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#a few more minutes and he’ll cry about the dead bodies
zegrasdrysdale · 3 months
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Hi! I had a dream last night where Nico got severely injured during a game and died (my dreams are crazy, I know) and I was devastated. But it gave me an idea for a fic where the reader has a similar dream but Nico’s on a roadie so she calls him and she’s still shaken up by it when he gets home. Lots of fluff! Loved your other Nico fics too btw!!
[ nightmare ] n. hischier
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paring : Nico Hischier x fem!reader
summary : (Y/N) has a dream where husband Nico dies on the ice. to assure herself that he’s okay, she calls him while on his roadie and he makes sure to comfort her as soon as he gets home to Jersey
warning(s) : mentions of blood, severe injury and death
author’s note : i have been excited to write this request since i got it. it’s all i have been able to think about since i first read it (also anon, pls relax w these crazy dreams)
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The Prudential Center fell silent as soon as the Devils captain hit the ground, unmoving, after an opponent’s skate hit his neck. Paramedics and training staff came running out as soon as the first drops of blood hit the ice.
Nico’s eyes are open, but the light is completely gone. He is staring at the ceiling. Both teams have gathered around him as they try to block the sight of him from the crowd and flashing cameras. Paramedics strip him of his jersey and gear as they work on him.
A pin could drop and the sound would echo with how quiet it is in the arena. Fans are on their feet. (Y/N) has pressed herself against the glass as she watches the paramedics stop pushing on his chest nearly ten minutes after they started.
It feels like her own chest caves in when the paramedic beside Nico looks up and shakes their head. “He’s gone.”
The words are loud and clear, even through the glass.
“Nico!”
She wakes up with a start and a racing heart. She's reaching out for her husband, but he isn't in bed with her.
The sight of a dead Nico in a pool of his own blood on the ice is so fresh on her mind that her entire body shakes. Every time she blinks, all she can see is the paramedic shaking their head.
Her cheeks are wet with tears as she looks around the dark room. Her husband’s name is on her lips.
He isn’t gone. He’s just on the west coast for a roadie for the week. He’ll be back this weekend. All he's doing is playing the California teams and Vancouver then he'll be back in their apartment.
If he’s going to be on the west coast for the week then he will be awake right now.
As soon as the realization that Nico might still be awake hits her, she reaches for her charging phone on the table beside her. With shaky fingers, she finds Nico’s contact and clicks the call button.
It rings a few times before Nico picks up. “Hej, liebling,” he says as soon as he picks up. She can hear music in the background, like he’s out with his teammates. “You okay? It’s pretty late for you.”
The moment she hears her husband’s voice. she lets out a soft sob. She covers her mouth, but Nico already heard the sob.
“Baby,” Nico tries again. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
“Nothing,” she croaks. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry for calling.”
She goes to hang up but Nico is already talking. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “Give me a second to get somewhere that's a little more quiet so I can hear you.”
Nico shouts something to someone then the music gets quieter. Her hands still shake so she puts the phone on speaker and grabs Nico’s pillow. It still smells like him since he’s only been gone two days. She plays with her weddings ring.
A door shuts on the other end of the line. It’s quiet for a moment then Nico asks, “Why are you crying, baby?”
“It’s really stupid, Nico,” she tells him.
“Nothing is stupid when you’re crying, liebling,” he softly replies to her. “So talk to me.”
She bites her lip and grips Nico’s pillow. “I had a dream,” she begins to say. “More of a nightmare, I think. You died on the ice after getting cut with a skate. It felt real and I needed to hear your voice so I knew that you were okay. It was a really stupid reason to call you, especially since you’re out with the team.”
Her husband is quiet for a second like he’s processing what she said. “(Y/N), listen to me,” he says. “If you call me, even when I’m out with the team, I will answer. There is no such thing as a stupid reason to call me. Okay?”
She mumbles an “okay” but she isn’t very convinced.
“Just know that I’m okay too,” Nico continues. “I’m not hurt. Actually, nothing is hurt. I feel really good despite getting bumped a few times tonight.” He pauses. “Are you okay? Sounds like this dream really shook you up.”
With the back of her hand, (Y/N) wipes away her tears because Nico isn’t here right now. “It felt so real,” she whispers. “Seeing you on the ice. Eyes lifeless and you so still with the blood around you. I couldn’t do anything because I was behind the glass. I couldn’t get to you.”
Tears well in her eyes as she remembers her nightmare. Banging on the glass echoes in her head and she squeezes her eyes shut.
“I wish I was with you,” Nico confesses. “Do I need to ask if I can come home? I can say that there is a family issue and be home by tomorrow.”
“No!” she quickly says. “I’ll be okay until you get home. You don't need to come back home. Promise me you’ll be okay and won’t take any skates to the neck or anything please.”
“I promise,” he replies. “The guys are heading back to the hotel. Do you need me to stay on the phone until you go back to sleep?”
She thinks about it, but she’s not a child anymore. “I’ll be okay,” she tells him. “Go get some sleep. Have a safe travel day tomorrow and I’ll see you when you get home. Text me when you land."
“Alright,” Nico sighs. “I love you. Try to get some sleep.”
“I love you too,” she replies. “Goodnight.”
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
Her husband must really love her because the next game after that phone call, (Y/N) sees Nico on the ice with a neck guard on. She smiles and nearly cries at the sight. He's taking that precaution because of the phone call.
She does cry when Nico comes walking through the door five days after the phone call.
(Y/N) hears his key jiggle in the door around three and she is immediately on her feet. The door swings open and before Nico can let go of his suitcase, she jumps on him and wraps herself completely around him.
“Thank God,” she sobs into her husband’s neck. She peppers the skin with soft kisses. “You’re here. You’re really okay.”
“Of course I am, liebling,” Nico replies as he wraps his arms around his wife. “I’m here and I’m okay.”
The door shuts behind Nico and he walks into the living room. He sits with her completely wrapped around him. Both of her knees are on either side of his waist. "I missed you," she whispers.
He wraps his arms around her tight. "I know," he replies. "You've called me every single day. You've never done that before."
"That dream really messed me up, Nico," she confesses. He puts a finger under her chin and lifts her head up. Her husband is blurry because of the tears that have welled up in her eyes. “I haven’t really slept well because of it. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is-”
“I know, liebling,” Nico interrupts so she doesn’t have to say it again. “I’m here. I promised that I’d never leave you when we said ‘I do’ last year, and I intend to keep it. Even in your dreams from here on out.”
Her bottom lip wobbles and Nico’s thumb brushes it softly. “I can’t believe you love me enough to wear a neck guard,” she whispers.
He smiles and brushes her hair behind her ear. “If it meant keeping myself safe so you wouldn’t be worried then yeah, I’ll wear neck guards,” he tells her. “I know you have been worried since every news outlet is talking about neck guards and player safety. It’s clearly bothering you so to make sure I took every precaution to keep you from worrying.”
She feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders with Nico taking precautions to stay safe. It’s not much but it’ll keep her from reliving her nightmare.
Without realizing it, she yawns right in Nico’s face. “Are you tired, baby?” he asks with laughter evident in his voice.
(Y/N) nods and nuzzles right in to his neck. Her nose rests against his jaw and she sighs. “Gonna sleep right here, okay?”
“Sleep as long as you want,” he replies. “I’ll take a nap with you.”
She hums and settles in. She wraps her arms around his torso under his suit jacket to get warm while Nico buries his nose in her hair.
“Ich liebe dich,” Nico whispers, the Swiss-German making her feel a little more comfortable and relaxed.
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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 19
Part 1 Part 18
Eddie comes back to himself with Will Byers slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He’s standing in front of his trailer, panting like he’d run all the way here.
He probably had. His thighs have their own heartbeats, pulsing off-beat with the thrumming of his heart where it’s up in his throat.
He puts Will down. The kid’s crying. Eddie is, too.
He wants to run back, find Steve. Even with his legs shaking so hard they barely hold him. Even without a weapon. Even if Steve’s probably already dead. But Steve said to keep the kid safe, so that’s what he’s going to do.
He pushes the door open, leading Will in by the shoulder. His fingertips are numb – static running through them until he can’t feel Will’s body hitching with sobs. The sound of them is muffled, too.
“It’ll be okay,” he says, feeling very far away. His throat feels like mincemeat. Has he been screaming? He can’t have been. There’s no monster on his door.
“My Mom—” Will says. He’s curled into a ball in Wayne’s chair. When did he get there?
“Steve’ll keep her safe.”
Eddie knows it’s true as he says it. Remarkably, Steve Harrington is a good dude, and isn’t that the worst fucking thing in the world to realize right now? Steve Harrington had risked his life for a little kid he barely knows, a lady he’s probably only met in the grocery store check-out line, and a high schooler who’s guts he hated a few days before.
And now he’s dead.
Eddie keeps thinking about his last words. They keep running through his mind, steady enough to keep time with, even as his heartbeat speeds up enough to make his blood vessels feel tight. “I’ll see you at home.” Home being the Munson’s trailer. Home being where there’s a little boy and Eddie fucking Munson waiting for him to make it out alive.
Who says that?
Steve fucking Harrington promised to come home when there was no chance of making it out alive.
Will is still crying in Wayne’s recliner, and Eddie wishes, desperately that his Uncle were here now. He’d know how to comfort Will, how to get out of here. How to keep Steve safe.
But he’s not here, so Eddie kneels by the chair and hold Will’s hand while he cries. It could last hours or minutes. Eddie doesn’t know. He’s not really here.
Not when Will asks, “will Steve be okay?”
Not when he replies, “Steve’s like an action hero, Byers. He’ll be walking through that door at any moment.”
Not when Will’s answering silence echoes through the room like condemnation.  
His tears have dried on his face, sticky with salt. He doesn’t notice when Will reaches over and wipes them away.
Eddie Munson isn’t in the living room waiting for Steve Harrington to come through the door.
He’s still in the Byers’ hallway, watching King Steve raise his gun. There’s no fear on his face, just a heartbreaking mix of wistfulness and resolve.
Eddie wants to know what he was thinking in that moment, with that expression. Was he standing there with a monster in front of him, wishing more than anything that he was hiding back in Eddie’s bedroom all the while, knowing his rightful place was right there saving lives?
Was he back further still, both in that hallway, and in the cafeteria trading pudding cups with Carol Perkins, standing at the threshold of a realistic fantasy and an unending nightmare?
Maybe he wasn’t thinking anything at all.
Eddie will never know. Steve Harrington is dead. And Eddie wasn’t there.
“Eddie?” Will asks. He sounds scared. Eddie comes back. Steve said to keep Will safe, and he will. “You need water.”
Eddie laughs. It sounds more like he’s choking. “You’re the one crying, baby Byers.”
Neither of them comment on the dried tracks running down Eddie’s own cheeks.
Eddie’s knees feel like concrete as he gets up to go retrieve his backpack. It’s not by the door, not along the path from the entrance to the living room. He checks his bathroom and bedroom, can’t quite remember where he’s been. It’s not there.
“I think I left my backpack at your house,” Eddie says, then laughs, struck hysterical at the way it comes out. Like he’d just gone to Will’s house after school to hang out, and not to contact his Mom from the wrong side of the beyond.
“I still have mine,” Will says.
He slithers forward in the chair, giving himself enough room to slide it down his shoulders from where it’s still strapped to his back.
They only put two bottles in the kid’s pack, not wanting to bog him down, but it should be enough for today, at least.
As they drink from separate bottles, grimacing at the taste of silt, Eddie’s thinking about how he’ll have to get more water tomorrow. Without Steve. Should he go alone? Should he bring the kid? Should he curl up in a ball and die?
Steve took the only viable weapon and fucked off to die. It hits him suddenly; how goddamn angry he is. How dare he? Couldn’t he have pulled this shit a few days ago when his only attachment to Harrington was that he was another living person, that Eddie wouldn’t have to be alone? How could he do this, after they’d played D&D, and played truth and dare, and survived together.
Steve Harrington had carved out a little spot for himself in Eddie’s sternum and then went off to die.
He doesn’t notice his hands shaking until Will crouches in front of him, grabs the open water bottle, and caps it.
“Shit,” Eddie says. “Sorry, kid.”
“Steve will be okay,” Will says, like he believes it and not like he’s just repeating Eddie’s own bullshit back at him.
Eddie nods. The anger is sucked out of him as quick as it arrived. His chin is trembling, and it feels like a lozenge is stuck in his throat. He swallows it, coughs out a “yeah.”
Will pushes Eddie’s bangs back and almost petting him in a move he definitely learned from Mama Byers. At the edges of his eyesight, he can see his bangs spring back down at wonky angles. He doesn’t bother fixing it.
“He beat Xanathar, he can definitely kick a Demogorgon’s butt,” Will says, smiling with his lips, but not his eyes.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, trying for his usual pep, moving forward anyway when it falls flat. “He’s going to come bursting through the door at any moment on his noble stead and tell us tales of his vanquishment of the great evil.”
They smile at each other vacantly. Will folds himself into Eddie’s side. The warmth is comforting. Nice. Eddie slides his arm around the kid, pulling him closer.
They wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Will’s asleep, face pressed into his ribs, by the time Eddie’s eyes start drooping. The stressful day is catching up to him. The days of hunger and fear stacking on top of his eyelids, pulling them down. But he can’t sleep.
If he falls asleep, the day will be over, and Steve Harrington won’t have come back.
He fights it. He loses. He sleeps.
The door creaks when it’s opened – a rusty hinge Uncle Wayne’s meant to oil for years.
It’s not Sir Steven on his noble steed, with his sword held high in victory. No. It’s even better. Steve Harrington stands at the threshold, a little worse for wear. There’s a bloody scratch cutting across his forehead, heading alarmingly up and into his signature hair. His shirts muddy, and there’s a bruise blooming alone his cheekbone. But he’s breathing. He’s alive.
Eddie loses time again, but it’s okay now because he’s in front of Steve, and he’s looking into his pretty, brown, living eyes. He slaps his face, once, too hard. Doesn’t even notice his hand moved until the sound echoes through the room.
Eddie darts forward, kissing the spot, three times quickly. He’s smearing snot and tears across King Steve’s face, and he couldn’t care less.
He feels out of control, untethered and wild, until Steve wraps his arms around Eddie tight. Eddie hugs back, harder than he should when Steve’s injuries remain largely a mystery.
But if he doesn’t keep his hold on the other boy, he thinks he might shake apart.
“You’re alive,” he says, wet and shaking, voice muffled into Steve’s neck.
Steve laughs. It vibrates through Eddie’s cheek, shakes something loose in his chest. “Yeah.” It’s barely a breath, but he hears it. “I said I’d come home.”
Steve Harrington is alive. And he came home.
Part 20
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"you act like you just saw a Ghost."
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"all your games, all your lies"
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synopsis// satoru gojo is horrible at pranks.
pairing// satoru gojo x gn! reader
word count// 1.3k
contents// the prank in question is playing dead, maybe borderline hurt/comfort?, angst maybe but regardless there's a happy ending?
notes// this is how im coping. gege is just punking us that's all. i also just thought this was such a stupid oneshot idea i love it i think im such a fucking comedian for this. but this is kinda (very) half-assed... anywho it was inspired by the song ghost by fefe dobson (dont play with me rn.)
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"Satoru, I'm home!” 
When you get no response, you find yourself gazing about your eerily empty home. You hum to yourself. Odd. Satoru usually greets you right at the door.
“Satoru?” You call out again, trying to ignore how your anxiety rises as you slowly enter your bedroom.
Red immediately floods your vision; it’s everywhere. It’s on the walls, it’s on the bedsheets, it’s on the floor—there’s practically no place left untouched by the liquid. You swallow harshly and make a point to not step into the liquid that seems a little too similar to blood for comfort, albeit the task is to no avail because it's everywhere.
“Sato-“
Your voice dies in your throat the minute you see him on the ground. Satoru is laying there lifeless, covered in blood. There's no rise or fall of his chest, only an empty, vacant stare in his glossed-over eyes. You freeze. For far longer than you should have.
This isn't real.
This can't be.
There's no way Satoru is laying here dead, in a puddle of his own blood. You inhale harshly, not even aware you were holding your breath in the first place, as you drop down to your knees and crawl the rest of your way toward him, oblivious to the fact that you're now coated in just as much blood as he is. The moment you're by his side, It all hits you at once. Holy shit, Satoru is laying here in a puddle of his fucking blood. You hesitantly shake him.
“Satoru?”
You wait a second to see if he’ll say anything or do anything—even a twitch of his fingers would suffice, but nothing.
"Satoru, please,” you say, desperation flooding your voice as you shake him harder.
When nothing happens again, you shake him once more, but this time you don't stop. You simply keep shaking him, hoping that if you shake him hard enough, he’ll do something to prove he’s still alive.
"Satoru, this isn't funny." Your breathing is labored as panic fully seeps into your veins. "Satoru, wake the fuck up!” You slap his face, only for his head to merely loll to the side.
And that was the last straw. Suddenly you're thrown into a sob so violent it racks your whole body, shaking as you can do nothing but rest your head on his chest and sob for him to wake up, to stop messing around because this isn't funny, to just please wake up, yet he doesn't. You don't notice how his chest is starting to contract; you're sobbing so hard that you think it's just you who’s making him move, when suddenly a loud choke of laughter rings in your ears. You sit up immediately, still ugly-crying as you look down at Satoru, who is currently finding something absolutely hilarious.
Oh, you’ve lost it.
You’ve actually lost it; here you are hallucinating that your dead boyfriend is laughing.
Satoru wipes imaginary tears from his eyes. “Oh my god,” he says between laughs, “you should’ve seen your face!”
You blink at him, tears still freely flowing, as you lean back down and place your head against his chest.
“Whatcha doing?” 
“Shut the fuck up.” 
Satoru goes stiff but does as he’s told, and when you can hear his heart beating rhythmically, thumping perfectly fine as all hearts should, you grow cold, like maybe you’re the one who was actually dead a few seconds ago. You sit back up.
“Gonna tell me what you were doing now or-“
His sentence is interrupted by you abruptly standing up and screeching in a fit of anger, or maybe more so, betrayal, “You fucking asshole!”
Satoru, clearly taken aback, scrambles to stand up along with you, holding his hands out in front of him placatingly. "Woah, woah, babe, calm down-"
“Calm down?” You snap, staring at him with an animosity he’s never seen from you before. "Don't tell me to calm down when I thought you were just fucking dead!”
He sheepishly glances down at the fake blood-covered floor. “It was just a prank..."
“Fuck you!” And you snap, thrown head first into another sobbing fit, wrapping your arms around yourself in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself while you babble incoherently: "I don't—I can't."
Satoru’s heart breaks right inside his chest, and he doesn’t think he’s ever regretted anything more than his stupid idotic antics right now. He can't bear to see you like this; this might actually kill him. He can't take it. He can't take knowing that he’s the entire reason you're in this state in the first place. He takes a step closer, opening his arms up to hug you, and you flinch away from him the moment you notice.
"Don't touch me, Satoru.”
Satoru frowns, ignoring the tears stinging his eyes and the burning sensation of rejection that encompasses him whole. He thinks—no, he knows—that whatever he could say right now wouldn't help, but maybe giving you some space will, so he steps back and clears his throat. "I'm gonna go shower.”
You sniffle and turn away from him, brusquely waving him off. “Do whatever you want."
 ☆⋆。𖦹°‧★ 
Satoru walks out of the bathroom with one towel in hand, drying his hair, and finds you sitting on the edge of the bed. He can’t help but notice the new sheets laid out and how the room is squeaky clean, quickly realizing you were left with the unfortunate task of cleaning up the last remaining remnants of his prank as he showered. You finally notice him in the doorway, but you hardly even spare him a glance.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks as he makes his way toward you, tossing the towel on the floor before taking a seat next to you.
“You’re an asshole.”
"I know, I'm sorry,” he mumbles as he subtly scoots in closer toward you, and when you don’t bother moving away, he draws you into his arms, your back to his chest as he places his head on your shoulder. "I just wanted to play a prank on you.”
You stay stiff, refusing the innate need to melt into him. “You’re horrible at pranks.”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck and mumbles, "I know that now.”
You hum curtly, ignoring the shivers down your spine—though your resolve is very quickly turning nonexistent, you’ve never been anything but putty in his hands.
Satoru places chaste kisses against your neck, murmuring, “How long are you gonna torture me for?”
“Till you've thought about your actions.”
He pulls away from you and twists your body around so that you’re face-to-face. “I have! I thought about them the whole time in the shower.” He leans in and nudges his nose with yours, whispering, "I'm sorry.”
You stare at him blankly for a moment before sighing, your entire body sagging in relief as you finally give in to your desires and close the distance between you two. Satoru, overjoyed with the fact you’re kissing him, can’t help but return the favor with vigor. Each kiss is followed by him mumbling, "I'm sorry," and it goes on for god knows how long—though you don’t really care, you just care that he is alive, that he is kissing you, that he is here, and it was just a very poor, poor prank that hopefully he’ll never do again—no, a prank you’ll make sure he never does again. You take back the initiative and kiss him deeply, taking his bottom lip between your teeth that has a whine escaping Satoru’s mouth before it transforms into a full-on wince of pain from you biting him.
He pulls away abruptly, his fingers darting up to cradle his bottom lip. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”
You stare up at him innocently, even going as far as tilting your head to the side like you’ve done nothing wrong at all—though your facade is quickly shattered when you lean back in and Satoru instinctively leans back, but you grab him by the back of his neck, forcing his head in place harshly, whispering through a menacing smile, “If you ever pull something like that again, Satoru Gojo, I will personally make sure that you die by my hands.”
“…Noted.”
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toxicanonymity · 10 months
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the ghost
michael berzatto x reader x carmy berzatto
800 words / smutty imagine
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Summary: Mike, supposedly dead, shows up when Carmy is in Italy. One thing leads to another, and when Carmy gets back he's fine with it.
Warnings: I8+, P in V, cheating but come on
Imagine you're in a relationship with Carmy and you live together in a studio apartment.  He leaves you home while he and Richie take a trip to Italy.  While they're gone, there’s a knock on the door and your face goes cold when you open it and see Michael, Carmy's supposedly dead brother.  You never met Michael when he was "alive" and it's terrifying to have a ghost on your doorstep.  He looks a lot different from the pictures.  He’s filthy and has scars.  But he’s so polite and soft spoken, very disarming.  You let him in and he convinces you not to call Carmy. He tells you how he had to fake his death to save his family, including Carmy, from the mob. He's been living really rough off the grid and his story tugs at your heart.  He says he’ll get out of your way and return when Carmy is expected back. 
You don’t want to see him go.  You offer him a shower and a hot meal before he leaves.  He doesn’t want to put you out but you insist.  As soon as he goes into the bathroom you remember there’s a trick to the hot water you need to show him. 
You knock and he opens the door wearing just a towel, wrapped very, very low on his torso, exposing his v muscles. More scars on his broad pecs.  You pull your eyes back up and he smirks.   You’re salivating.  He lets you into the small bathroom to show him and before you leave, he holds the towel around himself with one hand and touches your hip with the other and whispers softly, “Hey.”  You lock eyes  “Thanks,” he smiles.  “Really appreciate it.” You leave him in the bathroom for his shower.  Oh boy, this is bad.
You start making spaghetti while he’s showering.  That’s a mistake - this guy makes better spaghetti than anyone.  He insists on showing you a thing or two in the kitchen.  He erotically handles the food. Your hands brush. You share several moments. You drink wine while you cook.  He holds a spoon of sauce up to your mouth for you to taste it and your eyes are desperately fucking each other as you slurp the sauce off.  He drops some on your chest and then brushes it off.  He gets really close to you like you're about to kiss, then awkwardly diverts himself at the last second apologetically.  After dinner, he thanks you for your hospitality and says he’s going to go.  You ask him where he’s going to stay, and he says he’ll figure it out, he always does. You insist he stay there.  
He’s a gentleman and says he’ll sleep on the couch even though he barely fits.  But you get up in the middle of the night and come out to the living room. He sits up, big biceps bulging out of the shirt you let him borrow from Carmy.  “What’s wrong, you okay?”  he asks. You tell him you’re overwhelmed, worried about Carmy, worried about him, moved by his story.  You ask Michael if he’ll hold you while you fall back to sleep. He says he doesn’t think he should.  But a few minutes after you get back in bed, he hears you crying.  He slides in behind you and spoons you.  “Hey, it’s okay, baby.”  His strong arms wrap around you.  “Shhh, it’s okay.” 
He presses gentle kisses into the nape of your neck, then his kisses become wet and his cock hardens against you.  You press your ass back into him and he thrusts against you.  “We can’t,” he mutters as he kisses below your ear and you’ve never been so wet.  “I know,” you say as you move his hand to cup your breast.  But the next thing you know, your shorts are pulled down and so are his, and he’s shoving himself into you and you’re moaning his name.  He fucks you like a man who hasn’t fucked in a very long time.  It feels so right, your bodies connected.  He’s like Carmy, but different.  And his cock is just made for you.  
Michael stays for breakfast, and then stays for the rest of the time until Carmy gets back.  You can’t keep your hands off each other.  When Carmy gets back, he’s shocked and overwhelmed.  The first time you’re eating dinner together, He senses something between you but that’s the least of his concern.  He’s so overjoyed that Michael is alive that he’s more than happy to share you.  Your first night back in bed with Carmy, he's so tender and loving and passionate. After he comes, he looks you in the eyes with those beautiful blue eyes. Then he presses his mouth to your neck and whispers, "thanks, baby"
"For what"
"For taking care of my brother."
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trouble follows
pairing: Jake Sully x Human!Reader
WC: 1K
warnings: cussing, quick mentions of death(basically nothing)
A/N: this is my first Jake Sully/avatar work. so it’s all over the place and doesn’t make the most sense. but i would definitely like to write for this world more (a new hyper-fixation) so if i do, bare with me since its a bit more complex than what im doing with stranger things.
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“Jake!”
That was the last time you said his name before he disappeared into the vast forest of Pandora as he ran away from a raging Thanator.
Your breathing was coming ragged and harsh, a hand falling atop your chest to try and force you to calm down, even though the situation wasn’t the best. You slumped over your bent knees with your eyes closed, really trying your hardest to not faint. 
A hand fell on your shoulder and another began to rub circles along your back, and you already knew it was Grace without opening your eyes.
“(Y/n), just breathe. In and out, in and out.” She rubbed your back slowly, “listen to the sounds of the forest, let it all wash over.”
When a few minutes passed and your heart rate slowed to a normal pace and your breathing was steady, you stood up and reopened your eyes to see Grace and Norm looking at you with concern before relief floods their reactions.
“Feeling better?” Grace’s motherly tone flicked your ears.
“Yeah, I’m fine. But- but we have to get Jake. It’s too dangerous for him to be on his own.” Your hands ran over your face and pushed your hair back.
“I know, we’ll all get in the chopper and fly around. Pretty sure that Jarhead knows how to survive.” Grace tried to joke, but you saw a glimpse of her frown.
The three of you hurried back to Trudy and Lyle and told them the situation.
“I bet fifty bucks, meals on wheels is dead already or will be by tonight.” Lyle looked around, maybe waiting for any opposing bets.
You threw a scowl his way, nose crinkled with a low growl rising in your throat, “how about you shut the hell up, Wainfleet. Jake’s smarter than you, he’ll live.” That made him quiet real quiet and you were thankful for the peace.
Trudy flew over the surrounding area for a few hours, you and Grace both with binoculars on either side of the open doors looking down below hoping to spot something blue and something moving.
With the sun slowly setting and Trudy telling Grace they need to call it in for the night, you already grew mournful.
“He’ll just have to wait until morning,” Trudy voiced over the radio before heading back to hell’s gate.
You turned your head away from the darkening forest and with pitiful eyes, looked to Grace as she mumbled, “he won’t make it to morning.”
-
The sun had been fully set for two hours, and Jake showed no signs of waking up from his avatar. But he also showed no signs that he’s dead, and you’re praying to Eywa that he comes back to you.
“(Y/n), why don’t you get some food?” Max voiced behind you as the both of you stood beside Jake’s link bed.
You just shook your head, eyes glued to the display screen showing Jake’s face and vitals. His eyes were moving under his lids and his heart rate was moving, you were worried the second you looked away something bad would happen to him.
You pick at the skin around your nail beds, the burn a mindful distraction from the tears that wanted to leak out your tear ducts, something you told yourself you would never do in this place, with all these people. You were a scientist to the lab people, an extra body to the money-hungry higher-ups, and a nuisance to the military.
But to Jake, you were someone who stuck by his side through all the shit he went through on Earth. A shoulder to lean or cry on, a hand to squeeze for comfort, a face to stare at lovingly and smoother in warm kisses. You were each other’s safety line and if you lost yours, you'd sink to the bottom of the ocean very quickly.
Loud beeping pulled your attention away from your worries and instead zoned in on Jake’s screen and saw his eyes open and his chest panting.
“Grace! Norm! He’s awake!” You screamed for them even though they were less than a foot away, along with Max still behind you.
The four of you crowded around the link pod, Max and Norm lifting the top and then pushing the wires away from Jake’s chest. You grabbed Jake’s clammy hand that was close to you as Grace leaned in with a light and checked his pupils.
“Jake, Jake can you hear me?” He just nodded at Grace’s question.
Max helped push his upper half forward, your free hand helping in supporting him from slumping backward. Grace tapped her hand against Jake’s cheek a few times to get his brain properly working again, you just ran your thumb over his knuckles.
“Come on, marine. Gotta get those few brain cells working,” His eyelids fluttered and his pupils sized down, “there we go.”
You leaned in closer, hand abandoning his knuckles and moving it to rest against his cheek when Grace pulled away. His head leaned into your touch and rested his larger hand over yours.
“Oh Jake,” your forehead leaned into the side of his head, buzz cut tickling your face, “please don’t ever do something like that again. For the sake of my sanity, please don’t.”
“You think…you think I wanted to be chased by a- a-“
“A Thanator, marine.”
Jake just chuckled at Grace’s tone, “yeah.”
Your thumb continues its constant motion of rubbing along Jake’s cheek, “yeah, I do. Cause you cause trouble wherever you go.”
He just scuffed but didn’t say anything else while staying in your hold.
“Okay lovebirds. This is lovely, but Jake,” Grace leaned forward, “where is the avatar? Is it safe?”
Jake let a grin spread and a short laugh out while looking her dead in the eye, “oh, it’s safe. And you won’t believe where it is right now.”
You pulled away to look at his smug face, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
His grin just widened.
Trouble
....
might make a part two if anyone wants/i feel up to it.
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clonemando · 5 months
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Haunted Clone Week
Written for the Day 1 prompt: Dark between the Stars
@clonefandomevents
AO3 version here
Ponds is left abandoned in space after he is shot but that doesn't mean he's dead.
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Ponds wasn’t dead. He should have been seeing as he had been shot in his head and then spaced. But somehow he wasn’t dead. The pain had been intense but then the cold had numbed it until it faded away. The burning of lungs without oxygen had done the same. He knew, logically, that without a pressurized suit he should have imploded or something but instead he just… drifted. Between specs of light he knew were lightyears away. He only felt cold and numb and… empty. 
He had so much he had wanted to do still. He had a letter in his bunk that was unaddressed that still needed to be left on a certain other Commander’s desk. He had a little blue and white stuffed tooka doll that had carefully sewn jaig eyes on its forehead he had wanted to give to Rex. He had a tin of specialty caff he had forgotten to tell his General about that was supposedly both tasty and good for helping headaches. So much was left behind and all he could do was think about how now he’ll never get the chance. 
It could have been minutes or days or years as Ponds drifted through space with his path fueled only by the momentum caused by being forcefully ejected from the ship and the gravitational pull of the nearest stars. He wondered if this was what death was. Was it your consciousness existing in your body even when all life in it was gone? Would he be trapped like this for the millions of years it took for his body to eventually get dragged into a star until he burnt away? Would he keep existing even then? Were stars filled with the souls of all they had devoured all watching without any way to cry out or be seen? 
Another lifetime or just a few more minutes passed. The darkness around him seemed to cradle him like he was in some sort of dark water. It reminded him of being in a bacta tank and then it dug deeper and brought back memories he didn’t know he had of being in a tube floating in a warm thick fluid. It made him think of the first time he swam in one of the many irrigation channels on Kamino that caught rain water and funneled it into basins where the water could be purified into something drinkable for humanoid species. He had always loved the water. Cody had suggested they call him fish or frog but it had been Fox that came up with the name he kept. Ponds. It had been a joke. Something about how he was always calm when the rest of them weren’t and his love of water and something about mud had been brought up but he had liked it. He wanted to be a place his brothers felt at peace and safe. He liked the idea of being a little messy but full of life and surprises. Not as mucky as a swamp, not as grand as a lake. Just a little pond. 
He missed his family. He missed Wolffe’s gruff love and Cody’s warm hugs and Fox’s sharp wit. He missed Bly running his fingers through his hair when he would rest his head on his brother’s thigh while Bly was working on a training module. How long has it been? Did they remember him? Did they cry over him dying? Bly definitely would have cried. Wolffe likely would have needed to punch something until all the feelings went away. Bly didn’t know how Cody would have reacted to the news. At this point so many of them had died, was Cody already numb to losing their brothers? Fox probably was. He had already told them how hard it was on triple zero and how fast they went through troops because the senators wanted them decommissioned any time they messed up. They all supported him the best they could but it was hard being so far away. 
The darkness was growing. Ponds had been staring at the same little speck of light now for ages and it was getting dimmer. There was nothing else to do by this point. He had given up on trying to figure out why he was aware and he had gotten bored of hypotheticals on how his brothers were reacting to things. He had been trying to figure out where he was based on what he could see and what he had known about where they had been headed. He was pretty sure the light he was looking at was near Coruscant or in that same direction… maybe. It was hard to tell. He really was just in empty space. No planets close enough to make out. No stars close enough to be more than a distant dot. He started doing calculations on how long it would take for light from Coruscant to reach where he thought he might be on a galactic map and then subtracting that from the timeline he knew from galactic history to try to figure out when the light he was seeing might have been from. 
Cody had always said he was a nerd. He liked math and equations and filling out data forms. He liked puzzles that could be solved and hard facts that added up nicely. He was proud of his scores in astrophysics. If his numbers were right then he was looking at Coruscant back before the cities were even first built. It would still have oceans at this point. If he could zoom in his eyes to see it in detail instead of just a white flickering dot, he might even be able to see land there. He remembered learning that the Taung had lived there first… those who would create the Mandalorians… would they still have been the primary species? It might have been from even before them. 
A ship suddenly stopped near Ponds from hyperspace and he felt a tractor beam start tugging his body toward a cargo hatch. His mind had stopped processing things ages ago so he couldn’t remember if he knew this ship or not. It felt familiar.
“I have retrieved the body. The boy didn’t lie about the coordinates. It’s covered in… some sort of inky stuff but I’ll clean it before we arrive back at the temple so it can receive a proper funeral.” A familiar voice said as Ponds’ body was dumped on the floor of the hold. Ponds felt the pain returning and groaned, his body starting to spasm causing the being that dragged him from space to jump back in fear. 
Ponds slowly came back to his mind. He was wrapped in cold but it was comfortable. He slowly moved his fingers and relaxed as they moved as he willed them despite now being the same empty black color as the space he had been left in. 
“You’re supposed to be dead! How are you alive?!” A voice filled with terror said and he looked at them with eyes filled with starlight as their blaster shook from where it was pointed at him. 
“I am dead.” He muttered and ignored it as the being shot him twice when he finally stepped forward. He took the blaster and snapped it in half with his hands like it was nothing but a twig. 
He didn’t know what he was now but it wasn’t living and that meant he couldn’t die. Which was good because he had things to do. 
“I already got shot, I’d like to not be shot anymore. Can you take me to my General Mace Windu?” He asked and grinned when the spacer nodded and ran for the cockpit.
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solanumofthestars · 11 months
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Stay at My House
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AN: Under the cut :)
Rating: M 
Tags: romance, friendship, flirting, kissing, implied/referenced nsfw, angst, tenderness- more under cut
Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Luis Serra
Characters: Ashley Graham, Luis Serra, Leon S. Kennedy
Word Count:  9.8k
Summary: "I’ve been lonely for too long. As have you.”
A short AU fic where Luis successfully helps Leon and Ashley escape, and then, to his own surprise, successfully invites Leon to his apartment.
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Tags: one-sided infatuation from Ashley's side / friendship / Ashley is friends with Luis and Leon / drinking / smoking / romance / Implied/Referenced Sex / Kissing / Flirting / AU / AU where Luis lives / Angst / Tenderness / Humor / the romance is centered on Luis and Leon as the tags reflect / Swearing / Luis taking care of Leon and Ashley / Ashley goofing about with Luis / And having a bit of a heart to heart
Author Note: I hope you enjoy this short AU fic. It certainly turned out to be longer than expected. Title an obvious inspiration from the song "I Really Want to Stay at Your House", but much fic inspiration was taken from Donkeyboy's "Stay", "We Can Be Friends", "All Up to You", and "Darkest Night", as well as YYY's "Maps". Apologies for any mistakes- fic has been proofread twice. Thank you for reading :) Cross-posted to ao3.
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“Let’s put him down over there, on the big chair with all the medical…” Luis waved his hand.  “...things,” he said. He didn’t want to say energy blasters. 
“Will it save him?” Ashley asked. She was beside herself, holding back tears for what seemed like the fifth time in the past hour. 
“I used it before, and it worked- it has no business not working.” The words may have been confident, but in reality, Luis was full of doubt. The parasite he had removed from himself was slightly different from what Leon and Ashley had been injected with, and to make matters worse, his parasite hadn’t been stalled with suppressants. 
If someone held a gun to his head and asked about the odds, he’d bluntly say that Ashley’s chances were better. The suppressant had been administered to her only a few hours ago, making its effect minimal. The parasite would be more visible and easier to extract. Leon, however, had already taken two doses- one 10 hours ago, and another an hour ago.
As if they didn’t have enough problems already, the suppressant clearly wasn’t working properly on Leon anymore. Yes, Leon’s mind wasn’t ‘dead’, but he was half-conscious and he could barely walk. His veins were dark, and his blue eyes were turning into a hideous reddish-brown. Luis suspected that the accelerated effect was because of all the physical activity and injuries Leon had sustained, unlike Ashley, who had been for the most part stationary due to her captivity. It was a ridiculous silver lining that allowed her body to put up a better fight, unlike Leon’s body seemed to be on the verge of giving up.
He and Ashley managed to get Leon on the chair, despite his weak pushes and mumbled protests. “He’ll be fine, Luis began to say, “but we need to get him-” 
Leon grabbed his wrist. “Ashley….first,” he spat out, eyes dark and fierce. 
“No Leon! Shut up!” Ashley yelled as she began to wrestle him into the chair. She was crying, her tears falling all over Leon’s arm. 
“You heard the lady, cowboy.” Luis pulled Leon’s wrist away and positioned his arm in, ignoring the “no’s” coming from the man. “Miss Ashley over here has a good few hours, maybe even a day. But you, my friend?” Luis adjusted the contraption hanging above the chair. “Like 10 minutes.” An exaggeration, but he hoped that it would be enough to get Leon to listen.
Finally, Leon stopped struggling. Thank god he was weakened. He was ridiculously strong, and if he hadn’t been semi-unconscious, they wouldn’t be able to stop him from climbing out. 
“Quickly…” Leon croaked out. His breathing was labored.
So Luis hit the button. And it was horrific, and he was wringing his hands, and Ashley had her hands over her mouth to stifle her scared cries. But he couldn’t comfort her- he had to be alert and watch the machine do its thing, praying to the God he did not believe in anymore. it had to  work. It had to. Leon saved his life more than once. The very least he could do was return the favor. 
<>><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The lab used to be a cold, stifling place, especially since Luis began to feel overwhelming guilt about what he had done. But now, it was a source of comfort, nay- a safe haven, despite its overall ransacked and dirty appearance.
The parasite had been extracted from both Leon and Ashley successfully. The procedure, as he had predicted, was a lot less taxing for Ashley,. After a few minutes she was already sitting up next to him in a chair, wrapped up in a blanket. Leon, on the other hand, was lying down on a nearby cot, in a shallow slumber from the pain medicine Luis had injected him with. During the trashing during the procedure, Leon’s wounds had opened up, and they had needed stitching. 
Luis glanced at Ashley. She was looking at Leon with deep concern, along with a hint of undeniable infatuation. Not that he could blame her. Mr. Leon Kennedy had bewitched him as well. 
"He'll be alright," he reassured her. "Our squire here is a strong man."
Ashley gave him a weary smile. "Do you think you could..." She shifted in her seat and pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. "...you could take a look at him again?"
"I just did, but sure." Luis patted Ashley's shoulder and made his way to Leon. He sighed. Leon seemed to be breathing regularly and calmly, and his muscles seemed relaxed, but the furrowed eyebrows and frowning lips betrayed the tension on his face. No doubt he would have fought sleep if he had the strength, but thankfully, he didn't. 
And if Leon did, he would make sure to inject him with another dose of painkillers. Problematic nature of the action aside, Luis suspected that this was one of the few ways Leon could relax in any way, shape, or form. 
Either way, everything else looked good; Luis did not fancy himself a doctor in the traditional sense, but he knew how to check a pulse, do and check stitches, apply injections, check for trauma and broken bones, and apply antiseptic - something he noticed one of Leon's wounds could use. 
As he applied the antiseptic, Luis studied Leon, glancing every other second at a different feature of his. The soft lips, calloused hands, muscular chest and arms, surprisingly clear skin, the lovely blond hair. And to think he was seeing it slightly greasy, dirty and unkempt- it must be a wonder to behold after being washed. 
But the lips, oh the lips. Thin and usually pursed but undeniably soft-looking. 
Perhaps he should feel somewhat guilty for gawking unapologetically, but he couldn’t. Luis gently ran his fingers down the length of Leon’s left arm, partially to check his veins for the virus, and partially to have yet another excuse to touch him as he looked him over once more. 
Oh he was attractive, painfully so. While his first meeting with Leon was fraught with disappointment and fear, followed by annoyance and fear again, curiosity got the better of him. That curiosity very quickly morphed into an infatuation, one he couldn’t help express with obvious flirting that without a doubt flew over Leon’s head. 
“Luis?” Ashley was now standing behind him, peering at Leon. 
“Right, uh, he’s good.” Luis awkwardly patted Leon’s shoulder. “Just needs to rest a little more. Let’s give him some room.”
He walked back to his chair, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Ashley gently touch Leon’s shoulder before sitting back down in her seat next to him.
Ashley was a lovely woman, and it was a shame she got so brutally introduced to the underlying horrors of science. Well, at least as much as one could call it science. Ever since he had started working for Umbrella, everything had comically veered into a mess of science-fiction and fantasy, all cloaked in greed, betrayal, hate and conspiracy theories that would make the founding fathers of capitalism proud. Ah well, he couldn’t be too angry about that- he was able to barter his safety thanks to it. 
Huh, he had access to a computer. Maybe the mysterious yet beautiful Ada left him a message. Luis chuckled to himself as he thought about her. Looks like Hollywood movies were true- secret agents were hot. 
He started typing and clicking, figuring he’d also back up the information on it. Wouldn’t hurt, and he could use it to barter even further. Saddler’s fucking idiotic henchmen ransacked the lab without checking for any cloud backups. Morons. . Fuck, they didn’t even bother cracking a password that was quite literally written on a post-it note taped to the monitor screen. And they didn’t even properly look for the amber, which was now safely on his person. Although he should not have been surprised with this level of incompetence, especially considering how virus affected the brain. 
“So…what are you doing?” Ashley asked. She looked a lot calmer, but the weariness in her eyes was telling. 
Luis gave her what he hoped was a charming smile. “Backing up some information. And doing something no self-respecting scientist would do in a lab.” He pulled out his pack of smokes and lit up a cigarette.
Ashley laughed, and he offered her a cigarette, which she, predictably, declined. “I would go for a drink though,” she said. 
“Ah, good thinking.” He pointed at her in approval. “Let’s see….” He rolled his chair to a cabinet in the corner, hoping that the bottle of Metaxa was still stashed behind a collection dated, dusty files.
It was. 
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, and held up the bottle. Ashley gave him a thumbs up.
“It’s room temperature but hey, it’s still good. Oh wait…” They had no glasses. “Looks like we will have to drink straight from the bottle, if you’re alright with that.”
“I am,” she said, and gestured for him to pass her the alcohol. God knew the girl needed a drink. She took a big gulp, coughed a little, and then took another. 
Ah, a true American college girl. 
“I don’t even know what this is,” she laughed. “Cognac?”
“Technically not, although it’s often compared to it,” he said, taking the bottle from her and taking a swig himself. “It’s an…” he trailed off, and scoffed. 
“It’s a what?” Ashley asked.
He passed the bottle back to her and shook his head. “A kind of Greek amber spirit.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, the mouth of the bottle frozen inches away from her lips. 
“Just because of the color, nothing else,” he assured, raising his hand. An uncanny coincidence, truly. 
Ashley thought about it for a moment, shrugged, and then took another sip. 
Were it not for the horrendous circumstances, this would be an amicable social evening. Luis loved company of any kind, and made friends with ease, no matter their age, nationality, or gender. And this company was not only very nice, but particularly interesting- a shame one of them was unconscious, but hopefully, he’d be able to talk to Leon some more before they made their way out of this whole mess.
Because after that, he’d either have to run away and go into hiding, or he’d be caught and put into jail or forced to work for the American government.  Or the Spanish government. Who the fuck knew anymore. His life was a fucking mess. 
“Ow, fuck, mierda,” he hissed. He had reached over to the computer, irritating his shoulder wound. 
“Are you alright?” Ashley asked, putting her hand on his knee. 
“It’s fine, just…that fucking knife wound really stings.” And it probably hit the bone too, fuck. But at least he wasn’t dead. Had Leon not yanked him to the side, that fucking G.I. Joe freak would have hit him square in the back, most likely making him bleed to death in minutes. 
“Luis, can I ask what happened exactly? Leon didn’t really say....”
“I’m not surprised. Here, give me that.” He motioned for the bottle, and took another sip before recounting what had happened. 
As soon as the blade slammed into my shoulder,  I hit the floor and blacked out immediately- the pain was fucking horrendous. Thankfully, I woke up fairly quickly, only to see Leon struggling with this Krauser dude, yelling about betrayal, mentorship, and whatever else. Shit, I didn’t care. I got up to my knees and fired three rounds into this motherfucker’s back. He dropped, but then began changing into one of those things, only worse. He had a blade for an arm, and his flesh was all plagas-like. Horrific. He sighed, and took a drag from his cigarette. Ashley was awkwardly holding the bottle, and looking down. She mumbled that Krauser was the one that arranged her kidnapping. He expressed his remorse, and assured her he wasn't a threat anymore. As you will find, we managed to kill him. He continued.  True, I was still stunned from the wound in my shoulder, but I did my best to help. I even stabbed Krauser with the sharp end of a rusty pipe. Ha. But…Leon was the one to kill him. Stabbed him right through the heart, while the other encouraged him to do it. From what I gather this dude had trained Leon, so there was some connection.”
Ashley finally looked up at him. “Leon must not have taken it well.”
Luis shook his head. “He did not. He stared at his lifeless corpse for a good minute, his bottom lip trembling. I thought he would cry. He then went off to the side and sat in silence for a good few minutes.” He finished the cigarette, and threw it to the ground- this place was filthy either way. “He eventually snapped out of it, and helped me with my wound, but yeah, nasty stuff.”
Ashley nodded solemnly. “Shame about your jacket,” she commented with a sympathetic smile, looking at the bloodied piece of clothing thrown over the edge of a desk. 
“Hey, at least it looks cool now,” he quipped. He fully intended to get it fixed, but for now, he’d have to just waltz around in his simple white shirt. 
She smiled at him. “You look good in that too,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. 
He in turn gave her a light smirk and jutted his chin out. “Why Miss Ashley, thank you.” After all, he had the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, just like the ladies liked. “I see my charms have worked. And that you know how to utilize yours, hm?”
She laughed. “Maybe. I’m not too good at this stuff.”
“Ah, you’re still better than our squire over here.” He nodded at the still sleeping Leon. “I sometimes wonder if he even realizes when he’s being flirted with.”
“Oh my god I know right?” Ashley exclaimed. She then furrowed her eyebrows. “Wait…”
Luis nodded in acknowledgement. 
“I thought you were a ladies man, Luis,” Ashley said, an amused smile on her face.
“I mostly am, but…I sometimes also am a gentleman’s man.” He lit another cigarette.  “Especially if the man in question is so enticing.” And sexy.
“Yeah….” Ashley trailed off wistfully.
“So I think it’s safe to say you like him too, Miss Ashley?”
Her shy smile confirmed it immediately. "It's hard not to. He's so…nice."
An understatement to be sure. "That he is," Luis said. "And interesting that it was something you've noticed as well."
"How do you mean?"
He motioned for the bottle which Ashley was clutching. "Leon is wide, muscley, very handsome, very pretty, and very capable. We have both seen him fight and we know he is capable of impressive acts of violence against those who deserve it, something some people may find attractive." Luis took another swig, noting that somehow they had already gotten through a  fourth of the bottle. "And yet what is perhaps most striking is how willing he is to help others. I've known him for what, 24 hours, and he's saved me at least five times. He technically didn't have to. And he would be even right to let me die. But he didn't."
"Luis don't say that…" Ashley trailed off. 
"I eventually figured out what Umbrella was doing, and I still stupidly stuck around."
"Well if you hadn't, you wouldn't be here, and you wouldn't have helped me and Leon."
Luis cocked his head. "You have a point, senorita." He winked. “And since you two plan to be around for a while, perhaps you will get Leon interested in you, hm?"
Ashley grinned. "I plan to ask him to join my detail. Dad wouldn't oppose it." She sighed. "Especially since I will probably end up sequestered somewhere. Having Leon would make it better."
"Good plan, good plan." Luis nodded along, not at all jealous. 
"But…I don't know how I feel about him. I certainly like him, but I wonder how much of it is just a normal attraction and how much…you know." Ashley gestured, unsure of what to say.
"Stockholm syndrome?" Luis asked.
Ashley gave him a horrified look, and he realized he made a mistake. "No wait, that's not it!" He exclaimed. That was for kidnappers. "...Ah, shining knight syndrome?" Fuck. His English was good, but he still frequently lost himself in all the idioms and metaphors. 
Oh, and now Ashley was laughing at him. "I'm sorry it's just, I’m not making fun of you, but when you said Stockholm syndrome, I thought of those freaks, and-" She descended into a fit of hysterical giggles, and he with her. The idea of any of them being a romantic interest was a terrifying and morbid thought, but clearly the alcohol was doing its job, making them silly and giggly. He had to admit he was already feeling tipsy, as was Ashley no doubt.
"I'm sorry Ashley, I-" he coughed, trying to make himself stop laughing. 
"No it's okay, I needed a good laugh.” She straightened up in her chair and took a deep breath. “Either way, I know what you mean. I may be more influenced by how heroic he’s being. Even though he says it’s his job.”
“Exactly,” Luis said. “Nothing wrong with that, but if anything, you will probably get a better read once you have known each other, er, outside these lovely circumstances.”
“Yeah,” Ashley said, nodding slowly. “I do know that no matter what, I would want to be friends with him. I even asked him if he could maybe train me to be an agent, but he didn’t seem too excited about that…”
Luis tsked. “That’s not surprising, I think.”
“Really? You don’t think he was just blowing me off?”
He shook his head. “Nah. He just doesn’t want you to be involved with such horrors.”
“Well I will be involved anyway.” She sounded indignant. “I will either be an agent, or go into science like you so I can study this virus and stop others from using it. I can easily switch my major, I’m already taking biolog-”
“No no, I am a scientist and I am telling you to not do that. Look at me.” He pointed to himself. “Look at the situation I am in.” He clapped. “Become a medical doctor instead. You can still help people, right?”
“Yeah, I guess….I also was, or am still I guess, studying to become a lawyer.”
“That’s very noble. And still useful. I wouldn’t abandon it.” He put his hands up. “Apologies if my advice is a bit too forward, it’s not like I know much about you and really-”
Ashley shook her head. “No, I appreciate it. It’s nice to talk to someone about it.” She smiled and reached out to hold his hand. “Thanks Luis.” 
“Of course. Can I kiss your hand?” He cocked his eyebrow.
Ashley nodded/ “Of course sir!” She giggled, and he readily acquiesced, placing a soft kiss just above her knuckles. “Since I’m giving bad advice- you could always marry someone rich and just use their money to further your own goals.You’re the president’s daughter- you’re a catch!”
Ashley had just been in the middle of taking another sip, but pulled the bottle away to stop herself from spitting the alcohol out everywhere. “Oh my gosh pfft….” 
They both descended into laughter again, laughter that was interrupted by a groggy, deep voice. “Ashley?” Leon was attempting to get up, and squinting his eyes at them with a confused expression. 
“Leon!” Ashley exclaimed. She put the now half-empty bottle down with a thud and rushed to his side. 
Luis slowly followed. 
Ashley had thrown her arms over a still half-lying down Leon, and he was warmly hugging her back.  “You’re okay.” he said, a smile on his face. 
“Of course she is,” Luis said, having already made his way to them. “Got on the machine right after you, and got the virus blasted out of her with great success.”
Leon looked at Ashley, who was sitting on the side, her hand on Leon’s thigh. She smiled at him. “I’m alright, thanks to Luis. And you’re alright too, thanks to him.” 
“Yeah, thanks,” Leon said.
Perhaps it wasn’t the most eloquent of thanks, but Luis could tell how sincere Leon was. His eyes betrayed a mixture of overwhelming gratefulness and relief, even though his sunken cheeks and bags under his eyes displayed his sadness like a neon sign above a shitty convenience store. 
“My pleasure. I told you I wanted to help. But you-”
There was a distant rumble, followed by a light shake. 
“We’ll talk later, we need to go,” Leon said. “Luis, you said you need to pick something up?”
He grabbed one of his over shoulder bags and rushed over to the computer and pulled out the CD backup containing all his notes, research and messages.  “Yeah, I don’t think I will be able to. I will just count on you to get me off this island.” He shoved in some medical supplies too, just to be safe.
“Of course!” Ashley exclaimed. 
“But you will have to lead us out of here first,” Leon said. He was now up, fully alert, and in battle mode. His eyes were darting around, and his gun was drawn. 
“Naturally, my prince charming,” he curtsied, which earned a laugh from Ashley, and a glare from Leon. Fuck they were both still tipsy. Here’s to hoping they didn’t trip over their own feet.
“Shut the hell up and go!” Leon yelled.
He shrugged and broke into a jog. “You know, I just saved your life, you should be more appreciative of that!” he called out. They ran out of the lab and made a left turn- the corridor should take them to a concealed entrance that led to the cliff sides. 
“I’m about to not be if you don’t stop with this needless commentary,” Leon grumbled.
Damn. Leon made it just too easy to annoy him. 
“And now if you look to your right you will see this amazing cement wall lined with only hints of blood,” Luis began to say in a cheery voice, “-and up ahead we will make a right and see the lovely Los Illumindos labs-”
Ashley was already laughing, and he could only imagine how furiously Leon was pouting. “Are you two drunk?” he asked. 
Oh fuck, he must have noticed the bottle. “Of course not- that would be irresponsible.” He turned around and winked at Ashley who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. 
“Anyway, as you so rudely interrupted, if we take a right over here you will see some delightful tunnels-”
This went on for the whole 3 minutes of them escaping. At one point he caught a glimpse of Leon’s annoyed yet resigned face, and it nearly made him double over in laughter. To make matters even better, Ashley giggled and sometimes joined in on his stupid comments throughout the whole thing.
“And here we are, end of tour!” Luis exclaimed. They had emerged onto a wide wooden walkway on the cliffs that stretched both up and down the steep rocks. “Now if we just go up this ladder, a helicopter can easily pick us up.”
“About that…” Leon trailed off. “It blew up, and I lost contact. My comms are down.” 
Ashley looked at Leon worried, and Luis threw his head back and sighed. “It seems I have to do everything. Let’s go.” They would try to make a run to the small cave wharf the walkway led to, and hope to god that the motorboat used to make supply runs was still there along with its keys. 
The earthquakes were becoming more frequent. Luis could only guess what they meant. The lack of any kind of ganados or any other variety of henchmen led him to believe that Saddler had been defeated, or was in the process of being defeated. 
Luis’ theory was confirmed when they miraculously found the motorboat intact with its keys and managed to put some distance between themselves and the island. Through Leon’s binoculars, he watched the mysterious Ada launch a rocket straight into a mutated Saddler's face. 
Leon smiled when he had a look himself. "Ada," he softly said. 
"Ada?" Luis asked. "So you know her then?"
"We go back," Leon said, not offering any more explanation. 
"She saved us before,"Ashley chimed in. "Do you think she will be alright Leon?"
Just then, a helicopter flew over them, clearly landing where Ada was.
"Yeah, she will be fine," Leon said. He had a wistful, tired look on his face. It was obvious that there was some romantic involvement, and Luis had to admit he was deathly curious, but there was no way in hell he would get it out of Leon.
He then noticed there was blood seeping through Leon’s bandages on his right arm and shoulder.  "Joder, Leon you're bleeding again.” 
"Leave it, we will be picked up soon," Leon said, in a vain attempt to wave him off. Like hell. 
Luis asked Ashley to pass him his bag, and began working on Leon, despite his protests that he was steering the motorboat. 
"We have open sea in front of us, you won't crash into anything."
"Can I help?" Ashley asked. She was scooting over closer to the both of them, careful not to get up- while the boat was not going very fast, the boat was rocking a fair amount.  
"Actually yes, pass me my tote bag," he said. 
He got to work as carefully as he could-thankfully Leon slowed and kept the boat sturdy, while calling someone to arrange a pick up place. 
"And we have Luis Serra with us….no I did not arrest him,he saved me and Baby Eagle."
"I'm saving you now!" He exclaimed while gently wrapping the bandage around Leon's muscular arm. The person on the other end better have heard him. 
Leon gave him an amused smirk. "Copy, will bring him to the extraction point."
"Wait what?" Luis asked. "Am I getting arrested, American? Technically you can't do that, I'm a Spanish citizen."
"What?! Luis is getting arrested?!" Ashley exclaimed, "Leon you can't-" She was pulling out a fresh bandage from the bag.
"Relax, it's not like that, they just want to ask you some questions," Leon said. 
Luis scoffed and shrugged. "Looks like I don't have a choice." 
"By the way are you done?" Leon asked. Luis had just finished redressing the wound on his forearm. 
"No, now your shoulder. Nurse!" 
"Yes doctor," Ashley laughed, handing him a neatly rolled bandage.  
"Great," Leon grumbled, a slight smile on his face. Regardless, he still dutifully lifted his right arm so his companions could fix it. 
"You seem to overstrain your right arm, Leon," Luis said. His fingers neatly danced around Leon's shoulder, swiftly wrapping the clean bandage around the bruised and wounded areas strewn all over his shoulder blade. "Injured your left?"
"Yeah, gunshot wound, six years ago."
Luis tsked. "That would do it." He tucked in the end of the bandage, pulling Leon's sleeve down to keep it in place. His hand lingered longer than it should have, ever so lightly gliding against Leon's shoulder blade. "21 years old huh? You started early."
"Yeah, I did," Leon said, not turning to look at him.
Luis started to realize that the man before him most likely had had a very tragic, upsetting past, not unlike him. He wanted to find out more, but before he could attempt further conversation, Ashley loudly coughed.
Both him and Leon whipped their heads around to look at her, Leon immediately asking if she was okay. 
"I think so, I mean, I'm pretty sure I got pneumonia." She gave them an awkward smile, but it was clear the same thought had crossed her mind as theirs. 
"Mierda, I should listen to your lungs, but I won't hear shit in this boat and without a stethoscope, but here..." He took her hand and began to take her pulse. 
It was alright. "Now look at me…" He moved close, looking into her eyes, specifically the sclera. No trace of the virus. 
"Now let me just take a look at your arms…" He ran his fingers up her forearm, applying pressure to key points. He noticed Leon glancing at them, clearly concerned. 
Everything looked in order. "You seem to be alright," he gave a reassuring smile. "But doctor first thing. And don't spare details about what you were affected with. I assume the American government knows about the virus, umbrella, all that?" He turned to look at Leon. 
"That's classified." He answered. "But…that's part of why they want you around. Just in case."
"Go figure." He sighed. 
To his surprise, Ashley took his hand. "I'm not going to let them lock you up somewhere, Luis."
"Oh querida," he leaned in for a hug, and Ashley eagerly reciprocated. He could feel the relief and exhaustion seeping out of her tired body. "You want in Leon?" Luis craned his head around to ask, knowing full well the squire had to steer. 
"Very funny." He shook his head. "And also heads up- we're here." 
 <><><><><><><><><>
Before the secret service carted Ashley away, she managed to say goodbye to both Luis and Leon.
First, she took Leon to the side, and while Luis could not hear anything they said, it was clear she was offering him to join her security detail. Leon looked at her with a tired smile, and he could tell by his body language that he was politely declining. Thankfully, Ashley did not seem too broken about it, especially since he had leaned down to let her give him a kiss on the cheek. They then hugged tightly, after which Ashley pointedly ignored the increasingly frustrated agents to also give him a hug. 
“He let you down easy?” Luis whispered as they hugged. 
She laughed. “He didn’t let me entirely down. He gave me his email and phone. See?” She showed Luis a shakily written number along with a very interesting email address: [email protected]
It certainly wasn’t Leon’s professional email. 
“Luis?” Ashley looked at him. “Please stay in touch. I know we already exchanged emails but…please write me. I’ll write you!”
He sighed and cocked his head. “You want to stay in touch with a horrible person like me?”
“Don’t say that.” She quietly said, choked up. “You’re really wonderful, and your knowledge can help others. It’s what you want to do, right?”
“Yes.” He shrugged. “Okay, I give up. I will write you.” He smiled, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She hugged him again, and then, she was climbing into the helicopter.
Luis slowly walked to Leon’s side, watching as the machine took off into the sky. He wondered how they would be shipped out, and more importantly- to where. He  took a deep breath, and rubbed his shoulder. The wound hurt like hell, and wherever they were headed, he hoped that there’d be some medical care.
“How’s the shoulder?” Leon softly asked. 
“Oh, now you ask, it’s-” Luis did a double take. He had turned to look at Leon, fully expecting to be met with a hardened, somewhat pouty stare he had grown so accustomed to seeing over the past hours. Instead, he was met with a man who had dropped his entire facade. 
Exhaustion was too weak of a word to describe what he was seeing. Leon was slouching, his arms were crossed, hands gripping his own biceps in a self-soothing way. The bags under his eyes had somehow increased ten-fold, and his lips were turned up into a weary half-smile, one that said ‘if I take another step I’ll keel over’.  It looked like he wanted to faint, but was fighting the urge to do so, instead sort of clumsily swaying, shifting his weight from one foot to another. 
Fuck. This man needed to be put on bed rest immediately.
“-it’s, it’s fine.” Luis finally finished his sentence, forgoing any intention of giving Leon shit.
“Some day, huh?” Leon quipped. Fuck, his voice was so shaky.
“Leon, my friend, you need to have yourself examined by a medical professional, now,” Luis insisted, walking up to him. He guided him to a nearby bench overlooking the sea, coaxing him to sit down. “I assume that these people out there in the back are arranging for your transport?” he asked.
“Yeah, they’ll get a helicopter to take me, and you, to the American embassy. I don’t know what will happen from there,” Leon muttered. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. 
“That’s not important- you need a doctor.” He put his hand on Leon’s back, and to his surprise, Leon didn’t shake it off. In fact, his body twitched and ever so slightly leaned in towards him, as if he wanted to be hugged. But instead, he stiffened, and he continued to silently hold his head in his hands.
This needed to be fucking sped up. 
He got up and jogged towards a small group of annoying looking people in formal suits. “Are you getting a doctor for Leon?”
The group stared at him blankly before a woman with glasses finally indulged him. “Condor One said he didn’t need a doctor. I protested of course, but-”
“Yeah, Leon is full of shit.” Luis began to rant.  “He’s injured, and physically and mentally exhausted, he’s on the verge of a breakdown, and I only crudely patched his wounds up- agh!” Luis leaned forward, hissing in pain. The wound on his shoulder began to throb. 
The nice woman put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“No my dear, I have been stabbed.”
She softly chuckled. “We’ll get you a doctor too, Condor One, er, I mean Leon, said you saved their lives. And possibly stopped the virus from moving onto the mainland.”
“That I did too.” Luis gave her his best charming smile, and it worked. The woman ever so slightly blushed and looked to the side, flustered. Yep, he still got it. “Heyyy, you’re the woman Leon was talking to.” By now the other agents had shifted over to the side, continuing their private conversation in hushed tones. 
u“Indeed,” she said. “Ingrid Hnnigan.”
“Luis Serra. Encantado.” He winked at her.
 “Pleasure to meet you, former Umbrella researcher Luis Serra Navarro.”
“Ahhhh….” Luis’ flirty smile fell away. “And just in how much trouble am I?” 
“Possibly none.” She pushed her glasses up. “You have way too much valuable information and experience for us to let it go to waste. And since you seem to be on our side…we could use your abilities.”
Oh, this was good. It meant that he still had plenty of leverage without having to reveal that he was still in possession of the amber. “Alright, but listen,” he slowly crossed his arms, careful not to aggravate his wound. “I have some demands.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Luis didn’t think his demands were outrageous. He’d cooperate fully and provide the American government with any information and expertise they needed. In fact, he’d gladly work to counter las plagas and any other strains of the virus. That thing was very much a plague, and it had ruined his and so many other people’s lives. 
In return, he demanded legal immunity, a decent salary, and for the American government to pay off his small apartment on the outskirts of Sevilla. 
Surprisingly, it was the apartment they balked at- for fuck’s sake it was a measly 50 000 euros left on that mortgage. After gently reminding them that he may be the last surviving plagas expert and the only person with any insider information about Los Illuminados, and that he helped save the president’s daughter, they agreed. 
So here he was, after a few-hour round of exhausting questioning, back in his apartment with all of his most important belongings. Fuck had he been smart to set something up before he decided to bail from Los Illuminados, otherwise he’d be homeless. 
At least he had received excellent medical care, and he actually felt good, despite catching only a couple hours of sleep before arriving. Americans had excellent painkillers. 
He was just about to take a shower when there was a knock on the door. “Are you already here to take me on a job, yankees?”  He called out. They better fucking not- the doctor examining him said he needed a few days rest at least. 
To his shock, he was met with Leon standing in his doorway. 
“Leon…” he trailed off, a wide smile on his face. 
Leon had also been given a full medical check-up, and the doctor’s professional opinion was for him to not only get more tests, but to also rest for a whole month. Leon’s response to that was to go for his debriefing, and then to let Hunnigan know that he was ready for his next assignment..
Luis had tried to strike up a conversation with Leon then, even offering him a room in his apartment if he didn’t want to make the trip back to the States immediately. He realized that what he was offering was stupid. No doubt the government could put Leon up in an excellent hotel, far better than his two-room. 
In reality, he had been hoping that Leon picked up on his subtle flirting, and that he had some interest in him, even in a platonic way. But what were the chances of that? So Luis gave him a hearty farewell before he left the embassy, hugging him, fully expecting to never see him again. In fact, he thought he had been delusional when he thought he felt Leon smooth his hands down his back.
Well, judging by the handsome blonde man standing in his doorway, he had been wrong.
“You said you could use some company in your apartment. And Hunnigan told me I’ll have an assignment here in Spain soon. So I figured I’d wait here…while keeping an eye on you.” There was a glint in his eye, one that betrayed an inkling of flirty interest.
Luis grinned, and stepped to the side. “Bienvenido.”
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Leon didn’t even drink the coffee Luis had taken time to prepare. 
Luis had warmly invited him in, and told him to make himself at home in the small room that functioned as his private study. It wasn’t much, but it had a pullout couch that functioned as a pretty comfortable bed. As Leon trudged to the room, Luis chattered on about how he’d need to find some new sheets, and how he hoped they weren’t too dusty, and how you had to wrestle with the handle a little bit for the bed to come out, and that Leon should ignore the stacks of books and papers lying about, and also that he’d make the coffee black but warm up some milk if Leon wanted to add some.
It took him a good ten minutes to realize Leon had not been responding at all. 
“Fuck, did he die in there?” Luis mumbled, rather hurriedly going inside, only to be met with Leon fast asleep on his stomach, one arm hanging over the couch, the other under his head.  He hadn’t even bothered to unfold the couch, or undress in any way; his white T-shirt was bunched up around his waist just above the leather belt looped through the waistband of his tight black jeans. Fuck, he didn’t even take off his boots, and his duffle bag had just been dropped into the corner of the room.
Luis’ thought about at least getting the shoes off, but decided against it; he had no doubt Leon possessed killer instincts, and the last thing he wanted was to be pile-drived into his own apartment floor because he touched a sleeping federal agent. 
So he waited, adamant on making Leon at least slightly more comfortable, but the moment never came. After four hours, he realized that Leon probably wasn’t going to wake up for another four, if not more. With a sigh, Luis took off his glasses and looked at Leon. He had changed his position, and was now curled up on his side, arms crossed in front of his very wide chest. 
He thought that the loud clacking of the computer keyboard would wake Leon up- he had brought a towel and bedding in preparation for that-  but it did not. He hadn’t planned to use the computer in the first place, but unfortunately, this was his study, and the machine was far too big to drag on a whim to his bedroom.
So he typed away, making notes, and writing his own detailed report of what had happened on the island, along with what he had done with the ‘sample’. It needed to be studied, and he planned to get himself hired at a private university that would let him use their labs at night under the pretext of personal research. At least, that was the plan for now. Who knew if Ada would come looking for him? He could always lie to her and tell her he never managed to get the amber from the island. 
He ran his hand through his hair. He’d figure it out eventually.
Perhaps putting Leon in his study wasn’t the best idea- he did need to work after all. But….if the man slept this hard, then maybe there was no need to. Regardless, Luis was now tired himself, and was definitely not going to do anything else for the next foreseeable hours.
“Goodnight, Prince Charming,” Luis said out loud as he got up. It’s not as if Leon could hear him. He powered down the computer and switched off the lamp, failing to notice Leon’s eyelids flutter open.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Leon was still asleep when Luis woke up at noon, but to his relief, Leon had wised up and not only folded out the couch, but also showered and undressed down to his T-shirt, as evidenced by the pants and boots dumped unceremoniously on the floor. He was now curled up beneath the thick duvet Luis had laid out, his blonde hair and nose the only thing visible. 
Cute.
By the time he made breakfast, Leon was already up. 
And oh what a sight it was. The blond prince was standing before him in nothing but a white T-shirt and boxers that left little to the imagination. His hair was delightfully tousled about, fluffy from the shower he had recently taken. 
And the best part was that Leon did not look like he was past the point of exhaustion anymore. Simply mildly tired. 
“Sorry to impose myself on you like this,” Leon said, sitting down at the tiny kitchen table with a thump. He gratefully accepted the mug of coffee Luis put in front of him. 
“I invited you, remember that.” He smiled. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah,” He scoffed, “I did.”
“And that is…surprising?” Luis asked. 
“It is. I haven’t slept well in a while.” 
Luis put the food down on the table. “That much I figured. it was obvious from the moment I saw you.”
“Yeah,” Leon said. “I don’t think I would have slept that well in a hotel room.”
“You wouldn’t? Why?”
The conversation flowed from there. Between mouthfuls, Leon told Luis how he was always somewhere on a mission, and could never fully relax, especially since oftentimes he was alone. To make things sadder, Luis found out he didn't even have a place of his own. 
But Leon just shrugged at it. "After training I was traveling so much that it just made no sense." He took a sip of his third mug of coffee. "I'll get a place when life settles down."
Luis looked at him and sighed. "You know with this life…"
"Yeah I know." Leon leaned back. "Either way, Luis, I have to thank you.”
“For what?”
Leon smiled and looked away, the blond strands of his hair covering his face. “Just…you’re a good guy. I don’t know or understand how you got with Umbrella, but-”
“I can tell you.” He raised his eyebrows at Leon. “If that will make you feel better.” Anything to get him to stay and trust him more.
“You don’t have to,” Leon said, slightly shaking his head. It wasn’t a dismissal of his experiences, but rather an understanding of how painful the past could be. “You know...” He tapped his fingers against the mug. “I was at the village elder’s house. There was an account of what happened to your grandfather.” Leon looked right at him. “I’m sorry.” 
Luis sucked in air. “Yeah…thank you.” The mention of it alone made his stomach turn. At least his revenge had been carried out, to some degree. In fact, just this morning he had offered a quiet prayer to the God he still did not believe in that Saddler and all of the Los Iluminados had been defeated forever. 
Still, he was grateful that Leon was understanding, and not wholly judgemental. So he began to speak- partially to gain Leon’s trust, and partially because he had never been able to freely talk to anyone about his past, and God knew he could use a friendly ear. 
As it turned out, Leon seemed like the perfect person to do so. Umbrella had effectively ruined both their lives, along with other lawless organizations. In his case, it was a cult. In Leon’s case, it was organized crime and then the American government. 
Before they both knew it, it was already late afternoon. 
“Luis, can I ask you something?” 
Luis laughed. “I think by now you can ask me pretty much anything, American.”
“Why do you call me prince charming?” 
There were so many ways he could play this. He could say it was a joke, that he associated Leon’s blond hair, blue eyes, pretty face and seemingly reckless valor with stereotypical Western fairy tales. He could also tell the truth, that he thought of him as an honest hero-type figure with an unshakable moral compass that was as attractive as his looks were. 
Luis had been silent too long, because Leon continued. “Do you think of me as charming?” He had propped his head on his hand, and swept his hair out of his face, his blue eyes clearly visible as he studied Luis with an amused smile.
Ay por Dios. He was flirting! 
“So you can fl-” Luis bit his tongue. He wasn’t about to tease Leon about his flirting skills, not now, not when he had some kind of in. “Maybe,” Luis said, cocking his eyebrow. “You interested?” Oh that was fucking weak. He could do better, but in his defense, this version of Leon was very different from the version he had initially met. Then again, it stands to reason that one acts differently when not in life-threatening situations. 
Leon hmphed and got up with a chuckle. “Maybe. But right now, I need to go lie down.”
“Alright then.” Luis bit his lip. “But could I ask you to go sleep in my bedroom?” 
Ah yes, he had hoped Leon would do a double take. He let the question hang before clarifying that he wanted to work in the study. “In fact, I don’t mind us switching rooms. I have to work on getting a new job, you see.” 
Leon smirked at him. “We’ll figure something out.” Leon got up, and gently patted him on the back. “Take care, knight.”
<><><><><><><>><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The romantic tension bubbled over after three days. 
Luis was surprised it had even taken this long. He soon realized that Leon had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that very accurately portrayed his state of mind. So when he would jokingly ask Luis to not peek at him while he undressed, or to not get too distracted when he did push-ups in the living room, Luis knew he meant the exact opposite. 
It wasn’t subtle, and it was driving Luis crazy. “I will throw you out,” he jokingly threatened at one point, and Leon had jumped up from doing his crunches and stared him down with a “Huh, I’d like to see you try, Dr Luis.”
Luis had to go sit in the kitchen to calm down after that. 
That very same day, Luis was sitting on the sill of the large, open living room window. A perk of living in a townhouse with high ceilings and excellent lighting. He was smoking, mindful to at least not do it around Leon. He knew this shit was cancer, but he needed something to take the edge off. Although in this case, it was Leon that was making him nervous.
He had wanted to make a move earlier, but figured it hadn’t been the right moment. So he sulked, smoking, wondering if this would amount to anything, or if they would just dance around each other for eternity. 
“Hey, Luis,” Leon walked into his view. He was wearing a tight black shirt, and his blonde hair was falling loosely in his eyes- overall, he looked incredibly handsome. His cheeks looked fuller, he was less pale, and his eyes were not so sunken anymore. Luis had made sure to feed him well, not only cooking but also putting out proper Spanish food to eat, including fresh bread that Leon almost too happily kept filling up on.  He couldn't imagine what this man’s diet looked like on a day to day basis. 
In return, Leon helped clean up, and Luis even caught him one morning washing the windows…shirtless. His logic had been that he didn’t have too many shirts with him and he didn’t want to get them dirty, but Luis wasn’t stupid- Leon was sporting a coy smile throughout that entire interaction. Helpful asshole.  
Luis shook his head, willing the horny thoughts away. “Yeah, what’s up?” 
“I got the kitchen clean, do you need me to do anything else?” 
Luis laughed. “No, I mean you didn’t need to do that at all in the first place. It’s a nice evening, enjoy it.” He nodded outside at the view- while the horizon was obscured by buildings, the warm pastel sky was visible. 
Leon crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “I do. It’s not like I pay rent.”
“You’ve been here all of three days,” Luis said, taking a drag from his cigarette. “And if you insist, there are other ways to pay.” His voice dropped low, and he gave Leon a sultry look. 
“Really?” Leon softly asked. “Like what?” He inched closer, not flinching at the cigarette smoke that hit him in the face. There was determination in his eyes.
Luis tried to nonchalantly shrug. “You could….run some errands for me,” he said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and slowly exhaling the smoke out the window. “Or you could do me a more personal favor.” He put the cigarette back between his lips and raised his eyebrows. 
Leon tsked. “Stop fucking around, Luis.” And then he leaned in, close, with a clear intent to initiate a kiss. The only thing stopping him was the cigarette in between Luis' lips.
A chill ran down Luis’ spine. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and tried to turn his head to exhale, but Leon’s hand was suddenly on his cheek, preventing him from doing so. 
So he exhaled, slowly, bathing Leon’s face in a cloud of smoke that dissipated around his features. Leon didn’t even flinch, instead slowly closing his eyes and opening them again, looking at Luis with a barely concealed intensity before finally kissing him. 
Luis threw his arm around Leon’s neck, shamelessly kissing back. He flicked the unfinished cigarette out the window, and sunk his hand into Leon's soft hair, reveling in how it felt in between his fingers. In return, Leon engulfed him with his arms, bringing him close to his chest.
They were not being slow, and they were not taking it easy, something they quickly paid for in pain; they were both far from healed yet. So they tried to be more careful, although the shallow kisses soon turned into deep ones, and the light touches turned into groping. Neither of them exchanged a word, but there was no need to- at this point, it was clear where things were heading. 
They stumbled into the bedroom, haphazardly undressing along the way. Luis found himself trying to kiss Leon every moment he could- the man's lips were somehow both soft and firm, and he could not wait to feel them across his body, if Leon were so kind to indulge. 
And indulge he did, placing kisses on Luis' neck, drawing out satisfied sighs, followed by moans when those very lips moved to his chest. They were now on the bed, in a state of near nudity; Leon was already in his underwear, while Luis still regrettably had his shirt and underwear on. He was desperately trying to wrestle it off as Leon left open mouthed kisses on his lower stomach. 
Leon's eagerness was enthralling, but Luis found it unfair- he wanted to do the same to him. Eventually he did, managing to encourage Leon to lie on his back while he licked and nipped at his wide, smooth chest, slowly making his way down to where Leon’s happy trail began. 
The first time was awkward, but pleasant. It had been a while for both of them, but they managed to sync with each other, enjoying their mutual, intimate company as the sun set in hues of pink, red, and purple. By their third time, it was already midnight.
Luis laid on his side, slightly panting from the exertion and the following orgasm it had brought. He was grateful for the night air coming from the open windows, cooling his overheated body. He imagined Leon was just as grateful; the beautiful man was lying on his back with his arm thrown over his face, panting furiously- during that last stretch he had done most of the legwork, and while his strength was enviable, Luis imagined it too had its limits. 
“We should probably go to sleep, huh prince?” Luis had been forced to abbreviate the nickname; ‘prince charming’ was a little long to call out while getting fucked. 
Leon’s lips turned up in a smile. “Yeah, probably.”
They settled into a comfortable silence, before Luis broke it by asking a question. “Leon, if you don’t mind me asking-” he propped himself up on his elbow, the bed slightly creaking under his weight. “-you’ve always been into men? Because myself…” he waved. “...a fairly recent development, well recent; I decided I was bisexual five years ago.”
Leon softly chuckled and turned towards him, the lone lamp they had turned on bathing his naked body in a warm light. Luis held his breath; this man was a picture of male beauty. He hoped he would never leave his bed. 
“I haven’t really thought about it. Didn’t really have the luxury to do so,” Leon replied.
“The luxury?” That was a confusing answer.
“You know,” Leon cleared his throat. “I had other things happening. And it seemed like trying to figure out my sexuality was on the bottom of the list and not a priority. Or having a relationship of any kind.”
Luis sighed. It was a sad thing to say, albeit not surprising. Leon was the kind of person who put others first and himself second- in apparently every regard. 
“Well I am glad you made your way into my bed. “Luis leaned in to kiss him, and the kiss was eagerly returned. “Let’s sleep then.”
“Yeah, night,” Leon said, getting up. “See you morning.”
“Uh, Leon? where the fuck are you going?” Luis said in a tone of mock anger. No doubt he was going to shower or something.��
“Well to my room.” He was now standing awkwardly at the food of the bed, a spare white sheet wrapped around his waist.
Oh Luis was now actually angry. ‘Why?! There’s plenty of room here-it’s not like this is a one-night stand you know!” At least, he didn’t want it to be. “You don’t have to bolt out as soon as we finish! Do you not like my company anymore?”
“No, no no.” Leon raised his hand in a reassuring manner and lightly shook his head. He sounded very sincere. “It’s just, I usually don’t stay.” He shrugged. “Even if it’s in the same apartment.”
Luis figured he’d get to the ‘why’ one day. Currently, he was too tired to ask, but like hell was he going to sleep without Leon next to him. So he sat up and reached for Leon’s sheet, pulling him back into bed. 
Leon stumbled forward, a beaming, toothy smile on his face as he lay back down. One of the biggest ones Luis had seen yet. 
“Here, turn around,” Luis said, coaxing Leon to lie on his side with his back to him. He then pressed himself against Leon, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “Let me just hug you like this for a little while, hm?” Luis nuzzled his face into the crook of Leon’s shoulder, sighing contentedly into the soft, still-slightly-damp skin. “Keep you from going away.” As to make a point, Luis squeezed Leon’s waist a little tighter. 
Leon made no effort to shake him off, instead placing his hand on Luis’ arm. “I will have to go though.”
“Hm?” Luis hummed into Leon’s shoulder.
“Hunnigan called. Nothing big, but I’ll have to go for a few days.” 
“Uh-huh. And you intended to sneak out in the morning, huh prince?”
It was silent for a while before Leon replied. “Not anymore.”
Luis was falling quickly asleep, but that didn’t stop him from placing a lazy, wet kiss to the back of Leon’s neck. “Come back as soon as you’re done. I’ve been lonely for too long. As have you.”
Leon didn’t say anything- sleep was already taking him. However, in the cozy darkness of the small bedroom, he took Luis’ hand in his, and squeezed it tightly before giving into slumber with a soft smile on his lips. 
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skoulsons · 10 months
Text
Her feet carry her faster than she can think. The world around her is blurred, only the feel of her feet pressing hard into the asphalt and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears are what keep her vision dead set on Joel. He’s running too, the street lights illuminating his movements as he rushes towards her.
Joel’s arms barely open before she’s already there, both of hers going over his shoulders and crossing behind his neck. Joel holds her against him immediately, one arm along her back and the other behind her head, cupping it gently next to his own.
Joel lifts Ellie off the ground, stumbling backwards and spinning in an attempt to balance them. Though, after a minute, the spinning isn’t just for balance anymore.
It brings him back to a time long forgotten. Christmas and her birthdays with a particularly good present. Days at the fair when she’d win a huge stuffed animal and couldn’t wait to tell him all about it. Days when Joel would get home after working a double and she couldn’t sleep until she heard his footsteps. Picking her up after school and he’d be waiting outside for her; Sarah running for him and exclaiming how she got an ‘A’ on the project she spent all night on.
Sarah’s smile and the bounce of her hair as she raced for her dad were always met with such an embrace. One arm cradling her head as his other held her against him by her back. How Joel would stumble back, sometimes as an exaggeration, just so he could spin them around. Just so he could take a few steps to hold his little girl against him. Just so he could take a few precious, hallowed moments to rock her back and forth in his arms, like how he would to rock her to sleep as a baby.
Joel continues to turn and step haphazardly along the streets of Jackson, taking Ellie in every single stride. And with every old memory that passes between their bodies in the streets of Jackson, it reminds him. It reminds him of the emptiness he’s felt without her. The hole that her loss created. That Sarah-sized-hug section of his heart that was brutally cut out of him that early morning in September.
And those reminders only make Joel hug Ellie a little tighter, spin a little more, and walk a little farther.
Ellie’s legs lightly wrap around his middle, trying to get as close as she possibly can. Joel just squeezes the arm that’s across her back tighter as he threads his fingers gently through her hair.
Her breathing is against his neck. Her chest rises and falls against his and her heart beats right alongside his own. Each others bodies fall in sync with each other, like they always do. Their breathing synchronizing, finding the stability in each others proof of life.
For a split second, he’s reminded again. He’s reminded of her held against his chest. He’s reminded of her small hands around his neck as he ruan through the streets. He’s reminded of her high-pitched fears and his attempted reassurances to calm her down.
He’s reminded of an attempted hug. An attempted hug full of pain and a fleeting heartbeat. Small hands clawing at his arms and neck, crying out. Crying and groaning over the pain in her abdomen. Crying over the pain he was causing.
He cries. He cries, but he can barely bring himself to care at this point.
She’s alive. He’s holding his daughter now and that means she’s alive. She’s no longer a cold and ruined body maimed by the violence of the world. No longer another victim to a sickness that Cordyceps could never match. No longer a shadow of a broken world. No longer just a memory.
He cries because he loves her. He cries because he knows this isn’t the last time he’ll ever hug her. He cries because he’s not hurting her this time. He cries because she’s clinging on to him as hard he is to her.
He cries because she loves him.
He turns his face more into hers, his nose burying into her hair. She smells like fresh soap, the same soap, clean clothes, and their little blue house. Like old books and the leather of their couch. Like pine cones and fire.
And that only makes it harder for him to hold back. He sniffles into her hair and she hears it, feels it. She hugs around his neck tighter, bringing one of her arms down to rub a few strokes up and down his back to comfort him. He does it back to her, continuing to relish in the feeling of her wrapped in his arms.
Joel slows their spinning to a gentle back-and-forth swing before he lowers her down, Ellie’s tip toes planting onto the asphalt first. She stays that way, still reaching up over Joel’s neck as he bends down slightly, arms around her middle.
Joel is the first to pull away, much to Ellie’s apprehension due to her still clinging to his shirt as he pulls her away from him.
But he doesn’t let her go. His arms linger on her sides as he pulls her away, immediately bringing them up to her cheeks when he can finally see her face completely.
Joel is nearly out of breath, and not because of his old muscles and achy bones. “Are you okay?” He checks her up and down. Injuries, blood, anything. A habit he picked up on the road, always checking her first for injuries to make sure she was okay. It stayed even when they moved into Jackson. Whether she was at the stables the majority of the day or at home drawing and reading, he had to check.
He had to make sure she was okay, even if there was no reason to. He had to be sure. He couldn’t let himself fail again for not checking.
He holds her cheeks gently, his fingers stretching behind her ears as his thumbs rub back and forth along her cheekbones.
Ellie laughs wetly at his question, tears falling from the corners of her eyes. Joel wipes them away as he smiles, cherishing the familiar sound of her laugh at every opportunity.
She looks up at him, nearly as breathless as he is. “Are you?” There’s a hint of sarcasm, but more genuine care.
There’s two wet streaks down the sides of his face from where his tears poured out of the corners of his eyes. He’s still smiling at her as she brings her hands up to his face, copying his movements, and wiping her thumbs over the corners of his eyes and following the streaks until they hit his beard, disappearing.
His eyes close briefly until she brings them back to his wrists, holding tightly to them again. He smiles at the affection. She doesn’t do it often, but when she does, it means the world to him to have something like that reciprocated to him.
He smiles wider, bringing her head gently to his to let their foreheads touch. Their hands stay right where they are, their breathing slowing and falling in tune with each others again as they inhale and exhale together. Their breaths in the small space between saying every word they can’t.
Words have never been their strong suit. They’ve always defaulted to touch or gifts to express what’s going on. Not only is such a thing more comforting, but it’s always said more than their words could ever express. They have had talks before, and getting through them is like pulling teeth every time, so they always result to physical touch. It’s easier, safer for both of them.
Instead of answering each others questions, which were pleas more than anything, they hug. Joel’s right hand goes behind her neck and guides her face to his chest, Ellie settling comfortably against him as her arms wrap around his middle. His left hand sits over her shoulderblade as his right cards through her hair from her scalp to her ends, each strand untangling and falling through his fingertips before he repeats the motion.
Their shoulders drop, the both of them able to finally relax with the other in their grasp. In the safety only the other can provide.
Joel turns his head to the side, his cheek resting atop her head as he continues threading his hand through her hair. Against his chest, she breathes in. The same soap and hints of the shampoo they share. He smells like little whittled woodland creatures and coffee.
They smell like home to each other. Some brought about from their time on the road, and some brought about from their time in Jackson that are only associated with the other.
They don’t smell like blood, grass, or kicked up dirt. Not like overgrown buildings and gunpowder. Not like screaming infected or houses riddled with bullet holes. Not like the cold and hollow corpses of once beloved family, friends, and lovers.
They don’t hear the gasping breaths and dying heartbeats. They don’t see the cloudy eyes or feel the pasty skin. They don’t smell the bloody limbs or smell the faint, musky scent of the fleeting life in front of them.
There’s full, rich breathes between them. Pounding, healthy heartbeats against each others chest. Eyes full of light and love that intently watch the other. Their skin, washed clean and healing from injuries. Their scents showing a full life, as full as they can have, and it’s because of the other.
Joel starts to pull away slowly before Ellie nuzzles back against him, pressing her face into his flannel in protest. Joel laughs and Ellie smiles at the rumble in his chest that pounds against her cheek. She lets out a deep sigh as she lets Joel pull her away, not letting her go any further from him than his bent arm.
He keeps his right hand resting on her shoulder as he leans closer to her again, kissing her hairline. He rests his cheek briefly over the spot before kissing again and leaning back, his hand finding that all-too-familiar spot on her cheek.
“Let’s go home, yeah?” She nuzzles into his palm, the warmth and steady hold of it so easy to lean into. She closes her eyes, a small “mhm” escaping her lips as she smiles.
She pulls his hand off her cheek and into her hand, interlocking their fingers together as their arms fall in the space between them.
Their walk from the front gate to their home is a quiet one, filled with small giggles, hummed tunes, and kicked pebbles along the streets. Ellie brings her right hand to his forearm, clinging tight to his side, like the asphalt would swallow him whole if she even dared to loosen her grip on him. And if the hold he has on her hand is any indication, he feels the same way.
And later that night when they’re in bed and Ellie is asleep, curled up small and comfortable against his side, his memories really sink in.
Memories of Sarah. Memories of Sarah that are… fading. Parts of her that aren’t clear anymore. The way she smelled. What was her shampoo? The soap they used? The scent he breathed in every night? The way the world froze with every sprinting hug when he’d hold her and breathe in her hair and he can’t remember it. That perfume he bought her for prom. The prom she never got to go to. How she tried it on in the store.
Dad! What about this one?
Think you got yourself a winner there, kiddo.
Her life was ripped from him. Her scent and what made her… her were gone from him, now. No recollection of what made Sarah herself. The gel she’d use in her hair. The same detergent they’d use when they washed their clothes. A detergent long gone that he can’t even smell his own clothes to remember her that way. The sweet, lavender scent of her shampoo that always filled their bathroom.
He pulls his arm around Ellie a little tighter, Ellie snuggling closer to him and resting her head atop his chest and as he pulls her close, bringing his lips to the crown of her head. He kisses her head there once, resting his lips there as he feels her chest rise and fall against his own. As he breathes in her hair and the scent of their shampoo. As his right hand finds her left arm draped over his abdomen, holding it gently. As he hears her steady breathing against his chest, the sure sign that she’s there. She’s with him. She’s okay.
Please.
Don’t let me forget her, too.
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randomfoggytiger · 2 months
Text
"Think He'll Call You Tonight"
Part III of the Bill Scully POV mini-series (Part I and Part II~.) Continuing the dedication to @baronessblixen!
*****
Charlie was the one that convinced their father. 
“But Dad, Dana wanted a gun, too, and she’s really good at being careful, and she does everything else with us, and we have the money to get one, and it’s a really nice one, and Bill and I’ll keep an eye on her and teach her and make sure she doesn’t shoot anything that you told us not to--”
And whether or not it was his arguments or his enthusiasm that won the day, Dana was surprised with a bb gun a couple months shy of her birthday, both boys brimming with pride over their recently emptied pockets.
Charlie saw the snake first; but Bill boldly grabbed it, tossed it into a shorter patch of grass, and took the first shot. The air rang with pings and tiny thuds as the snake absorbed pellet after pellet, writhing in pain and shock; until, finally, it stopped wiggling and lay limp, slowly waiting for death to claim it. It was Dana who walked towards it-- Bill assumed to shoot it further-- and startled her brothers by cradling and weeping over its dead body in her tiny hands. 
The attack of conscience was swift. Dana, who was more prone to outraged anger than tears, broke down; and Charlie, who was more likely to cry than holler, yelled at Bill and ran off into the woods. 
Their mother was no less furious than their father even though Dana fessed up honorably and didn’t let her brothers take all the blame. Both of them apologized, took their punishment, and were forbidden to shoot until they were more responsible. 
Charlie didn’t reappear for hours. After dark everyone was worried; and the house and woods were canvassed until late in the night. It was Melissa’s idea to double back and check his room, and Dana's to check under his bed. She caught sight of his leg, dove under the spread, and grabbed him to her, apologizing over and over. 
Bill noticed his brother never quite shook the quake in his hands before a shot.
*****
Bill was out of the house before his brother reached the rebellious teen years. He was annoyed, nonetheless, when home would ring him or he’d ring home and Melissa would insist on telling Charlie’s latest scrape amidst laughter that cracked a sentence in three different places. Dana would take over and summarize her sister’s spotty narrative; and Maggie would hear the commotion from the hallway and insist on excusing some of his behavior. 
Excusing. Bill heard that a lot. 
Melissa never let anyone off the hook, including him. “Charlie and Dana have a boatload of stories on you, Billy, so I wouldn’t test either of their patience. He’ll be home any minute if you want to hear a few.” 
“I’m good, thanks.” And the conversation turned to a new thought experiment in Melissa’s collegiate classes or Dana’s impending graduation and solidifying plans for medical school. 
***** 
Tara and he had just gone steady when Bill got Melissa’s letter. Grateful that she’d canceled their night out immediately, he’d hugged his sweet girl goodbye and booked it to the nearest payphone. 
“Mom, he just met her-- and now he’s going to throw away his future and marry the girl? What kind of sense does that make?” 
“Bill--”
“I know you’re scared Mom, and Dad’s furious. What with Melissa dropping out, and now Charles--”
“William Scully, will you calm down--”
“Is that Bill?” That was Charles. “I want to talk to him, Mom.”
“Charlie, don’t make this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”
“He’s already poking his nose in, isn’t he? Huh? Making rude assumptions about Hessa and me behind our backs-- well, let him say it to my face!” 
Bill hung up, unwilling to let the situation spiral out of control. 
His father called a couple days later-- fresh off the boat and abreast of the particulars. “I’m disappointed, Bill-- you escalated this situation unnecessarily; and you worsened your mother's troubles while I wasn't home to steer the ship. Now, I want you to fly over when you can spare the time so we can put this behind us.” 
The meeting took place in his parent's new home in Maryland, paint and pine sol and candles warring against each other for supremacy. 
Charlie refused to try even one year of college, determined to bind himself to Hessa and break into the stock market with her godfather’s tutelage. “I figure facts and figures are my specialty, and where better to put them to use?” 
Dana had immediately lapped him by throwing a few of her own facts and figures about the business that he hadn’t contemplated; and Charlie, offended, had tried to deflect the uncomfortable moment by focusing how much she knew about family planning and retirement. Melissa then piped up and shoved the focus firmly back to him.
Bill flew back to Maryland six months later, best man at his brother’s elaborate wedding, staring at the pew where his father, stone faced, mother, apprehensive, and sisters, irritated, sat. Melissa and Dana unthawed for the bride, giving her a congratulatory hug-- which she lightly returned-- and Maggie welcomed her as the newest Scully; but Captain Scully only nodded, and Bill only smiled.
***** 
Bill and Tara were married, Melissa was somewhere around the world, Dana had dropped from medical school to the FBI, and Charlie and his two kids were living off of his wife’s investment properties when the Scully patriarch suddenly and unexpectedly died. 
Charlie hadn’t said as much, but Bill knew there was still residual resentment from his father’s decision to withhold most of his son's college fund. Given the state of their relationship, it shocked him when his brother took the cremation in stride, seemingly the only person other than Melissa to understand the captain's decision.
“It makes strange sense, though I’ll bet Missy put it in his head.” 
Tara, who had been quiet since the burial plans were announced, said, “I think it was me-- we were talking about Melissa’s book on Celtic traditions and practices a year or so ago; and I mentioned that I could have seen him being cremated if he were born a couple hundred years ago. I guess….” 
They were silent, warring between irrational anger at Tara and reason. Bill hugged her to him; and watched Charlie’s stare drift from his sister-in-law to his father’s urn, thoughtfully distant.  
*****
It was Charlie who called two years later. 
“Bill, she’s… she’s dead. Died, uh, thirteen hours ago. And… and, uh, Mom says she understands you won’t make it for the funeral… and.... She didn’t call me, Bill, either, because she thought Melissa’d pull through. And Dana’s back-- Dana was off the grid for a bit. We think the guy that got Melissa was after… anyway, one of us’ll call back with details when we can. …I’m sorry, Bill.” 
*****
A switch had happened after Melissa’s death: while Bill was at sea, Dana and Charlie spent more time at home. Charlie-- Tara reported-- became a regular, doubly so a regular philanthropist. He helped Maggie patch up various expenses, recommended his wife’s hairdresser to Dana and covered the difference a few times, and funded Tara’s recuperative trips to and from Maryland and California between grueling pregnancy tests and trials. 
“Are you doing okay, Mom?” Bill asked, spending yet another Saint Paddy’s Day on yet another floating hunk of metal. 
“Hmm. Melissa was going to throw a party this St. Patrick's-- she started doing that after Dana recovered from her coma last year, you know. I miss her, and your father." She sighed, a long, sad sound. "Are you okay being alone for the holiday?”  
“Yeah. Some friends are throwing a celebration later. One of them even looks likes Charles, strangely. I’ll see you as soon as I can.” 
“I know, Bill. I’ll give the others your love.”
“Okay, Mom. Bye.” 
*****
Dana’s cancer blindsided all of them. 
Maggie let out the secret in tears a few weeks after Dana began and ended her treatment, angry and lost and afraid. “She won’t try chemotherapy anymore because she wants to work-- Dana pretends it doesn’t exist and refuses to talk about it. I don’t understand her, Bill. And I don’t know how to tell Charlie because he feels they’ve gotten so close over the last few months. This will hurt him; and I don’t want to hurt my baby.” 
Bill, so furious he was calm, told her to fly out to Tara. “I know she’ll enjoy having you around, Mom. And maybe Dana will decide to share it with us on her own.”
Dana did not tell anyone else, choosing instead to pretend like nothing was wrong: congratulating Bill and Tara on their impending parenthood, sloughing off Maggie's subtle references, and running around at work while her health weakened and worsened.
On Bill’s way to the Scully family get-together, his mom called again: Charlie had finally been told; and-- at the mention of late-stage cancer-- hadn’t taken it well, venting choice words about being the last to be considered and left. 
Despite the desperation of the next few days, he'd stayed withdrawn and unreachable.
*****
“Charlie? It’s Bill-- Dana’s in remission. She wanted me to give you a call in case you wanted to drop by. We’re calling it a miracle, Charlie. A new beginning, Dana said. If you want.” 
For once, Bill was happy her paranoid partner was there to keep his sister company-- anything to distract her from picking up the phone, dialing, and getting bad news on top of good. 
*****
Thank you for reading~
Enjoy!
Tagging @today-in-fic!
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player1064 · 6 days
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Sent in prompt, surprised pikachu face when it gets filled 😮
Such an amazing fill!!! Also of course Carra immediately thinks of Gary (few years down the road and they get together and Wayne and Becks learn of it and go duuuuuuuuh)
But actually I would love to prompt that second part and obvious Gary being hit on!!! Sounds delightful
me: I'm gonna write more fun silly bits with Gary being hit on by sweet baby boys Michael Owen and Steven Gerrard!
me: oh no I've turned it into world cup angst. oh no.
---
Michael is young, and excited, and he’s scoring a lot of goals.
It’s a bit frustrating to be spending most of his time on the bench, but even sat on his arse doing nothing he’s still breaking records, he’s still here, at a world cup. And maybe soon he’ll come on, and he’ll score some more goals, and then everyone will love him.
Maybe he’ll even get a kiss from Gary Neville. He’s seen him do it before, with his teammates from United. Not so much with England, but then there’s not been much opportunity to celebrate with England. Not yet, anyway.
It’s strange, Redders had warned him about the United lot when he’d first got called up. About Gary in particular – he’d said don’t let him get to you, he’s a grumpy old bastard stuck in the body of a Take That reject. But then he’d got to England camp and Gary had been perfectly civil to him. Even nice, sometimes. Maybe it’s just because Beckham is being nice, always checking up on him, asking if he’s settling in okay. And even Michael, new as he is, can see that where Becks leads, Gary follows.
Whatever the reason, he has been nice to Michael. And Michael – Michael has a tendency to be drawn to bossy defenders, doesn’t he?
The second time he scores a goal in the tournament Gary does come up to him and grab his face, but all he gets is a quick press of lips to his forehead. Maybe that’s fair enough, they’re only 16 minutes in – can’t be getting too cocky, not yet.
It’s one of the worst feelings in the world, to play for 120 minutes, to score two goals and still lose. Michael wishes he’d never had to find that out.
Later, they all filter silently back to their hotel rooms. Incey and Macca give him hugs, ruffle his hair and tell him he’ll get used to it, then go into Macca’s room with a bottle of vodka that they say Michael is under no circumstances allowed to try.
Gary’s pressed up close to Scholes, whispering in his ear as they walk down the corridor, but when they get to Scholes’ room he just gives him a slap on the back and lets him go in alone.
Once Scholes’ door is shut, Michael watches as Gary turns to stare despondently at Beckham’s door for a while, making no move to go in, or to go to his own room next door. It’s just the two of them still out here now – Michael’s not really sure why he’s not gone back to his own room, gone to call his mum and maybe have a bit of a cry. That can wait, though.
He steps up to Gary, who slowly turns to look at him with dead eyes.
“You did well today, Owen,” he says gently. “You did the very best you could. This is just – it’s just England. And tomorrow – tomorrow, all anyone’ll be talkin’ about is –" he jerks his head towards Beckham’s door with a world-weary sigh.
He’s only a handful of years older than Michael. Too young to look so exhausted, so absolutely shattered. Michael takes another step towards him, puts his arms around him in a tentative hug.
Gary chuckles, pats Michael on the back. “I’m alright, kid. Honest.”
He starts to pull away, and maybe Michael’s a little bit stupid because he takes the chance to tilt his head up, to press their lips together in a chaste kiss.
Gary breaks it quickly, gives Michael a tiny little smile, then he glances back to Beckham’s closed door.
“Get some rest, yeah?” he says quietly. “Tomorrow’s gonna be rough.”
*
Stevie is under a lot of pressure.
He’s too young to be a captain, too young to bear that kind of responsibility on his own. Every year that goes by without a trophy chips away at him that little bit more, the expectations and disappointments of the fans piling up until he can’t see a way out. At least when he’s at England the pressure is off a little bit, there are plenty of more senior players to share the load.
Except even at England, there’s nobody he can go to to offload what’s on his mind. The United and Chelsea players are in their own little gangs, and he can’t exactly turn to his Liverpool teammates and say I think if I don’t get out of Liverpool soon it’ll eat me alive.
Frank is nice to him, at least. Obviously he has to be nice to him, has to try and lure him down to London, but he does still seem genuine when Stevie has a chance to speak to him. Not that he gets many of those chances, because every time he tries there’s always Carra, lurking in the background glaring at the two of them.
Mickey’s miserable, Stevie, he’s always saying, imagine what they’d do to you. You can’t look like you’re trying to move up, you’d never be able to come home again.
Carra can be a bit too much, sometimes. Or most of the time. He loves him, but it’s hard to make an objective decision when you’ve got the reddest of all reds as your best mate.
Speaking of reds, there’s one that’s been looking at him funny all week.
Unlike Frank, Gary Neville has never made any attempt to be nice to him. He’s never made any attempt to be nice to anyone, so far as Stevie’s aware. Maybe to Beckham, but everyone knows he’s got a thing for him so it hardly counts.
It’s actually kind of refreshing, to train with someone so unable to hide his disdain of everyone outside the United bubble. It’s refreshing to train with him, just generally. He works hard. He makes everyone else on the team work hard, a job that at Liverpool would usually fall to Stevie and Carra.
And when they’re on the pitch, he’s… different. Maybe it’s just his way of being professional, but he treats every member of the squad the same as he would one of his little United pals. It’s a lot of hugging, which had been weird when Stevie was first coming up but which now is expected, almost welcomed.
He’s shorter than Stevie, and he’s scrawnier too, but when he’s got his arms around you he feels solid. Warm.
All this to say, when he knocks on Stevie’s door one night he thinks sure, why not, and lets him in.
Stevie’s never actually done this before, at least not at England camps, but he’s not completely naïve – he does know how these things work. He sits down on his bed when Neville enters, leans back and props himself up on his elbows, bites his lip.
 Neville doesn’t look at him, though, doesn’t make a move. He paces the floor, eyes darting all around.
“Look, Gerrard,” he says weakly, “I know you’re gonna say no, but the boss asked me to – just to see, what you’re thinkin’ of doin’ next season.”
Oh.
He immediately jumps on the defensive, sits up straight again. “None of ‘is fuckin’ business, is what I’m doin’. Is that the only reason you came here?”
“I – obviously, y’think I’d choose to spend an evenin’ in a Scouser’s room?” He scowls, then seems to remember that he’s meant to be making United seem appealing so quickly adds “I mean, you’re a good lad and all, I’d sooner be in ‘ere than with your mate Carragher. Though to be fair there’s not many people I wouldn’t choose over ‘im, he’s a fuckin’ lot, in’t he?”
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amirsirwrites · 1 year
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Hey-hey! I got a request!! (Hope you’re feeling well!)
So.. Spy x Male!Reader oneshot, where the reader bottles up his emotions and hides his negative feelings. Then one day he breaks and starts crying in front of Spy..
Hey-hey, anon! I'm feeling well, thank you. I've finally finished your request, sorry for the long wait. I hope you enjoy it. :)
Spy comforts you ❤️
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Requested
Spy x M!reader
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Death and killing comes with the job of being a mercenary. Most mercs are completely fine with it. In fact, most enjoy it and make a game out of it. 
However, there are exceptions to everything and in this case, you are the exception. 
Seeing people get shot and torn apart almost every single day of your life has been taking a toll on you. 
During some of the battles, you'll freeze and stare at the dead bodies on the ground as your breathing gets heavy and uneven. You know that they'll be fine and wake up in their Respawn point a few minutes later but still.. It doesn't take the pain of seeing them die in front of your eyes away. 
One of the other mercs, more specifically your darling, Spy, often notices you doing this. He’s asked you on all occasions if everything is alright. You always wave him off and say you’re fine but until now, he’s not convinced. 
Worrying that he might make you uncomfortable, Spy doesn’t try to push any further after that question. However, he’s also noticed that it’s getting worse every single day to the point that it affects you even outside the battlefield, and because of this, he feels that he’ll need to confront you about this issue very soon.
~~~~~~
It’s another day at Gorge. BLU took a huge beating and you won with ease. You were put off the entire time as usual. Everyone was doing their own thing while Heavy and Medic packed all their equipment into the van. 
Scout and Soldier were chasing each other.
“Get back here, maggot! I’ll make you regret the day you were born!” Soldier screamed at the top of his lungs, waving his shovel around like a madman. Scout just laughed and pulled a face, pissing him off even more. 
Nearby, Demoman, Sniper and Engineer were having a friendly chat together over a couple of beers that Demo had brought along (despite Medic very clearly telling him to try and lay off the alcohol). Pyro was there as well but they were focused on playing with their favourite brand of matchsticks. 
Somewhere closeby, you were seated on the ground, knees to your chest, deep in thought. Your eyes were fixated on the blood-stained grass in front of you. It quickly made you feel sick, reminding you of the unpleasant battle earlier. You closed your eyes, trying to think of something more pleasant. 
Just then, Spy sat down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and giving you a kiss on your temple. 
“Salut, mon beau. You seem bothered. What’s wrong?” he asked you in a gentle tone. 
You looked to him, meeting his eyes. 
You really wanted to tell him what was going on but you felt so ashamed. Everyone else was fine with all the killings, why weren’t you? You don’t want to appear silly to Spy or the others so you always bottle up your negative feelings and just do your job. 
You thought that you’d get used to it eventually but you were dead wrong. It’s been eating away at you. Most nights, you struggle to fall asleep and even stay asleep due to recurring nightmares. The lack of proper sleep has given you bags under your eyes and constant headaches throughout the day. 
During mealtimes, you picked at your food and ate very little, having lost your appetite to the disturbing images that are stuck in your mind - bloody, beaten bodies with lifeless eyes. It made you feel like throwing up your guts. 
“I..” you bit your lip, turning away from Spy’s gaze, “It’s nothing, darling.”
You felt his hand on your shoulder tighten a little. 
He gently guided your face back to look at him with a hand, “You always say that. I don’t believe you, mon cœur. Please.. tell me the truth. I’m not going to judge you, I swear on my heart.”
He smiled at you encouragingly. You felt so vulnerable beneath his gaze. 
Before you had a chance to speak, Medic called out, “Time to go home, everyone. Get in the van!”
The other mercs started to head to the van from their respective places and you quickly took that chance to escape the conversation you were having with Spy, getting up and following them. 
Spy sighed as he watched you scurry away. He would have to ask you another time. 
The drive back was uncomfortable for you and Spy. The air between you two was tense. The other mercs didn’t seem to notice, chatting away as usual.
You tried to run off to your room as soon as you arrived back at base but Spy pulled you to the side. 
“Y/n, please. Just tell me what’s going on. I’m really worried about you.”
You shook your head, “I- I really need to go.” 
Then you made your escape to the safety of your room. 
~~~~~~
You decided to just skip dinner later on, partly because you couldn’t work up any appetite as usual and partly because you didn’t want to see Spy right now. Perhaps you’ll eventually tell him the truth of what’s going on with you, but for now, you just wanted to be alone. 
Wrapping yourself in the warm covers of your bed, you closed your eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep. 
You awoke with a start around a few hours later after a particularly bad nightmare. It was one of the terrible ones - back in the battle field, surrounded by dead bodies while you drown in your own guilt and remorse. 
Clutching your shirt, you desperately tried to control your frantic breathing. Your chest and throat felt painfully tight as tears slowly ran down your face. Your hand went to the bedside table to grab your phone. 
You brought it to your face, ‘2:48 a.m.’
You dropped your phone down beside you and rubbed your face, staying like that for a few minutes. The terrible sinking feeling in your chest wouldn’t fade away though. 
Your mind drifted to the only person you knew could make you feel better - Spy. Knowing that he was most likely going to press you to tell him the truth, you hesitated going to his smoking room where you know he’ll be. 
That didn’t matter anymore though. You just wanted to be in the comfort of your boyfriend’s arms. 
Making sure to be quiet, you made your way to Spy’s smoking room. All the other mercs are asleep by this time, it’s usually just Spy who’s burning the midnight oil, reading and sipping on a glass of his favourite wine. 
When you reached his door, you slowly brought your hand up and knocked. 
Inside, Spy paused his reading and looked up towards the door. No one has ever come to his room this late and so he thought he might have imagined it for a second but he decided to call out just in case, “Who is it?”
You replied back, your voice hoarse from earlier, “Hey, it’s me..”
Spy already knew about your bad sleeping schedule so he was extra worried to find that you’re awake at this hour. He got up from his seat and rushed to the door to greet you. He pulled you into his arms the second he saw you. 
Withdrawing a bit, he cupped your face in your hands and kissed your forehead.
“Did something happen, Y/n?”
You let out a small laugh of self-pity, “Just.. a nightmare.”
Without a word, he stepped out of his room fully and closed the door behind him. He took your hand into his and led you down the hallway to his bedroom. Inside, he took off his coat and shoes and laid down on his bed, signalling for you to come over and lie beside him by patting the empty spot beside him. 
You climbed into it and sank into Spy’s open arms, sighing deeply when you felt his arms wrap around you tightly. 
You two shifted into a comfortable position - both lying on your sides, facing each other with you buried in his embrace, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. 
He stroked your back comfortingly, allowing you to fully relax before he asked what was on his mind. 
“So, Y/n,” he paused, making sure he had your attention, “It’s time to tell the truth.”
You winced at his sentence, knowing that he was right. It’s time you told someone what was going on instead of suffering in silence. 
Whispering softly, you asked him, “Promise you won’t judge?”
Spy pressed a light kiss to your lips, “You know I won’t.”
A few more minutes of warm silence passed as you silently built up the courage to finally talk to Spy. 
“I.. I really don’t want to kill people anymore, Spy. I know I said that I was completely fine with all the bloodshed and everything during my very first mission but I-”
You had to stop to let yourself breathe. Tears started running down your face once more, accompanied by sharp and painful breaths. Spy guided your head against his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt, still holding you close.
He finished your sentence from earlier, “But you lied, didn’t you?”
You spoke again, your voice rushed and raw with emotion, “I- I can’t stand it anymore! I hate it, I hate having to kill people! I go to sleep and all I can see is their lifeless eyes and blood, I’m sick of it!”
Your chest burned with shame, terrified of what Spy was going to say to you. You thought he might think you’re being ridiculous or stupid. 
But no.
He just continued to hold you, rubbing your back soothingly and whispering sweet nothings into your ears. All the emotions you had bottled up over the past few months were flowing out now through pained sobs.
Once you had calmed down a bit, Spy spoke in a soft tone, “Don’t worry. You won’t have to anymore, okay? I’ll have a talk with Ms Pauling and the Administrator and we’ll find another way for you to help.”
You sighed in relief at his words.
You wanted to thank Spy, apologise to him for not telling him earlier, tell him you love him, but he shushed you, “Just rest, mon chéri. You can speak to me tomorrow when you have regained your energy. Je t'aime.”
Spy gave you a kiss on the head and with that, you drifted off to the most pleasant sleep you’ve had in a while, glad that everything would finally be okay.
------
'Salut, mon beau' - Hello, my handsome. (French)
'Mon cœur' - My heart (French)
'Mon chéri' - My darling (French)
'Je t'aime' - I love you (French)
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shokuto · 2 months
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Up in the sky! Pt 2 snippet/WIP
The aircraft tears into the grass, leaving a trail of violently depressed earth and crumpled scraps of metal in its wake. The wheels hold on just enough for nothing to explode on impact.
It is an instant of unimaginable pain, the hardest and most unsparing test of strength he’ll ever endure in his life. It is suddenly bearing the weight of every punch he’s ever taken, every lowlife that ever took a run at him, every casted doubt that ever kept him up at night, pressing onto him by a thousand.
But miraculously, he holds still, and the plane graciously comes to a slow stop in thanks, battered from the landing and covered in dirt.
There isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t feel ravaged and hollowed out, not a single bone that doesn’t feel as if it were crushed to dust right then and there.
But he holds still.
He holds still just enough to comprehend that he is alive, and in enough pain to understand that he’s in one piece, that it’s over. Not to see how his resistance furrowed the front of the plane like a sheet of paper behind him, but to know everyone inside is alive. That alone is what grants him rest.
With no ceremony, he falls on the ground face first, right into the sweet embrace of oblivion.
[…]
Twenty-four minutes ago, Herman Shultz was about to die.
He’d been an ingenious but petty crook for the last few years of his life, cleaned himself up after getting out of jail, for real this time, and now, heart racing and hot tears streaking down his face, he was about to die. He was about to die having blown his life scratching at every door that ever closed on him, having chased away everyone in his life that tolerated him, and throwing tantrums for the men in suits that made him feel small before he could settle into his thirties like a normal person.
He actually thought he’d had a heart attack just before the landing. It felt like that final thump of turbulence had popped something inside of his chest.
It hadn’t, though. He had to suffer the landing perfectly conscious with the other horrified passengers that hadn’t passed out, screeching in terror as he futilely held onto the armrests of his seat like he were on a boat rocking back and forth and not a million dollar plane careening to its fiery demise.
And then…it stopped. By God, by Allah, by whatever was out there, it stopped. It wasn’t until he decided he never wanted to see the inside of a commercial aircraft again (twenty minutes after finishing his cry) that he finally left the plane, but he didn’t see any higher power waiting for him.
He saw Spider-Man. The new one, face-planted in the dirt with his arms at his sides like a body in the lake.
Spider-Man.
Can you imagine that?
A mere two years ago, he’d held Spider-Man hostage, unmasked and well at his mercy. Two years ago, he was the Shocker, a petty criminal who’s name was well known by the proper authorities not for the prestige of his crimes but the fancy gear on his belt. He was a man scorned by powerful institutions that exploited all he had to offer before discarding him like trash. He was an avenger, dead set on striking back at all who’d deprived him of the life he deserved by stealing it from other people.
Today, he’s a nurse, standing before someone in need. Someone who’s saved him twice now.
He leans down and turns him over, momentarily struck still by the scarlet red spider facing out, a proud and impenetrable shield that he only now realizes saved the lives of he and everyone aboard.
It’s for that that he would maybe like nothing more than to be a little gentle, to be able to rouse him awake by merely rocking his shoulder like a kid having a hard time waking up for school. But he is well versed enough in healthcare to understand how and why that’d only make things worse.
Out of his trance, he presses an ear to Spider-Man’s chest, searching for a heartbeat. He nearly faints all over again when he hears one.
“He’s alive,” he confirms to himself.
“He did this?” A woman asks suddenly, snapping Herman to attention. She points to Spider-Man and the busted up yet somewhat intact plane virtually right next to them in quick succession.
“Pretty sure,” he upholds. It’s then that he notices more and more people filing out of the plane like children out of a carnival cyclone. One by one, they all draw nearer, until the hero of the day is surrounded by a diverse set of faces, all contorted in worry and unease for the young man who singlehandedly granted them the rest of their lives.
“He’s passed out from overexertion, he needs space,” Herman reminds them.
“We don’t need to move him?” A guy asks. Probably the youngest one there besides the one on the ground.
“And do what? Right now, all he needs is space and a moment’s rest until someone can get him to a real hospital.”
That shuts everyone up, but it doesn’t stop them from talking amongst themselves. Meanwhile, Herman ruminates on what brought him here, monitoring Spider-Man’s health when a mere twenty-four months ago he’d wanted him dead.
He remembers the anger in his chest dulling into a smoldering ember by the humiliation of pity. By having all he thought about himself at night casually dumped on him like a bucket of ice water. He remembers sitting in holding, unable to feel the hours go by while a public defender prepared to plead insanity, unable to feel much of anything, period.
It was humility, he guesses. Nothing prompts greater self reflection like unmasking one of your greatest tormentors and coming face to face with a tenth grader who feels sorry for you. It made him reflect on all he’d done, all he’d been through since being ousted by Roxxon only for him to undergo a touching realization.
Herman was tired. Tired of armoring himself in a shell of hatred, one that corroded everything inside him until there was nothing left but his faults, his failures, and his inescapable inadequacies shadowing him like specters. He was tired of waking up every day, only able to blearily enjoy the first ten seconds before remembering who he was, how he’d been cheated, and how he resolved to then destroy himself in retribution. He was was tired of depriving himself the sun.
And so, sometime after that night in the warehouse, he resolved to actually do something nondestructive with his new life on the off chance he got out before he was in dentures.
He settled on healthcare.
He didn’t have the patience (or the money) to attend an ivy league medical program, so he settled on nursing school. He nearly relapsed back to his old habits when he realized it wasn’t any less harder than what he imagined medical school would’ve been, but he stuck with it. He stuck with it, and today, he’s returning the favor of being snapped out of his rock bottom by helping out a Spider-Man who’d do the same.
And, y’know, the favor of being saved from burning to death in a blazing metal skeleton.
“How old is he?” Someone asks suddenly, invoking the crowd around them to draw a little nearer.
Spider-Man isn’t unmasked, but it seems up close only now can everyone see the youth in his height, in his scrawny arms and legs sprawled out on the grass like a child in bed. There’s a mother nearby who now got to return home to a child like the one on the ground who feels her throat close up. A grandfather who stands gobsmacked, as if maybe if he looks hard enough the boy who saved them all will suddenly turn into a man.
“He can’t be older than…than fifteen,” he says, struggling to keep the water out of his gravelly voice.
“No older than my son,” she supports.
The ensuing quiet is a somber one. For everyone unharmed, there’s only one person laid bare before them. It seems unnervingly like a sacrifice.
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silvfyre-writings · 11 months
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Tell Me a Story, Ranpo-kun Pt. 4 (BSD Fanfic)
I apologize in advance for the ride you all are about to undertake.
Enjoy?
So, yeeeeah, if you're crying, I have tissues on hand.
There's only one chapter to go, and… I'm not ready. I estimate that it should be done before the end of May, but we'll see. I'm sure you all know what's coming though.
Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on this fic, I appreciate every single one of you <3
Until the final chapter.
Time passes faster than Ranpo had expected it to, and before he knows it; two years have gone by in the blink of an eye, and so much has happened, some of it good, some of it bad. And while Ranpo often wishes that he could have had Poe by his side while everything happened, he also knows that it’s important for Poe to focus on his studies, since, you know, he’s spent literal years working towards completing them.
It just means he’ll have a lot to say when he finally gets to see the man again.
Like they’d promised, he and Poe keep in contact as much as they can, but time zones and life get in the way, and more often than not, they can only manage to hold a phone call for only a few minutes. That doesn’t mean they don’t try, though; they do everything in their power to keep old of that precious bond they share, and the promise they made to each other to not let it fall apart.
Ranpo calls Poe the moment Yosano drops by the café, almost a year after Poe’s departure, excitedly telling Poe that the drug the doctor’s been working on all this time has finally been approved for distribution. It’s a joyous moment, one that Ranpo has been waiting for, for a long time, and despite the tiredness in Poe’s voice—because it’s in the middle of the night over in America when he calls—he can tell that he’s just as happy as Ranpo is. And likewise, Poe calls Ranpo in the middle of the night a month later, crying happy tears as he tells Ranpo that he’s successfully passed all his classes and that he’ll be graduating soon as a fully-fledged nurse; the unsaid words of I’ll be back in Yokohama before you know it, not needing to be said at all. That night is the longest they’ve managed to talk the entire time they’ve been separated, and Ranpo falls asleep that night, listening as Poe babbles on and on.
He wakes up the following morning, phone dead, but once he charges it and it turns back on, he’s greeted by a message from Poe. Sleep well, Ranpo-kun.
In the two years that have passed, Ranpo has gone from frequenting Yokohama’s hospital to barely setting foot in it at all; all because of Yosano and her determination to give him a good life. It helps, that upon the approval of the drug he’d once trialled, she secures a prescription for him, and it soon joins the cocktail of medications that Ranpo has to take daily in order for his body to actually agree with living. It’s a lot of pills, and he stares at them with disdain every morning before downing them all at once with a shudder.
Every day, without fail.
As much as he hates it though, he can’t deny that the meds help; his flare ups are milder than they were three years ago, and while they still happen, he hasn’t been admitted to the hospital for one in well over a year now—aside from one time when he’d gotten an infection and come so close to death, Fukuzawa had actually started planning a funeral. It’s a weight off of Ranpo’s shoulders; Fukuzawa’s too, for the constant medical bills finally come to a halt, and the man can finally get ahead of them instead of stressing over them like he’d been doing for the past six years.
Even better, Ranpo manages to secure himself a job now that he’s not half-living in a hospital, earning his own income for the first time in his life. And while Fukuzawa had told him he didn’t need to pay him back for providing Ranpo with medical care for all these years; Ranpo still puts most of his pay into an envelope and hides it in Fukuzawa’s office. He knows Fukuzawa finds the money—he’s not hiding it that well to begin with—but his guardian never says anything to him about it, and he thinks it’s because he understands that this is something Ranpo both wants and needs to do.
It's not like he’s got anything better to spend his money on anyway; nothing that he doesn’t already have at least.
Ranpo had stumbled upon the job purely by chance, and really, it had been the strangest of encounters; he’s still not quite sure how he’d managed to get a job in the first place. He’d gone out with Fukuzawa, and Ranpo had managed to get lost somehow, and he’d wandered around until he’d stumbled upon harried police officers and a rapidly blocked off crime scene in an alley way; the body they were covering up freshly killed.
The officers had been just as surprised as Ranpo was to see them, and had quickly tried to move him along, but Ranpo was nothing if not stubborn, and this sudden turn of events had caught his attention. All it had taken was a single glance over the crime scene for him to figure out that the killer hadn’t actually left the crime scene, and was, in fact, hiding in the dumpster, watching as the police ran around like headless chickens.
“You can’t possibly know that.” One of the officers had said in disbelief. “You’re just a civilian anyway, what would you know?”
Ranpo had shrugged. “Check the dumpster then. I know I’m right.”
And low and behold, Ranpo had been right, the killer ranting and shouting nonsense at Ranpo as the police dragged him from the dumpster and arrested him. The other officers at the scene had looked at Ranpo with a mixture of horrified and impressed expressions. The same officer that had doubted him earlier had approached him carefully after the killer had been taken away.
“How did you know?”
“It was obvious, duh. He’s probably the one that called you out here in the first place, wanting to see your reactions to his ‘masterpiece.’ Stupid if you ask me.”
The officer had tried to ask Ranpo more questions about how he’d figured it out in such a short amount of time, but before the man could even get the first question out, Ranpo’s phone had rung; Fukuzawa frantically asking him where he’d wandered off to. Ranpo had walked away then, ignoring the perplexed officers, following Fukuzawa’s instructions until he’d reunited with the man, telling him about the little adventure he’d had whilst they’d been separated.
He'd thought that had been the end of it.
But no, apparently the officer that he’d spoken to was actually competent—apparently he was the head of the department—and had tracked down Ranpo’s whereabouts, turning up in Fukuzawa’s café to talk to him about what had transpired the previous day.
Kunikida Doppo was the officers name, and the first thing he’d done after introducing himself was offer Ranpo a job—well, it was more of an arrangement than a job, but it still ended up with Ranpo earning money, so, a job it was in his mind.
All he had to do was solve the cases that Kunikida brought to him, and he got paid. It sounded easy enough, and while Kunikida’s co-workers had doubted his skills in the beginning, Ranpo had quickly proved himself, solving case after case with minimal effort. It didn’t matter if it was a murder or a car theft or a lost pet; Ranpo solved them all.
Eventually, word of Ranpo’s talent got out, and soon he was being harassed by police from all over the country with cases that they’d deemed ‘unsolvable’ or ‘too hard.’
And Ranpo solved each and every one of them. Even better, he was enjoying the work. He loved the way he was forced to put his mind to the test, reading over the case files and studying the clues that the police had already gathered—sometimes going out to the crime scenes for himself to find the clues that the police had oh so obviously, missed when they’d combed over it originally. Some of the officers he worked with got upset whenever he solved a case they had been struggling with, but Ranpo didn’t care. He was having fun, using the observation and deduction skills he’d always been somewhat aware of, but never truly focused on, to solve complicated puzzles. Because that’s all these crimes were; puzzles waiting to be pieced together, much like those video games he always used to play when still frequented the hospital.
When Poe was still here.
“Ranpo-san, are you alright?” Kunikida asks, his voice dragging Ranpo out of his memories and back to the present; the duo are on their way to have lunch after Ranpo had been dragged out to the latest crime scene to offer his assistance. It had been an easy case and he’s only a little salty about solving it so fast after being promised that it would be a challenging one—he’s a little proud though, that the police force are finally figuring out how to lure him out to help them whenever he’s reluctant to do so. Kunikida had sounded oh so desperate on the phone that Ranpo had agreed.
Kunikida repeats his question, and Ranpo realizes he’d failed to answer the man. “Oh, I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“Are you certain? You aren’t feeling ill are you?” Kunikida’s looking at him with a furrowed brow; he’s worried. It’s not an uncommon look for the blonde to wear unfortunately; he’s well aware of Ranpo’s poor health—Ranpo had been forced to tell the man after a bad case of joint pain had left him unable to work one day—and is always looking out for him, even though Ranpo is constantly telling him not to bother.
“Kunikida-san.” Ranpo sighs. “I’m fine. You’d know if I wasn’t.”
“Alright then… what were you thinking about if I may ask?”
Ranpo immediately breaks into a grin. “That’s for me to know and for you to not find out!” He’s worked with Kunikida for just a little over a year now, but he hasn’t told his co-worker—Kunikida’s not a friend, nor is he just a mere acquaintance—about Poe. No, everything about his friendship with Poe is reserved for Ranpo and those he considers family alone. Those that have been there since the beginning and watched as they became friends and… something more. But once Poe returns—because that’s what had brought on his earlier reminiscence; the day that Poe’s due to return to Yokohama is drawing ever near, and Ranpo’s getting a little excited at that—he might consider introducing the two.
He knows they’d get along.
Kunikida sighs, but doesn’t press, well aware that this is just how Ranpo is, and instead, starts off on a tangent about all the paperwork that’s awaiting the two of them back at the office for when they get back. Ranpo immediately tunes the man out; he’s never done any paperwork before and he’s not going to start now. But he’ll let Kunikida think he will at least.
The place that Kunikida’s decided upon for lunch is coming into sight when Ranpo stumbles, a wave of dizziness threatening to send him crashing to the floor, and it’s only because he manages to get his cane under him just in time, that he doesn’t. The world swirls around him, bringing with it nausea and a ringing sound that drowns out the outside world. Ranpo folds in half, struggling to stay upright as he brings a hand up to cover his eyes. Of course, the vertigo has to hit now of all times, and without any of its usual warning signs.
The vertigo is a fairly recent addition to Ranpo’s misery, although he’s experienced it before, brought on by the medication he’s taking. But it doesn’t happen often enough for anyone to be concerned, so he simply deals with the episodes as they come.
“Kunikida-san...” Ranpo’s voice is barely more than a whisper, the man he desperately needs to look back and see him, still chattering as if Ranpo’s beside him. Ranpo knows that in about ten seconds, he’s no longer going to be able to stand, and not wanting to split his head on the concrete, manages to shout, “Kunikida!”
Ranpo hears Kunikida stop, and a quiet curse, before strong arms are grabbing onto his own, muscles straining to hold him upright. “Symptoms, Ranpo-san?” Kunikida asks, no-nonsense and professional as he always is in these moments.
“Vertigo.” Ranpo hisses out between gritted teeth. The dizziness chooses then to worsen, and Ranpo’s not given a choice in the matter; he’s going down, his legs giving out on him. Kunikida carefully follows him down to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself—something that’s happened before—not saying anything until Ranpo’s laying on the ground, taking deep breaths to combat the sudden carousel ride he’s found himself on.
Ranpo would be embarrassed, to be laying in the middle of the footpath in the middle of the day, the eyes of strangers silently judging, but that bridge had long since been crossed. There’s no room for pride; he just grins and bears it at this point.
“Ambulance?” Kunikida asks, reaching down to loosen Ranpo’s tie in case he’s finding it hard to breathe—he’s not, but the gesture is appreciated.
Ranpo gives a single shake of his head, even though it does nothing to help his nausea and he lets out a groan. “Fukuzawa.”
There’s nothing that can be done for him in the hospital that he can’t already do in the comfort of his own home. At least at home, he has Fukuzawa to give him his meds and watch over him, and privacy to ride this out alone. The hospital will just bring needles and questions until someone recognizes him and then he gets sent home and told to ride it out anyway.
So why waste time?
Despite not saying anything, Ranpo can hear Kunikida’s mind working as he tosses between listening to Ranpo, and going with what his gut wants him to do. But ultimately, Kunikida trusts in the fact that Ranpo knows his body well enough to know what’s best for him, and he feels a hand dig around in his pocket and take his phone. You’d think after knowing Ranpo for as long as he has, Kunikida would have Fukuzawa’s number on hand already, but he doesn’t. Apparently it’s because he hasn’t officially met the man to exchange numbers or something the rather—Ranpo doesn’t care, he really doesn’t. All that matters is that he’s capable of contacting Ranpo’s guardian—which he is—so if that means stealing his phone whenever Ranpo himself is unable to call, then so be it.
Ranpo tunes out the world as he hears Kunikida speaking into the phone; the world is still spinning around him, even throwing in the occasional topsy-turvy motion just to make him feel that little bit sicker. There’s the ever present fatigue that comes with every bout of poor health, the kind that feels like there are anchors strapped to each of Ranpo’s limbs, weighing him down and preventing him from being able to move. It always sucks when he feels like this, and it always comes when he feels really good about himself for a change, like his body just has to remind him that it’s nowhere near perfect, and that this is his fate.
“Excuse me, sirs, do you need help?” A stranger approaches them, and Ranpo swallows his building nausea.
“No, we’re fine. Help is on the way. Thank you though.” Kunikida responds and the footsteps fade away as the stranger moves away. Kunikida sighs and directs his attention towards Ranpo. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Ranpo’s blunt, as he always is when he’s unwell. Kunikida doesn’t seem to take it to heart.
“Fukuzawa’s on the way—” Kunikida cuts off as Ranpo’s phone begins to ring, and Ranpo recognizes the ringtone and braves opening one of his eyes to see Kunikida’s eye twitch something fierce. “Dazai’s calling.”
Ranpo, despite the vertigo, grins. Dazai and Kunikida had met not long after Ranpo had secured his job, and like the man had done with Ranpo, he’d latched onto Kunikida like a leech and refused to let go; often tagging along to work with Ranpo just to mock and tease the poor man who ended up making several threats against Dazai’s life if he didn’t stop.
So, of course, Dazai doubled his efforts.
“Find out what he wants.” Ranpo says, because Dazai is Dazai, even after all these years, and he never calls Ranpo without a good reason. Not without warning him beforehand. It’s how they’ve been able to differentiate the joke calls and the serious calls—the kind where Dazai jokes about the newest suicide method he’s discovered, and the kind where Ranpo has to jump through so many hoops just to make sure his best friend survives the night.
And if it is one of those calls, vertigo be damned, Ranpo will crawl to get to Dazai’s side.
Kunikida’s eye twitches again, but he answers the call, and Ranpo closes his eyes again, just barely able to hear the contents of the phone call; but from the way Kunikida already sounds like he’s ready to commit murder, it’s one of the joke calls.
“—along the river, why?” He hears Kunikida ask, and then vigorous cursing. “Damn you, you bandaged bastard! Hanging up on me after you were the one that called in the first place!”
“Technically,” Ranpo swallows. “He called me.”
“I know. He could just stand to be a little less secretive though—before you say it, I know, that’s just how Dazai is.”
“Wasn’t gonna say anything.” Ranpo says, even though he actually was, and pretends he can’t feel Kunikida giving him a look. He doesn’t say anything else and the two sit in silence as they wait for Fukuzawa to arrive. It’s only been a few minutes since Kunikida called but it feels like hours to Ranpo, and he wishes his guardian would hurry up. But he knows that it’s not as simple as Fukuzawa dropping everything to come to his rescue—it kind of is, but it was always easier when Ranpo was close by and not across town. It takes time now, and Ranpo hates it.
He doesn’t have much of a choice right now, since the calls already been made.
“Kunikida-kun! Ranpo! Fancy meeting you here!” Dazai’s voice grates on Ranpo’s eardrums, and he knows if he was able to, he’d be hitting Dazai with his cane for being so annoying with only one sentence. It’s a skill, he swears, that Dazai perfected the moment he popped out of the womb, to be as annoying as humanly possible, yet still somehow likeable at the same time.
Kunikida’s groan following Dazai’s greeting is how Ranpo feels. “Why are you even here, Dazai? And wh—”
“Because what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t come when I’m needed?” Dazai whines, interrupting whatever Kunikida had been about to ask. “I was expecting to crash your adorable little lunch get together, so imagine my surprise when I turn up and you aren’t there. Vertigo again, Ranpo?”
“I can, and will, puke on you if you try and pick me up.” Ranpo warns as he hears footsteps approaching him. It’s an unfortunate mishap that’s happened once before, when it had been just the two of them walking down the street. Dazai had picked Ranpo up with the intention of helping him home, only to have Ranpo’s stomach rebel and cover the both of them vomit. He’s pretty sure there’s a photo out there somewhere; of the two of them in the bathtub with Nakahara cackling in the background.
Dazai hadn’t tried to carry him since.
“Rude.” Dazai says, and Ranpo feels a hand come to grab his own, long fingers coming to press against his pulse. “After all I did to bring you a surprise.”
Wait, what. Ranpo realizes in that moment that Dazai’s voice isn’t coming from in front of him and that this hand is very familiar, and that the motion of checking his pulse is as well. His heart pounds, hoping building within him and he braves opening his eyes. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light, but once they do, he smiles. The world continues to turn and spin, but he’d recognize those violet eyes anywhere, even in the darkest of rooms.
“Edgar.” Ranpo says, reaching over with his other hand to intertwine his fingers with Poe’s, disturbing the man as he’s counting.
“Ranpo.” Poe looks down at him and smiles, looking just as happy to see Ranpo is after all this time. There’s a hint of worry on his face as he squeezes Ranpo’s hand. “I suppose it makes sense that the first time I see you, it’s when your body is hating you.”
“It just wanted to remind you of the first time we met.” Ranpo lets out a sigh and pulls his arms back to get them underneath him, ignoring the way they feel like bricks. He’ll force them to work if he has to, but he’s not going to continue lying on the ground when Poe’s finally returned to him.
Immediately, Kunikida protests. “Ranpo-san, you shouldn’t be moving whilst you still feel dizzy! You’ll only make it worse!”
“Ah, just let him, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai waves a hand in the air, a look of anticipation on his face as he watches Ranpo and Poe closely. “Besides, it’s better to get him sitting now, right, Poe-san?”
Poe lifts his head to look at Kunikida and Dazai, and nods. “I assume you’ve already called Fukuzawa-san?” At Kunikida’s nod, Poe continues, “then it’s best to get Ranpo sitting now, so that when we go to stand him, he’s already halfway there and a little more willing to actually be moved.”
“Oh, I see. My apologies then.” Kunikida says. And then. “Are you a doctor?”
“A nurse, actually.”
“Ranpo’s nurse if you want to get really specific.” Dazai teases, and Ranpo reaches around for his cane so that he can hit the man with it, only to hear the familiar sound of wood tapping against concrete coming from Dazai’s direction.
“Dazai, give me my cane.” Ranpo opens his eyes to glare at his friend as best he can in his current situation.
“No, you’ll just hit me with it.”
“That’s the point.” Ranpo grins when he hears a thwack and Dazai whining afterwards. “Thank you, Kunikida-san.”
Dazai and Kunikida begin to dive into their usual antics, and Ranpo tunes them out to focus on Poe and only Poe. It’s been two years since he’s last seen the man, and almost six months since they’d last spoken to each other, so excuse Ranpo for wanting to push his issues to the side just to bathe in Poe’s attention. He’s been waiting for this day ever since Poe had told him he had to leave Yokohama in the first place, waiting to feel Poe’s hands in his own, and to see the man in person and not through a screen.
Poe’s hair is shorter now, too short for the ponytail that Ranpo had loved and adored. His bangs are as long as they always have been, although they’ve been pinned to the side, revealing those eyes that Ranpo could very easily get lost in. The ever-present eye bags are there as well, darker than they were when Poe left, and Ranpo notes that Poe’s complexion is almost vampiric in nature, he’s that pale; it’s probably why they look so dark in the first place. He’s thin too, and Ranpo frowns, because right now, he looks like the healthy one, and Poe, the sick one. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
“I only landed in Yokohama literally an hour ago, Ranpo. Please excuse me for looking like death itself when I am fighting against jetlag.” Poe quirks his lips, which does nothing by make Ranpo grin at him. “Anyway, how are you feeling? Since you so rudely interrupted my checking on you.”
“It’s vertigo. I feel like I’ve been taking for a carousel ride against my will. Which, I have, just so you know.” Ranpo says, and he closes his eyes as Poe shifts him so that he’s sitting upright, groaning at the change in position. It worsens the dizzy feeling he has, but it eases off as Ranpo adjusts to it. The vertigo never lasts all that long when he’s struck by it, two hours at the most, five at the longest, but he still doesn’t feel like he can stand up without keeling over. The only good thing about sitting up right now, is that Poe lets him lean against him, an arm around his back as Poe kneels beside him.
Ranpo can’t wait any longer.
“Edgar.” He says, and when Poe looks at him, he tugs him forward into a greedy, but still sweet, kiss. Poe gives a surprised grunt, but kisses back. It’s not really the right place of time to indulge in such a notion, but Ranpo hasn’t been able to be affectionate with Poe in so long. He wants to hold Poe close and kiss him more, but he settles for short and sweet for now, and pulls back after a few seconds. Poe’s face is bright red, clearly not having expected Ranpo to be so forward, but he’s not complaining and looks rather pleased.
He should be, since Ranpo had been the one to promise him he’d wait for him.
Which had been absolute torture, mind you.
“And that’s what I was waiting for.” Dazai says, completely ruining the atmosphere and Ranpo just about forgets he’s supposed to be unwell, and goes to stand, ready to throttle the man; Poe’s arms preventing him from rising the only thing stopping him.
And, well, the vertigo.
“Dazai-san, please stop tormenting, Ranpo.” Poe sighs.
Kunikida chooses that moment to speak up, a stunned look on his face. “You told me you weren’t involved with anyone, Ranpo-san…?” It sounds like a half-question, half-statement coming from the man; it’s rather amusing to watch him trying to piece together what he’s just witnessed.
“I’m not.” Ranpo says, going to lean back against Poe. The dizziness is easing now, more a discomfort than actually debilitating.
“What, so you just kiss all your friends?” Kunikida asks, his eyes sliding between him and Dazai, and Ranpo scrunches his face at that thought. Why does everyone keep thinking he’d kiss his best friend when Dazai already has someone to do that for him in his life?
“No. Edgar’s the only one.”
“Then—”
“Don’t even bother, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai laughs and throws an arm around the confused man’s shoulder. “No one understands the relationship between Poe-san and Ranpo, not even me. It’s easier to just accept it as it comes.”
Thankfully, Ranpo’s saved from this conversation by Fukuzawa finally pulling up beside them.
“You haven’t changed much.” Poe says, handing Ranpo a glass of water and his meds that Ranpo downs quickly. “Although the cane is a new addition that you never told me about.”
Ranpo drinks the rest of the water before moving to stretch out on his bed, leaving enough space for Poe to crawl and lay beside him, which he does. They’re both in Ranpo’s room now, Fukuzawa having brought him home—after greeting Poe with a smile and an embrace, both of which had left Poe stunned—and leaving the two of them alone. “I actually forgot to mention it last time we spoke.” Ranpo says, eyeing the piece of wood that’s leaning against the wall beside his bed.
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Poe rolls onto his side and shuffles closer towards Ranpo so that he can rest his head on Ranpo’s chest. One hand is pressed against Ranpo’s side, but the other stretches across to grab at his hand, and… it’s nice. Ranpo’s free arm is trapped underneath Poe, but he has enough movement to run his hand up and down Poe’s spine; Poe shudders and relaxes into him even more.
Two years apart and still, it feels right.
“I got sick last year.” Ranpo offers despite Poe not asking him, because he knows Poe’s curious why he has a walking aid now when he didn’t before, and he also knows that Poe’s too polite to ask, always worried about upsetting or offending him. As if Ranpo ever could be when it’s Poe. “A dog bit me on the leg while Fukuzawa and I were out. It was infected the next day, because it’s me.”
“Was that when I didn’t hear from you for a couple of months?”
Ranpo nods. “Yeah. It was… it was bad. I don’t remember any of it really, but Yosano-sensei told me afterwards that Fukuzawa was actually starting to plan a funeral for me.”
“I heard about that.” Poe says quietly, a sad look on his face. “Yosano-sensei called me to tell me about it. She told me how sick you were, and that you might not make it. I wanted to come back, but she told me not to, that the only people allowed in the room were her and Fukuzawa so there wouldn’t be any point to me flying all the way here. But she promised to keep me updated. I was relieved when she told me you were finally on the mend.”
For some reason, Poe’s words send warmth spreading throughout his chest. “Well, I suppose having me in your thoughts is enough.” He’s teasing. “But, yeah, the infection wreaked havoc on my leg. Took months for me to actually walk on it again, but it never healed right.”
“Hence the cane?”
“Hence the cane.” Ranpo leans down to nuzzle Poe’s hair; it tickled his nose, but it smells nice, like Poe had freshly washed it. “Now what about you? You changed lots. Your hair for starters.”
“N-Not much happened, really.” Poe says, suddenly awkward now that the attentions been turned onto himself. “I c-cut my hair because it was getting in the way—”
“You cut your hair, but not your bangs?”
“—hush you.” Poe scolds, pulling his hand away to flick Ranpo’s forehead gently before returning to intertwine their fingers again. “My bangs can be pinned back, and I like hiding behind them. As I was saying, not much happened. I graduated; I started w-working—things I’ve already told you.”
“What about your stories?” Ranpo asks.
“What about them?”
“Have you published them yet?” He knows that Poe hasn’t published them, because he would’ve heard about it if he had, but it’s the best question he has to ask Poe about how his writing’s going without outright asking about it. Poe always seems to turn into a stuttering mess when he’s asked about his writing, Ranpo doesn’t quite understand why.
Poe hums, his voice starting to slow down as tiredness overtakes him. “No… but I do have something to show you. Later”
“Oh? What?” Ranpo asks, but his only response is a mumble he can’t understand as the jetlag finally wins against Poe’s fight to stay awake and the writer falls asleep in his arms. Ranpo continues to lay there until he too, falls asleep, enjoying Poe’s warmth and the fact that he’s finally back.
He looks forward to spending as much time as possible with Poe in the coming days.
It’s almost like they were never apart in the first place.
-----
“You’ve come back for a reason, haven’t you, Edgar?” Ranpo asks one day while he and Poe are eating an early dinner together. He can hear Fukuzawa downstairs, cleaning the café, and the pitter patter of paws as the cats run up the stairs to escape the smell of chemical—and the dreaded vacuum.
As it turns out, Poe had sold his apartment upon leaving Yokohama, and after two years apart, Ranpo wasn’t going to let the man sleep in some hotel somewhere, so he’d told Poe to just stay with him until he found a place. Understandably, Poe had protested, not wanting to impose on him and Fukuzawa like that, but Fukuzawa had chosen that moment to say that it was fine, and that Poe was always welcome.
So, for the past week and a bit, Poe had been sharing Ranpo’s bed with him. There had been a spare bed, of course, but why bother when they were already so used to sleeping in each other’s presence? Poe had, of course, tried to protest that the bed was Ranpo’s, but Ranpo wouldn’t hear it.
“How many times did we lay in the same hospital bed together? At least this one’s bigger!”
“I wanted to come back, is that not enough?” Poe frowns, as he uses his chopsticks to push his food around his plate. Ranpo narrows his eyes at the movement; Poe hasn’t yet eaten anything, and he’s been living here long enough for the jetlag to have long since stopped affecting his appetite.
He doesn’t say anything.
It is, but I know you, and you have that look in your eye. The one that tells me I’m missing something. The last piece of the puzzle…  Ranpo thinks, chewing on his own food. He hums and tries to think about his words so he doesn’t upset Poe. “I know you came back for us, and that makes me happy, but… there’s something else. I know it has something to do with whatever it is you’re still keeping from me.”
He'd asked about what it was that Poe was hiding after Poe had left, trying to get the answers he so desperately wanted, but not one of them told him anything useful; playing dumb or just telling him to ask Poe—which he’d already done.
Poe goes quiet, his head dropping to avoid looking at Ranpo, even though his bangs already do that plenty. “It’s… complicated, Ranpo.” His eyes look sad for a split second, but it’s not long enough for Ranpo to know if he truly saw the look or if it was just a trick of the light, before Poe’s looking at him again, a smile on his face. “Is there anything you’d like to do now that I’m back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, your meds are working quite well, so you can probably do things you haven’t been able to before. We could do some things together?” Poe suggests.
Ranpo stops eating and thinks. It’s true that there’s lots of things he’d like to do, and despite being free of the hospital for as long as he has been, he still hasn’t done much of the mental list he’s built up; he blames it on all the work he’s been doing recently and not really having anyone to do those things with. But now that Poe’s back, it gives him more reason to want to actually do these things and—
“I want to visit my parents.” Ranpo says after a few minutes. “I haven’t been in a while.”
“They aren’t buried in Yokohama are they?”
Ranpo shakes his head. “Out in the countryside. It’s pretty far, so whenever Fukuzawa and I have gone in the past, we’ve had to take a couple of extra days. I would always fall ill when we returned though, so we didn’t get to do it often.” He drops his head. He’s had plenty of opportunities these past two years to take the time to go and visit, yet he hasn’t, and he’s not sure why that is. The thought leaves him with a heavy feeling in his stomach, and suddenly, he doesn’t think he can finish the rest of his dinner, not when he feels like he’s been the worst son imaginable.
“Ranpo… are you alright?” Poe looks concerned, and he stretches a hand across the table, resting it with the palm facing upwards; an offering, if Ranpo needs it.
He rests his own hand on top, enjoying the way Poe’s hand is cold against his own warm one, and does his best to smile, although he’s certain he fails. Thinking about his parents always leaves him feeling this way, even though it’s been years since they’d passed. “I’m alright. Just thinking about my parents… ya know?”
Poe nods, an understanding look on his own face. “I get it. I didn’t quite have the same relationship with my own parents, but I do understand.”
Ranpo looks up, eyes wide at the information Poe divulges. It’s the first time that Poe’s spoken about his family to Ranpo in the years they’ve known each other. That doesn’t mean that Ranpo hasn’t tried to find out more, because, he has. But every time he asks, Poe always gets a faraway look in his eyes that Ranpo recognizes as the same one Dazai gets when he gets lost in bad memories, so Ranpo’s carefully learned how to avoid crossing the thin line that is Poe’s emotions when it comes to talking about family. The only reason family ever even comes up between the two is because Ranpo has always liked to talk about his own family; his parents and everything they did for him before they passed, and Fukuzawa who took over for them.
So, with Poe’s feelings regarding family in mind, he carefully asks, “What were your parents like?”
He can see the moment that Poe freezes, and the moment he begins to mentally back away from the conversation—almost as if the response is an automatic one at this point—and Ranpo’s already forming the words on his lips to tell Poe that he’ll drop it, when Poe actually answers him. “I… didn’t actually know my birth parents. My father left before I was even a year old, and my mother died when I was two. But the people that raised me… they were alright, I guess. They weren’t the nicest of people and both passed when I was sixteen. I’ve been on my own since.”
“There’s no one else in your family?” Ranpo asks, his interest piqued at how open Poe’s being with him. It makes sense now, why Poe’s so hesitant and anxious when it comes to what most would consider basic things. The way Poe used to stiffen up the moment he was touched by unfamiliar hands, or the way those that happened to be taller than him, caused him to shrink until he appeared smaller than even Ranpo. All of Poe’s mannerism’s that have slowly faded the longer he’s lived in Yokohama, can absolutely be traced back to the childhood that he lived back over in America.
Poe shakes his head. “No one that cared enough to talk to me. I don’t mind though, Ranpo, really. I’ve always been quiet in nature, so living on my own suited me just fine.”
No it didn’t, but Ranpo’s not going to say that out loud. Instead, he turns his attention back to his long forgotten dinner and shoves some of it into his mouth, talking while he chews. “Well, now you have a new family—our family—so you aren’t alone anymore!”
A soft laugh comes from Poe’s mouth as he smiles, and eats a little more of his own food. “No, I suppose I’m not, am I? What about your parents? What were they like?”
Ranpo brightens immediately; it’s not often that he gets to talk about his parents, not when the topic usually comes up after a series of nightmares, or when something bad is happening to him, so it’s a nice change to get the chance to talk over something nice. Ranpo doesn’t hesitate to start talking, telling Poe everything as it comes to his mind, in no order or sense, and he’s pretty sure that he’s talking far too fast to actually be understand, but Poe’s watching him softly, head resting on the palm of his hand, listening as Ranpo talks, and talks.
“They sound wonderful.” Poe says when Ranpo’s finished talking. “Do you think they’re watching over you?”
“I like to think so.” Ranpo looks up at the ceiling, imagining the night sky that lies beyond it. “I can’t imagine they’d move on to the afterlife or wherever it is the dead go without making sure that I’m alright.” He grins at Poe. “They would’ve liked you.”
“You think so?”
“Of course I do!”
The train ride to the countryside is as long as it always is, and Ranpo’s quiet as he stares out the window, watching the scenery fly by as the train chugs along the tracks. Fukuzawa is sitting across from him; lost in the book he’s brought along for the ride. It’s almost the exact same scene as it is every time the two of the them have made the trek out to the small village that Ranpo had grown up in, only… it’s not just the two of them this time.
There’s a weight on Ranpo’s shoulder as Poe leans against him, eyes closed in slumber, and soft snores the only noise in the compartment the three of them are sitting in. In order to get to Ranpo’s hometown, it had meant getting up early to catch the right train; and while he and Fukuzawa were used to the early wake ups, it appeared that Poe was not, for they hadn’t even left Yokohama before he had dozed off. It had been even harder to get Poe up and out of bed, the writer opening his eyes only to try and go back to sleep upon seeing that the sun wasn’t even up yet. Unfortunately for him, Ranpo was the more stubborn of the two, and eventually, Poe had gotten up on shaky legs and slowly moved about the bedroom, looking more dead than alive in that moment. Ranpo had watched him with concerned eyes, ignoring the way Poe had tried to reassure him that he was still waking up and would be fine soon.
Ranpo didn’t believe him.
He’s not that stupid, he’s had two years to piece the puzzle together, two years to read between the lines of what people tell him.
He just doesn’t have the missing pieces yet. Those lie with Poe and Poe alone.
“You look worried. What’s on your mind?” Fukuzawa comments, even though he’s not looking at Ranpo at all to know what kind of face he’s making. He’s starting to think that the man is telepathic from the way he always seems to know what Ranpo’s thinking, even before Ranpo himself knows what he’s thinking.
Ranpo sighs and glances at Poe’s sleeping face, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of his face; a gesture that would’ve normally roused Poe from his sleep did nothing this time. It told Ranpo that Poe was more exhausted than he’d tried to lead him to believe back at home. “I’m not worried.”
Fukuzawa glances up at him this time, albeit briefly. “You’re usually much more restless and talkative. And you have that look on your face?”
“What look?” Ranpo frowns.
“That look.” Fukuzawa moved to close his book and places it on the chair beside him, giving Ranpo his full attention. Ranpo likes to call it the ‘important talk’ look, and he dislikes whenever he’s put under its scrutiny. “What’s wrong, Ranpo?”
Ranpo thinks over whether or not he wants to divulge his thoughts to his guardian, when he’s not even a hundred percent sure that he has something to worry about in the first place. He knows that there’s something, it’s something that’s been hanging around the back of his subconscious since that night Poe had ended up in the hospital, but he’s not a hundred percent certain; there’s a sliver of chance that he’s wrong, and that he’s worrying about nothing, and it’s that sliver that Ranpo clings to.
He doesn’t want to be right, not this time.
“There’s nothing.” Ranpo says, making the decision not to talk about it, not until Poe himself has spoken to him—whenever that happens. “But I’ll tell you if there is.”
“Alright.” Fukuzawa nods, and goes back to his book.
Ranpo’s hometown hasn’t changed much since the last time he was here, and neither has the graveyard his parents are buried in. It’s a little more overgrown from lack of care, but he knows that someone will be by at the end of the month to tidy the graves and give them a clean. Even after all these years, he doesn’t know who it is that does the work, but he appreciates it; its certainly easier to travel over the uneven ground when plants aren’t constantly trying to take his cane from him and trip him up.
He leads the way down the path, carefully watching where he’s walking, and listening to make sure that Fukuzawa and Poe are still behind him. The walk to the graveyard had left both Ranpo and Poe needing a break, but while Ranpo had recovered enough to continue on, he can still hear Poe’s wheezing breaths behind him; any attempt he’d make at taking a longer break was met with Poe insisting that he was fine and capable. Ranpo would’ve argued, but the look Poe was giving him was one he’d often used himself when he was ill, so he dropped the subject, and set the pace as slow as he could instead.
“Here we are.” He says, slowly easing himself to the ground to sit in front of the gravestone that had his parent’s names marked on them. Ranpo feels sad as he looks at it, wondering what his life would’ve been like if they hadn’t died in the accident; if he still would’ve met Dazai, and Yosano, and Poe. He doubts he would’ve met Fukuzawa if it hadn’t been for that fateful day that had brought them together, but he’s also pretty sure he would’ve been dead by now if he hadn’t met the man. It’s thanks to Fukuzawa that he’s still here, really—sure, his parents had fought as much as they could to get him help, but even they had given in to the doctors saying nothing could be done in the end. Not that Ranpo blames them—he probably would’ve given up on himself too back then.
I miss you. Ranpo says to his parents, knowing that wherever they are, they will always be watching over him; always listening. He’s never spoken aloud to his parents whilst visiting them, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself. Ranpo still tells them everything though. I’m doing well though… still fighting hard like I promised. I’m twenty now, an adult. Who would’ve thought, huh? I remember people telling you that I wouldn’t make it to thirteen. I sure showed them. That’s not all, I uh… I met someone. He’s here with me actually—I wanted him to meet you both. His names Poe, and he’s American—oh, and an amazing writer, and, well… he’s special. Very special. He’s helped me a lot, and I don’t know what I’d do without him.
Ranpo continues to update his parents on everything that’s happened to him these past years, updates them on how the family he’s created by his own hands is doing as well. There’s silence around him; Fukuzawa kneeling beside his left, head bowed respectfully towards the graves. He’s probably telling them that he’s still managed to keep his promise in keeping Ranpo safe, the same promise he always makes on these visits. Poe’s to his left, mouth moving, but no words coming out as he says words Ranpo can’t discern; he realizes after a moment of watching that it’s because Poe’s speaking English, which isn’t surprising in the slightest.
They sit there for an hour, in silence, as the three of them talk of different things to the ghosts that they hope can hear them, even in death.
There’s not much to see in Ranpo’s hometown, but he shows Poe around anyway; where the general store is, where he used to live with his parents—there’s a new family in that house now, so he only points it out as they walk past it—and where the one restaurant is in town that also doubles as the lodgings for passer-by’s. He even shows him the ratty playground that kids have broken more bones on than actually played, telling Poe the story of how he’d snuck out of the house when he was younger to go play with the other village kids, only to break his wrist falling off the damn thing.
After Ranpo finishes his story, he leads Poe back to the lodgings so that they can get something for dinner, and get some much needed rest before catching the train in the morning.
“Would you like to come to America with me, Ranpo?” Poe asks once they’ve settled into the only lodgings in the village. The question is sudden and unexpected, and comes while Ranpo’s kicking off his pants so that he can get into bed. He stares at Poe from where he’s leaning against the wall, one leg out and the other raised as he fights with his clothing. Poe, whose already undressed and comfortable in bed, stares at him with a curious look.
“If you tell me why, I’ll give you an answer.” Ranpo finally answers, finally tugging his leg free. He’s curious why Poe’s brought this up, when he’s never really seemed keen on sharing his American heritage with Ranpo before. As he waits for Poe to answer him, he limps over to the bed and crawls under the covers with Poe, getting as close as he can to the man. He can feel Poe’s heartbeat underneath his ear, and he lets out a pleased noise when Poe plants a kiss on his forehead.
“I thought that since you’ve shown me where you grew up… you’d like to see where I did.” Poe says, uncertainty in his voice. He’s worried Ranpo will say no, or laugh at him for even suggesting such an idea in the first place. “You, um, don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. I’d u-understand. It’s quite far…”
“Don’t be stupid, Edgar.” Ranpo says, tracing a senseless pattern into Poe’s bare chest that has the man shiver underneath him. “I want to go. But can we go?”
“You’d just need a passport, which is easy enough to get… I hope. We can ask Fukuzawa for help. And if you’re worried about your health, we’ll plan accordingly. We won’t just get on a plane tomorrow and fly halfway across the world.”
“What about your own health?” Ranpo asks. It’s not what he’d originally wanted to say, but it’s what escaped his mouth, and he really wishes he could shove the words back in, but he can’t, so he keeps talking. “You still don’t look well, ya know? Not that I’m saying you are unwell, of course, just that you look it. Not that I’m one to judge. I—”
Poe cuts him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “Ranpo, it’ll—it’ll be fine. You trust me, don’t you?”
Ranpo nods. Of course he trusts Poe, he always has, ever since they first became friends. Hell, he’s probably trusted Poe earlier than that—a memory of the time Poe had sat by his bedside before he’d even known who Ranpo was flashes across his mind.
“Then trust me. It’ll be fun, and we’ll make some memories.”
Ranpo’s always considered himself a heavy sleeper, so he’s surprised when he wakes up at some unknown hour of the night for a reason he’s not yet aware of. It takes him another minute or so for him to wake up enough to realize that it’s just him in the bed; Poe’s nowhere to be found, although there’s a light coming from the bathroom, the door half closed to prevent said light from flooding the rest of the room. “Edgar?”
When he doesn’t receive an answer, Ranpo throws the sheets off himself and crawls out of bed, and shuffles as quickly as he’s able to over to the bathroom. Slowly, he pushes the door open, “Ed—” Ranpo cuts off as the first thing his eyes land on is blood. “Edgar!”
Poe’s leaning against the toilet, head between his knees with more blood than Ranpo’s comfortable seeing staining his clothes, his hands, his face. He jerks when he hears Ranpo’s voice and his head lifts slightly. “Ah, my apologies, Ranpo. Did I wake you?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Ranpo comes and awkwardly kneels in front of Poe, his hands hovering in the air as he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “What happened?”
“Nosebleed.” Poe sighs and drops his head back down; Ranpo realizes then that one of Poe’s hands is pinching the bridge of his nose, and he vaguely recalls that that’s what you’re supposed to do when your nose decides to just randomly bleed on you. “My phones on the counter, can you tell me what the timer’s at, please?”
Ranpo nods and does as he’s asked, stretching up to grab the device—and after a brief pause, the box of tissues beside the phone—before returning to his spot in front of Poe, nudging the man’s leg with the box. “It’s at six minutes, thirty.”
“Okay.” Poe lets out a sigh as he discards the bloody tissues he’d been pressing against his nose and replacing it with a handful of new ones. “Grab one of the small towels, wet it, and place it on my neck.”
“What’s that for?” Ranpo asks as he stands, leaning against the counter with all his weight on his good leg as he grabs the towel. He’s really wishing he’d taken the time to grab his cane instead of madly dashing to the bathroom, but he pushes his discomfort to the side and refocuses his attention on helping his friend.
Poe sniffs, and it’s a horrid sound; wet and thick, almost as if Poe has a cold, even though it’s obviously from all the blood that’s still coming from his nose. “It’s to help constrict the blood vessels. Should stop the bleeding, or slow it down at least.”
“Do you… should I get help?”
“Only if it lasts longer than ten minutes. It’s—It’s fine, Ranpo, this happens sometimes.” Poe tilts his head to the side just enough that one of his eyes are peeking out from behind his bangs. “You can go back to bed if you want.”
“Nah, that’s boring.” Ranpo places the now, cold, and wet towel against the back of Poe’s neck, the man letting out a blissful sigh as the chill seeps into his skin. “I’ll just sit here and keep you company until you stop bleeding all over the place.”
“Surely that’s more boring.”
“Of course, it’s not! Why? Because I say so—hey, Edgar, want me to tell you a story?”
“Huh?” Poe sounds confused, which is fair, because Ranpo’s also confused, despite being the one to make the offer in the first place. It’s the first time he’s ever offered to tell a story; it’s usually Poe telling the stories, and that was fine with both of them. The confusion disappears, and a soft smile appears in its place. “Sure, use my phone to find one if you’d like.”
Ranpo nods and scrolls through Poe’s phone, trying to find a story that’s not too long, but not too short either. Eventually, he finds one that looks promising, some foreign fairy tale he’s never heard of before, and he copies and pastes into a translator so that he can actually read the words. He doesn’t know how Poe does it if this is how he’s always read stories to Ranpo; it’s just another reason to be fond of him, really.
“Just know, I had to put it through a translator. If it doesn’t make sense, don’t blame me.” Ranpo says, shifting closer to Poe and wrapping an arm around his back.
Poe leans into the touch. “How could I ever blame you, Ranpo.”
“Shush you, I’m going to read you the best story you’ve ever heard.”
They end up falling asleep on the bathroom floor, and when Ranpo wakes up, it’s to a very strong ache that resonates across his entire body. Great. He let’s out a groan and carefully, shuffles out from underneath Poe. But that’s as far as his plan goes, because he can’t pull himself upright apparently, and he resigns himself to sitting on the cold bathroom floor until Poe wakes up; he regrets not bringing his phone with him when he’d come all the way here.
Poe’s still sleeping, still covered in blood, albeit dried now. His nose had stopped bleeding sometime while Ranpo had been speaking, and he, himself had fallen asleep not long after, once he’d finished reading the story. Ranpo’s not quite sure why he didn’t just stop when Poe had fallen asleep, but something had kept him going, some unknown force that whispered in his ear that he had to finish the story.
It makes him wonder if this was what happened every time Poe had been the one to tell him a story. If Poe felt the urge whenever he was reading, to keep on reading until there wasn’t anything left to read. He then wondered if that extended to the stories that Poe writes, and if that was the reason why he always saw the man scribbling down in a notebook, desperately getting the words out until the story had told itself.
Ranpo hears his phone buzz in the other room, and a quick glance at Poe’s phone shows they’re running late to meet with Fukuzawa for breakfast. He tries again to get to his feet, but his body just isn’t interested in complying with him this morning, at least not until he gets his meds into him which will do wonders on the aches. Poe’s phone buzzes a couple of minutes after, Fukuzawa’s name popping up on the screen and it’s then that Ranpo slaps himself with a hand. He could’ve just used Poe’s phone to ask Fukuzawa for help instead of waiting all this time.
With one hand, Ranpo shoots a text to Fukuzawa explaining what had happened and that Poe was still sleeping. He gets a response a few seconds after he sends it; Fukuzawa’s on the way. Thank God. Ranpo decides then, that while letting Poe sleep the day away is perfectly fine and something he’d love to do so himself, he also knows that if they want to get back to Yokohama at a reasonable hour, he needs to get up now.
“Edgar.” Ranpo shakes Poe’s shoulder, and keeps shaking when the man doesn’t immediately show any signs of waking. Poe’s brow furrows, but he still remains asleep. “Edgar.”
A twitch of the finger, and then, finally, Poe’s eyes open. “Ugh.”
“I’ll say. Welcome back to the land of the living. We have blood and joint pain greeting us this fine morning.” Ranpo laughs at his own words. He doesn’t care if Poe doesn’t find them funny, he does and that’s all he cares about.
Poe just stares at him for a moment, blinking blearily at him, before he seems to realize what Ranpo’s said and snorts. “I see we’re both having a great start to the day. Can I help?”
“Fukuzawa’s coming.” Ranpo answers with. “But maybe clean yourself up a bit so you don’t look like I punched you in the face.”
“It’s not that bad, Ranpo.”
“It looks that bad.”
Poe huffs, and gets to his feet—Ranpo doesn’t miss the way that Poe’s having to lean heavily on the sick, nor the way he can’t seem to stay standing, collapsing onto the toilet lid, and washing his hands free of blood that way—whilst he watches from the floor. A knock distracts him, before he hears the front door opening. “Ranpo? Poe-san?” Fukuzawa calls into the room.
“Bathroom! Bring my meds, please!” Ranpo calls back, accidentally startling Poe, which in turn startles him. The two of them stare at each other momentarily before quietly chuckling.
Fukuzawa appears in the doorway, holding the little bag that Ranpo keeps his pills in and he makes grabby hands towards it. It doesn’t take him long to get what he needs and swallow it; now he just needs to wait for them to actually work. “Thanks.”
He received a nod in response. “Is it bad today?”
“If you get me upright, I can probably work through it.” Ranpo says, and lifts his arms as Fukuzawa bends down to hoist him up—Ranpo groans at the change in position—guiding him out of the bathroom and towards the bed where he gets dumped, Fukuzawa disappearing back into the bathroom. He returns moments later with Poe, an arm around Poe’s waist, and a hand underneath his elbow as he deposits Poe beside Ranpo, in a much gentler manner than Ranpo had been. Rude.
“I brought breakfast with me.” Fukuzawa moves to grab the bag that Ranpo hadn’t even noticed off of the little table that all motels have and passes it over. Inside is a few pieces of buttered toast and some fruit; it’s simple enough, which suits the situation just fine. Ranpo’s content to much on the fruit whilst Fukuzawa moves about the room, gathering their belongings for them—Ranpo’s grateful for that. He thinks he’d fall over if he tried to help right now.
Instead, he turns towards Poe and nudges the man with his knee when he notices that he’s not eating. “Eat. You’ll feel better if you do.”
Poe hums and doesn’t say anything, but obediently grabs a piece of toast and nibbles on it.
The train ride back to Yokohama is quiet; Ranpo stares out the window like he always does, but this time, Poe’s in his lap, and he’s running his fingers through his hair while he sleeps.
He spends the rest of the trip worried.
“Are you sure that going to America is a good thing?” Ranpo whispers when they’re safely back at home, comfortably resting in his bed. He and Poe are curled up next to each other like they always are, but Ranpo’s pressed their foreheads together so that he can feel Poe’s soft breaths against his face, and he’s gently running his thumbs across the back of Poe’s knuckles. “There’s plenty of time, we can go when you’re feeling better.”
Last nights incident slotted another piece of the jigsaw together.
“It’ll—It’ll be fine, Ranpo. It’s n-nothing to worry about.” Poe says, eyes blinking tiredly. Ranpo wants to argue, even starts to open his mouth to do so, before Poe covers the distance between them and kisses him—only for a second—and it might just be Ranpo’s imagination, but…
It doesn’t feel as full of life as Poe’s kisses usually do.
-----
When Ranpo tells people that he and Poe are going overseas, he’s met with very different reactions.
Fukuzawa watches him closely after Ranpo tells him. “You both need to be careful, okay? But ultimately, enjoy yourselves and make some good memories.”
Yosano insists that Ranpo lets her check him over a few days before they plan to fly out. “The climate’s very different over there, so you make sure to take care of yourself, okay? I won’t be there to help you if you have a flare up.” She has an apprehensive look on her face as she says that, and he has a feeling it’s not directed at him.
Nakahara corners him in the café after picking Dazai up one day and gives him a list of things to do over in America. “These are some of things I did when I went over last, but I’m sure Poe-san has a plan in mind already. But it wouldn’t hurt to suggest some of these.”
Dazai is the only one that doesn’t say anything, just gives him an unreadable look as he leans in close and whispers into Ranpo’s ear in a voice that sends shivers up Ranpo’s spine. “Have you ever noticed that Poe-san only stutters when he lies?”
Ranpo’s not sure what to make of that, but his best friends words leave him feeling uneasy for the rest of the day.
-----
It’s when their trip is fully booked and planned out—they’re leaving in two weeks—that the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.
Ranpo and Poe are helping Fukuzawa with closing the café, when Poe breaks out into a fit of coughing, which isn’t odd in itself; Poe’s been coughing and wheezing a lot these past few days. It’s just a cold, is what he’d told Ranpo, and Ranpo had believed him, if only because he’s the same way when he falls victim to one.
What wasn’t normal, was when the coughing only seemed to grow worse, and Ranpo looks up from where he’s wiping down a table to see Poe, with one hand clutching the table he’s next to, and the other, his chest. The coughs start to sound different, and Ranpo steps closer and freezes in place.
There’s blood dribbling down Poe’s chin, his lips stained in the crimson liquid. A bubble forms and bursts at the corner of his mouth, and finally, Ranpo’s limbs seem to unfreeze and he surges forward. “Fukuzawa!” He shouts, dragging a chair from one of the tables and forcing Poe down into it. His heart’s beating a million miles a second, and he’s pretty sure he’s shaking. He’s scared, but he does his best to prevent it from showing, because Poe looks more frightened, and Ranpo knows that if he looks afraid of what’s happening, then that’ll only scare Poe more, and it’ll only become so much worse.
He's reminded so much of that time it had been him coughing up blood.
“Breathe, Edgar.” Ranpo says, taking Poe’s hand into his own, trying to remember what others had done for him when he’d had trouble breathing during flare ups. He’d often been laid on the ground in a specific position, but there’s never been blood involved in his cases. Where the hell is Fukuzawa? “Here, lean forward—Fukuzawa!”
Footsteps hurry from the kitchen and Fukuzawa rushes over, the franticness of Ranpo’s voice alerting him to the seriousness of the situation. Ranpo only has to make eye contact with the man, before Fukuzawa’s kneeling beside Poe and issuing orders. “Ranpo, bring me a towel, and then call Yosano-sensei.”
“No.” Poe croaks, more blood spilling over his lips that he catches in his hand. The coughing’s eased off enough for him to speak. “I’m—I’m fine.”
“There’s only two options, Poe-san, and that’s I drive you to the hospital, or I call an ambulance. Not going is not an option.” Fukuzawa says, words harsh, but voice somehow still kind. “Let us help you, Poe-san. Just like you’ve always helped us.”
Ranpo remains frozen in one spot as Poe stays silent, only moving when Fukuzawa looks up at him, and he remembers that he’s supposed to actually be doing something instead of just standing there. He moves off to grab the towel that Fukuzawa had requested, handing it over to the man before he grabs his phone and dials his doctors number.
Yosano picks up on the second ring, and listens as Ranpo speaks rapidly to her, watching Fukuzawa wipe away the blood that’s staining Poe’s mouth, and then helping the writer onto his feet. He’s not quite sure that Yosano understands what he’s saying, but once he’s done, she reassures him that everything will be alright, and that she’ll meet them when they arrive. Ranpo manages to get out a quiet ‘okay’ before he’s hanging up. “Yosano-sensei is going to meet us.”
“Okay. Are you coming?” Fukuzawa asks, only because he knows how much being at the hospital irks Ranpo, but it’s a stupid question in this case. Of course he’s going. He could be unable to walk and breathe himself, and he’d still go. His face must say something, because Fukuzawa only nods. “Help me then.”
Ranpo follows behind Fukuzawa, wishing that he could help support Poe’s weight as his friend stumbles along, but it would be foolish on his part to even try. Instead, he makes sure to turn the lights off and lock the door of the café behind him, and when they get to the car, he opens the door and slides into the backseat without a word, putting his arms out to help guide Poe to come and sit next to him.
“You’ll be okay.” Ranpo presses his face into Poe’s hair as the man leans against him, forgoing his seatbelt so that Poe can stretch out against him and breathe. And for once, Fukuzawa doesn’t tell him off for it. “It’s just a bad day, that’s all.”
Poe coughs. “Y-Yeah…”
They aren’t allowed to go with Poe once they arrive at the hospital, Yosano ferrying him away the moment they step foot inside the building. So, for the second time in his life, Ranpo’s forced to wait in the waiting room, left to get lost in his endless thoughts of what ifs and whys. It had clicked the moment everything seemed to calm down around him, allowing his mind to piece together the puzzle that’s been pushed to the back of his mind for all these years; the puzzle that is Poe.
Poe is sick.
That much, Ranpo knows, although he doesn’t quite know how bad it is; whether Poe’s sick in the way Ranpo is, or if it’s something different entirely. Whatever it is, it’s not good, and Ranpo fights the urge to cry, because it’s not fair. Poe, who’s lived a hard life, just wants to write stories, and help people, yet for some reason, the world wants to have him suffer? Poe, who deserves to have the stories he writes shared across the world, deserves to be loved and cared for, is suddenly not allowed to have those things?
It’s not fair.
“Did you know he was sick?” Ranpo quietly asks. He knows that the adults in his life have been working together to keep this information for Ranpo, but he doesn’t understand why they would do such a thing. Poe asked them to, remember? Yeah, sure, Poe may have asked them to not say anything, but they still could’ve said something. Ranpo might’ve done things differently if he’d known that Poe was prone to bad days, might’ve been less demanding all those times that Poe had looked unwell, yet still worked to take care of him when Ranpo felt ill.
Fukuzawa is silent for a moment. “Yes. Yosano-sensei warned me when she saw how close the two of you were getting.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me? I would’ve—I would’ve understood.” It’s the truth, he would’ve, because Ranpo’s spent his entire life being ill, so he knows what it’s like to feel weak and useless in a world that’s out to get you; what it’s like to struggle through every day when your body just wants to give up and stop fighting.
“Poe-san… asked us to wait.” Fukuzawa says slowly. Carefully. “You were already suffering through your own problems; he didn’t want you to spend time being concerned about him.”
Ranpo hums and curls up into Fukuzawa’s side, letting out a sigh as his guardian draws him in closer. “I still wish he’d told me.”
Yosano doesn’t say anything as she collects him and Fukuzawa from the waiting room, guiding them up to the room Poe’s being kept it—it’s not the same one as it was the last time they were here. The only sounds aside from the usual hospital sounds, are those of Yosano’s heels as they click against the floor, and the tap of Ranpo’s cane as he limps along. Fukuzawa is silent, the only sign he’s even there is his warm hand against Ranpo’s back as a form of encouragement.
They come to a stop outside Poe’s room and Yosano levels Ranpo with a look. “I know what the two of you are like when it comes to personal space in this place, so I won’t tell you not to. I only ask that you be careful. He’s sleeping, and needs as much as he can get.”
Ranpo nods, and thanks Yosano as she opens the door for him. He’s the only one that enters the room, and knows that its because Fukuzawa wants to speak to Yosano without him overhearing. About what, he doesn’t know, and right now, he doesn’t care; all of his attention and focus is on Poe right now. His friend, despite being taller than Ranpo, looks so small in the bed. Poe’s eyes are closed, and there’s a cannula on his face; he’s breathing normally now, but he’s been laid in a raised position, and is on his side—a precaution, Ranpo guesses, in case more blood makes a reappearance.
He keeps Yosano’s words in mind as he abandons his cane and situates himself on the bed, being careful just like he was asked, so that he can lay beside Poe. It’s almost exactly like it was two years prior, with Poe connected to a bunch of machines, and Ranpo navigating the mess to lay, just like he is now, beside Poe. Only, this time, there’s a sunken feeling in his gut that tells him that things won’t quite be like last time.
Poe doesn’t wake as Ranpo continues to lay beside him, and Ranpo doesn’t sleep, something inside preventing him from closing his eyes and letting time pass by that way; he just watches Poe’s chest rise and fall.
And watches.
And watches.
When Poe finally wakes, Ranpo hasn’t moved an inch, but he lifts his head when he feels Poe shift, and finds himself staring into tired eyes. Poe blinks at him, before his eyes move to look at his surroundings, and Ranpo can almost see him thinking, so he decides to help Poe figure things out a little faster. “Yosano-sensei admitted you. Said you needed to rest.”
“Ah…” Poe sighs, and his eyes fall back to land on Ranpo, and an arm comes to lay across his waist that he welcomes. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“You didn’t.” Ranpo lies. There’s only a few things in his life that have truly scared him, and seeing Poe cough up blood was pretty much at the top of that list. He knows that the act of coughing or throwing up blood isn’t normal, that it’s a sign of something internally wrong with the human body, so to know that it’s happening to Poe, terrifies Ranpo.
Poe gives a hum, and his eyes soften greatly, like he can see right through into what Ranpo’s thinking, which, he probably can. He brings a hand up to rest on Ranpo’s cheek, his thumb swiping just under his eye, and Ranpo can’t help but nuzzle into it. It’s reassuring, despite how cold Poe’s hand is against his skin, to feel the pad of his thumb move across his skin; it helps to ease the worry inside of him that had taken over when Poe had first started coughing, and he feels like he can finally relax.
Maybe that’s why it feels right to bring up what it is that’s been bothering him. “Why did you tell me you were sick, Edgar?”
Poe stiffens in front of him, his expression reminding Ranpo of a deer caught in headlights as he tries to figure out what to say; Ranpo waits, not wanting to repeat himself, but also not willing to let the conversation slide. He’s done with not knowing the truth, and he wants Poe to understand that he’s listening. “I’m—” Poe starts and then cuts himself off. It takes him another couple of minutes to speak again. “It’s—It’s complicated, Ranpo…”
“You told me that before.” Ranpo says, and he brings his own hand up to rest against Poe’s cheek, and he’s staring into Poe’s eyes, hoping that his expression is encouraging and kind, instead of impatient like he feels. “Tell me, Edgar. Please.” He needs Poe to confirm what he’s already suspecting; that Poe’s like him, chronically ill and that this is just a flare up of his own that he needs help with overcoming.
Something in his voice must give his intentions because Poe refuses to look him in the eye, slowly curling in on himself. “I…” Poe trails off and sighs. He doesn’t try to speak again.
Ranpo gives a sigh of his own, and he sits up in the bed, shuffling up so that he can run a hand through Poe’s hair in a soothing manner. “You’re like me, aren’t you?” He asks, hoping to prompt Poe into answering him.
There’s a pause, and then, “Y-Yeah, you c-could say that.”
The next sigh that escapes Ranpo is one of relief, and he looks down to give Poe a fond smile as he strokes his hair. “You’re stupid, you know? Why wouldn’t you just tell me then that you had bad days? I, of all people, would understand.”
“I just didn’t—didn’t want Ranpo-kun to worry.”
“Hey, what’s with the -kun? We made a promise.” Ranpo frowns, tugging gently at Poe’s hair. He gets a half-hearted glare in return, before Poe’s arms are winding around his waist and his face is buried into Ranpo’s stomach. Poe mumbles something that Ranpo can’t quite hear. “Sorry, what?”
Poe lifts his head just barely. “Ranpo’s being pushy.”
Ranpo’s hand stills. He is being a little bit pushy, and he remembers telling Poe once upon a time that he wouldn’t do that, that he’d wait and let the man come to him when he was ready. A little bit of guilt swarms his belly. “You’re right. I just want to know the truth, Edgar. I want to be there for you as you were once there for me. Is that wrong?”
“No… it’s not.” Poe rolls onto his back, with the intention of leaning himself against Ranpo like a pillow, when a fit of coughing overtakes him. Ranpo’s quick to act this time, and he tugs Poe upright, letting himself be used as a support whilst Poe gets himself under control. The fit passes quickly and Poe sags against him. “I appreciate that you care, Ranpo, I do… I just… I didn’t have the support that you had with your own illness. It’s hard for me to accept help from others.”
Oh. That makes sense. It makes all the sense in the world. Ranpo knows very well that if it weren’t for his parents and Fukuzawa, that Ranpo wouldn’t have accepted help as easily as he does when it comes to his own illness. And if Poe’s been as sick for as long as Ranpo has, then he’s had to deal with it alone for his entire life, with no one to hold his hand or guide him through the dark times. Ranpo wishes that he could go back in time, to when they were both children—despite not knowing each other back then—and extending a hand of help.
But, it’s never too late to accept help, at least, in Ranpo’s books that’s the case, and he knocks his head against Poe’s gently. “Well, how about we start by accepting help right now? Let me, and Fukuzawa, and Yosano-sensei get you through this flare up, and then we can get back to living life. You still have to show me America, remember? I know you’ve been planning something good, since you won’t tell me what you’ve been plotting.”
Poe gives him a strained smile. “It’s a secret, my dear—” Ranpo flushes at the term of endearment, the first time he’s ever heard it before, “—but I’m sure we’ll still be able to go as scheduled. Just make sure you’ve packed—”
“Not happening.” Yosano’s voice cuts through Poe’s words as she strides into the room, Fukuzawa and Haruno following behind her; both move off to the side whilst Yosano comes to stand in front of the bed. “I’m sorry, Poe, but I cannot, in good conscious, discharge you to fly halfway across the world.”
“Why?” Poe’s voice is terse.
“Your test results came back and it’s not good. Your lungs are beginning to shut down—one of them practically has already—and it’s placing a lot of strain on your heart—”
Ranpo freezes. Wait, what?
“—mention, the state of your liver and kidneys—”
No, no, no, no.
“—and I called Fitzgerald-sensei, only to learn that you already knew this, and that you’d denied treatment before leaving the hospital and flying all the way to Yokohama!”
The world cannot be this cruel.
“Yosano-sensei—” Poe tries to interrupt, only to stop himself when Yosano glares at him.
“Don’t you ‘Yosano-sensei’ me, Edgar Allan Poe. You have two months to live at best, and if you continue to refuse treatment—”
Ranpo doesn’t hear the rest of whatever it is Yosano says; he’s lost in his own mind, the jigsaw puzzle that he’d thought he’d assembled correctly, breaking apart before his very eyes as he realizes that he had it wrong. Poe was sick, that much was correct, but it wasn’t the kind of sick that Ranpo had initially thought.
“You’re like me, aren’t you?”
“Y-Yeah, you c-could say that.”
Words spoken only minutes earlier assault Ranpo’s mind as his heart pounds, and it increases when Dazai’s words days ago return to him.
“Have you ever noticed that Poe-san only stutters when he lies?”
And just like that, the puzzle reforms itself, taking a new shape, bringing new pieces to the table that Ranpo hadn’t even considered in the first place; from the time they’d first met to just before Poe had gone back to America. Everything made sense. The way that Poe was always exhausted, no matter what, the way that days could go by without Poe eating anything but smoothies, the way that he always seemed weak and frail, despite nurses being some of the strongest people within the hospital with everything they did.
It all made sense.
A sob escapes him, and the conversation he hasn’t been listening to dies off around him. Ranpo ignores it; ignores it to turn and face Poe, hoping that he’s wrong again, that Yosano’s wrong and that this is all some elaborate prank that everyone’s pulling on him. But Poe’s face is one of quiet acceptance, and he reaches out a hand towards Ranpo, only for Ranpo to throw himself off the bed and back away. He can’t—he just can’t.
He looks around the room.
Fukuzawa looks pained, and he’s got his arms crossed like he’s preventing himself from just wrapping Ranpo up in his arms and hiding him from the world like he used to do.
Haruno has tears forming in her eyes, and she backs out of the room silently before they fall.
But Yosano, Yosano has the worst look of them all; horror, as it dawns on her that until now, Ranpo didn’t know.
And now he does.
Edgar Allan Poe is dying and there’s nothing Ranpo can do about it.
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moonxmagix · 9 months
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A Room Full of Silence
A/N: Hey !! This is not what I usually post so I apologize. I really wanted to write about my feelings of these past few weeks/months. It was such a in the moment story, and was able to get it done in maybe 30 minutes max. Enjoy !
There I sat on the edge of my bed, in the deafening silence of my dimly lit room. It wasn’t clean by any means, clothes scattered, makeup taking up space on my vanity, posters hanging on the wall, some beginning to peel away from aging tape. 
I sighed while taking a bite of the donut that was bought for me at the end of the night. Another date, failed. I spent so much time getting ready and dedicating myself to this one person, ignoring anyone who dared to talk to me. Thinking anything would come from it. 
If they saw your room, that disinterest would only worsen between us I thought to myself. I got up  still in my uncomfortable date clothes tidying up my room. I normally would change as soon as I got home due to my sensory issues but I felt too numb. My body is almost trying to savor the moments of the night. 
Clothes were put away, put in the laundry, makeup was organized neatly in draws, posters hung up with new tape, plants were watered. I felt accomplished in my work, I checked the time to see it hit 1AM. My date clothes were put in the wash while I put on my t-shirt that sported my comfort character and pajama bottoms. 
My comfort character could never hurt me, they’d be perfect for me. Right? I thought to myself. 
I turned the lights off, my fairylights casting a faint glow making it hard but not impossible to see in my room. I took my glasses off and  reached for my phone, no messages or new notifications. I sighed, not even a “Hope you got home safe!” text. 
I went and searched for the content of my favorite character. Giggles filled the room as my infatuation grew deeper. I decided to check my dating apps and swipe. Finding a few men I thought weren’t too bad. 
~
My alarms blared and I hesitantly arose from my coffin. I did nothing but rot there anyway. I went about my morning and decided to check my dating apps. One guy in particular caught my eye, long brown hair, dead sleepy eyes, skinny, almost dead, just my type I thought. We clicked instantly and our energies bounced off perfectly against one another. 
After spending a week talking we decided to meet up at my place for a movie night and some takeout. We matched even better in person, calling me beautiful, telling me how he liked my stretch marks and how they complimented me perfectly. Unable to keep his hands off me for a second, whining when I had to get up even a couple seconds. 
I knew this person was different, there was a special bond between us. He left that night and his smell lingered on my pillows, smiling from the joy of another person's touch. But that feeling soon changed, my lips tightened, my nose burned, and tears welled in my eyes. 
~
The second time we hung out, not even a date which is fine I guess. I’ll make an exception for him. Do I dare bring it up? Oh god no, you don’t wanna seem desperate do you? Let him make the moves. 
There he stood at my door, dressed in sweatpants and a band t-shirt. Similar to something I’d wear, I talked to him about my sensory issues and he understood surprisingly enough and said he related to me. It was such a sigh of relief not having to explain yourself and the way you acted. 
He left again that night, smiling and giggling, smelling, showering, and then crying. At least he told me he had a good night, right?
~
This is the third time he’s coming over! Maybe I’ll dress up a little more, maybe then he’ll ask me. Right? We cuddled, watched movies, talked about the stuff we love and dream about, we laughed until he spoke, “Just so you know, I’m not looking for anything serious,” my face drops. 
The energy shifted and he knew that. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner. We can still do this though with just no strings attached,” he said, trying to sound remorseful. I just nodded, clenching my jaw to stop myself from crying. “Yeah,” is all I could say, choking back tears. 
The rest of the night was tense, not much touching went on. Conversation was dim and held no substance. What did I do wrong? My apartment was clean. My makeup was done up nicely, not too heavy but not too light. Did I say something? Is it because of how I look? 
“It’s getting late, I should go,” he said, his words uncomfortable and awkward. I led him to the door, not even taking him fully out like I would usually do. Not a “goodnight”, not a “I’ll see you again”, not a “I had fun”. Just an odd, uncomfortable smile and wave. 
~
I shut the door and locked it, the sounds of the horror movie we were watching filled the room. The screaming and pleading of the victims were comforting to me this particular night. Is it because they were suffering along with me? 
I sat at the edge of my bed and sighed. Looking at my disheveled room, I didn't think it could get this messy this quick. The dissociation kicked in, there I sat frozen in place for hours. Unable to do anything with myself.
I pushed myself back into bed, clothes remained scattered scarcely along the floor, posters remained un-taped, food scraps and garbage remained on my nightstand, plants remained unwatered. 
But the next one will be different, right?
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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years
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HEART'S BLOOD - CHAPTER 18
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*Warning: Adult Content*
The afternoon passes in a slow haze. 
Julian Hart goes to the office and sits at the folding card table that serves as his desk. 
The one that Betha Lancaster died on, has been taken away, to a landfill somewhere. 
With Karl Weisman missing and probably dead, the young psychic has not looked for a replacement. 
He has one appointment at four o’clock and then he plans to meet Ian Foley, against his better judgement, for pizza and a awkward conversation. 
He’s staring at the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick past and just as it hits four o’clock, someone rattles the knob and then knocks at the door. 
Julian has taken to locking the door after Ian’s last visit. 
No more surprise visitors for him.
“Who is it? he asks, standing and crossing the room.
“Um... It’s Sam O’Conner. I have an appointment with Mr Hart.”
“Okay. Just a moment,” Julian pauses and counts to five so it does look like he is nervously poised with his hand on the lock. 
When the set interval has lapsed, he opens it. 
“Hi, come right inside.”
He stops and stares. 
Given the name, he expected his client to be male. 
Instead a young woman stands in the hall and except for the hairstyle, she looks like the dead girl that the young psychic had found in the woods. 
Julian doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that face. 
He takes a step back in shock and his mind stumbles around in search for an explanation. 
Sam O’Connor sees his look and her own expression turns sad.
“Did you know Sarah.” 
“S.. Sarah?” Julian stammers. 
“Yeah. She was my twin sister.” 
“Twins. Oh God.” 
Julian presses his hand over his heart as that will do anything to slow it’s runaway beat. 
Sam frowns at him and her voice take on a hint of a challenge.
“Yes. Is that so strange.”
“No. No. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to think for a moment... Um... Ms O’Connor, I didn’t know your sister. I was the one who found her,” Julian says awkwardly.
“Oh,” she says, her expression shifting again and her bottom lips starts to tremble.
“Come inside,” he says, stepping aside so that she enter and closes the door. 
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?
Julian is a little desperate to keep her from breaking down. 
He’s emotional enough himself and other people’s tears are hard for him to handle.
“No I’m fine,” Sam says, pulling a pack of tissues from her purse.
She sits on one of the cheap folding chairs and Julian takes his own seat opposite her.
“So you found Sarah?” she asks. 
Julian nods and swallows, not quite able to meet her eyes.
“Yeah, I was running and...”
“Can you tell me about it? The police are keeping so much from me. I can’t even get a straight answer about how she died.”
“Um...” 
The memory is bad enough for Julian and he’s not sure he can bring himself to share it with someone who knew and loved the person, who’s body he had found.
“Please?”
He finally meets her eyes. 
They are mossy grey-green, speckled with brown and shinning with tears.
“Okay,” Julian says and then the next few minutes tell her the most honest version he can without going into graphic details.
 Even so she’s crying openly be the time he finishes.
“I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt her,” she says. 
“It doesn’t make any sense.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
Silence falls between them and then Sam looks up and gives Julian a watery smile.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this. I just came for a reading.”
“I can still help you with that,” Julian tells her. 
“But I’ll understand if you don’t.”
Sam shakes her head.
“No. Actually you might be just the person that I need.”
She pulls a small, clear plastic bag out of her purse and sets it on the desk between them. 
It contains a thin gold chain and a small jeweled pendant of some kind. 
Leaning closer, Julian sees it’s shaped like a half heart. 
Sam lifts an identical chain from beneath her shirt and shows Julian the other half. 
“We got these when we left to college. We went to different schools and it was the first time in our lives that we’d been more than a few miles apart. Now we will never...” 
Her breath catches and she presses a wadded tissue to her face. 
A few platitudes come to mind but Julian doesn’t speak them. 
They have never helped him and he didn’t believe most of them anyway.
“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. 
“What are you hoping for, Ms O’Connor? Because I can’t promise anything. I can’t promise I can tell you anything meaningful or reassuring. In fact, it might be the opposite.”
She looks up teary eyed but determined.
“Call me Sam. And anything you can tell me will be fine,” she says, quietly. 
“She was wearing this when she died.”
This both piques Julian’s interest and increases his misgivings. 
On the one hand, he might learn something useful for the case and on the other hand anything he gleans is unlikely to bring much solace to the young woman in front of him.
“You understand I’ll probably get something related to... her death?” 
Sam holds Julian’s gaze and nods.
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t need for you to tell me she is in heaven or whatever. I want answers.”
The young psychic sighs. 
“Like I said, no promises. But I will try.”
Sam nods and Julian reaches across the desk and picks up the plastic bag, lifting it and tilting it so that the necklace slithers out and lands on his palm.
‘As soon as it touches my skin a bizarre, tingling cold spreads over my hand and up my arm. I gasp and almost drops the necklace, until I realizes it’s something I’m picking up psychically and not a real sensation. Still, it’s uncomfortable and I feel a prickle of fear as it reaches my shoulder and begins to creep slowly across my upper body. As the numbing cold reaches my lungs and heart, a very real pain shoots through my chest. I know it’s just a remnant of something the wearer experienced but it hurts and I clutch my hand around the necklace to keep myself from dropping it.’
“Mr Hart. Are you okay?” 
Julian looks up and sees that Sam has risen from her chair and is leaning towards him across the desk.
“It’s just... I don’t know,” he struggles to describe the feeling. 
“Like icy water, maybe. Or...Something spreading through me like...”
“Like some kind of poison, perhaps?”
Julian looks up from his clenched fist in surprise.
“Yeah. Maybe...”
Julian hadn’t thought of that but it makes sense. 
The way the cold had crept along his veins, following the path of his blood. 
His hands are freezing and his teeth are starting to chatter.
“Are you sure you okay?” Sam says, coming around the desk. 
“I’m a nurse and you don’t look well.”
“I’m fine. Just give me a moment. Sometimes the first impression is the strongest. If there is anything more it will come through once i get through this.”
Still, it isn’t comfortable and he spends about five minutes with his eyes shut, fighting the feeling that his heart is slowly freezing solid, doing his best to convince himself it’s not real and to keep breathing. 
Finally the sensation subsided and some warmth returns to his thoroughly chilled body. 
At last, a few other impressions come through. 
Most are pretty mundane but one is strong.
“She really loved you,” Julian says, blinking hard as he stares at the necklace in his hand. 
“I don’t usually tell people this because I can’t prove it but she defiantly wanted you to know that.”
After Sam leaves, Julian spends some time researching poisons but can’t find anything that causes symptoms remotely like what he had experienced. 
When he finally looks up, he realises he is hungry and that it’s well past 5 o’clock. 
He swears, shuts his laptop, locks the office door and dashes to his car. 
Even though meeting Ian isn’t something Julian is excited to do, he doesn’t like to be late and he doesn’t want to have to reschedule. 
He wants to get this meeting over with. 
He speeds across town and parks in front of ‘Blackjack Pizza’ a dimly lit restaurant and bar. 
He doesn’t see Ian’s truck anywhere. 
He has probably parked in the free allotment a few blocks down, knowing how cheep he is. 
Julian goes inside and it takes his eyes awhile to adjust to the lighting. 
Everything in this restaurant/bar is dark, the walls, the floors, the tables and the benches and the small lights that hang from the ceiling are barely brighter than candles. 
He is always suspicious of a place that makes it hard for you to see what you are eating. 
When he can finally see, he looks around for Ian’s auburn hair, broad shoulders and beard but no-one in here looks familiar. 
He checks his watch. 
It’s almost six o’clock and Ian should be here by now. 
He considers the possibility that Ian already waited and then left, assuming he wouldn’t show up. 
The guy behind the bar is a friend of Ian’s, so Julian asks him but he says the he hasn’t been in yet.
 He takes a seat at one of the booths and waits. 
Ian’s not the most punctual or considerate of people, after all. 
He probably though anything between five and seven was acceptable. 
Julian: ‘I’ll give him until six-thirty and then I’ll leave.’
In the meantime, a buxom waitress wanders over and leans down to ask Julian what he wants to drink. 
Her blouse barely contains her amble breasts and he wonders if she is pressured to dress like that. 
He looks around the restaurant and sees another waitress, less well-endowered but in an equally revealing top. 
Ian is bi-sexual and Julian guesses the ‘decor’ might explain why he likes this place so much. 
Julian orders a beer and sits back to wait. 
Six-thirty comes and goes and the place is getting busy. 
He can tell from the glaces from the waitress is giving him that she wants his table for a bigger party, one that might order more than a single drink. 
He waves her over and pays for his drink. I
an Foley had his chance. 
Outside, it is dark on the street and Julian is glad that he parked his car close by. He gets in an turns the key in the ignition, giving his usual prayer of thanks as the engine struggles to life. 
When he glaces into the mirror he realises his view is blocked by something. 
Turning his head, his heart trips and slams against his chest as he sees Ian sitting in the back seat, wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up.
“Jules. It’s me,” Ian whispers urgently, making shushing gestures with his hand. 
“I couldn’t come in because he’s in there.”
“What the hell, Ian?” Julian demanded and twist to open his door, intending to get out and then kiss his ass for scaring the shit out of him. 
Before he can, Ian grabs his arm in a vice-like grip and pulls him back against the front driver’s seat.
“Don’t get out. He’ll see you.”
“What? Who’ll see me? And let go of me.”
Julian starts to struggle in earnest and Ian’s grip tightens to the point that the young psychic knows it will leave bruises.
“Julian, stop it. Shit.”
Julian hears Ian rummaging around for something with his free hand and he wishes that his damn horn wasn’t broken. 
Maybe it’s time to give up the cute vintage VW thing, after all.
“Jules. Oh God. I’m so sorry about this. I promise I’ll explain when you give me the chance.”
Ian reaches around Julian and presses something soft over his nose and mouth. 
He gasps involuntarily and inhales the sweet, heady odour. Instantly he feels his muscles relax and he can’t remember why he was so upset about. 
Slowly Ian releases him and lifts the cloth from his mouth.
“Are you okay, Jules?” he asks, his voice sounds breathy with panic and Julian wonder why he seems so on edge. 
“Good. You are okay. Now, why don’t you drive us out to the lake? The nice spot by the dock.”
It sounds like a perfectly reasonable request.
“Sure, Ian,” Julian agrees placidly. 
“Whatever you want.”
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taughtranquility · 6 months
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miguel’s been worrying himself sick for the past few hours, so much so that tory’s been affected by it, their bond full of so much ANXIETY that she’s unable to fall asleep even after you tried helping her calm down. with theo not actually being dead despite all of his blood everywhere in that stupid warehouse, & more recently allison’s resurrection, miguel’s been trying to make sure his mates & pack members are safe. he’s been over to the pack house more times than probably necessary, hyper-vigilant of every little thing that goes on with his friends, in-tune with everyone there. especially ethan, who seems to attract one danger or another every time you step outside. don’t get him wrong, miguel loves you, he does. but he thinks he’ll get grey hairs at eighteen because of the stunts you unintentionally & intentionally pull. the engagement ring he’s been wearing for a few months now is PROOF of miguel’s love for you, their mating bonds strong, like they’ve always been. miguel’s unending love, devotion & trust towards his fiancés & fiancées is strong, which is why whenever one of them do something stupid, he gets concerned.
for the past ten minutes, he’s been texting the pack for updates on allison’s whereabouts, & emile reassured him that the solo, violent huntress wasn’t in beacon hills at the moment, something that miguel can’t tell if that’s meant to be reassuring or worrying. he hadn’t had too many run-ins with allison in during high school years. she was popular, he wasn’t, & he’d been bitten by emile in their sophomore year in order to save his life. so he’d been avoiding allison for the most part, & then she’d died in their junior year. robby had been close friends with her, according to you, but that’d changed very quickly after she tried to murder you.
as soon as miguel hears robby’s footsteps nearing the front door of their home, he jumps off the couch, eyes briefly flashing yellow to signal his frustration. he growls lowly at him as soon as he opens the door, storming over to him & slamming the door closed with far too much strength on accident. he whirls towards robby, brown eyes flared an even brighter golden color. he’s seriously pissed. he’s practically shaking with rage.
❝ are you fucking insane ?! ❞ miguel demands, growling. his hands ball up into fists at his sides, claws digging into the skin of his palms. he isn’t quite drawing blood yet, but he’s furious. from their den bedroom, you & tory both make an alarmed noise, slowly coming out of their room. you & her both look a little nervous at the amount of rage you & her can sense coming from miguel’s side of their bond. tory’s wearing one of miguel’s shirts, while you’re wearing one of robby’s. it’s obvious you were crying a few minutes ago. just like miguel, you’re angry, but also concerned. so is tory. she’s holding your hand tightly.
@taughtpain replied ❝ you & i both know i was never going to listen to you. ❞
❝ it’s not about listening to me, robby ! ❞ miguel doesn’t mean to scream, but the anxiety & rage boiling up inside of his body makes him reach that level pretty quickly. the anger he can sense from tory doesn’t help calm him down, he’s feeding into it. miguel doesn’t realize he’s digging his claws into his palms now. he barely hears tory’s sharp inhale over the blood roaring in his ears. ❝ it’s about using your head ! it’s about you running off to go meet her ! to go play hero ! ❞ miguel shouts. he crosses the room in only two strides to stand in front of robby, glaring down at him with rage burning in his expression. ❝ do you want to get away from us SO badly that you’d throw your life away at the first fucking opportunity ?! ❞ he asks sharply. ❝ do you NEVER think about the people who love you ?! ❞
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❝ do you have any idea what it’s like for miguel, sam & i to have to wait at home while you & ethan constantly run off to do dangerous shit ? worrying ourselves sick wondering if you’re okay or not ?! ❞ tory demands, backing miguel up. you flinch like you were slapped, immediately bowing your head with a quiet, distressed whimper. it’s a rare show of submission for you, even if tory is still holding your hand. ❝ does the fact that the five of us are all mated & engaged to each other mean that little to you ? ❞ she demands, growling as her frustration rises.
miguel growls in agreement with his fiancée’s words, pointing towards you with a clawed finger, & the quiet, submissive noise you make almost breaks his heart, but he’s so angry that ignores it for the moment. ❝ robby, what do you think ethan would have done if allison hurt you ? if you died ? ❞ miguel & tory both have a similar ideas of what you’d do in that scenario, & the images their minds are conjuring up are not happy. you’d spiral immediately. go straight for singlehandedly starting an all-out war between the packs & hunters, or something else violent, but no less worrying or distressing to think about. ( they’re not exactly wrong in their assumptions. )
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