#and ive truly taken everything good from that fic and added it to this new concpet

[unoriginalmess]

A Second Mask: Chapter 4

Did that just happen?

Hello guys! It's me. I'm finally writing again. Sorry about the delay. I'm going to explain more at the end of the chapter, but I'm just going to keep the beginning short. So here is chapter 4:

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To say Adrien was concerned would be a huge understatement. He was downright disturbed. Its been weeks and still Marinette hadn't changed back to the happy, peppy, nice girl that he knew. AND SHE WOULDN'T EVEN TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT!

He tried to talk to her for a whole week after her original trasformation, but after the repeated firm rejections, he stopped altogether. He figured that maybe with some space, she might be able to work through whatever she was going through, but at this point, he's losing hope.

When he is feeling this distressed about something, he usually turns to his lady, but she has been acting weird too. Ever since she suggested they start sparring, she's started to show that she is going through kinda a rough time as well. She is the same ladybug when everyone is watching, but when it's just the two of them, she looks sad and tired. She has also started saying some concerning things while they are sparring. She has started talking about how she has started taking being Ladybug and the Guardian more seriously, and how she has less distractions now, which would be a good thing if she didn't say them so sadly.

The good thing is, the sparring has given him a chance to get out his aggression because of the whole Marinette-situation and his anger at his father in a safe environment. He didn't like the idea of hitting Ladybug at first (especially in the face) but with her not holding back on her hits, he felt more comfortable doing the same. It has helped them fight better too. He hopes that whatever Ladybug is going through in her civillian life will work itself out soon, but until then he will be there for her. He just needs to figure out how to be there for Marinette.

•••

Felix was making good progress with Marinette. After they first asked marinette about (insert fashion question of your choice here, I legit know nothing and I didn't have time to research anything for this chapter), she had started answering their questions on a daily basis. After a couple of days of that, she had started to rant to them about different things in the fashion world that were bothering her, exciting her, or confusing her that particular day. In response to that, they had started to respond to her rants with their own opinions on the subjects and even start their own rants.

It had gotten to the point where Felix would now consider them to be friends, though they know that Marinette would never call them as such, it was fine with them. They know she has trust issues, and they can understand why, so they are fine with being friends in everything but a name.

Felix was looking forward to their daily banter as they waited in their seat for Marinette to arrive. When she did, she was followed by a very pissed-looking Alya. Felix turned to look at her and noticed that she had what looked to be tears forming in her eyes. What they didn't notice was the little black butterfly that had entered through the window in the back of the room, and was making a beeline towards her.

•••

Marinette walked to school in yet another one of her newest fashion creations: a pair of oversized grey ripped jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt. She was actually really liking her new look, and the comfort that it offered was just an added plus.

She was actually feeling excited to talk to Felix about Gabriel Agreste's newest fashion flop. They were the only person that she had met that actually cared about fashion as much as her. It made her happy to talk to them. It kind of scared her how excited she was. Shouldn't she be distancing herself from everyone? she thought to herself. No. Felix isn't my friend, they aren't close to me, they are just someone I talk fashion with. Like a coworker, yeah. Totally. Felix is just a coworker. ("Liar" says the inner voice in her head)

She was shocked out of her thoughts when she was pulled to the side by someone as she entered the courtyard. Her mind immediately thought of an akuma, when the person spoke.

"Marinette! Girl," Oh it's just Alya. Wait Alya? "How long are you gonna keep up this cry for attention? Are you really THAT jealous of Lila? I know that Adrien likes her, but that doesn't give you the right to act like this! And you are hanging out with Felix, who accused her of sexually harrassing Adrien on their first day here-?" She looked absolutely furious at her, but Marinette had heard enough. She cut Alya off in the middle of her presumably long rant.

"ALYA!" Said girl jumped at both the inturruption and the tone of voice used, "First of all, this isn't a cry for attention, if anything its a cry for leaving me the fuck alone. Second of all, I'm not jealous of Lila. I'm not in love with Adrien anymore, and haven't been for a while. You knew that I was dating Luka right? Why would I care who Adrien likes? Lastly, I am allowed to hang out with whoever I choose, whether you like them or not. It's none of your fucking business Alya, and if you think that I'm just some jealous, attention-seeker why do you even care?" With that last question she stormed off to the classroom, leaving a speechless Alya behind her.

When marinette sat down in her seat, she just kept thinking about how Alya was just talking to her. How could she think that about her? They used to be best friends, and Alya wasn't even concerned about her not talking to her anymore, she was just concerned about her being "jealous of Lila". It made her so furious that she could feel tears trickling down her face. She sees the black butterfly out of the corner of her eye and without hesitation grabs it out of the air.

(Next part is taken from this post by @bigfatbreak)

"Go ahead and akumatize me- See what happens, Hawkmoth!" She screamed the words with a slight madness that the energy of the akuma was giving her, "Every leash has two ends! I just have to pull until I find where you're holding it!"

At this point, the entire class was frozen in place watching her and listening to her crazed-sounding voice threaten an actual terrorist. Marinette felt Hawkmoth's confusion and terror through the bond. What in the- She's sensing me through the Akuma?! The akuma then started to fly away, and when it couldn't it zapped her hand like it was made of lightning and fluttered through the same window it came from. Marinette felt like she had failed yet again and collapsed down on her desk, muttering, "Uuuuggghh. It escaped anyway... What a waste. I didn't realize that Hawkmoth was such a coward. He usually likes grandstand..."

She was startled when her hand was picked up by Felix's, "You likely scared him off by managing to locate him like that... A risky move, I should mention. I would ask that you not attempt that a second time. No one knows what his akuma is truly capable of. You'll want to keep off of this hand for a while, too."

"Oh, are those the doctor's orders? Why, Felix, it almost sounds like you care about meeee." Marinette was all too amused by Felix's concern for her. She also liked to tease them... AS COWORKERS DO.

"I have an investment in your presence. Now don't be cheeky and let's get you to the nurse's office," They said while holding her wrist and gently pulling her in that direction.

Marinette scoffed, "'An investment in my presence'??"

Felix chuckled while still semi-dragging her by the wrist towards the front of the room, being careful not to hurt her injury even worse, "What did I just say about being cheeky?"

On their way out of the door they passed a VERY distressed-looking Adrien. He seemed to be sharing the sentiment with the entire class of: Did that just happen?

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And thats chapter 4. It is VERY LATE! I know. I've been swamped with work, and when I went to write it, I had zero ideas on how to write this chapter. I never ended up getting those ideas. I just went where my writing took me, so if it doesn't really match the characters that's why. I will try to be better at updating regularly, but it probably won't happen. Sorry to everyone with a normal sleep schedule, but this is the time that I write things. Also I didn't have my outline with me while writing this chapter, so it might not have everything I planned to write in it.

I would like to thank you all for all of the support I've been getting on this fic. Despite all of the chapter delays, you guys have stuck with me through all of it, so thank each and every one of you. I love seeing so many people loving this au as much as I do. Without you guys this story wouldn't exist, and I would've stopped writing it after the first chapter.

As always, constructive criticism is always accepted. I love being able to improve my writing whenever possible.

Thank you for reading. Have a nice day/night/whenever you are reading this. See ya next time guys, gals, and non-binary pals.

Taglist

@queer-illusion @apasponsor @heckinggremlin @1-ahiro-1 @hewantedbeefintheparkinglot @sassakitty @lennauts @rianoel @dorkus-minimus @khneltea @welp-that-was-unexpected @mlnchlymrshmllw @lovelyautumnsunflower @chariphrasis @lovesbooks @komatsuna-yuki @polyvirnl @innocentlyguiltyfrenchfry @qhobias @ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole @hammalammadamdam @cloudydaysomewhere @alcoholic-barney @basenikon @xxbehindthemaskxx @corporeal-terrestrial @shadowymemoirs @moonlight-densetsuu

#a second mask #feralnette #feralnette au #felinette #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #adrien agreste #felix culpa #marinette dupain cheng #here it finally is #idk why some of the tags arent working

[justmypartner]

Still Breathing: Chapter 1

Summary: AU | When a case goes sideways, Hailey wakes up in the hospital with a revelation that leaves her evaluating her life. While she recovers at Med, she meets Jay, an aloof, yet intriguing patient that catches her by surprise. The two get to know one another as they take on the task of rediscovering what it’s like to truly live, and eventually learn their lives intersect in more ways than one. 

Writer’s Note: Hi!!! I’ve had this idea for a while and it’s taken me quite a bit to finally get started, but I’m super excited about it. This probably won’t be a weekly fic, but I’ll try and post as frequently as possible. I don’t want to give too much away… but it explores something in the Halstead background that has been referenced, but never fully developed so I really tried to dive deep into what it is and how it would affect Jay. It’s been fun (and somewhat emotional) to work through & I really hope you enjoy!! 

Read on AO3 or below

“Order, Arms,” a voice called out, sending Hailey’s hand back down to her side.

She remained in place, frozen as she resumed attention, fighting hard to conceal the joy spilling out of her. It was her graduation day. She was just sworn in, and for the first time ever, deemed an Officer of the Chicago Police Department. She took in the room from under the low brim of her hat, her lips curling up at the corners as the Department Pipes and Drums began to play. She closed her eyes briefly, relishing in the moment, and when she opened, she was suddenly somewhere else entirely. She was no longer standing in the middle of the Grand Ballroom at Navy Pier. She still wore those same blues from before, slightly older and more worn than they once were, but her bright, green attitude she previously bore was gone. She was exhausted and nervous, sitting before her District Commander in a small and unfamiliar room in Ivory Tower.

“Hailey, I hope I don’t have to remind you that you are not to discuss the case with anyone, nothing you did, nothing you saw, not a single detail that pertains to the operation is to be exchanged until you are told otherwise by the AUSA’s office,” the Commander instructed her, carrying an even tone that made the reason for the meeting hard to discern.

“Yes ma’am,” Hailey affirmed with a simple nod.

“With that being said, I have news for you. There will be a more formal presentation of this news, but for now I get to be the first to tell you,” the Commander spoke, inhaling deeply before continuing. “Officer Hailey Upton, for your outstanding acts of heroism and performance during the aforementioned case, on behalf of the Superintendent of Police, the Bureau of Detectives, and the entirety of the Chicago Police Department, we commend your service with a merit promotion to the ranking of Detective.”

Her brows raised in surprise. After the long stretch undercover, she was just happy to finally be Hailey again, to be in her home, to be able to work with the safety and familiarity of her coworkers. She had spent those weeks hoping the case would lend her a promotion, but she never fully imagined that it would. She was equal parts ecstatic and stunned by the news, but she blinked, and she was transported once again. She was no longer sitting across from her District Commander but from Sergeant Voight in the low light of his office.

“Our only Detective just recently and unexpectedly took furlough. Burgess, Ruzek, Atwater, we’ve been trying to make do with just us, but we’re stretched thin. There’s a spot on our team and we could really use the help. It’s yours if you want it,” his gravelly voice posited.

Before she knew it, those moments that stood out so vividly in her mind became fuzzy images in what seemed like a poorly put together movie, and everything began to fade to black.

When she finally woke, it was to the sound of machines and the low babel of indistinct conversation. As her eyes blinked open, she took in the glimpse of four familiar faces and numerous wires and IVs hooked up to her body.

She hadn’t been in Intelligence long, only about two weeks before she wound up in that hospital room, but she knew from her first day that she had stumbled upon her forever people. She didn’t take the job with this expectation. In fact, she was expecting it to be as rocky as her first time working with the team. Yet, she came to learn that despite the reputation that preceded them, they were some of the most loyal and genuine people she had met in all of her time with the CPD. In only the short amount of time she had been with them, they had clung to her in a way nobody else ever had, developing what she knew to be a lifelong bond. The fact that their faces were the first she saw when she finally came to only affirmed that.

“There she is!” Kevin’s voice rang as they all rose, making their way closer to her bedside.

“Did we get them?” Her voice croaked, and they all nodded in confirmation, looking over to their sergeant to deliver the news.

Her memory of right before everything went dark was fuzzy. She wasn’t exactly sure what caused the injuries that left her aching all over, but everything else, the case, the targets, it was all still fresh in her mind. She didn’t want to talk about the case. She didn’t even want to think about it, but she needed to know if they got them. That everything that happened was worth it. She breathed out, allowing a sliver of tension that had been bottled up inside of her release with it. She watched them nod, and she waited for her boss to tell her what she needed to hear.

“We got ‘em, kid. They’re going down for everything, but most importantly for what they did to you,” he assured. She nodded, flinching at the surge of pain that came with the small movement.

“Okay, everybody. I need some time with the patient if you don’t mind,” the doctor announced as she entered the room. They all nodded, grabbing their things to leave.

“I’m happy you’re okay,” Kim told her, reaching out and briefly resting a hand over hers. Voight and Adam nodded in agreement before they all turned to walk out.

“Tough as they come, girl. Glad you’re still with us,” Kevin said, reaching out his arm and fist for her to bump. She smiled, bumping him back with her uninjured arm and thanking them all for being there.

Once they had left the room, the doctor quickly read over her chart before rolling a chair over to her.

“So, give me the rundown. How bad is it?” Hailey questioned anxiously.

“You were shot three times. Twice in the abdomen, once in the shoulder. That vest of yours caught the first two. However, they did leave some pretty significant bruising so we are going to need to monitor you closely, make sure you don’t develop any internal bleeding or rupture. The one in your shoulder was a through and through. We were able to go in and repair what it tore, but you lost a lot of blood. So, you should get comfortable. We’re going to need to keep you here for observation a few days. Looks like you’ll be out of work for the next week at the least, then out of the field for a few weeks after that,” She explained. Hailey just nodded simply in response, a look of defeat on her face.

“Detective, it could have been a lot worse had you not been wearing that vest. It also could have been a lot worse if that bullet in your shoulder struck just a half a centimeter lower. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I’d say you’re pretty lucky,” she admitted, rising from her chair before dropping her chart at the end of the bed and making her way out of the room.

Lucky. It wasn’t the word she’d use to describe how she was feeling. On top of the pain, she was reeling from that vision she had just before her breathing stalled and everything shut off. She’d always heard people say their life flashed before their eyes in those kind of moments, but she never expected it to be such a deflating experience. Her life flashed before her eyes, but the only outstanding moments were her graduation from the academy, her promotion to detective, and her offer into Intelligence. She loved her job, and she was proud of those moments, but it felt disillusioning that in what felt like her final moments, the only good memories her brain could come up with tied back to her job. A job that too often reminded her of all of the bad in the world. A job that had landed her there in the first place.

She didn’t want to fully think about what happened. She wasn’t emotionally prepared for it. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about the moment before she lost consciousness, when those memories flashed through her mind. It made her realize just how empty her life had been. Her injuries may not have necessarily been life threatening, but she felt as though she was getting a second chance. A second chance to get more out of life than a few job related accomplishments in her end-of-life film reel. A second chance to be intentional about making more memories.

- - - -

A few days had gone by, and she was still in the hospital. She was already feeling better, more than ready to go home, but her doctor extended her stay, wanting to monitor her and her labs. She spent a lot of time in her room, keeping her mind busy with a few books Kim had brought her, but getting distracted by whatever rerun was playing on the small tv screen in the corner of the room. She didn’t have any visitors, something that only added to the epiphany about her life that had her rattled from the moment she woke. Her Intelligence family was practically all she had. They stopped by when they could, but for the most part they were all busy at work, leaving her alone to herself and the occasional check in from various medical staff. Boredom was growing with each passing minute, and she thought about how hard it would be to survive a few weeks out of the field if she couldn’t even make it through a few days in the hospital.

Having enough of sitting in the hospital bed, she was able to convince a nurse to let her sneak out for a walk around the hospital. She felt like a mess. She was dressed head to toe in sweats, her right arm was in a sling, and the look was pulled together with a pair of socks and sandals. Not exactly the most flattering outfit, but she had reached the level of restlessness that left her unaffected by her appearance. She just needed to be out of that room.

She got another book in the gift shop and stopped by the cafeteria where she found some chocolate ice cream. She tucked the book into her sling as she walked about the halls, shoveling the snack into her mouth with each step. She finally climbed into the elevator, and pressed the button for her floor before settling into the back corner. Every bit seemed better than the last. She wasn’t sold on the hospital food. It reminded her of grade school cafeteria food, something she was never fond of, so she knew that ice cream would be the only good thing she had to eat all day. The elevator stopped at the next floor and a man stepped in, pressing a button before settling into the corner across from her. She briefly looked up at him with a friendly nod before looking back down into the cup in her hand for another bite. Suddenly, a movement across the car brought her attention back to him. He had pulled a needled syringe from his pocket and began pressing it into his forearm. Her posture straightened and she froze as she watched him repeatedly stab his arm with the needle.

“Trypanophobia… don’t worry, it’s a prop needle,” he broke through the silence, and she relaxed slightly as he continued to speak.

“You know? The ones they use in movies that don’t actually pierce the skin. My idiot brother said the best way to overcome my fear of needles is exposure therapy, starting with these fake ones. Yet, I’ve been in and out of this hospital for several weeks now, plenty exposed to these things, and I still can’t seem to get used to the poking and prodding,” the man said, flashing her a shy smile as he continued pushing the needle into his arm.

“Seems like pretty sound advice to me. Maybe your idiot brother isn’t such an idiot after all,” she responded back with amusement.

“Yeah, well he may be a doctor, but he’s also my older brother which, in my eyes, makes him an idiot by default,” he said matter-of-factly, immediately looking up at her with a curl in his lips.

“Ah, well I have 2 brothers myself, so I suppose I can somewhat appreciate that sentiment,” she smirked, looking over at him from the other side of the elevator.

She discretely eyed him as he busied his focus back on the syringe in his hand. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and a shirt that fit a little too tight, revealing toned muscles underneath with every movement. The beanie he wore fully covered his head but based on the freckles all across his face and the darkness of his eyebrows, she had to guess he was a redhead, maybe even a brunette. His face was clean shaven, which made it hard to tell just how old he was, but his eyes were what had her. They were an entrancing blend of green and blue, and they gave off a sort of friendly warmth that mellowed out his somewhat intimidating deportment.

“What landed you in here?” He asked, continuing to mindlessly press the object into his arm.

“I- injured on the job,” she put simply.

“Been there,” he said directly, his obscurity matching hers. Her brow furrowed briefly before silence filled the small space and she centered her focus back on the ice cream in her hand.

“Are you doing anything right now, you know, besides stuffing your face with diabetes?” He queried, cutting through the silence and nodding to the cup of ice cream in her hand. She scoffed sarcastically.

“Why do you ask?” She questioned dubiously, trying to keep a lightness in her voice. “Also, I’ll have you know this is the only decent thing to eat this hospital has to offer. I survived a few bullets, I’m sure a little sugar won’t kill me,” she replied. He chuckled as she scooped up a large bite and shoveled it into her mouth with pride.

“Fair enough. And I ask because I have some time to kill, so I just wanted to see if you cared to join me for a little golf on the roof,” he said.

“There isn’t golf on the roof,” she shook her head, amused by the way he proposed it so factually.

“Oh, but there is,” he returned. She squinted her eyes at him in disbelief, and he quickly pressed the elevator button for the roof. She didn’t believe him, but she was bored. Out of her mind. So, she reluctantly decided to follow him. When the elevator stopped at the rooftop, he led her out to an opening with a small patch of turf, two clubs, and a basket of golf balls.

“What the hell? You were serious?” she laughed.

“Yeah, I was serious. I never joke about golf,” He said frankly, grabbing a golf club and placing the ball on the tee.

“Is this even allowed?” She asked, placing her empty cup down as she watched him swing the club into the ball. Her eyes travelled it as it flew from the roof, and she brought her eyes back to him, a staggered look on her face.

“Probably not, but like I said, my idiot brother is a doctor, so if we get caught I’ll just blame it on him,” he smiled, flashing her a wink before hitting another ball off the tee. “Do you want to try?” He asked, offering her a club.

“Don’t think that’s even possible,” she returned, raising her slinged arm slightly to make her point.

“That’s no excuse,” he said, “Come here,” he instructed. She gave in, making her way over toward him.

Close up, his eyes were more green than blue, and they were so beautiful that she found herself getting lost in them for a second. She snapped back into focus when he offered her the club. She took it, and he helped her adjust her feet so that she was standing properly. He placed a ball on the tee, took a step back, and motioned for her to have at it.

She wound the shot up with her uninjured arm and struck the ball. She was still sore from her injuries, and the movement of the swing sent a surge of pain through her torso. She flinched, chipping the top of the ball in the follow through. They both erupted in laughter when the ball barely went but a few feet in front of them, and she dropped the club to the ground to clutch at her abdomen.

“Okay, so maybe you were right,” he laughed, his mood dropping the second he noticed she was in pain. “Hey, are you okay?” He inspected, reaching a supportive hand through the small distance between them.

“Yeah, just still a little sore,” she admitted, stepping back as she forced a smile to hide her pain. He just nodded and she stepped back to lean against the wall. He was silent, but she could sense he was thinking hard about something.

“So injured on the job, huh?” He finally asked. “You mentioned something about surviving a bullet, so what exactly is your job? Bank Robber? Spy? Assassin?” He bantered. She pursed her lips into a wry smile, shaking her head with a weak laugh.

“Mm. You pay attention. I’m a Cop. Detective more specifically. It was uh…” she hadn’t fully addressed how everything had went down yet. The case wasn’t one she wanted to particularly think about, and as the memories from moments before the shooting slowly came back, she immediately pushed them down. She still wasn’t prepared to talk about it. Especially not to some stranger she met in an elevator only 15 minutes before.

“Things took a turn quickly. I took two to the vest, one in the shoulder,” she finally got out, remaining vague through her wording.

His movements stilled, and he looked over at her, a concerned yet knowing look on his face.

“Through and through?” He asked her. She nodded bleakly.

“I’ve had a similar injury,” she noticed his jaw clench with his words. “I was a cop too,” he eventually admitted, a sullen look falling upon his face.

“Was?” She questioned.

“I mean, I guess I technically still am, but it doesn’t feel like it,” he adumbrated. She noticed he was being cryptic, but despite her own curiosity she could tell it wasn’t something he was prepared to talk about. It got quiet as she weighed whether or not to question him further. She settled against it, and in desperate need to change the subject, her attention fell back upon the golf setup. She nodded her head towards it to redirect the conversation.

“So why do you have this here?” She asked him. She watched as he sucked his teeth, pulling his tongue back with a pop before answering.

“I was diagnosed with Stage 2 Pancreatic Cancer several weeks ago. Started chemotherapy not long after that, and as I mentioned before, needles are not my favorite thing, so I come up here before each treatment… calm my nerves a bit,” he admitted. Her face fell. She put two and two together, figuring that was his reason behind not feeling like a cop anymore. She quickly realized her problems, her boredom, everything she’d complained about in the past few days really didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It also in a way reminded her of that second chance she seemed to have gotten. She was suddenly both inspired and confused about where she stood in the way she viewed her life.

“I’m sorry,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Oh, none of that. No room for sorry or sadness up here. Only golf,” he quipped, forcing a smile and turning his attention back to the golf ball on the ground before whacking it from the roof.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed in her pocket, bringing her attention away from him.

Where are you? Kev and I brought you some food, but your room is empty.

It was a text from Kim. After reading it, she looked up at the man. She had a strange desire to stay up there with him, to watch him hit golf balls from the roof and get to know more about him, but she knew her friends would send the entire hospital after her if she didn’t show a sign of life.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go,” she said, slipping her phone back in her pocket and pushing herself from the wall.

“Hey, what’d I say about sorry?” He smirked, resting the club on the ground and leaning against it as he stepped towards her.

“How much longer are you stuck here?” he asked, tilting his head with his words.

“Honestly, I’m not really sure. Doctors haven’t been able to give me a clear answer.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around. It was nice to meet you um…” he let out an awkward chuckle. “I don’t know your name,” he said sheepishly.

“Hailey. I’m Hailey,” she smirked, extending her uninjured hand for him to shake. He grabbed it, shaking it back lightly and slowly. As he peered into her eyes, an abnormal feeling overcame her. It was almost a sense of familiarity, like he wasn’t a stranger she had just met, but someone she’d known her whole life. It was the look in his eyes and the comfort of his touch, and it was a feeling that took her by surprise. Nonetheless, the feeling was gone as quickly as it came, and they pulled apart as he parted his lips to speak.

“Nice to meet you, Hailey,” he said, his free hand finding way to his pocket. Her phone buzzed again, another text from Kim, and she knew she had to get back to her room before they sent the entirety of Chicago searching for her. She gave him one last smile before turning towards the elevators. As she settled in and pressed the button for her floor, she looked up to see him watching her every movement. She quickly looked down at her feet with this realization, remembering how she was dressed and suddenly regretting leaving her room like that. She was grateful when he finally turned, directing his attention back to the golf balls on the ground.

“Wait,” she said, throwing her free hand up to the elevator doors as they began to close. He twisted around, his eyes carrying a gentle, curious look.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she called out.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped himself, his eyes looking up and dropping quickly as if he’d forgotten his name and was waiting for it to fall from the sky.

“Just remember me as the stranger from the elevator,” he finally said slyly.

She frowned, but he just returned her look with taut smirk. When it was clear that was all he was going to offer, she backed up into the elevator, an annoyed and skeptical smile on her face as she allowed the doors to fall shut.

She acted on autopilot for the rest of the afternoon, distracted by the encounter with the stranger. She wasn’t an at first sight kind of person. Love, admiration, attraction, feelings, they weren’t things she typically felt from the jump. It took time and trust for her to develop those things that some could develop in a first encounter. Yet, with this guy, something was different. From the ride down to the elevator, to dinner in her room with her friends, to the moment her head touched the uncomfortable hospital pillow that night, the stranger and some unexplainable feeling about him lingered in her mind like a bad hangover. He was aloof and smug, but something about that combination left her wanting more. More about his story, about his quirks, about everything that made him seem so interesting.

It took her a while to find sleep, as it had every night prior that she had spent in that hospital, but that night it was for another reason. It wasn’t just the discomfort of the bed or the unfamiliarity of the room that left her restless. It was the image of the stranger’s well-pleased grin in her mind, his blue-green eyes sparkling at her, and her own curiosity keeping her up late into the night. Every part of her hoped that she would see him again. She couldn’t quite explain it, but the timing of it all made her think she was meant to meet him for some undiscovered reason. That gave her just enough hope that their encounter wasn’t just a one time thing. She had a strong feeling she was going to see him again.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic #justmypartner fics #collection of Em’s fics

[gideongrace]

5 & 23 from the ace prompts 🤩

5. "I have been waiting for you my entire life." 

+

23. "You are not allowed to die first, got it?" 

Okay, this one had me stuck for like, a week. I just couldn't come up with anything for it that wasn't super cheesy and tropey and cliche. But then I just decided to be cheesy and tropey and cliche instead anyway. 

(And to everyone else that sent prompts, sorry! I did get them, I am getting to them! I just also sorta got carried away by plotting out that amnesia steve fic…)

//

Billy runs in through the front doors of the hospital at full speed, ready to roar and to scream and to tear the place apart but instead of any of that, he takes a deep breath, adjusts the strap of his duffle bag that he suddenly realizes he had no need to drag inside and looks around for the front desk. This isn't the hospital he's used to, so he has no idea where it is. 

And he can't find it.

He looks and he looks and he looks and still, he can't find it.

This isn't the hospital he's used to, he doesn't know anybody who works here and he's fresh off a really rough, really long shift. 

He hadn't even gotten to go home and shower, he'd only just stepped out the door into the bright, warm, mid-afternoon sun, taken a single, deep breath and only just decided his plan of action was he was gonna go home, shower, then maybe go surprise Steve with a pizza when he'd gotten the phone call.

And he hasn't taken a single deep breath since. He just ran straight for his car, drove all the way across town to this neighborhood he doesn't know and this hospital he doesn't know and he tries to think of everything, of anything El's ever told him about PTSD or panic attacks, stuff she's said help people calm down when they're experiencing things like that, because he's experiencing something like that right now, he's got enough sense left to know that much but none of what she's said is sticking, none of it is applicable and -

The rage he's gotten so good at tamping down boils over in his blood and swims in his skin and he feels like he's gonna scream but instead he pulls at his hair, but he only manages to grab at too-short, freshly shaved sides with not near enough left on top and he takes a breath, and he's going to scream, he's going to scream - 

But then there's a hand on his shoulder and a soft, sweet voice saying, "You need some help?" and everything in him crumbles as he turns to see a sweet-faced and tall (very, very tall) man in poorly-fitting light blue scrubs behind him. 

"Uh, yeah," Billy says, somehow managing to get the words to push out past his numb, numb lips, "do you, uh, do you know where the, uh, front desk is?"

The guy nods, shaggy brown hair falling into his big, brown eyes. (It doesn't make Billy think of anybody. It doesn't.)

"Sure," the guy says, his hand still clamped to Billy's shoulder. "I'll show you." 

He directs Billy towards a slightly labyrinthine-looking set of corridors that Billy had distinctly avoided and he does it still with his hand on Billy's shoulder, guiding him like a captain guides a ship, like he'd seen the look on Billy's face, the terror and the panic and he'd recognized it. It makes sense. El and Mike are always telling him people panicked about - about loved ones, those who really, truly care, they almost always have the same look, even if it's contained itself to just their eyes, it's always there, it's always present, that panic, that fear. And Billy guesses this guy, working in a hospital as he does, he's probably as familiar with that look as EMTs like El and Mike would be. 

"Just right here. Ellen'll help you find who you're looking for," the guy says as he deposits Billy in front of the front desk with its big, red 'reception' sign, the one Billy wishes he could've - knows he should've - found on his own. 

"Yeah, thanks," Billy says as the guy claps him on the back and wanders off, probably to help some other poor soul like the good, good dude he is. 

Ellen, the nurse behind the desk, on the other hand, looks Billy up and down appraisingly, cold green eyes assessing, assessing, assessing and clearly finding him wanting somehow. Maybe it's the rough haircut he'd given himself, maybe it's the sweatpants and grungy white tank top he's wearing, maybe it's the big, fat, homemade "Station 52" logo patch on the front of his duffle bag that Max had custom made for him. Maybe this woman hates firefighters. Maybe she can tell that he's gay, can smell it on him and maybe she's homophobic.

Or maybe, the last five percent of his brain capable of rational thought tells him, maybe that's just her face and it's not personal.

"Who're you looking for, dear?" she asks, even though she clearly thinks he's anything but dear. 

"Um, uh," he stammers and god, he hasn't been this awkward, hasn't said um and uh this much since middle school, "Steve Harrington?"

Her face tightens, her tall stack of thick gray hair wobbles just a little and Billy's stomach prepares itself for free fall, for bad news, for - 

"Alright, he's in Room 357, just on the third floor-" and she keeps going, keeps giving instructions after that, but Billy doesn't hear them, is too overwhelmed with the taste, the feeling, the rush of sheer relief that hits him with the knowledge that Steve has a room number, which means that Steve has a room, which means that Steve hasn't died in the time it took him to drive here or in the time he spent wandering, lost. It means Steve isn't in surgery and these are both very, very good things.

That surge of joy fades out with a mewling whimper after Billy gets lost another two times looking for Steve's room, as it occurs to him, What if Steve's only not in surgery because he's too weak to survive it? and, Just because he wasn't dead however many minutes ago, doesn't mean he's not dead now.

And he still can't find the room, isn't even sure he's on the right floor anymore, but there is one thing he knows for sure, one thing he knows for certain:

Whenever he sees that partner of Steve's, Dustin whatever, he's gonna tear him limb from limb, gonna tear him apart, gonna rend flesh from bone for not telling him more over the phone than, "Steve's been shot and we're at St. Mary's, you should get here like, now."

As he wanders down yet another meaningless white hallway, he feels that rage boiling again, feels like he's going to lose it again until he turns a corner and sees a row of feet all clad in plain, dark, sensible shoes and looks up to see a line of officers, most still in uniform, all sitting stuffed end over end, just one too many in a row of old, creaky, metal and ugly navy felt hospital chairs. 

He almost smiles at having finally, finally found them - because of course there's a whole crew of people waiting for his boy, of course there is, that's probably why the nurse at the front desk got so annoyed, there's at least ten people sitting and jamming up this small hallway and here he is, adding to it, but -

Then it occurs to him:

Why are all these people waiting here? 

Why are they all…

He looks around at all their faces and each and every one of them has that pinched look, that capsized-rowboat-in-the-ocean look that Mike's told him about, that panicked look that loved ones get that El's talked about, that restless, hopeless rage that he's been feeling on and off since he got that call and if -

And if they all look the same way then maybe…

Then maybe those feelings he's been feeling aren't an overreaction like the last five percent of his brain capable of hope has been hoping, praying, wishing for it to be.

That last five percent shuts down and dies a quiet, lonely death as his eyes connect with those of one of the guys sitting in the middle of the row and he sees fear there, sees panic, and sees rage there. 

He feels himself capsizing in the ocean of this near stranger's sad blue eyes and as his terror over this spreads he feels his stomach pick itself up and ready to launch at his lungs which have suddenly decided to forget what it is they're supposed to do, like they've ever had more than just the one job and now maybe they're just a little confused. 

Billy himself is a lot confused, because he and this guy just keep staring at each other and nobody is saying anything.

Why is nobody saying anything? 

Then someone comes stumbling into him from behind, saying, "Well, it certainly took you long enough," and it's Heather and the way she says it sets Billy's teeth on edge because he can't figure out her tone, can't figure out what she means and - 

She points him in the direction of Steve's room, even if it's almost right in front of him and he's grateful, really, he's grateful (he's grateful and he's terrified) as she pushes him inside, not giving him the space nor the time to chicken out or run away. 

And he lets out a sigh at the sight of Steve lying before him, lets out a sigh even as his heart ripples and creaks under the weight of his exhaustion. 

He pulls a smooth, blue, and terribly squeaky plastic chair up to Steve's good side and tries to hold his breath, tries not to smell that cloying, abrasive antiseptic smell that fills the room, tries instead to imagine Steve's favorite cologne, that woodsy, citrusy one. 

He tries not to focus on the IV in the back of Steve's hand, tries not to focus on the cannula in his nose, tries instead to think of Steve pressed up behind him in bed, of Steve's hands warm and comforting on his chest and Steve's nose pressed into his hair or the back of his neck and inhaling deeply.

He tries to ignore the thick, white, starchy-looking bandages covering Steve up from his left shoulder to his elbow, he tries to ignore the way Steve's eyes are closed and what that might mean, he tries to ignore all of that and just see Steve -

He tries to but he can't. 

"I have been waiting for you my entire life," Billy says. He grabs Steve's hand and grips it tight. "You are not allowed to die first, got it?" 

Steve surprises him by squeezing back and saying, "I'll try my best," and being an idiot and trying to sit up with a freaking bullet wound in his freaking arm.

Billy pushes him back to the bed with his free hand on his good shoulder and winds up positioned very awkwardly for a moment before Steve finally relents and lays back down.

What he says next makes it worse. 

"I'm fine, though, you know." 

Like it's nothing. Like getting shot is nothing. Billy supposes it's meant to be comforting, to be reassuring, but instead it makes Billy see red. 

"You're in the hospital." Billy tries for soft, he really does. He wants to cradle Steve's face in his hands and press sweet, quiet kisses to his lips, but instead Steve said that and now he's snarling.

"Yeah," Steve says, voice either forced calm or drugged oblivious and Billy isn't sure which, "but it's okay, it didn't hit anything vital and the doc says I'll be fine in about a month or two." 

"You're in the hospital," Billy says again, louder this time. He can feel himself growing claws and he feels overwhelmed, feels a need to claw at something, to scratch, to bite. To destroy. 

Lucky for him, this is exactly when Dustin strolls in carrying flowers and looking particularly guilty.

Unlucky for him, Dustin says, "What the hell, man? I barely got to telling you we were here and you told me you were coming and hung up. Me and Heather tried calling you back like six times and no answer. We  were just about to send someone out looking for you." 

And. 

"Oh." It's all Billy can think to say. Then, "Sorry."

But then Steve just has to pipe back in with, "See? If you'd let Dustin get to it, he'd have told you that I'm fine, too." 

And boy, is that ever the wrong thing to say because it has Billy roaring with, "You are in a hospital with a bullet in your arm, Steve, you're not fine."

And Dustin politely interjecting with, "Okay, woah, woah, nobody said anything about you being fine. There's a lot of distance between you and 'fine' right now, Steve."

Steve's eyes narrow, that medicated calm sliding from his face even as Billy sees the last drops of whatever medication they've got him on dripping down from the bag and into the IV line. 

"You literally came home with your hair singed last week," Steve says, like he thinks the fact that they both have dangerous jobs is somehow going to win him this argument. 

"Yeah, and that was just my hair! You're in the hospital!" Billy shouts. This time, he fully shouts because apparently, Steve's not going to get it unless it's screamed at him.

"And I'm fine!" 

Or maybe he's just not going to get it at all.

From the doorway, Dustin laughs and Billy is on him in a second.

"What's so funny?" he snarls but Dustin keeps laughing.

"Just…" he says, unable to stop laughing even as he's trying to speak, "Just say 'I love you' and get it over with, already, both of you."

Steve's face goes as tomato red as Billy's suddenly feels. 

But neither of them says it. Neither of them says anything. 

fic tag squad:

@a-magey @xgardensinspace @myboyfriendsteve @haxpr0cess @thinger-strang @nagdabbit @demi-don @lissieisspacey @tracy7307 @ihni @yourneighborhoodace

@harringrovetrashh

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #harringrove fic #misc au #angst #modern #gideonwrites #asexual #asexual fic collection #asexuality

[ithappensoffstage]

Look, I'm a simple person--I see Alexsandr Kallus, I think, "he needs to be fucked really well."

I rewatched Rebels recently and decided since I write fanfic now--and spicy fanfic at that--I needed some spicy Rebels fanfic in my life.

~fic linked, or read it below~

Yavin IV was not a cold moon by any standards; certainly not by Zeb’s, whose mind strayed to Bahryn any moment someone--usually Ezra--complained about the jungle at night. Zeb welcomed that cool mist of the morning, the welcome reprieve to some of the strangling humidity. Occasionally before longer missions, Zeb would return to the Ghost just to reacclimate to its crisp, metallic air. Even though he spent more time in space than on the ground, Yavin had worked its way into his lungs.

Zeb thought of Kallus, of his smile every time the Ghost touched down on the landing pad, and rubbed his chest. Maybe it wasn’t Yavin after all.

Shaking himself, Zeb boarded the Ghost, dropped a small crate of provisions in the cargo bay, and made his way to his room. He hadn’t been on the Ghost in almost a week. Ezra, of course, had used that as an opportunity to take over their quarters almost entirely.  New posters lined the walls, droid parts and trophies form Imperials littered the floor, and crumpled clothes covered Zeb’s bunk. Zeb just sighed and pushed everything into an unsightly pile in the corner for Ezra to deal with later.

He was admiring a new poster Sabine had completed for the Alliance when he heard his door open. His ears flicked toward the sound, but he didn’t turn around.

“I had a feeling I would find you here.”

Warmth flowed through Zeb, reaching even his fingertips. He stretched his hand and inhaled evenly before facing the entrance.

Kallus stood in the doorway, arms tucked behind the small of his back and blocking some of the light Zeb had been letting into the room. His shadow wavered when he leaned against the doorframe.

“How did you even get in here? There’s no way Hera gave you the access codes.” Zeb almost smacked himself in the forehead after speaking. Instead, he half-shrugged, looked down, and waved his hand through the air aimlessly, continuing, “Not that I’m not happy to--well, it’s fine that you’re here. Uh. Good to see you.”

Kallus ignored Zeb’s fumbling and answered, voice even, “You left the cargo bay open.”

Zeb wanted to argue he had been too distracted by Kallus’ smile to lock up properly, but then Kallus smiled in real time, and Zeb found himself at a loss for words. He eyes traced Kallus’ outline. His Alliance uniform was less imposing, less sharp than his Imperial clothes, but he still cut an impressive figure. Leaning the way he was in the door, someone could almost mistake Kallus for a civilian if they didn’t know him. But Zeb knew him--saw the straight line of his shoulders, the strong set of his jaw, the way he favored his left leg to avoid putting weight on his injured knee.

“I have something for you.” Whatever it was glowed a muted yellow between his hands.

Crossing the room to reach Kallus, Zeb tried to ignore the tightness in his chest as the object became clearer. The meteorite was no longer warm, but it cast a soft light still, enough to illuminate the space between Zeb and Kallus.

“You kept it.”

“Of course.” Kallus said it like it was the simplest thing in the galaxy.

Zeb scratched the back of his neck, looking down. “Heh. Right.” A moment passed before he realized he was clutching the meteorite to his chest. He wasn’t even sure when he’d taken it. He uncurled his fingers and chuckled nervously as he held it back out to Kallus.

Kallus shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No, no.” He covered Zeb’s hand--surely just to push the rock back to him, Zeb thought. “I’m trusting you to bring it back in one piece.” With a smirk, he added, “If you can manage.”

Zeb clicked his tongue. “I’m not sure you appreciate how hard it is to completely divert from every plan we’ve ever come up with each time we get a mission. Top military analysts can’t even predict our outcomes.” His shoulders bounced as he tried to hold back his laughter.

Kallus shook his head, mouth half-open, tongue sticking between his teeth. “Truly, I don’t know how you do it.”

Zeb felt Kallus’ breath on his neck. Even though he had actually held Kallus in his arms on Bahryn, Zeb felt this was the closest they had ever been.

“Kallus--”

Kallus made a noise in the back of his throat. “Alex, please, or--”

“Alexsandr. I know.” All at once Zeb felt a giddy lightness in his chest as well as a weight low in his stomach, a contradiction so absurd he wanted to laugh. Instead, he used his free hand to reach for Kallus--Alex’s--face. Zeb took Alex’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Are you going to kiss me, Garazeb Orrelios?” Alex’s lips were parted; he inhaled deeply through his mouth.

“I’m thinkin’ about it,” Zeb said quietly.

Alex rolled his eyes and started to reply, but he never got a chance; Zeb kissed him, gently, but without trepidation. The sound Alex made was soft, tucked somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief, and he turned his head to the side, kissing Zeb with equal confidence. It wasn’t a particularly long kiss, and when Zeb pulled away, he kept his eyes closed just to make the moment last longer. He dropped his hands to his side. Alex placed the meteorite gently on a shelf. He touched Zeb’s face.

Zeb opened his eyes as he turned his face into Alex’s palm. A jolt ricocheted through his chest as Alex’s gaze met, and held, his. Alex moved his thumb across Zeb’s lips. “I think,” he murmured, “if you had kissed me on Bahryn, that I would have gone on the Ghost with you.”

“And to think I spent all that time saving your life instead.”

“I seem to recall that I was the one who saved your life.”

“Shut up,” Zeb growled fondly before kissing Alex again. This time, he did his best to leave Alex breathless, wrapping him in a tight embrace and kissing him like he intended to consume him. He bit his lips and soothed the spots with his tongue, tasting salt and fresh Meiloorun.

Alex fumbled blindly for the door controls--almost destroying the locking mechanism as he punched it closed--before returning Zeb’s passion in kind, his leg slotting between Zeb’s thighs and his fingers scrabbling to undo the zipper on Zeb’s combat suit. His body thrummed with desire; Zeb could feel it, they were pressed so close. Ears pressed flat and brow furrowed, Zeb kissed Alex harder, tacitly asking for him to be even closer.

Zeb’s shoulders hit the side of the top bunk before he even realized they had moved. He grunted, and Alex pulled away.

Nervous energy burned in Zeb’s chest. In some ways he was still waiting for Alex to walk away, and to take with him a part of Zeb that Zeb never expected to recover.

“I’m not going anywhere, Zeb,” Alex said softly. “So stop looking at me like that.”

Zeb huffed a laugh. “How d’you want me to look at you, then?” He smoothed his hands over Alex’s chest and bit his lip.

“Like you want me.”

“That,” Zeb promised, eyes half-lidded and voice low while he trailed his fingers along Kallus’ stomach, “I can do.”

Zeb dragged Alex into his bed. Alex had unzipped Zeb’s suit, but hadn’t gotten much further with it--which Zeb accepted full responsibility for. Zeb snorted when they both went for the neck of the suit. With his back against the mattress and Alex straddling him, Zeb was more exposed than he had ever been. His hand covering Alex’s, Zeb pulled his suit down to his hips. He bared his neck to Alex. Alex kissed his throat gently, trailing his tongue along his pulsepoint before nipping at Zeb’s jaw. Zeb shivered.

Alex flattened his hands against Zeb’s shoulders and then drew them down his chest, pausing sometimes to trace scars or muscles that caught his attention. When his hands reached Zeb’s hips, he kept his exploration above the suit, and pressed down leisurely on Zeb’s erection. Zeb grunted.

Tucking his knees to his chest, Zeb took matters into his own hands and pushed the suit the rest of the way off, even kicking it into Alex’s face for good measure. Alex pursed his lips. Zeb shrugged. “You were taking too long.”

Zeb was getting harder with each passing second. And Alex was still fully clothed.

Zeb reached for Alex’s jacket, but Alex leaned back and took it off himself, slowly, grinding his hips down against Zeb while he did so. Zeb made a half-strangled noise as his cock rubbed against the material on the inside of Alex’s thigh. He hooked his fingers under Alex’s waistband. “If you don’t take those off soon, I’m going to rip them off of you.”

“Though I would not mind that,” Alex conceded, “I unfortunately need them intact.” He shoved Zeb’s hands deeper, until Zeb was palming his cock. Alex hummed appreciatively and leaned into the touch. Zeb inhaled sharply.

Alex used Zeb’s shoulders as an anchor as Zeb pulled the last layers separating them off of Alex’s body, taking his time to slide his hands along his waist, his hips, the curve of his ass. The sounds Alex made when Zeb touched him were mesmerizing, and left Zeb lightheaded as he considered ways to elicit more of them. Their cocks slid together between them, Zeb fully hard and Alex well on his way, and they rutted haphazardly against each other, desperate for the feeling, leaning into the mounting heat and pressure.

Zeb lifted himself onto his elbow so he could kiss Alex again. It was messy--spit-slick, teeth and tongues clashing, panted breaths passing between mouths--and matched their clumsy thrusting. The urgency with which they wanted one another was more intoxicating than spicebrew.

Abruptly, Zeb found himself pressed flat to the mattress again. Alex climbed further up his body; and, all at once, Zeb understood his intentions. His pulse jumped like a rapid-fire turret.

“I want--”

Zeb’s mouth went dry. “I know.”

Alex dug into his jacket pocket before finally throwing it fully off the bunk. Zeb couldn’t see what he was holding, but then something slick and warm was dripping over his cock, and Alex took him in hand, and Zeb wanted to fall into that heat and never reemerge. His toes curled as Alex’s hand sped;  Zeb reached for Alex’s legs, pulling him into position and swallowing around a groan. His hands holding Alex’s straining thighs, Zeb gripped hard and spread Alex’s legs wide. He watched in awe, blood hot as the deserts of Tatooine, as his cock pressed into Alex. Alex hissed.

“Not all at once,” he breathed. He steadied himself with a hand on Zeb’s stomach, and Zeb kept his hands beneath Alex’s thighs, holding him in place.

“Can’t handle me, Captain?” Zeb purred, just to get a rise out of Alex. Alex scoffed, but the sound became a moan as Zeb rolled his hips, working Alex open some more.

When he could speak again, Alex groaned, “You are insufferable.” As payback for Zeb’s comment, Alex bore down on what length of Zeb’s cock he’d been able to take so far. Zeb inhaled like he’d been punched in the gut. He wasn’t even half in and was already overwhelmed. Alex was tight and knew how to move; Zeb was already ruined.

“I’m not in a hurry,” Zeb murmured, giving Alex’s thighs a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He blushed before continuing, “I just want to enjoy you.” Zeb felt like a fool as soon as he’d said it, and looked pointedly at the wall.

Alex tapped Zeb’s abdomen to bring his gaze back to him. “I have been… thinking of this for some time,” he confessed, causing Zeb’s eyebrows to raise in surprise. “And I certainly anticipated this being a… a notably large undertaking.” He emphasized his point by squeezing his thighs around Zeb, and Zeb would have laughed if he wasn’t so focused on not coming. As it was, he dug his fingernails into Alex’s skin, every muscle in his body alternating between tensing and shaking. “My point is --I would like to enjoy you, as well.”

Alex stretched and yielded noisily, offering steady noises of encouragement or warning. More than once, Zeb found himself biting back a whimper; the gradual shift of his cock into Alex’s tight, wet body had him edging dangerously close to climax. Both of them were breathing heavily by the time Zeb’s cock was entirely buried inside of Alex. Zeb had to cover his face in his hands, too overwhelmed to think of any other course of action, as Alex slowly began riding him, testing a pace, and finding a rhythm.

Zeb was almost immobile, content just watching the blush high on Alex’s cheeks, and the strands of hair falling into his face, and the sweat slicking his neck and chest.

“The goal is to move ,” Alex reminded Zeb--but the force of the comment was lost as Zeb growled, the sound emerging from low in his chest, and used both of his hands to grip Alex’s ass and hold him steady. Zeb raised himself to as much of a sitting position as the bunk allowed, pulling Alex with him.

Alex wrapped his arms around Zeb’s neck, and Zeb leaned in to bite at his ear and jaw. “Fuck me like you mean it,” he begged. Alex heaved a breathless sigh and reached for Zeb’s shoulders. Zeb thrust up into him fervidly, squeezing in time with each movement. Alex writhed on top of Zeb, jaw going slack. He let loose a litany of curses, some in languages Zeb couldn’t even identify, before releasing a shaky, “ Oh .”

Then, smiling wickedly, Alex tensed around Zeb, rolled his hips, and doubled his efforts, sliding nearly all the way off of Zeb before taking him completely back in. Zeb gripped the edge of the bunk above him and tried not to scream. But he let out a cry as he came, and grew only louder still as Alex continued to ride him through the orgasm.

Alex’s hands left Zeb’s shoulders to scratch at his back, digging in for purchase wherever he could. He pressed his temple to Zeb’s; gasping open-mouthed, Alex tried to kiss Zeb but could barely maintain it. When Alex began moaning quickly, repeatedly, in-between thrusts, Zeb knew he was nearing his end, too.

Zeb barely had to wrap his hand around Alex’s cock before Alex was coming, burying his head against Zeb’s chest as waves of pleasure enveloped him. Zeb felt each one in his own body.

“Come here,” Zeb urged. He turned them so he could press Alex into the mattress--pulling out of him as he did so--and kissed him hard. Alex returned it eagerly.

When they broke apart, Zeb chuckled.

“What?” Alex pushed Zeb’s shoulder good-naturedly.

"I was just thinking, if you had told me you could do that back on Bahryn, I would have joined the Empire on the spot."

Alex let out a quick bark of laughter that slowly became a fit, which Zeb swiftly joined. They continued laughing as they curled into one another, Alex's head tucked neatly against Zeb's chest and under his chin.

They stayed like that in silence for a while, simply breathing each other in. Eventually, Alex retrieved a towel for the both of them, and then a blanket.

Zeb opened his arms as Alex climbed back into the bunk. He closed them around Alex’s body and pressed his own chest to Alex’s back, humming contentedly.  “You’ll stay?”

Alex snuggled closer to Zeb. “Of course. The whole night, if you’ll have me.”

“I think I just did.”

Alex snorted and pressed his lips together in a bemused smirk. “Be quiet, and let me sleep.”

Zeb conceded happily. His body ached pleasantly, heavy and loose and warm. Alex’s steady breathing was white noise to Zeb, drowning out the Ghost’s groaning and the Rebel ships docking and departing. One persistent beep, however, kept cutting through the peace, and Zeb’s ears flicked toward it even though his focus was elsewhere.

“You know, you do actually have to get some sleep, since you have a mission tomorrow.” Alex’s voice was muffled by Zeb’s fur.

“It’s just the ship.”

“Mm.” Alex turned in Zeb’s arms until his face was pressed against Zeb’s collar. Zeb grinned, almost giddy with delight to hold him so close.

The beep grew louder, more persistent. Zeb growled.

Alex yawned and pressed a single, soothing kiss to Zeb’s neck. “Just ignore it. It’s louder sleeping on base.”

“I’m trying, it’s just--well, it sounds an awful lot like--” Zeb scrambled out of his bunk so suddenly he nearly sent Alex crashing to the floor.

Alex recovered with all the dignity Zeb expected of him; sliding his shoulders up the side of the bunk, he crossed his arms, rolled his neck, and exhaled tiredly through his nose. His eyes were still closed as he scraped his hands down his face. “What. Could possibly --”

Zeb sent him a pointed glare. “It’s Chopper.”

Zeb’s clothes were much easier to gather than Alex’s, and he was dressed and jamming the door before Alex was even half-covered. It was a pity to lose that part of the view, though. Zeb was about to say as much when he heard from the hall, “--can’t really blame her, Chopp, since your diagnostics last time were--ow!”

“Oh, good, Ezra as well,” came Alex’s voice from behind Zeb.

Another voice, long-suffering but fond, sounded from outside Zeb’s dor. “Behave, you two!”

Zeb sighed. “And Hera.”

“ Karabast. ”

Eyes wide, Zeb turned, his stomach lurching. Alex was muttering to himself as he pulled his jacket on, completely oblivious to Zeb’s attention and, Zeb realized, what he had said. When he finished zipping up his jacket, Alex threw his hands in the air and looked around.

“What next?”

Chopper slammed into the door. He let out a series of frustrated beeps and whirrs when the door remained closed.

Ezra knocked impatiently. “Zeb? Are you in there? Open the door, sleemo; I need something for training.”

“I’m trying to sleep!”

“Why,” Ezra slammed the exterior control pad, “did you,” and again, “jam the door?”

“So little womprats like you would leave me alone!”

“Chopper’s going to open the door anyway so you might as well get up and help us.”

“Chopper, I will rip the dome off your rusty body and use it for target practice!”

Alex came to Zeb’s side. He slid his hand across Zeb’s shoulder, leaning into his space, and whispered, “They are your family, Zeb.”

“And?” Zeb puffed out his cheeks.

“ And .” Alex kissed the corner of Zeb’s mouth. “That means the less secrets, the better. If that is what you want."

Zeb threaded his fingers in Alex’s hair, marveling at the way the light danced in his eyes. Their mouths met in a lingering kiss, one Zeb felt even after it was over and he was opening the door to his quarters.

Zeb expected Ezra and Chopper at his door, Hera in the cockpit. But when he and Alex faced the hall, all three of them were there--along with Sabine and Kanan. If not for Alex’s hand on his back, Zeb would have turned right back around.

The silence stretched until Kanan requested someone tell him what was going on. Sabine smiled wryly as Hera explained, “Well, Zeb and Captain Kallus stopped dancing around each other.”

“Nobody was dancing.” Zeb sneered, all too aware of the blush high on his cheeks.

Kanan smiled. “Good news. Captain Kallus, expect everyone to give you some variation of a ‘don’t break his heart’ speech when we get back. Everyone, let’s just focus on getting the Ghost ready for now.”

“You would think for a crew so clearly prepared, less missions would go awry.” Alex crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’d think for a crew with regular habits, they wouldn’t break them the one time it’s inconvenient,” Zeb corrected.

Laughing, Hera pointed in the general direction of the cargo hold. “The plan changed. We were asked to offload these supplies tonight--another crew got back early. They’re taking them for us so we don’t have to make that extra stop on the way out. I thought that was the best thing to happen tonight, but I’m really, really living for the look on your face right now.”

Zeb frowned. “Thanks, Hera.” He looked at Alex, who was having an odd staring match with Ezra, and said, “We’ll be on our way.”

“You’re really going to get speeches, you know,” Zeb warned when they were out of earshot. Alex laughed brightly.

“I would not expect anything less.”

Zeb took the ladder down first and watched--stomach flipping pleasantly--as Alex descended. Their arms brushed as Zeb walked Alex back out to the base, Sabine and Ezra following with the cargo they were offloading. They stopped when they reached the edge of the ramp.

“Don’t,” Zeb grumbled, but Alex was already craning his neck to kiss Zeb’s cheek. Sabine wolf-whistled from the cargo access bay while Ezra feigned like he was vomiting.

“Hasn’t he smelled you?” Ezra called.

“Shut up!” Zeb glared.

“Among other things,” Alex added simultaneously, just for Zeb’s ears.

Not to be outdone, Zeb chuckled and added, “We’ll have to try some more of those things when I get back.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Despite Ezra’s loud and continuous complaints that he needed Zeb’s help with the cargo, Zeb watched Alex until he was inside the base. By then, Ezra had come to wait by his side.

“You seem happy.” It was a remark devoid of sarcasm or humor; it was simply a fact, one that Ezra wanted to make clear he understood.

Zeb unfolded his arms and looked down at Ezra.

“I am.”

#kalluzeb #star wars #rebels #my fic #text

[planetsam]

if you're down for doing another wedding/marriage prompt, something in that au with michael finding out about alex's injury?

The main fic is here. 

By the time they figure out who he is, Alex is back in the US.

The call comes, not surprisingly, while Michael is thinking about Alex. The copper ring is big, big enough to slide over the joints of his fingers even though it’s never truly comfortable. Spinning it is the most rehab he’s done on the injury. He’s in the airstream spinning the ring and thinking about the latest time Isobel told him that he was wasting his life and no-one was going to want to marry him and come home to his trailer. The irony was not lost on him. His phone rings and he barely says anything before the voice of a perky woman comes through.

“Captain Manes has just started his rehabilitation and he’s got a long road ahead of him—“

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, “who is this?”

“I’m with the VA,” she says, “I found your name in Captain Manes’ records, you’re an alternate medical proxy.”

Michael wonders how far down the list he is.

“Okay,” he says.

“Captain Manes is here and he’s just started rehab and I thought a visit might cheer him up.”

“I’m the last person Alex wants to see right now,” he says, “is his dad there?”

“No he left,” she says and he almost hears her hesitate, “he might not want to see you,” she says, “but I think he needs to.”

Michael does not have an answer for that. So he shows up. He’s led through a few hallways to a rehab room. There’s a lot of people doing exercises. They’re missing limbs or horribly burned—there’s no one here whose walking away unscathed. Michael looks around and keeps his face apathetic until he finds Alex. It takes him a moment to recognize him which says more about this than Michael wants it to. The first time he sees Alex in years is as he’s holding himself between two long bars taking hesitant steps.

Michael remembers Alex, whip thin and fast. He also had a brief brush with a well muscled Alex, just branded as a member of the US Armed forces. Neither of these is the Alex who has anger written on every line of his body. Whose grey T-shirt is soaked in sweat as he moves awkwardly down the pale wood bars. Every line of him screams pain and tension, not the wariness and defiance Michael is so used to seeing. Not even the defeat.  It’s the harshness that catches him off guard. Like someone has erased the man he loves and carved him back with lines that gouge the paper. His arms give out and he goes down hard, even gripping the bars isn’t enough to stop him. Michael feels the impact down in his bones as Alex makes a sharp sound through his teeth. The entire place is full of men yelling through their teeth, shoving everything down and itching for more war.

Alex does not belong here.

Alex looks like them.

Alex rolls onto his back and claps his hand over his mouth. Shiri, the therapist, hangs back a respectful distance and something in Michael snaps. He’s moving before he can think of what he’s going to say when he gets there. It doesn’t matter because the only thing he can think is that he has to get there. Now. He gets there before Shiri does, crouching down. Alex’s eyes are closed but he stills and Michael knows he can sense him. Sure enough when he opens his eyes, they are already on Michael’s. Michael doesn’t know what he thinks as he looks at him and he realizes they probably have Alex on painkillers. When he blinks it takes a moment for him to focus again. He looks from Michael to Shiri and back to Michael. When he pushes himself up, Michael sees the happy surprise on Shiris face.

“What are you doing here?” Alex asks and his voice is rough and hoarse.

“I’m your reward for doing so well,” Michael says.

“Bullshit,” Alex replies and for a moment he looks so disgruntled Michael’s heart soars.

“Attaboy,” Michael says and looks at her, “doc?”

“You called him?” Alex says.

“Yes,” she tells him, “you need support—“

“Not from him!” Alex argues, “where did you even find his name?”

“Your medical forms, there’s an amendment you added after signing.”

Alex went back and added him. It would be amazing if it wasn’t cut with the look of disgust and anger he’s giving him. The edge of that is taken off by the drugs. For a moment Michael thinks he can just call it. This was a mistake and Alex is furious to see him. End of story. Even Shiri seems to think this is a bad idea for how she’s looking at them. Great, Michael thinks he should go before he does the opposite and makes things worse. He looks at Shiri who shakes her head slightly, clearly telling him to just sit there.

“Alex,” she says, “why don’t you want him here?” Alex opens his mouth and shuts it, shaking his head. Michael feels his chest hurt at his reaction. “I can keep guessing,” she offers.

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” Alex says, refusing to look at him.

Now that is a surprise.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen anything close to pride on Alex’s face. Not since the hammer incident. And maybe once when they were officially married. But this is pride much closer to the kind that Jesse Manes has. That wounded kind. Alex has so much to be proud of. Way more than his father who, as far as Michael is concerned, has only accomplished creating Alex with his miserable life. Shiri is nothing but sympathetic. She has no idea how ridiculous the idea of Alex being ashamed of Michael seeing him is.

“I’ve had these jeans longer than I’ve known you,” he says, “I stole this from by brother-in-law which means my sister is dressing me. Come on, man, look at me. You look like you belong in the Avengers and I look like I escaped from an 80s cigarette add. I mean I’m not worthy to look at you but seriously, when have I ever been?”

Alex doesn’t relax but his eyes drag over to Michael who tries to grin at him. Alex’s features crumple but he doesn’t cry. He bites his lip and everyone’s eyes go to the place that Michael has been doing his best to avoid looking at. Alex’s leg is fitted into a sleeve that comes into a metal pole. He bends over the limb and Michael wants to demand to know what the hell’s going on. Shiri snaps from cheerleader to medical professional and kneels in front of Alex. She snaps on a pair of gloves and slides a hand under his thigh. Before he can remember why it’s a bad idea, Michael scoots closer and braces Alex against his side, reaching out and gripping his hand. He expects to be thrown off but Alex sags into him and grips his hand. Michael tears his eyes away from what’s going on to look down at Alex who is finally looking at him with something other than shame.

“Hey stranger,” Michael says, “rough day?”

“Y-you could say that—“ Alex cuts off with a sound and Michael is suddenly desperate not to look.

“Well the drive here was hell if you were wondering,” he says, desperate to keep Alex focused on him. He’s desperate for a lot of things, “apparently Noah wanted to wear this shirt and Isobel realized I took it. I don’t know what the difference is between this and the dozen other white shirts she’s bought him—“ Alex whimpers, “but apparently it’s crucial.”

“I can’t believe your sister’s still dressing you,” he says and breathes an unmistakable sigh of relief.

Michael’s going to be sick, is the only thing he can think. His hand looks like chopped meat but that’s nothing compared to what’s going on with Alex. His leg is gone below the knee and an angry red line traces the new edge of the limb. It’s swollen and puffy, there are sores that are leaking pus. It’s infected. Shiri presses her lips in a tight line and puts the gauze back. Michael can suddenly feel how hot Alex is. Alex isn’t just without a leg, Alex is sick. Sick and drugged. Michael has never associated hospitals with anything good but if Alex dies in one—

“Page the doctor,” she says and comes forward, “Alex I want you to follow my finger,” she says. He does it right because she moves on to taking his pulse as he leans more against Michael, “sit tight,” she says and moves back to the leg.

“It’s awful, I know,” Alex says quietly, voice still laced with pain.

“Why didn’t they call me?!” the words come out harder than he expected them to. But he doesn’t care. Alex looks up at him, “I thought they were going to call me if you—“ he thinks about Alex dying and his stomach rolls, “they were supposed to tell me.”

“Eventually,” Alex reminds him.

“I want to be notified sooner,” he says, looking at Alex, “I want to know if you’re injured or hurt or—“ he can’t say it, confronted with the reality of the situation, “God, Alex.”

“Captain Manes,” the doctor comes over, “I see we’re still pushing ourselves on the bars,” she scolds, looking at the limb, “let’s get you back to your room. Is this—“

“He’s family,” Alex says.

“Excellent, would you mind lending a hand?”

Alex looks unsure and though Michael still wants to throw up he nods and smiles weakly.

“Long as it’s just a hand,” he says.

The joke doesn’t land.

They get Alex back and someone hooks an IV to a port. The room is bare and devoid of anything. Alex’s autonomy is gone and Michael feels sick at the realization. The doctor leaves after another inspection and then they are alone. Alex sits up perfectly straight and looks anywhere but where Michael is and finally unable to take it, Michael moves from the chair to sit on the bed, making sure the their good thighs are touching. He grabs Alex’s hand and Alex finally takes a deep breath and looks at him.

“They shouldn’t have called you,” he says, “I’m alive. We did this so you would know if I was dead,” he continues, “and I’m not—“

“I can see that.”

“So there wasn’t any need. I think you should go,” he finishes. Michael stares at him. “I want you to go,” he says.

Michael searches for any sign that he doesn’t mean it but only sees resolve. Alex hates showing weakness or vulnerability or anything that can be used against him. Michael would tell him that he’s not going to listen but he can’t do it. If this is the last shred of autonomy Alex has, he can’t take that from him. Alex goes to pull his hand away but Michael grips it. If this is the last time he’s going to be able to see him for God knows how long, he’s going to savor every touch for as long as he can. He leans forward and Alex pushes back. It sends a bolt of white hot pain through Michael’s chest but he pushes it aside. He can give Alex this one thing.

“In sickness and in health,” he says. Alex’s eyes widen. Michael presses a kiss to the back of his knuckles, “come see me the next time you’re in Roswell,” he says.

He means to come back but Alex’s infection gets bad and they fly him out that night.

He comes back with even less of a leg.

Alex drops gratefully into the chair and Michael follows.

There is only so much dancing they can do, even at their wedding reception. And Michael doesn’t have any interest in dancing with someone else. It’s still unbelievable to him that Alex has no issue with putting his leg in his lap. But it sends a shiver of pleasure though him that he can be claimed in public like this. Alex turns and grins. Michael follows his eyes to a woman he vaguely recognizes. She comes over at Alex’s motioning.

“Shiri,” she says before he can stick his husband’s foot in his mouth, “I was—“

“Alex’s physical therapist,” he remembers. She beams, “good work,” he says, tapping Alex’s leg, “he dances great.”

“Well I figured he would,” she says. She looks at Alex who shrugs, “we tell people to focus on something they want to do and visualize it when they’re in rehab. Alex said it was going back to his unit and fighting when you came by,” she explains, “afterwards it changed though.”

“I said dancing with my husband.”

“And suddenly rehab went a lot smoother.”

Something warm blossoms in Michael’s chest. They have danced together. To something slow and sweet each doing their best to whisper things that would make the other laugh. Isobel had not been amused but Michael’s sure there’s no one in the world he’d rather have whispering dirty jokes in his ear. After Shiri goes, Michael still feels that happy warm feeling. But he’s not sure that’ll ever go away.

“I guess we’re gonna need a new goal,” Michael says, “for you to make your way towards.”

“What goal would that be?” Alex asks, scooting closer.

“How do you feel about running after kids?”

#michael guerin #alex manes #michael x alex #malex fanfic #malex #roswell nm fanfic #roswell new mexico #prompts #can we tell i love this verse? #malex fic

[mwolf0epsilon]

i just fond your blog and saw you like DBH and G/T and ive been dying for a cute g/t fic! Could you please do one with Markus if thats ok???

I’m really sorry this took so long Anon! Here’s some giant Markus goodness for the G/T side of the fandom! Had to get a bit creative but hey, that’s why we have Mad Scientist Vibes Mcgree (Young Kamski)!

Enjoy!

—

    When Carl had gotten into his accident, a lot of things in his life had forcibly changed.

He couldn’t walk anymore (which was the major factor for these changes), he needed to take medicine to stop the pain that the doctors said would never go away (but might lessen with time and physiotherapy), had to quit some of his favorite hobbies (He couldn’t go skiing, swimming or sky-diving anymore) and, on top of the physical limitations that he had to get used to, Carl had lost all motivation to do anything.

He couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed most mornings, much less pick up a brush to take to a canvas.

His own home became a prison, the long curving stairwell a deathtrap for a handicapped man in a wheelchair. The members of the artistic community that he’d considered his peers had practically abandoned him and gone on to lick the boots of the next greatest deal, his relationships had shriveled away due to his terrible moods, and he’d lost himself to booze and cheap drug highs more times than he’d eaten in those first weeks of recovery and adjustment to his plight…

Carl was a mess, a depressed, bitter and angry unadjusted mess, and he practically exiled himself in his own home, resigned to wasting away alone and wallowing in his own misery.

It had felt like everything that made him who he was, had died with his ability to walk…

But of course, while the world was ready to give up on an a bitter old cripple, Elijah Kamski had believed Carl could get himself back together.

And, in believing so, he’d gone and done something truly insane to help push him towards the road of recovery.

    Carl thought of Elijah as a very clever and ambitious young man. A crafty boy that was as cunning as they came, with a reputation for the dramatics that added a bit of flair to his eccentric personality.

Where others saw an excellent inventor with a few bizarre behaviours, Carl saw a well-meaning boy who went all out in his many personal plans and schemes. Someone who gave you half the puzzle so you could figure it out yourself, but who’d jump at the opportunity to give an answer to a friend if he trusted them enough. He was odd, a bit pretentious at times, but not as impossible to figure out as many people thought.

He’d left his own company around the same time of Carl’s accident, for various other reasons he assured, albeit also intending to take the time off to think on the incident itself and in what way he could help a dear friend in need.

The overall plan, however, was to isolate himself and think over a few things that had concerned him quite a bit over work ethic and corporational corruption.

Carl knew from a previous conversation that Elijah had taken with him the fruits of an ongoing and still fairly green project, intending to finish it himself rather than let the board of directors play around with such a delicate schematic.

He’d never asked Elijah what he’d do with it if he ever did finish it, but then again he should have expected the boy to reworked it into his grand scheme of “fixing his father-figure”.

Elijah was nowhere close to performing miracles yet, but Carl was sure he’d been trying fairly hard with something of the sort before settling in his final idea. Chloe had already come close enough to the boy playing god, and Carl was sure that, while the field of medicine could benefit from his younger friend’s work and ingenuity, he himself didn’t like the idea of having his legs chopped off and replaced with mechanical parts.

Prosthetics wouldn’t fix his ruined spine, wouldn’t make the pain and trauma go away, and he’d rather die than be a guinea pig to some scalpel-happy medical students.

Elijah knew this, so he did something else. Something bolder and very much batshit insane.

He was clever about it as well. He’d hid his real intentions behind simple visits, where he measured Carl’s chair multiple times, fixed issues he had with some of its mobility, installed railings and an assortment of contraptions to aid him around the house, and then finally brought him a robotic arm to serve as a moving platform to help with his larger paintings. All presents that Carl had frowned at and ignored besides the damn elevator and the wheelchair upgrade, since he needed those to get around the house.

And then, after several of these visits where he just observed and offered idle conversation, one day Elijah showed up with Chloe and his real present.

That was a day Carl would never forget…

Hard to, when a close friend of yours brought over a 50 foot tall android to serve as a household assistant.

-

    It hadn’t been a particularly good day to begin with. His doctors had tried to send him another nurse who’d just gotten in the way.

She’d woken him up abruptly, insisted for him to eat despite him feeling nauseous from spending the night in a drunken stupor, hadn’t let him even watch the news in peace without blabbering on about how he’d organized his home or about his medication schedules.

And then of course, when she pointed out the taxidermied giraffe and commented on how “middle-ages” it was to have a dead animal decorating one’s house, he’d snapped.

The night before he’d had an argument over the phone with Adelaide, Leo’s mother.

They’d argued over him shutting them out after the accident, when he’d finally taken the steps to get to know his son.

Carl wasn’t proud of what he’d said, but he recalled laughing bitterly and saying an invalid man who can’t walk anymore, can’t really take any steps by himself.

She’d been furious at his self-deprecation. And then she’d exploded when he’d implied the situation was their fault to begin with.

Because, “had he not gone on the trip to begin with, he wouldn’t have ever gotten into the damn accident”.

Carl had been too drunk to think straight, spoke some things he really shouldn’t have, and in the end Adelaide had gotten fed up with him and hung up. He had a feeling she’d resent him for this major fuck up on his part.

The argument had left him in a sour mood, and the nurse criticizing his home and the things he’d been gifted with by friends?

It had struck a nerve and he’d become standoffish and defensive.

She’d stormed out after he’d told her off with some choice words, and then told her to tell his doctors to shove their stethoscopes so far up their own asses that they might actually hear their own stupidity.

It would have been funny really, if he hadn’t wanted a cup of tea afterwards to calm his fraying nerves.

That’s when Elijah decided to show up, in the middle of Carl cursing his stove for being too tall for him to properly use now that he couldn’t stand.

    As upset as he was with his own handicap, Carl wasn’t one to give in very easily when he actually wanted something as mundane as a cup of hot tea. Earl grey, with a few almond cookies on the side to please his sweet tooth.

At the time, had he wanted to draw or paint or even play the piano as much as he’d wanted a hot beverage, he would have likely gotten it done much earlier without ever needing any help to begin with.

Considering the spell he’d put himself in however, how fervently he believed he was useless, Carl had made himself into exactly what he thought he was when it came to procuring inspiration, thus indulging in his interests was out of the picture for some time.

But that had all been forgotten while he tried to find a way around the stove’s height.

Kettle in one hand, his chin on the other, the artist considered his options.

And then the ground began to shake.

He didn’t notice at first, too engrossed with his dilemma, until the water in the kettle began to shift and slosh out onto the floor with a resounding splatter, and the wheels of his chair began to shudder against the breaks.

The shakes were rhythmic in nature, followed by thuds that were becoming as loud as thunder just as the intensity of the quaking began to make things rattle off the shelves.

Carl had gripped the chair’s armrests tightly as he looked around the kitchen, wincing as fine china slipped out of place and shattered on the floor. As the windows rattled violently against their frames, he wondered how any of this was possible, as never once had he suffered through an earthquake in this area of Michigan.

And then of course, the intense quakes came to a halt just as a deafening screech of metal met his ears.

The artist yelled in alarm as he peered out the window and saw something absolutely gargantuan crush the tall metal fencing in his yard. Had he just witnessed a goddamn meteor crash?!

-

    Of course,being the overly-curious man that he was, Carl’s immediate reaction was not to call the authorities, but to leave the kitchen to investigate.

The old artist made his way outside by wheeling himself through the larger sliding-glass door, making use of the ramp that Elijah had helped set up in one of his many visits. He then carefully and clumsily maneuvered himself around the side of his home, trying to pick up speed while also trying not to knock himself out of balance in the process (he was still not very good at using it after all), and was quickly met by a dark shadow that was definitely not supposed to be there at noon. Whatever was currently in his property, was positively and tremendously big, enough so that it cast such an impressive shadow over the mansion.

What he wasn’t counting on seeing was that, what appeared to have obliterated his fence and part of his garden, was a pair of gigantic shoes…

Inside them, Carl assumed, were an equally gigantic pair of feet, connected to gigantic legs, that were connected to a gigantic torso, which itself had a pair of gigantic arms connected to them, as well as a gigantic head.

Did he mention how gigantic all of it was? Or how his body was instinctively trembling and screaming at him to seek shelter, as two large green eyes peered down at his own two widened blue eyes. He couldn’t quite discern any other facial features, as the rest were obscured by shade, but he could see a blazing yellow circle where he assumed the giant’s right temple might be.

There was a colossal android in his backyard. Carl was pretty sure this was a sign that he was probably going to die, until he heard two familiar voices up in the distance.

 “Elijah…It appears the RK200 has effectively destroyed Mr. Manfred’s security system…” the soothing tone of the RT600, Elijah’s darling Chloe, stated calmly as she peered down from the shoulders of the giant she’d apparently hitched a ride on.

 “I’m well aware Chloe.” Elijah Kamski, who stood on the other shoulder of the massive android, poked his head over to look down at the mess. “This wasn’t how I wanted to surprise Carl… My fault really, for letting our baby boy take his first steps out in the wild…”

 “A flair for the dramatics may be your own undoing one day…” Chloe tutted disapprovingly before reaching up to the the giant, patting it under the chin. “Poor thing, this has been a positively mortifying experience for him…”

Carl stared up and up at the trio of “guests”, completely at a loss for words purely due to disbelief because, again, there was a GIANT android in his yard.

His fence had been obliterated, trampled by said android, and Elijah Kamski was behind it.

There was only one thing to do in such a situation.

 “ELIJAH KAMSKI, YOU COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW YOUNG MAN AND EXPLAIN TO ME WHY THERE IS A BUILDING SIZED ANDROID RUINING MY BEGONIAS!”

 “Busted…Fuck me, this has not gone according to plan” The inventor fumbled with his glasses and tried to hide under the collar of the colossus’s shirt to no avail. His fate as target for one of Carl’s lectures was set.

 “I warned you he might have appreciated his gift coming in a box.” Chloe grinned at him, before waving in greeting at Carl. She didn’t seem too bothered with this outcome.

 “You’re not helping Chloe…” the man sighed miserably as he stared down at the angry artist.

-

    It ended with the colossal artificial being kneeling on the dirt (an action which made the ground shakes violently because of how huge it was) and then Chloe preparing tea for Carl and Elijah, which the two drank while conversing quietly. They occasionally peered upwards at Elijah’s newest creation.

With its face no longer obscured by the shadow it cast, Carl could finally see it’s features more clearly.

The android, despite it’s terrifying size, was not at all very imposing in appearance. If anything,it looked almost soft and approachable. Friendly even, if not for the limited amount of expressions on its face.

Tanned freckled skin, soft green eyes, hair shaved short, and a sort of inquisitive look to it’s posture which was apparently it’s most basic model of being. Curious about everything and their conversation.

The uniform was pristinely clean, although he noted the shoes had already acquired a layer of dirt and grime from it’s failed “field testing”.

It was sitting there (which of course destroyed another portion of Carl’s fence and garden considering how massive it’s proportions were, and how much it weighed), but otherwise did nothing else but look at them with those soft green eyes. Waiting for it’s orders. It was…Kind of endearing, if not for the fact it destroyed part of his property.

 “Explain to me, why you felt the necessity to bring with you and Chloe such a…” he paused to stare at the android. It cocked it’s head to the side as it listened, blinking its two massive eyes as it focused on him. Each eyelash was probably the same length as Carl’s arms. “…Unique model, while visiting my decidedly not so Kaiju-friendly house…”

 “The term you’re looking for is fun sized, and the RK200 is hardly a Kaiju. Jaeger would be a much more fitting term considering his nature and overall shape.” Elijah smiled as he took a sip of his tea. “And I thought it appropriate to let him test his legs before reaching his destined household. I didn’t account for how clumsy his baby steps would be, however…I should have expected he’d need time to calibrate his movements.”

 “It’s a domestic android?” Carl raised an eyebrow and snorted at the thought “Boy, in what world does something that big fit inside someone’s house?”

 “You’ll find I made the necessary changes to your house for him to fit nice and snug like a bug in a mug, as long as he sits still, which he’s a master at when he’s not bored.”

 “You did what now…?”

 “Of course a 50 foot android will get bored easily. The RK200 is very sophisticated and inquisitive.” The inventor carried on “He adapts as he learns, and as such I’d advise constant interaction with him to ensure the best results…”

 “Elijah what did you do to my house?”

 “That’s not to say he’s clueless of course! You’ll find the RK200 can maintain a perfectly good conversation although, due to his size, verbal communication is not advised, as previous testing noted that his vocal range has a proficiency for shattering glass and porcelain. You’ll have to learn ASL.”

 “Elijah!”

 “Carl it’s all fine. Here, see?” He turned to the gargantuan prototype overseeing them “RK200, initiate Home Program.”

The green eyed android blinked twice, LED momentarily shifting from blue to yellow as it processed the command, and then the side wall behind Carl opened up like a garage door. On closer inspection, it seemed the two floors shifted upwards as well, to accommodate for the android’s tremendous size.

Carl’s jaw dropped as he watched this happen, before he turned to look back at his friend in absolute disbelief.

 “When did you get this done? Any of this?!”

 “I could tell you, but it would warrant a restraining order.”

 “Elijah I swear to God…”

 “Carl please? He will take care of you, and god only knows you could use the company.” Elijah gave the empty tea cup to Chloe, who opted to silently watch the argument unfold while she idly stood besides the prototype “You’ve been living the hermit-chique life without the chique part. You look a mess 24/7, hardly talk to me unless I physically stand besides you, and your habits are not in the slightest healthy.”

 “Since when have you become my mother? I’m an old man Elijah, not a child! I won’t live off someone else’s pity!” Carl snapped.

 “If you’re not a child, stop acting like one!” Kamski yelled loudly, his patience running thin. “I’m worried! You’re my friend and you’ve gone through a traumatizing event! Not only that but you just became single again after seven years in a relationship and need stability and support! The RK200 will give you all of that, no questions asked!”

 “How will it do anything at that size?!” Carl pointed at the android that towered over them eerily silent. It just watched, just as Chloe did, but it’s inquisitive expression had changed to a small frown, as if it were trying to understand a complicated problem.

 “You think I wouldn’t find ways around the size of my creations? Carl, you know better than that.” The brunet shook his head, arms crossed and glasses perched on his nose.

 “Yes, because “obviously” I can imagine those hands, which are as large as a fully grown man, grasping the fragile china that is currently shattered on the kitchen floor, without completely pulverizing it into fine dust…” Carl grimaced, glaring daggers at his friend before looking at the RK200. It was still frowning, but had directed it’s attention to its creator.

 “I have everything sorted out Carl. What do you take me for?” Kamski looked up at the android and smiled “RK200, show Carl your household features.”

The Android in question gave a polite nod before looking at Carl and raising both hands so that they were held up with the palms facing the artist. Carl wondered what it would do, before his eyes widened as large as saucers as the skin of the arms deactivated, revealing intricate paneling and seams. These panels opened up, splitting the arms and hands into various parts, before several cables spilled out from within. The great majority of said cables was tipped with what appeared to be regular sized hands, while others were tipped by lenses.

There were hands and “eyes” inside its actual hands.

 “….Elijah that is the freakiest most scariest thing I have ever seen in my entire life…”

 “There’s more.”

 “Oh god…”

The RK200 quietly closed up its arms after retracting the hidden limbs back inside of their proper compartments, and then pulled it’s uniform shirt up. The skin of the stomach area deactivated and then a massive storage unit popped open. From inside it, popped out two drones and a regular sized android of identical appearance to the RK200.

 “The drones are for delivery and retrieval, the extra android is a remote controlled escort for you whenever you need fresh air. The three are completely linked to the RK200s mind, effectively they are him.” Elijah explained as one of the drones flew around the artist and inventor, while the remote controlled android bowed calmly. “He can actually speak through this body, so while I encourage you brush up on ASL, you can always keep a nice conversation with him out on a public stroll.”

 “Elijah…Just how many concepts were you toying with before you decided to give me this…Mishmash of purposes?” Carl felt like he was in the twilight zone at this point. This was the most sci-fi-ish android he’d ever seen, and Cyberlife had chugged out a LOT of strange models.

 “A few. The most impressive is his programming actually…The code is adaptive and changes depending on stimuli.” Elijah smiled as he watched the RK200 collect it’s extensions. “He’s a little like Chloe, but…But more. And I’ll admit, picking you is selfish, but you’re the one person I’d trust to teach our boy to be something more than just a collection of ideas.”

 “You want a depressed man who hasn’t been out in weeks, to teach a giant android to be a good person?”

 “Pretty much.”

 “This could end badly, you know…” Carl looked once more to the Android, startling when he noticed it had laid down on its stomach and was now mere inches away from him, face practically right on top of Carl’s sitting body. It had an odd expression on its face, but it didn’t look inherently malicious so Carl quickly forced his pulse to calm.

 “It won’t. You’re not gone Carl, as much as you’d like to be considering your state…You’re a clever man, with a lot to teach someone.” Elijah insisted. “You’ll make a fine young man out of our dear baby RK200.”

 “I agree sir.” Chloe smiled as she approached, making sure to pat the colossus on the face in passing. “You’ve been nothing but kind to Elijah and myself. Your wisdom and kindness will be invaluable for RK200’s development. He will also benefit you, in being quite the delightful companion.”

 “…Well…I guess I better look up ASL…”

 “Is that a yes?” Elijah grinned triumphantly.

 “I’m afraid so.”

 “Excellent! I’ll give you the basic rundown here…Starting with supplies, no need to worry he doesn’t run entirely on thirium, that’d be incredibly difficult to sustain. Although I will send you shipments monthly since he does need it to self-heal. Which brings us to the next topic! Self-healing! If he gets badly roughed up somehow, just give him thirium and scrap metal! Biocomponents will do if you have them on hand. His body does the rest!” Elijah chittered excitedly while Carl went back to observing the android he’d been saddled with. It was still watching him, and only him, intently.

Most of Elijah’s technobabble went unheard as Carl watched the giant extend a finger in his direction, before carefully reaching out.

Said finger opened up, a few retractable limbs and cameras (again, creepy as fuck!) coming out and inspecting the wheelchair, before one hand tentatively offered for a handshake.

Carl took it and was surprised at how real the synthetic skin felt.

 “Hello there…” Carl found himself smiling as the android shyly looked away for the briefest of seconds, like a young child meeting a family friend for the first time, before looking back at him and quirking the corners of its mouth upwards. It lifted it’s other hand up and greeted slowly with it’s fingers.

The gentleness of this gigantic being was sticking.

Carl decided in the end that this might not be too bad after all.

-

    A few years later, in 2038, Carl found himself smiling as two familiar drones flew into his room and nestled themselves against his sides all the while purring that strange mechanical purr of theirs (which he’d long since associated with Markus’s good moods), while he watched a revolution unfold on the news.

His boy had come a long way since the first time he’d stepped foot in his property.

Despite his tremendous size and incomparable strength, Markus had not once taken a violent approach at any given chance.

His kind was met with anger and fear, yet the 50 foot android had done everything in his powers to be a benevolent and fair leader to both saptient species.

The remote body appeared for every public event, giving him no advantage over the situations, while his true body remained hidden away up until now…

He revealed himself out of necessity, the remote body destroyed during the attack on the barricade, with that horrid Perkins demanding his presence as soon as he realized Markus wasn’t dead.

And he’d complied to the wishes of a man who thought he’d been the cat that caught the canary. That grin fell off his face as soon as the 50 foot leader of the Android Revolution had squeezed through buildings, careful not to step on anything, avoiding the routes which had civilians and military alike to avoid casualties.

The world watched as a literal giant showed mercy and compassion, where humanity showed senseless cruelty, and Carl couldn’t be prouder.

He’d raised the boy well.

Elijah and Chloe had made the right choice in leaving him with Carl.

And the artist had to admit…For a 50 foot colossus, Markus was nothing if not a gentle caring young man, and he’d been entirely lucky to have him.

Bless Elijah Kamski’s eccentric ideas…But damn if the man still didn’t owe him a garden full of begonias.

#eps writes: #Fanfic #detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh markus #carl manfred #elijah kamski #dbh chloe #g/t #giant/tiny #gt dbh

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (15 of ?)

A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC

Also on FFN and AO3 (ack I need to update there!) (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @cocohook38, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY COCOHOOK38 HERE!!!!!******

****NEW!!!!!!!!!!!! Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!!!!!*************

Present (Wednesday, continued)…   

Jones got as far as the medical unit hallway, Killian’s open door in sight, before hesitating. He wanted to help, he wanted updates on his friends… but maybe his presence would be more disruptive than it was worth. Would it be too stressful for Emma to have her husband’s doppelganger nearby while she tried to process his condition? Not to mention the worry over her father and the worse, ever-present terror of missing Hope… she wouldn’t want him there, surely. She would feel remorseful, being reminded of his injuries; he should just go, and wait to be contacted with news and requests for help.

His abrupt about-face set him squarely in the path of a grim-faced Whale. With a sheepish nod of apology, Jones stepped to the side, intending to let the physician pass. But instead, Whale stopped, looking him over with a critical eye.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“Er, well, I’m not actually… I’m… I’m not that Killian.” He waved in the direction of the deputy’s room and felt a vague sense of the knots holding his arm together, though the majority of the pain was still being kept in check by the nerve block.

“Obviously,” snarked Whale. “But you still look like you’re about to collapse on my linoleum. Why aren’t you down in the ED?”

“I was released,” Jones informed the self-important man. “All fixed up.”

Whale looked doubtful, but he came to the obvious conclusion regarding why the detective was here rather than on his way home. “You wanted to see Hook?”

Jones rolled his eyes and nodded. The physician pursed his lips in thought.

“I don’t know that you qualify as family, even though technically, I guess you share the same DNA…”

“I’m here more in an official capacity,” countered Jones, deciding to go in after all. He’d come this far; he wouldn’t be intimidated away by Dr. Whale.

With an annoyed shrug, the physician relented. “Whatever. Come on, then. If you do feel faint, try not to pass out near anything that might split your head open.” He pushed past and headed for Killian’s room. Jones followed cautiously.

Killian lay unconscious amidst a tangle of equipment, looking shockingly corpse-like. Blankets and bandages covered the worst of his injuries, and most of the grime had been removed, which only served to highlight the colorlessness of whatever skin remained free of cuts, abrasions, or bruising. The absence of the collar was a major improvement, but the dramatic wasting of his flesh gave the impression that he suffered a terminal illness. Technically, Jones mused, that wasn’t too far from the truth.

Emma sat beside the bed, sandwiching her husband’s skeletal hand between both of her own, simply watching the rise and fall of his chest. She tensed as the two men entered, looking immensely sad and weary. Her only acknowledgement of Jones was a brief glance in his direction, a quick sweep of her gaze assessing his well-being, and then she turned her attention back to Whale. The physician stopped at the foot of the bed while an awkward Jones hung back near the doorway.

“Still waiting for confirmation on the MRI,” Whale began without preamble. “But from my interpretation, I’d say he’s not as far gone as I had expected, given how long he’s been enslaved. Definitely some signs of deterioration, but with rest and support, he may recover on his own, or at least remain stable until we figure out an effective treatment.”

Emma looked as if she were about to say something, but Whale continued his spiel.

“As you might expect, his blood work is all over the place; lots of organs showing signs of stress. He’s anemic, which we’re obviously going to attribute to blood loss, so we’re working to correct that…”

Still feeling slightly uneasy about listening without an express invitation, Jones broke in,

“You could give him some of my blood, if that would help anything.”

He caught a small flash of gratitude from Emma before Whale fixed him with a derisive look.

“You’re not that far from needing a transfusion yourself.”

“Wake him up.”

The physician turned his startled gaze back on Emma. “What?”

“I want you to wake him up.”

Whale frowned. “That’s not a good idea. The victims that stayed sedated seemed to--”

“He might know something about Hope,” Emma stated flatly, emotions carefully under control. “Wake him up.”

Dr. Whale stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Be right back.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence in the physician's absence. Despite feeling like he might need to take a seat soon, the light-headed Jones remained where he was, watching Emma watch Killian. He drew a breath to speak, changed his mind, then changed it back.

“You okay?”

Emma nodded a lie, not looking at him. “You?”

“Fine.” He let his own falsehood stand for a beat, hesitated, then asked, “And… David? Have you heard…?”

“Looks like he’ll pull through.” Emma rubbed a hand down her face, adding, “The sword struck his shoulder blade, didn’t hit anything vital. His unconsciousness had more to do with a blow to the head.”

Jones couldn’t suppress a smile. “Lucky bastards, the both of us. I’m relieved to hear that, Emma.”

“Yeah.”

She appeared remarkably calm about everything, but Jones could make out well-hidden signs of tension and could certainly relate. He had never found it easy leaving Alice to go on supply runs, even knowing she was “safe” in her imprisoning tower. Later on, when the poison in his heart had prevented any contact, he was always worrying about her: whether she had enough to eat, whether she was sleeping all right. Whether she was truly safe from harm. Whether she’d been able to achieve some degree of happiness. But at least he’d known her whereabouts. Until she’d escaped the tower, anyway. Emma, though… to have no real clue where Hope was, how to go about getting her back, or whether she was even still alive… it had to be consuming her soul, the uncertainty. And Hope so young, as well. Not old enough to fend for herself in any way. The thought chilled him to the marrow.

Even worse was the possibility that Killian had been right, and that this nearly dead figure before them may have life-changing knowledge to impart. Jones shuddered, refusing to believe it.

“Look,” he began, “I know I’ve said this before, but… we’re going to get her back. I will do anything in my power to help. Anything.” He straightened, ignoring the sharp twinge from his damaged sternum, and went unsteadily to Emma’s side. “You’re not alone in this.”

Jones placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Emma looked up with watery eyes and nodded her thanks.

How many times had he heard similar words? How long before they had started to feel like empty platitudes; something that brought more comfort to the one offering than the recipient?

From this distance, Jones could see more detail in his other self’s condition, none of it encouraging. He noticed again the missing earring, a fact that had flashed into his awareness during their earlier encounter, but at that time could not have been less important. Now he saw the reason for its absence: a dark pink line extending from the now-healed-over pierced center of the lobe to its edge, signifying traumatic removal. Three similar scars adorned the rim in various places, with the intersecting white lines left by sutures. Ouch.

Drifting past visible marks elsewhere, some freshly dressed, Jones’ gaze inevitably settled on the obscene mutilation of Killian’s blunted wrist. The closest look he’d gotten before was its explosive introduction to his cheek, which stepped up its throbbing in reaction to the memory. The limb had been carefully bandaged with enough padding to ensure everyone’s safety, but the shape of the curved handle remained visible beneath the linens. Jones cringed and felt a very real pang in his own wrist when he pictured the brutality that must have taken place.

Emma likely wouldn’t want to think or talk about it… and yet, perhaps it was better than allowing constant speculation and gruesome imaginings about her missing toddler. Jones cleared his throat, stepping back a pace to set a more comfortable distance for conversation.

“Did they, erm, say anything about…” He trailed off and waved awkwardly toward Killian’s opposite side.

“The livestock nose ring, you mean?”

Jones nodded weakly, hastening to add,

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want; I only thought--”

“It’ll need surgery to remove,” was her blunt response, void of emotion. “There’s bone shards and things to deal with. But since it’s not really causing problems right now, it isn’t urgent, so they want to wait until he’s more stable.”

Jones nodded again. Thankfully saving him from more discomfort, a nurse came in, followed by Dr. Whale. After one final look at Emma to confirm her intentions, the physician gave approval for the nurse to administer the contents of a syringe into Killian’s IV port.

“It could take a couple of minutes, or not,” warned Whale. “Just try to go easy on him; give him a little bit of time to orient himself.”

Killian’s heartbeat and respiration were already beginning to speed up a bit. Jones slipped back further out of the way in case something unexpected required the medical personnel to have quick access to their patient.

The first sign of broadening awareness was the faintest of noises deep in Killian’s throat; a question or a quiet complaint, it was hard to tell. Jones saw Emma’s hands tighten around her husband’s as she watched his gaunt face.

“Killian?” she called softly. His only response was a slight twitch, barely distinguishable from the tremors being heightened by consciousness. She tried again. “Killian, it’s me. I’m here.” Dismayed to feel him flinch and try to pull away from her grasp, she said, “You’re safe; you’re in the hospital. You’re okay.”

The raspy whine sounded again, fractionally louder this time and with a definite note of displeasure. Watching his vitals closely, Whale interjected,

“Can you hear us, Hook? Do you understand what Emma’s saying to you?”

It looked as if Killian were still trying to free his hand, a small scowl on his face, though his eyes stayed closed. Emma remained stalwart in her grip as she tried a different tack.

“I know you want to go back to sleep. But I need to talk to you first.” Her tone was gentle but solemn. “It’s important.”

Responding to an oddity on the heart monitor, Whale snaked his stethoscope beneath Killian’s gown to have a listen. Killian’s reaction was a feeble attempt to bat it away, but Emma still had a firm hold on his hand.

“Shhh, Killian, it’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s just your best friend Whale being his usual irritating self.”

If she were hoping to get a response from him--a smile, a groan, or protest--then she would have been disappointed. Killian stopped squirming and lay still. Jones began to wonder if he’d fallen back into unconsciousness. But then he spoke, his voice nothing more than a minute whisper.

“I must return.”

Emma froze, just for an instant, then schooled her features. “Screw that. You’re not going anywhere. Whale’s going to fix you up, and then--”

“My… Master…” Killian wheezed, a little bit louder this time. Squeezing his hand so hard that he winced, Emma hissed,

“Can kiss my ass. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, going there in the first place, but I’ll be damned if I let you crawl right back into that bastard’s clutches.”

Killian had dragged his eyes open during her tirade, and now lay squinting at her, pained by the lights. With no hint of shame, remorse, or even anger at her tone of voice, he repeated his statement.

“I must return to my Master.”

Emma swore quietly and ran a shaky hand down her face. “You wanted to forget her, didn’t you? You went in case he had her. But if he didn’t, then you knew he’d suck out your brains to stop it hurting. Your… your failure. Is that it?”

Stunned by the vitriol in her words, Jones felt as if he should step in, say something before irreparable damage was done. But before he could devise the right words, Emma spoke again.

“Does he have her, Killian? Can you tell us anything useful?”

Glancing painfully at each face in the room, expression devoid of emotion, Killian murmured,

“I… I can’t… I need…” He made as if to reach for his throat. Then he stopped, resting back on the pillow and closing his eyes in a wince. Emma growled, obviously exasperated and frantic for information about her daughter. Dr. Whale, who was making somber notations in Killian’s chart, pressed his lips together. Then he said,

“Maybe we should try again later. This is stressing him out; I don’t like it.”

“Just… give me a few minutes alone with him.”

There was nothing ominous in the statement, but it was obviously not a request. Whale scowled, displeased at being ordered around on his own turf.

“That’s extremely ill-advised, Sheriff; too much excitement could overload his system, causing seizures and who knows what else… he needs to rest if he’s going to have any chance at getting better…”

Emma’s glare wasn’t quite enough to convince the physician, but it did shut him up. Grimacing, Jones broke in with gentle counsel.

“I hate to say it, but perhaps we should listen to Dr. Whale. You know as well as I that extracting information sometimes requires patience, no matter how urgently it’s needed.”

She seemed determined to ignore all good advice, fixing each naysayer with a glower of irritation. Turning back to Whale, she said,

“15 minutes. I’ll press the button if he starts acting weird.”

“5,” he countered. “And we wait just outside the door.”

“Yeah, like you have so much time to spare.” She rolled her eyes. “10 minutes, Detective Jones acts as door guard. If I can’t get anything by then, you can put him back to sleep for as long as you want.”

“A lot can go wrong in 10 minutes,” grumbled Whale. He cast a grumpy eye on Jones, then back to Emma. “Him? How do you know he won’t faint the minute we leave him unsupervised?”

Jones was starting to see why Killian wasn’t particularly fond of the man. Emma didn’t say anything, only crossed her arms and waited. She must have let go of Killian’s hand at some point, and he was using the newfound freedom to rub wearily at the raw skin of his bare throat. Dr. Whale heaved a dramatic sigh.

“Fine. But I have two witnesses that this is your decision. Any negative outcome rests squarely on your shoulders.”

“Done.”

Dr. Whale huffed and scrawled an emphatic note in the chart, then beckoned the nurse to follow him out the door. Jones turned to join them, but hesitated.

“Maybe he should be restrained in some way…?”

Emma looked askance at him. “Really? An armed law officer vs. a bedridden model for Mr. Zombie Universe?”

Jones remained uneasy but didn’t press the issue. “Call if you need anything.”

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #emma swan #wish realm killian #victor whale #hospital #drugged #brainwashed #angst #serious illness #Vocivore ltd

[amoristt]

Breathe | Peter x Reader

Anonymous asked: I read your Peter Parker fic and I liked it, can you write another? Maybe one where reader is taken and he rescues her?

yessss more peter <3 i just watched homecoming and ive been dying to write more of him! thanks so much for requesting and please enjoy!

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

You woke with a start, your head pounding so hard it almost felt as though it was reverberating through your every last nerve. It raced from your aching head to your toes, and it made you squeeze either side of your temples in hopes of appeasement the awful pulsing. This wasn’t like the migraines you got while doing homework, or the stress headaches that kept you up at night, no this pain in particular felt like something much more… Precise. Carefully your fingers slid their way through your hair, over the top of your skull then to the back of your head where your hair starts to feel sticky.

Half dazed already, you almost passed out when the palm of your hand met something horribly sensitive just below the base of your skull. You gasped in agony, leaned forward and ripping your hand away from the affected area, your stomach dropping when you felt your fingers were wet with something you couldn’t see in the dark. If your throat didn’t feel like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper you’d have cried at both the pain and the thought of knowing your head was damaged, but hardly any sound came out at all.

Without any idea where you were or what had happened you were left to try and ravage your brain for any competent memory that could aid in finding out why you were in this situation. The last thing you remember, even though it was a blurry one at that, was being in your living room. Something had… Startled you. You could recall jumping up from your couch, carefully treading into the bedroom where you’d heard a commotion. After that there was nothing.

You shifted in your spot, atop something hard as a rock, and began to try and feel your surroundings. It all felt the same. Hard, cold, uncomfortable. Afraid you’d discover something unruly you tentatively felt at every part of your body, starting from your feet, then your knees, waist, chest, and shoulders. Other than the screaming wound on your head there didn’t seem to be any more remarkable injuries. There was some obvious bruising however, and it was evident every time you tried to move anything other than your arms. Your ribs felt like they’d been crushed, your legs weighing one thousand pounds. It almost felt like you’d been hit by a truck, or possibly dropped off a cliff.

Gritted moans of pain occasionally sounded when you tried to move from your upright position, and you hissed when you leaned your head back just for a moment only to feel like surging sting of pain when the spot nudged against the wall behind you. Nothing was adding up in your head and you were all alone in the dark, in god knows where. It was likely no one knew where you were either.

Your mind raced with thoughts of Peter.

He was spider man, surely he know that you’d been taken, you were his girlfriend after all. He must keep some sort of tabs on you what with all the villains he faces.

Stomach churning, you almost threw up at the realization that this whole thing could be because of Peter. Not directly of course, he would never intentionally put you in harms way, but you’d heard his spiel nearly a hundred times. He had tried to leave you numerous times before because of the very fact that he was Spider-man. There would always be villains looking for ways to tear him down, and if they couldn’t do it directly, they’d go for the next best thing. You or his Aunt May.

Apparently they’d chosen you.

Every Time Peter caved into his fears, tried to do what’s best for you by taking his leave, you stopped him. You understood the dangers you could potentially face but ‘what if’s weren’t nearly enough to make you stop wanting to be with him. But it was easy to say things like that back then. You never truly thought you’d end up in a place like this, injured, all alone, isolated. You could be half across the entire country for all your knew. Maybe even on a different planet. Maybe even in a different realm entirely.

The thought of being light years away in the hands of some alien race was enough to finally draw tears to your eyes. You covered your mouth, leaning forward tensely as every bone in your body wailed in protest. In some ways you knew you were being over dramatic. The part of you that willed you to survive tried to soothe your nerves, told you that everything would be okay and if you weren’t rescued by Peter, you’d be rescued by someone else. However there also that one thought that drilled into every fiber of your being- the thought of being out of anyone's reach. Being somewhere else entirely away that no one would even know where to start searching for you.

Growing up with the rise of Heroes as well as villains you’d heard countless stories of survivors, people taken by evil. They were on the news and on articles all over, their faces next to hundreds of words that told of their courage and bravery even in the face of despair. When you were younger you wondered if someday you could be one of the people who would look evil in the eyes, unbreaking, unfaltering.

Yet here you were, and you were not brave. You were crying ugly and afraid, body trembling in both agony and dread. You were praying that someone would find you, take you away from wherever you were so you could go home. All those survivors all sounded the same, all saying that you truly find out who you are in times of great peril, and right now you were discovering the person that you were.

A coward.

There wasn’t a brave bone in your body.

Your thoughts were relentless against you, remembering every moment you’d spent making scenarios in your head about what you would do in a situation like this. In your head you were strong and durable. You were like Peter, with his lionheart and fearless gaze staring directly into the face of of danger, unafraid and ready for anything. All you wanted to do was sit and wait for something bigger than you both in spirit and in body to help you, to rescue you. You wanted Peter to rescue you, it was all you could think about.

Then you heard a soft ding, and something in your front pocket rumbled.

All at once your entire body surged with energy. You sat straight up, dug your fingers into your pocket, and you almost cried when you felt the hard edge of your phone. Pulling it out and clicking on the light you were temporarily blinded by the brightness of your screen, but when you managed to look past the saturation you actually sobbed out a relieved laugh at the texts bombarding your screen. Peter.

8:32 PM: where are you? you left the door unlocked :( you know how dangerous that is

8:36 PM: hellooooo

8:40 PM: ___ ??

8:45 PM: answer me

8:48 PM: please

8:51 PM: ___ this is serious i need to know that you’re okay

There was a gap, then the messages returned 40 minutes later.

9:37 PM: i wont let anything bad happen to you i promise im coming just stay right there dont go anywhere

9:45 PM: i cant get inside we cant get in unless you answer me

9:50 PM: please just tell me you’re okay in there please

Fingers shaking and head reeling, you typed so fast you could barely even make out what you were saying.

10:13 PM: petrr lwheer arw you

As soon as your message sent your phone started vibrating, your ringtone almost making you throw the item 10 feet away. It contrasted the empty silence so intensely. When you clicked answer and held it to your ear you once again almost cried in relief when his voice flooded the speaker.

“___! Oh my god I was so scared I- I thought you suffocated in there, I thought your phone was maybe broken or something I- Jesus ___ I’m so sorry-”

“Save the sorrys for later Parker, what’s her condition?” A voice cut him off in the background, and you recognized it. Tony, he was there too.

“Right, right- ___, can you hear me? Are you hurt? Can you breathe okay?”

The terror in his voice was evident, and even though he was afraid and you were in pain there was a great smile across your lips. If you were on the phone with him then you were still on Earth. You weren’t in the clutches of some alien race, you weren’t realms away from home, you weren’t planets and moons across the galaxy.

“Peter,” you wheezed, and the sheer breath of relief that left him made you shut your eyes in sollace. “I’m okay, I just-... Everything hurts but- I’m okay.”

He sniffled on the other end. “I thought you were dead, I- I’m sorry I didn’t come over earlier I had no idea-”

“It’s okay, wh-.. Where am I?” You tried your best not to cough into your words but it felt like every breath you were breathing in was made of dirt.

On the other end there was a commotion of voices, the sound of Peter in distress, when suddenly he sounded distant. Before you could ask what was going on Tony’s voice was on the other end.

“___? You there, kid?”

“I’m here.”

“Good, stay there. I need to know exactly where you are, can you see anything around you?”

You pulled the device from your ear and clicked speakerphone, turning the flashlight on and finally taking in your surroundings. It was exactly like you imagined it would be- grey, dull with rock walls and flooring. It almost resembled something cave-like.

“Am I in a cave?” Your voice wavered as you spoke.

There was a silence before Tony spoke up again. “Just a little one. It was a miner's cave back in ‘02. Listen kid, you can’t panic, got it? It’s all closed off which means air isn’t coming or going. I know this looks bad and scary but you gotta stay calm.”

It’s all closed off.

You felt a grave dread burrow its way into you.

Air isn’t coming or going.

It suddenly felt like your chest was constricting, your eyes widening at his words and the sight of your flashlight illuminating a pile of rubble in front of what you assumed to be the entrance. “Oh my god,” There wasn’t a shred of light peeking in through the stones and panic started rising in your throat. “Oh my god.”

“No, no, I said don’t panic!” Another commotion sounded and suddenly the phone was taken from him, Peter’s voice reaching you again.

“___ don’t freak out, we’re gonna’ get you out of there,” you couldn’t find it in yourself to reply, your breathing already harshening at the thought of being suffocated in some dank cave full of god knows what. “Listen to me! Breathe in, out, in, out, in, out.”

You tried to follow his instructions, your shaking and uneven breaths rising and falling along with his words. I can’t breathe, you thought in a mindless frenzy. I can’t breathe there isn’t enough air I’m suffocating- 

“In, out, in, out,”

“In,” You wheezed, clutching your chest, sucking in a breath of air, “out.” you released it then did it again, and again, and again.

Eventually you found it was working, your lungs starting to allow you to breath in evenly rather than taking in sharp breaths that didn’t seem to feel like enough at all. Over the receiver he could hear the cooling of your anxiety, and he spoke again.

“Good, just relax a little bit. We’ll get you out, okay?” His voice softened towards the end, and if he was only speaking like this to keep you calm than it was definitely working. Your free hand came to rest on the ground in front of you, holding your body up, and when you didn’t answer he repeated himself. “We’re going to get you out, ___.”

“I trust you,” You finally managed, eyes shutting tightly in hopes of trying to block everything out. “What do I do?”

Peter spoke to someone nearby him, presumably Tony before returning back to you. “Alright, I need you to get as far away from the pile as you can. We’re gonna blast it open and get you out of there.”

You nodded as though he could see you and you scooted back against the wall as far as you could, shrugging your head down into your shoulders incase debris reached you on the other end of the cave. It was small in size and even just looking, feeling the walls against you, made your throat start to feel like it was closing up again. Tears pricked your eyes again and you shook your head at your current situation. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. You should be at home watching a movie, or walking along Queens’ streets with Peter, or doing anything other than trying to keep from suffocating in a cave.

“Are you away from it?” He asked, and you hiccuped.

“Yes, I’m away from it.”

“Okay,” He pulled the phone away from him. “GO!”

The moment he spoke out there was a great explosion, and the walls around you rumbled with such a force that you almost let out a scream. Dust and pebbles fell from the ceiling, and they bounced along the ground and atop your shaking skin. Another burst shook the cave and even more pieces of the ceiling fell, a hunk of stone crashing only inches from your legs and breaking apart in a million pieces, and the sound of it did make you cry out. Immediately Peter was talking to you again.

“What happened?” He yelled frantically, and you croaked out a reply.

“The ceilings falling-”

“Did it hurt you?!” He shouted distantly again. “Wait, stop! Don’t set off another one!”

“It almost did- Oh god what if it caves in-”

“It won’t, we won’t let that happen, I promise.”

“Peter it’s a cave you can’t control it-”

“__! I’m not gonna let you die here, okay?”

You leaned your head back against the wall and this time the ripping pain barely registered with you. Head swimming, you tried to even your breaths again. Something was happening- you could feel it. All of you wanted to believe Peter’s words of comfort, but you were so scared, so afraid that this would be the end of you. There wasn’t enough words in the world to stop the absolute anguish eating away at you. But, an odd feeling starting taking over. It wasn’t frantic or desperate like you’d been moments ago. Despite the scenario, in knowing there was a grave chance you’d never see light again, you felt almost… Fatigued. Tired. It felt like there was a hole forming in your chest.

You realized with dread what that numbing feeling was.  With your cries of fear, your panic attack rendering you momentarily unavailable, you’d used up so much oxygen. So much precious air. The thing that affected you the most, however, was the dawning realization that even with your predicament there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to make you panic all over again like you should have. You should be freaking out, begging him to hurry up. Instead the fear rippled under your skin, made tears fall down your cheeks in a mellow show of apprehension. Too tired, you thought. 

“Peter,” you spoke quietly into the phone. “Are you there?”

“Of course,” He answered equally softly, as though he knew your state. It wouldn’t be hard to guess, you supposed, given your worn out breaths.

“Peter, there isn’t enough air.”

You said it so easily, like it meant nothing. The anesthetic of thin air made you almost too exhausted to keep crying. It wasn’t like you wanted to die- you’d give anything to keep fighting, to be one of those people you used to read of, but you couldn’t feel it. Even speaking suddenly felt like a chore- and you wished you could have kicked your past self for using so much oxygen while freaking out over being out of Peter’s reach. He was only a wall away the whole time. You’d breathed it all in during your break down for nothing.

“We’re almost in, just…” Peter sounded helpless, and you knew the feeling. “Don’t give up on me. We’ll get in there, please, please don’t give up.”

“I’m not going to.” You spoke, and again, it was easy to say. You realized something drastic, however. You weren’t speaking to soothe yourself, but to soothe him instead. Everything in your head felt fuzzy and numb.

Another bomb set off outside the walls of the cave but you didn’t flinch this time, not even when another boulder of stone slammed directly next to your lap. Dust surrounded you, painting over your skin and clothes. It started to feel like you were holding your breath.

You mumbled into the phone, “I love you.”.

“Don’t,” He whispered, strained. “It’s almost open, don’t you dare,” He was frantic now, voice picking up. “___ I mean it, please, you can’t leave me.”

You could imagine him right now. Jaw tense, shoulders squared. He’d look as menacing as Peter Parker could. Tony would be watching him right now, wondering what to do. He’d never been good at support.

If you could cry, you would have. Instead your chest felt heavy, either with sorrow or lack of oxygen, you couldn’t tell. The surreal feeling of floating started to blanket you, and you could actually feel the carbon dioxide filling your lungs at every breath. You wanted to panic. You wanted to claw your way free, rip each bolder out of it’s place and dig yourself out, kiss Peter and tell him you’re safe, but you couldn’t. You were not strong enough. 

The phone dropped from your hands and Peter still tried to talk to you over the speakerphone. 

Everything around you vibrated again but you barely registered it, your eyes closing on their own accord. Through your numbness your chest started to hurt, your breaths coming more and more frequent. It felt like you were gasping, body desperate for something rich, but it never came, Something in the musty air changed and you felt like you were weightless. This was it.

You could see him.

Basked in white light, his form glowing almost angelically. He was so afraid, moving in slow motion like a dream. You couldn’t find it in yourself to reach out and touch him even after he came closer, dropped to his knees in front of you. Everything was underwater. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t hear him. All the muffled echoes barely reached you. His fingers pressed against your cheek, he made you look at up him. 

You blinked once.

Twice.

Three times. 

And then you gasped, and every fiber of your being ripped from it’s dream and planted itself back into its place, back within the cave, back within the body of the person now shrouded in light and voices.

You couldn’t see anything anymore through the vibrant shine of white, but you could feel and you could breathe and it ached so badly but you sputtered through every breath and found yourself clinging hard to the figure in front of you. There were so many voices that your head was reeling all over again, confusion settling deep within your still foggy brain, but among them you picked out one in particular.

“I’ve got you,” it spoke, “You’re okay, I told you you’d be okay.”

Every part of you shook, clung onto it, breathed every last bit of air you could take in. Hands gripped at your arms and side and you didn’t fight, just let them hoist you up until you were tucked into someone's arms. You knew these arms.

Suddenly you were so cold, and the air changed so drastically that you coughed and wheezed with every single breath. It felt so fresh, and it was such a stark difference that it reached the very depths of your lungs. There was almost just so much of it- that rich, freezing yet precious air. Your head swam with consciousness, your body felt so heavy and grounded. Everything was happening so fast and there was so much of it but you managed to open your eyes just as you were set down on something much softer than the ground.

A bed, and above you, you could see stars. Thousands of them, twinkling and bright, and even though you felt like your entire body was broken they were soothing. Then you saw Peter. He was looking down at you with such a fearful expression, and he did not look brave. His lionheart had been gutted. His hands trembled when he touched at your cheek, his eyes glistening with tears when you blinked up at him.

“Whats going on?” You whispered.

He laughed. He faced down for a moment, shoulders shuddering, and when he looked back up at you there was everything in his eyes. It was the same expression he had when you told him you loved him for the first time, the same expression when you said you didn’t care what the future had in store for you so long as you and him were together. Grateful, adoring, but afraid. So afraid.

Even through your almost headless state you wondered what would happen after this. Surely he’d insist the danger was too much for you.

“You’re okay,” Peter breathed. “You’re out of there, we’re going to a hospital.”

“We?”

He nodded, wiped his eyes, and grinned. “Well, yeah, we. You were right, we- I’m not gonna’ leave you. I mean if you want to leave me I get it- I- understand- But-”

“Talk about it later,” Someone said, and this time you didn’t have it in you to determine who it was. Peter nodded, swallowed, and then you were moving. The bed you were laying on was hoisted up and put back down into what you recognized as an ambulance, and luckily Peter crawled in too.

You lifted a hand and he took it without hesitation, his calloused hands as soft as they’ve ever been against your skin. A breath of relief escaped you, a breath that you would never take for granted again.

“I love you.” He whispered.

Everything around you felt like it was going to concave. You were irrationally afraid the roof of the ambulance door was going to fall and crush you. Your lungs felt heavy and full at the same time. All the nerves in your body felt shot and burnt out, and the back of your head ached something awful, but none of it was enough to stop you from squeezing his hand and smiling.

Peter’s eyes were full of tears yet again. His shoulders slumped, his head dropped to look down before peering back up at you. He could be such a baby sometimes, you realized. He cried easily, but then again so did you. You were both as human as you could be.

You squeezed his hand again and imagined bad hospital food, get well cards, and Peter staying beyond visiting hours. Your heart longed for it all, the recovering process, the worry, the forgiveness, everything. Though it ached you tugged his hand to your lips, kissed at his shaking knuckles, and shut your eyes. 

“I love you too.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman homecoming #marvel #spiderman x reader #imaginefictionals #scenario #fanfic #imagine #HYUUUU i loved this