tortured me," Amelia answered bluntly. "He made him see how he shot me, how he stabbed me and how he broke my bones."

John set his jaw but kept a neutral expression. He remained silent as Amelia continued speaking.

"König told Simon that he remembered him; that he remembered killing Gary and Rebel and that he would make him see how he took out another of his partners," she breathed deeply. "I don't even know how I did it, but I managed to get rid of König and his partner before... well, before the adrenaline wasn't enough to make me forget the pain."

"He… said he was knocked unconscious," Price managed to say, through the lump in his throat.

"And you believed him?" she hissed. "John: Simon is mentally devastated because he feels guilty about what happened to me. Right now, his mind is trying to break him as he tries to convince him that Gary and Rebel's deaths are also his fault."

Thank you, Price. For everything.

Simon's words echoed in his mind and John had a bad feeling. He took out his mobile and called him. Amelia frowned before understanding.

"You left him alone?!" she almost screamed. "John, what were you thinking?!"

After the sixth ring, he got up without saying anything and left the room in a hurry. The call was cut off due to lack of response and he tried again, running through the hallways and dodging people. John burst into Ghost's room and found the stretcher empty. He looked for him, gasping for breath, and went straight to the window when he saw it open. Price sighed with relief when he saw that Simon hadn't jumped and called him again. A phone rang in the bathroom and he headed there. He flung open the door and her heart sank as soon as he entered.

"Simon, no," he whispered, approaching the shower where Ghost stood motionless.

Desperate, he looked for a pulse in Simon’s neck and screamed for help. He sat up slightly to grab a towel and wet it before pressing down on Simon's arms. John knew he wouldn't get anything, that the cuts were deep, but he needed to try. Suddenly the room was full of people and they moved Ghost to the stretcher, quickly taking him to the operating room. Price waited, his heart pounding in his fist, until the surgeon came out to inform him.

"He's stable," he said wearily. "There doesn't appear to be any nerve or tendon damage, but we’ll have to wait to confirm."

"Thank goodness…"

The surgeon looked at him carefully for a few seconds.

"Captain, as a doctor I advise you to take a couple of days off. You look like you haven't slept in a month and I think you need to get proper rest."

Price nodded, distracted, and walked away to see Amelia. He had informed her of Simon's situation and, now that he was out of surgery, he preferred to speak with her in person. He entered the room after knocking and felt an iron fist strangling his heart when he saw her expression.

"How is him?" Amelia asked in a whisper, eyes red from crying.

"Stable," Price responded, running his hands over his face and approaching her. "They believe that there will be no motor consequences."

Amelia looked at the ceiling and blinked, nodding. John felt the urge to hug her, to tell her that everything would be okay, but he repressed it because he was aware that now was not the time for that.

"I want to stop," Amelia whispered suddenly, without looking at him.

Price frowned a little, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"The army, what else?" She raised her good hand and smiled bitterly. "I'm tired, John. Tired of suffering for nothing. Tired of seeing the people I love fall."

"Amy, don't you think…?"

"I'm not going to think about it anymore," she interrupted him, looking at him with a pained expression. "I’ve lost my brother. I almost lost Simon. And I was almost killed. I’ve had my spleen and a kidney removed and my dominant hand is broken. I’m not fit to be on the battlefield and I refuse to be locked in an office," Amelia looked away and snorted. "I don't want to know anything more about the army."

Not knowing what to answer, John remained silent. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that he understood even if he didn't share it, but the lump in his throat was too big to let him speak. Amelia shook her head, bit her lower lip, and put her hand up to her eyes.

"I'd like to be alone," she asked.

"Sure, yes. I'll come see you in…"

"No," she cut off, her voice breaking. "You don't need to come back anymore."

John almost stopped breathing when he heard her. He felt his heart break into a thousand pieces and it caused him a pain stronger than any wound he had received. He forced himself to take a deep breath to keep from collapsing right there and nodded even though he knew he wasn't looking at him. After opening his mouth a couple of times, he managed to find the words to respond.

"Alright," he murmured. "If… you need anything, you know where to find me. I'll always be available, Amy. Always."

She didn’t answer and Price left the room and the infirmary. He walked towards his room and sat on the bed, staring into space. Although he felt like crying, John was unable to do so and it made him angry. He needed to cry. He needed to let out everything he was feeling, however, his body seemed to be blocked. He closed his eyes and took out the phone.

It was a good time to listen to the surgeon and take a handful of days off.

JOHN PRICE - TF 141 AMELIA SAS CAMP, CREDENHILL, UK DECEMBER 3, 2022, 01:05

John woke up with a start, blinking and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He’d fallen asleep in his office chair, in front of the laptop, and took that as a sign to go to bed. He turned off the computer and lowered the lid. With a sigh, Price got up, put on his hat and left the office towards his room in the barracks. As one of the Captains, Price had the small privilege of having his own room. It had always been like that, to keep the commanders close in case of need. In the end, he used it when he worked too hard and he was too tired to drive to Hereford. Days like today; however, John didn’t want to go home.

Price opened his room’s door, carefully, and entered in silence. The small lamp on the table was on and covered with one of his hats to dim the light. He smiled fondly when he saw Amelia, who was sleeping soundly hugging his pillow, and leaned against the door to watch her.

She wanted to go home, but Price convinced her to stay there, in his room. Price knew Amelia would be exhausted because she, like him, hadn’t slept well for days. And he certainly wouldn't be the one to allow her to drive while sleep deprived. Luckily, Amelia was a sensible person who was aware of her limitations and that's why he easily got her to stay. Neither of them wanted her to fall asleep at the wheel.

On the other hand, convincing her to sleep in his bed, instead of on the couch, had been another story.

With a light sigh, John walked over to one of the closets, opened it, and pulled a blanket out of it. Careful not to wake her, he covered Amelia and she snuggled into the contact. She had lain down without covering up in the middle of December in an army barracks, Price would be surprised if she hadn't caught a cold. John tilted his head and caressed her face before grabbing another blanket for him and sitting on the couch. He took off his boots, lay down and covered himself, closing his eyes to try to get some sleep.

John woke up several hours later, with another blanket on top of his own and the bedside light off. He blinked, looking at the clock, and stretched himself, sighing with resignation as he saw the empty and well-made bed.

Of course she left without telling me, he thought bitterly. Why would she?

Price shook his head and gathered up the blankets, took a shower to clear his head and left the room in search of a strong coffee. As he left the cafeteria, he crossed paths with Amelia and they both looked at each other for a long moment, in silence, until John broke it.

"We need to talk."

She frowned and looked at him with concern.

"Is Simon okay?"

He sighed and nodded.

"He's fine. It's not about him."

Amelia's eyebrows parted a little in surprise and she took a deep breath.

"Okay... let's talk in your office?"

"Of course."

He let her lead the way and they walked until they reached the office building. Amelia entered first and Price closed the door carefully behind him.

"Okay, what's up?" she asked, crossing her arms and resting her hip on the table.

John looked at her and took a deep breath. Throughout all his years as a soldier, he had faced all kinds of situations, all kinds of decisions, and nothing made him as afraid and insecure as talking to Amelia.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out bluntly.

She frowned blankly.

"Why?"

“For what happened five years ago.”

Amelia opened her eyes and mouth, clearly surprised, but John hadn't finished speaking.

"I was an idiot and I got scared. I thought neither of us would be able to leave the army and I knew it was something very important to you, so I didn't want you to feel obligated to leave it either. I... I felt too young to form a family and I was afraid that the higher-ups would find out. Nothing would have happened to me but to you..." he sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter, in the end all of this are just excuses" he looked into her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Amelia. Truly."

She stared at him for a few long seconds before huffing and rubbing her hands over her face.

"You're an idiot," she remarked.

"Sorry?"

"You're forgiven. I know you, John, so I already knew all that," she looked at him with some sadness. "And that would’ve been solved if we had talked, but… sometimes things are beyond our control," she looked away. "Fear paralyzed you. Pain paralyzed me. We couldn't do much more."

Price felt his heart break when he heard Amelia. Life played with both to prevent them from speaking after what happened and made them wait five years so they could do so. John took a couple of steps towards her, watching her carefully. Although Amelia kept her arms crossed over her chest, her body posture had changed and he knew that she was now trying to protect herself. Price wanted to hug her, tell her that everything would be okay, but he held back. He didn't know if Amelia wanted any physical contact with him. In fact, he didn't know if she wanted any kind of contact.

"So, now what?"

Amelia looked up and frowned a little.

"What do you mean?"

"What… do you want me to do?"

She seemed to understand.

"I don't need you to do anything. Actually, I never did. I just… wanted an apology and I already got one."

John nodded, still, there was one more question he needed to ask.

"And... do you want me to keep staying out of your life?"

Amelia's expression softened.

"Of course not. Although it doesn’t seem like it, I’ve missed you."

Price's heart warmed when he heard it and caused a small spark of hope to light in his chest. Even after so many years, and despite all the difficulties they’d suffered, he was still in love with her. He came even closer to Amelia and dared to hug her. To her surprise, she returned the gesture.

"I've missed you too," he whispered and Amelia held him a little tighter.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered, her voice strangled.

Price kissed her hair and held her for a long time, enjoying her presence again, the warmth of her body, until she pulled away with a sigh.

"I think I better go," Amelia whispered. "I promised Simon I'd stop by and… I need to think about a lot of things."

John let her go, feeling the emptiness of her presence, and nodded.

"Anything you need…"

"I'll call you, yeah," she interrupted with a smile. The same one that had stolen his heart so many years ago.

Price smiled at her and she left the room. Silence fell on him like a slab of concrete and he forced herself to get back to work. There would be no point in standing there feeling miserable, and it would do him good to distract himself.

John paused at lunchtime. He stretched out in the chair and looked at the ceiling to rest his eyes. He was considering visiting Simon to ask him about the results when his phone buzzed with a notification. He looked at it with a frown and the phone vibrated again, briefly illuminating the screen. Price took it and unlocked it to see what it was.

There were two messages from Amelia.

The first was a link to a location, a pub that was near her house and that they had gone to once, a long time ago. The second message was quite concise: "See you at seven." Price cocked her head and breathed deeply.

Although Amelia was a very important person to him, he felt torn again. Of course she would keep the appointment, however, she had to put peace between the two wolves that lived within him. One of them, he wanted to hold on to that little spark of hope; the other, he preferred to maintain a negative attitude. And, even though they had talked and fixed things, neither of them had made it clear if they still felt the same way about each other. John was clear about it, but he wouldn't put his hand in the fire for Amelia's feelings.

Although Amelia was a very important person to him, John felt divided again. Of course he would keep the appointment, however, he had to put peace between the two wolves that lived within him. One of them wanted to hold on to that little spark of hope; the other preferred to maintain a negative attitude. And, even though Amelia and he had talked and fixed things, neither of them had made it clear if they still felt the same way about each other. John was clear about it, but he wouldn't stake his life on Amelia's feelings.

Price shook his head and stood up. He stopped by the cafeteria to grab some food and headed towards Simon's room. The Lieutenant was eating and greeted him with a nod.

"I'm just in time," John commented, sitting in the chair next to the stretcher.

"You've always been very precise in making triumphant arrivals," Ghost replied.

Price burst out laughing and Simon looked at him curiously.

"I see you in a good mood."

"I am," John replied. "What have they told you about the results?"

Simon shrugged.

"They're all fine. My wounds are healing as they should, so I'll be discharged in a couple of days."

"I highly doubt Emma is going to clear you to work."

Ghost snorted, grumpily.

"They discharge me from this place, but I’ve to be off work for two months."

"I thought so."

Simon paused and glanced at the small table, where a bottle of water and a bunch of keys rested.

"Johnny wants me to stay with him. He even gave me a copy of the keys to his house."

Price raised his eyebrows in surprise, but quickly smiled.

"That's good news. It'll be good for you to be away from work so you won't be tempted to start early. You'll also be able to rest without any pressure. Plus, civilian life can be fun."

Simon looked at him and smirked.

"You haven't gone out to enjoy civilian life in years, Price."

He laughed.

"But I've lived it, son. Besides, Christmas is coming up; MacTavish might want you to come with him."

Simon snorted again.

"Christmas isn't for me. Also, Johnny’s probably going back to Scotland around that time."

John nodded without losing his smile.

"Maybe he won't do it alone."

He saw Simon frown a little before understanding what he was suggesting. Ghost cursed and shook his head.

"That's not my place."

"I think it's up to Soap to decide, don't you think?"

The Lieutenant took a deep breath and looked at him carefully.

"Amelia told me that you've finally talked."

Price smiled kindly at the radical change of subject. He knew Simon wouldn't dwell on it, but he was also aware that MacTavish wouldn't let Ghost spend Christmas alone. Of all the things that had happened in the last few months, that was the one that made him the most happy: that Simon seemed to be opening up to John. Maybe, with any luck, they would help each other.

"It's only taken us five years," he nodded.

"I still find it hard to believe that I had to give you the push."

John laughed.

"Ironic, yes, but grateful," he commented and paused before adding, more quietly. "She wants... to meet tonight."

"Don't screw up."

"Don't worry," Price smiled and stood up. "I’ve to supervise the training of the recruits, so I should be going."

"Why don't you send Garrick?"

"As silly as it may seem, it makes me feel young," John laughed. "It reminds me of when I discovered you. Or MacTavish."

"You're not as old as you think, Price," commented Simon.

"The years weigh more on someone like me," he placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder and pressed gently. "I see you tomorrow."

"Thanks for stopping by."

John grinned and left the room. He headed to the training ground and spent the rest of the day there, watching and correcting the recruits. It was true what he had told Simon, it made him feel younger. Since he was Captain, John barely had time for it and he missed it. Teaching them how to do things had always been something he really enjoyed. In general, he enjoyed teaching and was sure that he would have been a teacher if he had not entered the army.

Maybe that's not a bad idea either, he thought, leaving the camp after showering and heading towards the car. Retire and become a teacher.

Price began to laugh helplessly. He didn't see himself in a class full of kids willing to learn, but on the other hand, he wanted to try. Maybe be a physical education teacher, help his students exercise properly. Maybe he even taught them self-defense.

He parked the car and walked to the pub, still smiling and widening his smile when he saw Amelia waiting there, her hands in her jacket pockets. She turned around as soon as she spotted him and looked at him with genuine curiosity.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I was thinking that, in another life, I’d have been a teacher."

She burst out laughing.

"Seriously?"

"Totally. In fact, I think I’d make an excellent physical education teacher."

Amelia chuckled again and nodded.

"That’s true, the typical strict but fun teacher."

"I'm not funny," Price huffed, cracking a half smile.

"You’re when you put your mind to it," she laughed and he followed suit.

John cocked his head as he realized she was wearing a beanie. One that looked very familiar.

"I think that's mine."

"It is," Amelia smiled mischievously. "Or it was because it's mine now," she chuckled and Price smiled. "Come on, let's go in. I'm hungry."

"And when you're not hungry?" he replied, following her inside.

Amelia nudged him gently and they both burst out laughing. They sat at a table, ordered something to eat and drink, and talked for three hours. They caught up properly and Price learned that, although Amelia was working at the university as a medical lecturer, she had acquired a pub that seemed to be doing quite well. He also discovered that neither had changed, that it was as if everything had resumed after that day in the hospital, as if nothing had happened.

"I've managed to play again," she smiled, finishing the dessert. "I'm not as good at it as I used to be, but it's something."

John looked at her with a mix between sadness and joy. He felt sorry for her because music was something very important to her, on the other hand, the fact that she had been able to play again was very good news.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Amelia nodded, distracted as she looked at her hand.

"Rehab was very hard," she murmured and picked up the glass to swirl the liquid inside. "I wanted to throw in the towel more times than I'll admit," she smiled and looked at him. "But, eh, in the end I managed to be left-handed again."

Unable to help it, Price smiled slyly.

"The world has felt a disturbance in the Force," he commented, sipping some of her whiskey.

"Hey!" Amelia tossed him the napkin and they both laughed. She took a deep breath and played with her glass again. "You know, sometimes I miss the army. The training, the raids, the conversations in the cafeteria... But then I think about everything else and it goes away," she finished the wine in one gulp. "Holding on to how we were at a specific time is a mistake I don't want to make. None of that will come back."

"It's a very wise stance."

"I've always been an intellectual. I'm a doctor, remember?"

Price laughed.

"How can I forget. Many of the scars I’ve are from your work."

"My suture’s perfect," she replied, drinking some water, "it's not my fault your wounds were always serious."

John smiled and looked at his glass of whiskey.

"The truth is, I owe you more than one."

"Totally agree."

They laughed and finished dinner. John insisted on paying and, after arguing a bit, Amelia finally relented. He took a deep breath as they left the pub and lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke and releasing it slowly.

"You should stop smoking," she chided gently, putting on her beanie.

"I’m trying. Actually, I smoke less than before," he admitted, watching the flame consume the cigarette, "but there are certain situations where I can't help it."

"That's called stress," Amelia pointed out with a half smile.

Price chuckled.

"It's possible."

A comfortable silence fell over them as the snow escaped from the sky. Amelia smiled and reached up to pick up a flake, putting it in her mouth, and John smiled. No, she certainly hadn't changed at all in all those years.

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

He almost whispered it, loud enough for her to hear. Amelia looked at him, surprised, and looked away, focusing on the street before them.

"No, there's no need," she replied and Price's heart broke a little. Then, she smiled and tilted her head. "But you may need someone to come with you. You've been drinking, maybe a doctor should supervise you."

He laughed and put out his cigarette in the ashtray next to the pub entrance.

"You're sure?"

Amelia shoved her hands into her jacket and took two steps forward before turning around to face him. She smiled and walked backwards.

"Of course. I'm a doctor, remember?" She burst out laughing. "Tell me, where did you park that relic of yours?"

"It's not a relic, it's a classic," he replied, walking behind her.

"It's older than you," Amelia laughed. "So it's a relic. You should buy a newer car. A safer one."

"I'll change it when I can't fix it.”

"Fix it? I'm sure there aren't even spare parts in the scrapyards," Amelia started to laugh and John smiled a little more. "Not even imports. The brand stopped making them in, dunno, seventeen hundred?"

"The first car is from the late eighteen hundred, smartass," he responded, stopping next to the vehicle and opening the passenger door. "My lady."

Amelia chuckled and got into the car. Price got behind the wheel and drove to his house, dodging what little traffic there was at that hour. He parked in the garage and, as they took the elevator up to his apartment, he felt the same insecurity as five years ago. The kind of doubts that a fifteen-year-old has about his first love. The two wolves stirred inside him again and he tried to convince them that this meant nothing, that the fact that Amelia had agreed to accompany him home did not mean that she wanted anything more.

We'll have a few more drinks, she'll sleep in the guest room and I'll take her home tomorrow, he thought. Nothing else.

He held back a sigh and opened the door, letting her enter first. Price closed the door and took off his jacket, leaving it on the coat rack. He was about to enter the kitchen when her voice caught his attention.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You still keep it!"

He followed her into the living room and saw Amelia go to one of the shelves to grab something. John smiled when he saw the stuffed quokka dressed as a soldier and touched its synthetic fur with his finger.

"Of course," he replied, "it's the first gift you ever gave me. 'You smile like a quokka,' you said."

"And you still do," Amelia smiled. "But… I thought you threw it away."

"Why would I? It's important to me. In fact, I keep everything you gave me," he added, looking at her.

Amelia opened her mouth slightly in surprise and smiled. She looked down, biting her lower lip, and looked closely at the stuffed animal.

"I keep them all too," she admitted softly.

"Actually, I thought so," John commented, reaching for the beanie she was still wearing and pulling it gently.

Amelia started to laugh.

"I think that's more of a theft."

"It is, yes," John tilted his head and smiled a little wider. "Now that I think about it, it's true that you’re a little thief. You've already stolen several things from me."

"Excuse me, but it's not theft if you let me take them," Amelia replied, reaching out to retrieve the beanie.

Price moved it out of her reach and looked at her fondly.

"You're right about that," he offered it to her and Amelia looked at him curiously. "I give it to you."

"But… it's your favorite," she said, picking it up without being entirely sure.

"That didn't stop you from taking it from me five years ago," he chuckled.

"It was to spite you," Amelia admitted.

"Are you implying my beanie isn't pretty enough to steal?"

Amelia looked at him indignantly and smiled slyly.

"What I'm saying, Captain Price, is that you’re a complete idiot."

John laughed and looked at her for a few seconds before focusing.

"Well, what do you want to drink?" he asked, walking into the kitchen. "I’ve whiskey, bourbon, vodka and beer," he opened the fridge to check if he had any cold ones. "Actually, I still have a brown ale left. I think that was your favorite, right?"

"It is, but I don't want to drink anything with alcohol."

John straightened and looked at her over the refrigerator door.

"But… you've only had one glass of wine," he commented, confused as he remembered her as someone with a good handle on alcohol.

She burst out laughing.

"I remind you that I’ve one kidney and that limits the amount of alcohol I can drink."

"Right, I’d forgotten," he smiled, a little embarrassed. He put the beer down and took a deep breath. "Well... I’ve water, if you want. Or would you prefer a glass of milk?" he added, mockingly.

Amelia rolled her eyes, still smiling, and closed the fridge door softly.

"It's amazing that you're still such an idiot."

"And you're a nonconformist," John replied. "You don't want anything I offer you."

She was silent and took a deep breath, looking at the magnets on the fridge.

"The truth’s that there’s something I fancy."

"Tell me, I'll go buy it."

Amelia looked at him and John's heart skipped a beat when he saw the love in her eyes.

"You," she replied briefly. "Unless you don't feel like it, in which case I think I'll accept that bottle of whiskey."

"Didn't you say you couldn't drink any more alcohol?" John asked, unable to contain himself.

"That I don't want to, not that I can't," Amelia pointed out and sighed. "A day is a day."

She turned around and walked toward the kitchen door. In that instant, John was aware that Amelia had interpreted his question as a refusal from her and he hurried after her. He swallowed and intercepted Amelia before she left the room, gently pushing her towards the wall.

"Where are you going?" he asked quietly.

"To get that bottle of whiskey," she whispered, smiling.

Price moved one hand to place it on her waist and leaned over her a little so he could speak into her ear.

"I don't think you need it."

"You're sure?" sighed Amelia, placing her hands on his abdomen. "I'm afraid I'll need proof, or I'll be forced to raid your minibar."

John smiled and kissed her below her ear, just at the edge of her lower jaw. Amelia pressed her hands a little more on his abdomen, sighing, and Price continued to her mouth, leaving soft kisses along the way. Amelia's bottom lip trembled as he brushed it with his, waited half a second, and kissed her. They both moaned and she opened her mouth to let him enter. Price kissed her again, pulling her to him, and Amelia clung to his neck.

"Bed… bedroom?" She managed to whisper in his ear, shuddering when John bit the base of her neck.

He grunted an affirmation and pulled away from her. Amelia smiled at him and took his hand, pulling him to the room. Unlike their first night together, they took it easy. Without fear of tomorrow, and without fear of anyone finding out, they enjoyed each other; they made each other laugh, caressed each other and moaned each other's names, trembling with pleasure. And, although John was dying to tell Amelia that he loved her, he held his tongue as looked back at her in her arms. He kissed her and Amelia turned her back on him to curl up in his lap. John pulled the covers over them and hugged her, kissed her shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling at peace.

John woke up early and, after watching Amelia sleep for a few long minutes, decided to get up and make breakfast. He knew she was a heavy sleeper and would take a little longer to wake up, so he took it easy.

"Are those pancakes I smell?"

He turned with the coffee pot in his hand and saw Amelia at the door, sniffing the air. John smiled.

"With banana, walnuts and chocolate syrup, the way you like them. It's a shame it's not strawberry season."

Amelia looked at him in surprise and sat at the table. John placed a cup of coffee in front of her and set the milk down next to her, returning to the stove to flip one of the pancakes.

"You… didn’t have to bother," she said quietly.

Price placed the last pancake on the plate and turned off the heat, pushing the pan aside before looking at her.

"You're right," he admitted. "I shouldn't be so nice to a person who tends to steal my clothes."

Amelia laughed and sipped some coffee.

"Sorry, it was the first thing I found. If you want the shirt back, go find mine."

John smiled and looked at her fondly.

"I don't think so. You look very sexy in it."

"Sweet-talker," she smiled a little more, blushing, and John was satisfied.

Price knew it was nonsense, a cliché like any other, but he couldn't help it: he liked women who, when they woke up, only wore his clothes. A sweatshirt, a shirt, a t-shirt. Any of them. And, for years, one of the things John dreamed about most was waking up next to Amelia and having her wear one of his clothes. Of course, John’s shirt was too big for her, but it left her legs exposed and boy did she have some pretty legs.

He poured coffee into a mug and leaned on the counter, watching as Amelia pulled out a couple of pancakes and poured banana, nuts, and syrup on them. He smiled contentedly as she closed her eyes, chewing the first bite of them, enjoying the flavors.

At that moment, John confirmed what he already suspected: that he would never love anyone like her. And he found himself thinking that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Amelia; to make her breakfast when he was home, to comfort her and laugh with her when she needed it and to love her every day.

"It's amazing how good your pancakes are," Amelia commented with her mouth full. "I've been trying different recipes for years and none of them are like yours. You're going to have to give me the recipe."

"Will you marry me?"

Amelia looked at him, stunned, her cheek bulging with food. She chewed and swallowed quickly, still in awe.

"What?" she whispered as she placed the cutlery on the table.

John put the cup down and walked over to the table. He rested his hands on it and leaned a little.

"Will you marry me?" He repeated in the same assured tone. Amelia opened her mouth, but she couldn't say anything. "It's okay if the answer is no," John added. "I'll survive."

Amelia looked at him for a couple more minutes before smiling and laughing softly. She bit her lower lip and crossed her arms on the table, leaning on it to push herself up and get closer to Price's face.

"I've been loving you for fourteen years," he whispered, still smiling, "how can I say no?"

John thought he would choke with happiness hearing her and he just smiled. He supported his weight on one hand to leave the other free so he could caress Amelia's cheek and kiss her. They both knew that it wouldn’t be an easy marriage, however, John was aware that Amelia would understand because she herself had been in the military and that took a weight off his shoulders.

Price kissed Amelia again and his chest burned for the love he felt, for being reciprocated. For the security that nothing would happen if someone found out, that they wouldn't have to hide it. And also for the feeling that, for the first time in years, everything was in order.

#Walking With A Ghost #WWAG #Modern Warfare #Modern Warfare 2 #Call Of Duty #Fanfic #Soap x Ghost #Ghost x Soap #Ghoap #Simon Ghost Riley #John Soap MacTavish #SoapGhost #Soap Ghost #COD MW #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare #COD MW22 #Johnny Soap Mactavish #Task Force 141 #Modern Warfare 2022 #Soap has a cat named Biscuit because Soap 09 didn't like dogs #hurt/comfort #Fluff and angst #Angst with a Happy Ending #blood and violence #CW Blood #CW Mental Illness #CW Suicidal mention #CW non-explicit suicide attempt #Slice Of Life #Developing Relationship

[speaksfel]

OSCAR ISAAC? No, that’s actually FELIX SPEAKMAN JR. from universe 2. You know, the child of FELIX SPEAKMAN SR. and MARY ROSE TORRES ? Only 34 years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as a REPORTER FOR THE DAILY PROPHET. HE identifies as CIS-MAN and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be BRASH, DOGMATIC, and CYNICAL but also ENERGETIC, ETHICAL, and METICULOUS. — &&. ( CAMI, GMT+1, SHE/HER, 20. ) 

“ this is why you should never, ever, get your hopes up. this is why you should see the glass as half empty. so when the whole thing spills, you aren’t as devastated. “

death tw, parental death tw, alcohol tw

BEFORE

felix speakman sr. didn’t come from wealth, nor from a strictly “pure” bloodline, but he used to take pride in his status anyway. an hogwarts drop out, he had nothing to show but a few poor OWL results and a knack for trouble, something he claims he inherited from his father before him. when luck didn’t seem to come by him in the wizarding world, he set his eyes on the muggles, spending most of his fast-ending youth doing odd jobs to stay afloat and learning bits about the world he found so alien. everything changed when he, at age nineteen, met mary rose in a run down club he’d been bartending at. 

a perfectly normal girl from town. mary rose finished school and took up a job at a supermarket in the city centre, unaware that the following year her life would look completely different. she met a funny guy with a loud mouth and a tendency to pick fights, and decided to give him a shot for a few months. felix would have been just a shitty short-lived boyfriend buried deep in her memories, had she not discovered she was pregnant shortly after the breakup. 

the wizard was never meant for a structured life, a child and wife and a stable job. they were on and off throughout the pregnancy, speakman doing more harm then good with the stress he put her under and the emotional and financial instability. a week and a half after the birth, it was clear that he did not wish to raise a kid or get his act together so mary rose made it clear she’d do her damned best to do it instead. anticipating the storm that might come later, he gave her one final surprise by showing her magic ( she always repeated that story - she had to be shown, because felix speakman telling her he was a wizard was so preposterous it must certainly be one of his ploys for attention ). armed with nothing but some kernels of knowledge she shook out of the man, mary rose started the task of raising a boy just as fiery and just as destructive as his namesake, and with little understand of how to control his own magic.

mary rose didn’t want to name him felix, anything but that really. her first choice, benjamin, became his middle name as the father pleaded with her over some tradition given how he come from a “very important and ancient family of wizards”. it was all an exaggeration, she later suspected, and after enrolling at hogwarts, her son certainly confirmed to her that the speakman were not of any relevance at all. not good and not bad, purely existent. alas, named after his father and his father before him, felix speakman was brought into a very muggle world at the heart of manchester. 

magic only really paid a part when his father came to pick him up for the occasional weekend or when something broke without reason, although rambunctious as he was, magic wasn’t necessary for chaos. 

when his father appeared and dragged him along for a few days, the boy took that as an opportunity to analyse the world around him, absorbing every bit of knowledge he could and asking too many questions. sitting on a bar stool at the leaky cauldron. wandering through the corridors of a broom factory. trying to finish maths homework inside a moving knight bus. his father came and left often, and when he was present he was usually busy with the many jobs he couldn’t seem to keep, or fully unaware of what to do with a child or teen, let alone what to do with felix himself - what did he like? what was he up to? half hearted attempts at small talk made for very dull weekends if it wasn’t for felix’s inquisitive mind and his ease at starting conversations with strangers. “your boy’s got a big mouth!” they’d say as he drilled them with questions and began chatting up a storm, trying carefully to blend in to a world he was half foreign to.

going to hogwarts was like whiplash, the warm and epic castle worlds away from his barely livable life in a crummy manchester neighborhood. it was there that he found quite a lot of happiness though - hogwarts was the bit of stability he was missing in his life, something constant he could hold onto - especially his beloved house, GRYFFINDOR. it was there that he learned of the unimaginable prejudice within that magical society though, and it was there that a higher sense of justice developed in him. felix had lived through injustice, watching his mother cry at the notion that their rent was once again overdue, watching kids in his neighbourhood go to school with holed backpacks, watching more and more of his peers give into pointless futures they had been aimed at. but the philosophy that his mother was part of an epidemic, that he had tainted blood, that his muggle-born friends had somehow warranted exile or death? felix wanted to do something about it. it was appalling to him when he questioned his peers on the sources of their beliefs and no one answer with logic he deemed acceptable. 

while hogwarts as a location was one of happiness, the school came hand in hand with a formal education, something he’d rebelled against even in muggle school. felix is smart and ambitious, but not a studious person and in the middle of fourth year decided to drop out. his plan was paper thin, as he didn’t really expect to return to muggle education either, just get any job and be done with it. for a fourteen year old, there was quite a lot of bitterness in his tone when he claimed that it had worked for his father. however, teachers convinced him to stay, reminding him that he could go further than anyone in his family ever had at hogwarts, and that there was potential in him. felix tried to leave a few more times before graduation, but they always pulled him back, his head of house especially, and he is incredibly grateful for it. having people who’d accomplished something say he could do the same, and caring so damn much truly changed the course of his life, and even at the time, felix knew he owed an awful lot to them. 

after graduating with some reasonable to good NEWTs, he got an internship at the daily prophet, and soon a proper job offer. REPORTER. his defense against the dark arts professor had suggested it after reading an essay by felix and for the rest of 7th year, felix paid closer attention to the way he formulated questions in class, to every word he wrote, to the newspapers that laid on the tables during breakfast. soon after scoring the job he moved out, all the way to london - impossibly far for his mother but a wave of a wand for him. every morning he stopped by with a copy of the confusing newspaper in which pictures moved and pieces spoke of events and people she did not know, but she’d read it carefully anyway. he did it to show her that he was doing something REAL, even when his pieces didn’t make it into the print. he had something solid. he’d gotten so much further than what any of them expected. 

although he began studying at hogwarts after the death eaters had been run out of the ministry, he went to a school that was in many ways still rebuilding. the injustices that made his blood boil in first year were very much alive and had deadly consequences as he was growing up. all of his life in the wizarding world was tainted by conflict, or the threat of conflict, or the aftermath of conflict - an uncertainty that made wizards all over hold their breaths. one of his first assignments for the daily prophet was to report of a burned down shop and its missing owners, common place in the times he lived. but the on and off tragedy came with other angry souls who demanded change and were ready to take it by their own hands - shortly after leaving hogwarts, felix was recruited into the order of the phoenix. he came armed with the fresh knowledge of a reporter and a big mouth ready to ask questions until he gets answers. and, above all, a lot of fight left in him.

NOW

felix was always very sure of every word he said, even when he shouldn’t. that certainty spilled into his actions, and he always made sure that whatever he was about to do, he could back it up in the future too, and thus his moral compass became rather strict. he knows what he believes in, he knows what for him are accepted plans of action and just how much he’s willing to sacrifice, and he doesn’t allow anything to try and move the lines that delimitate him. he adheres to this conduct to this day at the order, despite how much on and off war has jaded them all, and his reluctance about crossing his lines has cost him leadership roles many times.

he had his big break in 2019 after cornering a minister assistant into confessing collusion with notoriously death-eater assigned families, confirming bits of evidence he’d dug up, and uncovering how they’d been slowly attempting to make their way into power once more. for weeks, updates on the massive story with his name on it were on the first page as one by one he unveiled cases of such corruption within the ministry. ever since then, he’s been trying to achieve that level of notoriety again. he’s the up and coming man who burned very fast and has yet to prove that wasn’t just luck, even if just to himself.

DEATH TW, PARENTAL DEATH TW

that was also the year his mother passed away. after a few weeks of being bedridden at the hospital, which came as the climax of months of health issues surrounding faulty kidneys, mary rose was celebrated in a nearly empty funeral. felix’s coping method ranges from pretending like it didn’t happen and drinking to forget that it did. 

TW OVER

ever since he was a teenager, felix had found a companion in a good drink. as he started working and living on his own, what used to be a purely social activity started happening behind closed doors as well, as a way to loosen up after work or after a hard day with the order. he grew to have favourite bars, bars with his face in drunken pictures on the walls, bars where he was no longer allowed to come in. his struggles with alcohol abuse have grown over the years and his body, no longer of a 22 year old, is barely managing to keep up. however, it’s not something he’s ready to admit to anyone for now, and that is possibly the only lie ever honest felix is able to tell with a straight face. 

his father has come and gone, in and out of his life. lately he’s been somewhat of a leech, aware of his son’s stable employment, constantly visiting just to ask for money. which felix has given, despite his best judgement - he is indeed known to give everyone far more than what he can give.

felix has no real concept of boundaries. or of the notions that others might be a bit too much for him, or a bit too demanding, or a burden. if he believes he might be needed, he won’t wait for a call, he’ll be banging at your door. no concept of giving someone any space. what’s the point of having any closeness if he can’t pour himself at your feet, let you pick apart what you need for your fixing and then help you put it together? 

the joining of realities was met with much skepticism by felix at first and a sense of urgency that belongs to those at war: they did not have time to fool around with this (he very quickly started showing up at spots that in v2 are order hq or safehouses in hopes that they are locations of interest for versions of the order in other realities and that they’ll all fuse together). a certain bitterness rolled around too, not just due to having to apartment hunt ONCE AGAIN but the thought that maybe everyone else had it easy, peaceful, and his reality was doomed to on and off conflict. however, the more he dug in and discovered about other existences, felix took hope from it too. he simply didn’t know a reality in which the wizarding world around him wasn’t at war and yet it came with such ease to many others - would he believe in the future better if he’d always pictured himself having one?

MORE

felix truly believes that he can change the world if he pushes for more ethical and honest reporting. his goal is to be the editor-in-chief of the daily prophet! but at this point he might even just try to start something new tbh

when felix started earning a proper salary, he had no clue what to do with it. he’d been brought up with so little and expected to have so little in the future as well, that even a modest salary like his was a shock and you bet he bought his mum a nice dinner and himself a good tie. 

after breaking the big exposé on the ministry, felix was offered a book deal to cash in on his notoriety, which he turned down REALLY fast with a lot of confusion. ‘what am i, oscar wilde?’

while he prides himself in having held down this job rather well, the same cannot be said for other aspects of his life. felix is of an argumentative LOUD nature, and enjoys fleeing from his problems, all ingredients that turn friendships and relationships into disasters. his drinking became a problem in some too, but he won’t mention that. 

he is incredibly persistent, to the point of EXTREME annoyance, like a dog with a bone

there’s a lot of 20 something left in felix that he’s yet to shake off. he has a lot of maturing to do.

loves powerpoint so much?? will use it for anything. even at work, he WILL force his editor to let him show a powerpoint presentation on his laptop. will use it casually too to prove a point.

has so much energy. can jump off from place to place at all times. you can feel it radiating from him. speaks absurdly fast and LOUD, is always fidgety - he’s that dude at the order HQ throwing a tennis ball at the wall and back to him. starts conversations with “catch this”. twirls his wand between his fingers. probably plays with knives while drunk, way too close to his own fingers, because why not

walks the line between charming and nuisance

texts with ALL the abbreviations and might even make some up. he has better shit to do than text long properly written texts!!

doesn’t really care about what others think of him, as he thinks very poorly of himself most of the time anyway

if he believes he’s right, he’ll be mean and cynical and brutal. felix speaks his mind and often that comes with lots of hard edges

dresses in lots of layers and long jackets, but always with a tie on because that’s his professional attire. ALWAYS has a satchell on him, filled with notepads and muggle pens ( and a little flask ). 

always looks like he needs both a haircut and a comb. maybe a beard trim too. 

big communist, no joke, fuck yeah

felix, leaning a bit too far on a chair at hq, throwing a tennis ball at the wall:  we are all doomed u guys

really wishes he could be more optimistic most days :/

replies to way too many things with “hot.” and sometimes doesn’t cathc himself before throwing it as a reply to shit like ‘yeah and then we went to check the witnesses on that broom accident, awful’

he’s a very gestural person. speaking for felix means moving around, big physical gestures, arms flailing, a proper demonstration at times

has the messiest desk in the history of messy desks, and his colleagues just have to deal with it.

some stats, which you can find HERE.

click HERE for a bad pinterest board.

some character parallels: steven crain (thohh), karen page (marvel), greg serrano (cegf), elijah bradley (marvel), jake peralta (b99), alexander hamilton (musical), mike ross (suits), luke banjole (handmaid’s tale), rose tyler (doctor who), theodora crain (thohh), wes gibbins (htgawm), jessica jones (marvel), diego hargreeves (umbrella academy), lois lane (dv), jeff winger (community), meredith grey (grey's anatomy), shane madej (buzzfeed unsolved), nick miller (new girl), mike warren (graceland), clint barton (marvel COMICS pls), terry jeffords (b99), siobhan sadler (orphan black), poe dameron (star wars).

WANTED CONNECTIONS: 

class of 2009/2010: or not! felix was very noticeable at hogwarts. he didn’t do any extracurriculars or play quidditch, got average to bad grades, tried to keep his head down and avoid trouble, but had a big mouth! once there was a single opening, he just started rolling and good luck shutting him up! vaguely gossipy even oops. so from 2003 to 2010 he was around being a nuisance, which could have been taken very nicely or not 

and they were roommates: after graduating, felix moved out to london but he was certainly too broke to live by himself. some poor people had to put up with him for a few years before he finally started living alone - his early twenties were times of real intense going out and partying; and odd hours working in the living room; and also going back home with freshly healed injuries from warring with the order. he was certainly not a tidy or quiet roommate, but he’d always offer a glass of whatever he was having

the recruiter: felix joined the order as soon as he was out of hogwarts. not only did he have skin in the game, but he’s never known the wizard world properly without war and he’d do anything to many sure he and many others felt safer. there’s something that truly disgusts him in a visceral away about pureblood violence and bigotry, has since age eleven, and he has enough fight in him to get out there, hand and fists ready. since it didn’t take much convincing and he probably sought them out himself, this is someone who vouched for him and due to that, someone he always came back to whenever he had personal issues with how things were being ran, which was OFTEN. 

family in arms: he joined the order very young, as did many, and in a way they finished growing up there. for over a decade he’s fought with these people on and off, lost a few as well - this sort of shared trauma shared experience sort of thing :(

someone kick him out: being annoying around hq and loudly argumentative at meetings definitely lead to some people being done with him, even if they all fight for the same cause. who in the order is truly over his face??

spent youth: who partied hard with him during their late teens/early 20s and now is like wtf man why are u still going this hard why are u up drinking gin stop

drinking buddies: felix is a loyal man and can often be found at the same bar, so who’s chilling there with him? could be with good intentions, just pals,,,,, or Using Him in a drunker state to get some info he’d probably not divulge sober @ de

exiting: felix is notoriously bad at holding down relationships, do who dumped him?? 

dog with a bone: once felix feels like there’s something to dig, he will keep on digging and there’s little that can stop him. dangerously annoying, he can be up on multiple people’s businesses and this whole cat and mouse dynamic is what he lives off of

you again?: there’s certain people that, due to their jobs or connections, would be very alluring sources for him so catch him being a common nuisance

main contact: someone let him break news. someone call him first.

potential enemies: based off the DE he knows or suspects in his own reality, he’s got an eye out for people from other verses. he follows ‘innocent until proven guilty’ but that doesn’t mean lack of caution and there’s just so much distrust for people whose names or surnames he recognizes. rightful or not!

investigation buddy: who is with him trying to find out who is wrong and who’s right in all these worlds combined!! a very much on the down low sort of investigation into potential DE or war criminals but also into whatever the fuck is going on and who they can place blame onto. who’s sleuthing? 

#❛ iv . | when i’m facing death i’ll grab its throat — “ how does it hurt ? “ ; headcanons . #icb how short this one is tbh he's the oldest and has the shortest intro?? sounds fake i must correct this some day #felix vc: im a simple man #clonesintro

[volleychumps]

ive been feeling fluffy lately and can u make scenarios where s/o accidentally bump or crash into akaashi, iwaizumi, kuroo, oikawa, and eita and s/o highkey has a crush on them and shocked and doesn’t know how to react but then suddenly gets a kiss on the lips/cheek/nose with a confession? idk if this makes sense loll! thx!

Awh, I’ll do a continuation of this one for the requested boys, thank you for the request, love I know you’ve been waiting a bit<3

Accidental Confessions w/ Akaashi, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Oikawa, and Semi

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

Akaashi

The library bustled with light chatter as your earbuds played a light tune in your ears as you scanned the bookshelves, deep in thought as you decided on what to grab. The aisle was more isolated away from the others, and you didn’t mind- most people were here to study anyway, uninterested in the aisle that held the older novels.

Your eyes widen a little when you begin to pull a certain book out, the whole shelf seeming to rock with your movement as you still immediately, wanting not to cause a commotion if the shelf were to fall along with the many books obviously over-stacked on the shelves. You bite back a groan, glancing around before deciding to quickly pull the book out anyway, thinking if you were fast enough, the shelf wouldn’t be able to lose its’ weak sturdiness.

The shelf immediately begins to lurch forward, and you panic, shutting your eyes tightly on instinct, knowing your current upper body strength wouldn’t be able to support such a hardware. All you could do was pray it wouldn’t lurch far enough to fall-

You wince for potential impact, instead hearing quick footsteps and the sound of two hands jutting against the shelf. You hear books fall to your feet, and put your hands over your head in case any fell on you.

Either you were just lucky, or-

“Must be a really good book then, huh?”

You open your eyes just in time to see a hard-covered book hit Akaashi Keiji’s head, one of his blue-green eyes shutting at the impact in slight pain. The heat flames to your cheeks before you can control it, glancing around to realize if your now distanced friend hadn’t been there, you could have been squashed flat. His hands were resting on either side of you, arms outstretched as he had ducked his head to cover yours from any falling books.

The tune still playing in your ears seemed muffled as you tried to grasp the situation, a stutter fumbling into your words.

“I’m so s-sorry, does it hurt?” You melt into panic, looking away from anywhere except Akaashi’s usual blunt stare.

“Getting hit by books is never fun. Now I know how Bokuto feels.”

You shrink away, attempting to escape from Akaashi’s human cage.

“Thank you, Keiji.” You manage out in doing so, still not meeting the eyes of someone you once called a friend before certain feelings led to you avoiding him. “We should get you checked-”

“Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?”

Fuck.

“I’m not. And we should really go to the nurse-”

“Y/N.” Your mouth goes dry when Akaashi tugs one of your earbuds out, leaning into you even more as you’re suddenly thankful for the isolated aisle. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You exclaim, fumbling your words. “I-I did something wrong! And it would just be easier to ignore everything I feel for you, but I can’t when I’m near you all the time-”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes widening as you try to run again, but Akaashi easily keeps you in place, the blunt blue stare seeming to have another emotion swimming amongst his eyes matching the ocean.

“Y/N.”

“W-What?”

“I just saved you from a bookshelf and potential death. Do me a favor.”

“What?” You repeat in a squeak, shying away behind your book as Akaashi merely shows a ghost of a smile, pushing the book away as you back into the bookshelf, eyes widening at the proximity. 

The book cluttered to your feet amongst the others, the tune in your one ear still playing as Akaashi slipped the loose earbud in, filling your ears with music and your chest with symphony as his lips pressed tightly against your forehead. 

“Just let me say that I like you too, will you?” 

Iwaizumi

“Sit here! I’ll be right back!”

Iwaizumi didn’t really know how he ended up here.

The ace watches as you rush out of your kitchen with flushed features, examining the few cuts on his hand and legs from the fall of his bike. Your morning jog just so happened to be one you lost yourself in, your foot entangling with one of Iwa’s wheels that led to his painful outcome and you insisting you come back to yours to assess the damage.

Iwa crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter before wincing a little. This was nothing. The whole reason he had even accepted was-

“I found the kit-!”

Iwa watches amusedly as you trip over yourself in your return, stumbling a little before giving him a cute apologetic bow and settling next to him, fiddling with the opening of the kit.

“I’m really fine, Y/N.”

Iwa arches a brow when your movements still, and your blossomed cheeks had the ace feel pride swell in his chest at his effect on you.

“W-Wait, you know me?”

“We’re in the same class.” Iwa attempts to play it off, clearing his throat. Truth be told, the ace had heard of your cutesy crush on him a few weeks ago, only making Iwaizumi notice you more and more with each passing day. Of course, he was really good about being discreet about it-

still, that didn’t cover the smirk on his face when he caught you glancing his way once or twice.

“Right...”

“That is why you invited me here, right?” Iwa sweatdrops. “You don’t just let random men you don’t know-”

“No! Of course not!” You rush out embarrasedly as Iwa hides his teasing smirk, covering his mouth with his hand as you sterilize a cotton swab. “I do know you...”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes at the stinging on his cheek as you gently glide the swab over it, disinfecting it thoroughly as your heart pounds at the situation. How had your crush ended up seated in your empty kitchen on a Sunday morning?

“Is your bike alright?” Your shaky voice makes conversation as Iwa takes another teasing jab, scoff in his words.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks.”

“T-That’s not what I mean!” You whine, even more embarrassed than before as Iwa’s chest rises with a chuckle. This was fun.

“Where else?!” You question, wanting this to be over with once you placed a bandaid over the cuts on his cheek and hands.

“My back.”

You spin around hastily when Iwa deadass takes his shirt off, flexing a little as you hide your face in your hands, not believing this was happening. You take a shaky breath that had a coy grin tickling Iwa’s lips as he feels your hands gently trace up his back to his wound.

“Enjoying yourself?” Iwa questions as your silence makes him turn around a little, smirk fading when he sees you had buried your face in your hands once again.

“Please stop teasing me.” Your hushed voice mumbles into your palms as Iwa immediately feels the guilt wash over him, prompting the dark haired boy to turn around completely.

“Hey- I’m sorry.” Iwa gently tugs one of your hands away from your voice to reveal your teary eyes and blushing face, eyes widening at the sight as a warmth spread over his chest.

“You’re fun to mess with- I didn’t mean to go that far.”

Iwa feels something in him snap when you pout, nodding and refusing to meet his eyes before he pulls the wrist in his hand towards him, causing you to lean a little into him as your eyes widen.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“Hm?”

Your face burns at the feel of Iwa brushing his lips against your cheek, causing you to wrench out of his grip and stumble back in absolute shock. You control your breathing as Iwa pulls his shirt back on over his head, looking at you casually before swinging his bike keys on one finger. 

“So do you want to go on a date, or what?”

Kuroo

“Please grab him!”

Kuroo’s eyes widen as the cutest cat he had ever seen leaps up into his arms with ease, a grin spreading out across the captain’s features as he strokes its’ soft fur as it purrs, snuggling into his arms.

Apparently, the owner of this cat just happened to be the cutest person, in his book. For awhile now, actually.

You groan, jogging lightly up to the boy you knew as the captain of the volleyball team while bowing your head apologetically as Kuroo’s grin only widens at the sight of you. You plant your feet on the sidewalk, smiling a little at the way your cat seemed to be content with the feel of Kuroo’s arms.

“I’m so sorry!” You click your tongue, carefully taking your pet from the captain’s arms and setting it on the ground as your cat rubs up against one of your legs, grinning a tad apologetically. “Kuroo-senpai!” 

Kuroo didn’t know what to say, chuckling a little awkwardly as a heat tickled his ears. You weren’t strangers for the most part, you were just the girl who passed by him after the third bell with the same friend everyday, always offering him a bright smile and nod as you strolled past him. 

And he continued to look for that smile at the same time of each day, a little more bounce to his step each time your lips stretched for him. 

“It’s nothing, little fella got loose, did he?” Kuroo crosses his arms, fighting to keep the nervous crack out of his voice as you sigh, running the hand that wasn’t holding the loose leash through your hair. 

“He hates walks because of this thing, so I’m not that surprised.” 

“Walking a cat is a rare sight to see.” 

“You’re a rare sight to see.” You counter, tone teasing as Kuroo’s eyes widen a fraction as the heat spreads to his cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be like, spiking a volleyball right now?” 

Before Kuroo could question whether or not you paid attention in a flirtatious manner, a tug at his legs stopped him as the captain reacts quickly- 

Your pet, as a form of hell to pay, had casually walked a circle around the two of you with both of you failing to notice, walking off as the leash slowly tightened around your pairs of ankles, prompting you to trip as your ankles become tied together. 

A squeak slips your lips as Kuroo turns, relasing a loud groan as his back hits the concrete, your front falling onto his chest as Kuroo instinctively wrapped his arms around you for utmost protection. 

“You damn cat!” You groan, trying to get up to no avail as said cat licks its’ paw from a distance, causing you to roll your eyes before realizing the situation you were in. 

You lift yourself up a little with both arms, a blush rushing to your face at how close your face and the captain’s was as Kuroo’s slackened jaw tightens to form a smirk. 

“Falling for me, are you?” 

“Talk about cheesy.” You laugh awkwardly, beginning to scramble off. “Again, I’m so sorry-” 

Kuroo’s arms tighten around your waist, tugging you back down to hold you tightly from this position as the captain’s feral eyes seem to gaze up at the sky, you stuttering as you look up from his chest with blossomed cheeks. 

“S-Senpai?” 

“Just a little longer.” His arms tighten. “Please?” 

The beat of silence was filled with shock as your eyes widen at the sound of Kuroo’s chest beating rapidly, the captain chuckling when you seemed to be listening a bit too intently. 

“Now would probably be a good time for me to tell you that you’re the cutest girl I’ve wanted to take out for awhile, huh?” 

Oikawa

“Gotcha!” 

You blanch as Oikawa Tooru’s gym bag falls to the ground with a thud, catching you in the flashiest way possible before you could fully hit the ground, your papers flittering around you like snow as you bite back a groan. One of your hands rested on the captain’s chest, your waist in the hands of the one and only- 

Really, right in front of his fangirls? You think, reminded of the salad meme as you scramble out of the brunette’s hold, rushing past him with a rushed thank you in hopes to avoid the herd. 

“W-Wait, Y/N-chan!” 

You nod to his friend Matsukawa in thanks as you accept your now collected papers, ignoring his calls as you turned the corner hastily, embarrassment flooding your cheeks along with a strange beat in your chest. 

“Mattsun, I failed again...” Oikawa’s hand slackens as a pout overtakes the brunette’s lips as Matsukawa shrugs, amused by the whole situation as he nods over to the poorly-hidden fanclub. 

“Blame them.” 

Oikawa groans, turning to glare at his fellow senior. “I said help me win her over, not trip her!” 

“I’m no miracle worker.” Matsukawa simply shrugs, pocketing his hands in his school pants as he grins in the direction you had run off in. “Still, I get it. You want the girl who’s not a complete ditz for you.” 

“That’s not why!” Oikawa denies, brushing past the group of girls vying for his attention. “Y/N’s special. She doesn’t...” 

“Treat you like the asshole you are?” 

“Yeah! That!” Oikawa snaps before realization dawns on the brunette’s features, glaring at a cackling Matsukawa. “Wait, no-” 

“I can’t believe we’re friends.” 

Oikawa’s sassy retort falls on deaf ears as Matsukawa turns into his class, offering a single wave to his captain as Oikawa groans, heading in his own direction as he wonders if he’ll ever be able to tell you, deciding to skip class to sulk in his sadness. 

Rounding a corner, he’s surprised to see none-other than your figure sitting quietly in a secluded staircase that was hardly used, seeming to be skipping as well as you tapped a pen to your lips, working on some forgotten homework as a pile of the previous scattered papers sat at your side. Oikawa’s lips pull into a natural smile at your content features, his heart rate picking up, thinking he was being given another chance. 

The brunette considers his next course of action, grinning before shaking your shoulders and scaring you out of nowhere. 

“Y/N-chan~!” 

You jump, a small scream erupting from your mouth before you hastily cover your mouth with widened eyes meeting chocolate ones as Oikawa flinches, not expecting you to react that way. 

“Who’s there?” An authoritive voice booms as you both seem to panic at the same time, and the next thing the captain knows, your papers were shoved messily into your bag before your hand tugged at his sleeve as you ran, pulling him along in the process.

You throw the door to an unused classroom open before dragging Oikawa in and sliding the door shut quietly, not bothering with the light as Oikawa watches with widened eyes, thoroughly impressed. 

“You-!” 

Oikawa swallows, nodding obediently when you put a finger to his lips, listening for the chaser’s footsteps to fade away before you sigh, flicking the light on before glaring at the brunette. 

“Are you insane?”

“In my defense- who could’ve guessed that corridor echoed?” Oikawa responds with an easy smile as you relax a little at the sight before going to retort- 

The footsteps come again, prompting Oikawa to panic and tugging you so your back hits the wall next to the door, shushing you as you did to him as the easy smile comes back as his pointer finger rests against your lips as he seizes the opportunity. 

“If we get caught, I just want you to know that I love you.” 

Oikawa’s breath hitches when you roll your eyes, prompting the brunette to tilt your head up carefully, brown eyes drifting over yours before cupping your face and kissing the tip of your nose just as the footsteps race past the door, your stunned features causing the captain to smirk at the pink that lightens your cheeks. 

“I wasn’t joking.” 

Semi

The car seemed to have come out of nowhere, and your feet stilled on the crosswalk stupidly as the sign for pedestrians continued to flash as the driver tried to skid to a stop-

but it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough.

The breath gets knocked out of you as soon as you clench your eyes shut tight, trembling at what was to come until you realize that the car wasn’t what caused your loss of breath. 

Semi Eita pants, chest heaving as both of the setter’s arms supported his weight off of you, nonetheless protecting you from the horrid outcome that was darting straight at you as his brown eyes lit up, brimmed with fury and worry. You lay on your back, frozen in shock at the fast-paced events as the street of cars zoomed past the two of you on the sidewalk. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Your classmate questions, backing off immediately when he sees your eyes well up with tears, voice shaky as you stare up at him, unblinking as the fear trickles over. 

“T-The sign...” 

Semi sighs, turning to flick off the driver who was asking if you were okay before telling him to get the hell out of there, helping you to your feet in doing so. The walk to school should have been like any other day, Semi walking behind you to the same destination about eight feet away with his eyes trained on the back of your head- 

ever since you had held back the eight feet to wait for him on a rainy day, ushering him under the umbrella so you could both get to school at least semi-dry, Semi Eita had made it a point to work up the nerve to walk to school with you as an every day occurence-

Even if was eight feet away, content with making sure you made it there safe. 

“Can you walk okay?” Your classmate’s voice was unusually softer, yet still had his custom hard edge to it as all thoughts of making it to school on time faded from his head. 

You blink, seeming to be in a daze as you stared at the ongoing traffic that seemed to be going about as it normally would as you begin to imagine what you would have looked like under it. Semi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, not used to being so close to you as you begin to tremble before sighing. 

“Don’t worry about being late. Sensei wouldn’t-” 

“I could’ve died...” 

Semi’s eyes widen when you wrap your arms around yourself, still shaking. 

“...right?” 

“I mean, yeah?” Semi regretted the words as soon as they slipped, watching as a new round of tears came on as the trembling turned almost violent as a hand covered your mouth. 

“Oh my god-!” You hiccup, and the setter panics, moving before he can think. 

Semi’s hands cautiously take your face gently, forcing you to look at his eyes. “You’re alive. You’re fine.”

“I-I’m not-!” You seem to be on the edge of falling to panic, and Semi’s eyes widen even more as he realizes he needs to bring you back and grounded, making a split decision before he can back out. 

“Close your eyes.” Semi instructs, an authority edge to his callous voice that had you listening as the tears continued- 

The trembling seeming to lift completely as soon as Semi Eita’s lips press against yours tightly, sending your mind awhirl in a way that had him holding you against him tighter until your breathing evens out, the buildup of anxiety fading at the feeling of the amount of emotion behind the setter’s actions. 

You’re still sniffling when the setter pulls back slightly, uncaring of the public eyes of traffic. 

“S-Semi?” You manage out, wiping your eyes as Semi’s breaths take a turn to become shaky, the setter looking down with his forehead resting against yours. 

“I’ll take you to school from now on.” The words came out confidently as Semi’s thumb catches a few stray tears, locking eyes with you as the anxious feeling in your chest is replaced with a beating one- one you could hear in your ears. 

“Would that be okay?” He presses, not prepared for the small smile that takes over your features before you reach up and press your lips against his cheek sweetly, taking the setter off-guard as Semi finds himself interlacing your fingers with his. 

“Okay.” 

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #Iwaizumi Hajime #iwaizumi x reader #hq iwaizumi #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu kuroo x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu semi eita #haikyuu semi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios

[ellitx]

Chapter 8: Unexpected Sojourn

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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art belongs to rome

word count: 3.2k

           “[Name].”

           You flinched when your name slipped from his lips. Venti furrowed his brows in worry and slowly knelt down before you, reaching his hand out to brush your cheek. You crawled backward before he could touch you.

           Fear had once again found you. It spoke to you in its cackling voice. It told your legs to go weak, your stomach to lurch and your heart to ache. Your eyes averted from his own gaze. You don’t want to look at him.

           You fear facing the unknown Venti in front of you. What happened back then still lingered inside your head. Those cold and ominous orbs when he looked at you made you shudder. You know that intense gaze wasn’t meant to be directed at you, yet it scared you so much the more you think about it.

           His heart ached to see you distancing away from him. It feels so cold, like concrete drying his chest. It was unexpected for him to experience a heartbreak— top of the world one minute then cut down the next. Why is that? Is there a part of him that you dislike seeing? You do know that he’s trying to help you, right?

           “[Name], what’s wrong?”

           He softly asked, his voice sounded so pleading. As much as he wanted to near you, he kept himself in place to prevent you from keeping away. You have always imagined him holding you so many times, but now more often than not you find the future you seek is an empty shell. 

           Things have changed abruptly— he changed, so fast, you worry that he might not be able to control himself in front of you.

           “It’s nothing…” You muttered. You said you aren’t scared but he can see your body movements are tighter and your yearnings reduced. Your smiles were shorter and silence longer. You didn’t even look at him as you said that.

           Venti bit his lip as his face contorted. He so badly wanted to wrap his arms around you and just bury his face on your hair, taking in the fresh smell you have, yet you were scared. Scared of what though?  He doesn’t know the answer to it. Was it because of Boreas? 

           “Please look at me…”

           He begged. There was something in his voice, a pain behind it. You watched. You watched his eyes and then you knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered knight aimlessly lunging his sword, scared for his life, lonely, and desperate.

           His emotions turned jagged and his insides tight. He wanted to cry out and reach out to you. Love him, sit with him, hold his hand, say his name, look into his eyes, and say you love him. He waited, heart in his mouth, hoping you’ll come back to his arms.

           It hurt you. It hurt you to see him like this. The emotional pain in those green gems swelled you with guilt that you’re staying away from him. You impulsively extended out your arms and apologized.

           “I’m sorry,”

           Venti blinked in surprise yet he didn’t hesitate to come to you. Your arms were wide open, welcoming him in, and he immediately entered them then wrapped his arms around your waist so tightly. 

           His hug is stronger than anything you’ve ever known as if holding you wasn’t quite enough, he has to feel every ounce that you are pressed into every ounce that is him. In that moment of a feeling of you so close has awakened him, more alive and relieved than he has been in so very long.

           He nuzzled onto your neck, feeling safe against you. Your warm hug took the pain away and just let himself melt and be comfortable. You slowly reached up to his head and caressed his dark locks.

           “I’m sorry…” You repeated. “I… I thought you’re mad at me.” Your gaze darted downwards with your arms falling back to your side. Your eyes remained glassy for a moment and that’s when he finally connected the dots together. 

           You were scared seeing him furious. It’s an emotion he never really shows it often and is rare for him. This side of him was uncommon to see and you’ve never seen him felt like that once in your life of knowing him for all these years. Anger, pain, sadness— so intertwined that perhaps his name is ought to be tweaked to reflect the true origins of these emotions.

           Venti pulled away and looked at you, his eyes calmly searching yours. He raised your chin to make you look at him and pressed his forehead with yours. “I’m not mad. And I’ll never ever be mad at you.” Warm hands then cupped your cheeks and when he spoke, you can feel his warm breath against your face, and it’s just now you're realizing how close you two are.

           “I’m worried about you,” The distance between your lips were just a few centimeters apart, almost brushing together. “And I don’t know what to do without you being here with me.” He was firm and gentle as he pulled you in and it caught you off guard the moment his lips brushed with yours. In that kiss was the sweetness of affection, a million thoughts condensed into a moment.

           He laced his fingers with yours and tugged you close to him. You never quite figure out the beauty of his lips was more the softness of their association with the words he spoke. He always loves being near you, touching you, and holding you in his arms. His warmth would seep into your being and comfort you without ever opening his mouth.

           You’d melt onto him easily as you belonged next to him as he belonged to you. And each time before you part, the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.

—

        “Say Aether,” Paimon started catching the traveler’s attention as he stopped munching his food. He hummed at her and raised a brow. “Isn’t the Tone-Deaf Bard a little bit shifty this day?” 

           The blonde swallowed his meal and took a napkin wiping the crumbs sticking on the corner of his mouth then asked, “What do you mean?” 

           “I mean aren’t you curious to know who this maiden Venti keeps talking about?!” Her face was so close whilst she floated above him. Aether sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This pixie really doesn’t know where to not poke her nose into, does she?

           “It’s not our business and we shouldn’t pry onto it anymore.” Paimon puffed her cheeks and stomped her feet onto the air in annoyance. It did irk her that her companion was not interested in this topic, but her curiosity is eating her up. 

           “Is she perhaps the one he told us in his story?” She didn’t change the topic as she grinned while taking another piece of the Mushroom Pizza. Aether simply shrugged and just ignored her rambles, absently staring onto the wall of Good Hunter’s diner.

           If it really was the girl Venti mentioned from the story of his old friend, does that mean she’s awake already? 

           “Anyways we’re still going to check it out, right?!” 

           He snapped out from his dazed state, owlishly blinking before looking back at her. “Hm? What are we talking about again?”

           “You’re not even listening to Paimon! Well never mind, Paimon can just repeat it to you.” Before she could utter a word, Aether had cut her off. “If it’s about following Venti, we don’t have the slightest clue to where he could be.” His floating companion grumbled and crossed her arms in aggravation since what he said did have a point.

           Albeit disappointing as it may be, she did actually hope they could investigate it later. “Bummer…” She muttered to herself and took another bite of the pizza.

           Aether rummaged inside his bag and clicked his tongue at the sight of the lack of crystals he currently has. He forgot to collect more to enhance his weapon to the blacksmith, great. He disappointedly sighed and zipped his bag close. Sufficient mora, shortage of crystals. Seems like they’ll have to mine them before he could enhance his trusty sword.

           “We’re going to Stormterror’s lair after this.” He announced. “Now? But we haven’t finished eating these yet! We still have another order coming.” Oh, right, the Sticky Honey Roast. 

           “We’ll eat Sticky Honey Roast first then go to Stormterror’s lair.” 

           “Aww yeah!”

           The wait was fortunately not that too long. The waitress stopped by their table and served them their meals. The sight and aroma of the food made them drool in hunger, their souls wanting to ravish it in instant. The two grabbed their fork and knife, hastily slicing to get their piece, and enjoyed the delish meat feast prepared for them as they shoved a forkful of it into their mouths.

           Warm food melted in the back of their throat and Paimon, who was dissatisfied with the size of her spoon, raised the plate to her face, wolfed it down, and licked the plate clean. Her body shook as she belched loud and long. 

           Aether cringed at her lack of manners in dining, looking away from the other customers who gave them a glance of curiosity at his guide. This emergency food will be the death of him.

           After finishing their meal and paying up, the two went off and started their journey to the lair. The embryonic oaks laid upon the grass, their brown eyes a gift to the eyes. He could watch them for a while, these acorns, hoping the silent bliss would extend if not for some group of slimes and hilichurls attacking them.

           Fighting was easy and not too much of a trouble for him, a sign that he’s gradually getting stronger. He smiled to himself and let his sword vanish into thin air on his back. Just a few more steps and he can finally gather the crystals he really needed.

           The path went onwards and there was much journeying ahead in front of them. He paid no mind to Paimon’s ramblings about what food they should get later. Sheesh, why does she can only think of nothing but food? Just how big is her stomach that can handle so many?

           Still, he appreciated her little babbles to distract himself from their quiet walk. His golden orbs then lit up at the sight of the familiar entrance getting bigger each step they take. His leg stopped from leading him and peered at the big tower looming before his small form.

           The memories of the Stormterror issue returned to him. The agony and pain the poor dragon was suffering, the blood clot that drastically continued to consume him as he writhes and cries while no one was there to help him. Venti, the Anemo Archon, was there to help Aether in his journey and to aid in freeing Dvalin from being corrupted by the Abyss Order.

           They were able to set him free and save him from poison with the help of the Dandelion Knight and Darknight Hero of Mondstadt. Still, even after that incident, there are still no clues as to where his sister could be.

           Aether took the chunk of crystal and placed it inside his bag. He heaved a sigh and stretched his arms to ease the cramps formed on his tense shoulder due to the struggle of breaking the crystals from the ground. 

           “Are those enough?” Paimon hovered above him and took a peek inside as she asked. The blonde shook his head and sled the backpack over his shoulder. “Just need two more and then we can go back.” He took out his map and checked the current location he is in to mark the spot.

           “Oh! Paimon remembers there are few over there.” Her small finger pointed on the spot of the map near to where they are and tugged his scarf to make him follow her. Few long strides here and there, his brow quirked when Paimon stopped midway guiding him.

           “Uh… are you seeing what Paimon’s seeing?” His brows knitted together at her ambiguous context behind her words. “What are you talking about?” He questioned and looked in front seeing nothing but thin air.

           “Over there! Is that a dead body?!” She flew behind him and took a little peek over his shoulder, her form slightly quivering in fear. He squinted his eyes to take a closer observation to where her finger was directing. Upon more detailed inspection, he can faintly draw out the figure that was limped on the ground.

           In instinct, his legs immediately guided him towards the figure and saw an unconscious form of a girl the closer he gets. He knelt down and drifted his hand on your chest to check your pulse. 

           “She’s just unconscious.” He assured Paimon. She sighed in relief and fluttered across you to check your features then back to the area. Something feels off…

           “Is it just me or was there always a garden here before?” She remarked, catching Aether’s attention. His eyes wandered to his surroundings and she was indeed right. Various flowers scattered before you, cushioning your body in the grassy field. He remembers that the ruins were only filled with the remains of the old buildings and structures.

           He explored this area in and out and never once in his journey does he remember a garden was set up here in just a month. Is someone revitalizing this old lair? Even if it did, he should prioritize first your passed out state and bring you back to Mondstadt for safety.

           “We should bring her back with us. It’s too dangerous here.” He told his little companion and before he could tuck his hands underneath your legs, a strong grip on his wrist stopped him from doing so.

           He jerked his head in the direction of the owner’s arm, following the white sleeve covered up until to sight of a familiar appearance of a bard standing before him. Venti stared blankly at him with cold eyes. Frightened by his expression and sudden presence, he took in a sudden intake of breath and stumbled backward, his foot slipping from the ground. His shoulders tensed in alarm, the tightening grip on his wrist caused him to wince in pain.

           “Venti?!” Paimon exclaimed in surprise and glided away to give the distance from him as she noticed the abrupt ominous aura encircling him. 

           “What are you going to do with her?” His expression hardened when the traveler remained quiet at his question, so he constricted his hold on him even further to get his attention.

           “I said, what are you going to do with her, traveler?” He repeated but with a firm and loud voice. The pixie shuddered in fear at his unforeseen behavior but she quickly stepped in and tugged his hand away.

           “We’re just going to bring her to the city to help her!” She exclaimed and attempted to release his restraint on her ally. Resentful countenance flit across his features as his mouth had gone hard hearing her words. Though, he quickly replaced it with a smile and finally let go of Aether.

           “I see. There’s no need to do that.”

           The blonde rubbed his wrist to ease the discomfort that continued to linger, he was sure of himself it’ll create a bruise on it. His eyes followed to the bard’s small form as he carried you in his arms. You squirmed against him and huddled closer searching for warmth.

           Venti glanced at you then back to the two companions. “You should go back now.” His voice was more demanding than they had expected. An order from an Archon himself. Though Aether didn’t budge, he hoisted himself up first then looked at him in utter puzzlement.

           “What about her? Is she injured? Sick? You should come with us too if you want to aid her.” Venti clicked his tongue and forced a smile to hide the growing anger that’s boiling up even more the more he talks.

           “I can handle her myself. It’s getting dark already and I don’t want you to get lost on your way back to the city.” The small bickering started to wake you and this is not what Venti likes to happen.

           As you rose from your light slumber, you are first aware of the coolness of the air and the fresh and loamy fragrance. Your clothes feel damp as a flower in the dew of the dawn. You half wonder if you’re still dreaming as you shifted from your place and sensed your feet weren’t touching the ground.

           “She’s awake!” You heard a squeaky voice exclaim near you. Venti raised his hand and commanded the winds to push the two away back to the exit. 

            “Leave. Now.”

            It irked him further when Aether persisted then stared at you, observing your features in silence. If he’s desperate to stay then so be it, he can just teleport himself somewhere else with you as long as they keep a distance from you.

           He didn’t hesitate to leave them all alone and not even once listening to what they’ll say as he suddenly disappeared into thin air with few teal feathers fluttering along with the air.

           He stopped near the lake and heaved a sigh of relief that he can no longer see them at last. You rubbed your eyes to erase the sleepiness within you and looked up at him, calling his name in a drowsy manner.

           “Sorry did I wake you, love?”

           He settled himself on the ground and brushed your hair away that was fixed on your cheeks. You blinked and looked around the area to get a glimpse of where you are. Now you were awake, perhaps a little bit awake with a tint of drowsiness still in you. As far as you can tell, you’re trapped in your lover’s arms with birds making their carefree song around you.

           “What’s the noise all about? What’s going on?”

           Ah, seems like that woke you up. He sighed and placed his head on your shoulder to relax with just your presence. It’s a miracle how your own voice can instantly calm him down after attempting Aether and Paimon to leave the place.

           “There were visitors that came here. Quite pesky I must say.”

           “Visitors?”

           That fully woke you up more than you’ve ever been. “No need to worry about that. It’s not really important. Get some more rest, you’re tired after what happened after all.” He kissed the top of your head and pulled you close to snuggle against him. You enjoy the feeling of his warm body next to yours, causing you to be sleepy once again.

           He carefully shuffled to find a comfortable spot and looked at you. Your features were much softer in sleep, more youthful than ever no matter how many millenniums of years passed by. It reminded him of your heavy slumber while he waits for you to wake up.

           But now, he doesn’t need to worry if you’re still in a comatose state. You’re already awake, with him and finally together. He can easily check up on you all the time as long as he’s next to you. He could soak in all that you are forever and still be right here, still wanting more. It is infatuation, but what is love without it? Desire, passion, and true love are threads of the same emotion, a perfect recipe for his attraction for you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere venti x reader #venti x reader #genshin impact venti x reader #genshin impact venti #venti #genshin impact reader insert #elliwrites #Illusory Sense

[stolen-pen-name23]

If you feel like it, maybe "You have to help(/save) him! Please!" referring to Anakin, for either Ahsoka about her Master or Obi-Wan about his Padawan?

Thank you for the prompt! I went with Obi-Wan and Anakin as his padawan! // from these prompts // prompts now closed

---

Obi-Wan can sense Anakin weakening with every hour that passes.

The boy is limp in his arms and Obi-Wan is constantly pushing against their young bond to make sure that it still exists — that Anakin still lives.

“You have to stay with me, Padawan,” Obi-Wan says, his voice betraying his own fears. “Come on, keep your eyes open.”

“Can’t,” Anakin murmurs.

“Yes, you can,” Obi-Wan insists. “Just open your eyes. Look at me.”

“Hurts. Don’t feel good.”

“I know, but you have to hang in there. We’re almost out of here,” Obi-Wan says, hoping he is right.

Evidently, Anakin can sense that it is only that — a hope.

“You don’t know that,” Anakin says. “You don’t even know where we are.”

The boy has him there. He can only guess which direction to go, relying heavily on the Force and hoping that his intuition is correct.

Being lost in the jungle is not the ideal situation. Being lost in the jungle with a young Padawan is an even less ideal situation. Being lost in the jungle with a young and very sick Padawan with no supplies? Well, that is just bad luck.

Very bad luck.

Their ship crashed days ago. Obi-Wan got away unscathed, but Anakin received a nasty gash on his arm — a nasty gash that is now infected. Anakin’s feverish skin burns so hot, Obi-Wan can feel it through his tunics.

Obi-Wan had been able to salvage some water and a little bit of food from the wreckage. The food ran out two days ago and the water ran out this morning. Every stream and babbling brook he passes tempts him, but he resists the urge to drink. Obi-Wan did not have any iodine to treat the water, and even though his mouth feels like it is stuffed with cotton, he knows making himself sick with unclean water will only serve to make the situation worse.

He growls in frustration. Without bacta, without water, without antibiotics, Anakin will not make it to tomorrow. Without water, Obi-Wan will not make it much longer than that.

Obi-Wan keeps moving forward and prays it is the right direction.

His prayers are answered. Or at least, he hopes they are. The forest thins slightly and his eyes land on a rudimentary palisade. Behind it, he can see the sloping arches of roofs.

Obi-Wan finds himself once again praying to the Force. This time, he prays the people living behind those walls are friendly. He conceals his lightsaber in his robe and follows the palisade until he comes across a gate with a metal latch. Tossing Anakin over his shoulder, his shaking fingers work the gate’s handle until it swings open.

The jungle has been cleared to make way for homes and buildings. They are not as advanced as anything that would be found on Coruscant, but they are not as underdeveloped as the rotting palisades or the surrounding jungle environment would have led Obi-Wan to believe.

It is evening, and presumably, a quiet one as no one appears on the gravel streets. Obi-Wan once again relies on his intuition to select a small house. He stumbles over to it and bangs on the door.

No answer.

His fist connects with the hardwood. The last shreds of Obi-Wan’s hope exist behind that door, and the thought of carrying on in search of help somewhere else after coming so far is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. He extends his hand to knock a third time when the door swings open.

“Hello?” a middle-aged man asks, confusion and caution guarding his expression. Obi-Wan can hardly blame him, but desperation has replaced decorum for the time being.

“You have to help him,” Obi-Wan pleads with the stranger. “Please. He’s sick, he’s injured and…”

Obi-Wan sways — thirst, hunger, and exhaustion seemingly catching up with him now that he has found some help.

“We have a healer in town,” the man says without questioning the mud-covered man standing at his doorstep. “Come, it seems you both need it.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says gratefully. He shifts Anakin off of his shoulder and back into his arms.

“I can take him,” the man offers.

Something protective rears its head inside of Obi-Wan. “No, I’ve got him,” he says suspiciously.

The man raises his hands in surrender. “Let me know if you change your mind. You’re not looking too good is all.”

“I’m fine. It’s him who needs help.”

“I’d say you both do. Can I ask what happened?”

“Our ship crashed and we got lost. He’s hurt and I can feel him slipping away and it’s my…”

Obi-Wan can’t finish the thought. His voice is thick with emotion from the stress of the whole debacle and the fear that Anakin very well might not make it even when they do get to the healer.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Sounds like you’ve been through quite a lot. Let’s just find that healer alright?”

Obi-Wan nodded, grateful for the kindness of strangers.

The man leads Obi-Wan to a small, but sturdy-looking building. They rush in and find the healer that was promised.

“Please help him,” Obi-Wan practically begs. “He needs help.”

“Come, young one, bring him here,” the healer responds, gesturing to a bed. “Lay him down. I’ll take a look at him.”

Obi-Wan sets Anakin down and takes a stumbling step backward. The man grips his shoulders and steadies him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, but his voice sounds like it’s underwater.

“Help him… you have to…” Obi-Wan’s knees buckle and he can vaguely feel large hands grab hold of him before he hits the floor.

His legs drag useless and limp underneath him as he is pulled across the room and laid down on a soft surface.

“Anakin…” he murmurs one last time before falling into unconsciousness.

***

When Obi-Wan wakes, he bolts up where he sits. His chest heaves up and down rapidly. To his side, Anakin lays pale and still as death.

“Anakin?” he asks, panic curling into his voice, his lungs, his very soul. “Anakin please.”

“He’s alive,” the healer from before says as she enters the room.

Obi-Wan’s fears are only partially alleviated. “Will he stay that way?”

“The infection was aggressive, but I have him on strong antibiotics. He is stable and will be fine as long as you keep him on the antibiotics, keep the wound clean and keep him hydrated.”

Obi-Wan lets out a deep breath.

“Now as for you,” the healer says accusingly. “Your blood sugar was very low. You were very dehydrated as well.”

“We were lost. We ran out of supplies,” Obi-Wan offers as defense.

“Really? The boy was not nearly as dehydrated as you were.”

Obi-Wan swallows thickly. “He needed the water more than me. He was sick. I needed him to stay alive.”

“If you died of thirst before him, neither of you would have made it.”

Obi-Wan looks down in shame. “He needs to live,” Obi-Wan says, offering the reasoning for a second time. He cannot call it an excuse because he means every word of it.

“Very well. Just be more careful with yourself next time? He needs you too, you know?.”

Obi-Wan feels a lump form in his throat. “I will.”

There is a pause and Obi-Wan starts to sense a trepidation coming from the woman.

“I know what you are,” the healer says, glancing over at a side table where Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lay. She must have found it while he was unconscious.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan questions, unsure if the people of this planet are for or against the Jedi. Obi-Wan really hopes this isn’t one of those planets that believes the Jedi practice witchcraft and ought to be burned at the stake.

“The people around here don’t really care for your kind.”

So much for that.

Obi-Wan’s chest tightens at the confirmation of his suspicions.

“We sent off one of our own to the Order years ago,” the woman explains. “She died on a mission. It was a long time ago, but this is a small community. It’s hard to forget.”

Obi-Wan wonders if it was a Jedi he knew, or if it was a Jedi who died before he was even born.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. It is all he has to offer at the moment.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your identity quiet.”

Relief pours into his veins. “Can I ask why?”

She gestures to Anakin. “I would hate whatever family he has left to find out he died on a mission. It’s a tragic thing.” the healer says. “Besides, it is my job to heal, no matter what you are.”

“You’re honorable.”

“I’m just a healer,” she said, brushing him off. “I have already gone to the liberty of contacting your Order. They will come for you and your apprentice tomorrow. Just don’t try to leave here before they come to pick you up. I can’t protect you once you leave these halls.”

The tightness in Obi-Wan’s chest loosens somewhat.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, “for your kindness and for your discretion.”

“Of course. Just don’t make a habit of crash landing on my planet.”

“I’ll do my best,” Obi-Wan says with a weak smile.

The healer leaves and Obi-Wan is left alone with Anakin. He stares at the child lying still in the bed beside him and has to watch for the slight rise and fall of his chest to reassure himself that the boy is, in fact, alive.

Obi-Wan swings his legs over the side of the bed and drags his IV along with him so that he can stand beside Anakin. His legs still feel shaky and his body weakened, but he refuses to leave Anakin’s side.

Eventually, he finds a chair to drag over and sit in. He grabs Anakin’s hand and rubs his knuckles with his thumb. Anakin’s hand is still small and soft with youth. It does not yet have calluses formed from years of wielding a lightsaber as Obi-Wan’s do.

He’s still innocent.

Obi-Wan tries not to think about how close he was to losing Anakin. He doesn’t think he could have taken it — not so soon after his Master and well… it would have been an awfully cruel thing to lose two members of his lineage in the span of a few months.

A soft groan escapes the child’s lips and Obi-Wan perks up.

“Anakin?”

Anakin scrunches his face up in discomfort.

“Wait here, I’ll find the healer and then—” The little hand squeezes Obi-Wan’s tighter, stopping him in his tracks.

“Master…” Anakin murmurs. He squints and blinks a few times. Anakin’s eyes focus on him and Obi-Wan could swear he saw them light up just the slightest bit.

“Master?” Anakin asks. “Where are we? What happened? Why am I…”

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan says, slowing Anakin down before he can get himself worked up. “You’re safe now. We found our way out of the jungle. We’re going to go home soon.”

Anakin nods, but remains silent

“Talk to me, Anakin. Does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

“No… I mean… a little. Don’t feel that good.”

Guilt pools in Obi-Wan’s stomach and he takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Anakin. For all of this.”

“Why? You got us out,” Anakin says. “You saved us.”

Obi-Wan looks away. “I also crashed the ship. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have… you wouldn’t have…”

His eyes sting and he blinks rapidly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Anakin says, and he is so sure of himself Obi-Wan almost feels some of the guilt melt away. “You got us out didn’t you? And I’m going to be okay. Really.”

“You’re okay,” Obi-Wan says softly, reaffirming it to himself.

“What about you?” Anakin asks.

“What about me?”

Owlish eyes blink up at him. “Are you going to be okay?”

Obi-Wan squeezes Anakin’s hand.

“Yes, Padawan. I’m going to be okay.”

#prompts now closed #thanks for the prompt! #my writing #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi

[whump-town]

Without A Word

Hotch sits with Emily right after her death.

She spends every Saturday night on his couch, tangled in his unusually long limbs and the blanket he keeps draped across the back just for these nights. Drinking whatever cheap beer she finds at the corner store a few blocks from his apartment until he’s had enough and gets out the wine. Between them, there is no need for long-winded conversations or many words at all.  The night turns in and she finds that since stepping into the room neither of them has said a word. Not when he ordered their dinner. Not when she finished his discarded beer.

Not a word.

Those Saturdays are her favorite.

Were.

They were her favorite and they were something she used to do.

She’s no longer allowed these things.

She watches him from the stiff, unforgiving mattress beneath her sore body. Her arm aches where the IV has sat for so long in the crook of her elbow and she knows all she needs to do is say something and they’ll likely move it but she’s afraid of how she’ll sound. To her own ears, all she will hear is the pathetic rasps and whines of such a silly complaint. To the staff, it’s the way they’ll soften and she’ll be forced to see the pity they have for a dead woman.

And, more than anything else, she’s afraid of what Aaron will hear.

To see the quirks of his face as he reasons through what it is that he, himself, thinks. Will he disapprovingly narrow his eyes, tightening his lips as he thinks about his own nightmare. George Foyet and the many nights he spent in the hospital recovering from not just one impalement but nine brutally drawn-out stab wounds. Will he look at her with soft eyes and force her to watch him avoid her eye so she won’t see the pity. Will there be guilt? The hardening of his jaw as he clenches his teeth and cast his eyes anywhere but at her.

It makes her wish she’d never known him.

Not to surpass the worry she feels about his perception of her (deep down she can acknowledge that he must love her to be here now) but to prevent all of this. To pull him from the stiff-backed chair he has restlessly has fallen asleep in and send him home to his son. Go back to a time when she didn’t know what it was like to be hurt -- physically, emotionally, and sexually. To be seventeen again gulping down coffee with no cream or sugar because she thought the bitterness would make her stronger, more of an adult. But life requires one to be greedy about the things in life that feel good.

Reid taught her that, watching him pour mountains of sugar in his coffee. Bitterness is not the measure of adulthood or success. It’s one ability to take one more longing glance at the mug in their hands and decide whatever body part might shut down in a few years is not worth the disgusting sludge in their mug. Indulge while you can before you find there is nothing but bitterness and no sugar to sweeten the mess.

Indulge before it’s too late.

She never indulged herself enough.

“You’re awake.”

She watches the micro-expressions (pain from sitting in that chair, happiness that eats up a dimple, guilt that pulls down his eyebrows like a bar with too much weight on its ends) slip across his face before it settles on passive worry. There’s an intensity to his eyes that makes her aware that she’s being watched, not by Aaron and his soft edges but by Hotch who will fight with nurses and get himself kicked out of the hospital. She wishes she could feel something past the numb itchiness of her nose and the distance of her hands, then she might be able to worm her way into his brain. So she might live alongside his thoughts.

She thinks she’d probably enjoy herself there.

“Emily?”

She looks down where his hand touches her own. Emily. She can’t feel the warmth of his fingers sitting over the top of her own but then he’s always been cold. Blankest always tucked around his broad shoulders. Hands tucked into his pockets. Her favorite part is that he hates summer, despite what could be assumed about its escape from the dreaded winter. But people have a tendency to overcompensate with air conditioners. He fucking hates the summer.

She won’t see that this year.

She’s dead.

“I’m sorry.”

She wonders how it is that he steals the words right out of her mouth. Because it should be her apologizing. For not trusting him despite how many times he’s leaned into her. For running away when she’d called him a coward for wanting to do the same thing. For getting herself killed and hurting him, for making his worst nightmares come true once again.

She opens her mouth and he rises with deep groans from his lower back and his knees old hinges from door frames older than them combined to stretch and get her water. She didn’t even realize how much her throat hurt until she’s greedily pulling from the straw he’s bent to allow her access to the content of the little cup. “Not too much,” he warns softly, pulling away. “Water doesn’t mix well with the meds.” A lesson he learned the hard way when she’d done the same for him when it was him in the bed and her sleeping in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair.

She couldn’t save him from the nausea of her good intentions but he can spare her the pain of too fresh stitches being tugged by a heaving stomach.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Between them, there is no miscommunication. She knows him as she might know her own hand or her favorite book -- as an extension of something past herself. More than Emily Prentiss. He knows her the same. So, there is no need to clarify and even less of a need for her to have to say the words at all.

She’s right, of course. His being here disrupts the flow, it’s a wedge in the crack of the team’s trust, and each time he finds himself here that wedge sinks a little further.

He repeats back to her the words she’d whispered to him only a year ago. “You shouldn’t be alone.” She’s surprised he can remember that at all. There had been only a small debate about who it was that could stay with him that night, but she was glad it was her answering his questions when he woke drowsily with the drugs and when he’d tried to send her home. But insubordinate is a word that perfectly explains their friendship and she’s never been afraid to toe at his “firm” line of what he’s willing to deal with.

She narrows her eyes at him and he does it right back, both baiting the other. He’s right and so is she. She hates it when he’s right.

“Sit.” She croaks pulling her arms up to put weight on them and inch her body to the left so that he can sit.

He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t,” he commands softly. “You’ll pull your stitches.” Another hard lesson to learn, one he can spare her. He’d done the same for her in the hospital but powered on despite the feeling of the stitches pulling at his skin. The nurses had not liked him very much, he wasn’t very good at sitting still.

Without a word he carefully leans onto the bed, sitting right where her hip is. Close like she wants without actually needing her to move. His eyes wander and he finds himself glued to the heavy gauze wrapped around her abdomen. His mixed feelings are met with a smile from her, “we’ll match.”

He grimaces, “you don’t want that.”

He won’t be there to talk her through healing. The way things burn and itch and ache and that she’ll get so light-headed she’ll nearly pass out. That she might need iron supplements like him and that they taste like death and he’s seen and smelt enough of that to know that it’s a very correct description. How the nightmares ignite the pain and if she thinks the anxiety and the panic are too much she’ll be floored the first time she feels the attack again.

He can still feel Foyet’s hands all over his body. He’d take any punishment, as many tactile nightmares as his body could handle, to save her these things. The betrays of mind and body.

Her body is heavy and she can feel the pain returning. “Aaron?” She needs to say it now because when she wakes up after this she’s going to be in too much pain to think about what she’s left unsaid.

“I know,” he whispers. He knows that she loves him. That she thinks he’s the biggest dickhead she’s ever met in her entire life and no one is as insufferably annoying as he is to her. That someone, preferably Garcia, needs to take care of Sergio and to take care of her plants. That she’s going to miss him so fucking much and she’s not sure how to function when he’s not there anymore.

He knows. God, he knows.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I have other places to be,” he states, uncharacteristically trying at something playful. She narrows her eyes at him and he caves. “I’ll be here.”

Eyes closed she hums, “it’s not like you have other friends.” The comment is meant to be light but it... hurts. He’s burring his friend. He can’t tell Dave how he really feels. Can’t accept Garcia’s attempts at comfort. He’s sending her away and the false hope that she’ll ever return is more damning than if she’d died.

“No,” he replies thickly. “I suppose not.” Next time, he vows, he will die with her because he won’t survive this again.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss #but not hotchniss

[itsthestutterforme]

Redeemed (Supernatural)

Redeemed Circuit 1/4

Y/N was previously tortured by Dean while he had the mark of cain. They thought she was a demon that worked for Abbadon. Turns out, she was just a human with an allergy to oil. A year later, Y/N was actually a prophet and the Winchester need her to find a way to trap Michael from the other world

Characters: Dean Winchester x POC!reader, Sam x reader, Castiel x reader

--

"Please, I'm telling you that truth!" Y/N begs as Dean scraped his ugly blade against her clavicle. Sharp stings littering her body and extends to every cut that he made. They speak of Abbadon and demons. At first she called them psychos and high off their asses if they wanted her to believe that demons were real. It wasn't until she saw Dean's eyes flicker black that fear struck her silent.

These cuts and oil burning have been going on for days, and at this point, she wanted to beg for death. "You're going to tell me where Abbadon is," "I don't know where or who Abbadon is, I swear."

Her throat scratches against itself of soreness from her long screams. She was barely able to keep her eyes opened. He grabs her face and pulls her inches away from his.

"You disgust me," he insults before leaving the room. She winced as he slams the door shut and tears pricked her eyes for the hundredth time. The door creaks up but she doesn't bother lifting her head.

Footsteps near her and hand touches her arm. She pulls away from his rough, calloused hands. "Wait a minute, these are- Dean!" "No, please, don't bring him back here." She pleads. "It's alright, honey, I'm so sorry I didn't catch this sooner."

"I'm starting to think she doesn't know anything, we should just kill her." Dean says, making her whimper lightly. "No, look. She's breaking out into hives. She's have an allergic reaction, she's not a demon." Sam says.

She looked up at Sam through swollen eyes as he pulls her wrists and ankles from their restraints. "I'll get the first aid kit," Dean says before leaving the room again. "I am so sorry." "No, let me.. leave me at the hospital." "At the severity of your wounds, you won't make it to the hospital," Sam explains. "I'll take my chances,"

"Listen, I'll.. how about I help you. He doesn't have to touch you." She shakes her head and pushes him away. "Take me to the hospital or let me die." That was the last thing she said before blacking out completely.

A constant beep of a monitor is the only thing she hears. Her eyes slowly peel open to see her brother, Y/B/N holding his face in his hands. He must of heard her sit up because his head shot up and met her eyes with his red, puffy ones. "Y/N? Oh my God," he stands from his chair and takes one of her hands into his.

"We've been looking for you everywhere. And everyone thought that you were.. I'm just glad you're okay." He wipes away his tears with the cuff of his sleeve. No words came to mind to say.

Ironic, really because her mind is blank but her body has plenty to say. Between the stitches, the IV and Dean's punches, getting ran over sounds like a dream right now.

**

Sam and Dean were tired of standing around waiting to find out when Castiel will find the new prophet that was called forth. They just came back from a hunt and settled down after taking their showers.

They need the prophet to translate the angel tablet they found in the other world.The world where Mary and Jack resided. Hopefully it will help defeat Michael who is definitely coming over here into this world. Castiel just came back from Heaven in search of the next prophet, and what do you know, it's Y/N.

Castiel sets the file down on the table in front of the Winchesters and they opened to see Y/N's picture. "Oh you've got to be kidding me," Dean says, running a hand over his face. "Wait, you know her?" "Yeah, she hates us." Sam says. "It doesn't matter, she has a duty as a prophet to provide what the Lord set out,"

"Believe me, she would rather jump off a bridge than help us." "I'll bring her here," "No!" Sam says, making Cas stop his movements. "Let me just. I'll pick her up. Just tell me where she is." "The last I sensed her, she was in Boise, Idaho," "Do you need any help?" "She won't go if you're there, Dean."

"I know, I just.." Dean trails off and his gazs falls to the floor. "Nevermind," he adds before walking off. "What happened between them?" Cas asks. Sam shakes his head and says, "You don't want to know,".

Sam packs a go bag and takes the Impala to get Y/N. He drives around bars and shops and finally found me walking out of the grocery store with brown, paper bags in my hand.

"Y/N," Sam says as he approaches her. She pulls her head out from under the car. When she sees Sam, her eyes widen and she pulls out her gun. She aims it at him and takes off the safety. "Whoa, whoa! I-I'm not here to hurt. I just need your help." She slightly lower her gun and look to the Impala for Dean.

"He's not here," he says and she puts the safety on before tucking it under her belt. "You okay?" Sam asks. She raised her index finger before reaching back into the car for a writing pad.

"Help for what?" She writes and showed him. "Did something happen to your voice?" "I made a vow," she writes. "Because of Dean?" he asks.

She didn't say anything but she pulls the writing pad closer to her chest. "Listen, there is something coming. Something bigger than all of us, an archangel. And he's coming here to lay waste to our world. We may have something to stop it but we can't read it without a prophet.

"I know. I've been having visions." She writes. He nods and she looks at him for a moment. Almost as if he read her mind, he says, "I will make sure that he leaves you alone." "He's your brother,"

"What we did was wrong, but this isn't about us. It's about the world." "I know," "So you'll help us?" She nods before writing, "I need to get my computer first,"

**

It's been weeks since she went to the bunker for the first time. Seeing Dean for the first time in years sent chills down her body. Everything that happened, everything that he did to her was still fresh in her mind.

She has nightmares every night and wake up. It took her months to make sure she didn't scream herself awake.

"I don't know, Dean." "Oh come on, I'm not going to do anything," Dean says. They think she plays music while have earphones on when she is translating the tablet on her computer. Well sometimes, she does.

Other times she just put it on to listen in their conversations. "You know how she acts when you even look at her too long," "We have to learn to work together, especially with Michael coming here,"

"What do you think she's doing? She didn't have to help us. She could have said screw you and left us to die. But she's pushing past things," "Sam, you're just going for a milk run. It's not that big of a deal. She'll be fine." Dean says.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoes through out the bunker. She hears Dean walks behind her and she could feel the hairs on her neck stand up.

"I know you can't hear me but, I have to say it. Words can't even begin to express how much guilt I have weighing on my chest. It's so heavy that I can't even breathe. I--" she stands up from the table and take off my earphones.

She locks eyes with him for the first time she got there. She shake her head and closed her computer before rushing into her room to lock the door behind her.

Why the hell do I feel bad for him? He's the one that made my life hell! He doesn't deserve my forgivness. She thinks to herself. She collapses on the bed and sigh when she heard her phone chiming.

She reaches over the bed and into the nightstand to look at who was it was. She clicked on her Y/B/N contact and opened a new message from him.

It was a man with glowing blue eyes mainly in the frame but in the very left top corner, she saw her brother beaten to a bloody pulp. The background seemed oddly familiar Fear shudders through her body and she could feel it starting to freeze over.

"DEAN!" She yells. That was the first time she spoke in two years. Heavy footsteps run towards her room and before she could stand to open the door, he kicks the door in.

She showed him the phone and his jaw clenches. "He has my brother," "He's already here. Did you find anything important on the tablet?" "Yeah, I'm practically finished. There's a scepter like weapon with angel grace in it. That's the only thing that kill him."

"Do you have no idea where it is?" "Not me, but your angel friend can," "Alright, pack a go bag and meet me in the garage in 10," She nods and pull open the drawers when Dean says, "And Y/N?"

"Yeah?" "We'll get him back." She doesn't say anything and continued to pack. They packed clothes and weapons before texting Sam her address to meet.

Within a couple hours, they arrived at her house and there was an eerie vibe about it. Dean wanted her to wait in the car until Sam got there but she couldn't wait while that son of a bitch was hurting her brother.

She ran inside and Dean followed her into went to the house. Blood was smeared all over the walls and windows. The house stenched of metal and rotting flesh. She found my brother with his skull cracked open in the kitchen.

She heart was barely able to take seeing him like that but when she saw her niece with bruises littering her neck, she lost it.

That son of a bitch strangled her to death. She must have been so scared. Y/N cradled her cold, limp body in her arms and smooth out her soft, curly hair. "I'm so sorry, honey." She stand up but her eyes don't leave the corpse. "I need a minute," "Whatever you need," he says before leaving the room.

Anger boils her blood and yells erupted from her chest. She rushed out of the room and kicked the couch forwards. She grabbed the lamp and throw it against the wall.

She picked up the nightstand and slamed it on the ground with a satisfying crack. She kicked the nightstand and into the corner and standing in front of the family portrait.

Her fist finds its way through the picture and she just kept punching and punching. She didn't care if the glass was piercing through the flesh of my hands.

Sam finally arrives at Y/N's house with Cas. "I'll check around the perimeter of the house," Cas says. Sam nods and asks, "Where's Y/N?" Right on cue, she yells out in anger.

"Y/N," Sam tries to walk into the house but Dean holds him back. "Give her a minute. She found the bodies of her brother and niece," Dean explains. Sam sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. "It's our fault," Sam says.

"I know. They would still be alive if she didn't help us," Dean says. "She's already been through enough," "He's gone. There's no trace of Michael." Cas says to them as he walks up the steps. "Damn it," Dean says.

Y/N is huddled in the corner with her bleeding hands. "Alright, Y/N, enough of this. There's only one thing left to do now." She stands up and walks out of the house. Their eyes fall to her hands and she noticed. "It's alright, don't worry about it." "We should at least cover it so it doesn't get infected." "I need to get this cleaned up," she says, motioning to the house.

"You don't have to do this alone, Y/N." "I'm used to it," she says, walking passed them and opening the garage. She pulls out a shovel and Sam gets in the way. "Y/N, please. Let us help," he explains.

"I know you feel guilty, but it's best if you leave. I'm not angry at you, I'm just tired of the people around me getting hurt." She looked from Sam to Dean and Dean steps closer to her.

"Well you're stuck with us. And we're all in." "Once I'm done here, I'm making sure Michael's head is on a pike. And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Like I said, all in." Dean says. "Then start digging a pit at least a foot deep. We have to burn everything in that house." She says, handing them both a shovel.

"You've done this before?" Sam asks. "My brother did, and he told me in case something happened to him.." she trails off. "I'll get your hands cleaned up," Cas says, motioning to her hands. "Fine,"

#poc!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural

[brelione]

Field Trip With A Rich Bitch lll

Part One  Part Two

Warnings:Swearing,Ward Cameron,very boring/dumb.

“We both hate Ward and he doesn't want me around pogues.What if we fake date?I can get you into my house and into his office and we can mess him up,ruin him from the inside out.”He spoke in a voice right above a whisper.You blinked,your eyes hurting. “You want to fake date?”You asked.He nodded. “Think about it,you can come around and we’ll pretend like you've never heard of him and you don't know what he did.We can eventually get him to confess and get a recording of it and then get him put in prison.”He ran his fingers through your hair,not really thinking about it.You gulped,eyes still locked on him. “He’ll know who I am when he hears my name.”You sighed.He smirked. “Right,but we dont let him know that you know.It’ll all work out.”He mumbled,rubbing the material of your shirt between his fingers. “That’s a terrible idea.”You laughed.He frowned. “I think it's a great idea.”He mumbled,a bit offended.

 “Well,you’ve never been the smartest.”You smiled,twirling a chain between your pointer finger and thumb. “But I don't have a better idea.You’re the easiest way in the house,I guess.You really think we can get him to confess?”You asked.A smile tugged at his lips. “I've heard you’re the queen of manipulation,why don't you prove it?”He challenged you.You let go of him,looking to the gravestones.Four of your dead families members six feet under the ground,probably listening to this conversation.You hoped they were listening to your conversation at least,it didn't matter if they approved what you were doing or not.It just made you feel better to think that maybe they were all vibing in the afterlife.You lifted your knees up to prevent yourself from sinking all the way into the mud.He had given you his phone so you could create a new contact,typing your phone number in.He followed you back to the garage.

He was a lot more calm on the way back,knowing where all the branches and large roots were on the path.He had swatted away a butterfly which caused you to turn and laugh at him. “Dude,chill,it's just a butterfly.”You giggled.He frowned. “Okay well you didn't have it flying at your face.”He argued.You grinned,biting your lip slightly. “Fuckin pussy.”You mumbled,turning your feet so you could slide down the dirt hill.He had a more difficult time,nearly falling on his ass as he held on to tree branches to help himself out.He jumped,grabbing onto your arm when he saw a small snake. “DOnt act like you’ve never seen a garden snake before.”You grinned,watching the small reptilian creature as it twirled its body around a twig.He shook his head. “You’ve never seen a garden snake?Damn,rich bitch,you really are a pussy.”You laughed,dragging him along.You used a key to unlock the garage door,pulling the door back up and ducking under the door.You went to your table,grabbing a piece of gum and folding it into your mouth.He stood by his bike,watching you while you fixed the hole in the seat. “It's done.Pay up,rich bitch.”You sighed quietly,rubbing the leather seat with your thumb.

He pulled out his thick brown wallet,handing over two hundred dollar bills.You took them,looking into his blue eyes. “Twenty dollars too much.”You told him.He put his wallet back in his pocket,shrugging his shoulders. “My dad murdered your parents,you deserve a little extra.”He smiled.You nodded,folding the money and placing the bills into your pocket. “I’ll text you later.”HE mumbled.You nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”You replied. “You know you should wear a helmet,right?”You asked.He rolled his eyes. “I know,I know.”He replied,grabbing the handle bars and walking out from the garage.He swung his leg over the seat,gripping the handle bars before driving off,leaving a cloud of dirt in his path.You chewed your gum,watching as he left.You restarted your work on another car that was covered in dents,scratches and missing half of a window.

Rafe zoomed out of The Cut,not wanting any witnesses that could possibly tell his dad that he was driving around the area.He pulled up to his house,seeing Sarah swatting away seagulls with a giant leaf.He parked his bike,leaning it on his kickstand and swinging his leg off and standing up straight.He let out a few shaky breaths,preparing himself to deal with his father’s interrogation.He placed a hand on the door handle,inhaling again to calm his nerves before opening the door and stepping into the cool,air conditioned mansion. “Where were you?”Ward asked,holding a cup of water and taking a sip from it. “I was with a friend.”He replied.Ward’s eyes narrowed. “What friend?”Ward asked,knuckles turning white as he squeezed the glass in his hand. “New friend.”Rafe squeaked out,avoiding his father's gaze. “Come here.”Ward demanded.Rafe gulped,looking up at him. “Rafe.Come.Here.”Ward repeated,reaching a hand into his pocket and taking out a small flashlight.

Rafe slowly stepped forward,avoiding Ward’s gaze.He set his glass down on the table,flicking his flashlight on.He raised his hand,gripping Rafe’s jaw to keep his attention,lifting the flashlight up to Rafe’s face and pointing it directly over his eye.Rafe blinked,trying to pull his head away.Ward squeezed his jaw,keeping the light on his pupils. “What’s this guy's name?”Ward asked,letting go of his son's jaw.Rafe cleared his throat. “She.”He mumbled.Ward furrowed his eyebrows. “Where does she live?”Ward asked.Rafe shrugged. “Far away.”He replied.Ward shook his head. “What’s her name?”Ward asked. “(Y/N).”Rafe replied,backing away a few steps from his father.He didn't miss the way that Ward’s face paled,his eyes getting a bit wide as his nose wrinkled. “How do I know you were really with her?”Ward asked.Rafe sighed. “You want me to call her or something?”Rafe asked,exasperated. “Call her,do it.”Ward demanded.

Rafe bit his tongue,taking out his phone.Ward watched him like a hawk as he scrambled through his contacts,eventually finding your name.He pressed it,choosing audio call.He lifted his phone to his ear,waiting for you to answer. “Put it on speaker phone.”Ward told him.Rafe glared down at the older man,pulling the phone away and changing it to speaker so he could hear the ringing loudly. “Dude-it literally has not even been an hour since ive seen you.What the fuck do you want?”Your voice spoke,the screeching of metal on metal in the background.Rafe smiled. “(Y/N) you're on speaker phone,my dad is also in the room.”He held back a laugh as he listened to the absolute silence on your end. “So did you want something?”You asked.Ward cleared his throat. “Can you confirm that you were with Rafe all of this afternoon?”He asked.You let out a loud sigh. “Yeah.”You replied,the annoyance clear in your voice even over the phone. “What were you guys doing?”Ward asked,staring at Rafe. 

“He visited me at work and brought me food.What were you doing while he was gone?”You asked.Ward frowned as a smirk spread across Rafe’s face. “I was waiting for him to get home.How long have you and Rafe been friends?”Ward continued his questions.You sighed. “A while,I dont know.Rafe,I gotta go, I'm still at work.I’ll talk to you later.”You spoke quickly.Rafe took you off speaker phone,pressing the phone back to his ear. “Alright,Love you.”He grinned before hanging up.He watched his father’s expressions,the way his face sunk when he realized he had been defeated.It was a far too wonderful sight.Rafe couldn't imagine the expression that would go across the man's face when he was busted for a double homicide. “She’s your girlfriend?”Ward asked.Rafe nodded,twisting the ring on his finger and waiting for this conversation to be over. “Yeah.”Rafe replied,his voice low and angry.Ward nodded. “You should invite her to have dinner with us tomorrow night.”He suggested.Rafe rolled his eyes,jogging up the stairs. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”Wheezie asked,coming out of her room.Rafe sighed,walking past her and into his room,locking the door behind him and flopping down onto his bed.

It was seven.You knew cause you had set a timer.You grabbed your backpack that you kept on a hook,changing your clothes behind a truck.You now wore a bikini with denim shorts that were tight against your thighs.You stuffed your overalls into your bag along with your yellow shirt.You put you container of sugar in with the gum that you had left,half a bag of doritos and the other lemons you had into your backpack,forcing it to zip shut.Your phone dinged in your pocket.You huffed,betting in your mind that it was Rafe Cameron.You were correct,a text from a random phone number coming across your screen.My Dad wanted me to ask you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.You wanna come?You stared down at the text,considering leaving him on delivered.You were not exactly sure you were ready to face the homicidal liar that was Ward Cameron.But then again it was free expensive food in a huge mansion.It wasn't like Ward could kill you in front of his wife and children.Sure.You replied,watching as the three dots blinked as he typed a response.I’ll pick you up tomorrow.Text me your address.You read the message before turning your phone off.You locked up the garage,stretching your arms.

You spent your evening swaying back and forth in John.B’s hammock while you played a tune from a ukelele that John.B had laying around his house. “How was work today?”JJ had asked you,laying down next to you in the hammock.You sighed dramatically. “Shitty.”You replied,dragging your fingernail along the cords.He nodded,running his fingers through your hair.JJ was one of your closest friends,one that Rafe had beaten before.He was one of three boys that weren't terrified of you,that didn't bow down to you like you were their queen.You were the Pogue Princess.Of course Kiara was a Pogue Princess but you...you were the Pogue Princess.The other two boys were Pope and John.B.They knew your friendly,bubbly side that joked about death and baked lemon muffins.They also knew your bitchy side,the one everyone else knew.JJ always loved how easily you could switch between the two and how you could steal things so easily.It was kind of just your job in life. “Oof.”JJ had replied. “Are you hanging out with us tomorrow?”Kiara asked.You sighed. “Unfortunately I have plans after work so I cannot.”You replied.JJ’s eyebrows furrowed. “Plans without us?Who are you?”He asked.

You yawned. “I’ve got other friends,you know.”You grinned,letting the ukulele rest against the bark of the tree. “I should probably head home soon and shower.I’ll see you guys this weekend though.”You smiled,getting out of the hammock and grabbing your backpack.They booed you and you flipped them off as you walked around John.B’s house and down the road.Your house was only a ten minute walk so you didnt really care or ask anyone to walk you home.When you got to your house you tossed your backpack on the floor,hearing the doritos crunch.Your phone rang.You looked down at it.Rafe was trying to facetime you.You accepted the call. “What?”You asked.He laughed. “Wow...I cant just call you to call you?”He asked.You sighed,waiting for him to get to the point. “You never texted me your address.”He explained himself.You set your phone down on the counter top. “Correct.I’ll just walk to your house.”You yawned,pouring yourself a cup of water and mixing cinnamon into it.He frowned.

 “But like...you live over a mile away.That’s just dumb.”He grumbled.You rolled your eyes,chugging the spicy liquid. “What do I even wear?We gotta make this bullshit believable.”You pulled your hair up into a bun.He smiled,only half of his face visible across your phone screen. “It doesnt really matter what you wear.You’ll look cute no matter what.”His face turned red as he waited for your response. “Whatever you say,pussy.”You replied,glancing at your phone screen. “I’ll text you my address in the morning,ive got work until three.”you told him,sitting on your counter with your phone now in your hand.He nodded. “We have dinner at like five so that works.”He grinned. “Cool.Im gonna go cause ive got shit to do.See you tomorrow,rich bitch.”You hung up before he could respond.You took a cold shower,pulling on an old t shirt and clean underwear.You looked through your dresser,finding a dark green shirt and light pants.That would work.Now all you had to do was fake date Rafe Cameron without letting your friends know while simultaneously destroying Ward Cameron psychologically until he admitted to murder.That sounded simple enough.

@gabbismith​

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #sarah cameron #obx #kiara carrera #jj maybank #pope heyward #ward cameron

[dastardlydandelion]

respice finem

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced violence and abuse

part one link

obligatory irl inspo link

Max keeps pacing up and down the diameter of the room. She stretches her hands over her head and Billy thinks her protective hovering is starting to bug the nurses. They both stayed overnight but Billy’s at least taken a couple breaks. He got himself some Doritos from the vending machine. Borrowed and smoked a cigarette even though he virtually quit a couple years back. Took a short drive to a Kmart up the road and bought Max a change of clothes, supposing he wouldn’t able to get her anything of her own if her home was wrapped in caution tape.

“You wanna go down to the cafeteria, maybe? Get something to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“Okay…did you know they have a gift shop? Wanna go check it out?”

“No.”

“Do you—“

“I’m not leaving, Billy.” Max’s eyes glitter in a stubborn glower.

“Oh, but maybe you should, sweetheart,” Susan says softly. “You’re getting restless.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should get out of this stuffy room. Go for a stroll, stretch your legs. I would if I could.”

Pure heartbreak flashes across Max’s face and Billy feels his own lurch.

“Oh dear, bad joke.” Susan frowns and flaps her hand, the tube connecting it to the IV pouch swaying gently in the air. “That was in poor taste, I apologize. But I do think you need to get some fresh air, Max. I’ll be fine.”

Max pauses. Her hands come together and she taps her thumbs together as she mulls it over.

“I’d feel better if you stayed here.” Max shifts her gaze to Billy.

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” he says honestly. Max is obviously wired and getting more antsy by the minute but Billy is the opposite. He’s wiped out after driving for several hours straight and aching from head to toe after scrapping with his dad.

“…alright,” Max relents after a very long moment. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

She gently swipes the back of her hand over her mother’s cheek. Susan blinks contentedly and hums in approval as Max trudges off to the door. She leaves. Susan's gaze flickers to Billy and then down. She frowns at the guardrail of the bed and uncertainly pushes at it with her palm.

“What’re you doing, Sue?”

“I don’t need this. I’m not going to roll out of bed.” She continues pushing at the guardrail but her efforts are weak and uncoordinated. Even if she had more power and precision behind her pushes, Billy’s pretty sure these things aren’t designed to be collapsed from the patient’s position.  

“It’s fine, just leave it alone.”

“No,” she refuses, eyes narrowing. “It’s in my way, Billy. It’s separating us.”

Something knocks loose inside his chest. Billy hasn’t seen her in three months. He hadn’t been particularly sure he’d ever see her again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it a go. Here.” He sighs out and messes with the thing and after a couple tries and a few silent shrieks from his very sore shoulders, he finally figures out how to get the damn rail lowered, adjusting it accordingly.

“Thank you so much,” Susan breathes. “Now it's easier to do this.”

She stretches out her slender fingers and rests her hand upon his knee. She gives it a couple dulcet pats. Her pinky pokes inside the fraying tear in the denim, soft pad of her fingertip cool against his skin. Billy swallows, wonders how much he is allowed to touch. She wouldn’t be this affectionate with him if she knew.

“It’s my fault Neil found you and Max,” Billy admits, heart pumping guilt like sludge in his veins. “It’s my fault he almost killed you.”

“What?” Susan stares at with owlish eyes.

“I wanted to send Max a gift in the mail,” Billy explains, speaking slowly and plainly. “I hid it under my bed. My dad saw it when he raided my room looking for some shit he thought I stole from him. That’s how he got your address. I tried to stop him, Susan. But I couldn’t…I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Billy.” Susan signs, rubbing her lips together. Her hand travels from his knee to his wrist and she gently pushes up his jacket cuff. Billy doesn’t stop her. He watches her eyes darken at the sight of the bruises.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You said it was a gift for Max?”

“Yeah…new skateboard.”

“I wish you would’ve just driven over to drop it off. Because if you came over, you would’ve seen how nicely we decorated our little duplex…you could’ve seen my darling little gnomes sipping tea and these delightfully clever novelty magnets Max found for the refrigerator. You could’ve sat on our couch and while it’s a bit worn— we got it secondhand —it’s very comfy. Maybe if you saw how nice everything was and sat in our cushy, comfy couch, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.”

Billy gapes at her, noncomprehending. He just confessed he’s the reason she almost got killed. That it's his fault his dad literally broke into her home to beat her to death with a wrench. And Susan doesn’t seem angry at all. He knows she's on the good shit, but still. She's not out of it. She heard what he said. Ahd she is frowning but it’s a more fretful expression than anything, dimple between her eyebrows, forehead crinkled in concern.

“I waited for you, Billy.”

Oh.

“We talked about this before you left, Susan,” Billy gently reminds her. “I told you why I chose to stay. Remember?”

“You wanted to protect us,” she murmurs, thumb chary as she rolls it over his bruised wrist. “Me and Max.”

Billy solemnly nods his head.

“Mm…” Susan’s eyes rove the room and then settle back on him as her lips curl into a doleful smile. “How well do you suppose that turned out?”

Billy’s eyes travel along the chest tube to the rectangular drainage unit on the floor, the printed numbers and increments he doesn’t really understand. Glances to her legs elevated on the pillows. The right one was more badly broken. Not badly enough to require surgery, but still too swollen for a hard cast. The swelling in her left went down and Susan got fitted for a cast just a couple hours ago. The dark purple color she picked matches the massive bruise that currently blooms across most of Billy’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He bows again even though it hurts, it hurts, he’s goddamn sore but not as sore as he is sorry. Billy feels the knot tremble in his throat and he is possibly more sorry than he’s ever been anything else in his life. There is a beast in his belly with a thousand guilty eyes and shame in every one of its silent, miserable cries.

“No, no, raise your head. Don’t— it’s not your fault, Billy.” He feels Susan’s hand sweep the fringe from his face in a few quick motions, delicate and deft. “Won’t you look at me?”

Warily, he glances up. Susan’s eyes are misting up as he feels his own stinging again. Shit. Max is going to kill him if he makes her mother cry.

“I am the one who needs to apologize," Susan declares. "For the life of me, I couldn’t convince you to come with us. I failed you.”

“What?” Billy scoffs in disbelief. “No, that’s not on you. I’m stubborn, I’m—“

“I am the adult,” Susan cuts him off, voice sharp even as her hand rests against his cheek lamb gentle. “The real adult, you're barely twenty. You did what you thought was best but I’m older and I knew better, and I couldn’t make you see it. I let you stay, I left you in the lion’s den.”

Billy doesn't really see it that way. He doesn't feel like a child, doesn't want to be treated as one. And he's no longer Neil's legally, albeit he's been nowhere near financially independent. Couldn't work for a long time after that gruesome nightmare turned reality that was the worst fucking Fourth of July ever. Had to fork over all his paychecks to Neil even after he could go back to work— supposedly put toward residual medical bills insurance didn't cover, but hell if Billy truly trusted any excuse Neil could and would hold over his head. In any case, that's not entirely why he stayed with Neil. And staying with Neil wasn't even exactly the same thing as not going with Susan and Max, but abandonment wasn't a factor in the equation at all. He doesn't feel that way, how could Susan think that?

“You left me the address,” Billy pointedly reminds her and he does not let himself crane his face into her touch even though it’s cool and soft and he feels his stomach loosen with this, this featherlight clemency so careful and sweet.

Because of course he knows why he was left the address and it was never so he could mail packages.

“I should’ve grabbed you and dragged you to the car.” Susan doesn’t sound like she’s kidding.

“You could’ve,” Billy breathes and he’s not kidding either. “You’ve seen me get grabbed, Susan. I don’t fight it. Not in the house. Never did…not until he found that address.”

Susan’s thumb brushes away the tear that spills over, unbidden. Billy reaches out and does the same for hers.

“I’m not mad,” he promises in earnest.

“Neither am I. In fact, I’m…” Susan trails off, exhaling heavily as she draws her hand back from his cheek. “I don’t know, Billy. He was going to kill me. Maybe both of us and I could never say that I’m glad that happened because I am not. I am not glad Max had to see and do what she saw and did. I am not glad that at present, I cannot even stand without assistance. But…you’re here. You’re here because of what happened. Because of what happened, Neil…I never have to worry about Neil again. I never, ever have to look over my shoulder worrying about when he will find me because he already did.”

“That’s one way of looking on the bright side, I guess,” Billy mutters, voice hollow.

“Your father has done all the harm he will ever be able to do, to any of us, and now we’re together again. Isn’t there something to be said for that, Billy?”

He swallows thickly, nodding his head as he places his hand on the bed. Susan’s fingers slide over his and that’s how Max finds them when she returns.

“There you are,” Susan welcomes, smiling warmly. “That was a bit longer than fifteen minutes.”

Max freezes. “Did you need me?”

“No, honey, I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m just happy that you took a good break.”

Max visibly relaxes and shuffles over, lightly squeezing her mother’s upper arm. “I saw Neil.”

Billy exchanges a look of shock with Susan.

“Yeah, he had a new guard today and we talked for a couple minutes. Cool lady with a cool name, like some Greek Goddess name. She gave me a dollar for the vending machine and let me in his room.”

“Are you okay?” Susan frowns, worry crossing her features as her lashes flutter.

“Yeah, Mom. Neil doesn’t scare me anymore.” Max leans in and presses another kiss to the crown of her Susan’s head. Billy’s never seen her more affectionate than this, so doting and tender with her injured mother. “It was actually good. To see Neil like that…to know I did that. It confirms it, I guess? I mean not that I didn’t know, because obviously I know I didn't dream or hallucinate what happened, but…”

“Seeing is believing, perhaps?” Susan tilts her head, mussy red tresses shifting over the pillowcase.

“Yeah, like that. Seeing is believing, I guess. I saw the neck brace and the handcuffs and now I’m…well I’m not gonna turn into a badger every time you want me to take a break.” Max’s mouth quirks, expression sobering when she glances to Billy. “Are you gonna see him?”

“I don’t know,” Billy answers. He keeps thinking about it.

Maybe he’d feel better like Max does. Maybe he’d feel worse. He thinks he’d hate himself if he wound up having some scrap of sympathy. He thinks maybe he’d rip the pillow out from under his father’s head and smother the rest of the life out of him. He thinks he would have the opportunity to say everything he’s ever wanted to say but worries that he would not have the words, worries they may dissolve on his tongue with that stern, steely stare that’s shackled him all his life.

“Not yet,” Billy decides at least.

“You look weird,” Max bluntly blurts, scrunching her nose.

“That’s not nice,” Susan protests in mild reproach.

“It’s not mean,” Max counters, shrugs a shoulder as she looks back to Billy. “You okay? Is it hard being in a hospital again?”

Susan too raises a brow.

Billy reflexively lifts a hand to his chest, curls his jacket in his fist until the button presses uncomfortably into his palm. Few things in his life had been more challenging than his hospital stay and it wasn’t even being in pain or sick or weak, then weaker, then stronger and still in pain— it was sterility. It was being cooped up. It was no privacy whatsoever and never the right noises. It was everything being terrible except Max and Susan even if Max and Susan being around constantly was sometimes terrible but never, ever because they were terrible because they genuinely weren’t and— and now they’re all here again with some of the details rearranged.

Billy realizes that’s the hardest part, maybe, that the details are rearranged. Discovers that maybe it is worse to see someone you care about hurt than hurt yourself. He cannot speak but maybe they know, maybe they can read it in his face because then Susan’s reaching up again, brushing gentle fingertips over his scabbed up knuckles until he relaxes the death grip on the jacket balled into his fist.

“If you decide you want to see Neil, I’ll walk you to the door,” Max offers.

“Thanks,” he manages, terse but sincere.

“And if you want to see him, Mom, I’ll—“

“I don’t,” Susan breaks in, vehement and almost nervous, hand retracting from Billy’s and clasping fast to the opposite above her chest, IV tube swinging again. “I don’t, Max, I really, really don’t.”

“Okay,” Max promises her immediately, gingerly draping an arm around her in a reassuring embrace. The closest to a hug she can manage. “You don’t have to. You never, ever have to see him again, Mom. If you don't want to, you don't have to and that's that. I won't let anyone make you.”

Susan’s eyes dart back and forth as she leans into Max as much as she can, releasing a shaky exhale. Billy’s taken his breaks. They finally got Max to take her break. He thinks maybe Susan needs a break too.

“You wanna see what’s on tv, Sue?” he suggests.

‘No news,’ Max mouths at him above her head. Billy blinks knowingly.

“Sure,” Susan agrees, relaxing and shifting a bit as Max lowers her arm. “Um...maybe the animal channel?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s see what nature is up to.”

#billy hargrove #susan hargrove #max mayfield #neil hargrove #my fic tag

[viostormcaller]

Stringbound Chapter 3

A/N: I really really hope this works... sorry if it’s formatted a bit weird! EDIT: ohmygod I forgot the fucking taglist I am so sorry XD EDIT 2: I forgot amidst my frustration of trying to post this here that I was supposed to edit in all the italics. So I did that. Whoops!

[TW: nausea/vomiting mention, blood, death mention]

Chapter 2

The first thing Marvin noticed behind the darkness of his eyelids was the headache, its ever-persistent pounding and squeezing against his skull as agonizing as it had been since the fight, if not more so. Next was the stomachache, not enough yet to be nauseating, mostly just sore for the time being. Third was the heat; he could tell blankets had been piled on him again -- the same ones from before, no doubt -- and despite how much he was sweating, he also found himself shivering. It was harder to breathe, as well, though it wasn't because of the blankets. However, he didn't feel the need to worry -- he could feel a mask against his mouth and nose and felt significantly cooler air entering his body when he inhaled. Henrik must have put him on an oxygen machine. He also felt that one of his arms was outside of the blankets, and while he couldn't feel it he could tell by the way his arm was positioned that there was an IV there. He could tell he was on the couch instead of in a hospital bed, and he could hear soft murmuring close by. After he felt like he'd done enough assessing of the situation, Marvin slowly opened his eyes, squinting and letting out a quiet, pained groan as the bright daylight entering the room agitated his headache further.

At the noise he heard, Henrik quickly turned around from the crouched position by the couch that he had placed himself in, eyes wide and curious. "Marvin?" he prompted. "Are you awake?"

"Y-yeah…" Marvin got out. "Yes, I'm awake…"

"How do you feel?"

"Awful," Marvin stated plainly. It had been years since he'd felt this sick.

"What symptoms are you having?" Henrik then asked, grabbing the notepad and pen from off the table.

"Headache, chills… I feel warm and cold at the same time. And it's still a bit hard to breathe."

"Any lightheadedness?"

"No."

"Dizziness?"

"Thankfully, no."

"Are you having any pains in the chest at all?"

"No. Aside from it feeling a bit tight, of course, but it doesn't hurt."

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"No, not… not yet, anyway. I'm unsure if I'll be feeling sick later, though…"

"Hm, alright… I will keep the eye on it, and the bucket will be close by, just in case." Henrik proceeded to write all of Marvin's answers down on a piece of paper. He would transfer them to a proper document later, but this will do for now. Actually, while they were on the subject…

"Oh, Marvin?" Henrik spoke up, not looking up from his paper quite yet.

"Mmh?"

"I have some more questions for you, about your reaction to the medicine, yes? Would you mind if I asked them now, or do you want to answer them later, when you are feeling a bit better?"

"We can…" Marvin took a moment to think. It didn't take long to come to a decision. "We can answer them now, but… can you dim the light in the room a bit? It's… making my head ache horribly…"

"Oh! Oh, of course! I apologize, I did not even consider that! Jackie, do you think--?"

"Yup, one step ahead of you," cheerfully replied Jackie, who had been standing by this whole time. He pulled all the curtains closed and dimmed the kitchen light some. "How's this? This good?" he called to Marvin.

Marvin fully opened his eyes, finally able to see without painfully squinting. His headache hadn't gone away, but this was definitely an improvement. "Much better," he sighed. "Thank you."

"No problem, just doin' my job."

Henrik just chuckled, shaking his head as a small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Then he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, refocusing himself. "Right, yes. The symptoms. What did you notice after you had taken that medicine?"

Marvin hummed, thinking for a moment. "I remember feeling… nauseous first. The ironic part about that is, after you injected me, it actually helped to ease the nausea. However, when I was talking with Chase, it… came back. The headache followed."

Henrik nodded, writing this down. "Alright, what else?"

"While I was, er… being sick, I remember looking up and the room was spinning. Everything was blurry -- I couldn't tell you if I was seeing triple or more than that. And then I found it harder and harder to breathe in, and from there I began to experience what I can only describe as delirium…"

"Ah, yes," Henrik interjected, looking up. "I remember you mumbling nonsense at me. Do you remember what it was you were saying? Or, well… trying to say?"

Marvin just shook his head. "My guess would be just as good as yours. I haven't a single idea. Heh, I am at the very least grateful I wasn't mumbling any spells. That could have made things a bit… chaotic."

Henrik hummed in agreement, nodding, before continuing. "The only thing I did understand was when you said you felt as if you were going to pass out."

"Ah. Yes, I remember saying that," Marvin confirmed. "I felt very lightheaded seemingly out of nowhere and I was almost positive that I would pass out. Though in my half-conscious state, I couldn't tell if my warning was in my mind or if I'd spoken it aloud. I'm grateful it was the latter."

"Was that all you felt?" Henrik inquired, looking up from his notes once more.

"No, there is one more thing I remember… every vein in my body seemed to ache not long after those first symptoms appeared. At the time I'd no clue what was happening to me, but looking back it could have only been a side effect of the medicine."

Henrik nodded, continuing his furious scribbling on the paper. Finally he let out a breath and put the pen and notepad down on the coffee table. "I thank you for your help, Marvin. One, for being so cooperative, and two, for being my unintentional test subject. I am glad we did not give this to any patients… I am not sure a higher dose of this would be very safe."

"So… does that mean our original plan is a no-go?" Jackie spoke up, a concerned look in his eye.

"I am afraid so," Henrik replied sadly, turning back towards the hero. "The dose I gave Marvin was small, and you can see what it had done to him. In a higher quantity, it could potentially kill someone, and we are trying to avoid that, yes?"

Jackie muttered a curse under his breath, looking away.

"What are you going to do now?" Marvin asked, glancing between them both.

"When Chase returns, we are going to talk more deeply about this. We need a new plan."

Marvin's eyebrows furrowed. "Chase is out? Where did he go?"

"Oh, just to pick up some supplies. Non-perishable food items, medicine… that sort of thing. Is good to be stocked up, yes? Especially now that we have a new person on board."

Marvin slowly nodded in understanding. Yes, that was a smart move. He then looked up, seeing Jackie nearing closer with a grin on his face. Uh oh.

"Hope you didn't lose one of your "nine lives" while you were fighting the effects of the medicine, because we're gonna need you for this. You think you're up for it?"

Marvin just narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you always this utterly idiotic?"

"Hey, be nice!" Jackie protested, placing a hand on his chest and feigning hurt. "I'm the one who saved your life, remember? You'd probably be dead right now if it weren't for me! You better be grateful I stayed home, too, Sourpuss. Had I gone on patrols, there'd be no one to carry Schneep's medical equipment up to you. So there!"

Marvin rolled his eyes and looked away. He'd cross his arms, but one of them had the IV sticking out of it, so that wouldn't be the best idea. Henrik could only laugh to himself, shaking his head. It was easy to forget how much of a child Jackie still was, until they had moments like this.

"Do you need anything, Marvin?" Henrik asked, pulling himself from his thoughts.

"A… a cloth over my head would be appreciated," Marvin admitted.

"I'll get it!" Jackie announced.

"No, I will get it," Henrik quickly interjected, rising from his spot on the floor. "You have bothered Marvin enough for one day, I feel."

As Henrik turned to stretch, Jackie stuck his tongue out at him when he wasn't looking.

Just then, the door swung open, startling everyone in the room. It was no other than Chase, of course, carrying a few bags of groceries, but… he was covered in splatters of… blood?

"Before you ask, no, the blood isn't mine," Chase spoke up, gently kicking the door shut behind him and setting the plastic grocery bags down on the floor.

"Holy shit, what happened?!" Jackie exclaimed.

"Dude, it's like a war zone out there!" Chase said. "Have you seen the news? God, there's fuckin' people everywhere! All scramblin' around tryin' to stock up. He's got his puppets on the loose. I was fuckin' lucky to get outta there alive…"

Jackie let out a curse, quickly snatching up the remote sitting on the coffee table and turning on the TV, switching it to the news channel. The four of them watched as the woman on the TV explained the scene unfolding downtown, showing an aerial view of what was going on. There weren't that many puppets, but just enough to cause havoc.

"I gotta go," Jackie got out, tossing the remote down and already heading for the door. He was grateful that he was already suited up.

"Jackie, wait," Chase called, reaching a hand out to him.

Jackie paused in his tracks, turning to face Chase with a hum. The determination and urgency in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Are you… sure it's safe to go out there? Like… alone, I mean?"

Jackie just huffed, almost like he'd laughed. "I mean, it's not, but who else is gonna do it, if not me? Marvin's out of commission, and you know as well as I do that the police do fuck-all."

Chase just looked away with a thoughtful hum. Jackie had a point, he couldn't deny that.

"I gotta go. See you in a few hours, alright?"

"Stay safe, Jackie," Henrik said.

"Yeah, man… be careful out there. Shit's a mess." Chase agreed.

Jackie huffed, a smile growing on his face. "No need to worry, guys. I'll be fine, trust me." And with that, he was out the door.

Henrik turned the news off with a sigh, recalling his ever-present fear of watching the news on a late night only to hear that the city's famed vigilante, Jackieboy Man, was dead. Every time he left the house, he mentally prepared himself for that day, and every time he hoped it never came.

"Well…" Chase spoke up, breaking the uneasy silence. "I'm gonna go shower. Gotta get this blood off me."

"Yes, good… good idea," Henrik nodded, clearly preoccupied.

"Um, Chase, if you don't mind my asking, how did you get blood on you in the first place?" Marvin asked.

Chase looked to Marvin with saddened eyes. "Had to witness a puppet killing someone… was too close when it happened. I'm never gonna forget that… the look on their face… the way they screamed…" Chase could only sigh, hugging himself. He shook his head, turning towards the stairs. "I… I need to be alone for a while…" With that, he left to go grab some clean clothes and a towel from his room so he could get cleaned up.

There was a heavy silence lingering in the room after Chase left, thick as the blankets covering Marvin and twice as suffocating. Finally, letting out a breath as if to push away some of the fog-like tension to give himself a little breathing room, Henrik turned away from the TV and headed towards the closet under the stairs. "Marvin, you said you wanted a cloth for the head, yes?"

Marvin perked up at his name, looking towards Henrik. "Er, y-yes, uh… yes, that would… help…"

Henrik nodded, fetching a small washcloth and heading towards the kitchen sink. He turned on the faucet and let the water run over his hand, adjusting the temperature between hot and cold until he was sure that it was cool and not cold. He then grabbed a spare bowl, filled it with the water, and headed back over to the couch. He took great care in dipping the folded washcloth in the water, wringing it out, and placing it over Marvin's forehead, though Marvin expected nothing less from a doctor.

"How does that feel? Good?"

"Yes, thank you. I appreciate it," Marvin answered with a nod.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No, not at all. Thank you, though." His answer was honest, but even if he did need something, he wouldn't dare ask. Not right now.

With a simple nod, Henrik rose, heading for the basement. He wasn't gone for very long, but when he came back up, Marvin noticed that he was now wearing gloves. He watched with intrigue as Henrik went about setting down some paper towels on the kitchen floor. Then, Henrik began to set the grocery bags on the paper towels, carrying as many over as he could at one time until all the bags were moved. It was only then that Marvin was able to see the blood splattered on some of the plastic bags. He'd been previously confused, but now what Henrik was doing made sense. He continued to silently watch as Henrik took off the gloves and set them aside, grabbed a new pair from his pocket, and put them on. He began to sort the groceries, putting away the food items and setting aside the medicines and Band-Aids and the like to be stored downstairs with the first-aid supplies.

Once the food was put away and the medicine separated, Henrik grabbed as many medicines as he could in his arms and headed for the basement stairs. It took him two trips to get everything down, though when he came back up he brought with him a biohazard bin. All the plastic bags, paper towels, and the first pair of gloves were tossed in. He then grabbed some more paper towels and a bottle of some sort of cleanser Marvin didn't recognize right away and began to spray and wipe down the area by the door where Chase had dropped the bags. Once everything was clean and put away, he headed back downstairs with the bin, and when he came up he was empty-handed and no longer wearing his gloves. He settled himself into the armchair with a sigh, letting himself get lost in his thoughts. Not a word was spoken between him and Marvin. Eventually the pair heard Chase come out of the bathroom, the opening and closing of one door, and then the opening and closing of another. Chase didn't come back downstairs after that. Eventually Henrik, too, excused himself, mentioning he was going back downstairs to check on Jack for a bit, leaving Marvin alone in the living room.

That thick duvet of silence never truly left, but as the number of people within the room dwindled, it grew ever heavier, threatening to swallow everything that remained there, Marvin included. With a heavy, tired sigh, however, he decided he wouldn't let it, instead allowing his mind to wander, to silently fill the space with his own muted noise. And he simply waited, waited for Henrik to return, for Chase to come back downstairs. For Jackie to come home.

Taglist:  @jade-orade @taizu-lazure @bupine @innocent-angel3 @immabethehero @wowowgoodurl @n-anon @g-rexthedino @scarletender @coconutpillow05 @friezzzboiii (Ask if you would like to be tagged!!)

#nausea mention tw #vomiting mention tw #blood tw #death tw #jacksepticeye #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #chase brody #dr. schneeplestein #antisepticeye #stringbound #stringbound chapter 3 #vio stormcaller

[codenamesazanka]

For Shigaraki Birthday Week, Day 1: Rebirth

Title: running blind

Notes: Playing somewhat loose with the prompt. Also, fulfilling an ask or two I got last week: Spinaraki angst, and reincarnation. Sorta! I confess, and a warning, this fic will be rather strange, but I hope you’ll read it through! Thank you.  Title subject to change. 

-

*

It’s an impossible promise.

But Shuu will keep it.

*

The lights, the smells, the noises - they’re all too much. But Shuu keeps running, no matter what. No matter that he’s as good as blind in this alien city, having no direction and no destination; no matter the increasing bullet grazes on his back, (even with his scales they hurt so bad); no matter that what they’re looking for might not even exist. 

Ten isn’t… He needs… Shuu hugs the small body he’s carrying in his arms closer, tighter, feeling for shallow breaths on his neck. 

“Someone! Help!” Shuu’s voice is hoarse; he feels his throat failing, losing its grip on the air fueling his screams. “Please, help!”

Metas stick together. Ten said so. The metas, the mutants in this city, they must hear him, they must, they have to. 

He hears the car before he sees it, and he’s able to spin around and crash into it with his back, shielding Ten. Even that didn’t wake him up, but it didn’t seem to hurt him either. Shuu still can feel him breathing, however slight, can still feel his beating heart.

Avoiding one death, but now facing another. The hunters advance, big and looming, and Shuu wraps his tail around him and Ten, squeezing his eyes shut, knowing it won’t save them; knowing that at least they were going to die together. 

What happens next, he isn’t really sure. He hears screams and he tastes blood in the air, tastes fear and pain—

—but not from him. Not from Ten and him.

Instead, they’re unharmed; instead, a gentle hand touches his cheek; instead of death, there is a man. 

“My children,” The man murmurs. He blocks the sun, shadows hiding his face, and all Shuu can make out is a smile. “Don’t be frightened. I’m here.” 

*

The whispers at the Center—

his meta power is everything/ he can take meta abilities away/ Can give them to anyone too/ He’s got dozens/ he has hundreds/ he can do anything/ he’s gonna be leader of the metas/ he’ll change things/ make a new world

—called him The Oracle. 

The Oracle says to call him ‘Sensei’. 

*

“They wanted to move me to... to somewhere. Somewhere called Hong Kong.” Shuu stammers, words tangling and tumbling. His mouth is dry, his tongue is swollen, his chest is tight, but he can’t stop talking. For some reason he feels he must tell Sensei everything, empty himself out and hand it all over. “Ten too, they were gonna give him away, but to Canada.”

“And that’s when you two began to plan.” Sensei looks at him like Ten does, like he sees Shuu there, really there, wants him there. Even after they get what they want, they still stay, just for him. “Shuu-kun, I want to hear more, how you two escaped.” 

“He stabbed himself,” Shuu says, then winces. It jumped out, and now so did all the images he has been trying to forget. “Remember Ten’s meta power? I told you, he can push his hurt—“ 

“He has the ability to transfer damage. Yes, I remember. Healing and harming, both.” 

Shuu nods. “I stole a pen and gave it to him and he hid it. When it was Friday nighttime, after a bunch of the Doctors left, Ten stabbed himself and pushed his wound out on his door and it broke. Stab... stabbed again and broke the floor, then walls. All the kids got out, like we planned. We planned with the other kids, they each were supposed to do something, and it worked.”

“Aoi broke the sprinklers, so water was everywhere, and Mi— she’s an older kid, she‘s... VA Risk 5, and they would—to her—” He stops, before his mouth moves again, raw truth crawling out. 

Sensei only sighs. “And your Center is supposed to be one of the more forward-thinking, humane laboratories. Well. Please, continue.” 

“Mi used the water to drown the adults. Slammed them, and crushed them, mini tsunamis. The water was orange... Then all red.” Shuu rubs his jaw. “...My mouth and teeth too.

“I bit a lot of people.” Even now he tastes that thick, sour red. “I’m... Severely Aberrant, but I was mostly good, I’m VA Risk 2, so they were nice with me. And I killed them.”

“Do not be ashamed,” Sensei said softly. “You did the right thing. You and your friends.” 

“Ten’s my best friend!” Shuu blurts out, really loud. “We... I never had one. Everyone at the Center is a Friend, but. For Ten, I’ll do anything. Before I met him, I was… lost.“ 

13 years, all his life. Nothing but the Center, and it took up his center, his core, his heart. Swallowed it up. Tossed it away, unneeded. Gone.

Then Ten arrived. And he found it.

*

You’ve never been outside? Ever?

I’ve been here since I was a baby. I was born like this, so…

That’s awful. When I break out, I’m taking you with me. 

Me?

I’m gonna go back to my aunts and we’ll hide better this time, with you too. 

What! But I—

Shut up, Shuu. I’ve decided. You’re coming.

*

The man is just like the stories say: he will grant miracles. Except...

“Are you sure that’s what you want, Shuu-kun?” Sensei asks, when Shuu wanted him to take away his aberration. “It’s a part of you, uniquely yours.”

He lets his gaze linger on Shuu, as if able to see Shuu’s meta-mutation as a thing, inside of him. DNA somehow shaped like a reptile, Shuu imagines, and The Oracle would be able to pick it up, put it away. 

Then Sensei looks at Ten, who had woken up, on and off, but is now sleeping again, in the medical room for the third day, still on IVs and a ventilator. 

“You successfully got here from Okinawa, you valiantly fought your way through your enemies trying to stop you, recapture you,” Sensei says. “Most importantly, you protected Ten-kun. All thanks to your impervious scales, your sharp claws, your powerful tail.” 

Each mention of his distortions makes the part twinge, mini ghosts flying out, remaking the feelings of the times they were used.

“What does your heart tell you?” Sensei’s dark-bright eyes are on him again. “Think about it. Who and what you want to be...and the power you need to do so.”

-

Your tail is cool. It’s like another arm.

Stop trying to grab at it! 

I’ll stop if you stop waving it around… ...See? 

Only cuz you’re trying to touch it! And you’re not allowed.

But it’s fun.

I’m not even allowed to use it. 

That’s a stupid rule, stop listening to them— Gotcha!

Hey!

-

Ten doesn’t like The Oracle.

“You’re the one who said to find him,” Shuu points out. They’re eating dinner on the 30th floor of a skyscraper; it’s part of Sensei's territory, like a tower of a castle. Sitting in a corner by the window, the view is a galaxy of lights. Nighttime in Kyoto.

Ten elbows him. “It was a maybe. And I’ve decided now: never mind him. Our plan is still to go back to Tokyo, and find my aunts.” 

“He can help us find them, you know…” 

Another elbow into his ribs. “We don’t need him. He’s weird. Creepy-weird.” 

“Really? ...I think he’s okay. Nice.”

“That’s how they get you, Shuu! They act nice and smart and all fancy, but they’re not. I know it. The way he looks at you and me, he’s like the scientists.” 

“You just don’t like that he said your meta ability is bad for you.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with my power!” Ten exclaims. “What does he know? He said himself that he’s never seen one like it. So he doesn’t know nothing.”

Ten snaps the chopstick in his hand in half, though the two pieces are still connected, dangling. Before Shuu can stop him, Ten absorbs the damage. 

Strands of wood weave themselves back together, settling back in place. Then Ten grabs an empty can of soda. As the chopstick becomes whole again, the can falls apart instead. 

“Nothing wrong with it!” 

But Ten says this through gritted teeth.

“Stupid!” Shuu smacks both things out of Ten’s hands. “Don’t use it anymore. See? It’s hurting you. It’s making you sick.”

He wraps his arms around Ten, who’s pretending that he isn’t trembling, isn’t breathing hard. 

“It’s only because I’m still recovering.” Ten grips his arm, painfully tight. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You always say that.”

Shuu remembers. The wound closed up, and the wall beneath Ten’s hand cracked and crumbled; but not enough. I’m fine, a gasp Shuu could barely hear, shaking arm raised, pen plunging back into flesh—

A fatal paradox, Sensei called it. Because as quick as Ten can pull and push injuries away, he still had to take it into himself first. Hurt himself. And then.

“Sensei said your inside is healing itself by damaging itself to heal itself.” Shu whispers. It has been days, but the horror still remains. “It’s eating you alive. Stop using it. Promise you’ll stop.”

“I’m not letting something like that stop me,” Ten mumbles. “I will not.” 

“Ten, please.”

Ten refuses to reply.

Shuu tries to hug the pain out of both of them. 

-

Why did you do that? Help me?

You were hurt. 

No, I mean, why? 

Why not? 

Because you’re not supposed to use your power! And, not for someone like me! I’m—

Shuu, right?

What? 

You’re Shuu. I’m Ten. Now we know each other. Now you’re not just “someone”. 

-

Kiro is fast, but Shuu is faster. With his tail, he blocks the fist coming for Ten, before tackling the man altogether. 

He’s getting good at that - using his tail. Fighting.

Shouting Shuu’s name, Ten joins in, backing him up, pouncing onto Kiro’s legs.

“You little shits!” Kiro hisses, trying to push them off. “This is how you repay Sensei? After he saved your sorry asses? I oughta—”

“Calm down, Kiro,” Sensei says, and everything stops. “There is nothing to be repaid. They’re free to leave, if they want.”

As everyone untangles themselves, he watches without a hint of anger or annoyance at the scuffle. Always calm, always patient. “Though I will be sad to see you two go, Shuu-kun, Ten-kun. I had hoped you would consider this place home.” 

“I have a home.” Ten says as he pulls Shuu up to his feet. “I’ve got family. They’re waiting for me.” 

“And for your friend?” 

“Him too!” Ten snaps. “They’re waiting for us.”

“Oi, watch your tone—”

“Thanks for helping us, Sensei.” Shuu says, hoping to prevent another fight. “We’re grateful, really.” 

Sensei smiles. “You boys will always be welcome, should the need arise. Food, medical care, sanctuary… As you’ve experienced this past week, everything is here. Remember that.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” Ten tugs at Shuu’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“A total waste, Sensei,” Kiro grumbles loudly, very much intending for Shuu and Ten to hear as they leave the room. 

“Kiro, that’s enough.” This time, Sensei’s voice is harder, final. “Actually, do go make sure they have everything they need for their journey. It’ll be a long one.” 

That digs at Shuu, because even after all that, Sensei still wants to help. He’s not a bad guy at all, Shuu wants to tell Ten. 

And this is why later, in the evening, after waiting for Ten to fall asleep, Shuu goes to Kiro, and asks to help. Something to do, any way he could give something back. 

“Cleaning things, moving things—” Not that Shuu has ever done much of any of it, “A mission. Dunno. I wanna help.” 

Kiro sizes him up.

*

What’s the difference?

The difference is that I like you even if you’re dumb—I’m kidding! Sorry. 

I don’t like this already.

I said I’m sorry! I mean it. You can call me dumb too. Cuz being best friends means we stick together, no matter what. We keep our promises, we have each other’s back. You’ll do anything for me...

*

All he has to do is crawl through the vents. All he has to do is to stick something to the wall. All he has to do is be quiet. Such a simple, easy thing.

Shuu messes up anyways. 

*

...and I’ll do anything for you.

*

Caught and shocked and choked - a big ass lizard, like hunting a crocodile, laughter, laughter, the sound of which Shuu knows he’ll never forget for as long as he lives.

In the time between the kick to his head and waking up to Sensei at his bedside, he was rescued and brought back; and somewhere in those few hours—

Ten was his best friend. 

—He didn’t hesitate, Sensei tells him. He did not spare even a second to transfer, for all his focus was on healing you—

Then he wasn’t anymore.

*

The tears won’t stop and the world is dissolved in water, but seeing isn’t necessary to beg.

Shuu begs, because this man is the Oracle, the closest thing to a living god this world has. He is hope itself right now; to Shuu, his only hope. He has to be, he must, please, there must be something, anything, Sensei can do can save Ten—

“Shuu.” Sensei’s hand is heavy on his shoulder; as is his name, spoken, without the usual ‘-kun’. Heavy too, is the weight of all the unspoken things that comes with it - disapproval, though not unkind; the finality; the truth Shuu refuses to accept, not yet.

“It’s my fault,” Shuu says, more to himself than to Sensei. “It’s my fault, mine.” 

But Sensei responds: “You’re to be blamed as much as Ten-kun is to be blamed for caring about you. Would you say this is his fault?”

“No! No, never—”

“Then the fault lies elsewhere. The ones who harmed you, who forced Ten-kun to use his power to save you, the creators of this tragedy. Don’t you agree?” 

He knows. The hunters, the ones who chase and laugh and kick, who will never consider them human, just freaks to be wiped out - even people like Ten, normal except for just one special thing. The scientists, the non-metas. All of them, everyone, the world. And—

“Still me.” This is still the truth, the one he accepted already. “I was… If I had been better, tougher...”

“You can still be so. It’s not yet the end for you.” Sensei squeezes his shoulder. “Strength can be taught. Fortitude, resilience. Even revenge, if you wish for it.”

Shuu slowly looks up, and Sensei smiles down at him. “Whatever you may seek, I will give.

“All you need to do is stay with me.”

*

With a touch to the head, the gesture like the affectionate ruffling of hair, or a praising pat for an obedient child, Sensei takes away Ten’s meta ability. 

Such a small, quiet thing, no blinding light or shockwaves. The only piece left of Ten in the world is within Sensei, and Shuu thinks that if he can help the Oracle in any way, protect him, then isn’t he protecting Ten, somehow? His power to heal, to fight, to change things. 

“I’ll leave you to your goodbye,” Sensei says, and when he is gone, Shuu climbs onto the bed, next to Ten. He wraps himself around his friend, one last time, holding him close, feeling his faint, fading heartbeats. 

When Ten is gone, Shuu is lost too, once again. 

But I’ll find you. In the next world; in Heaven or in Hell; in a future life; or even just in pure blackness, somehow. Ten found him; this time it’ll be Shuu’s turn. 

“I’ll do better, I’ll protect you,” Shuu whispers. “Ten, I’ll find you. I promise.”

*

*

*

Too many trees here, blocking Spinner’s vision, he’s running as good as blind. 

“Shit. Shit!” Spinner tries to follow the roars and rumbles, but Gigantomachia is too big and too fast. One moment there, next moment not. How the hell did he even manage to get lost from a fight that is literally visible from space?

Not again. Spinner thinks, as he dashes through the forest, slashing at branches, leaping over rocks. I can’t fail him again! Where are you?

(Somewhere deep but faint in his mind, Spinner wonders about ‘again’. Doesn’t make sense, but it feels correct. For doubting their leader, for dismissing him, one or the other, both. More.) 

There— in front, meters away, to the right, a boulder splitting, crumbling; ground, cracking. Spinner skids to a stop, before racing off again, fast as he could, blade ready—

Black and death white, so clear among the chaos. Found ya. 

Spinner shouts.

“Shigaraki!”

*

-

Notes, again: So! Bit of a mess, my apologies! 

Shuu is PastLife!Spinner; his quirk is still being a lizard, except stronger + tail. PastLife!Ten is Shigaraki/Tenko. They remember nothing, except maybe some vague inexplicable... somethings. 

The Oracle/Sensei is All For One, the one and only, same as always, a bastard. 

Setting is the chaotic 100+ years ago, when quirks first started appearing. 

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Constructive criticism always extremely welcomed. 

#Shigaraki Tomura #Spinner #Iguchi Shuuichi #Shimura Tenko #fanfiction #Spinaraki #sorta lol? #nalslastworkingbraincell #nalwrites #prompt #Reincarnation AU

[artificialqueens]

Powerless Part 8 (Branjie) - athena2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that’s still reading! I’ve finally fed the children some fluff after all this angst! This chapter has so much fluff it lowkey made me wish I could draw so I could draw some parts of it. Thank you so, so much to @youre-a-kite, for your support and amazing feedback with this. I would appreciate and love any comments or feedback you have!

Brooke has been asleep for three days.

The doctors at the base removed the bullets from her abdomen and thigh. They found and removed a GPS tracking chip in her left shoulder after Vanessa mentioned it. They controlled the bleeding, stitched her up, put her on antibiotics. She’s hooked up to monitors, her life reduced to lines and beeps and numbers, and her chest rises gently, but she still won’t wake up.

Vanessa shivers as she remembers holding Brooke in her arms as the blood gushed out of her and her breathing got faint and her eyes slid shut and didn’t open again.

No one knows what the latest shot from the lab might do to her. Vanessa’s ears shut down at Silk’s long-ass explanation of the drug and its possible effects, and all she got out of it is the worry currently buzzing inside her.

She’s taking a break from the crime-fighting and part of her is relieved. She honestly doesn’t care if the world goes to shit when the world did this to Brooke. Let the burden of protecting it make someone else’s shoulders tense. She spends every second next to her bed, chatting about everything and nothing for Brooke’s deaf ears, her own form of whistling in the dark, so Brooke doesn’t wake up alone. A’Keria stole Silk’s prized comfy chair for her to sit in, both of them acting appropriately puzzled and innocent when Silk chucked a soda bottle across her office in anger and led a witch hunt, complete with pitchfork, for the thief.

She’s dozing in the chair, which is truly worth anything Silk could do with that plastic pitchfork, forcing her eyes back open because every time they close she sees Brooke bleeding in her arms, only this time Vanessa didn’t get her to base fast enough. She ignores her heavy limbs and tells herself she’s fine, that she’s used to little (or no) sleep, and this way she’s guaranteed to be awake for Brooke.

“Vanessa?” A’Keria patters across the floor. “Silk wants to talk to you. It’s important.”

“But Brooke-”

“It’ll only be a few minutes.” A’Keria is apologetic, and Vanessa understands there’s not a question involved.

She huffs and puffs her way to Silk’s office like a middle-aged white lady whose coupon was expired.

“This better be good.” She crosses her arms and digs her heels into the ground.

“Vanjie, we can’t find anything on Brooke.” There’s a tone to Silk’s voice that Vanessa doesn’t like.

“What are you trying to say?”

“It’s just a little…suspicious.” Silk ticks points off on her fingers, and Vanessa knows she’s been sitting on this a while. “She wakes up in the lab with no memory. She said the lab ‘helped’ people like her, but where are they? She never mentioned anyone else, and there’s only a few costumed villains in this city. We can’t find anything about this lab, and don’t you think it’s weird they’re not looking for her? We found one recent report of a plane that crashed in an ice storm, but she’s not on the flight manifest. Facial recognition got nothing. Not to mention all we have to go on is a first name–”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get her social security number when she was bleeding to death in front of me!”

“Vanessa,” Silk tries. “I’m just saying, how do we know she was on the plane? What if that’s another lie the lab fed her and told her to use when someone questioned her? How do we know everything she told us wasn’t just lies they made her believe?”

Vanessa’s stomach churns. She doesn’t like what Silk is implying, but she has to admit it could be possible.

“Are you saying we can’t trust her?”

“All I’m saying is I haven’t made it this long in the game by believing everything I hear.”

She thinks of Brooke sleeping in her arms, gulping hot chocolate like a little kid, smiling like she was afraid to. The way Brooke’s eyes fought through their shadows of pain and lit up like the sun when she remembered her name. That Brooke would never lie to her. But if she didn’t know she was lying…

Vanessa distracts herself with the plane diagram on Silk’s computer screen.

“How many people were on the plane?”

“Sixty, all with some ballet company.”

“How many does it hold?”

“Sixty-one.”

“But you don’t think that’s suspicious?” Vanessa demands. “One empty seat. What if it was Brooke’s? She said they took her from the crash. What if they deleted her records? The whole plane went down, and with the record gone, no one would know she was there! That empty seat was Brooke, it has to be.”

“The plane crashed last March,” A’Keria cuts in. “Frost appeared eight months ago, at the end of November. They could have kept her there, training her, making sure their drugs worked, before they set her out. It fits with the time frame,” she concludes and Vanessa could kiss her.

She can tell they’ve swayed Silk, or at least given her some doubts, which is sometimes the best you can hope for.

“Keep looking. Please, Silk, I…I love her.” It’s the first time she’s told anyone else, and any doubt she might have had is gone as the words leave her. She loves Brooke, and she doesn’t care who knows it.

Vanessa speeds back to Brooke’s room, trying not to be disappointed when she’s still asleep. She’d had some overly hopeful fantasy that Brooke would be wide awake and ready for another kiss when she got back.

She drops a careful kiss on Brooke’s forehead. “Please wake up, Brooke,” she whispers. She nestles into the chair, praying she won’t fall asleep, but she does. —

Vanessa shoots awake in the semi-darkness, wall clock reading 6:17. She’s unsure if it’s morning or night until a shaft of morning sun breaks through the window and punches her in the face. She gets up to close the curtains when Brooke’s finger twitches.

Brooke’s eyelids are fluttering, breath quickening, and Vanessa’s heart leaps when those green eyes meet hers for the first time in four days.

“Where…” Brooke rasps. Her eyes flit around in fear, and Vanessa understands at once. Waking up in a strange bed with no memory of how she got there…

She repositions herself so Brooke can see her. “You’re not at the lab, I promise. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

Brooke looks wearily at her, fingers fumbling at the IV. “No, you wanna leave that in, okay?” Vanessa takes her hand before she does any damage to herself. “That’s helping you, I don’t know doctor shit, but it’s okay.”

“V-Vanessa?” she asks, voice sounding like she’s had a cocktail of gravel and broken glass, breathing still ragged.

“It’s me. I’m here. You’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you.” She gives Brooke’s hand a light squeeze and grabs a water bottle from the nightstand. “You want some?”

Brooke nods and Vanessa holds it to her mouth while she sips slowly, breaths calming.

“Do you remember what happened?” She knows she has to call a doctor, but it’s been four lonely days and Vanessa just needs to hear Brooke’s voice, needs to see that she’s okay.

“I…my name. My name is Brooke.”

“That’s right,” Vanessa lays encouragement over her desperation. “Anything else?”

Her eyebrows knit together in concentration, but she seems dazed, and there’s a glassy, far-off look in her eyes making Vanessa’s chest tight with worry. She’s about to press the call button when Brooke’s shoulders heave.

“I remember he hurt me and I…I…”

“Oh, Brooke,” she soothes. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Vanessa blinks back tears, her heart sinking. She doesn’t know how she was naive enough to think Brooke would wake up with a perfect memory and her trauma wiped clean. Brooke will need help to get through what the lab did to her, she knows that.

“Vanessa, I don’t feel good,” Brooke says quietly, lowering her head.

“I’m gonna get someone to check on you, alright? I should’ve called sooner, I’m sorry. Does anything hurt?”

She shakes her head. “It’s too hot.”

Vanessa has Silk and a doctor in the room in seconds. Brooke flinches away and curls in on herself when she sees the doctor, breath catching in her throat and soft whimpers falling from her lips as she trembles.

“It’s okay, she won’t hurt you. I’ll be right here with you the whole time. I got you, I promise.” Vanessa squeezes her hand tighter and Brooke grips back like Vanessa is her lifeline.

“I trust you,” Brooke replies, an echo of days and several lifetimes ago, and Vanessa’s heart lightens.

“Heart rate’s a little elevated,” Dr. O’Hara explains the monitors for Vanessa’s benefit as she pulls a thermometer from under Brooke’s tongue.

“99.7,” she announces, shooting a glance at Silk that Vanessa can’t read.

“That’s not too high, right?” Vanessa asks hopefully.

Then Silk informs her that Brooke’s normal temperature is 95.6, and Vanessa allows herself to panic. —

“There’s no infection. Doctor thinks it’s a residual effect of the drug. It’s like it needs to burn through her system before it’s gone. Her bloodwork is different from the first sample we took, so this must be a new formula. Probably why she’s reacting to it like this,” Silk explains as Vanessa applies an ice pack to Brooke’s forehead.

She nodded off just after Silk left this morning and has been asleep since, drenched in sweat and mumbling unintelligibly as the number on the new monitor rises steadily, currently hovering around 102.

“I think it should pass in a few days,” A’Keria muses. “When she talked to us, she said the drugs made her feel weird at first, which is why she was so out of it when she fought you. Then she would sleep, which she’s been doing. This is the rest of it. Since she went every week, I’m figuring this’ll wear off by Sunday.”

“She’ll get through it. She can take higher temperatures because of her powers like you can, Vanj,” Silk pats her shoulder in a rare display of comfort.

It’s nice to think this could all be over soon, but that still means days of sitting here uselessly, watching Brooke thrash around and sweat and futilely putting ice packs on her.

Shooting fire out of her hands has never seemed so stupid.

She is powerless. —

A’Keria was right. The fever starts to break Saturday afternoon, hours after it hit 105 and A’Keria had to drag Vanessa away from Brooke’s bed while the doctors put ice on her.

By that night she’s back at safe levels, and it’s another waiting game. Vanessa wears out the tile floor wondering how much Brooke remembers and is still up when Brooke coughs awake, instantly holding water to her lips and gripping her shoulder comfortingly.

“Vanessa, I remember something else,” Brooke says once she’s able to talk.

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

Vanessa leans down as Brooke stretches up and their lips meet after what feels like years. Brooke’s lips are cool and yet Vanessa melts at their touch. She shivers with delight as Brooke’s hand roams down her spine. Brooke is here, she’s alive, and whatever happens, they’re together. She perches on the edge of the mattress and lays her hand on Brooke’s chest, feels her heart race with excitement beneath her touch.

They’re interrupted a few minutes later when Brooke’s heart monitor goes off. —

Brooke is released Tuesday night, and Vanessa takes her to the safe house Silk set up for them. A’Keria even went to their apartments and stocked the cozy space with their own stuff, and Vanessa collapses onto her familiar brown couch with a sigh.

Brooke stands in the doorway, picking at her nails.

“Hey, you wanna sit down? Or we could go to bed if you’re tired,” she offers. Brooke is like a skittish animal, eyes darting around nervously, and Vanessa keeps her voice low and even.

“Um, bed is okay. Can I get changed?”

“Of course you can. A’Keria brought your clothes, they’re in the second room down the hall.”

Vanessa changes into her own pajamas and raids the kitchen, drooling at A’Keria’s chip selection.

Brooke comes back in gray pajama shorts and a white T-shirt, and again Vanessa marvels at how much smaller and more vulnerable she looks when she’s not in her suit.

“Anything you want to eat?” Vanessa asks as she rips open a bag of chips.

Brooke shakes her head.

“How about toast? You really should eat something,” Vanessa insists lightly. Brooke has lost weight, not just over the past week but in the months since they first met, and Vanessa can feel Brooke’s ribs whenever she rubs her back.

“C-Can I have hot chocolate too?”

“You can have all the hot chocolate you want.”

Brooke eats her toast while Vanessa crunches on chips. They’re in her bed that A’Keria had moved in (she conveniently only had time to bring one bed, not that either of them has complained) and it’s so much like that night Vanessa is half-expecting the lab to burst in and take Brooke away from her again. She forces the thought away. They’re safe now. The silence is comfortable, and peaceful, and Vanessa lets out a breath she’s been holding for well over a week, feels the tension slowly dissolve from her limbs. On Friday they’re meeting with Silk to indulge her love of “debriefing”, but they had the next two days to themselves, and Vanessa could be content with this for two days, maybe even for her whole life.

“You doing okay, Brooke? Anything you need?”

“No, I’m good. Um, Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, but are we…what are we? Like, you know…”

Vanessa’s been asking herself that same question, and she honestly doesn’t know the answer. She’s still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she is in bed with a woman she would’ve happily punched in the face a month ago.

“I know what you mean. We can be whatever we want to be. If you want to go slow, get to know each other better, we can do that. If you want to go fast, we can do that too. I love you, Brooke, and I’m comfortable doing this either way.”

“I love you too,” Brooke breathes. “I think…I think I want to go slow.”

“Then we’ll go slow. Take it a day at a time. We don’t need all the answers right now. We’ll do what feels right, okay?”

Brooke nods, stifling a yawn.

“Get some sleep, Brooke. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Brooke nods again, burying her head in the pillow. She’s asleep in minutes, and Vanessa puts her chip bowl on the bedside table (you never knew when a midnight craving would hit) and quickly follows suit. It’s been a long day.

She feels like she’s barely closed her eyes when a shout lurches her awake. Brooke is thrashing around beside her, asking someone to please stop hurting her, and Vanessa places a cautious hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay. You’re not there. It’s just a dream.” she repeats softly until Brooke bolts up in the bed, panting, shirt damp with sweat, cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“No, Brooke, don’t apologize. It’s okay.” She holds Brooke to her chest, puts the blonde’s head on her shoulder until her breathing becomes steady again. She falls back to sleep with her arms wrapped securely around Brooke, ready to fight her nightmares away. —

They live the next two days like royalty, laying in bed and eating chips, taking breaks for soft, salty-lipped kisses. It’s not until she’s in bed with Brooke, their legs tangled together, Brooke laughing at something she said, that Vanessa realizes she wasn’t entirely happy before. She wasn’t miserable, exactly, but she knows she hasn’t cared for another person, or for herself, really, since before the fire.

Now that the drug is out of her system, Brooke’s head is a little clearer, and between her glimpses of memory and Vanessa filling in the blanks, she is able to reconstruct the night before the lab’s ambush.

Vanessa remembers every second of that night, the image of Brooke beside her and the softness of Brooke’s hair as she ran her fingers through it permanently engraved in her brain. She knows Brooke is still a little fuzzy on some of the details, but she also knows that Brooke still loves her, and she lets it be enough for now.

The debriefing goes on far too long, in Vanessa’s opinion, and Silk has a mile-long list with Brooke’s answers to her questions, which probably aren’t as helpful as she hoped.

Brooke was allowed on one floor of the building. She only interacted with the doctor and the General. She doesn’t know anyone’s real names. She never saw other people there. She knows there was snow on the ground when her plane crashed and that the leaves had changed colors when she started doing her missions.

The legal issues are taken care of. Under the Superhero Protection Act, Brooke was within her rights to defend herself against the General and the doctor, even though Brooke, who has her knees up to her chest the whole time, goes rigid in her chair and keeps muttering I’m bad as they explain this. She didn’t sleep at all last night, and Vanessa hopes seeing Dr. West on Monday can help her.

Dr. West–Nina–used to be a superhero herself, West Wind, back in the day, but retired to practice psychiatry and spend time with her wife. She’s dealt with cases similar to Brooke’s and A’Keria had recommended her, knowing she’d be gentle enough for Brooke.

Vanessa runs her thumb over Brooke’s hand. Things are going to get better for them. She knows it. —

Vanessa wakes up to an empty bed and the scent of vanilla wafting through the apartment, which means Brooke had a nightmare. She’s taken up baking when she can’t get back to sleep after. She says it helps calm her, and gives her instructions to follow, which she likes. She’s gotten better the past few weeks, and Vanessa smiles as she remembers the disastrous first attempt when the smoke alarm woke her at 3am and she had to defrost their stove after Brooke panicked and shot ice at it so it didn’t catch on fire.

There’s vanilla cupcakes on cooling racks, and even though Brooke has deep purple bags under her eyes and her cuticles are chewed up, Vanessa waits to mention it.

“Cupcakes, huh? She fancy. You stepping up in the baking world, boo.”

Brooke’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Did you have another nightmare?”

Brooke’s face falls. “Yeah. I’ve been out here since 4,” she admits.

Guilt washes over her as she realizes that she slept through it, that Brooke had to deal with it alone, but that could mean the nightmare wasn’t intense enough to wake her, which is hopeful.

“You know you can wake me when it happens. You don’t have to suffer alone,” she puts on her concerned voice, making sure to never yell at Brooke or make her feel bad for this.

“I bother you almost every night. I wanted to let you sleep.”

Vanessa goes quiet. She knows Brooke has been working on this with Nina. Trying to understand that she’s not a burden and she’s not a bad person for asking for help. She also knows that, even though Brooke is doing a lot better with the therapy, the lab’s cuts run far too deep to be healed so quickly.

“Well, let’s try one of these cupcakes,” she puts on a smile and stuffs one into her mouth. —

“Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“So, Nina said it might be good for me, but I wanted to ask you, um…”

“What is it, baby?”

“Do you think maybe we could get a kitty?”

“Of course we can. I’ve always wanted a cat, actually. We can go to the shelter tomorrow if you want.” —

A colorful ball of fluff masquerading as a cat paws at the front of his cage when Brooke walks by. The shelter worker lets him out, and he immediately latches onto Brooke’s leg. She sits on the floor and reaches out a hand, then hesitates, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she looks at Vanessa questioningly.

“Oh, you can pet him,” the worker thankfully supplies before Vanessa has to explain that Brooke is still used to asking permission for everything she does.

She strokes his fur tentatively, smiling as the cat begins to purr.

“I think he likes you,” the worker says. “His name’s Henry. He was brought in with another cat, and they’re kinda friends now. This here is Apollo,” he explains, opening another cage for a gray cat to strut out. This one also nuzzles against Brooke, who pets a cat with each hand and grins in a way Vanessa has never seen.

“They like me,” she whispers incredulously.

Vanessa smiles at the worker. “We’ll take them both.” —

The next month passes by both slowly and quickly. The days seem long and indistinguishable when living them, but when Vanessa looks back at the end of the month, she sees how much things have changed, how different every day has been leading up to now.

Brooke is understandably wary of taking medication, and Nina says they can ease into the idea later if needed, but even just being away from the lab, going to therapy, and taking care of herself is working wonders. She makes it through the night once, then twice. She eats more. She talks beyond just answering questions. The skin around her nails begins to heal.

She still has her bad days. Still has nightmares, still says I’m sorry more than one person should, still calls herself bad for things she’s done. But when they finally have a Sunday where Brooke doesn’t jump out of bed and scramble to go to her appointment, Vanessa cries tears of joy in the bathroom.

And Brooke is making her better too. She goes to her own session with Nina. She starts to think about her mom more, and even talks about her. She digs the memories up from where she’s buried them and lets them see the sun. Nina mentions that helping at the animal shelter might aid Brooke’s progress, and Vanessa goes with her because she’s not quite ready to do something like that alone yet. She institutes Sunday brunch, which her mom did when she was a kid, and she creates her own sort of family, Silk the grumpy uncle who yelled on holidays and A’Keria the cool aunt that always got you the good presents.

They take things slow, like Brooke asked for. They talk for hours at night, Brooke listening intently to stories about Vanessa’s family, helping alleviate some of the ache. They cook dinner together, and Brooke massages her shoulders, and she eases Brooke into sleep with gentle neck kisses and holds her through the nightmares. Vanessa’s never taken a relationship this slow. Usually she ran through them like a blaze, the heat and passion consuming her while the flames grew, and if she happened to make a few girlfriends (or buildings) crumble from her heat, so be it.

But Brooke is a cold winter snow, a slow and quiet chill fiercely penetrating through your heavy coat and bulky layers of clothing straight to your heart, taking your breath away if you weren’t used to it.

Vanessa hasn’t felt this kind of joy, this pure bliss, in years, and she knows Brooke feels the same way. Which only makes it that much worse when Silk corners her with an idea one day.

“Vanjie, I have a plan but we’re gonna need Brooke. Frost, really,” Silk begins.

“I have a bad feeling about this, but what is it?”

“Well, I think we need to destroy the lab. If you and Brooke went in together, we could get records, information, we can get those doctors in custody and make sure there’s no building to return to. So they don’t do to someone else what they did to Brooke.”

Vanessa runs a hand through her hair, mind already weighing the dangers of this. “What makes you think she would want to go back there? Do you really think she should go back?”

“That’s up to her. We could really use her knowledge on this. Doctor says she’s okay physically, but I don’t want her health at risk, and if her or Nina don’t think she’s ready, we can wait. Just ask her.”

And Vanessa says she will, but the days go by and she still hasn’t. Brooke has been doing so well. The nightmares have been less violent, and she’s happy. They’re both happy. Will bringing this up ruin it all? Steal her happiness, make her get bad again? How can she even ask Brooke to go back there?

Over two weeks later, when Silk brings it up again, Vanessa knows she has to ask. But that night Brooke has a nightmare so bad she shoves Vanessa off her and it takes her torturous seconds to realize she’s not the doctor, she’s not trying to hurt her. Brooke’s tears soak into her shirt, Vanessa’s heart rips in two, and she knows the question won’t make it past her lips. —

She is able to keep the question secret, planting it down deep and ignoring it in favor of Brooke’s safety and contentment, but all it takes is one moment, at a godforsaken debriefing, for it to break through the dirt, demanding an answer.

“So, Brooke, what do you think of the plan?”

“Silk,” Vanessa hisses, but it’s too late.

“What plan?”

Vanessa sighs as Silk ducks out of the line of fire. “Brooke, Silk wants to infiltrate the lab and destroy it. I was supposed to tell you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Brooke sounds hurt and Vanessa never wants to hurt her.

“Brooke-”

“C-Can we talk about it later?” she asks, and Vanessa nods.

“Okay. Um, Silk, I want to hear about this plan. Please.”

Silk never passes up an opportunity to lecture, and Vanessa gets herself comfy before she starts. Silk should really pass out snacks if she wants people to pay attention for this long.

Brooke’s face is blank and unreadable as Silk drones. She nods once it’s done, eyes downcast and bottom lip between her teeth. She lifts her head up when she’s ready, and Vanessa isn’t sure what she wants Brooke to say, but she’ll support her either way.

“I want to do this. Let’s bring down the lab.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #superhero au #powerless #athena2 #tw mention of blood #tw implied PTSD #tw therapy #concrit welcome #submission

[dearlazerbunny]

Fever Dreams

Pairings: Poe x Reader

Genre/Ratings: None

Words: 1700

Summary: A loooooong time ago one of my favorite followers asked for a sick reader/Poe story, and this has been sitting on my computer unfinished for too long and I’m sick of looking at it so here it is! 😂

Coming home was always a huge sigh of relief,  even from a routine run such as this. As you extended your landing gear, you couldn’t help the little flare of warmth that expanded in your chest. Home. Rest, probably; Leia was good at not running your team too hard too many times in a row. You remove your helmet and run a hand over your sweaty forehead as your X-Wing shudders to a stop on the tarmac. Another successful mission. You had to smile a bit. Your squadron of newbies and try-hards was coming along quite nicely, and from the looks of the gathering crowd below you, everyone else was seeing it too.

Cheers erupted as your cockpit opened and mechanics ran over to help you out and run checks over your ship. Medics were standing by, but you waved them off. This had been a clean run, the only problems you’d had were a few members overheating a bit from the humid jungle climate and some sunburned scalps. Nothing a good dose of water and aloe couldn’t solve.

“Hey there!” Lost in thought, you hadn’t noticed your boyfriend sneaking up behind you, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a hug. “Congrats, Miss team leader. Another run under your belt!”

“Poe, stop it!” You giggle despite yourself as he kisses you on the cheek. “It was a friggin drop off on a resistance-controlled planet. Hardly a daring mission.”

“Still. Proud of you, babe.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him, lightly booping his nose with yours, before pulling away and tugging at the sleeves of your orange jumpsuit. “I’ve gotta get out of this thing, I’m burning up.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Is that an invitation?”

“Oh for god’s sake, we are in public, Poe!” You glance over at General Leia, who was talking to some of your other recruits on the side. Proudly, based on the look on her face. “Besides, it depends on what Leia has in mind. We might be going back out-”

“Oh no you’re not.” Poe grins in that way that makes your heart drop. “I’ve already talked to her, both our squadrons are cleared for leave for the weekend.”

“In that case-” you make sure no one is looking too closely before whispering into his ear- “that is absolutely an invitation.”

…

Moonlight is streaming through the window when you wake in the middle of the night, bedsheets and a still naked Poe wrapped around you like beautiful poems. You have to push the covers away though, because for some reason you’re still insanely warm. You look around for your pajamas and slip them on without waking your softly snoring bedpartner, making your way to the bathroom. Splash some water on your face. Feel your forehead. Definitely hot. And a little nauseous? Weird. You were up to date on all your birth control, so god knows it wasn’t that. All of a sudden, you feel woozy, and you sit on the edge of the small shower, palm to your forehead. Everything aches. How hand you not noticed this before? Maybe that landing was harder than you thought.

You sit there,  just trying to breathe, when an overwhelming sense of anxiety pours through you. Something was wrong. You could just feel it. Your heart was beating way too fast, there was sweat pouring off of you, and the pit in your stomach seems to deepen every second you sit there. As you open your mouth to call for Poe, all you manage to choke out is a handful of blood, splattered across your hand in bright red fury. You stare at it, feeling it drip through your fingers.

“P-Poe? Poe!” You cough some more, feeling the nastiness rise up in your throat.

When he finally gets to the bathroom door, he finds you curled up on the bathroom floor, shirt stained red and trembling against the cold tile.

“Oh my god, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Is that blood? We need to get you to medical, come on, up you go-” you try to stand but collapse under your own weight, knees hitting the floor hard. You clutch his hands for strength as you land, desperately trying to hold on to something as the world spirals from underneath you.

“Something’s wrong,” you whisper wide-eyed, swimming in red. Then you close your eyes, and you don’t see anything anymore.

…

The next time Poe sees you after dragging your lifeless body out to the hallway, screaming for help, you’re hooked up to too many machines to count in medical. Pale as death, with clammy hands and a fever that won’t seem to break. He grabs your hand from underneath the tightly wrapped blankets and squeezes, promising in his head to never let go. How had things gone this wrong this fast?

“Dameron?” The doctor comes in, stone faced, and Poe can’t help but wince. There’s still some smears of your blood on his otherwise pristine white jacket.

“Doc. What happened? One minute she’s fine, and the next-”

“She has an incredible amount of internal swelling, including in her brain and spinal cord. We’re giving her steroids for the inflammation and a broad-spectrum antibiotic, but there’s no guarantee it’ll catch whatever is making her react like this.”

“I don’t understand.”

The doctor flips open your chart on his clipboard. “Has she travelled in the past thirty days?”

“Travelled? She’s a pilot, of course she’s travelled-”

“A fever of this severity, marked by the thinning of the blood and the swelling, seems to be consistent with a virus contracted on a jungle-based planet. Does that ring any bells?”

Poe pales. “Y-yes. She just got back this afternoon.”

“There’s your answer then.” Poe looks at him, shocked, and he softens his demeanor when he sees the terrified look in his eyes. “Look, it manifested early, and it doesn’t seem to be contagious. Those are good signs that point towards a recovery. We’re working to get the swelling down as quickly as possible. Otherwise-”

“Otherwise what.”

The doctor looks at you, noting the vital signs beeping on a machine at your bedside. “She’ll most likely be brain dead within 24 hours,” he sighs.

“No- no, that’s not possible! You have to help her, you have to-!”

“Dameron, get a hold of yourself!” The doctor places one hand on his shoulder. “We’re doing everything we can. Only time will tell now.”

Time seemed to be something you were quickly running out of.

…

Poe was making promises to god when you surfaced from a hazy dream. I promise I won’t be as reckless. I promise I’ll tell her I love her more. I promise-

“Poe?” your voice is thin and raspy, like you haven’t had a drink of water in days.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m right here.” He moves closer to your bedside and squeezes your hand. “How are you feeling?”

Your eyebrows scrunch up. “Bad. Weird. I’m burning up.”

“You have a pretty high fever. The doctor is trying to break it.”

“Am I gonna die?”

Poe grimaces. “No, sweetheart. ‘Cause if you die I will personally revive you just to kill your ass again for leaving me.”

A small smile works its way across your face. “That’s… that’s good.”

“So don’t worry. Everything is going to work out just fine.”

You cough low in your chest, and Poe is quick to wipe your mouth with a tissue so the flecks of blood you spit up don’t freak you out any more than necessary. “Then why does everything hurt so bad?”

Poe sighs, gripping your hand even tighter. “It looks like you picked up something from the planet you visited. Nothing major, they’re keeping a good eye on you.”

“Nothing major?” You’re dizzy and not thinking straight, sure, but you can comprehend enough to know that all these IVs and machines and beeping things aren’t a good sign. “Poe, just give it to me straight.”

He stalls. “I don’t want to scare you.” Those few words make your heart drop, but you look him dead in the eye and stay there until he sighs. “They told me internal swelling of the brain and spinal cord.”

“Oh.” You’re quiet for a moment, not sure how to process that. “That’s bad, right?”

“We have about-” he glances up at the clock- “sixteen more hours to see just how bad.”

“Sixteen hours.” For some reason, that round number is a comfort. “I just have to make it through the next sixteen hours.”

Poe smiles a little at that, such a determined stance spoken at such a sickly whisper. “That’s right, sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

You eye him frantically as you begin to feel yourself slipping away. “Don’t leave me.”

“Not in a million years.”

…

Those next sixteen hours are some of the worst of your life. You float in and out of consciousness, plagued by strange dreams and hallucinations. You sweat out fluids as fast as they can pump them in you. Despite your 103 temperature, you shiver so hard your teeth clang together like bells, and you have more blankets draped over you than the entire base has on their beds.

But the whole time, Poe is there to hold your hand, and murmur comforting words no matter if you’re awake to hear them or not. He refuses to leave your side to eat or sleep. You’re all that matters, and he wants to be the first one there when your fever breaks.

Which it does, eventually and slowly. Ticking down by degrees over hours, but you eventually stop shivering. Your hand becomes less clammy as he interlocks your fingers together even tighter. You’re able to open your eyes, and even smile at him, which feels like the sun coming out after a hurricane.

“Hey.”

“Hey there.” Poe sits forward in his chair, brushing a piece of hair off of your forehead. “How do you feel.”

“Like I can breathe again.” Frowning, you paw at the layers piled on top of you. “Can you move these?”

“Gladly.” He returns to his seat once they’re piled on the floor at the foot of the bed.

You lay back onto the pillows, exhausted from that small amount of effort, and sigh. “I guess I’m gonna be okay, huh?”

Poe smiles. “You sure as hell are. Sorry, can’t get away from me that easily.”

“It was so hard,” you whisper. “It would have been so easy to just slip away. I could feel it…”

That sobers him, and he brings your hand up to his lips to kiss. “But you didn’t. You’re here, that’s all that matters.”

You smile. “With you.”

He smiles back. “Always.”

#star wars #Star Wars fanfic #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #reader insert

[psycho-slytherin]

Less 2

Your boyfriend promised he’d drink less.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Yoongi x Reader, Policeman!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst

<–– Prev

|mlist|

The gun goes off with a loud BANG and the recoil makes the firearm clatter to the floor, your trembling hands too weak to grip it properly. In front of you stands Yoongi, your boyfriend, your love, the man to which you’ve dedicated years of your life– and he sways, and he falls to his knees, the look on his face one of amusement and yet utter betrayal as the dark red stain on his shirt begins to spread outwards. You gasp– you’ve really shot someone, you’re a– “Murderer.” Yoongi spits out the word as though it’s poison on his lips. His breaths are unsteady and ragged, his shoulders are slumped, one hand behind his back while the other clutches his chest… but he managed to stare with eyes that seem to see straight through you, and on to something beyond. “I-I’ll call the police!” You look to your right and see Officer Jeon groaning on the floor. He’s gone so pale he’s near translucent, but at least his radio is still clipped to his belt. You tug at it, pressing buttons frantically, please, please– “Jeon? This is Sergeant Kim. Can you tell me where the hell you’ve gone? Over.” You jump at the crackle, the voice, and the sudden silence. “Please help me,” you cry, pressing the same button as before. “O-officer Jeon has been stabbed, and there’s–” you swallow back a sob. “There’s another man, he’s been shot, I need an ambulance right away!” “Jeon’s been–?” the radio goes silent. “I need a location.” You tell him your address, and Sergeant Kim pauses for a second. “Okay, an ambulance is on its way. Are you safe, miss?” You look around. Despite the bruises on your face and wrist, and a few glass cuts, you’re alright. “Yes.” Officer Jeon appears to have passed out from shock or blood loss, but he’s still breathing. And Yoongi… Min Yoongi is slumping lower and lower by degrees, and you see beads of sweat forming as he struggles to stay conscious.

“How could you,” he coughs, blood dripping from his lips, and your heart shatters. You scoot closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Yoongi, you’re gonna be fine, I’m so sorr–” “How could you… you BITCH!” his bellow sounds only half human and you flinch, expecting another slap, a dead man’s last hurrah, but instead... “AUGH!” you scream, scrambling backwards. Yoongi had somehow clung on to his broken bottle and like an idiot, you’d let your guard down. Lucky he didn’t get any vitals, but as you look down at the gash on your inner thigh… is it your imagination or is there a lot more blood than there should be? Some faint wisp of information from your days as an ambulance technician escapes you. Inner thigh… and something about blood loss. You blink hard and press your hand to the wound, attempting to slow blood flow. Already your vision seems tilted, blurry, and blood is gushing through your fingers and onto the floor. “Nng…” The radio crackles again, and someone speaks, but it’s impossible to focus on their words. Black spots dance before you and you’re tempted, so tempted to succumb, Yoongi is all you have, all that’s ever mattered and now… You grit your teeth, woozy with pain. Now… he’s hurt you. “Hff…y/n…” Officer Jeon suddenly groans props himself up on his elbow and makes a grab for the radio. Even that minor movement causes him to gasp sharply in pain. “Lie down,” you tell him, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clutch at your leg, contending with your own agony. “Officer, I called… I called…” Who did you call? You can’t remember. your head is pounding, your thoughts are fuzzy, you’re gasping for air and you can’t fight anymore. This is it, Yoongi, you think as you slip away from the earth, as you drown in darkness, this is what you wanted, right? Funny how even in death, you give Yoongi everything. Light. Bright, painful. Painful. Yes. There’s pain. You feel it– angry, throbbing. Since when is death supposed to hurt? Are you still alive? Huh. 

“Ergh...” you blink hard, your eyes adjusting to the brilliant light.

“Oh, you’re awake. Let me call the doctor.”

“W-who...?” but it’s too late, whoever spoke has disappeared.

“Yoongi?” you whisper, unsure as to whether you want a response. Regardless, you get none, and as you look around you realize the IV drip and heart rate monitor attached to you mean that you must be in a hospital.

“Miss l/n?” A man in a white coat enters the room, consulting a clipboard. “Good to see you’re awake. I’m Dr. Kim Seokjin, and–”

The door opens again and a man wearing a police uniform strides to your bedside. “Y/n. How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m–”

“Great. Sergeant Kim Namjoon, we spoke over the radio, do you mind if I ask you some questions about what happened?”

You shrink into yourself as the sergeant looms over you. “Okay...”

“Wonderful. Can you tell me–”

“Sergeant Kim, I understand that you want information, but she is first and foremost a patient and shall be treated as such,” Dr. Kim says icily.

“Of course, doctor, but one of my officers was stabbed and unlike Officer Jeon, y/n here is currently awake and I’m in need of answers.” You can see Sergeant Kim’s jaw working in an effort to maintain his professionalism.

“Her femoral artery was severed, multiple lacerations required stitches, and she suffered severe blood loss. You will get your answers after I am certain of my patient’s condition. Should you test my patience further, I will have you removed from this room.”

It’s as if the doctor has dropped a mic– his tone leaves no room for argument, and Sergeant Kim nods grudgingly and backs away.

Meanwhile, Dr. Kim takes your blood pressure, checks the IV, and generally makes sure you’re all kinds of alive.

“M-my leg...” you’re in a hospital bed, with your lower body covered by a thin blanket. “And Yoongi. Where’s Yoongi?”

“Your leg suffered the worst of it, we recovered several shards of glass from the wound before stitching you up. Your left femoral artery was cut, but you’re quite lucky– any later and...” he falls silent, but you understand. You finally remember learning this during your medical training: If the deep femoral artery is severed, you black out in thirty seconds and can bleed out in three minutes.

Any later, indeed. You draw back the blanket and gasp. Your leg is wrapped in thick bandages, and when you prod at your own flesh it feels almost alien. You draw back with a hiss of pain after a wave of agony hits you, making you nauseous.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you croak again.

“Dr. Kim, if I may?” the sergeant steps forward.

“Be my guest.”

Sergeant Kim flips open a notepad. “Y/n– may I call you that? You were found at the scene along with Officer Jeon Jungkook and a Mr. Min Yoongi, who had a record of multiple arrests for DUIs and altercations resulting in violence. Our records show he was incarcerated overnight after an altercation with a Mr. Jung Hoseok, who has not pressed charges. Officer Jeon did not notify his colleagues when he came to your house, but CC camera footage shows him leaving the station almost immediately after you and Mr. Min, at 6:48am. We received a call from you on Jeon’s radio roughly forty minutes later, at 7:33am. Does that timeline hold up?”

“Y-yes.”

“Now, we just need you to fill in the blanks, y/n. What happened when you got home?”

You hesitate. Yoongi slapped you. But if you tell the police, they’ll take him away from you– and some part of you can’t stand that.

You stare down at your bandaged hands. “Nothing- nothing happened.”

Sergeant Kim frowns slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Uh...”

“We found the door had been kicked down. We’re wondering why Officer Jeon would choose to go to those lengths.”

“He was worried,” you blurt out. “About me. Um. Yoongi was being a bit aggressive, that’s all, and Officer Jeon was worried.”

“Aggressive? Did he hurt you?”

The bruises on your cheek and wrist shine like a beacon. Why are you acting this way? You tried to escape from Yoongi, that’s how this whole thing started. And now... what, now you’ve changed your mind?

What’s Yoongi done to you?

You take a deep breath. You’re the only one who can tell this story– you have a responsibility.

“He was slapping me around a bit, Officer Jeon burst in and helped me, but Yoongi snuck up behind him, he had a bit to drink–” a sob gets stuck in your throat as you recount the day. “S-stabbed him.”

“And then?”

I took Officer Jeon’s gun and shot Yoongi. He thought I wouldn’t, he trusted me–

In the briefest terms, you relay the events to Sergeant Kim, who scribbles it down on his notepad. After an eternity, he nods. “Well, if what you said is true, you’re not in any legal trouble– you clearly acted in self-defense.”

Another police officer knocks, pokes her head in, and tells Sergeant Kim that Officer Jeon has woken up.

Oh, thank god, he’s alive.

“C-can I see him?”

Both men turn to you in surprise.

“Miss l/n, in your condition–”

“It would be against police protocol–”

“Please,” you plead. “I need to thank him. He saved me.”

A few minutes later you’re being pushed down the hall in a wheelchair. You told Dr. Kim that it was unnecessary, but he insisted.

“He’s just in here.”

You soon come face to face with the policeman. He sits up in bed when he notices you. “Miss l/n.”

“Call me y/n,” you say. “You look a lot better, huh?”

He laughs dryly. “Anything’s better than that.”

“Officer Jeon–”

“Jungkook,” he supplies, and you smile.

“Jungkook, I wanted to thank you. And apologize. It’s because of me that you’re injured.”

He thinks for a second. “And it’s because of you that I’m alive.”

You both fall silent.

“The actions you took were brave,” Sergeant Kim says from the doorway. “No jury in their right mind would convict you, if you’re worried.”

“Convicted? Convicted of what?”

Sergeant Kim looks from you to Jungkook. “After a point-blank shot to the heart? Convicted of... well, of murder.”

“Y/n. Y/n, wake up, wake– what’s the matter with her?”

“Her heart has been having to work overtime to cope with the blood loss, it’s no wonder... we should’ve kept her in bed. I need her hooked up to an IV with type O negative blood bags, stat.”

“Y/n, please...” and the voice is a whisper in your ear. “Wake up.”

“Yeah, wake up.” Yoongi prods you with an empty bottle.

“You’re dead,” you tell him.

“’Cause you killed me. It ain’t my fault.”

You think about it. “Are you sure about that?”

His gaze darkens, the mellow expression turns murderous and he swings the bottle, letting the glass connect solidly with your jaw.

“Ungh!” You cough weakly, tasting blood, and your jaw feels like it’s on fire. Yoongi, however, isn’t done and he wields the bottle like a weapon, striking every inch of you within reach, emphasizing each word with a blow.

“Fucking bitch...” Thud. “You think it’s my fault?” Thud. “You’re the one that stayed, day after day after fucking day.” Thud. “You don’t got the right to be mad.” Thud. “You deserve to suffer.”

“Stop it,” you cry.

“Doctor, can you please tell me what’s going on with her movement? A seizure?”

Yoongi smashes the bottle against your collarbone and you scream in pain. “Stop!”

“Possibly... but we saw no sign of head trauma.”

“Stop!” You bolt upwards to find yourself back in the hospital bed, sandwiched in between the blanket and a plain white towel.

“Wha...”

Dr. Kim pats the towel. “You were sweating so much, you were soaking through the sheets– we were trying to keep you comfortable.

“Th-th-th-” you can’t get the words out, you’re trembling so violently. The doctor notices.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asks in concern. You shake your head no. Lie.

You turn to Sergeant Kim, who’s leaning against the wall with a stony expression.

“What happened? You were moving, jerking around in your sleep,” he says.

“Bad dream.” I killed him, I killed him, I killed my Yoongi...

A knock. “Y/n?”

After Yoongi’s attacks on your psyche, Jungkook’s voice is a ray of light. He rolls in on a wheelchair and grips your hand in his own.

“Are you alright?”

You smile gratefully. “Better now.”

“Jeon, you’ll need to file a full report on this incident, understood?” the sergeant says.

“Yessir.”

“The both of you will have to stay overnight,” Dr. Kim announces. “If all goes well, you can be out of here in a week or so.”

“In the meantime, if they’re going to keep flitting about to see each other, can we move both of them into one room?” Sergeant Kim sighs. "Officer Jeon, what are you doing here? Are you flirting on the job again?”

Jungkook blushes. “I’m not flirting, I’m not on duty, and I wanted to see how y/n was doing. Sir.”

“I’m okay. I’m stronger than I look,” you say. Aren’t you?

Yoongi’s voice echoes loud and clear in your mind. “No, you’re not.”

A/N: Hiya! Hope you enjoyed this continuation of Less. As always, all types of feedback are really appreciated, so feel free to comment or drop me an ask with your thoughts!

#bts #bangtan #yoongi #jungkook #suga #bts jungkook #bts suga #min yoongi #min suga #jeongguk #jeon jungkook #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #jungkook x you

[trans-shuichisaihara]

Oumota Week Day 3 - Lies | Honesty

33 loops of avril lavigne’s complicated resulted in many tears and this. technically takes place in the same universe as day 1′s fic but it’s not required to understand what’s going on (also for some reason i wrote this in present tense?? life be like that sometimes)

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

Darkness.

His consciousness flickers into awareness in an abyss of black.

His limbs feel heavy. His attempt to lift his arm only results in screaming pain.

Guess he went to Hell after all.

Hissssss...

The world opens up. Kokichi squints, turning away from the blinding light filtering into his enclosure. Noise surrounds him, and he finds panic rising in his sore chest. Too many hands poke and prod at his body, pulling IVs out of his arms and tearing velcro straps off his legs and upper body. He tries to shift, wanting them to go away. His body refuses to cooperate.

"Stop it," he wants to say, but it comes out less like an order and more like a strangled croak. His throat is parched and throbs from disuse. With no words forming to convey his feelings and no movement to be found in his limbs, he resorts to "worst case scenario"'s plan: screaming.

Within seconds, a medical mask is placed over his mouth, and the world returns to darkness.

His second awakening is much more comfortable. Aside from new IVs in his arms, it's a normal, quiet hospital room. There's a glass of water on the nightstand. He coughs and reaches for it; his hand drops it halfway in-between, causing it to shatter on the ground. Tears well up in his eyes, but he forces them down as the door opens, revealing a stranger that could only be a doctor.

He largely ignores her as she feeds him lies. Virtual Reality. Signing up for some show called Danganronpa. No one actually died. What bullshit. He hates being lied to. "I understand it's a lot to take in, but it's the truth." Ha. Those were the words of a liar if he ever heard them.

He's glad when she finally leaves, though it's filled with anger at her leaving promise of "bringing some of his friends back to visit". Even if she wasn't lying and his classmates were alive, none of them were his friends. Kokichi huffs.

He wants to get up, but he can't feel his legs. He entertains himself by raising and lowering his bed, taking inventory of everything in the room that could be useful in escaping once he regains mobility. If he's going to be in Hell, he shouldn't have to be stuck in a hospital. Couldn't they find a better punishment for him? Fire and brimstone and torture fitting for the Ultimate Supreme Leader of Assholery.

After half an hour, he locates the TV remote and turns it on. It opens onto Gonta's execution. He immediately flips it off and lies back, closing his eyes. Of course. What was he expecting Hell's TV to show him?

Maybe this is too appropriate of a punishment after all - boredom and taunting him with his failures.

"Hey, Ouma." And it even comes with its very own Momota replica. Fun. Kokichi keeps his eyes closed, and the door closes, feet shuffling closer to his bed. "Is he sleeping?" He mumbles, before sighing. The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor pierces his ears.

He dares to peek out through his eyelashes. Momota placed himself at his bedside, leaning back with a tired expression. He doesn't look exactly like the Momota he remembers - his hair is down, bags under his eyes, nose slightly crooked - but he'd recognize the dumb worry in his eyes anywhere.

He lets out a dramatic sigh. "Maaaaan, even in death Momota-chan just won't leave me alone."

Momota starts, nearly tilting the chair too far backward. "Oh, you're awake." There's an awkward pause as Kokichi can tell he wants to say something and thus remains quiet himself. "How, uh, how are you feeling..?"

"I feel great."

"Alright, so shitty it is." He scratches the back of his head. "So, how much did they tell you?"

He didn't want to talk to Momota, but he didn't have anything better or more interesting to be doing. "Something something virtual reality TV show everyone's alive. I know it's not true though, don't worry."

Momota pauses. "Uh, if that's what you want to believe. Didn't think you were the type to lie to yourself."

That irks him. "This is real life, Momota-chan. Happy endings where everyone who died is actually alive don’t happen. And I know I died." He can almost feel the gaping hole still in his spine, poison burning in his blood as the hydraulic press lowers, and lowers, and lowers-

"H-Hey, Ouma!" His shoulders are suddenly grabbed, shaking him.

In response, he pushes back against Momota, though it doesn't move him. "Don't touch me." His voice cracks. His order is ignored, aside from the shaking stopping to Momota just holding his shoulders in place, staring at him. He hates it.

"Do you want to go see the others? Maybe seeing them for yourself will-"

"No." He grabs the hand on his left shoulder and pries it off. "I'm not interested."

"Why?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you. You're not real anyway."

He flinches, before removing his other hand. Did Kokichi hurt him? Good. "Ouma, you..." Momota swallows. "Did they also tell you about the... the memories?"

Hm? They didn't, but it's clear that he doesn't like whatever it is. He decides to take advantage of it. "Of course. They told me everything."

Momota's brows furrow, eyes searching his expression. "So..." He pauses, clenching and unclenching his fists before slowly saying, "So they told you about your life prior to the Killing Game?"

Something deep in his head and his chest throbs. What's there to tell that he didn't already know? He saw his motive video with DICE. "Yep." He needs to dig for more information. "Why does Momota-chan want to know so badly? Are you that interested in my tragic backstory?" He goes to pick at his fingernails, only to discover them far longer than the last time he looked. He takes advantage of the new length to dig them into his palm painfully to hide his surprise. "Sorry, but you have to have at least level 9 friendship with me to get that."

"So, why did you join?"

"Is that a trick question? How about you tell me your story first."

Momota averts his eyes. "I... They said it was for the participation money. Even if I died, it was a pretty hefty payout."

"Of course Momota-chan would have a stupid motive."

Momota jerks to his feet. "It wasn't stupid. And stop lying to me; I know they haven't told you shit."

"Oh? How can you tell?" He tries to be amused at the glistening in Momota's eyes, but it just makes him feel weird.

"Because there's a lot crueler things you could attack me with if you knew the whole truth."

Now he's interested. He drums his fingers in his lap. "So, are you going to tell me then?"

"I..." He hesitates, swallowing. "I dunno... I'm still processing it myself, I... I want to but... I dunno," he sighs, "And you don't believe anything they've told you so far, so you'll probably just laugh and call me stupid."

"Yeah, probably," he agrees, "You shouldn't take what they say at face value, Momota-chan. I can tell they're liars. Just like you."

Momota looks sad. Boo hoo. "I figured." He sighs again. "Look, I'll come back later. If you're ready to accept the truth then, I'll tell you, but..." He turns away. "Don't lie to yourself."

His entire body screams in pain as Momota leaves.

#oumota #oumotaweek2018 #kaito momota #kokichi ouma #drv3 #drv3 spoilers #my post #fanfic #au #i wanna write a ton more for this au hmmmmm #vr au

[sass-cass-writes]

Floating Downtown - Part 2

Title: The Hunters Club

Author: @sass-cass-writes / @sassy-castiels-angel

Description: Sammy its time to face your coulrophobia with Pennywise! With a string of disappearances occurring in Maine, the Winchester Brothers and the reader, a vivid Stephen King fan, try to stop the monster that snatches children and kills them every 27 years. But what will happen when the circus comes to town?

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader, Beverly Marsh, Demons

A/N: Reader is speech impaired after being tortured by Abaddon’s right hand man and having her vocal cords destroyed. Ive never written mute characters, so this is a first. If anyone has feedback, please give some!

Warnings: brief PTSD of torture, gorey description, angst(?) clowns

tagging: @totallyluckycoffee / @dixonlover1605 , @wonderavian

READ PART ONE HERE, GIFS ARE NOT MINE

You felt the metal on your neck, its chilling tip dripping with death as it dug into your neck. The demon’s eyes were dark and bottomless. You tried to whimper, but how could you? You were scared. The tip of the scalpel dug into your skin cutting through the five thick layers of you neck as his hand expertly dragged down the metal tool as if completing an operation. You screamed, your muscles tensed and pulled making the pain even worse. Thrashing and writhing, your eyes strained at the immense and excruciating pain you felt. They slowly cut your throat, blooding flowing heavily onto the bed and into your lungs as you started to choke on your blood. While taking this opportunity, the demons placed the scalpel under the muscles and flesh that produces your sweet and comforting voice according to Bobby. He started to pull upwards. The scalpel sliced through each stretch of muscle. You tried to screamed but you couldn’t. One muscle, two muscle. The demon smirked evilly. Even worse, the demons were Sam and Dean. SNAP! The final cord and muscle broke as you laid there thrashing weakly.

“Oh sweetheart,” The fake “Dean” said as he stroke your hair gently. You shake as you try to move away. “It hurts us that you’re being put through so much pain.” He smiles cockily exactly like him. “But you have to understand that this is the only way to protect us,” motioning to him and fake “Sam”, “and you care about us, right?” You stay quiet. As much as you want to swear at them, curse and scare them saying the Winchesters, the real, HUMAN ones would skin them alive, you couldn’t. He smirks and mockingly places his hand behind his ear and leans in. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He reaches over and caresses your cheek as you bleed out. This wasn’t the end, they’d bring you back, harass you, get their cursed hands all over your body, cut you up until you die from shock, pain or blood loss. This cycle was repeated daily for the past week. It was even worse seeing that they were also messing with your mind, making you believe Sam and Dean were hurting you. Every bad word they said stung worse than the physical pain. You, surprisingly of all people, started to pray to Castiel. Every night you’d plead him to rescue you and the realisation dawned on you that he wasn’t an angel but a human now. So what could he do? You cried wanting to go home to the confines of the bunker. At least there, demons and monsters were warded off against.

“Y/N?” The question snapped you out of your recollection. You jumped up to see rain drops hit violently against the windshield and slide fast alongside the windows. Lighting struck somewhere in the distance. 1…2…3…4…5- lightning struck again. You sit up and groan, rubbing your head Sam’s jacket draped over you. “You okay?” Sam asked as he drove. The road was pitch black, Baby’s lights illuminating whatever in her path. The radio was on as it played your favourite mix tape. You all had one, you remember Dean making your very own. It was a mix of classic rock, new age and a bit of Australian songs. Dean and Sam had gotten used to your mixtape, even Dean’s favourite collection of Metallica wasn’t favoured as much. Chris Rea’s “Let’s Dance” had just finished with its brass instruments in an upbeat tune and guitar strums played in sync. Prince’s “” started to play, and it was one of your favoruites.

“Dearly beloved,

"We are gathered here today,

"To get through this thing called loved.”

Sam looks at you and smiles a little as you drive in the rain. You nodded in response to his earlier question. He nods and drives tapping the wheel as the techno pop sounds of ‘Prince and the Revolution’ filled the impala. “We’re about forty-five minutes out from Chicago, wanna pop into a motel for the night? OR would our princess prefer a five-star hotel?” He laughs a little as you punch his arm from the pet name and joke. You signed an answer.

“Motel, jackass.” You smile a little. Sam’s phone rang and sure enough it was Dean.

“Get this kiddo’s!"Dean reported into the phone. "I found Abaddon, figure I can take her out."You and Sam looked at each other and sighed.

"Dean,” Sam started. “Wait for us to finish this case and then WE can go kill Abandon.”

“Sorry Sammy, I gotta do this, the Mark’s getting worse.” Your face fell at this. You were there when Dean and Cain exchanged the mark, how it glowed bright red as it formed the cursed seven. Dean reassured you that everything was going to be okay. Last words you ever heard before you got kidnapped. You and Sam sighed, and so did dean after a while. “I’ll wait, just in case something happens.” You and  Sam smile a little. “So where are you guys now? Princes staying in a hotel?” Sam laughs as you flip Dean off and sign to the phone multiple curses. Dean knows what he did, and he laughs a little.

“We’re coming up to a motel now.” Sam said, wheezing from a little laugh.

“Why stay in a motel when your riding in one of the best home on wheels ever? Besides you’re forty five minutes out, don’t waste it.” Dean says, almost offended that any grimy motel was better than the 67 Impala.

“Its 10:43 at night Dean.”

You give a deadpan look a look over at the back seat. And your thoughts were proven right. You signed to Sam your response.

“There’s stains on the apolstry from Dean’s "extracurricular” activities back there!“ Sam snorted a little and laughed. Even though he wasn’t there, you could feel Dean frowning in response to Sam’s giggles.

"Did you just offend my baby, (Y/N)?” Dean almost growled, Sam wheezed and forced his giggles to a halt, you smirking in pride.

“(Y/N) said, from what I understand, that she’d rather spend a night in a grimy motel than a backseat with your cum stains on it. She doesn’t wanna get the clap from you.” Sam said bursting into a tiny giggle as the line went quiet and you couldn’t help but smile widely.  He hangs up as Sam steered the car into a motel lot and got out to book a room.  Whilst he did so, you grabbed the bags and ran inside out of the torrential rain.

-•••-

The next day, you and Sam headed to the office warehouse of Beverly Marsh. Pulling up to the curb in the impala, you stepped out in your FBI suits and walked in grabbing a file and notepad. Walking in, the creek of metal glistened as machines whirred and fabrics torn.

You screamed as they brought the hammer down on your delicate fingers, the force of the steel alloy on the wooden pole impacting with the thin layer of skin and brittle bone. They repeated the motion, until your nerves and bones were broken into nothing but clumps. You screamed and cried as the cold air pierced the open wounds.

“(Y/N)?” Sam asked, grabbing you out of your daze, as your hand felt numb. You looked at him and walked towards the main office a few floors up. The whirring of the elevator above you made you think about the drill.

It spun and whirred quickly as they brought it closer and closer to your face, a scare tactic. You leaned away from it to avoid its impact, until it’s breeze caressed your cheek. The fake “Sam” held you head firmly in place as “Dean” pressed the drill against your cheek. Your skin tore and twisted until in broke from the extreme force as blood splattered and flesh twisted and flew as “Dean"pushed the drill into your skin. The major nerves in your cheek had got caught in the twisting of the metal extension as they tightened and stretched until they snapped making you scream and bite your tongue. Your nails dug into the wooden chair as your gripped it tightly as eyes wide as you whimper. "Sam” held your jaw tightly so you couldn’t cry out. God let this be the end!

“(Y/N)!” Sam gripped your shoulders, gently but concerned as he jolted you awake to the reality. He was kneeled down in front of you as you were cowered in the corner, arms over your face. “Hey, its okay.” You leaned into him as he helped you up and held you. “I got you (Y/N), thats all behind us now.” You nodded as he kisses your forehead and stroked your hair. You looked at him. He didn’t deserve you, he’s too good for you, all you deserved was a translating machine. Not this fucking 6'4" sunshine ray of comfort and sass whom you’re in love with. He tilted your head up and wiped your tears away with the gentlest touch as he gives a small reassuring smile. The elevator comes to a halt as you step back and straighten your dress as Sam does the same. You hear arguing from the office and you instantly raise an eyebrow. A man in a black suit was arguing with a woman wiht fuzzy brown hair, that must be Beverly Marsh. You and Sam walk closer as you knock on the door.

“Who the hell are you?” The man almost yelled.

“Tom, dont talk people like that!” Beverly chastised as he stared at her. You and Sam pulled out your badges and showed them to the couple, Tom’s face falling into one of hidden panic.

“I’m Agent Farris, this is my partner Agent Hutchence. We’d like to talk to Miss Marsh.” Sam said as you both put away your badges.

“We’re about to close a deal with Japanese investors, it can wait.” Tom scowled as he gripped Beverly’s arm and proceeded to the door. You were quick to grab the man’s arm and stop him. “Don’t touch me Agent, I can call you for assault.” He sneered as you stared at him. Sam growled at the man. Nobody ever talked to you like that and walked scot free.

“Five minutes.” Sam growled as he walked to Miss Marsh, Tom reluctantly letting go and walking off pissed. Once he was far away, Sam muttered; “Asshole.” He sat Beverly down as she looked down embarrassed and scared. You gripped her hand reassuringly and smiled. She smiles back as Sam begins the questioning.

“Miss Marsh-”

“Call me Bev.” She requested.

“Bev,” Sam paused. “We came to you because we want to ask you about a string of murders happening in your hometown of Derry.” At that instant, colour drained from her face and swallowed as if a fish swam through her throat. Sam noticing this, softened his face. “I’m sorry-”

“No it’s alright,” Bev reassured. “I just- Derry was a bad moment in my life. I’m sure you’ve heard of psychiatric reports.” She laughs little awkwardly.“

"We know ma'am. But we also know there was an incident with six friends of yours back in the summer of 88’. And people have claimed to have seen a clown.” As if at the word clown, Beverly’s face fell and became scared.

“A c-clown?”

“Yes,” Sam says leaning in. “Bev, just tell us the truth, because we’re going to end it.” She nods and sighs. She began to tell her situation as of 11 years old and how she befriended six male friends. And how he had haunted them. How they defeated him. It sounded so familiar.

“We had went to "It’s” hiding place in the sewers, and we had lost track of Stan along the way. We were scared.“ Beverly said as she fiddled with her fingers, scared of retelling the story.

"Beverly, you said defeated him.” Sam asked as you saw Tom striding towards the office angrier.

“Shit”

“Yes, we had found out tha-”

“I can’t hold off the Japanese Investors time anymore Beverly!” Tom roared, as he looked to Sam. “It’s been well over five minutes Agents.” He strides to Beverly but you once again grab his arm and stand up, giving him a stern look. “Get. Off. Me.” He sneered, the strong stench of alcohol in his breath.

“How about you show her some respect you son of a bitch.” Sam defended as he walked over. “She’s done more good than you ever had. And although she’s mute and lost her voice, she didn’t loose the respect and pride she has.” He stands in front of you and stares at Tom.

“I should go.” Beverly says as she stands, “We’ve been waiting for this deal for a while. If you have any other questions, please ask.” You nod and tap your chin lowering your hand as you sign “Thank You.”  Beverly smiles. “So thats why you didn’t talk, I thought you were shy.” She smiles as she walks out Tom following.

“What a dick.” Sam growled as he turned to you. “You okay?” You roll your eyes and nod closing your notepad full of notes.

“You shouldn’t have aggravated him Sam. As much as he deserves it, he’s not worth it at the same time.” You sign as you look up at him.

“He shouldn’t have talk to you like that (Y/N), you don’t deserve it.”

“Sam…”

“Don’t Sam me, (Y/N). Sam pleads almost. "Men have to respect you, not throw you around like nothing. You’re smart and beautiful, caring and selfless as well as bloody amazing.” Your face softens at his description of you. It’s almost like he’s saying he- NO, he doesn’t. Before you could respond, he walks- no, storms out and to the elevator. You sigh and follow, seeing Tom down the hall gripping Beverly’s arm tightly to bruise her. That would explain the bruises on her legs and cheeks through the make up.

Sam waited for you in the elevator as you walked in. It wasn’t long till you were driving back to the motel.

#supernatural #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #dean winchetser #it #pennywise the dancing clown #supernatural/it crossover #clowns #floating downtown