#he took one look at this burning trash can of a family and thought “neat”

[plush-rabbit]

Ultra Gold

Warnings: Dubcon, Noncon, Omorashi, Implied Yandere, Implied Kidnapping

Word Count: 5.1K

A/N: It’s here!! I hope you all like it!!

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He may be cruel and weird, but at least he isn’t starving you. He walks in- in what you would assume is a scheduled time but you wouldn’t know with the lack of clock and boarded up windows that don’t provide any sort of shadows or sun position to at least let you know how long you’ve been here. He’ll come in with a bottle of water and a bowl of fruit or some odd food that’s been sold by a street vendor you once visited before you’ve entered your current predicament. 

Tomura Shigaraki- a man who has committed many crimes that now include kidnapping. You frown. No, he’s kidnapped before so you aren’t even his first in that regard. You’ve been kidnapped by an already established villain for reasons that you are still unsure of. Perhaps you were too nice when you had met him. All you had done is talk to a lonely looking man on the train home, iced coffee in hand that had given you an odd boost of energy and confidence. After that fateful day, you had begun to see more of him, always secluded, never with another person and always seeking you out, making sure that you are alone. You can’t really recall any other time that had given him the wrong idea that you were interested in him romantically. Sure, he was cute with soft blue hair and an almost dangerous smile that was completely snuffed out when he spoke about his interests in gaming and comics. He had the looks of a delinquent and the personality of a soft-spoken nerd. Maybe if he were someone else, you would have grown a crush on him. If he weren’t so creepy, you could have actually fallen for him in a way that counted. 

For now, you rest on a worn bed, clean pink sheets that can barely fit the bed and an old horror manga that leaves you feeling sick in the stomach. The room is neat and empty. Not a single piece of trash that litters the cold floor and only a few books that fill a box in the corner of the room. It was empty when you arrived and the only reason it was filled with something that could entertain you was because you had called him by his name when he asked of you. Tomura. The name makes acid rise in your throat, an odd bubble that makes your mouth burn. 

He’s cruel and weird. He lingers too close to you when you sleep, watching as you eat and drink the things he offers. He touches you experimentally, watching your face twist into a mask of pain and horror to cover the pleasure that courses through your veins when he happens to circle your clit. He doesn’t do anything further than touch you through your underwear and hump your leg like a dog. He pants in your ear and calls your name, twists your nipples until you're crying and begging him to be gentle. He forces you to eat, drenching the soft candy in the water he brings you and stuffing it into your mouth when it has grown soggy enough. 

You tried to fight him in the beginning. You managed a hunger strike and slept the pain away but when he threatened to spit into your mouth like a fletching, you gave in and ate the soft fruit that only made you feel sick late into the night. 

Shadows appear under the door, the voices are muffled and you can hear the snarky laughter of one that’s silenced by a bang against the door. You flinch at the sound and scoot to the corner of the bed, knees pulled to your chest and arms wrapped tight around your legs. The shadows disappear until one is left and like a dog, your mouth salivates and stomach grumbles as the door creaks open. 

Shigaraki walks in with a bowl of fruit in one hand, a water bottle placed meticulously above it. He greets you with a smile, ignoring the look you give him, and sets the food on the floor, the water bottle placed beside it. You wonder if he’s actually interested in you romantically- or sexually- or if he’s just seeing you as some sort of pet. 

“Come on,” he gestures with a hand. “Eat up. I know you’re hungry.” His smile is terrifying, stretching past any reasonable smile you’ve seen before, twisted and wide like it’s been pinned with needles in the corners of his lips. You refuse to move. There’s still a bit of fight left inside of you. His smile falls. “Eat. It’s been a long day for me and if you try to disobey me, I will make you regret it.” His threat is enough for you to scramble into a quick crawl and sit with your legs crossed. 

You hold the bowl in your hands. Watermelon. A bright red color, seedless and huge chunks filling the bowl. Your mouth waters at the sight. It isn’t filling- mostly water-weight, but it’s something. You keep your head low, eyes glued onto the fruit. “Thank you,” you whisper in a low breath. He clears his throat and red sneakers come into your field of vision. “Thank you, Tomura.”

“Of course-” you can hear the smile- “anything for you.” He sits in a mirrored position to you. Legs crossed, hands covered in half-covering gloves as he watches you eat. “Maybe tomorrow I can bring you something a bit more filling.”

Your stomach churns at the word. You have no doubt he would bring you something filling, but you worry what he’ll place inside of the food. You still do. “No.” Your answer is hesitant, and you can feel his eyes on you. “Fruit is fine.” You force a smile to appear on your face as you look up at him. “Really,” you reassure, trying to soften your smile into something more genuine. For emphasis, you stab your fork into the sweet watermelon and bite it with vigor, humming at the taste on your tongue. 

It’s quiet afterwards. Tense and awkward and you want to bury your face into the mattress. Thoughts start to spiral in your head, until you’re gripping the plastic fork in your hand. The bowl is empty. A red-tinged watered resting in place where the watermelon was once plentiful. Your hands shake as you place the bowl down, your breathing taking a sharp inhale as it clacks against the floor. The bottle cap is twisted tightly onto the bottle and you are unable to open it, the sharp grooves digging into your skin. You are unable to open the water bottle. You lower your head and pull the bottle close to you. 

“Can you-”

“Do you-” 

Words are mixed with each other and you clamp your mouth shut. You allow him to continue and watch him with wide eyes. 

You know- you just know- that he’s reading into the words, into the fact that you both spoke at the same time. You know, because if you were in his position, you’d do the same thing. You’d over analyze and then rationalize to avoid hurting your own feelings. But when he has the ball in his court, when he is able to mold what you can and have to say, he is able to read as much as he wants into the shared moment no matter how small. 

When it’s clear that you allow him to speak first, he clears his throat. “Do you want me to open the bottle?” You swallow whatever spit has formed in your mouth- thick and sweet, something that you have to force to go down. 

“Yes, please.” You hold the bottle towards him and his finger grazes your bare skin. And it burns. You try not to pull away too fast, holding the finger close to the palm of your hand, rubbing the pad of your finger over the knuckle that he touched, trying to rid yourself of his touch. The bottle clicks open and he hands it towards you, cap loosened. You take it slowly avoiding touching him with as much ease and grace that you can muster. “Thank you,” you hesitate, the rim of the bottle against your lips, “Tomura.” You close your eyes and drink the water, gulping it down until the bottle thins as the air and water are sucked out of it. An inch of it remains and you lower the bottle, holding it in your hands carefully, running your thumbs over the ridges of the bottle. It’s tense and awkward- always has been and always will be. 

“Do you need any other books? I think I can find a DVD player somewhere and try to find a movie or something for you?” He actually sounds hopeful and you feel so tired, your eyes growing heavy and emptiness overtaking any energy you once had.

“You know what I want,” you murmur under your breath. “I want to go home.” you emphasis the last word and stare at the words on the plastic wrapping of the water bottle. “You can’t keep me here forever.” He doesn’t answer and you take it as a sign to push forward. “Please Tomura,” your voice cracks, “I miss my friends and family.”

“But you belong to me.” Your shoulders fall at his words, a hand sliding upwards, twisting and untwisting the bottle cap. “I found you and saved you from the horrors of the world, I don’t understand why you can’t see that. You're safe with me. You know that.” The bottle cap twists off and you shut your eyes as you take the final swig from the bottle.

You hold the empty bottle in your hand and he takes it from you. “No.” You swallow an anxiety that you have and force yourself to replace it with false confidence. “You stole me. You took me away from the people that I love.” Your eyes waver as they stare at his. “I want to go home Tomura.”

“No.” He answers simply. 

You gawk at him, disbelief written on your face as you stare at him. “That isn’t fair!” You shout, smacking your thighs with the flat of your hands. “I’m allowed to be a free person. You can’t just keep me here because… because you have this sick obsession with me!” Your hands wave in the air and you take in a deep breath, chest light of air. “You can’t act like some-” you turn to look at the sides as if the answer lies there- “like some child!”

His hands grab roughly at the bottle of water and he crushes it in his hand, the plastic crinkling in a harsh sound that reverbs through the empty room. You swallow what little spit there is in your mouth and stare at the bottle as it is flung towards the wall, bouncing with a thud and landing on the floor. You suck in your bottom lip, your breathing stopping as you refuse to look at him. 

You fail to notice the finger that scratches at the plastic, a long, uncut nail creating a tear in the paper.. “I am not a child,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you are!” You shout, eyes watering as you stare at him. “You can’t just steal me because you’re doing something you-” you point a finger at him- “think that whatever the hell this is is right. You’re just some bratty little kid. For fuck’s sake!” You slam your hands on the floor and he narrows his eyes at you. “I want to go home!”

It’s silent for a moment, the room only filled with your heavy breathing from the yelling- from the emotions that have piled up, from the solitude that you’ve been forced to endure because of some inept weirdo who wanted to save you as if he were the very thing that he hated. “You’re being a brat,” he says in a condescending voice. It’s like he’s speaking to a child, a dotting smile on his face as he lowers himself to the ground. A hand grabs at your chin and forces you to look at him, fabric scratching at your skin and nails sharp on you. His smile is soft, eyes scrunched up as the corners of his lips push upwards. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.” His eyes widen expectantly, his smile now forced and thin. “Okay?” You don't answer, and instead bite the inside of your cheeks. His smile falls and the grip on your face tightens. “I don’t want to repeat myself.”

“You’re in charge,” you mutter through squished lips. “I’m sorry, Tomura.” His smile returns and he releases your face. You force yourself to not soothe over the burning sensation where he touched you. 

“Good girl,” he tells you. He leans towards you and kisses your temple, pulling away with a serious look on his face. “Don’t make the mistake again.” He grabs the fruit bowl and stands, letting out a breath. He turns on his heel, walking away from you, in a steady stride. 

Your brows furrow and your mouth falls in a frown. “Wait,” it comes out in a soft whisper, you turn and sit on your knees and shuffle towards him. “Wait,” you call out again, “Tomura?” he stops in his tracks and turns his head to the side, a scarlet eye glinting under the light. He hums in a question, and waits for you to speak. “What- What about-” the question sounds embarrassing spoken out loud but you’re sure that it’s another tortuous method of his. What about- you know?” Your eyes glance to the side and you clear your throat. “The- The bathroom break?”

He turns around to face you, head tilted to the side and he sighs. “This is just to make sure that you remember your place next time.” Your eyes widen and as if like it was just waiting to appear at the worst moment possible, you can start to feel the urge to relieve yourself. “Try not to make a mess.” The door closes with a soft click as it always has and you’re left alone.

It starts off as a small build-up. A pressure against your lower stomach that makes your legs start to bounce in a nervous tick. He hasn’t been back. You don’t know how long it’s been but you start to fear he won’t be back. But that’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t ignore you for so long. Not when both of you are so dependent on one another. Attention, the warmth of another, and for you, the source of food. He gives you life, gives you the attention that you have missed for so long, he touches you with rough hands, and gives you a pleasure that you deny yourself in fear that he has cameras hidden in the room that was made- or rather saved- for you. 

The pressure grows, something heavy and throbbing. You lie on the mattress, curled on your side, hands held and arms stretched so it rests between your legs. You whine and furrow your brows. Your body shakes and you try to remember the “hack” that your friend had once told you to in order to stop yourself from the feeling of urination. 

You breath harshly, biting your bottom lip and letting it go once your teeth dig into the soft flesh. You suck in the inside of your cheeks, your molars biting down on the soft flesh. You feel full, a swelling tummy full of water, and it’s painful. It pushes against your lower belly, your heat throbbing the further you keep yourself in this personal hell. 

He might be cruel and perverted, but he’s never withheld something like this from you. You always thought it was some sort of pride on his end, to lead you around the hideout like some sort of ant, walls much too similar for you to make any sense, eyes then covered once he saw your flickering eyes and that’s when you were sure that he kept spinning you around in circles. But now, with his silent goodbye, and lack of checking in on you in who-knows-how-long, you were starting to worry that you wouldn’t be free to go to the bathroom anytime soon.

You are still above the bed, slowly moving a leg outwards only to stop and whine when a dribble of urine rushes out. You suck in a harsh breath and dig your nails into your thighs. You try to ignore the feeling, trying to steady your breath as everything begins to twist in it’s feelings. The pain is replaced by something more pleasurable, a throbbing against your cunt and your eyes water, a high-pitched gasp escaping past your lips. You rock yourself against your forearms, the friction relieving your mind from the unbearable pain that strained against you seconds ago. It’s pathetic, rocking yourself against your arms, finding pleasure in this humiliating experience where he has metaphorically held your bladder hostage. You let out another gasp, high and broken, biting on your lower lip to silence the noises.

The door creaks open as you hump yourself on your arms, eyes shut tight and breathy moans filling the room. You are unaware of the eyes watching you, the soft click of the door that matched the one done so long ago. Your toes curl and your nails press deeper into your skin. The friction burns well, sick gratification coursing through your veins.

“I never took you for having a piss kink,” he mutters, a knee pressed down against the mattress. You freeze in place, cunt tightened as if that would prevent urine to leak. “Don’t stop. It’s actually interesting. I’ve never seen you actually pleasure yourself. And with a full bladder? You really are some sort of degenerate.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks and you can feel your face burn in humiliation, your heart races and pulses in your neck, a heavy pounding that makes your ears throb. 

“I-” you lick your lips- “I need to pee, Tomura,” you croak out, pinching your eyes tight until colors and shapeless forms start to hover in your vision. “Please.” You open your eyes and and breathe heavily, your chest rising and heaving, nipples rigid and poking through the thin of your shirt. A tingle spreads from your cunt, making you tighten your legs, clit throbbing and your sex weakening. 

The bed creaks and you suck in a deep breath through pursed lips. Urine leaks out in small dribbles and you remove your arms, clamping your legs tight. You turn on your back and can feel a slick slide down. 

Heavy hands lay on your ankles and your vision clouds with tears. You yelp as your ankles are gripped and you’re pulled down the bed until your legs are bent over the bed. “It’s a heavy feel against you, throbbing and awful, pleasurable and you place your hand over your mouth, your knuckles touching your cheek. Hands slide up your legs and you release a bit more, your underwear growing wet and sticking to your skin. You bite on the skin exposed to you, pain flaring in sharp tingles.

Clothes are pulled from your skin and you lay bare on the bed, your underwear around your ankles. “A wet spot,” he hums. “Are you aroused or are you just pissing yourself like some filthy whore?” You bite deeper on your skin and whine loudly, trying to close your legs only to be paused by a hand that meets at your inner thigh. 

You cannot answer and instead choose to stay silent out of necessity, biting down on your skin. Your legs are bent upwards and rest on the edge of the bed; your underwear slowly peeled off and placed somewhere unknown. Your legs are spread and unwillingly, you spill further onto yourself, the urine smelling strong of acid and wetting the bed underneath you. 

You release your wrist from your mouth and speak through gathered saliva. “I’m sorry,” you sob, tears slipping down your cheeks, trying to cross your legs. “I need to pee, Tomura,” you cry, chest stuttering and hands moving to cover your face awkwardly. “Please,” you beg, clenching tightly on yourself to avoid any further leaking. Your lower half grows wet and uncomfortable and you can feel a heavy gaze on your sex. 

"If you do, you'll dirty the bed. I'm angry enough that I won't get you another." His nose touches against your inner thigh, a soft graze of his skin in yours that makes you flinch. "You'll have to sleep in your own piss.” You can feel your clit twitch, a spasm that shudders through your body and makes goosebumps rise and prick on your skin. “It would teach you to learn some manners.” You can feel his fingers crawl upwards towards your legs, thin and nimble fingers that touch and pull quickly against your soft flesh, the warmth of your skin burning under his touch. His nails drag against your skin and leave faint scratches. 

The pressure builds, tightening that coils around your stomach, squeezing taut, unforgiving and warm, much too hot for you to feel comfortable. His finger grazes at your labia and warmth floods out and drips onto his finger. You choke down your sob, covering your eyes and pinching your thighs together only to meet the sides of his head. Heat floods throughout your body. He’s seen you nude before, pawed at your skin like a ravenous man- like a lonely one. He’s kissed at your bare skin until you’ve cried, rough hands that jumped at contact with your sex. He’s seen it up close, pressed his face close until your scent had filled his lungs- “sweet and acidic” as he called it- but he’s never held himself so close to you when you were on the verge of leaking. 

“Such a sweet cunt-” you press the heels of your palms harsh against your mouth, stifling a groan when his tongue pushes forward and slips between your lips- “even when filled with piss.”

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip, the tip of your tongue lapping at the sore, tender spot left by your teeth. Your heart races, pumping loudly in your chest and pulsing deep within your cunt, “You’re being mean.” Your words are muffled and tears sting behind your closed eyelids. “Tomura-” You let out a stifled mewl, clenching your thighs tight around his head. His tongue swirls around your pulsing bud, the throbbing heat intense and feeling like an actual heartbeat as he presses his face close to your sex. 

You feel hot, warmth burning in your entire body, the tight coil held so tightly that you can imagine the seams ripping. You can’t allow yourself the mortification of relieving yourself on his face. You’re sure that he would derive some sort of twisted pleasure from seeing you in such a horrid situation. 

His chapped lips kiss your sex, lips moving open and closed, pulling against your gummy flesh, his tongue peeking in and scooping up the arousal that drips from you. His mouth leaves you cold and empty, your breathing slowing into deeper gasps for air, your hands curling and twisting the bed sheet under. His name is a broken chant on your tongue, body twisting as he pushes himself inside of you. Your walls hugging him tightly, pulling on his shaft and molding to his shape. 

He’s ruthless. Using you only as a living sex doll, fucking you slowly and without care, watching as your eyes grow wide, mouth parting open and your breasts swinging as he moves you on his cock. He fills you well, the pressure on your tummy heavier and you are unable to keep a tight grip on it, a spittle of piss spilling out onto him, drenching your burning skin. He leans over you, his breath fanning across your face and your eyes grow a distant look onto them. 

“Nothing but a fucking slut,” he says through gritted teeth. “You deserve this. Everything that has happened to you is all your fault,” he spits at you. A hand wraps around your throat, pressure against the side of your neck, making your pulse point stutter. “All you had to do was love me. All you had to do was be a good, little girl and instead you spit on me.” His hand tightens and his voice grows into an echo. “You’re lucky I care for you so much.” His canine shines and glowing red eyes are all that you see in a growing pit of darkness and hate. A thick glob of spit meets your cheekbone and you are too out of it to wipe it away. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be alone.” He leaves close to you, red eyes that stare into yours, full of hate and hurt, voice in a low snarl as he speaks. “No one will ever love you like I do.”

Your orgasm washes out in waves, cascading around his cock and keeping him there as you ride your orgasm. It’s unforgiving and harsh, your body shaking and tense, head tilted back and neck exposed, the fabric scratching underneath your nails. His cock pulls out, wet and sliding between the sandwiched folds, leaving you empty and twitching. Your twitching bud feels hot as your urine flows out, an acidic scent filling the air. Your face is flushed, eyes wet with tears and mouth open in a silent scream as you wet yourself. Your legs shake, heavy and sporadic as something wet fills the bed and stains your thighs. Your sex pulses like a heart beat, tears falling down the curve of your face. You are distant from the world, sobbing and closing your legs together, shaking your head repetitively. 

The bed squeaks and you are unknown to it. Dips fall between your body, a heavy heat moving from the curve of your stomach to the valley between your breasts,  a sticky leak trailing against you. A heated tip presses against your lower lip, your tongue sliding out in a curve. Something thick slides down the back of your throat. It’s salty and acidic, your face scrunching up and something thick fills your mouth, the girth of his cock unexpected and your eyes widen, tears catching on your lashes like dew on an early morning. 

A man filled with negative emotions, he takes it out on you. He claims to love, the perverted twist on it nothing more than a questionable attachment. He buries himself in you, cares nothing for you when you gag and choke, a wet sounding cough that vibrates on his swollen cock. He is pressed flush against you, your nose buried in a thick coil of his pubic hair. Your arms move on their own, moving to grip onto his thighs, the sharp “pat’ sound on his package slapping against your chin. Your jaw hurts, minded clouded with your post-orgasm and the humiliation that has begun to settle within you. Your body is tired, pushed beyond any limits that you thought you had. Somewhere deep in your mind, you register that this is your fault. You should have just asked for a coloring book.

Tomura curses obscenities into the room, your name mingled with foul language that makes you wince. He’s rough and terrifying. You should have realized that this wasn’t some lovesick fool; this was a grown man who has grown and festered in a wicked environment and now you must care for him as if he were a lover or suffer this fate again.

Tears slide down your eyes and you sob. You choke against him, your nails dragging against his pale skin and leaving red lines in its wake. He grunts like a mad man, words long gone, the pronunciation and control of tongue something that had slipped away from him when you began to cry. He cries your name, and you can picture the mess that he looks now- pale hair that sticks to his face, a red flushed face and drool that drips from his lips.

Spit stains both you and him and through a mouth full of cock, you call his name. It’s nowhere near filled with grace or with hate, a sore jaw that has grown tired from being pried open and fucked. “Tomura,” you call him in a muffled voice, weak vibrations that tremble from him cockhead to the base where your nose remains buried only to be pulled away.

Thick ropes shoot onto your face, the heaviness of his semen catching on your tongue and you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You have a real lewd face on you right now.” His smile is stretched wide, eyes raised in a sick sense of humor. “Pretty fucking hot, if I have to be honest.” His head tilts and in his hand he holds a softening cock. “Do you want to know why I won’t let you go? Why I’m so certain that you’ll never run for help?” His cock is pressed into your mouth; the once hard flesh, soft and lingering with a salty aftertaste. “Because you have such a big mouth that I doubt you’d ever keep it a secret that you let a villain fuck and piss in your mouth.” Your bottom lip lip trembles and the flat of your tongue holds the bottom of his cock, the once prominent vein now soft. 

It’s much worse than you could have ever imagined. It’s worse than his own seed, something so thin and potent all at once. It’s acidic, burning as it goes down your throat in heavy waves. It swells your belly, your cunt throbbing in reaction, your hands clutching at your chest, nails imbedded deep in your fat. It hits harshly against you, a dull push against the back of your throat, dribbling into salty droplets on your tongue. His cock pulls away from you, limping out and dragging against your swollen lips in a tender kiss, drips of acid sparkling against your parted lips.

You lay one the soiled bed- wet, warm and sticky. Your clit still pulses, harsh and heavy, chest rising and falling in heavy heaves. The urine dries quickly, a heavy acidic scent that fills the room and sticks to your skin like an awful perfume. Sticky hands grab yours and you’re pulled upwards into a solid chest. Your knees buckle and your hands scratch at the abdomen. 

“Let’s go clean you up.” A kiss is placed on the crown of your head, a hand sliding down and leaving goosebumps in its wake as it rests on your lower back. “A nice shower will make you feel better.” The taste of him lingers on your tongue, your mouth dry from the abuse.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura headcanons #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #tw: noncon #tw omo #tw omorashi #piss kink #woo #please #take this crumb #be honest #is 2k short?? #for like regular fics?? #i saw a tiktok making #light #fun of 2k #and now im thinking #he's kind of sweet #a sick sweet #local gamer boi doesnt drink water

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 133

Whew. I finally get a chance two queue chapters and add to my buffer! Yayyy me! Kind of long author’s note, feel free to skip to the readmore.

Seriously, though, I managed to only work 5ish hours of OT this week instead of the 25/wk I’ve been clocking the last several weeks. It’s been a ride, for sure. Thank you for bearing with me through this frankly-insane time.

@baelpenrose and I have had more chances to write together in real-time, which considering both our schedules and living 3 timezones apart has been a delightful miracle and I will never take it for granted ever again.

@anotherusrname and @the-raven-fae have been very encouraging of my efforts to work less, which - it turns out - has been a huge concern for oh, my entire family... Sorry I worried you all. :(  I’m trying to do better! Swear I have vacations coming up!

@charlylimph-blog has just been... such a support. She literally texts me every night at 10pm my time to tell me to take my most important medications. Sainted Eldritch Fae cannot be appreciated enough, and somehow I have two.

Final shout outs go to @snickerfritz, @just-a-pastel-bunny, and @eldritchmoths for love-bombing my inbox recently. Seeing anyone speed-run through this story lets me know that I’m not wasting my time.

Don’t forget to check out the podcast!!  AhhhhH! I want to scream in delight each time a new episode is released!

Focus, I told myself, breath coming in short pants. It was easier said than done, with sweat dripping into my eyes while I constantly tried to pay attention to where I was safe to move to without putting myself in the line of fire. Seeing the incoming hit, I ducked and pivoted to my left - 

“Oof,” I grunted as I took a blow to the ribs.  I managed not to be winded or fall, but I was pretty sure something just broke.

A voice taunted me. “You have got to get better at keeping your guard up.”

“I am,” I panted. “My ribs are a lot tougher than my face.” Refusing to be distracted, I jumped back from the next hit and started circling wide.

“And I hit harder than your sister.”

Yeah, well broken ribs are for bitches, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a broken rib before. I was fine. Out of reflex more than forethought, I pivoted my leg and bent my knee to absorb the shock of the next hit - this one to the thigh. Grabbing the offending leg, I held tight around the calf with one arm before shoving upwards on the heel with the other, dropping him onto his back.

Unfortunately, the kick to the chin I got as a result also landed me on my back.

Like an exceedingly annoying ninja, Arthur sprang to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up off the floor. “You should have expected that.”

I scowled and rubbed my jaw. “Why am I sparring with you again?”

“Because Tyche’s busy and I’m the only other person willing to actually hit you hard enough to teach you anything.”

Rolling my neck, I tried to relieve some of the tension that was setting in. “It’s not like aliens are going to know Terran hand-to-hand combat,” I pointed out as I took my stance for the next round.  This time, his movement was a lot more fluid, which told me he was going for grappling instead of striking.

The kick I almost took to the face told me that his stance was also a lie.

There wasn’t any time for trash-talking, this time around. I could barely find time to breathe as he aggressively attacked, although I barely managed to avoid him actually touching me.  I wasn’t an idiot - if he got a hold of me, I would be waking up from a forced nap with a sore throat.  However, after what felt like an eternity and was probably only about five minutes, the odds of keeping it up were dwindling.  My heart was pounding in my ears, my lungs were searing with the effort of trying to keep up with it, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I had enough stamina to outlast him.  The man ran a 5k a day as a warm up.  Even more humiliating, I had spent the entire time running and dodging without even a chance to mount a counter to any of it.

Finally, I was spent.  Every time I tried to raise my hands, they shook so badly that there was no chance of landing a hit, even if I had the opportunity.  My legs were trembling, my knees burned, and the broken rib felt like someone was twisting a hot blade into my side.  Feeling defeated, I dropped my hands and squared my feet up.  The blow to the solar plexus was unsurprising, as was the chokehold he put me in as soon as I doubled over.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time this had happened while sparring with him - or even with Tyche.

I was so frustrated. No matter how much I sparred with either of them, I felt like I hadn’t gained any ground.  The whole point to training so hard was to prove that I actually could defend myself. Councilor or not, the thought that I was going to be shoved in the back of the Archives in the event of an attack was insulting.  Not only that, it was even more insulting than the time I had round-the-clock guards. No one else had to put up with this, why did I?

“Tap out, Sophia,” he warned me.  He wasn’t squeezing yet, but he had his arm locked tightly enough that I couldn’t get my head out.  When I silently refused, he sighed and applied pressure, pissing me off even more.

I’m not helpless, I growled at myself. The anger at myself and the frustration with the situation flooded my mind, and I started pulling against the hold with my legs.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grunted as he leaned the opposite direction.  I may not have had his stamina, but I could also leg-press nearly five-hundred pounds. He could let go, or lean back, no other options.

Spots were floating in front of my eyes when I felt his posture change, and as soon as I felt it, both my arms swung up.  Assuming I was going to hit his face, he leaned back even further…

Right into the path of my cupped hands, which hit his ears hard enough to bruise both my hands.

“Ow, FUCK!” he shouted, the pain of his ruptured ear drums distracting him just enough that I was able to pull my head free.

As soon as I stood, he reached up to one of his ears, only to pull his hand away and see blood. “Son of a - “ he stopped when he realized what happened. “Huh. That… that is a pretty neat trick.”

Oh, just you wait, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, as soon as he tried to shift his weight for another assault, he stumbled. Trying to compensate, he made it even worse and ended up falling flat on his back.  Dropping his head to the mat in defeat, he splayed his limbs out to try to gain some sense of equilibrium. “Oh that is cool,” he muttered, obviously for my benefit since he couldn’t exactly hear himself.

I managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the corridor as the medical transport arrived - there was no way I was going to try to walk him to a medbay.  Once his eardrums were restored - along with his internal balance - Arthur stood and stared me down. “That was a dirty trick, Sophia.”  Without warning, I was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. “I am so proud of you.  Do that, a lot of it.”

“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

He released me, stepping back. “Right. The rib.”

I tried to wave him off. “It’s just a broken rib. I’ll be fine.”

“Medbay.” He gestured around the room. “Stop being stubborn.”

“You’re overreacting - “

“If you trip and fall, which you will, you can puncture a lung.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“It’s been broken all of ten minutes. Medbay. Now.”

I glared at him. “If you think this is the first broken rib I’ve had, you’re insane. It’s not even the fiftieth.”

“Stop reminding me that I can’t go back to Earth and kill someone who is hopefully dead anyway. You made me go to the medbay for some broken teeth after the fight with Jokul. Also, with your luck it’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself by breathing, and I am not going to be the one who’s next up on Tyche’s shit list. Go. Medbay. Now.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but was cut off by swearing and Arthur literally just picking me up and dropping me in the closest berth.  With exactly zero shame, he pinned me down by my shoulders and hips while one of Noah’s avatars held me down from the other side and scanned, then healed, my broken rib - both of them, it turns out. Finally, they both let go of me.  “Can I leave now?” I asked petulantly.

“Only if you tell me the eardrum trick so I can figure out how to use it on other species.”

Sliding off the berth and to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair. “Easy. You just cup your hands so there aren’t any cracks between your fingers, like this.” I demonstrated. “And then try to clap your hands through someone’s head, right over the ears. Force of the air ruptures the ear drums, and the trauma reaction kills their spatial sense and balance.” When he tilted his head at the simplicity of it, I shrugged. “Women’s self-defense classes.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Speaking of women and self-defense, we have got to get you more in the habit of striking and blocking with your legs.  Pretty sure you’d kick like a horse if you tried.”

“If I kick you, I’ll break something.”

“Your legs are a lot tougher than you think - “

“I meant something on you,” I clarified, staring at the ground.

I didn’t look up, but I could hear the savage grin in his voice at what he said next. “Oh, we have got to try this.” When my head snapped up, sure enough, he was smiling. “If you can land a kick on me, I won’t even be mad if you break something. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You want me to test it on someone else?” That wasn’t exactly a better option.

He rolled his eyes. “Maverick literally does calibrations for a living. Pretty sure he’s got something that measures impact force.  Then we do the math from there.”

“I feel like I’m on an episode of MythBusters,” I grumbled as we headed out of the Medbay and back towards my office.

“I know!” he agreed enthusiastically.

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#the miys #found family #aliens #apocalypse #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #hfy #self defense #science fiction #sci fi #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

[halcyonstorm]

The Girl at the Library Chapter 2

Pairing: Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoe

Themes: College AU, Library, Fluff, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Female Hange Zoe, Student!Levi

Word Count: 5870

Summary: Levi visits Hange in her dorm. He misses his family but is too busy to drive. Hange has a car.

Chapter: 2/3

Warning: Mild Language

Read on AO3 here

Levi went back to his dorm room after the encounter with Hange. He seemed to be walking a bit faster.

The skip in his step, unfortunately, quickly dissipated once he walked in his room. His roommate was hanging out with a few friends, two he recognized were the guys who fucked up his laptop. As soon as they saw Levi, their conversation came to a halt. The two brats nervously gathered their things and rushed out of the room. Levi shook his head in annoyance, shutting the door behind them. He placed his wet bag on the floor. Right. He was soaked from the rain. 

“Levi, good to see you,” Erwin --his roommate-- said, slightly annoyed. There was a card game set up on the small table in their dorm. Levi didn’t respond and walked past them. He always had friends over. Levi was always pissed about it. The least he could’ve done was ask. The room was small enough as it is. Also, Erwin and his friends always left a mess.  

Levi’s and Erwin’s dorm room was small. Would Hange’s room be this small? he asked himself. He felt himself get hot. He grabbed a fresh change of clothes, went to their bathroom and changed. He wore a pair of grey sweats and a white t-shirt. He hung up all his wet clothes in their shower. Levi took a deep breath, leaving the bathroom. He spent the rest of the night thinking of his new friend, and his mood was restored.

The next day couldn’t come fast enough. He woke up at 8am that morning to go on a run and to get some of his physical homework done. He also showered, spending an extra minute than usual. He wondered if he should bring something for Hange. 

“Erwin, what snacks do you have?” He asked, starting to dress in the bathroom. He put on a pair of black jeans and an olive green t-shirt.

“Uh,” he shuffled through his ‘secret’ stash. Levi knew where it was. “I’ve got chips, granola bars, ramen, peanut butter…”

What the fuck am I gonna do with peanut butter? He asked himself. 

Levi shook his head and rolled his eyes. He finished getting dressed and grabbed a few bags of chips and stuffed them in his bag. He made sure to pack his notes too.

It was finally 10:45 and he decided to leave to go to her dorm. He brought his phone, keys, wallet, and backpack with him.

“Be back later,” Levi called out before closing the door behind him. Levi began walking to her room. He had to take the elevator up four floors, making stops along the way, but he made it. 506… On his left side, there it was. On the door were two drawn cut-outs of the two residents. He recognized Hange’s drawing right away. It was colored in with colored pencils. The character had her same brown hairstyle; closed, happy eyes; oval glasses; and a big toothy smile. She wore a green long sleeve and brown pants. Her character was waving. Under her character, it has the name “Hange” in big green block letters. The other character was of a girl with short blonde hairstyle and blue eyes. Her character was smiling but had her eyes open. That must be her roommate. The name written underneath the drawing was “Nanaba” in blue bubble letters. Levi hesitantly knocked at the door after admiring the drawings.

Hange opened the door. “Hey!” “Hi.”

She invited him in. One half of the dorm room was messy and the other was averagely neat, at least in Levi’s eyes. She shut the door behind him. 

“Ehh, I’m sorry my side of the room is kinda messy,” She confessed. She had the messy side of the room. Her bed was made, but her desk was a mess. Papers, books, and food wrappers were spread out on the desk and migrated to her bed. There were at least four empty ramen containers on her desk, which she clumsily grabbed and tossed away. Hange grabbed the papers off her desk and moved them to the side, clearing the spot for him. She lazily crumpled some food wrappers and threw them in the trash, one wrapper missing and falling on the floor. Levi shuddered. How did she live like this? The foot of her bed met the left edge of the desk. Her desk was big; It had many drawers and an overhang where she had small knick knacks including small comic book figurines, plants, and books. She had a figurine of a character with a green hooded cape on who looked like a soldier. He really liked that one.

“Let me just log you on.” She bent over the chair to use the computer. Levi put his bag down next to the desk. “Thank you.” Levi said. 

“Oh, It’s nothing,” she said. After a few moments, she stood upright, backing away from the computer. “Alright! You’re good to go. If you need my help, I’m here. I have some work to do too.” He nodded, sitting down in the very comfortable desk chair. He let out a relieved sigh. Hange chuckled.

“Comfortable, right?” She asked, jumping on her bed and crossing her legs. Levi agreed. It was comfortable. It was one of those gaming-like chairs with cushions and lower back support. He noticed she had a bunch of bookmarks tabbed which were disorganized. He began to type in “Addison’s Disease” and as he did, he noticed it was recently searched. Before he could ask about it, Hange began to speak.

“I found some articles for your paper,” she explained, not looking away from her books. “I printed them out for you.” 

Levi was pleasantly surprised. He hid a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

She shrugged. “Pfft. Shush. I wanted to.” There was a pause. “Oh! I made sandwiches for us. I know it’s kinda early for lunch, but I’ve been up since 6 this morning so I’m starving. I hope you like PB&J.”

Fuck! Levi thought. Erwin’s peanut butter. I could’ve made sandwiches. He mentally smacked his forehead.

“I brought some chips,” Levi added. “Take whatever you want.” He grabbed some bags from his backpack and placed them on her bed. He grabbed a blue bag of Doritos, she grabbed a bag of Fritos.

“Thanks,” she said, popping the bag open by squeezing it. Some chips flew out of the bag, falling on the bed. 

“What?” Levi asked, bewildered. Why did she open it like that?

“I’m not good with pulling the seal open…” she admitted, chuckling. Levi found it weird. Levi locked eyes with her and opened the bag by pulling the seal open with ease. Hange pouted.

“No fair.” She laughed. He was never going to get any work done if she kept distracting him. He grabbed a sandwich and ate it. He really enjoyed it, especially since she made it. 

“Thanks for lunch,” he said. He was kind of hungry anyways. 

“No problem!”

The two began to work.

-

About three hours passed before Levi finished his paper. He ended his final sentence with a loud tap of the period on the keyboard. He took a deep breath and looked Hange's way. She was prone, resting her chin in her left palm. Her feet were in the air, crossed at the ankles. She was reading a textbook and had a pen and paper on her right side, probably answering homework. She looked very studious and attractive. 

“I’m finished with my paper…” Levi said aloud. “Can I read it to you?” 

Hange quickly wrote something down on her paper, dropped the pen, and pushed herself up to sit criss-crossed.

“Yep! I’m all ears.”

He began to read through his paper. He realized during his speech that this was probably the most he’s said to Hange. He felt guilty in a way. He was bad with words, so he felt it was better if he kept his mouth shut. Hange didn’t mind, though. She enjoyed hearing him talk, as she found it very soothing. As he read, he felt her eyes on him. He finally finished reading his paper.

“I have a few suggestions on some wording, but besides that, I think it’s great,” Hange said, getting out of bed. She walked to Levi’s right, then squatted. Levi felt himself get nervous. She was really close. He thought she smelled good. 

“Scroll up a little…” she said, gesturing to him to scroll up. He did as she asked. “There. That sentence: ‘Medications used to treat Addison’s Disease include mineralocorticoids and glucocorticoids, such as fludrocortisone and hydrocortisone.’ It is kinda wordy. They’re both corticosteroids, so I think you should shorten it. You can mention the classes of the drugs in the next sentence, if you wanted to. Also, ‘A big teaching point includes following the steroid regimen exactly as prescribed. Abruptly discontinuing this medication will result in adrenal suppression.’ I think there is a better word to use than ‘big’. What about ‘important’, or ‘essential’ or ‘paramount’...”

He turned his head to look at her. Hange’s sentence had trailed off the moment he looked at her. She was stunned by his eyes. She hadn’t been this close to him, so that moment was the first time she could admire his eyes up close. They were a beautiful, piercing steel blue. When she realized he was staring back at her, she stood up, shaking out her legs nervously. 

“‘Paramount’ will do,” Levi said after a moment passed. He typed it in.

“Good job, Levi. You’ll score well with your paper,” Hange said, trying not to stutter. She meant it. She was proud of what he wrote.

“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without your help, though, four-eyes.” Hange liked the nickname. She smiled and patted his shoulder before going back to sit on her bed. She grabbed her phone and realized she didn’t have his phone number. Did he have a phone? He must have. She thinks she saw him use it once. 

“If you need my computer again, or just wanna text, I can give you my number,” Hange blurted out. When Levi looked at her, he realized she wasn’t looking at him when she asked. He agreed, handing his phone to her. 

“Go for it,” he said. He was attempting to sound ‘cool’ (and it worked). Hange reached to grab his unlocked phone. She found his contacts and put her name and number in. She sent herself a text message from his phone. She was hoping he would text her more. When she closed out to the home screen, she noticed his background was a photo of him and a small, dark haired lady.

“Is this your mother?” Hange asked, handing his phone back to him.

He looked down at his phone and nodded. “Yeah. This photo is from my first day at the university.” He had swiveled the chair to face the bed and her. “I remember she was sad to see me go, but happy too. She was proud of me.” Hange’s heart swelled. Levi seemed to remember her with a bittersweet smile. Hange frowned a bit.

“Is something wrong?” Hange asked.

“I just… haven’t seen her in a while. I’ve been so busy with assignments and exams that I haven’t had time to go visit her. Every time I have free time, I’m studying or catching up on sleep...”

“I can take you,” Hange offered instantaneously. She didn’t even have to think about it. She wanted to help her friend.

Levi’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You have to get stuff done and I have a car on campus and a license Let me take you.” She explained. Before he could bud in, she continued. “What day would you like to go? This weekend? I’m free this weekend.”

“I’d never get any studying done if we did that,” Levi said. We. 

“You didn’t say no,” Hange retorted with a smirk. “I’ll be good. I won’t distract you. Promise.”

Levi took a deep sigh. He really wanted to, more than he let on. “Saturday morning works for me.”

-

A few days passed by and now Friday came along. Levi’s paper was due in three days, so he wanted to go to the library to revise it before printing and submitting it. He knew Hange worked on Friday’s too, so he had another motive. 

His class had ended, then he was on his way to the library. When he entered, he heard laughter. Don’t people know they’re supposed to be quiet in the library? He wondered, but he didn’t pay much mind to it. There was a blonde woman standing at the front of the counter, leaning over it. He heard Hange’s voice and laugh and felt his heart skip a beat.

“I gotta see if the patron needs help,” Hange said to the girl without noticing who walked in.

“Zoe, since when do you actually care about your job?” The blonde said playfully. Hange smiled and rolled her eyes. Zoe? Hange made her way around the desk and saw Levi standing, looking at some books in the entryway.

“Levi! Good to see you,” Hange said, pleasantly surprised. She held her hands behind her back. “Computer?”

“Yeah.”

“Very good, come here.” Hange walked towards the desk, then around it. Levi stayed on the opposing side. “Levi, this is Nanaba. Nanaba, this is Levi. Nanaba is my roommate.”

“Nice to meet you, Levi,” Nanaba said, smiling at him. He nodded, exchanging pleasantries. Hange wrote his name down on the paper. “Okay, Levi. You’re all set.” He muttered a “thanks'' and then set his stuff down by the computer. He heard Nanaba whispering something to Hange. She shook her head, waving at her to follow her towards the back. Hange didn’t want to disturb Levi, and she also didn’t want Levi to hear what they were talking about.

Hange and Nanaba sat down at the table in the break room. Hange sipped on a can of soda.

“That’s Levi?” Nanaba asked, punching Hange’s shoulder playfully.

“Yeah. He’s just my friend. I don’t know why you care so much.”

“You two were in our dorm… alone?! Do I need to clean the room again?”

“No! He just had to work on his project. My side of the room is messy, though.”

“Uh huh… I can tell by the way he looks at you that you two aren’t ‘just friends’ like you claim,” Nanaba concluded, leaning back and crossing her legs.

“I told you it’s nothing,” Hange reinforced, getting flustered and annoyed. “Besides, he wouldn’t even be attracted to someone like me anyways. I am extremely messy and clumsy. His shirts are never wrinkled, and he is always extremely clean and neat.”

Nanaba rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you heard of ‘opposites attract’?” Hange made a “pfft” sound.

“That’s such bullshit.” Hange felt like Nanaba was giving her false hope.

“Well you wouldn’t be asking me for advice on your crush then if you thought the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing was bullshit, would you? No.” 

The small bell above the entrance dinged, so Hange stood up. “Nanaba, I’ve got work to do, you know. That’s what you do at a job. Also, he is not my crush. ” Nanaba sighed and stood too. “I’ll see you at home.” She waved before walking ahead. “Bye, Levi. Nice to meet you.” She said in passing. Levi said “see you” to her. The patron who walked in was the same blonde guy with a big nose from last week. Levi recognized him.

“Mike!” Nanaba exclaimed, kissing his cheek. “Good to see you. Ready to go?” Mike nodded, taking her hand. “See you later, Zoe!” She called out before the couple left together. Hange and Levi were alone again. Hange came to the front of the library where Levi was. She sat down in the chair next to him. He turned to face her. Her cheeks were red.

“What time do you want to leave tomorrow?” Hange asked, crossing her legs. 

“Is 9 good? I wanna make sure I spend enough time with her.” Levi suggested. Hange smiled. 

“That’s fine. Just let me know when you want me to pick you up then. I can stay in the area, just send me the address.”

“You can stay, you know,” Levi offered. “You… don’t have to leave.” Hange looked shocked. She was very grateful for his offer.

“Are you sure? I mean, that’s very generous-”

“Don’t question me,” Levi said, looking back at the computer. That means ‘yes, I’m sure’.

“Thanks, Levi,” Hange said, standing up. “I’ll meet you at your dorm at 9 then we can get on the road.”

“Sounds good, Zoe.”

Hange woke up early the next day. She wanted to make sure everything went perfectly. She even got up early to clean out her car, which was a mess. It was full of junk. She had a pre-owned black four-seater that was well loved. She made it as clean as possible, making sure to wipe off the seats of any crumbs. It looked acceptable, and Hange went back inside. She realized at this point how long of a walk it was from her dorm to the parking lot. Nonetheless, she took the extra trip. She wanted to make a good impression. When she got back to her dorm, she packed a small backpack. Levi had texted her the address, and it was about an hour away. It was in the city, however, so it would probably take more time. She kept reminding herself to keep her mouth shut during the car ride to help him study.

She arrived at his dorm room a bit late, around 9:10. She felt really bad about this, but Levi didn’t seem to mind. Levi wore a grey university hoodie with black jeans. It was supposed to be cold today. Hange wore a black zip-up jacket with a pair of blue jeans and white sneakers. Her hair was half-up and half-down. Levi liked those colors on her. They headed for the elevator and walked to the parking lot. Hange omitted the part of her morning where she cleaned out her car as they talked about their mornings. They reached her car. She opened the trunk. He put his bag in the trunk and shut it.

“Don’t forget to keep your books in the front so you can study. I packed snacks. If you want any just let me know,” Hange said, unlocking the front door and getting in the car. 

“Thanks,” Levi said, getting in the car. He closed the door. Hange locked the car and opened her phone. She began searching his mom’s address on the GPS. It ‘dinged’ when it found her house, and she propped her phone up in the holder.

As Hange began to drive, she noticed how Levi murmurs to himself when he studies. She can hear him repeating medications to himself and reciting the cards. Hange smiled. She found it endearing. The roads were pretty busy. They had left by 9:30am. Hange enjoyed driving, however, she wasn’t the most safe driver. She would make sudden stops, jerking Levi and Hange forward in their seats. Levi was grateful his seatbelt worked. She would make sharp turns and didn’t allow the wheel to return when the turn was finished. With one of the stops, it threw the cards that were in his lap on the floor. Levi took a deep sigh, packing up his cards.

“Sorry, Levi.”

“I’m taking a break,” Levi said, closing his eyes. “I have this exam coming up and it’s all about antihypertensive medications. There are too many, I think I’m going to develop hypertension.”

Hange laughed out loud. “They aren’t that bad. You’ve gotta come up with songs and mnemonics to remember them, then it's easy!” Levi scoffed.

“Do I look like someone who comes up with songs to remember things?” Levi asked, crossing his arms.

“No,” Hange quickly replied. “But you happen to be sitting next to someone who does. Read some of the meds to me.”

“Oh, god. No,” Levi moaned, opening the window. The breeze made his hair blow in the wind. Hange was lucky enough to catch a glance. She caught a whiff of his shampoo.

“I will stop this car right now,” Hange threatened playfully, raising her voice. She made a jolting stop at a light. Levi jerked forward again and groaned.

“Fine.”

He pulled his cards out of his backpack again, finding the medication cards. “First are the ACE inhibitors. These medications include the -prils… Lisinopril, enalapril. These help lower the blood pressure by inhibiting the action of angiotension converting enzyme, which causes vasoconstriction. Adverse effects include high potassium, orthostatic hypotension, angioedema, persistent coughing…”

“Hmmm… ACE,” Hange said proudly. Levi shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“ACE: Angioedema, Cough, hypErkalemia.” Levi was shocked. “Thanks…” He murmured.

“Give me another one,” Hange challenged. Levi shuffled through his stack. “What about Beta blockers?”

“Ah…” Hange sighed. “Tell me about them. I only know so much, you know.” You can’t say you know then say I know that you only know so much. You are confusing, Levi thought.

“Beta blockers act on beta1 and beta2-adrenergic receptors, which can affect the heart, lungs, and bladder. These will lower blood pressure, as well as cause bradycardia, hypoglycemia, fatigue, and bronchospasms in patients with respiratory issues such as asthma and COPD,” Levi explained. Hange was so happy. She was helping him, and got to hear him talk. She decided at that moment that she loved his voice.

“Beta blockers seem to slow everything down,” Hange began. “Beta blockers make everything low and slow, right? They lower heart rate and blood pressure, they lower blood sugar, quote en quote ‘lower energy’ by causing fatigue… That’s what I would try to remember.”

Levi was impressed, and he isn’t impressed easily. She was extremely clever with her mnemonics, and she wasn’t even a pharmacology major.

“You are…” Levi began. Hange looked at him for a moment while they stopped at another light. He felt woozy, but in a good way. She looked nice. “Such a nerd.” Hange beamed.

“I’ll help you more later but I gotta focus on the road now. Levi smiled, putting his cards away. Hange noticed this, and turned the radio on. She got distracted trying to pick a channel, which made Levi frantic.

“I will pick a channel. Focus on the road, four-eyes,” He decided, shaking his head. His heart almost fell out of his chest. He made a mental note to never let her drive him anywhere again. Hange sighed, submissively agreeing, putting both hands on the wheel. They got into the city. Hange hadn’t been to the city often, even though it was not too far away. Levi disliked the city. It was too loud for him. Being out at the Uni didn’t make it as easy for him to sleep as he had originally thought. He was used to hearing the hustle and bustle of the city, that his ears buzzed with silence at night time on campus. Levi attempted to give Hange directions as they weaved their way through the busy roads. She almost got into two car accidents. She just laughed it off, but Levi was frazzled.

Finally, Levi thought. Out of the main city. Levi took a deep, deep breath. His mom lived on the outskirts of the city, which was very convenient. They were almost there. Hange finally found the house and pulled into the driveway. The house was small and a dark navy blue. Hange parked the car, and opened the trunk. She handed Levi his bag and they headed to the door. Hange was standing awfully close behind him which made him nervous. He knocked on the door.

A few moments later, the door opened. A beautiful lady opened the door. She had raven hair, steel blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

“Levi!” She exclaimed, smiling wide. She hugged him. Levi patted her back, and Hange saw a smile creep on his face. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Good to see you, mom. I wanted to visit.” They broke away and his mom peered over his shoulder. 

“Who’s this?”

“This is my friend, Hange,” Levi said, introducing Hange. She smiled and put out her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Ackerman.” His mom shook her hand.

“Call me Kuchel,” She insisted. She invited them in. 

“Hange actually drove me today,” Levi began, setting his bags down on the side. “I needed to study so she offered to drive…” He wasn’t sure why he told his mom this information. Maybe he felt he needed an excuse as to why he came with a girl.

“That’s so lovely! Well I’m glad the two of you decided to come down. Uncle Kenny will be stopping by later. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. Miss Hange, are you staying for dinner?”

Hange blushed, scratching her head. “I’d love to, if that’s okay.”

“Great! Make yourself at home.”

Hange admired his house. It was very cozy and extremely neat. There was a big open living room area when they first walked in, a kitchen and dining room to their left, and other rooms to the right. It smelt of clean laundry. She liked it a lot. There were assorted pictures hung on the wall. She shoved her hands in her pockets as she admired the photos. Kuchel had a photo of Levi hanging, which Hange stared at for the longest. It was a photo of Levi with his mom at an event, most likely high school graduation. The photo was taken outside on a sunny day. He wore a blue cap and gown. Kuchel’s arm was around his shoulder, smiling wide. Levi wore a small smile. She saw another picture, which was of Kuchel and an older man with long hair. Hange suddenly felt a tug at her sleeve. Levi.

“Take your shoes off,” he said. Hange slipped her shoes off and put them on the rack. 

“Levi! Hange!” Kuchel called. “Would you like some tea?” They both agreed. They wandered into the small dining room and sat across from each other. Hange liked how Levi looked that day. He looked comfortable. His grey sweater made his eyes stand out. He almost caught her standing. Kuchel carefully brought over the steeped pot of tea and sat down at the head of the table.

“I boiled some earl grey tea, I hope that’s okay. That’s Levi’s favorite,” Kuchel said, cupping both her hands around the teacup. Levi picked his tea cup up by placing his fingers around the rim, taking a slow sip.

“Hange,” Kuchel said, smiling at the girl. “How do you guys meet?”

Oh great. Here she goes.

“Well, Levi happened to come to the library I work at to work on his project. I was able to help him out… Although I study botanicals, I read a lot so I know a lot about different topics. One of them happens to be drugs. Medications, I mean. So, anyways, he and I started talking and hanging out and whatnot. And here we are,” Hange explained. When she finished, she looked at Levi. He was staring at her. Her eyes lit up again, and Levi couldn’t look away. Doesn’t everyone know they shouldn’t stare into the sun?

“That’s lovely!” Kuchel exclaims. She sips her tea. “Levi usually doesn’t ask for help. But I’m glad you were able to help him. I remember back in elementary school, he would always insist on doing the projects himself. My stubborn boy. He gets that from me, you know. I can be so stubborn sometimes.” She took a pause, and Levi jumped in.

“Mom,” Levi intervened. Kuchel looked at her son. Kuchel could tell she may have been embarrassing him. “I’m gonna go study.” Come with me, Hange, he wanted to add. Hange finished her tea, and stood up. “Thank you for the tea, Kuchel. I’d love to hear more of your stories, but I offered to help Levi study.” Kuchel smiled, squeezing Hange’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, go on ahead.” The two nodded. Levi led her down the hall, and opened a door. It looked like Levi’s bedroom. It was extremely tidy. He also had a desk. It wasn’t too big, but did the job. He had some drawers with some photos on top. He kept the door open.

“You can take the desk chair. I’ll sit on the bed,” Levi concluded. He sat on the bed, pulling his knees up. He took out his drug flash cards.

“Levi, do you have a white board? Or poster board?” Hange asked. 

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” Levi remembered he had an easel in the back of his closet. He stood up to retrieve it. He finally set it up. It was wide, which was perfect. It’s spotless, Hange thought. It’s like he never used it.

“My mom got this for me but I have yet to use it,” Levi said. Did he hear me?

“Okay,” Hange began. “So, we talked about ACE inhibitors and Beta Blockers, right? So, let’s go through the rest and compare them all.” She took out a purple marker, beginning to write on the board. In the center, she wrote “Anti-HTN Meds”. She drew an arrow to the left corner, writing “ACE Inhibitors” and writing all its information. She did the same with Beta Blockers.

“What’s next?” Hange asked, looking at Levi.

“Thiazide diuretics,” Levi sighed. “This is HCTZ. It helps lower blood pressure by removing fluids from the body, resulting in diuresis. Side effects include hypokalemia and hyponatremia, orthostatic hypotension.” Hange wrote as he spoke. He was surprised she can write so fast. 

“Okay! So, it seems that a common theme is orthostatic hypotension, no?” She questioned, not facing him. She grabbed a red marker to write “orthostatic hypotension” and replaced the other one written. As Levi read off multiple classifications of medications, Hange created the web. She made a map that connected the similarities of the medications, while making it organized enough to understand the differences. Levi was impressed for the second time that day. Hange was sincerely helping him conceptualize and comprehend the information. Then, he realized Hange hadn’t sat down since they began studying. 

“Oi, don’t break your back,” Levi said. 

“Haha! I’m fine! I’ve only been standing since around 11 am...” She took her phone out of her pocket and turned it on for the time. “...it’s almost 3 now! Wow! We really pushed through for hours! That’s fantastic!” She smiled wide at him, but Levi could tell she was exhausted from standing.

Levi hopped off his bed. “Lay down,” He ordered. Hange furrowed her brows, but didn’t protest. She sprawled supine on his bed, sighing. “Thanks, Levi,” She exhaled, closing her eyes. His bed was still a bit warm from when he was occupying it. It was lower than her bed at her dorm, but she liked it. 

“Let’s take a break,” Levi decided. He had a small flatscreen TV mounted on the wall in his room. He walked to the TV to grab the remote, and turned it on. He admired Hange for a brief moment as he passed her to sit in the desk chair. She looked tired. He put on a crime documentary. Hange perked up automatically. Her eyes widened with interest.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised you like these,” Levi assumed. She chuckled and replied: “I guess we’re both freaks after all.” It made Hange’s heart happy that they had something in common. She was worried Levi wouldn’t like her since she was so different from him, but maybe she had a chance now. She was so absorbed in the show that she didn’t realize Levi left the room to grab something to eat. Levi greeted his mom.

“Hi, honey,” Kuchel responded. “How’s Hange?”

“She’s fine. I wanted to get us something to eat.”

“Oh! You’re in luck,” Kuchel cheered, opening a cabinet to grab two bowls. “I just heated up some soup for myself. Would you like some? It’s wild rice.”

“Sounds good,” Levi replied. Kuchel filled two bowls. 

“She’s pretty, your friend Hange,” Kuchel said. She wasn’t facing Levi when she spoke. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you two ended up dating. You seem to like her a lot.” Levi felt his face flush bright red.

“Thanks for the food,” He ignored her comment, taking the bowls to his room. He made sure to keep his face out of his mother’s sight. Kuchel giggled softly to herself. She knew he wouldn’t dare to reply to a comment that he knew was true.

He came back to the room with the two bowls. “Here’s lunch,” He said, handing her the bowl. Hange was sitting with her knees to her chest, intently staring at the screen. She looked toward him when he spoke, accepting the bowl in two cupped hands. “Thank you!” She smiled wide. He smiled too. He loved her smile. “When did you get this, anyways?”

“I left the room to get it. I said, ‘Hange, I’m getting us lunch.’ You didn’t hear me?”

Hange chuckled in embarrassment. “I guess I was too absorbed in the show. Sorry.” Levi shook his head lightly and sat down. He attempted to move the chair closer to the bed without her noticing. He was successful. Hange was sitting up on the bed with her legs criss-crossed, bowl in her lap. Levi was cross-legged in the desk chair, which was right next to the bed. Hange didn’t seem to mind or even notice until she had turned to look to her right, and she realized Levi was so close to her. His face was really close. He felt her staring, but couldn’t dare to look back. His heart would’ve exploded. 

“You’re staring is creeping me out, four-eyes,” Levi said, startling Hange.

“Oh, yeah?” Hange chuckled. She suddenly grabbed his chin and turned his head towards hers. His wide eyes were staring into hers now. He felt like his heart was about to explode. “What about now?”

“...Creep,” He murmured. The tone of his voice changed entirely compared to his previous statement. Hange noticed this. His voice was soft and nervous. Levi felt his whole body start to heat up. He felt his heart throbbing in his head. He felt his breath hitch in his throat. He gently placed his hand on her cheek. She accepted his touch. He leaned in hesitantly, closing his eyes. Hange did the same, and finally there was no space between them anymore. Their lips collided.  She kissed his lips softly, as if she was nervous to kiss too hard. Levi had kissed girls before, but it was never like this. Never so emotional. Never so breathtaking. Never so soft or warm or gentle. He never wanted it to end. He was smitten by her. Their lips parted. She wasn’t extremely close after they parted, but she kept her eyes focused on his. Hange felt her heart pulsating in her chest. He looked into her rich hazel eyes again. He swore he fell in love with her in that instant.

#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levihan fic #levihan oneshot #levi x hange #levi x hanji #rivahan #fluff overload

[egcdeath]

secret santa

pairing: ransom drysdale x f!reader

a/n: this is so self indulgent. SO SELF INDULGENT. more self indulgent than anyone will ever be able to comprehend. before u all read this, i want u to know it was originally supposed to be about training ransom at a job, but then i realized that i nothing about 1. working at a coffee shop and 2. training an employee. also, i am the worst at writing dialogue. so i didn’t write a lot of dialogue LMAO enjoy :)

also, half of this was written at 1 am. just a warning

warnings: coffee shop au, enemies (kinda) to lovers, a lil fluff, not really angst but bitter feelings, kinda slow burn and then all the sudden a fast burn i’m sorry 😭

word count: 2.6k

You woke up to the sound of your alarm rumbling your bedside table sometime around the asscrack of dawn, and rubbed your eyes with a groan. Sometimes, you really couldn’t stand your job, but bills didn’t really pay themselves, did they? You rolled out of bed, and began your dreaded morning routine before heading out to start your opening shift at your local café.

Somewhere between warming up the espresso machine and taking out last night’s trash (which you shouldn’t have had to do in the first place), an older, yet expensive looking car pulled up to the front of the parking lot. You were a bit confused, as you’d never seen this vehicle, and it was quite clear that you weren’t exactly open yet. You watched as a tall man hopped out of the car, wearing a large peacoat and very unnecessary sunglasses. He approached the door, gave it a knock, then waited for you to come open it for him. Reluctantly, you made your way over, and in order to keep yourself safe, began to speak through the glass.

“Can I help you?” You asked in an annoyed tone, then gestured towards the piece of paper that labeled your hours on the door. There was no reason for any customer to be here this early. You looked up at the mystery man and made a rather intense eye contact with him. If this was any indicator of your crowd today, work was going to be far from pleasant.

“Yeah, I was told that I’m starting today?” He had a wicked smirk on his face, like he knew he was getting under your skin already. You hated people like him, and couldn’t believe that he could possibly be your coworker. On the bright side, he probably wouldn’t last long in the first place.

“Well, are you sure you’re here on time? I can’t see any situation where Melissa would schedule to open for your very first shift.” You commented with a furrowed brow.

“Eh, I kinda just figured I’d come in whenever. The girl in my bed was an early riser, so I thought to myself ‘Why not just come in now?’” He said casually.

“Your name?” You inquired, trying to keep your annoyance to yourself, and put on a customer service smile.

“Hugh, or Ransom,” he responded. You turned around, allowed yourself a huff and eye roll, then walked through the kitchen, and into the break room to check if he truly was a new employee, or just some random creep. Sure enough, a bright pink post-it note in very neat handwriting confirmed this man’s existence. You made your way back to the door, unlocked it, and let him in.

“Since you’re here, you should… set down the chairs,” you told him, less than entertained by his presence. You could just tell he was bad news. This Ransom guy was like the textbook definition of a red flag. He talked your ear off while you tried to get through your opening routine, some casual remarks about his last hookup, complaints about how he only got this job because his mother was a regular and good friends with your manager, and how he was threatened to get cut out of his grandfather’s will if he didn’t get employed soon, and what better way to spite your family than to mess up their daily coffees.

Eventually, a few more of your coworkers, along with your manager, Melissa, made it to the café before the morning rush began. You were sitting down at your typical barstool spot, and sipping an iced Americano when Melissa broke the news to you that you would be training the new employee. Upon hearing the news, you audibly groaned, and rubbed your forehead. There was no way that you could handle this man.

-------

During his first week, Ransom not only managed to offer (and successfully give) six customers his phone number, break two mugs, mess up more orders than even Euclid could comprehend, and spill straws a multitude of times all over the floor, but he began to flirt with you relentlessly. You had no idea why you’d become his new target of choice, when it was clear that he could have literally anyone he wanted. Maybe he liked that you were playing hard to get.

If you were being honest, you had to accept that he was handsome. And rich. And the definition of a fuckboy. And since you were being frank with yourself, you had to acknowledge that you were attracted to that ‘toxic and will treat you like shit’ kind of guy. You had a roster of ex boyfriends to prove that for you.

---

It was a pretty slow Tuesday afternoon, which meant you were sitting on your phone until a customer placed an order. Eventually, the little bell above the door chimed, and an older man came through, ordering a dark and bitter drink, then standing by the counter to wait. You began to restock lids while Ransom took care of making the drink, and once it was ready, you passed it over to the man. The man in question took a rather large sip, then promptly spat it out.

“What the fuck is this!” He roared, barely giving you time to react before he proceeded to toss the drink at you, spilling most of the hot content on your apron.

You gasped, gawking down at your scorched and ruined clothing, then up at the customer, who’d turned around with a huff and left, leaving a stream of strong language on his way out. You bit back tears at the whole fiasco, and cringed as both the steamy drink, and your salty tears stung different parts of your body. You turned to look at the barista, who had passed you along the drink, and were met with no other than the white devil himself. It seemed that all the blood had drained from his already otherwise pale face.

“Oh my god, this is all my fault,” he began remorsefully. “Let me make it up to you somehow.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, running a hand through your hair, and shoving Ransom angrily while you more or less stomped into the staff bathroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and frowned before bringing up your bundled apron to your face and screaming into it. Stupid fucking customers. Stupid fucking job. Stupid fucking Ransom. It’s like he came to your job just to make it hell. You were tired of cleaning up all these messes for him, and honestly, you wish he’d just quit already. The longer you worked with him, the more tempted you were to pour sugar in his gas tank, then take a club and break all the windows in the Beemer.

------

For the next month, your brain was completely elsewhere at work. Your brain was constantly going back and forth with you between finding Ransom hot and horrendous. While the pair of you finished up closing one night, you heard your coworker begin to speak to you as you placed your hand on the keys in your pocket.

“I know you hate me, Y/N. I get it. What that guy did to you was awful, and yes it was my fault, but what else have I done to hurt you?” He asked, seemingly out of the blue. You weren’t even sure how to respond. Ignoring the man and demonizing him in your head had become almost a second nature. “I mean, I think we could’ve been good friends. Even though you seem to think I’m devil incarnate, I think you’re a pretty cool chick-“ he continued before being cut off by you.

“Why do you even care?” you burst out, “Ransom, you just don’t get it do you? You’re just.. a douchebag. I get it, you have your moments where you’re candid and open with people, but half of the time you’re talking, you’re objectifying someone. Or bragging about something you own. Don’t get me wrong, I could get past what you did to me on accident, but you seriously have to work on yourself,” the words just seemed to pour out without your control. “Goodnight, Ransom,” you said simply before leaving the café for the night.

——

Since that day, the tension between you and Ransom had evidently become more thick. Since he was finally finished training with you, you made sure to only speak to him if you absolutely needed to, and even then, you only communicated with him in brief and straightforward answers. Sure, it seemed like a small thing to be upset about, and sure, he’d apologized, but something told you that any excuse to stay away from Ransom was a good excuse.

Though he appeared to be an immoral and selfish man, he seemed genuinely sorry for all that he’d put you through. Occasionally, you’d be sitting in the break room and look up from your phone to see him watching you. When you’d make eye contact, he would look like he wanted to say something to you, but your petty ass would leave, or look back at your phone. He was bad news anyway.

Your boss quickly caught onto what was going on between the two of you, and usually, Melissa didn’t like to participate in petty drama, but your new sour mood was such a stark contrast from before, and it seemed to shift the whole mood of the café.

That afternoon, Melissa called for a team meeting a bit before closing, and suggested a family dinner along with a Secret Santa. She’d said something along the lines of ‘It’s been way too long since we’ve done a team bonding activity, and a gift exchange is perfectly fitting for the Holiday season.’ This did make you perk up, as Melissa had a great taste in restaurants, and you were always down for a good gift exchange.

Melissa then told everyone to write their names down, then put them in a decorative Santa hat. You and your coworkers obliged, then began to pass around the hat once again in order to draw a name. You really hoped to get Xavier. You had the perfect idea of something he’d love. As you drew a piece of paper from the hat, you imagined the matching pair of fluffy socks for a human and dog that you’d passed by during your last trip to Target. You began to unfold it, thinking of what color he might like the most, when you looked down and saw ‘Ransom’ drawn out in chicken scratch.

You tried your best to mask your annoyance at who you received, but on the inside, you were seething. You mentally cursed the universe out while you pulled on your coat, and grimaced to yourself once you got out to your car. How were you supposed to get this asshole a gift?

—-

The week leading up to the exchange went fairly well for you, although it was getting a bit exhausting to be so mad at Ransom all the time. You tried to be less harsh with him, considering you needed to learn more about him in order to get him a somewhat decent gift for your exchange.

He’d seem to have taken your conversation with him to heart, and began to talk less and less about other girls when he was working with you. He didn’t comment on how well your jeans fit you, and you noticed that he’d often overextend himself in order to help you with (pretty basic) daily aspects of the job. Ransom would ask you questions about yourself, and your family, and speak less about himself. If you were honest with yourself, he was becoming a better man. And the best part was, he seemed to be doing it just for you. The thought of which brought heat to your face.

—

On the night of the exchange, you threw on a hideous and scratchy Christmas sweater before picking up your neatly wrapped gift for Ransom. You truly hoped that he’d like it, even though it certainly wasn’t the most expensive item. You bid farewell to your cat, then went on your way to the restaurant. You had to admit, you were a bit late. So it should’ve been no surprise when you arrived, and found that the only seat left at the table was next to Ransom. You gave him a cordial smile before sitting down and ordering yourself a glass of Merlot.

Something about being so close to him was kind of riling you up. The strong timbre sent coming off of him was making your whole body feel slightly warmer than normal, and you tried to ignore this strange sensation while you talked and joked with your coworkers. At one point, Ransom leaned in nice and close to you, and began to speak to you.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as hideous as Karmen’s sweatshirt,” he whispered right into the shell of your ear. Maybe it was the wine talking, but that simple action sent a whole chill through your body, and made you flush even harder than you’d flushed before. You let out a little giggle and nodded in agreement, looking across the table at her very ugly sweater.

“To be fair, the whole point of this was to wear something really ugly,” you turned your head back to where it was before, only to find that Ransom had somehow moved even closer to you.

“I just don’t know where you find something like that,” he commented, gazing much too deep into your eyes. You swore you felt the room shift after he began looking at you like that. There was about a 20% chance that you’d be able to keep your panties on after this kind of exchange. Luckily for you, a waitress broke the tension for you, setting down a few plates for everyone, then bidding them farewell. Damn.

The food was amazing, and didn’t last very long, meaning that it was time to pass gifts around sooner than later. You watched as Amy received a gift card from Sophie, Emily opened a plethora of chocolates gifted to her by Melissa, and Xander whiffed a candle given to him by Kennedy, then, it was your turn. You glanced around the table before you felt the arm next to you reach down, then hand you an oversized gift bag.

“I hope you like it,” Ransom said with a shy smile. You casually felt your cheeks on your way to pull out the very large item. You found it was a very large, and soft, hand knit blanket. It looked like it could’ve cost a small fortune, and you immediately found yourself embarrassed.

“Oh wow. This is perfect! Thank you so much,” you grinned over at your coworker, who seemed to be blushing himself. “Well, I guess I should probably give you this then,” you chuckled awkwardly before passing him your wrapped package. He tore it open barbarically, then began to laugh. Of all the gifts in the world, you two had gotten each other somewhat similar items. Sure, it wasn’t hand knit with the love of some grandma who ran a small business on Etsy, but it was the thought that counts.

“I love it, Y/N,” he exclaimed, looking deep into your eyes once again. He ran his fingers through the soft fabric, then set a hand on your arm. In that moment, it felt like time stopped. It was just you two, sitting in a quiet room, enjoying the presence of each other. You don’t even know what had gotten into you, but before you knew it, you felt a nose pressed up against yours, and a billion butterflies erupt out of your stomach. You heard a few grimaces from your coworkers at the sappy, Hallmark-like moment but what could you say.

Maybe Ransom was not that bad after all.

#ransom thrombey x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out fanfic #hey i wrote that lol

[deliriousgeek]

Javier Pena x Reader

All conversation here is Spanish, BUT for the sake of possible mistranslation I will keep the dialogue in English. 

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: slight stalker dude, alcohol, blood, death (but not to main characters)

TBH the timeline is off but lets ignore that

Also if you wanna just skip the part with Javi, because I added some backstory, look for the bold star *

Masterlist

To say that Y/n’s day had been trying, would be an understatement. 

A group of rogue sicarios had attacked another marketplace in the morning, another warning sign to their former leader Pablo Escobar. The emergency medical clinic that Y/n worked at had taken in the gunshot victims that the main hospital wouldn’t be able to save. If the patient would survive the wound, they were taken and treated at the hospital. If the patient was nearing death, they were sent to the clinic. The worst part of it all was that the victims didn’t know they were dying. The nurses and doctors had tried to make each patient as comfortable as possible, and it was only because they knew that the patient would die. 

After a gruelling fourteen hour day that began at six in the morning, Y/n began walking to her part of the nurses’ station. She had finished attending to her last patient ten minutes ago, now she stood above a trash can as she peeled the now bloodied latex gloves off her hands. Ten minutes. A lot can be done in ten minutes. One can make a phone call to their loved one, make a purchase at the store, listen to a song or two, all in just 10 minutes. Yet Y/n had done none of those things in the last 10 minutes. In the past 10 minutes she had entered a janitor’s closet, locked the door, sat on an empty bucket, and cried. She cried and cried until the pain of unbearable loss was now an empty pit in her chest. 

Ten minutes ago she had been holding the hand of a young boy. He was almost ten by the looks of it. He had been there at the market when the sicarios began opening fire on the civilians. Y/n hadn’t even known his name. All she knew, from what the barely conscious boy had said, was that his mom was counting on him to make money to take care of his siblings. That was all the information she had on this boy. By the time the paramedics had gotten to him, he had lost so much blood that all they could do was stop the bleeding in an effort to keep him out of shock. When they had finally gotten him situated at the clinic, it was too late to save him. He was one of the last patients brought in. They had used all their blood transfusions on previous victims to make them comfortable. All Y/n could do was sit by his side as he closed his eyes for what he didn’t know would be the last time. He asked to hold her hand. He said that Y/n reminded him of his mom, and he missed his mom. Sometimes, Y/n wished she couldn’t speak or understand Spanish. The little boy’s voice still rang clear in her ears. It was one of the most heart breaking, yet endearing things she’s ever heard a person say. 

“Tell mama I’ll be home soon. I just need to rest for a while.” 

Y/n scoffed bitterly. He thought he would go home to his mom, his siblings, his family. Instead he was gone. Another casualty made by the hands of the cartel. 

Y/n took in a deep breath. A new feeling of rage had overcome her grief. If those damn cartel leaders could see the death they bring, if they could see the amount of people affected by their actions, maybe they would stop. Y/n had seen at least a hundred patients come into the clinic door that day and the only way they went out was in a body bag. To the cartel, that boy was just another number, another statistic, another dead person; to Y/n he was more than that.

He was another soul added to the lives she could have saved. 

Weighing all these thoughts made Y/n’s head hurt, and the feeling of loss began to creep its way back into her chest. She needed to clock out, and leave; and so she did. Her way back home was quiet. She didn’t turn on the radio, nor did she hum that song that was constantly in her subconscious, she simply drove home with only the noise of the thoughts in her head. Once Y/n had gotten home she slammed the door behind her and headed straight to the bathroom. She let the water run and heat up as she picked out her pajamas for the night. After peeling off her scrubs, Y/n stepped towards the shower, but not before catching sight of herself in the mirror. That made her stop. She turned to her reflection and stared. She noticed her eye bags were darker than they were when she left in the morning. Her hair was in a low bun that had bits of her hair sticking out; a sign that she had been too busy comforting patients to care what her hair looked like, it just needed to be out of her face. Her skin looked dull and her lips were chapped, but the most unrecognizable feature Y/n saw was her own eyes. They stared back at her and showed nothing but a blank stare. Y/n chalked up these observations as effects of seeing so many people die, and knowing one could do nothing about it. Blinking, Y/n stepped away from the mirror and into the shower. The warm water did little to nothing to warm the cold hollow feeling in her chest. After drying herself off and changing in to clean clothes Y/n sat herself down on the couch. A defeated breath left her lips. Her apartment was quiet, too quiet even for an apartment in a low end neighborhood in Columbia. 

* She shook her head. A quiet environment is the perfect invitation to thoughts. Y/n didn’t want those right now. So instead of letting the quietness consume her she pulled herself off the couch and into an outfit for a night out. She wanted alcohol— no —needed alcohol to stop these dark thoughts from creeping back into her head. There was a bar near her apartment that she had yet to go to. Y/n decided she would go there. With her purse hanging over her shoulder and keys in hand, Y/n locked up her apartment and headed to the bar. The bar was a short enough distance that Y/n figured it would do her some good to walk there instead of drive. To some degree, she was right, the slight breeze had cooled her off and in turn helped blow away some of the tension she was feeling. Y/n entered the bar and made her way to the back of the room where she sat down on a stool in front of the bartender who was cleaning a glass. 

“What can I get for you ma’am?”

Y/n places her purse in her lap while resting an elbow on the counter, jutting out two fingers to rest her temple on. “A neat whiskey please.”

The bartender nods and begins to make her drink. She turns from the bartender to survey the rest of the bar. There’s plenty of people occupying the tables and booths that line the walls. There’s a group playing music on stage and it seems that their music is just loud enough to distract Y/n from her thoughts. The atmosphere is bustling and a little noisy; it’s just what Y/n needs. The bartender places her drink in front of her, taking Y/n out of her stare.

“Here you are ma’am.”

She nods, “Thank you.”

She nurses her drink for a while before there’s only a few sips left. She tanks it and hails the bartender over with a wave of her hand. 

“Guaro por favor.” Y/n speaks.

The bar tender nods as he takes her now finished glass of whiskey. 

Y/n places her head in her palm, her hair falls in front of her face. Looking up, she takes a long look at the bar goers around her and closes her eyes, listening to the soft trumpet of the band that is accompanied by strums of the guitar. Her face scrunches up as the memory of the young boy's face flashes across her mind. She forces her eyes open and dismisses the memory from her head. The bartender places the shot in front of her and she thanks him. Then downs the shot, the flavor and burning sensation coats her throat. She places the glass back on the counter before asking for another. The bartender eyes her, as if questioning if he should get her another drink or not, before taking her glass and providing her with another shot of clear liquid. Y/n places the glass to her lip before swinging her head back, effortlessly taking in the alcohol once more. 

This action catches the attention of another patreon of the bar. The way she carried herself screamed confidence, but her slight frown and pale face carried a dark emotion that couldn’t be described. She had just placed the glass of her second shot on the counter when Javier excused himself from his drinking buddies and made his way over to the bar. Truth be told, he had been watching her since she walked in the doors, and he wasn’t the only one who had taken interest in the lonely women taking shots alone. However, he was determined he would be the first to talk to her. Luckily the stool next to her wasn’t taken, so he sat himself down next to her. His arm propped himself up as he leaned on the counter, his body facing her. 

A charming smile worked it’s way onto his face. “Hola.” He spoke, testing if she spoke Spanish.

Y/n noticed the greeting and side glanced at him, wary. “Hola.” She replied.

“I’m a regular at this bar. I’ve never seen you here before.”

Y/n turned her head to look at him. He was a nicely dressed man. Dark hair, dark mustache, tan skin and a leather jacket to match his raspy voice. 

“It’s my first time here.” She dismisses his smile and looks forward. 

Just as his lips open are about to say something else, Y/n speaks again. 

“I’m not interested.” Her voice is quipped.

Javier’s eyebrows slightly lift and he is, albeit, a little bit stunned. His head cocks to the side and his lip quirks up into a stunned smile. Then he nods, lifting his hands up to signal surrender, before lowering them back down and leaning towards Y/n. “Well, then I’ll leave you to it, newcomer. But for the record, I also came over to tell you that the guy in the corner with the white cowboy hat on,” He nods to the back of the room near the stage. 

Y/n follows his gaze. Sure enough a man with a white cowboy hat on sits with his legs splayed out, angled towards them. He wears a long sleeve shirt and a leather vest, with cowboy boots to match. 

“Has been eyeing you for the past ten minutes,” Javier leans towards Y/n’s ear. “and he doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” With that, he stands up from the stool and heads back to the table with his buddies. 

Y/n is left slightly wide eyed, and now more cautious of the man staring at her from behind. Suddenly feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable, Y/n asks for her check. She pays and leaves. The walk home is again, accompanied by a slight breeze, something Y/n is thankful for to cool off her now warmed skin. She walks in silence for a bit longer, listening to the nightlife of her town. Y/n relishes in the feeling of the alcohol in her system before listening to her surroundings once more. She can hear families eating dinner, friends partying, dogs barking, children playing under the street lights, but then a noise catches her off guard. She hears footsteps, heavy foot steps. Taking note of the area she’s in, it’s normally a fairly frequented place. To get to her apartment she has to walk through the town square, which, at this time of night is usually filled with some people, but not tonight. The only things keeping her company are the street lights, the slight buzz of alcohol starting to take effect and the approaching footsteps. A flight feeling of unease fills Y/n’s stomach as she remembers the man who was staring at her in the bar, and the words of warning from the leather jacket clad man, “He doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Not wanting to take any chances, even if the footsteps are of a passer by, Y/n quickens her pace, only to hear that the person behind her quickens their pace as well. At the noise Y/n’s heartbeat quickens and she sobers up just enough to understand she could be in danger. She briskly walks down a road lined with houses before turning a corner, then another corner, then another. She’s straying off the path to home a little, but if it meant losing whoever could possibly be following her then it might be better. Y/n stops and waits, ear straining to listen around the corner for the same heavy footsteps. 

It’s quiet. Y/n lets out a breath relief, then, all too soon, the footsteps are back. However this time, they’re closer. 

Y/n’s eyes widen at the realization, she’s being followed and whoever it is knows where she is. Quickly looking around for anything she could possibly use as a weapon, Y/n spots some rocks on the ground. Her eyes flit to the rocks then to her purse, before she hastily gathers the rock in her purse and fastens the purse cover tight. Her breathing is quickens. The footsteps are closer maybe right around the corner. Y/n straightens herself against the wall of the building and holds her purse by the straps above her shoulder as she listens. She tries to slow her breaths and watches the bottom of the wall corner. The footsteps are louder, closer, right next to her. Then, as soon as she sees the tip of the person’s shoe peep around the corner, she swings. 

“Shit!” A raspy cry rings about as the shoe disappears around the corner once more. 

Y/n pulls herself from around the corner, bag still raised and ready to swing again as she takes in the scene in front of her. In the dim light she sees her pursuer stumbling backwards with two hands cradling his nose. She observes his clothes. She looks at his head, no cowboy hat. She looks at his torso, no leather vest. Then her eyes roam down his legs, no cowboy boots.

Instead of the ensemble she expected, Y/n is met with combed dark brown hair, a mustache, leather jacket and jeans. 

“What the hell was that for?” The man accusingly raises his voice, still hissing as he tries to nurse his nose. 

“Why the hell are you following me?” Y/n shoots back with the same tone. She hopes she left a bruise.

“Because that creep with the hat got up and left the bar after you did!” The man flails one arm behind him as if gesturing to another person as he covers his nose with the other. 

Y/n’s eyes widen. “Oh.” She realizes her mistake. Then she realizes the man has been holding his nose for too long for his injury to be a bruise. “Shit. I’m so sorry.” She lowers her bag and places it back across her body. “Let me look at your nose.”

She steps forward to help, then he steps back, holding out a hand. 

“Look lady, you’re the one that caused this. I don’t think I really trust you enough to not break it even further.” His delivery is terse. He doesn’t look at her when he speaks, eyes squinting in pain. 

Y/n rolls her eyes. “I’m a woman walking home alone at night, I think you can understand my reason for being defensive.”

When the only reply she gets from the man is a hiss as he tries to touch his nose, testing the injury, she speaks again, but this time a in a more gentle tone.

“And I’m a nurse. I won’t break your nose.”

Javier lets out a puff of a laugh, almost a scoff. “Pretty sure you just did.”

Y/n sighs at his stubbornness. “Look, if your nose is broken then you’re going to need immediate attention. If it’s not, then all you’ll need is an ice pack. Okay? So let me look at it and then we can be on our separate ways.”

Javier opens his eyes at this. He squints at her, then slowly nods. “Okay. Deal.”

“Good.” 

Y/n leads him back to the town square where there is better light. She makes him sit down on the fountain edge so she can observe his nose from above. Now that she has a better look at it, she takes in the bruises already starting to form. Her face scrunches and she feels guilt in her chest. 

“So? Is it broken or not?” Javier impatiently inquires.

Y/n only nods, feeling too guilty to retort with his attitude. “Unfortunately, yes. It is broken. You need some medical attention right away.”

Javier looks at her with a cocked head. “I’d say I’m getting some pretty good medical attention right now.” His eye brow lifts as a smirk appears on his face.

Y/n is startled at his brazen attempt at flirting, before her eyes narrow. “I broke your nose. I will not hesitate to break another body part of yours as well.”

Javier lets out a breathy chuckle. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

Y/n nods before speaking. “The emergency clinic is still open. C’mon, I’ll take you.” She begins to walk away. 

Javier stands up and takes long strides to catch up with her. 

“Why are you trusting me?”

Y/n stops. “What?” She turns to him.

“Just a few minutes ago I was following you. Now you’re all of a sudden very comfortable with walking me to the clinic. How do you know I didn’t make up that whole thing about that creep following you out of the bar just so you wouldn’t suspect me of anything?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice. 

Without breaking eye contact, Y/n reaches down for her purse and holds it up so that Javier could see it. “I’m not trusting you. As a nurse I took an oath to heal those around me. However, that doesn’t mean I will hesitate to use this should you make me uncomfortable again. Is that clear?”

A playful smile makes its way onto Javier’s lips. “Crystal clear ma’am.”

Posted on 12/7/20

Part 2 at the clinic anybody?

Translations: 

sicarios: hired mercs/men of the cartel

guaros: Columbian nickname for a type of alcohol

#javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x nurse reader #javier pena imagines #javier pena x reader he protects you #narcos javier pena #narcos javier pena x reader #javier pena x fem reader

[kelpyart]

There's just something SO relaxing about finally drawing and designing canon characters how I always imagined them reading the books ;; Also- I have the other ones done (The Prophecies Begin and The New Prophecy) but wanted to do a few touchups on them before submitting! Anyways- super fun challenge! Next is going to be a wall of text as to why I designed them like I did and maybe some head-canons I have for them... Darkstripe - I gave him more of a dark gray/brown tint like the trash that he is. His eyes are SUPER PALE YELLOW just because I thought it'd be neat to be light that pale yellow, reflective color. I wish his relationship (half-brother) with Graystripe would have been developed more. I know you can't go into all relationships like that, but I feel like they are complete polar opposites with the same mother, so that could have been a really interesting sub-plot to be explored. My headcanon would be that he always looked down on Graystripe because of how his mother took another mate after his father died. Also he smells like stagnant pond water. Redtail - Ahhh Redtail, my boy. I haven't read Redtail's Debt, so I may be wrong on a few of these things but... Let's star with the design. You can't see the fullbody I have for him and Spottedleaf, but Redtail is large patches of ginger whereas my Spottedleaf is much more speckled. Other than that, they have the same color pallette! I 100% stan Trans Redtail. This is one of my favorite headcanons and I love it. And this can totally still work for him being Sandstorm's parent which is ok with me  Or not! That's fine too! I just stan Trans Redtail! Redtail is in love with Runningwind but when Sandstorm is born, Sandstorm's surrogate mother becomes Brindleface. Also, I absolutely would have loved to change the books so that Redtail, not Spottedleaf, was Fireheart's StarClan guide. ALSO Go read Redtail's Choice on Tumblr?! It's so good!? Like really! Go read it!!   Longtail - So I always had this idea in my head that Longtail was always pretty vain- always viewed himself as an extremely good looking character, so when Firepaw shredded his ear, more than anything, his pride was hurt, but also his good looks (at least, to him!). Longtail becoming deputy would have been so much great character development and I would have loved to see that- would have really showed his maturity away from Tigerstar/Darkstripe and really prove not only his loyalty to ThunderClan, but to Firestar and I LIVE for that. Every single Longtail design I see is 100% valid and I LOVE the ALL of the different designs in the community (but I am WEAK for cinnamon / cinnamon silver). He really did NOT want to mentor again after Swiftpaw, feeling that Swiftpaw's death was his fault- it really took some persuading for him to be willing to mentor again. After Longtail was blinded, Goldenflower took care of him, helping to guide him, encourage him, and describe his surroundings to him after they made it to the lake territory and they formed a really strong bond over him doing the best he could with Swiftpaw and both of their shared experiences with Tigerstar. Ace 100%. Yellowfang - I always LOVED Yellowfang in the original arc, but after that, my love for her kind of burned out a little...I didn't like how she *lied* to Squirrelflight saying that she would never be able to have kits and pretty much guilted her into raising the three but... I digress. In Squirrelflight's Hope, she literally gave the middle finger to Moth Flight about having kits and THEN making the rule for medicine cats not to have kits. Her relationship with Raggedstar was horrible, toxic, and borderline (if not fully) abusive and I hate it. The only real headcanon I have for her is that basically, Cinderpelt was the daughter that she had never had, so I like... love that. So, as Cinderpaw recovered from her accident, Yellowfang worked herself tirelessly trying to find any way that she could help Cinderpaw's body and soul heal. She talked and met with other medicine cats, studied the bones in prey, and other various methods, trying to figure out how to help the apprentice. She was tough on Fireheart, but always had a sweet spot for Cinderpaw, often taking her treats while Cinderpaw was recovering. Sandstorm - Sandstorm isn't the typical definition of beautiful but is beautiful in her own strong, independent, hard-working way. Her morals and ethics are what make her so beautiful. I completely agree that she is slightly larger than Fireheart, and much larger if he had the same length of fur that she does. She's a big buff and I love her for it. I completely wish she would have had a scene where she went absolutely feral on Tigerstar for killing both of her parents. Like wtf regardless of her family tree, Tigerstar literally killed Redtail, Runningwind, and Brindleface and she didn't beat his ass for it and I hate that.  Also- Sandstorm only had one litter because she hated being pregnant because she's too much of a busy-body and too risky during border skirmishes. She hated being told to sit out or rest while others were risking their lives. Also- small ear gang I love her Cinderpelt - Cinderpelt- my girl ;; A lady who deserved more but totally made the absolte best of the life she was given. Yellowfang made her into the hardened, no non-sense medicine cat she is and I adore her for that, even telling Tigerclaw to shut up. I love it. I read a headcanon once (which I fully support) that she was given her name Cinder-PELT after the Silver-PELT, to always remind her of her connection to StarClan and how she met her destiny like a true warrior. I personally hate CinderxFire. I don't like it one bit. She doesn't need a relationship to be the badass that she is. She's stocky and strongly built, contrary to a lot of medicine cats- she has the build of a warrior and the size to back it up. Also heck on the Erins for not exploring more about the relationship between Brightheart and Cinderpelt, being sisters and also Cinderheart having to take care of her after she was mauled by a dog and then subsequently named Lostface. I also wish I could have saw Cinderpelt take a chunk out of Bluestar for being so horrible and naming her beloved sister that. Also she was super honored to mentor her old mentor's daughter. I love it. Templated by my friend Jayie-The-Hufflepuff || The Prophecies Begin Design Challenge II Template

#warriors #warrior cats #design challenge #darkstripe #warriorcats #redtail #longtail #sandstorm #yellowfang #cinderpelt #mine #my art

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 21: An Owner

The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs

In which Lacey just wants to belong 

Read on AO3

The condom box was open. 

Lacey Gold looked down at the crumpled plastic bag in the back seat of Mr. Gold’s Cadillac with a sickening dead feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t brought the bags in last night. It had been raining too hard and she’d been too upset after she’d seen him… seen them. Her husband, and a man she didn’t know, standing close together. Touching. 

Mr. Gold never touched anyone if he could help it. He hadn’t touched her in six months. 

And now the condom box was open. And the lid was popped up on the tube of KY jelly. And there was an empty black wrapper on the red carpet of the floor mat. And last night Mr. Gold had taken the car out late and had come back even later.  

She should be grateful that there was no sign of the actual used condom. She could imagine the thing, a limp white tube, like the skin of a snake after it had shed. Would finding it make her feel any worse? It was bad enough to imagine it sliding into a garbage can, or being casually tossed out the car window. The end of her marriage--of her life as she knew it--was nothing more than another piece of litter on the highway somewhere. 

Trash. Mr. Gold had always said she was trash.

Eyes burning, Lacey grabbed the plastic bag and headed back into the house. Mr. Gold was coming out to the garage. She pushed past him.

“Aren’t you--” he began.

But she cut him off with a “No!” and unlocked the door to the kitchen. Alone in the unlit room, she braced her hands against the counter and faced the wall.  

She sounded like a child, a two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. For a second she wondered if Mr. Gold would come back. Maybe she hoped that he would. Maybe she hoped he would come into the kitchen and ask her what was going on. As if both of them didn’t already know. Maybe she hoped that he would comfort her--that he would try to offer some sort of explanation. Maybe she hoped that he would yell at her--that he would tell her enough was enough, that he had expectations of her behavior and he didn’t give a damn how she felt. Maybe she wanted to yell at him.

No, she definitely wanted to yell at him.

That was probably why he didn’t come into the kitchen. Over the pounding in her ears, Lacey heard the sound of the Cadillac starting up and pulling out of the garage. Mr. Gold had to open the shop, after all. That had to be more pleasant than having another emotional confrontation with his hysterical madwoman of a wife.

“Coward,” she spat. Somehow, it felt like the worst possible thing she could call her husband. “Afraid of having a fucking honest conversation.”

She was still holding the bag by the handle. Strange that the plastic hadn’t melted in the heat of her rage. Strange that the cloth clutch in her other hand hadn’t started smoking. There was fire in her heart, magma flowing through her veins instead of blood. She wanted to explode. 

She was going to explode.

Stomping through the halls and up the stairs, she threw open the door to Mr. Gold’s bedroom. It had been more than a month since she had last set foot in this room, not since the shitshow that had been their anniversary.  

Lacey didn’t dwell on coming back here. She didn’t look through the empty space inside the armoire where her clothes had been. She didn’t go into the bathroom and see if her husband had let his toiletries spread out, now that hers weren’t in the way.

She didn’t look at her pillow, at her half of the bed they used to share.

What she wanted was under the bed. Three custom-made burgundy leather cases on wheels. They looked like luggage, but they had never traveled farther than Mr. Gold’s cabin. Lined up in a row, they took up the entire length of the bed. 

There was a small padlock on each case. For most of her marriage, the three keys to these three locks were the only keys she had. Mr. Gold hadn’t trusted her to come and go in his house or his shop or his car. But he had allowed her to own these. The care and keeping of their toys was her responsibility. 

Now there was a layer of dust on the leather. Mrs. Gold wiped a streak off with her hand, then wiped her hand on her beige suede skirt. The dust blended in perfectly with her ugly, colorless clothes. Her ugly, colorless self. 

 Grunting with effort, Lacey hoisted the cases up onto the bed. Clouds of dust billowed up and fell onto Mr. Gold’s coverlet but she didn’t care. Let the bastard breathe in the disuse, let him choke on it. 

One by one, she unlocked the cases. It was easier than she would have thought, after so long. But she knew the turn of these keys like she knew her own body. The motion was fluid and smooth. Even after all this time, the click of these locks opening up sent a tingle up her spine.

It had been a ritual, once, that always began with the opening of these locks. Sometimes Mr. Gold would tell her exactly what she should bring to him. Sometimes he gave her more freedom--she could pick out a selection of what she wanted or what she thought she could handle, and then he would choose which option suited him best. Sometimes he ordered her to open the cases and wait, kneeling on the floor in an empty room. He would decide what to do with her, and she would have to take it without complaint. 

Though the outside of the cases was dusty, the black velvet lining was still pristine. The contents inside were as beautiful as ever. She used to spend hours taking care of these things. Polishing the inlaid wooden paddles, rubbing the leather restraints with saddle soap, making sure the metal chains always gleamed like new. It was all high-quality, the best money could buy, so much better than a cheap slut like her deserved.

Every item had a home, and they were all laid out, neat as the jewelry cases in Mr. Gold’s shop. The dildos and butt plugs were lined up according to size, with length taking priority over girth. Coiled ropes were likewise organized by thickness and weight and how much they could hurt her. The jewel tone colors of glass and metal and silicone stood out from the black velvet, lurid and enticing.

Lacey’s fingers grazed gently over the candles and the ball gags, the collars he put her in when he wanted to feel especially owned. Clamps that used to pinch her sensitive spots, with small, polished weights that added to the pain. Mrs. Gold had taken so much pride in these things and what they could do to her. What Mr. Gold could do to her.   

The final case was more of a catch-all, where she stored the condoms and lube and massage oils. Rubber gloves, because Mr. Gold was particular about how dirty he got his hands. And the first aid kit, for when that was necessary. Rope-cutting shears, burn cream, sterile bandages and antiseptic. Everything in the last case was the sort of thing she liked to buy at the drug store all at once, to make it obvious what they were getting up to on any given day.

She had always bought more than they would ever use. That was part of the game, part of letting people wonder if they were really seeing what she was showing them. Even when Mr. Gold was fucking her three times a day, she bought enough supplies to make it look like it was ten times a day. The two of them were sex gods--or sex demons--and they wanted the whole Goddamned town to know it. 

That was why she had bought the stuff in her hands now. She’d wanted it to look like things were normal. She’d wanted to feel normal, to pretend for just a few Goddamned minutes that the whole of her reality wasn’t ripping apart at the seams. 

So she’d bought a box of condoms that she thought would never be opened. She’d bought a tube of KY jelly she thought would never be used. For the sake of… what? Nostalgia? Keeping up appearances? Hope?

Had she really hoped that they would ever use these things again?

Lacey let out a muted shriek, a pathetic mewl of rage. It was as much noise as she could make. In a blur of motion, she spun on her heel so she wouldn’t have to look at the cases. 

But everywhere she looked there was a memory. Her and her husband, using these toys, experimenting with her body, testing her limits all over this room. They’d loved it. Even if they hadn’t loved each other, they’d loved sex. They’d loved playing games together, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, between humiliation and adoration. He loved owning her, and she loved being owned.

All of that was gone now.

“What’s the point?” she whispered. 

She’d been trying, ever since their anniversary. She’d been trying to be more than just his sex toy. She’d thought that she could be someone else, more than just Mrs. Gold. She’d thought that allowing herself to care about her family again would help.

But she couldn’t be just Lacey French anymore either. It was good to be able to talk to her dad and her friends again, but they weren’t her husband. They had no place in her sex life. She couldn’t even talk to them about the kinds of things that got her off! Platonic and familial ties were not the same as the sheer eroticism that had once defined her marriage.

Had once defined her.

Why did it still hurt? It had been months since Mr. Gold had wanted her. Why did it feel worse, now that she knew exactly who he wanted instead? A man. That was his "Belle." A gorgeous, trim, bad boy in expensive clothes. Honestly, it made sense. Of course there was no woman in Storybrooke named Belle. That was just a nickname Mr. Gold had given to him. 

It didn’t surprise her that Mr. Gold was with a man. She knew him too well to be shocked by that. Though they’d never actually gotten anyone else to play with them, he had prepared her for an encounter with anyone of any gender. He felt the same way about men that she felt about women: Beauty was beauty. Pleasure was pleasure. Sex was sex.

I love you, Belle.

And love, apparently, was love.   

Lacey dumped the contents of the bag from the drugstore into the third case. If Mr. Gold wanted to use this shit on his Belle, he was welcome to it, he had keys just like she did. She zipped the cases closed and fastened the padlocks. It wasn’t until she began hoisting them off the bed and onto the floor that an idea finally snapped into place: 

Fuck him.

She squeezed her palm around the leather handle of the first case and considered the thought for a moment. 

Fuck him.

Screw him, Janine had said, the first time she’d told her about Belle. That man is cheating on you and you don’t even get the satisfaction of walking away? 

When she’d had that conversation with her cousin, Lacey hadn’t been ready to leave Mr. Gold. Even now she wasn’t ready to walk out. How could she? She didn’t have a job or enough money to live off of. Things may be easier with her father, but she had no intention of moving back into her childhood bedroom or working at the flower shop without pay. 

The most independence she had been able to exert was moving her things across the hall to the guest room. It had felt like an exile, a self-imposed banishment. But maybe she could make that room feel a bit more like home.  

She took a breath. It felt like the first full breath she’d taken since October. Carefully, one by one, she wheeled the leather cases full of sex toys out of Mr. Gold’s room. They didn’t fit as well under the bed in the guest room--she had to push them snugly under the metal frame. It would be hard to get to them in a hurry. But they were there. They were hers.

Mr. Gold had nurtured her appetites, but he hadn’t created them. He didn’t own them. Lacey had always been a girl with a healthy imagination. The fact that she used to read every book she could get her hands on--including romances novels that were not age-appropriate--only added more fuel to her burning inner fire. 

He had expanded her horizons, he had given a form to her yearnings; but she had been looking for an adventure for as long as she could remember. Sex with him had been everything she’d ever imagined. Everything they’d ever done together was something she’d thought about doing when she was just a curious young woman, alone at night in a twin bed above the flower shop.

She’d wanted sex before Mr. Gold. She could want sex after him. 

In the early morning, with the lights off, the bedroom was a murky gray. Lacey pulled down the blinds and drew the curtains to make it even darker. Her heart was already racing, just from thinking about what she was going to do. Down in the kitchen, her pulse had pounded with the fire of anger, but now she was filling up with a sweeter, darker heat. 

She stepped out of her heels and began to unbutton her blouse. She unzipped the skirt that was the color of dust, of disappointment, and rolled down her opaque brown tights. She didn’t look in the mirror until she was naked. 

Stripped bare, except for her wedding ring. She couldn't take that off yet.

It was impossible to judge her body when it was like this. Without clothes, without a costume, she felt like she had no identity at all. She didn’t even have the marks and bruises that Mr. Gold used to brand her with. She looked like a naked Barbie doll in the bottom of a toy chest.

 Lacey had grown up knowing she was pretty, and not caring much. She had never watched her weight, like Mara, or worried about getting zits like Janine. She was lucky to fit the mold set by other girls at Storybrooke High. She’d looked enough like the models in magazines that it didn’t matter that she’d never be able to dress like them. 

After she married Mr. Gold, his opinion had become the only one that would ever matter. Her body became a mannequin that he could dress and pose as he saw fit. Sometimes he told her she was beautiful, though it was just as likely to be an insult. A pretty face with nothing behind it, just how I like my women.

Was that how he liked his men? Was that what Belle was like?

Scowling, Lacey put her hand to her breast and squeezed until it hurt. When she took her hand away, she saw the pink marks on her pale skin. 

That felt better. She breathed.

Still looking at her face in the mirror, Lacey cupped her cheek with her palm. Slowly, she dragged her hand down over her jaw. Two of her fingers caught against her lower lip, pulling down at the red inner flesh. She breathed.

Her hand rested over her throat. Ever so slightly, she pushed in, until she could feel the pressure, until she could feel her heartbeat against her fingertips. It was almost as good as a collar. Almost as good as Mr. Gold’s firm grip around her neck.

Back to her breasts, but gently this time. She was allowed to enjoy her body. She was allowed to awaken her senses. She stretched her arms up over her head, then brought them back down to her torso. Whenever Mr. Gold decided she had earned some pleasure, he would permit her to touch herself like this. Slow. Deliberate. Savoring herself. He liked it, sometimes. He liked to watch her. He liked it when she prepared herself for him.

Of course, Mr. Gold never allowed her to make herself come.  

She gave herself a final look in the mirror. There was a soft blush in her cheeks, and her pupils were wide. She licked her lips and got into bed.

The sheets were cool against her flushed skin. At first, she stretched out like a starfish, arms and legs spread wide. Then, she slowly brought her hands back to her body. 

With one hand on her diaphragm, she felt herself breathe. In, and then out. A peaceful, natural rhythm. Lacey had read a story about tantric sex once, about how it started with breathing together with your partner, that breath represented the sacred give-and-take between two people. Mr. Gold had no patience for that kind of thing. His version of give-and-take always ended in him taking more than he would ever give. 

He’s not here now. A woman's voice murmured in the depths of Lacey’s head. This is about you, sweetheart. What do you want? 

 “I want…” she whispered. Her teeth chattered as her hand crept lower down her belly. “I want…”

She let herself relax. She closed her eyes, let her weight sink into the mattress. She let her mind drift off wherever it wanted to. 

Using her other hand, she rolled her nipple between her thumb and forefinger. This hurt too, but it was a gentler pain than when she’d left the marks. It was a soft burn, that resonated with the growing warmth between her legs. 

“You like pain, dearie.” This voice was different than the first one. It was a man’s voice, high and mocking. She liked it. “Pain makes you wet!”

The man’s voice was right. When she slid her palm over the short hairs on her pubic mound--she hadn’t shaved in weeks--and dipped her fingers between her lips, she was coated in a sticky layer of warm fluid. 

“Good girl.” Now his voice is low and rumbling. “I knew you could make yourself wet for me.”

“Rumple,” Lacey whispered. She didn’t know why she said that. She only knew it felt right.

“Rumple!” Her voice is a high, keening whine. Her husband has kept her teasing herself for hours now. He has enchanted her to be unable to bring herself to completion no matter how hard she tries--and she has been trying very hard. “Rumple, please…”

“Please…” She covered her pubic area with the flat of her hand and slowly began to curl her fingers. 

“Please what, dearie?” Her husband chirps. They are in the dining room of their castle. He walks a spirited dance around her, while she has her legs and back bound to the stone wall. He is fully dressed and she is naked, just like old times. The only difference is that she isn’t wearing her cuffs. Instead, both of them have their golden rings. 

“Please let me, Rumple,” Lacey begged to no one.

He makes a noise, a play-mournful tut. “Is something troubling you, little thing? Do you have an itch that you cannot scratch? A desire you cannot assuage?”

 “Yes!” she gasps. Her hips rock against her wrist. Her hand is buried in her secret places, but her efforts only stoke the fire without easing it. 

Pretending to be thoughtful, he taps his finger against his lips. “I don’t think you’re wet enough,” he says. Apparently he is deaf to the rhythmic sloshing noise coming from between her legs. “No, not nearly as wet as I know you can be, my sweet slut. Not wet enough for the Dark One’s whore!”

Lacey’s back arched at those words. She felt her cunt quiver under her fingertips. Her breath was coming faster now. 

His breath is hot and cruel against her ear. He holds up a riding crop for her to see. “Are you ready for me to make you wetter, my thing?”

“Oh!” she moans. But she knows that isn’t an answer. He won’t do anything until she gives him an answer. “Yes,” she cries. “Yes, please!”

The crop comes down against the outside of her thigh. Behind her closed eyes she sees it as a lightning flash in brilliant red. The burning pain piles on to her lust, pushes her to yet another peak.

“Oh,” Lacey groaned. With her free hand she rubbed at her outer thigh. Could she feel the burning from her fantasy? Or was it just her fevered imagination?  

Again and again he strikes her. The pain courses through her body and sends her mind to that place of sublime safety and peace. He knows what he is doing to her, and they both love it. This is what it means to be owned: To know that he knows her so well, that he wants only what she wants, even the things it would shock another man to give her. She rests in that certainty. She lets herself go.

“Please,” Lacey said again. Her orgasm rose up in her belly. God, her first orgasm in six months. The first one she’d taken without permission in as long as she could remember. She stayed in the fantasy. “Please, Rumple, will you tell me I can come?”

The moment where her husband doesn’t speak is interminable, unendurable. If it weren’t for the enchantment, she would have already come a dozen times. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself. His eyes lock onto hers, black and gold and beautiful. His mouth opens, his pink tongue darts over his gray-green lips. When he speaks, his voice is low and natural, sincere. 

He sounds just like Mr. Gold.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he breathes.

It was like a firework went off in her body. A thousand fireworks. The whole Goddamned Fourth of July happening within a single instant. Lacey shook and moaned and clamped down on her own hand. Over and over, she clenched and released. She pushed herself to peak after peak, while she imagined the cackling demon, the monster who loved her and who had helped her find this pleasure. 

Limp and boneless, she slides down the wall onto the floor. He is there to catch her, to hold her while she trembles through the aftershocks. They sit together on the ground while he cradles her in his arms.

“You are so good, my darling.” He soothes her with words while she is too wrung-out to speak. “You are the most marvelous creature in the world.”

“Yours,” she whispered to a lover who wasn’t there. Laying on her side, she wrapped the blanket around herself so it felt like his arms. “I’m your creature, Rumple. I love you.”

“And I love you too.” He kisses her, caresses her. He runs his hands through her hair. “Gods, Belle, I love you so much.”

Lacey’s eyes popped open. She sat, bolt upright, in bed. 

Fuck. She was going to barf. She was going to implode. This was worse than finding the box of condoms. This was taking a bite out of an apple and finding half a worm.

Fuck!

Grabbing one of her pillows, Lacey flung her face into it and screamed. It was so fucking unfair! Bad enough that this bullshit was in her real life. How the hell had Belle invaded her fantasies too? 

“Jesus!” She threw the pillow down and smacked her head into her hands. Her fingers reeked of pussy. She had never hated a smell so much. How fucking unfair, how fucking absurd was it that she couldn’t even masturbate without feeling like a failure?

Her husband would never love her. Even when she dreamed about him, he was crooning over someone else. She had to get him out of her head. He had replaced her a long time ago. She would have to give him up too. 

She would have to give herself to someone else. 

Moving automatically, she got out of bed and went to the bathroom down the hall. She took a shower--long and hot--and covered herself in layer after layer of soaps and lotions and perfumes. Anything to get rid of the stink of desperation that seeped up from between her legs and clung to her fingers. 

Should she shave her cunt as well as her legs and armpits? Yes. Yes, she wanted to be ready for whatever would happen next.

  Back in her bedroom--not the guest bedroom, her bedroom, Goddammit!--she pulled out a long-neglected drawer of lingerie sets. Lately, she’d just been grabbing the first pair of panties she could get her hands on, and whatever bra was most comfortable. Whenever Lacey stopped by Sugar’n’Spice, Mara informed her of the joys of sports bras and underwear made of cotton. But she hadn’t been willing to take that step yet. It felt like giving up. 

Today she wore a bustier that Mr. Gold had never liked. It was dark, royal purple, trimmed in black lace. Silver hooks fastened it up the front. Lacey had bigger boobs than her tiny frame would indicate, but she was still grateful for the pale mounds of cleavage that this bustier produced once she had it on. She had to dress to impress. 

A tiny thong in black lace and purple silk matched the bustier. The space between the end of the bustier and the start of the thong revealed a thin strip of pink flesh. When Lacey pulled the elastic waistband it snapped against her skin and stung. Oh, that felt better. 

The more clothes she put on, the more relaxed she felt. This was right. This was normal. Wide-holed fishnet stockings, one of the shortest skirts she had--the black one with an electric blue tulle underskirt. A black blouse that was low cut enough and transparent enough to show off her bustier. Her hair went up in a wild, messy bun. She wore silver jewelry and slut red makeup. The final touch was to slip into her tallest pair of shiny black heels.

It was a lot of dressing up just to go downstairs, but it was the most settled she’d felt in a long time. No longer a naked Barbie, she knew who she was. Even without Mr. Gold, she could still be a walking sex dream. Strutting through the halls of his house, she finally felt worthwhile.

She went to his study, to his desk. She sat in his big leather chair and took out a bottle of his liquor. Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Two hundred dollars a bottle. Lacey’s mind flashed to the first time he had brought her into his study. He had taught her how to pour whiskey and serve it to him in a crystal tumbler. Looking at the liquid in the blue glass bottle, the shifting browns and golds looked like his eyes.

His eyes could be so beautiful…

Shaking her head, Lacey grabbed a tumbler and dumped the whiskey in. She swallowed it down without looking at it and grimaced. Not that the booze was bad--it wasn’t--or that she was inexperienced with liquor--she wasn’t. But this was just a day for grimacing. Any day when you were downing whiskey before noon wasn’t a good day.

But it was going to get better. 

All the voices in her head had gone silent since she’d ended the fantasy. Having a drink made things even quieter. For once, it was peaceful inside her mind. For once, she knew what she was doing.

Mr. Gold had a Rolodex on his desk, with the phone numbers for everyone in Storybrooke who owed him a favor. In other words, everyone in Storybrooke. She flipped through the cards until she found the name she was looking for. The person who might be able to help her. Her own personal savior. 

The phone number was a direct line. Mr. Gold wouldn’t have bothered writing down anything less. Heart racing, Lacey picked up the big black phone and began to dial. 

It picked up on the first ring. 

“Gold?” A woman said on the other end.

“No.” Lacey’s voice sounded high-pitched and nervous. Weak. She swallowed. “No, Madame Mayor, it’s me. Mrs. Gold.”  

There was a faint exhalation of breath, like someone who had just received an unexpected but lovely surprise. When Mayor Mills spoke, her voice was warm. “Why, Mrs. Gold! How nice to hear from you.”

Lacey bit her lip. This was the right thing to do, she shouldn’t feel nervous. “I, uh, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. About your offer to talk, to help me.”

“Yes?” It was almost a purr, velvety and rich. “Are you ready to take my help then, dear?”

She twirled the phone cord around her finger. The bustier was making it hard to breathe. “I think so.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for a long time, Mrs. Gold. Why don’t you stop by my office later this evening, so we can have a chat?”     

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfic

[josjournal]

Full Moon Ficlet #409 - Bin

Written for @fullmoonficlet

More than anything on this earth, Derek hated moving. It wasn’t even the leaving of one place and starting over in another; he’d grown accustomed to being the new kid. It was clearing out the old place and tossing away things that ten days earlier had been important were launched into the bin without a second thought. 

He thought nothing would beat the times he’d moved as a kid, leaving behind the few friends he’d made, but this one was the worst yet. He’d stayed in the same place for four years, a new Hale family record, even if the Hale family was just him. Sighing, he picked strode over to the pin and tugged out a full bag, and tied it off, tossing it onto the stack already made up of four bags. And he was still just in the bedroom.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he grabbed an empty bag and put lined the bin with it before turning his attention to his closet. Eying the clothes hanging in a neat row, he grabbed another bag, knowing a lot would be donated rather than tossed in the trash. He studied each item he pulled off a hanger, mind filling with memories of all the times he or one of his friends had worn it. He battled between packing, donating, or binning every item until he had the closet empty. Two bags were ready for donation, one to yank from the bin and add to the pile, and a suitcase full of things to take with him.

Someone cleared their throat, and Derek looked up from where he was putting another liner in the bin, a smile crossing his face. Even though this move was going to be the hardest, there were some advantages. 

“You’d think with all the times you’ve moved that you would be faster at this,” his boyf - correction, fiancé said.

“Four years,” Derek told him, moving to the desk, the area of the room he’d left for last, knowing it was full of papers from all of his classes. “I’ve never had to go through four years of accumulation.” He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a rubber-banded pile of ticket stubs, chuckling at his nostalgia. “And this time, I thought it was permanent, and I might have gone a bit overboard.”

Stiles moved forward and took his hand, stopping him from tossing the stubs into the bin and moving them into the box that was marked ‘office’ on the bed. “You know that there is a lot of room in the house, and if you want to fill it with every memento from the last four years, hell, from the last twenty-four years, you can.” Stiles nudged his toe against the tied off bin bags. “How many things did you bin that you wanted to keep?”

Derek ducked his head, hoping the burning in his ears didn’t give away his embarrassment about just how much he wanted to keep. Before he could say anything, Stiles was kneeling and untying one of the bags and dumping it out on the floor. “Stiles!”

“Derek!” Stiles mocked him before tugging him down onto the floor beside him. “Okay, now go through this pile and, this time, keep everything you want to keep.” Derek held up a plastic army man that he’d found in a geocache his freshman year when he’d run into Stiles at the same spot, meeting him for the first time. He’d teared up when he’d binned it earlier, but the soft smile on Stiles’ face gave him pause. “Even if everyone else in the world thinks it’s stupid, I won’t judge.”

Chewing his lower lip, Derek nodded and tossed the plastic army man into the large box in the corner marked ‘keep.’ He looked from the box to Stiles, and before he could question himself, he stood up and scooped his fiancé into his arms, dropping him into the box. Once Stiles got over his shock, he shook his head, grabbed Derek, and pulled him down into a kiss. The two of them collapsed onto the box. The sides split, and everything that he’d managed to put inside spilled out all over the floor.

He might need a new box, and he might not need as many bin bags as he’d anticipated, but all that mattered was that Stiles was definitely a keeper. 

Cross-posted to AO3

#sterek #fullmoonficlet #eternalsterek #sterek ficlet #my writing

[queerbutstillhere-writes]

Day 5: Quarantine

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He’d been stuck in quarantine for several days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but being quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toilet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severely upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping to his more commanding, Robin voice.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely. And this . . . He wasn't wrong either. They could just quarantine together. . . 

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him from just a few inches away, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!" He exclaimed, defeated.

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and shave and stuff - or don't shave - and Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss. Kon just grinned and pulled him in close, tweaking Tim's nose before kissing him. Then he shoved Tim towards the bathroom.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom. He quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that and didn't want to make his boyfriends deal with that. 

When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. 

They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table and all the glasses and mugs and plates had been removed. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response, grinning back at the speedster.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against his front.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times. Tim tilted his face up and obliged, wrapping his arms around Kon's neck.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses, turning him from pouty Bart to smiley Bart.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

Once the lasagna was in the oven, Bart made Tim help him finish cleaning, sweeping floors and dusting things, meanwhile Kon just sat by and gave unhelpful commentary and got occasionally whacked with cleaning supplies. Once the apartment was properly cleaned, and feeling much better, they decided to properly move Bart and Kon into Tim's room, even though they had stated they'd probably be leaving to get more clothes and such. And probably their dogs. 

Tim sat on his bed and watched them unpack bathroom supplies and clothes and other various personal items. Phone chargers got plugged in his few remaining wall outlets and things got shoved into previously neat areas.

"Were you really gonna stay here all by your lonesome?" Bart asked, flopping down onto the bed next to Tim and idly bumping his thigh with his knee.

"It wouldn't have been forever, Bart. I was probably gonna go to the manor eventually."

"Ew, and be around your brothers?"

"They are my family, Bart."

"I know but still. . . "

Tim chuckled and shook his head fondly, moving to lay partially over Bart and softly kiss him.

"Wait, is Keystone even in quarantine yet?"

"Uhhh." Bart grinned sheepishly.

"Bartholomew!"

Bart just giggled a little. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to come too!"

Tim just shook his head and then dropped it to Bart's chest, laying on him and listening to his breathing.

"Hey, this looks like a cuddle pile in the making."

Both of them groaned when Kon flopped - gently - on top of Tim. 

"Kon you big lug! Get off!" Tim whined, pushing up on his hands and knees, trying to dislodge Kon, who didn't move.

"Why, I thought you liked cuddle piles?" Kon giggled out, nuzzling at Tim's neck and causing him to squeak.

"Not when I'm being squished!"

Kon gave an over dramatic groan, but moved, rolling and pulling them both on top of him. It took a bit of squirming before they were comfortable, one on either side of Kon, heads on his shoulder, hands clasped on top of his stomach. They laid there and chatted idly, with no concern for anything that might interrupt their lives.

"Bart the oven is going off."

And just like that, Bart was gone. A couple seconds passed, then he was back, snuggling right up against Kon again.

"Where were we?"

Both Kon and Tim just started laughing.

Once dinner was ready, they sat on the sofa and binged a couple episodes of Broadchurch before settling into another cuddle pile. Their default form was cuddle pile. Then eventually Bart got bored with sitting still, so they turned on Mario Kart, played a few normal rounds to watch Kon and Bart suffer, then Tim turned on the mod he had made to make the game go super fast. 

He had learned not to watch the screen while this was happening. That's how you got eye damage.

"I'm gonna go do a little patrolling," Kon said, standing after Bart had beat him, again.

"Oh. Okay. Be careful, give a call if you need any help," Tim said, looking up from his laptop.

"Yeah, if I need anything, I'll call Bart."

"Kon."

"Hey, you're grounded, remember?"

Tim sighed, stretching up so Kon could kiss him. Kon chuckled and did so, then bent over the back of the sofa to kiss Bart, before disappearing into the bedroom to change. Then he called a goodbye on the way out the window. Tim and Bart looked at each other.

"So what are we doing then?"

Tim shrugged vaguely and looked back at his laptop.

"Well I'm gonna keep playing my game then."

"Okay."

Bart left him alone for a solid twenty minutes, which was a bit of a record for him, then he was tugging on Tim's laptop, trying to steal it.

"Yes, Bart?"

"I wanna cuddle."

"Cuddle?"

Bart's silence cause Tim to look over, and found he was pouting. Tim chuckled and saved his files, setting the laptop on the floor, then moving so his back was on an armrest, and opened his arms for Bart. Bart practically dove forwards, laying between Tim's legs, head on his chest, arms around his stomach. Tim chuckled and adjusted a bit for his own comfort, then let himself relax with Bart.

Eventually they turned on a movie and just laid together, idly chatting. There would be plenty of time for work later, Tim decided. But for now, he'd spend time with Bart. He may be stuck with these two for months before restrictions laxed, but he would take every moment he could, just to spend time with them while he could.

Kon got back after a few hours, stumbling back through the window, and giving them a grin, but he didn't come over, just walked away into the bathroom, leaving the scent of soot and acid in his wake.

"He's stinky," Bart remarked, still laying on Tim's chest.

"Hmmn, stinky boy."

Bart sniggered. Tim had, at some point, set his laptop on Bart's ass and was still working. Was it the most effective or romantic? No. But Bart didn't mind and it was keeping Tim from getting bored. 

Then his phone started ringing.

"Bart, grab that for me please?"

Bart quickly grabbed the phone from the coffee table before immediately settling back into place.

"Yello?"

"Hey, Timmy."

"Hi Dick, what's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check in and see how things were going with you."

Tim glanced down at Bart.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? Just hanging out and working on cases, I assume?"

"Yeah, I'm working on that March case."

Dick hummed from across the line.

"Well, are you sure you don't want to come to the manor?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Honestly I'm surprised you're there. I thought you'd be with Wally?"

There was a pause. 

"I was going to, but he got directly exposed the day before he was supposed to come down, and he didn't want to risk it until he discovered if speedsters could actually catch it."

"Hmmn, I have it on good authority they can't."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"They're there with you, aren't they?"

Tim just grinned, even though Dick couldn't see it. His brother laughed.

"Tim, you scoundrel."

"Listen, I told them no, they wouldn't listen to me, and then when they showed up, it was too late because Bart like, immediately kissed me."

"Hell yeah I did."

Dick just laughed again. Tim could envision him fondly shaking his head.

"So, I'll let you go then, I'm sure you guys have some catching up to do, if you know what I mean."

"Oh my god, shut up," Tim laughed out, even as he started playing with Bart's hair.

"Just speaking the truth!"

"Goodbye, Dick."

"Bye, Timmy! Love you, stay safe!"

"You too!"

Tim hung up the phone and let it fall to the ground beside the sofa.

"Oh good, you're off. I didn't want to come do this with your brother still on the phone."

Tim tilted his head back to see a shirtless Kon standing over him, grinning, hair still dripping slightly from his shower. He bent down and deeply kissed Tim. Tim gave a surprised noise and reached a hand up, resting it on Kon's jaw. When he pulled away, leaving Tim breathless, he just grinned mischievously, then moved so he was closer to Bart.

"Bartie."

"Hmmn?" When the ginger picked his head up, Kon kissed him the same.

Bart just grinned at him after, and put his head back on Tim's chest.

"Do you guys want a snack, because I'm starving."

Tim watched Kon walk away, and just had to laugh.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After their snacks, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon decided to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed, instead of just letting him walk.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

@core-disaster-week-2020 originally written for @unknownunseenunheard !!

#timkonbart week #core disaster week #core disaster #timkonbart #tim drake #conner kent #bart allen #covid #covid 19 #pandemic #covid pandemic #covid quarantine #dick grayson #queerbutstillhere writes

[what-big-teeth]

Imprint (Asrai Girlfriend, pt. 1)

Female Reader (POV) x Female Monster [Part 2]

tw: near-drowning 

It all started with a tire swing suspended over the lake near your family’s shared summer home.

Old and worn, its fraying rope was tied to the thick branch of a dying oak tree; but that didn’t stop your cousins from using it. Neither did their and your parents’ constant warnings.

One summer’s day, during a long-winded session of Truth or Dare, Simon and Silas led you to the lake’s edge. With barely hidden mischief shining from their matching eyes, Simon stepped forward and shoved you towards the oak tree.

“We dare you to take three big swings,” he said. “If you do it without screaming, you win.”

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t say no. The word was too deeply lodged in your throat, held in place by the larger size and greater strength of your older cousins. With a held breath, you climbed on top of the tire swing and sat down, squeezing the unraveling rope between your knees. The swing pulled back, thanks to your cousins grabbing the old tire’s inner ring and shuffling backwards together. You gulped when the rope went completely taut.

“W-wait,” you whimpered, “I’m not—!“

The first swing took you by surprise, accompanied by your older cousins’ laughter. At its apex, squinting against the sun’s bright rays, you looked back, directly past the lake’s clear surface to the deep bottom underneath. Your stomach heaved and your hands scrambled to tighten their meager grip around the old rope on the back swing.

“Guys! I wanna get off!”

Instead of catching you as you hoped, Simon and Silas just watched as the tire swung backward, still laughing. The highest point came again with a violent lurch that roiled your stomach. Something was wrong.

You screamed out to Simon and Silas again, voice cracking and eyes burning as the tire spun like a top. Like before, they ignored you. And laughed and laughed and laughed—

Something snapped.

You flew, hurled into the air like a ragdoll, the world somersaulting until your back and head collided with something solid. The impact stole the air from your body. When you tried to breathe, your lungs burned. A froth of bubbles raced up above your head towards a wavering light. All as you sank deeper and further, too stunned to do anything but watch.

But not for long.

An unseen force wrapped your wrist in a cold vice and pulled. The sudden speed at which you moved stung your eyes, forcing them closed. But you still heard the rush of water beating against your ears. The pressure built inside them until you could no longer keep gritting your teeth. Your mouth pried open from the pain above the lake’s surface instead of under.

Your hands scrabbled at the lakeside, sinking into the wet soil and seizing a raised, gnarled tree root. Your vision began to blur and you wheezed, unable to properly draw in air due to the wet crackling in your chest.

So when you heard a soft, soothing murmur right by your ear and turned towards the source, you couldn’t believe what you saw.

No girls you knew ever had natural green hair. Or slit pupils. But the thought didn’t have time to root itself in your mind.

With your mother’s screams ringing in your ears, your body gave into exhaustion and everything faded to black.

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

That was years ago, when you were just a child.

A day-long visit to the nearby hospital guaranteed your recovery, but the accident left its mark in various ways. A rift severed most of the familial bonds between your parents and your uncle and aunt. The only thing they agreed to leave untouched was the shared ownership of the lake house.

Your grandparents’ final request was for it to be a secondary haven in times of need, and the adults couldn’t bring themselves to dishonor that wish. Regardless, estrangement became the norm as you grew up. So you never saw Simon and Silas again.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on the sudden alienation for long. The incident affected you as well. The first result was a wariness of any large bodies of standing water, one you’re still trying to overcome. The second was an odd curiosity: a faint, silvery handprint on your wrist.

It faded over time, but not enough to vanish. The size of the imprint resembled that of a child’s hand, which could no longer encircle your adult-sized joint. It was undeniable proof of what you saw before you were taken to the hospital.

The green-haired girl who saved your life.

Over the years, the mark tugged at the curiosity deep within you. Not insistent, but docile. The sensation gained a life of its own and turned into a steady gentle pulse, coaxing you to follow the underlying urge infused into it.

Return to the lake. And this summer, you intend to answer the call.

“Sweetheart, are you sure about this?”

You slam home the trunk door of your old-fashioned, teal pickup and dust off your hands.

“I am. I talked to my therapist and she thinks safe exposure therapy will help. We’ve scheduled when she’ll check in on me and I have her number on speed dial.”

Your dad steps closer to your mother and wraps an arm around her shoulders. He doesn’t speak. But the stiffness of his movements and the compressed corners of his eyes say enough.

You pocket your car keys and step into your parents’ awaiting, warm embrace.

“I’ll be okay,” you whisper, “Promise.”

To seal the deal, you offer your dad your extended pinky which he wraps his own around, an old, childhood tradition. All while your mom kisses your temple. With a final goodbye and promise to text them, you pull away from the curb and drive off.

An upbeat playlist blasting from your phone makes the three-hour-long drive tolerable. The natural progression from the concrete, city sights to natural scenery doesn’t hurt, either. Soon enough, your truck takes a final turn down an unpaved, dirt road. Each and every bump is just as familiar and nostalgic as they were when you were younger. But without the slight pain to your backside.

You reach the end of the trail, the lake house revealing itself once your pass the last of the towering pines. It’s exactly as you remember it, untouched by time. And without any other vehicles in the driveway.

You step out of your parked truck, inhaling the clean, sharp scent of the surrounding area. Instead of uncomfortable dread, you only feel a sense of peace and calm. With a decisive nod, you get to work.

Unpacking your rolling luggage and cooler takes the better part of an hour. Mainly as the backup generator had to be fired up and the A/C needed to circulate. Blessedly, you don’t find any traces of dust or dirt inside. The place is spotless, the trash having been emptied. Once you’re settled inside, your stomach makes its emptiness known.

Lunch is a simple sandwich, chips, and a chilled bottle of your favorite iced tea. Hunger sated, you tackle the few dirtied dishes and rack them. As you dry your hands, your wrist tingles and cools.

Your gaze lifts towards an uncurtained window, past the glass and out towards the overcast lake. This is your chance.

Brisk footsteps lead you out onto the wooden pier. Here, you used to dangle your bare feet above the lake’s surface and watch the peaceful scenery. But now, you cautiously inch towards the pier’s edge on tense hands and knees to stare down into the water. There’s nothing unusual. Just a few fish gliding along as if they’re flying.

A swift shape darts by and underneath the pier. You stifle a gasp and squint through the small gaps between the wood.

But a sweet, low chirrup interrupts your search. Your gaze turns back towards the pier’s end. Vivid sea-green eyes peer up at you, framed by a heart-shaped face, a button nose, and long, dark green hair. And her light teal skin is smooth and flawless.

Her full lips lift into a sweet smile, one that makes your cheeks fill with a pleasant warmth. It’s an addicting feeling and you find yourself moving to meet her at the pier’s end. Her smile grows even sweeter and your pulse flutters in your chest.

“It’s really you,” you breathe.

Your childhood savior tilts her head to the side, chirping softly. She blinks up at you in an endearing way and you realize the issue.

“You can’t understand me, can you?”

As if hearing the sad tone in your voice, she reaches out her hand and grazes it against yours. Seeing the thin membrane between her fingers, you carefully twine yours with hers. Her skin is cold to the touch but not unpleasant in the humid, summer heat.

She hums, drawing your attention. Her face is much closer than before. Glancing down, you see water curling up from the lake to rest underneath her lithe form, acting as a seat. She purses her lips and your eyes follow the movement of her plush mouth.

Pulse pounding, and hoping your assumption is right, you lean down towards her. She lifts her free hand to cup your warming cheek and meets you halfway.

The kiss is chaste and sweet, and when she opens her mouth in invitation, you immediately accept. She tastes of the berries you used to gather in the past, rich and bright. Your tongue brushes against something sharp and you gasp. But she soothes the sting with her own tongue before tapering off the kiss with smaller pecks.

Dazed, you pull back panting softly. She shows her white, fanged teeth with a grin.

“I can understand you now,” she murmurs, licking her lips.

You feel no fear from the hungry gleam in her eyes. Instead, it sends shivers racing up and down your spine.

“Who are you?”

She brushes the pad of her thumb against your bottom lip.

“You may call me Maris.”

You’re torn between catching your breath or indulging yourself in her again. The choice is made for you when someone calls your name.

Startled, you push away from the pier’s end and land hard on your rear. With a groan, you clamber to your feet, hissing and squirting through the pain. The face you meet isn’t familiar at first thanks to the neat, trimmed beard he has. But if you removed the facial hair, the black-rimmed glasses and the dark bags underneath his eyes…

“Silas?”

Your cousin blinks at you as if fully recognizing you for the first time. He smiles awkwardly and holds up a large hand in greeting.

“Yeah. It’s…it’s good to see you.”

You honestly don’t know if you can truly say the same. But you nod in reply, regardless.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he says.

His bushy brows knit together as if trying to discern your reason. The gesture leaves a sour taste in the back of your mouth. It reminds you of how he and Simon would wrench your words from your mouth when you were little. Like pulling teeth. But you don’t budge and refuse to give in. To your surprise, he does.

“Things...at home aren’t going so well. Sara can’t stand to look at me and my little girl…”

You didn’t expect to learn about his marital problems, let alone the fact that he was married with a child.  

“So you need a place to stay, right?”

He nods.

“Just until this small thing blows over.”

With the way his hands clutch helplessly at the air by his sides, you know this ‘small thing’ has to be colossal. But it isn’t any of your business and you hope to keep it that way.

“I already claimed the larger guestroom,” you say. “But the other’s up for grabs and so is the master suite. There’s still room in the fridge for any food you’ve brought.”

Silas rubs the back of his neck and mutters a quick “thank you”.

“I’ll be sure to stay out of your way.”

His retreating shoulders slouch, burdened by an invisible weight as he trudges off the pier towards the lake house. You release the breath you were holding in a slow, steady stream. This wasn’t part of the plan, but you’ll have to make due. You always had as a child and still could.

Before following after Silas, you turn back towards the lake just as a breeze ripples the water’s surface. Sunlight shines down on the peaceful scene.

Maris is gone.

#asrai girlfriend #monster girlfriend #monster romance #exophilia #terato #fae #fair folk #fairy #remember how I said this was going to be a one-shot? #my muse lied to me #it's gonna be a two-shot instead #i'll have the second part posted sometime next week #fem reader #female reader

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol. 18

The first part of this book was honestly pretty sweet, I was living for it. The second part of this book reminded me that Haru can kick ass if he wanted to, but for the most part he doesn't. The third part of this book reminded the characters that Tohru wants to help these people in their predicament, but she also wants to help one person in particular out of their predicament.

By the end of it, I kinda want Kureno to carry around a spray bottle and spritz water or vinegar at Akito every time he does something bad. Probably vinegar. It wouldn't do anything bad, but he'd be smelly.

So, the first part. It's mostly just with the Student Council, continuing the graduation ceremony stuff from the previous book (and no, Tohru and Co. are not graduating. I don't know why I thought they were), with some focus on Machi, Yuki, and Kakeru. How fun.

It starts with the one strict guy (I've never had to talk about him at all so I wasn't sure what his name was for a while, honestly. It turns out his name is Sakuragi Naohito. The more you know, I guess) lamenting about how graduation is near, which the rest of the group finds odd, because no one in the group is graduating this year. Then a couple girls show up at the door, saying that Machi knocked down some boxes of chalk, and generally made a mess. They also brought up some random (but very personal) rumor about Machi trying to kill her baby brother a while back, and surely that's why Machi is the way she is. Kakeru tells Yuki about it, from what he was told. It was said that Machi became jealous of her younger brother (who, according to Kakeru, had been decided to be the heir to the family's fortune) and tried to kill him. Afterwards, her parents decided that it would be best if she was removed from the house entirely, and ever since she had lived alone. Kakeru offered to take Yuki to Machi's place, to ask her herself, which Yuki didn't really agree to. Kakeru also mentioned, offhandedly (because he was just jumping from one topic to the next) that he once saw Machi, out in the snow, making footprints all over it. He had no idea why, but he said she seemed pretty intent on it.

So they arrived unannounced to Machi's place, which she did not appreciate whatsoever. She might have been fine with Kakeru showing up, but she was more flustered once she saw that Yuki was also there. (I wonder why,,, hmmm) While they were there, Kakeru was just being weird and put one of Machi's bras, all rolled up, in Yuki's hand. Why did he do that. Don't manhandle bras, dude. They're expensive. Anyway, once he got kicked out for that (they kinda started cleaning up Machi's room, and he was taking out the trash), Machi asked Yuki about the rumor, and if that was why they were here. Yuki didn't answer that, and instead asked Machi if she hated perfection. The answer is yes, she does, because of shit that her mom said and did to her.

Basically (and I feel like this was touched on a bit earlier), after Kakeru acted out and got tired of the family's bs, more pressure was put on Machi to behave, to do the best that she could, get the highest marks in school, have the perfect behavior, etc. She couldn't step out of line, otherwise she would be punished severely. Despite this, her mother would often talk about how boring she was, in front of Machi. This was especially the case after her younger brother was born, and her mother would talk about how glad she was for another heir to the family, because Machi was just so average, so dull. After one of these times, Machi actually confronted her mother, asking, "Why do you say that? I thought this was what you wanted me to be like?", to which her mom was like, "You say that like it's my fault. Well, maybe it is. Oh well."

That sense of "Oh well, onto the next one" was not the thing that Machi needed. She needed reassurance, that she wasn't just some blank, dull, empty person, who brings nothing new or interesting to anything or anyone. I think it's kinda here when she started tearing things apart: anything that was too neat or orderly just reminded her of that suffocating feeling, and she couldn't stand it.

It was then that Yuki praised her, basically, for all the hard work that she did, all that work, just to try and keep ahead. Clearly, this was not something she had ever experienced, because it caused her to break down, and she told him about what actually happened with her and her younger brother: she was just putting a blanket over him. She thought he was cold, and he could get sick. But when her parents saw her holding a blanket over him, they already had a bias against Machi, and were convinced that she was jealous, that she had ill intent. They wouldn't listen to what she said, they didn't care. She had shown a "sign" of something bad that easily fit into their narrative, and took that as a reason to take her away from her younger brother.

Yuki then offers that, if the snow gets thick enough, they can go outside and make footprints all over it, and, honestly? That's some cute ass shit. I love that kinda thing, really. That's romance: stomping around in the fresh snow. Who needs physical contact when you can stomp around on fall leaves? That's the real stuff, right there.

But Kakeru interrupts the scene (he was kinda lingering behind a wall, listening to most of this. I think he was there for the story about their younger brother), but I liked it. It was nice. That wasn't entirely where this section ended, however. There's still a little bit more, with Sakuragi, and why he was so bummed out about graduation.

The short answer is that a girl he likes is graduating. But she (I looked it up and her name is Motoko Minagawa) likes Yuki, who doesn't like her. And Sakuragi is kinda taking out his anger on Yuki, who is mostly just bummed out that so many girls are coming up to him and confessing their feelings, and he just has to turn them down. In the end, Yuki and Minagawa had a chat, things are fine. She told him how she felt about him but she wasn't expecting anything in return, and she said she wished for the best for him, which he was unnecessary. Later, Sakuragi kinda?? told Minagawa how he felt about her, but he mostly just gave her well wishes, and now he is less angry and uppity. How nice.

Moving onwards to the second chunk, Hiro's mom had a baby! Her name is Hinata, and she's not a Juunishi. It's great. Hiro's gonna do his damnedest to make sure that Hinata gets everything she needs, and probably try to protect her from the burning dumpster that is being a Sohma. (Really, it just doesn't seem to be that great.)

While that's going on, there's discussion of Izusu, where is she? People say that she's in the hospital, but they won't say which one, or where. She's not at Kagura's house, where she lives, and she hasn't shown up at school for ages. Kagura had to actually attend Izusu's graduation in her place. It's all very weird. People are started to ask around, but no one has the answers. Kagura's worried, Tohru's worried, Hiro's mom is worried, and at one point Yuki even went up to Haru and asked him if he'd heard anything about where Izusu was. Haru hadn't, but afterwards, he got on the search. On the way to the search, he ran into Hiro and Kisa. They all kinda knew what Haru was doing there, and that's when Hiro told Haru that the last time Izusu got really hurt, it was because Akito had pushed her off a second-story ledge. He then apologizes to Kisa, saying that it was his fault that Akito lashed out at her, and he wasn't allowed to anything about either incident. He then reveals that Izusu is trying to break the curse, and she did something, Akito found out, and that's why she was punished (along with Akito forcing her to break up with Haru).

Anyway, now Haru's pissed. He makes a beeline straight to Akito's room, and he's looking for some answers. He cuts to the point, asking, "Why'd you push Izusu out the window?" Akito denies it, of course, who'd own up to that? He says that Haru must have made that up, or heard wrong from someone, but Haru is not swayed. He's gonna get answers one way or another.

While all of this has been happening, Kureno had noticed that there was a person carrying a tray of food and wandering off to where people don't typically go. He followed her, and tracked her down to a dilapidated building, and he asked her what she was doing. She wouldn't say, but she give him the key to the building, saying that Izusu hadn't eaten in days, she was withering away. So Kureno found Izusu, her hair was hacked off (and Akito did it, it's not even speculation, there's a page where you see him doing it. Well, he's coming out of the room, scissors in hand, with these long clumps of hair trailing on the floor. He totally did it.), and took her to the hospital. So when Haru is questioning Akito, Kureno comes in and tells Haru that she's in the hospital, which is probably a good thing for Akito's sake. Haru is pissed. I haven't forgotten about the "black" Haru thing. The last time that came up, it also had to do with Izusu.

Haru asked Kureno where she was, and it's revealed that she was in the Cat's dungeon, essentially. (I think of it as a dungeon, personally) This totally sets off Haru, who asks if this was another attempt to kill Izusu, and Akito was basically like "So what if it was?" which was not the correct answer. There was no correct answer, at that point, but that one was the most wrong answer. All sorts of feelings were welling up in Haru, at this point, and all kinda gathered into one really nasty feeling: helplessness. He felt like, despite how much he loved Izusu, and how much he cared about her, it wasn't enough. He wasn't able to protect her from the shit that had happened. Fortunately for Akito, he only punched a hole in the wall, rather than Akito's face, but he then left the room. Kureno followed him, and said that he should try to get to the hospital, because he thought that Izusu wanted to see Haru, specifically because she had been saying Haru's name when Kureno had found her.

Later on, we are in the hazy mind of Izusu, who woke up in the hospital and is pretty disoriented. Last she was aware, she was in the Cat Room of Doom, not a hospital bed. She could remember that Kureno was there, that he carried her out. She was looking for him, especially after she saw him talking to Tohru, and when he left, Tohru was crying. She wanted to know what Kureno said to Tohru, and tried to track him down. Turns out that he's pretty elusive. But she did run into another person: Ren. She asked Ren if she knew of a way to break the curse, and Ren said that there was something of hers in Akito's room, a box, and that if she got that box back, she would,,, have it back. She didn't actually say that she would tell Izusu anything, but Izusu's desperate to break the curse. Unfortunately for that desperation, Akito found her, right in his room, holding the box. Akito threatened to hurt Haru, if Izusu tried to get out, but Izusu saw this as payment for her failure, she made absolutely no attempt to escape.

There's a little blip back to Ren and an old lady who reprimanded Kureno for even finding Izusu at all, and it turns out that Ren probably didn't know how to break the curse anyway. She didn't particularly like Izusu, so it wasn't a huge loss on her end. She just wanted to get that box back, for some reason, and was using Izusu to try to get it.

In this hazy dream-state, Izusu's just confused. She can't remember what actually happened, but she's kinda bummed out that she dreamt all of that, and Haru wasn't there. Then he popped up, conveniently. She apologizes to him, saying that she failed, her attempts to save him and break the curse were worthless (and she also thinks that she's worthless). "Dream" Haru says that she can't go off anymore, because he missed her, a lot, and if she went away again, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. She says that this is such a nice dream, but it's not a dream (as I'm sure you could tell with the quotation marks). Turns out, she's lying on the pavement, outside somewhere, and Haru found her. It's reminiscent to the other time that Haru found her lying barely conscious on the pavement, but this time he can pick her up and carry her home. He reassures her that she's not a burden, that she should take help when it's handed to her. In this case, she should let herself be carried when she can't walk.

It seems that Izusu is now staying at Kazuma's house, probably because Kazuma is so chill with that kind of stuff. Tohru was really glad to see Izusu again, which gave Izusu some conflicting feelings (mostly "agh stop don't care about me" but also "hey it's actually kinda nice to know that people care about me"). Tohru wasn't told why Izusu's hair got chopped off, or much about the situation. They ("they" being Yuki, Haru, and Kazuma. I suppose Izusu as well) didn't want Tohru worrying too much, she already was very concerned.

Later, Shigure came by Kazuma's house, to talk to Izusu about what happened, and basically confirmed that Ren was using her, and that she wouldn't know how to break the curse. He also said that he think Izusu should give the curse-breaking thing a rest, because the curse is starting to break itself without anyone doing anything (as we've seen with Kureno). Izusu doesn't believe him, but he doesn't say anything more about it. He just says that, probably in a couple years, it'll be broken, and no one will have to do anything. Then Tohru arrives (who was coming over to see Izusu, and even had a gift for her), and says that that's not good enough, that the curse has to be broken before next spring, before their graduation. This shit has an ever-increasing importance to Tohru. She hates the way that Kyo talks about it, like he's already come to terms with what will happen. Tohru will not stand for it for a single second, and she'll probably do her damnedest (hey look i used that word again) to break the curse before then.

(Also this is kinda, I think, when Izusu and Shigure are kinda like, "Whoa, she really cares about Kyo, huh? Hm, surely there isn't any deeper relationship there, right? Hmmmmm"

#Oh wow it didn't take as long to write this one #Only around a day #And it isn't as long which is also nice #I was reading through one I wrote almost a month ago and holy crap #It's empty #I suppose that's why I make these so long #It's so that I can look back and read through these and still mostly understand what I was saying #Vagueness is not my thing if I can help it #Anyway I'm totally a fan of Machi and Yuki getting closer #For some reason I always adhere onto romances that aren't really the main focus #Like with spop I didn't care about catradora and instead became a huge fan of entrapdak #Idk why they just appeal to me more #Maybe because there's less drama or high stakes? #No that isn't true #Idk #anyway #tohru honda #yuki sohma #kyo sohma #hiro sohma #hinata sohma #kisa sohma #izusu sohma #hatsuharu sohma #shigure sohma #akito sohma #kureno sohma #machi kuragi #kakeru kuragi #naohito sakuragi

[infiniteoddball]

Whiskey and Blazers

I know that I haven’t posted any OC in a long time and I hope you can forgive me for that. I was recently inspired by a good buddy of mine, plus the return of Elliot Stabler to SVU. This is a one-shot and I hope that you enjoy!  If you would like to read it on A03, the link is here! 

The lighting was dimmer than she would have liked, but this was better than being in a club with a guy that wouldn’t take no for an answer. The last thing that she wanted to do was have to flash her badge in order to get a creep to leave her alone. So, instead, she sat quietly in the corner of this unknown bar, drinking her wine slowly. She knew she needed to talk to someone, but the person that she wanted to talk to wouldn’t even answer her phone call. Olivia sighed deeply into her glass of wine, before finishing it off.

“Would you like another?” The bartender asked as he flashed a smile at her.

Olivia bit her lip, truly debating her answer before nodding, “Yes please. Instead of wine, I would like a whiskey neat.”

He nodded wordlessly before walking to get her request. Olivia closed her eyes, dropping her head into her hands. Cragen’s words ran through her head over and over. Elliot, her best friend and partner, was gone. Just like that. She felt her stomach clench with anger. Olivia wanted to hate him, admittedly, a small part of her did. He just left! After seven years together with no explanation. How could he?

She thought that their friendship was more than a job. She knew that there were times where their friendship was stronger than their job. She knew that could have been detrimental, but neither one of them let it become that way. Mainly because she respected Cathy and his family too much.

Olivia heard the muffled sound of glass against wood before she looked up, giving a tight smile,”Thanks.” She lifted the glass before taking a sip. Olivia enjoyed the burn of the alcohol replacing the anger that was burning in her belly.

���Long day?” He quipped, leaning against the bar as he polished an already clean glass.

She felt her nostrils flare as she nodded, “The hardest that I have had in a really long time,” She felt tears spring to her eyes as she looked downwards again. She didn’t think it was affecting her this much.

“This isn’t something that I normally do, but my shift is over in twenty minutes. Would you like to grab a bite to eat with me?”

Olivia looked up, shocked by his kindness. This was not something that she was expecting, “Excuse me?”

“You just look like you need a stranger to talk to and the next guy that comes in behind me uses the same line all the time only to get people, that aren’t regulars, into his bed. I figured I might be a better option for a conversation cause I don’t have a motive.” He set his glass down, waiting patiently for her answer.

Olivia found his honesty refreshing, but also felt angry that she was getting more honesty from a stranger versus her own partner...well, ex-partner,”I don’t even know your name.”

“Ben,” He held out his hand with a barely there smile.

Olivia accepted his hand, “If you try anything on me, I will arrest you.”

Ben nodded, holding three fingers up, “Scout’s honor. I will not try any funny business.” He solemnly nodded. The last thing he wanted was to be arrested.

“Can I have my tab?”

****

Olivia had never had a better tasting hot dog in her life. She took another big bite, wiping the mustard from her mouth before looking at Ben enjoying his own hot dog, “What made you want to talk to me when you could go home and do whatever it is that you do?” She quipped. She was grateful the bun was soaking up the alcohol.

Ben swallowed his bite, seemingly contemplating his answer, “Well, you looked like you just needed a friend, so I thought why not? Would you like to tell me what happened?”

If she was being honest, she felt like a child as she stared at the anonymous faces surrounding them, “Honestly, I feel like if I say it out loud, then it is real.”

“It already is real. You’re feeling the emotions.” He held his hand out for her trash, pausing to throw their garbage out before falling back in stride with her.

“Yeah...Okay.” Olivia took a deep breath, glancing at Ben, before pushing on, “Today...when I went into work, I found out that my partner, and best friend, quit. He just left. He didn’t call me, and he didn’t leave a note...nothing.” Olivia swallowed thickly, as she realized that her cheeks were wet, “I...I thought we were closer than that. We always swore that we would retire together if we were still partners. Instead my Captain came and told me that he was gone. I felt-” Her words broke as she came over racked with sobs.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” Ben asked gently.

Olivia felt her sobs tightening her throat as she just nodded. She knew she couldn’t talk anymore. She was exhausted already. Every item that she had taken off of his desk felt like a thousand pounds as she had dropped it into a box. She was grateful that Cragen said that he would handle the rest because she didn’t think that she would have made it through the paperwork.

She felt this stranger's arms engulf her and she just melted into him. She knew how abnormal this was for herself let alone if someone she knew would have seen this. Then again, today had been anything but normal.

Ben gently hummed a song his mother would sing for him when he was distressed as he soothingly rubbed her back, “I can’t say I understand what you are going through, but I understand what heartbreak looks like. Friendship breakups will always be worse than romantic relationships,” He said soothingly.

Olivia didn’t know how long they stood there as she listened to his baritone voice before finally stepping back, “Oh shit. I am so sorry. I got makeup and snot on your shirt. I didn’t even pay for dinner.”

Ben threw his head back in laughter, “You’re the one having a mental breakdown after a hard day and you are worried about my shirt? This isn’t anything that a washer and some shout can’t fix. What kind of cop are you?” He grinned.

“The one that cares too much.” She looked down at her feet, momentarily staring at their feet before looking back up, “What kind of bartender takes a customer for a hot dog and a walk and talks to them as if they are best friends and didn’t meet an hour ago?”

“The one that cares too much,” He grinned, “Enough about me. How are you feeling?”

Olivia inhaled deeply, feeling extremely sober as she wiped the running makeup from her face, “Honestly? Like shit.” She turned, walking with him again as she walked towards her apartment, walking in a comfortable silence.

“Sometimes talking to strangers is the best relief that a person can get because there is no history or judgement.” Ben stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “If I help one person, then at least I know someone out there is going to make it to the next day.”

Olivia felt the corners of her mouth turn upwards slightly, “You’re a good person Ben.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Which is?”

“My Mom,” He answered with a smile as he glanced at her.

“A lot more people should be like you.” She said honestly.

“A lot more cops should be like you.” Ben shot back.

Olivia smiled to herself as they settled into another comfortable silence as they got closer to her apartment. Briefly, she thought about inviting him up, but decided against the better of that. The last thing that she wanted was to hurt such a kind soul because she was hurting. She dug her keys out of her pocket before turning to him, “Can I take you out for a cup of coffee sometime? As a thank you?”

Ben smiled, “I would like that.”

Olivia dug out one of her cards before handing it to him, “I will see you later Ben,” She silently admired the way his thumb careessed over her knuckles as she admired his rich brown skin against her pale white skin.

“Until later,” Ben promised.

Olivia gave him a real smile before climbing up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She let herself in,hanging her keys before looking at herself in the hallway mirror. She looked extremely tired with smeared mascara all over her face, and red rimmed eyes that looked exhausted.

She felt her sadness hit her with another massive wave as she slid down her door, crying into her palms, How could you Elliot?! Was her last thought as she sank into the darkness of sleep.

*Fifteen Years Later*

“Noah! Go get dressed, Lucy will be here soon to take you to school!” She said firmly, clearing their dishes from the table before she padded into her bedroom. Olivia pulled on black socks before smoothing out her black shirt. She thumbed through her blazers, knowing she had a court date today as well as a meeting with 1PP for the new training to give to her team.

She thumbed her way through her blazers before finally deciding on a richly colored maroon blazer. She finished getting ready with a swipe of lipstick before she decided to tie her hair up, “Are you ready Noah?” Her shoes dangled from her fingers as he came out of the bathroom with toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

“Yes mom! I just finished brushing my teeth!” He smiled brightly, “Is Uncle Ben still coming over for dinner?”

“Yes sweet boy,” She grinned as she dropped her shoes, wiping the toothpaste as there was a knock at the door.

“I will get it!” He smiled, running before she heard him excitedly saying hi to Lucy. She quickly slipped her shoes on before grabbing her travel mug, and heading towards the front door.

“Hi Olivia,” Lucy smiled as she took her jean jacket off.

“Hey Lucy,” She grinned before she pulled her own jacket on, “His lunch is packed and good to go in the fridge. Your check is on the counter. I will see you later, and have a wonderful day!” She smiled.

She turned, opening her arms to Noah before kissing his cheek multiple times, “Have a great day at school and learn a lot.” She murmured before standing again.

****

Olivia smiled, greeting everyone as she walked into the precinct. Olivia felt as though she was frozen, mid step, as she looked at the figure leaning against the frame of her door. She felt her throat constricting as she struggled to breathe. She knew that figure anywhere. She didn’t need an introduction.

“Hey Liv,” Fin said gently as he gently touched her elbow, “I tried to get him to leave, but he refused to leave without talking to you.”

“Now he wants to talk?” She questioned bitterly as she squared her shoulders, pulling her bag higher on her shoulder.

“Hey, I-”

“Don’t worry Fin, I will handle it.” Olivia cut him off before he had the chance to say how he wanted to kill him.

Fin stood, silently, in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes followed her. He remembered how hard this was for her the last time and he couldn’t imagine how it would be for her this time.

Olivia walked past him, silently, into her office.

Elliot ran his hand over his thinning hair as he looked at her, leaving his hand resting on the back of his neck as he tried to give a relaxed smile, “Hey Liv, so you’re a Lieutenant now?” He quipped.

Olivia stayed silent as she placed her bag on her desk, next to her mug. She hung her coat before turning to him, crossing her arms over his chest to hide her shaking hands, “You lost the right to call me Liv the moment you left me in your dust. It’s Olivia.” She said calmly.

Elliot looked down at the floor, he couldn’t help but think how he missed the carpet that was in here, “I deserve that...actually I deserve a lot worse. Look, I know you’re angry and-”

“No,” Olivia cut him off, “I am no longer angry. I was broken. My best friend  disappeared off the face of the planet. Actively choosing not to return my calls or e-mails. Nothing! I got no explanation from you. Just Cragen telling me that you wouldn’t be returning to work ever again.” Olivia stopped as she realized how loud she was talking. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before and exhaling before she looked at him. She stepped forward, nodding at Fin before she closed the door behind him. Olivia stared at the picture of Noah on her desk before she sat down.

“You weren’t the only one who lost something that day. Sister Peg died in my arms. I lost two good friends in the span of weeks.” Olivia could feel her nose getting itchy. She knew she was going to end up crying sometime today, “Instead of facing things head on, by my side, you chose to, instead, leave me to pick up your pieces as I struggled to pick up my own.”

She watched as Elliot sat in the chair across from her desk, “I can say I am sorry, because I truly am, but I know that will never make a difference for the time and trust that was lost. I owe you so much more than what I can ever give you. I knew you would be hurt, and I am so sorry that I hurt you so badly. But I-I had to leave.” Elliot stared at his hands, unable to look at her.

Olivia felt the nerves clench in her stomach as she asked the simplest question, “Why?”

Elliot sat silently for a moment before finally taking a deep breath, “I couldn’t do it anymore. I knew that I would always choose you. I would choose to save your life over anyone’s and when I killed Jenna. I would have done that again in a heartbeat, but it also broke something inside of me.”

Olivia felt herself wanting to soften with his confession, but the first night she ever met Ben popped into her head, “You come in here, after fifteen years? If you would have just talked to me, you could have saved us a lot of pain.”

Elliot looked up, staring at her in the eyes, “I wanted to confess everything, but I knew I was in love with you. I couldn’t do that to Cathy any more.”

Olivia swallowed thickly. After all these years, he finally admits that the feeling was mutual. This was not how she planned to spend her day. She glanced at her clock, already knowing it was going to be a late night, “I don’t know what kind of answer you are expecting from me, but I picked myself up. I dusted myself off and moved on. My life moved on when you left.”

“Is it bad to say a part of me wishes that you hadn’t?” He quipped.

“Yes. You didn’t give me a decision the moment you decided to leave.” Olivia grabbed a pen rolling it between her fingers.

“I deserve that.” Elliot nodded.

“There is a lot I want to say,” Olivia could feel her initial anger dissipating with every word she said, “I no longer care to say it. I worked my way up the ranks, adopted my son, and I am now in a loving relationship. I missed you. I missed your family. I missed Cathy. You chose to take it all from me, so I built my own family and moved on. I don’t owe you an explanation. Initially, I planned to say so much to you. I planned to punch you actually,” She admitted with a shrug as she stood, pulling her blazer straighter before she looked at him, “At this point, I realize I don’t owe you anything and I don’t want anything from you. I think you should go.” Olivia squared her shoulders as she watched him stand.

Elliot opened and closed his mouth. Cathy had been right. He should have known she would be right. He rubbed the back of his neck before making eye contact, “I really am sorry, look here is my number if you would like to talk anymore.” He said gently, dropping his private investigator card on her desk before he turned to leave.

“Elliot?” Olivia stared at his card on her desk before watching him turn, “I forgave you a long time ago because I learned that anger does nothing to fix anything. I hope you understand that.”

Elliot looked at her, hoping that they might get a chance to repair their friendship as he nodded, “I don’t deserve that, but thank you. Also, congratulations Olivia. Your son is beautiful.”

Olivia responded with a gentle smile before she watched him walk away. At least, this time, she realized how strong she was even with his answer.

#original content #fanfic #Law & Order SVU #svu #Olivia Benson #Elliot stabler #fanfiction #original character #whiskey and blazers #writing

[themissingmarvel]

Tell Him

((I took a lot of liberties with this. I also kept some characters alive because fuck you I do what I want and it fits better. I changed a bit because also fuck you I do what I want and it fits my story. It’s got Endgame spoilers like crazy so if you haven’t seen it and don’t want spoilers, save this and move on. Or read it and get spoiled idc live your best life. I plan on making this a series, depending on how it goes over. Or just in general cause I like this.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, talk of death))

 Harder!

Sweat was beading on your forehead as you felt your heart race.

HARDER!

 You could feel your muscles aching, sore. Your body was fighting as hard as it could.

Don’t stop!

 Now you could feel it in your lungs, your breathing hard and labored, panting as you could feel the sweat dripping off your body.

 Keep going!

 Your body hurt. Your lungs ached. Your hair was sticking to your head and neck. Every fiber in your being was pushing you forward, past what you even knew what you were capable of. Your mind was blank, filled with only one thought. One need. One desire. You only wanted one thing as you pushed your body past its limits.

 “Hey!”

 A voice echoed in the gym, snapping you from your trance as you suddenly stopped slamming your fists into the punching bag that had honestly seen better days. Bucky was walking towards you, concern on his features as he looked at you. Your tank top was stuck to your skin, your workout shorts soaked even. What he was most concerned about, however, was the blood seeping through the white hand wraps around your knuckles.

 You hadn’t even noticed.

 It had been six months since the world had returned to normal but you had felt so out of place still. You’d been one of the unlucky ones dusted into oblivion, cast into darkness and a void so dark you didn’t know light existed. You had seen nothing in your final moments except for the sky, laying on the ground and staring into the bright Wakandan world. It had disappeared, just like you had, and the world had moved on.

 When you came back, when you all came back, it had been to a fight to the death. You’d lost a best friend and almost lost a father. You’d watched Pepper hover over Tony, Peter begging in his own way for the man not to leave. FRIDAY had read his vitals as critical and you had thought that maybe this was what true fear felt like. What had Thanos done?

 Now all you could think about was the darkness. The void. The endless fear that came with your final moments and how it wouldn’t go away.

 Bucky knew what was happening as he walked over and placed hands on your shoulders, “You need to stop with this. Hitting that thing ‘till you bleed won’t make it go away. We went through something and now we have to live with it.”

 Tough love, right? He wasn’t wrong, though. Bucky had vanished just like you had. He had collapsed to the ground close to where you had been, and he had felt his form dissipate into nothingness. All of you were trying to make sense of not just a world that had carried on five years without you, but a world where you lived again. It had been moments between the snap and the return, but those moments had been agony. No pain, you’d reassured everyone, but the pain had been mental anguish.

 Bucky knew.

 He also knew you were avoiding the one man you wanted most to hold you and fix this. He had seen the way you looked at Steve and he had known it was more than just a crush. He had seen you get quiet and bashful, and this from a woman- sorry, a warrior, who shied from nothing. You drank with Valkyrie, had trained with Natasha (fuck…) and you had Wanda teach you to control your abilities, the electricity that rain through your veins and made you an asset.

 Moments before you’d fallen and as you lay on the ground, crushed over the snap that echoed before you even knew you were taken, you’d seen Steve. He’d been the last face in your vision and as you lay on the ground, sun bathing you in a beautifully tragic way, you’d thought only one thing: Tell him you love him.

 Even death (if that’s what the snap even was) hadn’t pushed you into Steve’s arms. He was powerful and he was good. He was better than you could be, you had thought, and deserved better. Didn’t he? Who were you? Some test subject that Hydra had let get away before they could twist your mind. You’d voluntarily gone in to change but had escaped once you realized what that place was. You’d practically run to the Avengers begging and pleading and Tony had taken you in.

 Letting you go, Bucky stepped back and sighed, taking your hands and eyeing the damage, “Let’s get you cleaned up, OK? Tony and Steve are out taking care of some business in Wakanda for the week, just left. We need you in shape in case anything happens.”

 You stayed quiet as he let you go and you followed him through the suddenly quiet gym that moments ago had echoed with your panting and yelling, that had echoed with your pain. Tell him. Tell him you love him.

 ________________________________________________

Leave it to Bucky to clean you up. He had envied you for getting away from Hydra, as had Wanda and Pietro, but it had let him trust you. You understood firsthand what they truly were and you were an example of what they were capable of. So was he. So were Wanda and Pietro, frankly.

 Once the water had washed away the blood Bucky had seen that the damage wasn’t bad and that it needed to air out more than anything. You’d thanked him for taking care of you and assured him he didn’t need to, “It’s fine, Buck. I’m fine. Just training too hard is all. Got caught up in the moment, you know?”

 He frowned and turned, beginning to walk away, leaving the living room where you two had been, but pausing before turning his head, “She’d be proud of you.”

 You held back tears, knowing he was referring to Natasha, only watching as he walked out of the room for which you were grateful. You’d only lose it more if he’d stayed. He missed her, too. Clint arguably missed her the most which was why he’d distanced himself so much from the Avengers. He was spending more time with Laura, which was good, and his family was whole. Except for her.

 You walked to the wet bar Tony had of course set up and poured yourself a whiskey, neat. Your plan wasn’t to get trashed, which was good, but you did need something to take the edge off. Tony had seen your pain and begged for you to get help.

 “C’mon, Y/N, this isn’t what sane people do. You… you were dust. You’re back. No one would blame you for needing to talk to someone.” He had sat across from you on the couch at the Avengers base in upstate New York, rather than the tower in the city.

 You huffed, “We don’t live in a sane world, Tony. I can make electricity with my hands. You’ve got a suit of armor that can trash a tank without thinking. We work with two demi-gods from a place called Asgard. Sanity went out the window a long time ago.” You’d eyed him carefully.

 So why was this so hard?

 A part of you was so angry at yourself for not telling Steve you loved him before the snap. Another part was angrier still that you continued to keep quiet about it. Your final wish had been that you had wished you’d told Steve you’d loved him. You’d imagined being held in his strong arms or being twirled on the dance floor, a beaming smile on your face and the world disappearing around you. You were getting that second chance now and still you hadn’t told him? Trauma, you’d told yourself. It was trauma.

 “Didn’t realize you were one for drinking alone,” spoke the voice behind you. Turning you saw a grinning Steve, standing tall with his arms crossed, powder blue button-down shirt on and nice khakis. He paused for a moment before strolling towards you, taking a seat on the couch perpendicular to the one you were on.

 You raised a brow, “I thought you were in Wakanda with Tony. Bucky said you were doing some work out there.”

 Steve leaned back and sighed, “Strange decided to go instead. Makes more sense, really. Strange hasn’t been out there, yet, and I’ve earned a vacation.” He smirked.

 A blush crossed your cheeks for whatever reason and you nodded, “Glad to have you here, then. You know, in case we need America’s Ass again.” You smirked this time.

 Steve laughed, a true and heavy laugh, glad you had remembered one of the stories he had told once you guys had all been back together. Tony had thought it might be good to talk about what happened getting the stones given all you guys had been through. Banner explained how weird it was being out of his own body and you had wondered what it must have been like to see a huge, hulking man shown what-was-up by a smaller woman using only her bare hands. It sounded like they all had quite the trip.

 Taking a sip of the whiskey you relished in its gentle burn. You supposed that if it had been five years then you’d earned at least more than a drink. But it was a struggle to remain cool in the lone presence of the man you pined for.

 He narrowed his eyes a bit, suddenly leaning forward, “Hey, what happened to your hands?” He reached out, taking the hand not holding the whiskey, eyeing the skin that had been etched away leaving your knuckles raw.

 What’s happening?

 You snatched your hand back, inadvertently knocking the whiskey out of your hand and onto the floor, those words that had passed through your mind in your final moments passing through once more.

 Please… not with Steve…

 The liquid hit the hard floor and the glass shattered into a million little pieces. You felt the same. Stumbling to your feet and glad you had on shoes you felt yourself shaking, “I’m-I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry.” You mumbled, repeating your words as you stumbled out of the room and towards the one you had called your own.

 Somewhere in your mind you could hear Steve calling out your name and you had wished for a moment you were able to tell him to make it better. You had wanted to run into his arms instead of leaving him with shattered glass and a concerned look.

 Entering your room, you about fell apart. You made it to your bed before the tears fell hot down your cheeks. That same pain you tried so hard to push away was flooding your vision. You saw that Wakandan sky again, felt the dirt beneath you, heard a voice that was so far away, “Bucky? Y/N?”

 It was beyond unexpected, then, to feel a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, head against your own as you heard him whisper, “Hey, hey… it’s ok. You’re safe, Y/N. I promise you, you’re safe, ok?” The words were gentle and healing, little pieces that were working to clean up the glass that had just shattered into a million tiny pieces.

 Opening your eyes you saw that it was Steve holding to you and without even thinking you threw your arms around him as well. It just felt so good. It felt like a relief, like letting out a breath you’d been holding in as he held you to his warm chest. His smell, a soft cologne, wafted up and you felt comforted more.

 But there you sat, unsure for how long, as he let you sob. You were certain tears were staining that nice shirt of his and you knew how he was turned it must not have been comfortable. But he held you. He held you close and he didn’t flinch as you sobbed. It was compassion from a man who had been through so much himself and still he was letting you unravel, keeping you centered as best he could while you finally let go of what you’d been holding onto.

 So why can’t I say it?

 When he finally did pull away you had calmed considerably, soft whimpers escaping over loud sobs, looking at him as he smiled warmly and brushed your cheek gently, “It doesn’t feel like it now, but I promise you it’ll be ok. And I promise, more than anything, I’ll keep you safe.”

 You nodded, wiping at your tears a bit as you looked away, “Thanks, Steve… sorry for falling apart there. I think I’m feeling better now, though,” you forced a smile and he leaned in, placing a chaste kiss upon your forehead.

 Tell him!

 He stood slowly, “I’ll be a few doors down if you need me, OK? Wanda said she’ll make us some food tonight. Vision is helping, though, so not sure how it’ll be,” he smirked. You couldn’t help but chuckle, only nodding as you watched him leave.

 If only you’d known. If only you’d heard his own voice screaming at him, his internal dialogue that never ceased once more at attention as he shut your door and moved smoothly down the hallway.

 You were the last one he saw. He watched as your form, the one he had memorized so perfectly, began to disappear. Without a word he watched as you slowly vanished into the air. He watched as your perfect eyes, your perfect hair, your perfect everything slipped from his fingers. Another missed chance. Another dance he would never get.

 Tell her you love her.

( @skymoonandstardust @spookydefendordreamer @luckynumber1213 and lemme know if you wanna be tagged or untagged w/e)

#steve x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america fic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #stevexreader #imagine steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #captain america imagine #imagine captain america #marvel reader insert #mcu reader insert #steve rogers reader insert #captain america reader insert #endgame #endgame spoilers

[wildroseofarran]

Pain, Relief, Closure || Kelly, Pete, Fletcher, Q, June, Emmanuel, Peabody, & Bridget

Fletcher: {Text to Peter Graham from Fletcher Goodman} FedEx guy swapped our shit

Pete/June: Pete was caught off guard so much by the name on his screen that he just stared at his phone for a few moments until June poked him.

"Respond!"

"What?"

"This is your chance! Respond, respond!"

"Okay! Jesus."

{Text to Fletcher} All right, I'll be over to get it in a second

{Text to Fletcher} Do I have one of yours?

Fletcher: {Text} Should have a small box of some cleaner I ordered

Fletcher held his breath and dropped his phone face-down. Enough of that. He tried to focus on - what was he doing?

Pete/June: He looked to June, who was reading over his shoulder. "Do we?"

"Maybe? I'll go look in the closet."

Sure enough, Fletcher's box of cleaner was sitting where their shipment of napkins was supposed to be.

{Text} Yeah I got it

{Text} Be across in a sec

Fletcher: Fletcher smoothed his hair, which he had allowed to grow for the last several months, longing for the length of his college years. His beard, finally trimmed, was given a feel as well. His navy blue shirt felt, collar fixed.

This didn't matter. Just shut the fuck up and make the trade.

The box was dropped on the counter. Here, he would wait, stomach contorting into knots.

Pete: Pete shrugged on his jacket and took a deep breath. This shouldn't feel as weird as it did. It wasn't like he was doing anything groundbreaking or foreign. He was just going across the street to get a package. Simple, right?

If only it felt that way.

He crossed the street, balanced the box of cleaner on his arm, and opened the door like he did this every day.

"Hey."

Fletcher: A visibly painful breath escaped as through from the pit of his stomach. No forced smile, but forced composure.

"Hey yourself."

Pete: At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"I believe this belongs to you." He held up the box. "You'd think after all these years he'd learn to look at the shipping labels."

Fletcher: "Yeah, well..." The Samsa swallowed. He didn't know what he had expected from this, but laying eyes on the man he'd avoided for months, to truly see him without the dull sepia of a Samantha, he might as well have been that greasy teenager injured by Marion's lies.

"Here it is." The box was given a pat.

Pete: For Pete's part, this interaction was already surpassing his wildest expectations. He didn't want there to be any hostility between them, however much reason there might be for it to exist.

"And here's yours." He set the box of cleaner down. "Sorry if it took a while, my bartender signed for the delivery this week."

Fletcher: "Kay. So..." Yeah. He would open the box to see for himself. Something, anything for him to tear his eyes away.

Pete: Silence was worse than strained conversation. He had to say something.

"So how've you been? I see you grew your hair out."

Fletcher: "I just... wanted it." Another useless clearing of his throat. "Ya look... good."

Pete: "Suits you." Pete offered a smile. Not a weird one or a forced one or a polite one, just a small, genuine smile. "Thanks. I feel pretty good. Year off to a decent start?"

Fletcher: Might as well rip the bandaid. "Gettin' married. Spring, I think."

Pete: Aaaand there went the genuine part of the smile.

“I heard.”

Fletcher: "Figured ya would."

Pete: “Small town.”

Fletcher: Enough of that. "Thanks for the box." He forced a smile and began to break down the package. He'd keep his eyes to himself.

Pete: "Sure, no problem. Thanks for mine. Oh, um, June told me to tell you that she's inviting you to dinner at her house."

Fletcher: "When?"

Pete: "She said you have a choice between Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday."

Fletcher: "Right. Guess I'll give her a text." Didn't seem right to make Peter the messenger. But now he was left with nothing else to say. He knew the answers. How was he? He was well. His sister was having a baby, and Peter was a family man. Where was MJ? Anywhere but here. But then again...

"How's um..."

Pete: "I'll let her know." June could've texted Fletcher herself, of course, but she hadn't been able to pass up the opportunity to extend this visit for these two men she loved.

Pete gave Fletcher a gently expectant look. "Yeah?"

Fletcher: "...Nah. S'nothin'. Ain't my business. Anyway, thanks." This was what he did. How obvious that he would shrink in on himself. He was out of his element. As though their intimate nights, their lapses in judgment in the back room merely a figment of fantasy, forged on some particularly lonesome evening alone with his thoughts.

Pete: So close, yet so far. A perfect portrait of their entire relationship really.

"All right, well, you know where to find me if you wanna ask." Pete balanced the box of napkins against his arm. "I'll tell June that you'll text her."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't gotta tell her anything."

Pete: His real smile made a soft return. "I know. I still will."

Fletcher: "Ya know why-" The Samsa made a bitten off sound. A protest he couldn't heed. "-why you're here n'not her."

Pete: "I'm surprised I am, but I don't really know why I am beyond you maybe wanting to say hello?"

Fletcher: "Me wantin' t'say hello?"

Pete: "That's the only reason I can think of for why I'm here instead of June."

Fletcher: "It wasn't...me."

Pete: Pete’s brow furrowed. “What wasn’t you?”

Fletcher: "Ya know it was June. You're fuckin' with me."

Pete: Pete looked genuinely confused. “June told the delivery guy to mix up the packages?”

Fletcher: "No, that you're - that you're here t'pick this up n'not her - just forget it."

Pete: “June—did June ask you to text me to come get the package?”

Fletcher: "No, I was stupid."

Pete: “You’re not.”

Fletcher: "Right." Peter would get a wave goodbye.

Pete: “...Okay then. Thanks.” He nodded to Fletcher and headed for the door.

Fletcher: Stupid, stupid, stupid. He had meant to text June. He would swear by it. Yet it had been Peter Graham -- for some fucking reason his name was still in his phone. For some reason it had been that name - and he just couldn't steady his thoughts. His tongue wagged and he was helpless. Reckless.

The box was shoved from the counter the moment the bell jingled its goodbye.

- Two Days Ago -

Kelly: Kelly white-knuckled the bathroom sink and took slow, shaky breaths in and out.

Fuck he shouldn't have come in. He should've stayed home.

The pain that had begun in his hip had radiated outward until every last bone in his body felt like it hurt and for his rotten fucking luck he was tapped out of Vicodin. It would be six weeks before he could get a refill.

Fucking opioid panic.

He had to do something. He needed something or he wasn't going to make it through the next twenty-four hours, much less the next six weeks before he could get his prescription.

Another shaky breath. "Fuck."

He limped his way out of the bathroom and looked around the bar. O'Charlie's was quiet and sketchy and filled with melancholy as usual, but what he needed wasn't there.

"Dwight! I'm taking my dinner break!"

Q: Q passed two rum fireballs to Stacey, waving her off and rolling his shoulders. This wasn't a Pete's Pub kind of night, it seemed. The younger, vibrant crowd wanted to dance, make out in the darker corners, and throw their weight around with burning stomachs as fuel. His kind of night, but he wasn't nineteen with a fake ID anymore. This was a night to get paid.

Kelly: The Brig was close enough that on a good day, Kelly could've walked and been there pretty quickly.

Or on a bad day like today, close enough that he could drive there at break-neck speed without running the risk of the cops catching him speeding.

He didn't quite bust through the door--the limp prevented that--but he zeroed in on the bar and its tender with the single-minded intensity of a man on the brink.

The crowd and the music might as well not have existed; he was only there for the man known as Q.

Kelly approached the quietest end of the bar and waited to catch Q's attention.

Q: Not much of a feat for a man on guard. A smile, creasing the ends of his mouth, slowly diminishing with every step closer to his newest patron. That sexual energy he could read with absolute literacy was nonexistent.

"You look like shit," he greeted. "The hell are you doing here?"

Kelly: He knew he looked like shit. He hadn't been sleeping well for the past month, every single micromovement he made hurt like fuck. It was exhausting being in this much pain.

"I need help," he said slowly. Emphatically. Desperately.

Q: Elbows on the counter. Q leaned forward, studying the man from head to shoulders.

"What kind of pain is it?"

Kelly: "It feels like someone stuffed my body into a trash compactor. Everything hurts."

Q: "Why haven't you been to the emergency room?"

Kelly: "I've done this dance for years and I can't get more Vicodin for weeks now can you help me or not?"

Q: "Vicodin?" He thought for a moment. "I'll get it. Before I leave. How long can you stay?"

Kelly: "Vicodin, oxy, heroin, I don't care, man. I just need something." He looked at his watch. It was a slow-ish night.

"I can stay forty-five minutes."

Q: His phone was already out. "I might have to come to you, but I'm on it." Kelly was still a new face, but he could read honesty when it was staring him in the eyes.

"Hey, what do you wanna drink? On the house."

Kelly: Thank fucking god. He just might make it through the next twenty-four hours after all.

"Triple bourbon, neat. Thanks."

Q: "You got it. Hungry at all? Fried fish tacos tonight. I'll hook you up."

Kelly: "Might as well." It was his dinner break, after all.

He eased himself onto a stool with great effort and silently begged for death.

Q: Firstly, the bourbon. Slid his way after a quick smile and word to Stacey. Kelly was none of her business, and he intended to keep it that way.

Kelly: The bourbon was downed with gratitude. He wasn't in the mood for savoring, he just needed something to take the edge off. This dull pain was so much worse than anything sharp he'd ever experienced.

Sharp pain just killed you. Dull pain made you lose your mind.

Q: Q glanced to his phone for the third time. Still nothing. Tony had to be at work. Shitty, but he'd hear back soon enough. The man was addicted to the screen.

"Want another? I'll drive ya wherever."

Kelly: "One more. Gotta get back to work after this." And he couldn't give the appearance of resuming his shift drunk off his ass, much as he wanted to be.

Q: One more, and a round of beers for a table across the bar, close to the dance floor. Nearly ten minutes and a plate of fish tacos later did his phone finally vibrate.

"Hey, he'll be here in thirty. Either you're late back or I'll come to you."

Kelly: There truly was a god. He might just have to pop into the church to light a candle in homage. "I can be late. We're not busy right now anyway."

Q: "How long have you been like this, man?"

Kelly: “Ran out of pills a few days ago. Been downhill from there.”

Q: "Want something to smoke, too? I got you covered."

Kelly: “I’d have gone down that road already if I could. Lungs are fucked.” Along with every other part of this damn body.

Q: "You have asthma or something?"

Kelly: “Inhaled smoke and hot air during a fire.”

Q: "You look like a million bucks, sweetheart." A soft pat to his shoulder. "Or you will soon."

Kelly: “I’ll settle for looking like a buck fifty if I can get some relief.”

Q: Soon. "How're the tacos?"

Kelly: "Pretty good. Better than I expected actually."

Q: "Better than I expected too," said under his breath. "It's a hit or miss here.”

Kelly: "Didn't think ya'll did food beyond fried things."

Q: "Trust me, we don't. Tried doing caprese salad once. Didn't go over well. We're not in Europe."

Kelly: "This is the wrong crowd for that. This crowd just wants Jaeger shots and bass."

Q: "Not a bad crowd, just different."

Kelly: "Sometimes it's needed." Like today. His night would be extra miserable if he was working at Pete's. He'd have to endure so much more than pain.

Q: A question spurred from somewhere within. One he kept to himself. The first, it seemed, as far as intuition with Kelly. Pocketed for later. This was not Kelly's night.

True to Q's word, a man walked in at the appointed hour. Still in his hardware polo and as tired as Kelly looked.

The man took a seat beside Kelly, smiling politely at his bartender.

"Gimmie somethin' I shouldn't drive home after drinkin'."

"You got it."

"Where is-"

Q gestured vaguely to the man by his side.

Kelly: It seemed like a hundred years passed before his salvation arrived and even in a hardware polo, he looked like a goddamn angel.

"Yeah, me. Help me."

Q: Q left them alone to discuss the details. None of which were his business. He knew his friend to be fair when sober, and his first drink was now.

Kelly: Kelly's request was simple. Probably concerning, but simple.

"I need all of the Vicodin that you have. That's not an exaggeration. You did not hear 'I want a lot of Vicodin'. I meant exactly what I said. If you don't have it, I'll take oxy. I'll take heroin. I'll take crystal fucking meth. Just please, god, give me some relief, my body hurts."

Q: A question asked of anyone with such blatant demand was if this was some kind of suicide attempt. The man was obviously in pain, but his desperation was enough to make a man shift in his seat.

"I'll give you two now, n'I wanna see ya take em." Words muttered under breath before large gulps of dark bitter beer.

Kelly: "Trust me, if I was gonna off myself, I would've done it long before tonight. Unassisted. I'll take the two and thank you for all eternity."

Q: "Hey, man, I get it." He dropped his hand with dead weight onto the counter, explaining how every other finger was held together with steel. A construction job traded for a hardware store with less pay. Such was life. He understood, but he wanted his money.

Kelly: Kelly would all but throw it at him. Probably too much, he hadn't counted it. He'd just grabbed a wad from his stash before he'd left for work, having anticipated ending up doing exactly what he was doing.

Q: Under the counter. A hot fist with two white pills tapped against his knee. Q saw to his duties, smiled when appropriate and once quite inappropriately to a woman in a blue dress and her disapproving male counterpart.

Kelly: He'd never experienced such instant mental relief. And if he had, it had been years.

Kelly swallowed the pills dry and thanked his savior.

- Present -

Fletcher: Fletcher had paced the ugly brown carpet flat. This was stupid. He was stupid. Having expected in any measure for Peter to have sent June had been reckless. His stomach had known what his head and heart couldn't bear. He'd fumbled his words. He'd made things worse. He felt sick.

And all for a man that didn't love him.

A shot glass was the last thing on his mind. Straight from the bottle of honey whiskey.

This was fine. This was the natural order of things. He was getting married. Whenever it was Marion decided to set a date. He didn't fucking know.

He stared into his half-finished bottle. He should have been himself. Take it all back and just go back to a few years ago. There were more important things on his agenda. Had to be something.

June/Kelly: "I think you're coming down with something," June said to Kelly as she put chairs on top of their respective tables. He usually did this, but he didn't look like he could lift a feather right now.

Kelly put away the last of the glasses and tried not to wince. "What makes you say that?"

"Well for one, it's usually you doing this instead of me. For two, you're all pale and sweaty and if I had to guess, you're clammy, too. I think you have a fever."

If only. "M'fine. Gonna take out the trash."

"That's okay, I can--"

Kelly shook his head. "It's fine, I got it."

It wasn't and he didn't, but he'd rather balance the trash bag and his cane than stand there looking like shit and feeling like shit.

Fletcher: Fletcher checked his watch. Still time. The shop sign was flipped closed. Door locked. The back room was thick with the stench of cigarettes. A habit he needed to rid himself. A stench others could all too easily catch.

Away with his shoe. Away with a Samantha out a hidden passageway.

Kelly: “Fucking...opioid...fucking....crisis,” Kelly muttered in between steps, adjusting his grip on the trash bag. “Fucking—do-gooder fucking—drug dealer.”

He braced himself against the dumpster and hissed out a breath. “Since when does a fucking dealer have morals, fuck’s sake.” Man was as bad as the doctor, rationing out his meds. One didn’t want him turning into a junkie and the other thought he was going to OD. Couldn’t catch a fucking break.

Should’ve bought heroin, he thought as he struggled to lift the bag into the dumpster.

He barely got it to shoulder-height before the cloud cover above him moved away and cool, ethereal light filled the alleyway.

“.....oh, fuck....”

Fletcher: Hardly any toes left. Something to keep his mind occupied. The Harrak house; the hospital; the police station; a handful of vampires, to say the least; a dangerous game of hide and seek at his mother's tiny house. One across the street.

His eyes drifted, checking each Samantha.

June/Kelly: "No no no no no, please, please! Not here, no n--AGH!"

 A sharp crack had June's head whipping around. "Kelly? Was that you?"

 "Please, PLEASE--gah!" Another crack, two, three. Kelly's legs buckled beneath him as his bones began the excruciating process of reforming. It hadn't always been this bad. It hadn't always been this hard, this unwelcome.

Now there was only pain.

 "Kelly?!" June headed for the back. "Kelly, is that you? Are you okay?"

Fletcher: Fletcher turned to face the frame covered wall. Behind it was brick, and the street, and the pub. Through the crack in the wall yet to be fixed. A single glance.

{Text to Peter} Pub NOW

June shouldn't have been there. Do-gooder sweetheart, helping a man that probably didn't deserve it. Nature could have run its course if not for this one variable.

The door slammed behind, rattling at its edges.

Pete/June: Pete's stomach twisted into knots the moment he got the notification on his phone.

{Text} What happened? What's wrong?

Fuck. He couldn't just up and leave, Graham was asleep in his lap. But what if something was really wrong?

"Goddammit."

 God, what was that horrible sound? It sounded like branches breaking or something.

Oh shit, what if Kelly's cane had broken somehow and he'd fallen? He could be trying to get back up.

June jogged the rest of the way to the back entrance. The door was still open.

"I'm coming, Kelly," she called, stepping out into the alley. "Are you okay? Are you h--holygod!"

Fletcher: A body slammed hard against the dusty brown brick of the alleyway. Fletcher bounced his shoulder from the wall into a defensive stance. A gruff man to say the least, but nothing as intimidating as the scene before him. Not yet.

"Get back inside, June."

June: June didn't seem to hear him. She was frozen to the spot, eyes wide and horrified as the animal-like mass on the concrete a few yards ahead of her shifted and writhed and made that awful cracking sound.

"I-is--that's...oh, god..."

The mass of cracking bones and torn flesh was Kelly.

Fletcher: The only defense between June and jaws. He couldn't afford to tear his attention away. If he had to intimidate her to safety so be it.

"Get inside, June! NOW!"

June/Kelly: It was hard to tell whether it was the volume of Fletcher's voice or the tone, but either way it had her scrambling back to hide just inside the door.

Her heart was going a mile a minute, breathing quick and growing more panicked with every new crack, every tortured yelp, every godawful wet sound coming from the alley.

 It was like being flayed alive. Any fluidity and ease had long ago been erased, severed when they'd severed him from the moon.

She seemed to mock him now as she forced him to change, as she punished him for their sins.

Scarred skin and fabric gave way to matted, patchy fur. Bones struggled to shift correctly, one leg seemed to atrophy and turn lame as with one last strangled cry, a dire wolf emerged where Kelly had been.

Fletcher: This was never a scenario Fletcher had prepared himself for. A bar fight; a troublesome vampire; for Peter to accidentally change. Kelly had a stench to him. Unmistakable. A viable excuse to maintain surveillance. He wondered now if he had cursed them.

Fletcher hunched his back, shoulders tight but hands loose, ready to snatch a wolf from pounce. He doubted this would end well. Never fucking did with wolves.

"Kelly!" he shouted. "Look at me. Can ya fuckin' hear me?"

June/Kelly: The wolf snarled and snapped its jaws in warning. Its eyes were feral, devoid of any understanding or acknowledgement.

 "Oh my god. Oh my god." June slipped back behind the door and squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't happening this couldn't be happening things like this didn't happen.

You're dreaming, she told herself, hugging her arms around her middle. You're dreaming this is a dream it's not real, it's not real, it can't be real!

Fletcher: A wolf like this, would he retain this memory? Carried knowledge in the same manner as a Samsa?

The sharp screech from his throat an equal warning. Hunched forward, meeting the creature at eye level. Back bowed and threatening.

June/Kelly: June's eyes flew open. That sound....that wasn't--what was that?

Steeling herself, she dared to peek around the doorframe and immediately had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming. Kelly was gone. The horrible pile of flesh was gone. In its place was--holy god. That was a wolf. That was the biggest fucking wolf she'd ever seen. No no no no, th-that was--was that Kelly? He was--and Fletcher--had that sound come from Fletcher?

The wolf growled again, desperation and its fight or flight response making it take a careful step forward. The wolf wanted out. The wolf wanted the woods, wanted freedom, and Fletcher was standing between it and the way out of the alley.

It crouched and measured the space.

Fletcher: He couldn't let Kelly go. Not this deep into town. Much against his mother's wishes and against his better interest, this had become his purpose.

"Calm the fuck down."

Where the fuck was Peter?

Pete/Kelly/Emmanuel: "What's going on?" Emmanuel whisper yelled to Pete as he took the sleeping bundle that was Graham from his arms. "What happened at the pub? Where's Stella and Ryan?"

"They're at a wedding in Savannah with my parents," Pete whispered back. "I don't know what happened at the pub, I just know it's an emergency and you were on the way." He kissed his nephew's head. God love him for being such a heavy sleeper. "You sure this is okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, go. I'll look after him."

"Thanks, man, I owe you one."

"Just be careful. And call Brett if it's bad."

"I will."

Pete practically flew back down Emmanuel's walkway to his car and floored it to the pub.

{Text to Fletcher} On my way

{Text to Fletcher} Do I need to call Brett?

 There was no sign of understanding, only more snapping and snarling and slow, deliberate steps forward. Perhaps it was a warning. Perhaps it was careless. Perhaps it was both.

But all Kelly could see through the haze of pain and anger was the freedom just beyond Fletcher.

He leapt forward.

Fletcher: There were too many possibilities Fletcher couldn't allow in his escape. His back bowed, gaining height and the beginnings of chitin on his forearms. As the creature leapt, the Samsa made a grab for whatever he could. He would use his center of gravity to his advantage in an effort to bring the creature onto its side. Enough reasoning at this point.

Kelly: The leap had accounted and calculated for the height of a man; not the height of what that man was becoming before his eyes. It all happened too quickly for the wolf to make out what it was, but it didn't matter.

Balance already off, Kelly was caught by his useless back leg and hit the unforgiving concrete. Hard.

His fight was pure pain response. He scrambled to try to get away from the creature, growling and biting anywhere he could in his attempt to free himself of the threat.

Fletcher: "Fuckin' stay!" This was exactly why he fucking hated dogs. The wolf was yanked by his useless limb and pulled underneath his weight. Forearm to his face, elbow against its snapping muzzle. He'd participated in enough fights with Garou over the years to know how to deal with less than friendly jaws. Less dangerous forcing the mouth wide than trying to keep it closed.

His voice was becoming hoarse, broken by sharp clicks and screeches. "Swear t'fuckin' god, Kelly, I will put ya down if ya don't chill!"

Pete/Kelly/June: Pete couldn't have begun to guess what sort of scene was going to greet him when he arrived at the pub. Fletcher hadn't answered; he was flying blind.

Perhaps that was why he felt so unsettled as he pulled up to a still scene.

He could hear some sort of sound coming from somewhere but couldn't see the source. The lights were still on. Blinds still open. No movement inside. He couldn't tell if that was reassuring.

He got out of his car and unlocked the door as quickly as he could, immediately looking around for June and Kelly. Nothing. The cleaning supplies were still out. Only about three quarters of the chairs rested on top of their respective tables. But no June and Kelly. There was only that sound he'd heard earlier, which was louder now.

It wasn't coming from the main room. It wasn't muffled enough to be coming from upstairs. Could it be coming from backstage or one of the storage rooms? Were June and Kelly there too?

He ducked behind the bar, intending to check on each of the closets and the kitchen when he turned and saw the door to the alley wide open. And hiding just behind the frame, peeking outside, a petite figure he immediately recognized as June.

"June?" he called, startling her into turning around.

The look in her eyes slammed into Pete like a ton of bricks. Even in the low light, he could see how pale she was, how she trembled in fear.

Pete crossed to her in a second, pressing his keys into her hand and ushering her away from whatever untold horror was in the alley. "Take my car and go home, right now!"

"I--"

"NOW!"

 What came out of Kelly's mouth wasn't a growl; it couldn't even be called a howl. There wasn't enough fight in it for that, if there was any fight in him at all.

It was a scream. It was raw, exhausted anguish. The woods were so far away. He couldn't see them anymore, couldn't see anything except a haze of red that he didn't realize was blood. He could only feel pain, could only hear voices. One angry, and one that called, "Fletcher!"

Fletcher: He knew that voice. Recognized the tone and every emotion behind it. That blame which lay in his name better than anything else. He was a disgusting thing doing a disgusting job. His arms were covered in chitin. Fingers filed to sharpened points, where nail and bone and skin became a single entity. Eyes of rich amber glowing through the limited light at the Gurahl. What would be his superior, had he been anything but a Mockery.

"Help me!" he screeched.

Pete: Pete couldn't begin to name the emotions he was feeling. All he saw was Fletcher--in many ways as if the first time--and the giant, thrashing wolf he had pinned beneath him.

He rushed over, careful to avoid claws and jaws. Kelly was making a sound that was making every hair on Pete's body stand on end. "Fletch, come on, let him up. Let him up, you won, he's not fighting you!"

Fletcher: "No shit he's not fightin' me! M'not lettin' a wolf loose on this fuckin' town. I don't care how injured it is!"

Pete: "Then I'll take him with me to the woods! He won't be loose!"

Fletcher: "Move your goddamn hands n'do somethin'!"

Pete/Kelly: "Dammit, Fletcher, let him--fuck."

Pete pulled a pendant from under his shirt as he crouched beside Kelly's head.

His bartender was still making that godawful sound and trying to move from underneath Fletcher's weight, to no avail. Kelly's pain was plainly obvious when he was up and human; now it was nearly unbearable to see.

Sooner or later someone was going to hear and either come looking and call the sheriff, and then they would really have a problem on their hands.

"Kelly. Kelly! I need you to calm down." Pete pulled his necklace up over his head and clasped it in one hand while gingerly attempting to place the other on the wolf's head.

Not an easy task with Kelly just waiting to clamp his jaws down on something.

"I'm gonna make you feel better, okay?" he said as gently as he could. "I'm gonna try. It won't hurt you more, it's just green light. You ever heard of Druids? It's just some of their magic. It'll help, I promise."

He squeezed the pendant tighter, willing its magic forward.

Fletcher: "He can't fuckin' understand ya. I've tried! Don't ya think I've tried?!" But then again, maybe true breeds understood one another. He didn't fucking know. But this was somehow his fucking fault. Where would June be right now had he not bolted across the street? Peter would say she would have been fine. He was sinking into self-doubt and further paranoia.

One more snap at Peter, though, and that muzzle was going to be wrapped.

Pete/Kelly: Fletcher was right; Kelly showed no more signs of understanding Pete than he had of understanding him. At the moment it was hard to say whether that would've been the case in different circumstances, but as things stood, Kelly understood nothing and perceived everything as a threat.

That didn't mean Pete was going to stop trying, however.

"Come on, Kelly, try to think through it. You've gotta try." Pete squeezed the pendant harder. What the hell was taking it so long?! "I've almost got it, Kelly, you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay, Kelly. That's your name, remember? Kelly George Rose. You've gotta understand that, you--fucking finally!"

At long last, a soft green light had begun to flow from the pendant. Pete immediately pressed it against the wolf's head, hoping the bit of magic would help calm and relieve him.

"Fletch, you have to let go of his leg. We have no chance of getting him to calm down if you don't."

Fletcher: Fletcher lifted onto one of his now amber elbows. A soft crunch of not-skin against concrete. He'd release the leg, focus almost entirely on snapping jaws and frantic claws.

"Lemme guess. France?"

Pete/Kelly: Pete shook his head, gaze trained on Kelly. "Callum's cousin."

There was a rush of something that could technically be called relief but fell far short of the mark. It wasn't really relief in the sense Pete had been hoping; it was just a bit less pain.

Kelly continued to struggle, more weakly but with the same amount of desperation.

At the very least, the screaming had stopped.

Fletcher: "Where d'ya wanna take him?" Because this alleyway shit had to end. He turned, checking for June. A sound, a scent. On guard while Peter did whatever it was he was doing.

Pete: "The woods. I have more of this magic along the riverbank. The pendant only has so much."

Fletcher: Fletcher closed his eyes. The fight against his nature in order to set himself to rights was painful as always, but an otherwise thoughtless transition.

"Help me get him up."

Pete: Thoughtless on Fletcher's part but definitely not Pete's. When this was over and done with he was going to have to take a second to process everything he was witnessing.

"Not yet. Give it another second." He didn't trust that Kelly wouldn't snap right now. Best to let the magic work a little bit. "Anyone pawn an ATV recently?"

Fletcher: "What? No. He can fit in the back of my Dart." He'd have to, torn upholstery be damned. One more idea. It had been some time since he'd looked, but, "How crowded is the attic?"

Pete: "We won't be able to get to the part of the riverbank we need to in a car. I usually hike out there on foot or walk there in bear form."

Pete's brow furrowed. "The attic? There's no magic in the attic."

Fletcher: "I don't give a fuck about magic right now, Peter. We just need him where humans can't fuckin' see. Make him walk with ya when he's got two semi-functional legs in the mornin'."

Pete: "He won't be seen by anyone if we take him to the woods. He'll be out of sight and he'll get some relief for his pain. He's not just some wolf, Fletch, I see this man every day. He works for me."

Fletcher: "Why does no one in this goddamn town have any fuckin' sense of self-preservation." A hand was thrown about. "Whatever then. Ya deal with it."

Pete: "My self doesn't need to be preserved, his does. What would putting him in the attic do that taking him to the woods wouldn't?"

Fletcher: "Uh, expose him t'fuckin' people."

Pete: "And who exactly is going to see him deep in the woods? There's more risk keeping him here. I'd be truly surprised if someone hasn't already called Brett because a wild animal was screaming in town."

Fletcher: "We're not in the fuckin' woods, Peter."

Pete: "So let's get there! And if you don't want to help me that's fine!" He could call Callum to help him. He'd be able to provide magic and possible transport.

Fletcher: "You're out of your goddamn mind." The wolf - because that's all it was in this form - was lifted in impatient arms. So goddamn ignorant and no sense of safety for himself or those in this town. Absolutely ridiculous. Pentex could have Peter's head tomorrow and it would be his own fucking fault.

But no matter the torture, he was in love with this idiot bear. If he breached the veil for anyone, it seemed, it would be in the name of half-love.

"Let's fuckin' go then."

Pete/Kelly: The wolf wasn't exactly going to go easily. Just like in his human form, any amount of movement at all sent waves of pain and discomfort all throughout his body. This amount of magic had been intended to help Pete sleep or meditate, not offer relief to a horribly injured direwolf. The most it could do was offer a calming effect.

"Since when is helping a friend being out of my mind? The goddamn woods are the safest place for him and for everyone else. He's out of sight to them, and they are to him."

Pete tried to keep the pendant pressed to Kelly's head as best he could as they started for the woods. Tried being the operative word. There was still a lot of snarling and struggling and there would no doubt be more as the magic ran out.

They just needed to get inside the tree line. They needed to get at least that far.

Fletcher: "We gotta go through fuckin' buildings, train track, homes, Peter. Homes. I don't know how this ain't gettin' through t'ya. Ya hang out with that druid way too fuckin' much."

Pete: "The hell are we, ghosts? We're not going through anything. Vampires didn't take over this place for the flurry of activity. It's nearly three a.m., there's no one out in the back streets to see what's happening."

Fletcher: "They didn't make this place an Elysium by marchin' a fuckin' werewolf through the goddamn streets just 'cause 78% of people are asleep."

Pete: "No, they did it by covering shit up which is exactly what we're doing."

Not a single major street would be taken if Pete had anything to do with it. Back streets and alleys only. Not a single streetlamp would be walked under. He wanted to take the most lowkey route possible while also doing it as quickly as possible.

Not an easy feat, but then Edenton wasn't terribly large.

Fletcher: "I'm so grateful you're such an expert now. Really, it brings me peace of mind that all my upbringing and knowledge is a goddamn lie."

Pete: Pete tried his best not to give Fletcher a snippy reply back. It would be far too easy to fall into an argument just for its own sake and they had a very pressing issue to deal with.

"Really, with the sarcasm? You telling me vampires aren't like the goddamn mob? I'm not trying to make your life hard, Fletcher, I'm trying to help Kelly."

Fletcher: "The sake of one over many." He was angry in the moment. Flabbergasted at the situation he'd allowed Peter to place them in. Pissed beyond measure that Kelly thought he could work under such condition. The man was gonna get a fair right hook in the proper moment.

"You're..." A glance at the moon. "Is it a tattoo? That necklace? Why ain't ya changed, too?"

Pete: "The many are tucked away at home right now and they're not my concern. My concern is my friend and if that really steams your clams that goddamn badly, I'll look after Kelly on my own!"

The green glow seemed dimmer. The magic was running out. Or maybe it was his own paranoia making it seem that way.

"Callum's cousin helped me. I couldn't change tonight, I'm looking after Graham."

Fletcher: "Ya do that enough you're gonna break yourself. But whatever." That was becoming the theme for everything tonight. He knew truths, but whatever. Feelings outweighed facts apparently.

Until it didn't, and a door just yards away opened with a slam. Less than a second and Fletcher was on his knees, armful or wolf and eyes caught in moonlight.

Pete: "Is there anything you're not gonna fucking jump down my throat about tonight? This is the first time I've ever done it and it'll most likely be the last. My nine year-old nephew was my only fucking reason."

He could've kept going, but the sound of that door made every drop of blood in his body run cold.

Fuckfuckfuck they needed a shadow any shadow please god don't let them look in our direction--

Fletcher: "Just don't move," he whispered. "You're fine, Peter."

Pete: Forget moving, Pete barely breathed. He motioned for Fletcher to be quiet; even that whisper sounded way too loud.

It had been a back door opening. He heard shuffling footsteps, a clinking sound followed a dull thud.

He finally let himself relax when the door slammed shut a few moments later. "Who the fuck takes out the trash at three in the morning?" he hissed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"We're not gonna make it before the amulet runs out, we need Cal."

Fletcher: Fletcher's face could best be described as deadpan, seeing as he was the point attempting to reassure Peter. Seeing as he was the one carrying two arms' worth of unnerved wolf.

"Gee. Sure sounds like we shoulda stayed fuckin' put. Sounds like it's gonna be a crowd of us in the middle of bumfuck and exposed. Sounds like ya shoulda listened t'me."

Pete: "Absolutely not, we're not staying exposed, we're still going to the woods. I need magic to calm Kelly. And by all means, Fletcher, set him down and wash your hands of this if you want to." He pulled up Callum's name and dialed.

"You need to hear you were right? Fine, you were right and I was wrong. You know best and I should've listened to you."

Fletcher: "If only I believed anything ya ever said t'me, it might actually make me feel better."

Pete: "God, Fletcher, what do you want from me?!" Pete whisper yelled. "I am trying to do right by Kelly. Maybe it's not the best way and maybe I'm being a reckless, naive idiot but dammit I have to try! The woods are safe, he needs to be safe!"

Fletcher: "Ya ask me now?!" Plenty willing to have a whisper fight right there and then.

Carefully, he returned to his feet. "Move t'that bit a'trees. I'll scout."

Pete: "Might as well since in your infinite wisdom I can't do anything right! Jesus god, why won't he pick up?" He'd been sent to voicemail. Callum was either dead asleep or away from his phone. He dialed again.

"You can't scout with an armful of wolf, give him here." Pete propped his phone between his ear and shoulder and held out his arms for Kelly.

Fletcher: "S'three in the mornin'. His husband probably turned his phone off." Something he'd been known to do when Callum needed sleep. Something Fletcher wasn't about to reveal in its entirety.

The wolf was handed over. Almost instantly did he disappear among the shadow and branches. Off with his shoe. The one with a reasonable toe to spare.

"Don't say a fuckin' word," he hissed. The distinct and nauseating crack of bones. The tear of flesh far too easy than it should seem. Two abnormally large roaches flew away with impressive speed.

Pete: Pete took the wolf as gently as he could, careful not to jostle him too much. And although there was some protest and half-hearted struggling, Kelly remained relatively calm.

However little magic there was, it was having the intended effect.

"Your toes are really the least of my concern right now, Fletcher." Still no answer from Callum.

Pete sighed.

Fletcher: "Just sit a moment. No use wastin' energy." His eyes, still reflective in certain angles, had taken a faraway glaze.

"Where ya keep the blue roses?"

Pete: Pete didn't bother wondering how Fletcher knew about the roses he'd planted. At this point, he simply assumed Fletcher knew about everything that happened in Edenton.

"Along a secluded part of the riverbank. Off any paths."

Fletcher: A simple nod, eyes forward. Peter would have to wait through the flinches and stuttered breaths, watching a mind in multiple places simultaneously.

Pete: “It’s about a two-mile hike from Callum’s house. There’s a big rock nearby.”

Fletcher: "I know," he muttered.

Pete: “Right. Of course you do.”

Fletcher: "What's that mean?" Not a lot of fight left in his voice.

Pete: “That you know everything.”

Fletcher: "I don't."

Pete: “Probably more than anyone else in town.” His voice was quiet, void of any accusation.

Fletcher: "S'all I do. People think I'm crazy but m'just not... m'just not."

Pete: “People think everyone’s crazy.”

Fletcher: "Yeah, s'easy t'dismiss when you're not me."

Pete: “I don’t mean to dismiss it.”

Fletcher: "I bet ya don't mean a lot of things."

Pete: Pete heaved a long sigh. “They find the roses?”

Fletcher: "Almost there. Not lil Ferraris."

Pete: “Just asking.”

Pete looked down at his armful of Kelly. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was too labored to be restful.

And the light was definitely dimmer now.

Fletcher: The path was clear. Fletcher felt at the tree and forced himself upright.

"Follow behind me, alright? Walk where I walk."

Pete: He nodded and carefully adjusted his grip on Kelly.

"Lead the way."

Fletcher: He needed something to fill the silence. "Did ya ever trust me, Peter?"

Pete: "I trust you now, Fletcher."

Fletcher: "How can ya say that n'we're walkin' this way?"

Pete: "I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you. I'd be home still, with Graham."

Fletcher: "What was trust?"

Pete: "Dropping everything and leaving my nephew with Emmanuel in the middle of the night because you texted me that something was wrong."

Fletcher: Fletcher fell into silence, chewing a wound into his lip as they continued along the path to Peter's sanctuary. The declaration of love to a leech. What a sad, pathetic life he lived.

"Do your thing. I'll... keep watch."

Pete: Pete had never been more relieved to see a blue rose in his life.

The moment he stepped into the serenity garden, more of that soft green light began to emanate from each of the roses, covering the immediate area in a soothing haze.

He lowered Kelly to the ground as delicately as possible, giving extra consideration given to the injured leg.

As for Kelly, he was too exhausted to put up much of any kind of struggle. The Druid magic couldn't quite take away all the pain, but it was lulling him into a half-asleep state.

And now that Kelly was calm and still, the extent of the damage to his body was plain to see. He looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder and left to heal poorly.

Fletcher: Fletcher looked back over his shoulder. "What kinda Garou can't heal proper? The fuck ya think happened t'him?"

Pete: "I couldn't even begin to guess," Pete sighed, settling beside Kelly's head. "He's a vet."

Fletcher: "That don't - I dunno, man. Seen wolves heal from some crazy shit. Ya felt his leg? Some unnatural shit in there."

Pete: "Could a vampire have done damage like this? Made it so he wouldn't be able to heal?"

Fletcher: "Maybe a witch. Maybe somethin' like ya. Y'all supposed t'be the manipulators of health or some shit."

Pete: "Whatever it was, they were either really pissed or really powerful. Or both."

He put his pendant back on and tucked it away again. "Stronger ones of me probably. I'm just a bear."

Fletcher: "Ya ain't ever been 'just' anything."

Pete: "Guess not. My first transformation made that clear."

Fletcher: "I shoulda smelled it on ya."

Pete: “I was a late bloomer, weak bloodline.” He shrugged.

Fletcher: "You've only dipped your toes in."

Pete: “Not much of a puddle to dip them into. What I know about being a bear I learned from my mentor.”

Fletcher: "I mean all of it. Bein' 'round Callum ain't the whole of it."

Pete: "What else am I gonna do? I come from a river guardian tribe. I guard the river and hang out with Callum on full moons."

Fletcher: "More than that, Peter. There's... so much ya don't know." You have no idea how much I worry.

Pete: “I don’t doubt that. But since I have no mentor who is like me, I make up for it by just living my life and transforming quietly and looking after the river. It’s all I can do. It’s what I’ve got to work with.”

Fletcher: "Is that what ya want? T'just... be like that?"

Pete: “I never asked to be this, Fletcher. I was human my entire life until I got sick one random day and transformed a few days later. I just want the life that I built.”

Fletcher: "Wow, ya never asked for it. Amazin'. None of us ask t'be born, Peter. Ya either adapt or ya don't."

Pete: “Well it may not seem so to you, but I think I’ve adapted pretty damn well for not having transformed until I’d been alive for over three decades.”

Fletcher: "Ya ain't been caught yet, 'cept by vampires, n'me, n'maybe a hunter."

Pete: "I was never going hide it from you, or from the vampires. Comes with the territory."

Fletcher: "What territory is that? They'll kill ya as sooner look at ya."

Pete: "The territory of living in Edenton. Even if I prevented my transformation every single full moon for the rest of my life, I can't hide it. My aura's changed. My scent has changed."

Fletcher: "Ya can stay away from em. You're not me. You're not strong enough. If Guildias' boss told him t'kill ya, he would. Ya just..."

Pete: "My life is here, Fletcher. And I've kept that life as quiet and private as I can to stay off the Prince's radar. I'm doing the best I can."

Fletcher: Fletcher could only sigh, at a loss for words that would not result in an argument or further heartbreak. Best to just turn his back and watch their path.

Pete: Fletcher didn't have to say anything more; that sigh spoke volumes. It said his best wasn't good enough, that he wasn't good enough. It said he was doing everything wrong. It said he was naive and idealistic and overemotional and irrational.

So...everything he'd gotten used to hearing about himself.

He laid his hand on Kelly's head and asked god to help them all.

Fletcher: Shouldn't that have been said for himself? Fletcher would have corrected several mistakes in that line of thought had he said them. Just a further widening gap between those unforgettable few weeks they would never share again. The further from those days, the more Fletcher convinced himself they were just a dream.

"How's he doin'?"

Pete: “I think he’s mostly okay.” Pete gave Kelly a good once over. “His breathing seems a little labored. Leg’s twitching.” He leaned in close to listen. “And he’s whining with every exhale. Probably still in a lot of pain.”

Fletcher: "Could steal somethin' from the vet's office." A partial joke with no accompanied laugh.

Pete: Pete snorted. “Vet’s offices keep morphine?”

Fletcher: "Gotta be a dog equivalent."

Pete: "He's on medication. Maybe that'll be enough once he turns back. Unless you want to risk breaking into the vet's office."

Fletcher: "I mean, we're already breakin' rules." But he took a breath. "I might have somethin'."

Pete: "Is whatever it is safe for giant wolves?"

Fletcher: "Are ya bear in all things when you're a bear?"

Pete: "Right down to scratching my back against a tree."

Fletcher: "So ya think it would hurt ya t'take some oxy?"

Pete: “I don’t know, probably. Animal systems aren’t equipped to handle heavy meds.”

Fletcher: It was all relatively new. He knew of other breeds because he had been forced for one reason or another to kill them.

For the good of his species and the security of this town.

"Stayin' here til dawn?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help him home when he transforms back.”

Fletcher: Fletcher solidified his stance. Arms folded like a hug.

"Alright."

Pete: “It’s okay if you don’t stay, you don’t have to. Kelly’s my responsibility.”

Fletcher: "You're mine."

Pete: “I’m here every full moon, Fletcher,” he said softly. “I’ll be okay, promise. You have a life and I don’t want to keep you from it.”

Pete: “I’m here every full moon, Fletcher,” he said softly. “I’ll be okay, promise. You have a life and I don’t want to keep you from it.”

Fletcher: "...So am I." All Peter had to go on with that faraway tone was Fletcher's back and impossibly tight shoulders.

Pete: Years of knowing about Fletcher's vigilance and somehow reminders of it still surprised him, even if it was brief. Of course Fletcher watched him on full moons. Fletcher watched everything.

Better to quit arguing and focus on Kelly. Maybe he'd text Gaetan and ask about the injuries.

Fletcher: Every day with Peter was a foot-in-mouth situation. Best to let the silence stretch between them. The whispers against his ears were making him miserable anyway.

"Fuck off," he tried to hiss. Whomever was vying for his attention tonight was particularly insistent.

Pete: Pete frowned and turned toward Fletcher's back. Who was he talking to? Was someone coming toward them?

"Is everything all right?"

Fletcher: "S'fi - S'fine." Composure. Not another argument. He was tired.

After a moment, Fletcher turned his shoulder in Peter's direction. He doubted he would remember their night together, the rain, the power outage, the embarrassment caused by the blackout. But, "Ya ever... hear anything in the dark?"

Pete: Fletcher needn't have doubted; Pete remembered every moment of the time they'd had together.

"I didn't used to, but I do now, sometimes."

Fletcher: "Anyone ever tell ya what it is?"

Pete: He nodded. "Yep, my mentor. Said it was the Veil."

Fletcher: "Dead fuckin' people?"

Pete: "Not dead. The in between."

Fletcher: "Whatever that is." He flicked at his ear, as though swiping at a fly.

Pete: "The way it was explained to me, it's the space between life and death. The spirit world where ghosts and ideas and dreams happen. That's where the voices come from."

Fletcher: "It can fuck right off," he muttered.

Pete: Pete pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the battery. There was a decent amount left.

He turned on the flashlight and set it down on a nearby rock.

Fletcher: Fletcher turned at the click of the light. Confusion tangled with caution in those gray eyes as he approached the illuminated sanctuary. He would crouch quietly, akin to the very creature they protected.

Pete: "Light helps right?" Pete asked softly. "I remember, from before."

Fletcher: "Yeah... Helps." For some indescribable reason, a verbal thank you felt like too much to give.

Pete: He nodded and offered Fletcher a smile.

"Did you know Druids can borrow light and play with it?"

Fletcher: "Heard somethin', but just sounded like a fairy tale." He'd seen things from Callum, more his cousin, but nothing he cared to disclose.

Pete: "Callum told me that he and his cousins used to make soccer balls out of light. His cousin Bronwyn still does it with her son."

Fletcher: "I..." know her. He chewed his lip. Stomach churned. "...be glad when this is over." Not what he meant to say, but the bottom line was he felt sick to his goddamn stomach near Peter.

"I just don't get this luna shit."

Pete: Pete looked up at the sky. He could just make out the moon through the canopy. "I really don't either. It's strange being controlled by something you can't touch. Something so far away."

Fletcher: "I mean, gravity," he scoffed. "Sunburn. Insanity. Love n'hate."

Pete: He hummed. "You can feel all those things all the time. You're always aware of them. The moon is just a space rock every single day of its cycle except for one, and on that one day..."

He shook his head. "It's just its position relative to us and the sun. It's math."

Fletcher: Fletcher shook his head, but then shrugged. "I mean, if that blows your mind, I'm a fuckin' cockroach. You're a goddamn bear. Callum is married t'a vampire that can explode into ash. It all means somethin' we can't see. The moon ain't just the moon. Magic n'shit."

Pete: "The second you think nothing can surprise you anymore, something does. And it's not even just magic shit, it's normal shit too. How can you be a were-roach and I be a were-bear when we've only explored five percent of the ocean? None of it makes any sense."

Fletcher: "I mean, that's "we" as ya know it. Someone probably has. Only surprise I've had the past few years have been you."

Pete: “That makes two of us. Well, three. Callum was really damn surprised too.”

Fletcher: "Oh. Yeah. The bear shit. Yeah, that's surprisin'."

Pete: Pete wanted to ask Fletcher what he'd thought Pete had meant but refrained.

He was quiet for a moment. "Do you think someone not-human has explored the ocean?"

Fletcher: "Oh, yeah," he repeated. "Heard some things. Really interestin' things."

Pete: "Any you can share to pass the time?"

Fletcher: Deep breath. "'Bout a guy, his father is... a bloodsucker. N'he lives in the ocean."

Pete: Pete blinked. "He lives in the ocean? How--well I guess he doesn't need to breathe."

Fletcher: "N'he don't gotta look like us."

Pete: "Yeah. Man, that's crazy to think about. Does he ever come out or does he just feed on fish or?"

Fletcher: "Couldn't hear too well. Think he only comes up like once in a - like a century or somethin'."

Pete: "That's....actually kind of terrifying. I'm just imagining some deep-sea creature-looking vampire emerging from the depths."

Fletcher: "Somethin' like that... was here, once. When we were little."

Pete: "He's not still here, is he? Creeping around just out of reach of the sunlight?"

Fletcher: "I don't think it was a bloodsucker. Mama wouldn't tell me."

Pete: “Something bad or just not human?”

Fletcher: "Definitely not human. The way she described it in her book was like... somethin' ya'd see in the deep."

Pete: “So terrifying, probably with transparent skin and creepy eyes and razor sharp teeth.”

Fletcher: "Loose things." He indicated to his throat, arms.

Pete: Pete shuddered. “Scarier things than any of us are at the bottom of the ocean.”

Fletcher: "N'sometimes they get out. Remember... I guess not."

Pete: “Remember what?”

Fletcher: "That week I wasn't in school. I'd spent the night with Tristan Seger, and then bounced."

Pete: “Oh yeah, I do remember that.” He remembered being jealous and upset that Fletcher would go over to Tristan’s house but not his.

“Did something come to town that week that freaked your mom out?”

Fletcher: Another one of those things he wouldn't know. "Somethin' like that. She took me huntin'."

Pete: “Normal hunting or humans killing non-humans hunting?”

Fletcher: "Non-human killin' non-human."

Pete: “Well then. Must’ve been life or death if she took you away for a whole week.”

Fletcher: "Think she just wanted t'teach me." Much more important to her than being a student in some school for humans. With valid reason.

Pete: "Well, you missed Nicholas Maurey wetting himself during reading time."

Fletcher: "Wow. I missed so much." He managed a smile.

Pete: "At that age, that was the hugest thing to ever happen. Still remember the principal stepping over the puddle."

Fletcher: "Did he ever live that down," he mused.

Pete: "Mitch Borden teases him to this day. But Mitch never matured so."

Fletcher: "Did ya... really notice? When I wasn't there."

Pete: Pete nodded. "Yeah. I did."

Fletcher: I hate how much I love you.

"Ya n - mm." He shook his head.

"I'll keep an eye on him, if ya wanna rest your eyes."

Pete: "I'll be fine," he said with a shake of his head. "Used to pulling full moon all nighters, remember?"

Fletcher: "I know what ya can do, n'I'm offerin' anyways."

Pete: "I appreciate it. Truly. I don't think my brain would let me rest."

Fletcher: Another span of silence, then, slowly turning away from the light, though remaining in its protection.

Pete: Pete alternated between staring off into space and staring at Kelly's scars. The cane his bartender had been sporting lately made perfect sense.

This wasn't just a limp, that leg looked atrophied.

"The hell happened to you, Kelly?" he asked the air.

Fletcher: Fletcher stared into space, wondering why it was he constantly threw himself into these situations. Why was it he protected this town, besides self-preservation, had to be more significant than Peter Graham.

"What happens t'all Fera? Battle."

Pete: "Seems like he never fully recovered from that one." He couldn't help but wonder what had caused this kind of damage. What had prevented Kelly from healing the way a Fera should.

He fell silent for another few long moments. Then, "One of us should talk to June."

Fletcher: "I will," said without hesitation. "But I don't think she'll wanna."

Pete: "I think she will. June makes sense of things by talking them out, alone or with someone. And she can't talk this one out alone."

Fletcher: "Nah, she's got a sense of survival."

Pete: “She was still by the door when I arrived. She didn’t run, I had to make her.”

Fletcher: "Some freeze, some frenzy, some just haul ass."

Pete: “Well, looks like she’s a freezer. Now that is. The old her probably would’ve lost her mind.”

Fletcher: "Maybe. Maybe she'll call someone n'this place'll be crawlin' with Pentex."

Pete: "This is the same woman who's kept promises she made in kindergarten. If she talks about it at all, it'll only be to one of us."

Fletcher: "Maybe should be both of us."

Pete: "Maybe. Might help her understand better."

Fletcher: "When are ya gonna tell your family?"

Pete: "I'm not."

Fletcher: "I don't get that."

Pete: "Stella's about to have a baby, my dad's nearly recovered from his accident, he and my mom are still going to therapy. They don't need to know the world the thought they lived in is a lie."

Fletcher: "Luke already knows shit."

Pete: "He hasn't told anyone either."

Fletcher: "Y'all need a damn heart-t'-heart. That shit'll separate y'all eventually."

Pete: "Or it'll tear us apart if I rip the fabric of their reality in two. Enough damage has been done to my family already."

Fletcher: "Not Luke. Ya trust me, remember? It won't break him."

Pete: "He's already broken. Every time I see him he looks more and more wasted away."

Fletcher: "He'll be alright. People are workin' t'fix him."

Pete: "He doesn't need supernatural shit on top of everything he's dealing with."

Fletcher: Deep breath. "Man, that whole separation shit's already good n'happened."

Pete: "You mean his boyfriend being murdered?"

Fletcher: "I mean the two of ya. Believe me. I know what keepin' secrets does t'relationships."

Pete: "If I know he knows, then he already knows that I know."

Fletcher: "For sayin' ya trust me, ya sure don't act like it."

Pete: "What am I gonna say that'll be any help to him, Fletch? Hey Luke, I know you're horribly, horribly depressed but to make your day, let's talk about how our pregnant sister and our parents are surrounded by vampires."

Fletcher: "More like, fuckin, 'Hey, brother, this shit ya know? ya ain't alone. I would really appreciate your company n'I want ya t'know ya can come t'me 'bout your wraith boyfriend.'"

Pete: "His what? His boyfriend is haunting him?"

Fletcher: Fletcher simply stared.

Pete: "So you watch him too every weekend. And his best friend."

Fletcher: "For twenty years. Every fuckin' vampire, hunter, breed. Every fuckin' fairy n'every goddamn witch I can find."

Pete: "How do you walk, Fletcher? Your toes are everywhere."

Fletcher: "Had t'learn. Could be worse."

Pete: "Worse than having to dedicate brain power and appendages to watching Gertrude's Elysium for two decades?"

Fletcher: "N'as reward people call me fuckin' crazy n'an asshole. A know-it-all n'paranoid." Not all was incorrect, but whatever.

Pete: "You're not. You just know too much about too many things." You must be exhausted all the time.

Fletcher: "Pentex is just next door. An ugly beige outer space buildin' in every state. Got one outside Raleigh. Works with the military. Ain't no such thing as knowin' too much."

Pete: "Knowing too much has a nasty habit of getting people killed."

Fletcher: "Why ya think I watch everyone?"

Pete: "To stay alive."

Fletcher: "N'everyone else I give a shit about."

Pete: "Talk to June. She won't tell a single soul anything."

Fletcher: "Talk t'Luke. Ya can lean on him. He needs t'lean on ya."

Pete: "I'll talk to him about it when he gets here on Thursday. This isn't a phone conversation."

Fletcher: "No, it ain't."

Pete: "Tomorrow's June's day off and she plans to stay home all day. Bring a pizza and talk to her."

Fletcher: Fletcher looked over his shoulder, stared at the wolf, stared off into space. Stared at the sky with that familiar lost gaze, and shrugged to himself.

"I shouldn't have left ya."

Pete: Pete was still gently petting Kelly's head, offering whatever comfort he could even if Kelly wasn't aware or couldn't feel it.

"It is what it is, Fletch," he said softly. "I don't hold it against you."

Fletcher: "Of all the times t'fuckin' slack."

Pete: "Don't beat yourself up. You couldn't have known."

Fletcher: "But I knew he was fucked."

Pete: "She didn't get her way. I'm okay. It's not your fault, Fletcher."

Fletcher: It was obvious, even in such dim lighting of the full moon, that words waited on the tip of Fletcher's tongue. Words that he knew would be meaningless.

So he shrugged again.

"Marion wants t'move t'the city."

Pete: Of course she did. Why the hell wouldn't she.

"Gonna do it?" he asked, quieter than he intended.

Fletcher: "Not really my speed, but... I'd blend in with the other crazies."

Pete: He nodded, because what else could he do.

"What about your building?"

Fletcher: "I dunno. Dunno if we will. S'just somethin' she's in my ear about."

Pete: Another nod. "Have you ever thought about it? Living in a city?"

Fletcher: "Ya know I did. Before. N'ya didn't want me to."

Pete: "No, I didn't. Wanted you to be able to be where your life and mom and home are." Where I was.

Fletcher: "Yeah..." What more could he say? "Ya know why I wanted t'leave."

Pete: "Yeah. And I was the one who ended up leaving."

Fletcher: Fletcher shrugged. Stared at the exhausted wolf.

"Ya were never with me t'begin with. What I miss?"

Pete: "Stole a few weeks before it all went to hell. The only thing I regret is hurting you."

Fletcher: "Stole," he scoffed. Nails dug into the back of his hand. His humorless laugh was broken by a "Fuck you."

Pete: "I stole them," he said to the ground. "You didn't. You did nothing to deserve what I put you through. I hurt you, and I'll be sorry for it all my life."

Fletcher: "How'd ya use me?" If this was going to be the subject, let's have it.

Pete: "You've been beating yourself up for leaving me with Victoria but I'm the one who went out that window. You deserve so much better than me. I wasn't brave enough when we were younger and I wasn't brave enough then. You deserve someone who's brave enough. You've been watching this town for two full decades, you've gotten yourself into hot water more than once to protect it and protect the people you care about. You're in hot water now with me and Kelly and you're still here when you can tell me to go fuck myself and deal with this on my own."

Fletcher: "Peter..." He had wanted an apology, but hearing any semblance of regret now felt empty. A goodbye. Just that black void in his gut he couldn't fill and never had.

"Ya could take a knife t'me right now n'I'd let ya. Told ya when ya jumped in the water ya... only did it 'cause he wasn't here. I knew." Hands rose and fell. "Ya can't be blamed."

Pete: "Yeah, I can. I can because I made choices and those choices hurt you. I deserved every bit of what happened in the woods that night. And if you had come along and decided to get a few hits in, I would've deserved that, too. I wouldn't have stopped you then and I wouldn't now. You've had to put up with so much of my bullshit and I am so goddamn sorry, Fletcher. You're not the asshole, you never were. It's always been me. And after all you've had to deal with, the only thing I want is for you to be happy. Genuinely and truly happy. Because jesus god, you've earned it."

Fletcher: A visceral heat burned its way from that void to his fingertips. A blissfully empty mind fueled on instinct. Slowly Fletcher reached for him, intent on curling rough fingers around Peter's throat.

Pete: Pete was too focused on Kelly and too caught up in his thoughts to react in time to stop Fletcher.

He braced for a hit; he expected one. He'd all but given Fletcher permission.

Fletcher: Not a strike of brute force. Only a squeeze of powerful fingers against important arteries. The command of his nearness with a simple flex of his arm. He was warm. He was Peter, as always. Being a bear didn't change much.

"Don't ever say that again. Don't ever let anyone lay a hand on ya... like that. Not ever."

Pete: There was a small, quiet part deep in Pete's mind that completely believed he deserved what Victoria had intended to do to him, and this was the first time it had ever been voiced aloud. At the very least, he deserved MJ's anger. He deserved Fletcher's, too.

And everything in his face reflected that sentiment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Fletcher: "What d'ya have t'be sorry for?" he whispered. "I got t'taste what it was like. Your mouth. Your skin. Your you. I got that. S'mine. It hurts, but everything does."

Pete: "I'm sorry that it hurts. I'm sorry that that's all I ever do to you. I want to make it better but I don't know how."

Fletcher: "Ya can't. Ya can't... be with me." Though it destroyed his spirit to finally say it. "I'll say anything hateful so it don't kill me, 'cause I know ya can't. M'not him."

Pete: Everything Pete wanted to say would only hurt them more. He wished Fletcher had come over to his house for a sleepover instead of Tristan's. He wished Fletcher had been the one to give him his first kiss under the bleachers. He wished he'd gone right up to Fletcher and asked him to prom.

So many things. None of which could be changed, all of which were painful enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"I've said so many awful shitty things to you and I didn't mean a single one. That's what I did so it wouldn't kill me. I need you to know that, even if it's too little too late."

Fletcher: "Well, s'what we do. Ain't it? What I said t'ya months ago. What I said for twenty years. What m'sayin' right now." And despite everything he'd just said, he pulled Peter that much closer. Dangerously close. Less than a mistake would crush their mouths.

Pete: Pete had made that mistake once and hurt the man he'd loved for two thirds of his life. To do so again would put him beyond all redemption.

"I know it can't be with me, but I want you to be so happy. That I did mean. You deserve it so much."

Fletcher: "It coulda been, though. N'it always will be you, Peter."

Pete: He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry for that, too. If there's another me and another you in another universe, I hope he's more worthy of you than I am."

Fletcher: "What's that bloodsucker got that I ain't got?"

Pete: “I wish I knew. I wish I understood why.”

Fletcher: "When ya figure it out," he released his throat, "lemme know, so I can be a better man."

Pete: Pete gave Fletcher a sad smile. “You’re a good man, Fletcher. A far better man than I could ever hope to be. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

Fletcher: "Shut up with that shit."

Pete: “I mean it. Ask June.”

Fletcher: "Ya are good."

Pete: “I’ll take your word for it.”

Fletcher: "Trust me, right?"

Pete: Another small, sad smile. “Yeah, I do.”

Fletcher: "You're the best thing I've ever met."

Pete: It took every ounce of strength he possessed to take even breaths and not break down sobbing.

He would absolutely never deserve Fletcher Goodman.

“I hope I can spend the rest of my life proving you even half right.”

Fletcher: "Ya can start by listenin' t'me next time some shit goes down. Deal?"

Pete: Pete nodded. “Deal.”

Fletcher: Fingers softly brushed against Peter's chin, and fell into his lap.

"Should keep hatin' ya in public. Ya know, reputation."

Pete: “No one would blame you. People around here care a lot about reputation.”

Fletcher: "A man is his reputation. S'why I got nothin' t'lose."

Pete: “Well, you kinda do. Emmanuel Gaia’s daughter thinks you’re secretly a pirate. So as long as you don’t disprove that you should be good.”

Fletcher: "How the hell sh - the pawn shop."

Pete: A true smile and a nod. “Gold coins are all the proof she needed.”

Fletcher: "Mm. Gold coins..."

Pete: “Everyone knows only pirates have those. Her words.”

Fletcher: "They mean more t'me now, ya know."

Pete: He nodded. “Yep. Never gonna look at one the same way.”

Fletcher: "If I gave ya anything," he smiled, wrinkles plaguing his face.

Pete: “You sure did. Gold coins, donuts. All in a new light.”

Fletcher: A growl escaped the Samsa before he could catch it. He turned back to Kelly to save face. He couldn't talk about those memories without warming his body.

Kelly: The growl stirred Kelly from his half-asleep state. Not enough to put him on high alert, just enough for him to lift his head for a moment before unceremoniously plopping it on Pete’s lap.

Fletcher: Fletcher leaned closer with his stirring. A primal reminder of his current rank amongst the three of them. A mockery of breeds, but the alpha of this mishmash nonetheless.

Thin amber antennae sprouted from his scalp. Began to feel with gentle taps at Kelly's body.

Kelly: Just beneath the calm, it would be very obvious that Kelly’s body was in distress.

His heartbeat and breathing had slowed but remained erratic. His muscles were tense. Touching the area near his leg, however softly, would elicit a whine and a whimper.

Fletcher: "Hush." His antennae were the equivalent of tiny feathers. He felt and studied and judged the mangled body.

"We're gonna carry him t'the hospital at sunrise. Say ya found him on the floor at work, passed out."

Pete: “Okay,” he said with a nod. “It’s probably for the best, he’s in no shape to just go home, even before tonight. He’s been getting worse and worse all month.”

Fletcher: "Ya didn't say anything?"

Pete: “I tried. He either ignored me or bit my head off just enough to make me back off but not enough to get himself fired. I wouldn’t have fired him but he doesn’t know that.”

Fletcher: "Well," he turned back to him, "welcome t'the family. I'm in charge."

The antennae began to recede.

Pete: “I’m his emergency contact, you know. When I hired him I asked him if he was sure he didn’t wanna make it a relative or a friend and he just stared at me.”

Fletcher: Kelly's memory was still in question. Whether he would remember the abomination preventing his escape. Either way, he was a liability.

"Maybe they did it. Not our problem. He ain't goin' anywhere."

Pete: “Nowhere but the hospital.” He began petting Kelly’s head again. “Makes me sad that if something happens to him, his boss is the only person that’ll know. One of his bosses.”

Fletcher: "Not much Charlie could do."

Pete: “Probably why he made it me, not to toot my own horn. Could’ve chosen Dwight I guess.”

Fletcher: "Ya smell like animal."

Pete: Pete nodded. “Giving me the edge over Dwight.”

Fletcher: Fletcher turned to rest his head on the opposite of Peter's lap.

Pete: That was just fine by Pete. A small moment of peace for them all was exactly what was needed.

Fletcher: "M'watchin' everything. Ya really can rest your eyes, Peter."

Pete: It felt like his eyes got itchy and grainy the moment Fletcher told him to rest them.

"Feel like we should build a fire."

Fletcher: "Build a fire?"

Pete: "For light and heat."

Fletcher: "He'll be fine. Ya can have my jacket."

Pete: "I'm okay. He just seems so frail." It was strange calling a giant friggin' wolf frail, but oh well.

Fletcher: A noncommittal noise was all he would receive. He couldn't say how he felt, except that this man had been reckless.

Pete: Pete wouldn't have disagreed. How had Kelly ended up transforming in the alley? Surely he must've know what day it was. Had he forgotten somehow? Had he used something to prevent his turning that had failed on him?

There was no way of knowing. Not right now at least.

Fletcher: Fletcher remained vigilant, despite his position. This was Peter's life, which meant more to him than the wolf sharing his lap. No sense in checking his watch when Kelly was their alarm. He would only stir when the first rays of morning poured over dark fur.

Pete/Kelly: Much as he wanted to keep watch over Kelly, Pete was just too tired. It hadn't been a particularly taxing day but the night was something else altogether. He was emotionally and spiritually exhausted.

At some point he began to doze where he sat, head occasionally lolling to the side in the brief moments where sleep won, only for him to jolt awake again.

Kelly didn't fare much better. He never fully fell asleep; just continued to drift in his the magically-induced relaxed state.

The moment the moon lost her hold on him, however, he too would startle awake as the first loud, excruciating cracks signaled his return to his human form.

Fletcher: The first crack forced Fletcher into a crouched position, wide awake and diligently on guard, waiting for whatever reaction, no matter the severity, to put this man in his place should he decide to lash out on his only protector.

Pete/Kelly: Pete wasn't quite so awake or quite so on guard, but he did try to comfort Kelly as much as he could as the cries of pain started up again.

The magic of the flowers simply wasn't enough. It was meant to soothe and comfort; only an actual Druid could've offered Kelly any significant relief but Pete wasn't entirely certain a Druid could even help right now.

Kelly rolled off of Pete's lap in an attempt to curl in on himself as his bones reformed. Fur receded, his form elongated, and slowly the howls of pain became more and more human. They became ragged, tortured sobs. Every movement hurt and with good reason.

Kelly had transformed back fully clothed, but what skin was visible was covered in horrible, nasty bruises.

Fletcher: He recognized that pain as though he could remember his deaths. Stolen memory, but unadulterated resonation.

Slowly, he approached his side. Movement quite feral. Now, they were in the recovery phase. It was time to assess.

"Kelly. Look at me."

Pete/Kelly: Bleary eyes attempted to meet Fletcher's, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He could smell that he was in the woods and he could hear the rush of water from the river but beyond that Kelly was completely disoriented.

And then there was the matter of the bruises, which had concern plastered all over Pete's exhausted face.

They were everywhere. Shouldn't they only be in places where Fletcher had hit him or where Kelly had made contact with something? His fingers were bruised for god's sake.

"Fletcher, something's not right. Have you ever seen someone change back like this?"

Fletcher: "I see em," he sighed. "Go get his keys n'bring his truck this way. I'll ride with him in the back." Gently, Fletcher shimmied his arms underneath Kelly's weight. He expected more whining, given his current state. Maybe even a snap of that human jaw his direction.

"Go on now, Peter."

Pete/Kelly: Gentle wasn’t gently enough. Kelly had yet to form any kind of coherent word but the moment he was jostled Fletcher would be treated to more ragged cries. Even trying to struggle sent waves of sharp pain absolutely everywhere.

Meanwhile, Pete did as Fletcher asked and pulled some adrenaline out of somewhere so he could run back to the pub as quickly as his legs could take him.

Fletcher: "I hear ya," was his version of soothing. Kelly was brought to his chest and adjusted. "Gonna lift in three, two..." and up. Now was not the time to chide. He'd be talking to himself, he assumed. The man was too far gone in his agony. He couldn't be blamed for deaf ears.

Kelly: Kelly didn't have the presence of mind to even swear. He just screamed.

At least, in his mind he was screaming. In reality it was just more of the same; cries and grunts and whimpers.

He didn't really hear what the man was saying but he was aware of him. There was even a glimmer of recognition somewhere in his mind. Or was there? ....Yes. Maybe....yes? He knew who this was....right...? Right? Ri.....

Kelly's head fell back. He'd lost consciousness.

Fletcher: Fletcher walked to the nearest bit of road, where he assumed Peter would show. Just shy of the clearing, waiting by a tree for the first sign of his partner in rescue.

And with his arrival, he would motion with his elbow to the door. Kelly was traded off long enough to settle in. Still the crack of dawn, they had time to make this without being noticed.

Pete: Those gladiator workouts were finally coming in handy for more than just staying in shape.

Pete had gone back to the pub at a full run, letting that second wind do its job and propel him forward. It also helped that he didn't have a giant ass wolf to carry or any prying eyes to hide from. It was too early for anyone to be awake anyway.

He got back in record time, making quick work of retrieving Kelly's keys and cane and anything else he'd brought with him. The place was still only half shut down since Kelly and June hadn't finished closing up but that was a problem for his future self.

Back he went towards the woods, taking advantage of the early hour and driving at breakneck speed. It felt like he was racing the goddamn the sun but really he was racing every person in Edenton.

Thankfully he spotted Fletcher quickly.

"God, he feels so much heavier now," he said as he took Kelly. "I don't think we're going to be able to get away with just saying we found him."

Fletcher: "June can corroborate seein' him last n'lookin' like dog shit. S'either we take him, 'cause we are not the hands t'fix him, or you're knockin' on a druid's door at five in the mornin'. S'your call, Peter."

Pete/Kelly: Pete shook his head. "I'd ask Cal but I think this is way outside his wheelhouse. I guess if they ask we can--"

Kelly came to with a start, cutting Pete off and violently coughing up what was unmistakably blood.

Fuck.

"Fuck, okay, we gotta go. Got him?"

Fletcher: Kelly was held loosely, enough for him to move about and cough as he needed to.

"I got him. Drive." He took a breath. "Callum might be low grade, but his cousin ain't."

Pete: "It's four in New Orleans," he called as he got back in the driver's seat, not even thinking to question Fletcher's suggestion. "She can take a crack at him later, he needs medical attention but quick."

Once more taking advantage of the empty road, Pete floored it to the emergency room.

Fletcher: "That suddenly matters?" Seemed Peter was still... young. That was to be expected. Callum wasn't about to tell him everything, best friend or not.

"Easy does it, man. Don't breathe deep."

Pete/Kelly: It probably didn't in a situation like this, but Bronwyn had a kid and Pete was loath to force her to scramble like he had with Graham earlier.

Besides, there was no guarantee she'd be able to help Kelly. At least not to the extent the hospital could.

Kelly couldn't have breathed deeply if he'd wanted to, and being jostled around by his own crappy truck and crappy suspension system didn't help. If it wasn't the coughing, it was the shocks of pain after every single movement as they drove. It wasn't long before he was unconscious again.

Fletcher: Fletcher knew nothing of meditation that an ex and a best friend hadn't attempted. Considerable willpower was spent in remaining in that back bed as the truck pulled left down the long driveway to the hospital.

He could do it, he thought. Disintegrate into an intrusion of American cockroaches, scatter little by little until one remained, inconspicuous.

One steady breath. Another. Another. The simple act of remaining ached from the inside out.

Pete: Pete hoped to god that the fact that it was five in the morning meant that the emergency room would be empty as the roads. Empty and loaded with nurses.

He parked at the curb, cutting the engine and leaping out in one fluid motion.

"Okay okay, we're here." He hopped into the back. "We need--are you okay? Are you having a panic attack?"

Fletcher: Fletcher managed his best glare. The torch of mangled Garou was passed to Peter's arms.

"What are ya gonna say?"

Pete: Even though Kelly was unconscious, Pete still handled him as carefully as possible. "I'm gonna say I found him in the alley outside the pub. He looks like someone beat the hell out of him and I'm not gonna offer any theories to the contrary. Come on, let's take him inside."

He studied Fletcher for a moment. "Or would you rather wait with him while I get a nurse?"

Fletcher: His skin was burning. Palms slick with sweat. Not a smell Peter needed up his nose.

"Brett's gonna show up 'cause of this. Ya only called me t'help ya. That's it. Got it? Go get a nurse."

Pete: Pete nodded. He wouldn't push or insist or pry. If Fletcher was uncomfortable or simply didn't want to be anywhere near this, Pete wouldn't make him.

"Okay. Wait here. Once they take him inside you can slip away." He gently set Kelly down and hopped off the truck bed, running inside and shouting for help.

Fletcher: He couldn't leave. For Peter's sake. He remained by Kelly's side and wished he was religious enough to pray to anything capable of sparing him from exposure.

Pete/Peabody/Bridget: The first person Pete saw when he burst into the ER was Bridget, Peabody's girlfriend, and standing beside her was the man himself. It was Peabody who spoke first.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, immediately going from relaxed to cop mode.

"It's Kelly Rose. I've got him out in the truck. He's hurt bad, he's all bruised and coughing up blood, I think he was attacked."

Pete didn't get a chance to finish speaking before Bridget was calling for whichever one of her colleagues was closest to get the doctor and a gurney.

Fletcher: Fletcher waited with Kelly's head in his lap, keeping his airways absolutely clear. He didn't know much about anything medical. Never a need for it. His assistance was pretty much what he'd seen from film.

The sight of Deputy Peabody straightened his spine.

"He passed out on the way here," he muttered.

Peabody/Bridget: Fletcher wouldn’t have to wait long. Bridget and the other staff came through the automatic doors like bats out of hell just moments after Pete had gone in. Peabody came as well, giving Fletcher a nod of acknowledgement and greeting as he opened the tailgate so the nurses could get to Kelly.

They immediately began checking vitals and attaching equipment, alternately telling each other readings and giving instructions to each other for getting Kelly out of the truck and onto the gurney.

While they worked Peabody turned to Fletcher. “The hell happened? Pete said he was attacked?”

Fletcher: Fletcher watched with his chin down, eyes to himself. This wasn't his rodeo. If he could be nothing more than an inanimate object...

To all but Peabody. He was his whole world for the next five minutes.

"Dunno. Peter banged on my door. He's a big motherfucker. Couldn't get him up on his own."

Pete/Peabody: Peabody looked back to Kelly's prone form and couldn't help grimacing at the sight of all the bruises. "Yeah, he is. Too big for one person to do that to him. Probably a group."

There was blood on Kelly's face and facial hair and down his front and far as Peabody could tell, that was all the blood there was. Surprising considering the state the poor bastard was in.

He didn't have time to ask more questions before he was asked for help in getting Kelly onto the gurney, along with Pete who had finally come out of the ER.

Fletcher: Fletcher exchanged a look with Peter when he could. As though the sight was too much to bear, he turned his back to the scene and wiped at his mouth with both hands. Not alarming or alien or stomach churning. The less his face was seen, the less he would be remembered.

Pete/Peabody: Pete offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Fletcher's discomfort was practically rolling off of him; it didn't take a lot to see how much he wanted to get out of there.

They managed to get Kelly off the truck without tossing him around too much, but that little bit of movement was enough to make him come around in a flurry of coughs and cries.

The nurses were trying to offer both care and comfort as they finally wheeled him inside, leaving Pete, Peabody, and Fletcher outside.

Peabody was the first to talk. "My shift's about to end but we need to get a report going on this. Can you stick around, Pete? Since you found him?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah, no problem. Fletch, you wanna drive Kelly's truck to his house?" And get out of Dodge?

Fletcher: Eyes darted between the two men. I see what you're doing.

"D'ya need his truck, Peabody? Otherwise I'll... do that."

Pete/Peabody: "Was he in the truck when you found him?"

Pete shook his head. "No, he was by the dumpster. Truck was parked in the lot, just easier to bring him here in it."

The deputy nodded. "All right, should be fine then. Go ahead and take it."

Fletcher: "Not gonna CSI: Vegas his truck or somethin'?"

Peabody: "Even if we had the resources for that, we'll have better luck with Kelly himself. Parker will probably look around the alley though."

Fletcher: "Right." He held his hand out to Peter. "Keys, then." Whatever it was Peabody was about to do, whatever this investigation would lead to, he wanted no part of it. Putting aside the fact that Kelly's wallet was still intact. An attack without greed as the motivation made everything stickier. He was still trying to wrap his head around a Fera that could keep his clothes on during the transformation. That was more his artificial species. So those wheels were busy turning.

Pete: Pete handed Fletcher Kelly's keys and with them, the opportunity to escape Peabody's probing questions. And Brett's too, when he finally arrived.

"I guess you can put the keys in his mailbox when you get there. Or under the mat or something. I can go get them later and keep them for him until he goes back home."

Fletcher: "Could just leave it in the parking lot, right? I can walk home."

Pete: He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, that should be fine. Gives Parker a chance to take a look at it if he wants to."

Fletcher: So, reluctantly, the keys were handed back. "Ya know...where t'find me."

Pete: "Yep. Sure you wanna walk?" It's been a long night.

Fletcher: "Yep. Yep, I'll see y'all."

The best goodbye he was going to give, waving a behind as he headed back to the road.

#Pain Relief Closure #kellygeorgerose #petegraham #junelujano #fletchergoodman #qtraxler #emmanuelgaia #deputypeabody

[silenthillmutual]

pride week - day 5 - AU free-for-all so this AU is a crossover because when i first looked at the prompt i was like half-asleep and thought it said crossover. whoops.

--

He’s coming to the conclusion that Kiyotaka’s family is just fucking weird. He’s still not exactly sure what their relationship status is, since they’ve only been on like two and a half dates that might have not even been dates and nothing between them seems to have actually changed - but even speaking as a best friend, it was just really fucking bizarre

The other sections of the bake sale that did not have an entire bottle’s worth of food coloring dumped into the mix did exceedingly well, letting them schedule trips to meet up and hang out with the GSAs from other colelges in the area. It was a neat little idea Makoto and Kiyotaka had come up with on their own time that also kinda made Mondo want to punch himself in the face. 

It mostly just starts with this: he thinks he has competition.

The reason he thinks this is because Leon tells him he does. They’re meeting with MU in a bowling alley that’s somewhere in between both schools and while it’s not the only GSA in the area, it is the only one available or interested in reaching out to them. And the gaggle of students who pick to play against them in a four-on-four match just happens to consist of three rough looking boys and one chick.

Striek one. It’s not exactly a secret that Taka has a type, and that type is punks. (Well, and Makoto; but he’s everybody’s type, so he doesn’t count.) He’s never said out loud that he finds that kinda thing appealing, but Hifumi’s Halloween Theme suggestion, “Book of Eibon” (which earned him the group name moniker Anime Trash) really took. People dressed as whatever they found most attractive - or in Hifumi’s and Chihiro’s cases, the kind of aesthetic they really dug.

Hifumi’s magical girl outfit was absolutely outstanding. They really did have to give him that.

...where was he? Right. Taka had shown up to the party in all secondhand clothes, studded belt and motorcycle boots and fake piercings, pleather jacket over an embroidered white vest covered in safety pins. It sure as shit left an impression.

And it was such a goddamn come-on. he’d thought before then that Taka’s staring was judgmental and had a hard time stringing two words together at the implication that he was staring because he was attracted to Mondo.

Not that Mondo was the only punk in the group. Tanaka flushed and tried to hide beneath his scarf, realizing too late he didn’t have it included in the regal get-up he came dressed in. And Leon said to Mondo, “If I wasn’t straight, I’d so hit that.”

Leon figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t straight, and also that Taka was way off limits. 

Mondo’s been trying to figure out how to take a more direct approach, since Taka’s misconstrued all his flirting as friendliness. Which - okay, yeah. He’s kind of learned along the way that he might also be in love with the guy platonically, too. he is the best friend, in terms of quality, that Mondo’s ever had, and he doesn’t plan on that shit changing just ‘cause he wants to add hand-holding into the mix. 

So strike two is this: Ishimaru seems to actually know the guy in too much purple who practically launches himself at him. They embrace in a tight hug, and that smug asshole has his hairstyle too. Rude. Utterly, unbelievably rude. 

The guy introduces himself as Josuke. He looks like he might be a couple years older than them, with pretty blue eyes. He’s the president of the MU GSA, which he does not hesitate to tell Kiyotaka, “I love what you did with the name, dude. Very kewl.”

Kewl. Like he’s fucking twelve and it’s the nineties.

Taka blushes like he does when he’s embarrassed or flattered and it takes a lot for Mondo not to slug the guy. He’s really only distracted from Kiyotaka’s refusal of the credit by the guy with the little ponytail and two-toned grey hair saying to him “Hey, man, nice mods,” referring to his jacket.

He’s kind of forgotten about it. He doesn’t wear the longer coat he had in high school anymore because yeah, he’s not in high school anymore, thank you very much Daiya. “Uh, thanks,” he says, but the shorter one with the kinda silvery blonde hair is smirking at it, mouthing the words Crazy Diamonds under his breath. Like it’s some kind of joke.

“I’m Okuyasu,” he says, and nudges the blonde so hard the guy almost falls over. “Shit, sorry - this is Koichi.” 

“Right,” he says, not liking the look of private joking between the two of them. “I’m Mondo.”

“I’m Leon,” Leon all but shouts, almost crawling on Mondo’s back to extend his hand to the two boys and - of course, of fucking course - the girl with the knee-length black hair. “And you are?”

“Yukako,” she says, and Mondo’s never before heard someone say their own name with such deep and intense hatred. 

There’s not a single thing about these people he trusts. The guys might seem nice, but he’s always hated the feeling that people are laughing at him. And that girl? She looks like she’s ready to commit murder. 

At least the jackass in the purple-and-yellow shirt is done taking up Kiyotaka’s time, only that Kiyotaka looks kind of embarrassed now. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than his flustered face. But he punches in their names on the board to distract himself, and Josuke comes up to Mondo and sits so close their knees are touching. “So,” he says, “You’re his kyoudai, huh?”

“Kyoudai?” Okuyasu says. “Man, how come we can’t get cool nicknames like that?”

“Yes, please start calling each other bro. That won’t get irritating at all,” Yukako snipes from where she’s sitting. 

“Yukako, come on,” Koichi says, turning to look back at her. “You promised you’d be nice today.”

She looks torn, but sighs, and Mondo thinks he hears her mutter “Only for you.” 

“Dude,” Leon says, “You gotta teach me.” 

--

One thing Mondo can say about the kids from MU is that, except for Yukako, they suck at bowling. And that does make him feel a little better, if only in a shallow way. 

It’s kind of irritating, and that irritation must be obvious to everyone involved, because Kiyotaka has tried his best to keep Mondo and Josuke separated. Leon’s pretty chill, and Makoto can make friends with everyone, but it just seems strange to Mondo that he spent so long trying to get on friendly terms with Taka only for some other guy - a complete stranger from a different school to just undermine that -

Makoto pats his shoulder, like the way you’d pet a dog to soothe it. “Calm down, Mondo,” he says. “He’s just being friendly.”

Maybe he is. Mondo can accept that there exists, somewhere, a possibility that Josuke is just a nice guy, like a punk version of Makoto, but he’s gotten so deep in his own sense of insecurity and paranoia that every time Josuke so much as talks at him or is friendly with Kiyotaka...

Well, it feels like he’s being mocked.

He might be a little jealous.

And when Taka leaves to head out to the bathroom, he might call Josuke’s hair stupid. 

Koichi, for whatever that’s worth, and Okuyasu and he goddamn swear Yukako’s hair all jump in to restrain Josuke from throwing punches. Leon slaps his arm at the same time Makoto smacks his head, both of them shouting some variant of “You have the same hair!” and the end result is the five of them tell the two of them to go resolve their differences by the snack bar, and work something out fast before Taka comes back and panics. 

“I don’t get what your issue with me is,” Josuke says, hands in the air. “We picked this group to go up against because Taka said you were cool. Now you’re just acting like Rohan used to, and I didn’t even burn your house down!”

Confusion mixes with anger as he says, with feeling, “What?!”

“Never mind!” Josuke snaps. “Just - whatever your problem with me is, just say it, man. Quit giving me dirty looks. It’s making Kiyo upset.”

KIYO?! Mondo hits the counter with a little too much force and says “That’s my goddamn problem!” And before Josuke can give him some other ridiculous pet name he says “We’re like - we’re - we’re kind of - !” Jesus. Jesus Christ, why can’t he just get the fuckin’ words out? “I’m inta him!”

“Yeah, and?” Josuke asks.

“And you’re fuckin’ flirting with him! Of course I got a damn issue with you!” Josuke looks blindsided for a couple seconds, and then he bursts into laughter. “And then you go an’ do this shit, shovin’ it in my face!”

“Dude!” Josuke has the audacity to put his hand on Mondo’s shoulder, ignoring every time Mondo tries to throw it off. For someone as thin as Josuke looks, he’s unfairly strong. “Dude. I am not flirting with him. That’s so gross.” 

Two-faced bastard! “You got a fuckin’ problem with my friend?!” 

“Dude. He’s my cousin.”

“Yer - what?” Mondo blinks, all his pent up energy dissipating in the shock. “Then - then what the fuck were you sayin’ ta him to make ‘im blush?”

“I’m teasing him about you, ya dweeb.” He snorts. “God. No. I’m not flirting with my fuckin’ cousin. And even if we weren’t related, I’m not gonna hit on some guy in front of my boyfriends.”

“Oh.” He’s...totally deflated now. And feels like an asshole. “Uh...” Great. “I’m sorry fer bein’ such an asshole,” he grumbles.

Josuke lets it slide rather easily, shrugging it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse interactions.” 

Mondo still rubs the back of his head, anxiously, and he’s still not all that comfortable with Josuke’s smirk. “Gotta say,” he admits, “I never woulda thought the two of you were related. Ya don’t exactly look alike.” 

Josuke shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the counter. “Well, it’s not by blood or anything. His dad married my ne- uh, I mean, my uncle -” Was he just going to say nephew? “But we take family very seriously, and we’re...kind of a large family.” 

For a second, he looks almost depressed by his own statement, eyes kind of foggy, lips pulled down and staring at his boyfriends with some kind of intense anxiety. He sighs, and slaps Mondo on the back. “Let’s just get back to the game, ‘kay? I think Taka’ll be happier when we get along.” 

He feels like he missed something, but says “Sure, okay,” following Josuke back to their seats. 

Whatever it is that’s on his mind, it’s either passed or he’s hidden it by the time they’ve reached their friends. Josuke reacts to Kiyotaka’s suspicious glare by ruffling his hair. “So, Kiyo -”

“Don’t call me that,” he groans. 

And Josuke ignores him. “A former delinquent with a bad temper, huh? I bet your stepdad’s gonna love that.” 

Kiyotaka lets out a scream, and drops the bowling ball to the floor. Mondo tries to pretend he doesn’t see something faintly pink and blue grabbing it just before it hits the ground.

#nori talks #danganronpa #ishimondo #nori writes #fanfic #jjba #josuke/okuyasu/koichi implied #they're both vague aus in addition to a crossover... #icarus.docx #mine

[verai-marcel]

A Fortnight of Falling (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY, Chapter 1 of 3)

Summary: So begins your two weeks of being Deputy Morgan's house guest. You didn’t know what to expect, but you had some ideas. You discovered that you were absolutely wrong.

Author’s Notes: Some of you asked for a sequel, so I decided to oblige. This might be construed as Stockholm Syndrome. But I'd like to think you have a mind of your own, and wrote it as such. Also did some research on 1890s stuff, but some of this might be a little anachronistic anyway. And finally… this isn’t the smut fest I thought it would be. There’s some major feels here. Not sure how that happened.

Tags: medium honor Arthur, deputy Arthur, AU, rough sex, dubious consent, mention of non-con, female reader, a ton of aftercare, a ton of just plain care too, gun violence, injury, porn with feelings

AO3 Link is here!

Chapter 1 - An Unpredicted Welcome

Notes: This part starts off right after the end of Sinful Payment.

WC: 2790

You almost fell asleep, lying on the cot with no clothes on. But Arthur cleaned you up while you were yawning, letting him move your limbs back into your clothes. He buttoned you up and even brushed his hands through your hair, tying it back up in a surprisingly neat bun. He brought you back to your little cabin on the edge of town, riding on his white Arabian horse like a prince.

He’s no prince, you thought. He’s the devil.

Fishing the key from your pocket, you opened the door, stepped inside, and turned around to shut it, expecting him to leave.

He didn’t; instead, he stood in the door frame so you couldn’t close the door.

“What?” you asked him sharply, your hand gripping the door handle.

“Get some rest, and pack your things when you wake up. I’ll come get you at sunrise.”

Sighing, you nodded. “Sunrise. Sure.”

He tipped his hat to you and left. Slamming the door shut, you locked it and stomped around your house a little bit to de-stress. After changing into your sleepwear, you flopped down and shut your eyes. Didn’t take you long to fall asleep, but you were hounded by nightmares of having to clean up a messy house.

***

Arthur came at sunrise, just as he said. You were groggy, dragging yourself out of bed when you heard his insistent knock on the door.

“I’m up, I’m up,” you grumbled as you got dressed and unlocked the door, letting him inside. He sauntered in like he owned the place, taking in your little house in a sweeping glance.

It was tidy and clean; a bed to the far right with a small nightstand, and a stove, cooking area, and a basin to the far left. There was a square table and one chair to the left of the door, and some cabinets on the right.

His eyes rested on a few floor boards near the foot of your bed. You quickly started packing your clothes into a suitcase to distract him, but you got the feeling he knew. He leaned against the door frame, waiting for you to finish putting away everything you needed for two weeks. You didn’t need much; you lived a simple life, except for your excursions. But since you wouldn’t be doing that for a while, you left your burglary clothing in the lower part of the cabinet. You picked up your suitcase with two hands, dragged it off the bed, and started walking towards Arthur.

He immediately stood up straight and took your suitcase from you, carrying it in one hand. He waited for you to lock your door and look back at your cabin one last time before walking with him to his horse. He tied your suitcase to the back and lifted you into the saddle. Getting in behind you, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close.

“Hold on,” he said as he took you home.

***

Standing in front of a small cabin on the other side of town and a bit further into the forest, you were quietly impressed, but didn’t want to say it in front of Arthur. The path leading to the house was barely there, but once you got there, you saw a small vegetable and herb garden in front, and some flowers growing off to the side, too neat to be there on accident. The house itself was in good condition, with one window frame on the left that was painted a dark green. He had hitched his horse and carried your suitcase up the front porch. As he unlocked the door, he said over his shoulder, “Make yourself at home,” and stepped inside.

You snorted in a very unladylike manner as you walked up the steps and followed him in.

Letting your eyes adjust to the dimmer room, you noticed two very important things. First thing was that he had two rooms: the main room with the cooking and eating area, and a separate bedroom off to the right, where you could see a dresser just beyond a slightly open interior door. Second thing was that the house was pretty bare, but what he did own was neatly stored away. A few picture frames were on top of a cabinet on the far wall, his cooking area looked relatively clean, and his table was clear. You were expecting piles of dirty clothes and dishes everywhere, trash all on the floor. This was… different.

“So why am I here?” you asked.

He gave you a heated look, and you glared back at him. He smiled.

“Now, if anyone asks, you’re here because there might be dangerous men pokin’ around near your neck of the woods, and I’m takin’ extra precautions for your safety. I’ll take you to work, and I’ll pick you up from there too, so don’t think of runnin’ off.”

You nodded. He took your suitcase into his bedroom, and you followed him. Inside was a simple bed, a nightstand, & a short dresser. He put your suitcase on top of the dresser, then checked his pocket watch.

“Guess I need to take you to work soon. It's almost 8 AM.”

“How–”

He tapped the side of his head with two fingers. “Good memory.”

“Right.” You turned around to leave, but he suddenly pulled you back into his arms, his chest warm and solid against your back.

You tensed immediately, but he just kissed the top of your head and let you go. Looking back at him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, you headed back outside to his horse. This all  seemed almost too domestic as he followed you out and locked his door. The two of you got back on his horse and rode into town.

***

You were met with surprisingly few questions. After Deputy Arthur had nodded his greeting to the doctor, he had left to patrol around town, leaving you with a strange sense of normalcy. You worked all day, keeping your mind on the present, your focus on what was in front of you. During some down time, the doctor walked you through some more advanced first aid techniques, in case he was unavailable and someone came in with something worse than a cut or a burn.

As 5 PM rolled around, you were organizing the last of your notes when you heard someone come in.

“Hey there.”

You looked up at the sound of Arthur’s voice, his cheerful tone grating on your nerves.

“I’m almost done, just wait,” you groused.

The doctor, overhearing from his office, peeked out around the door. “I’ve never heard her so annoyed; what’d you do?” he asked, amused by the exchange.

“Didn’t clean the dishes properly,” Arthur joked, and they both laughed. You loved the doctor like family, but you didn’t like him very much at the moment.

“Well, I’m glad you’re lookin’ after her,” the doctor said finally. “I was always worried about her livin’ on her own like that.”

“I’m right here,” you muttered. Then you said louder, “I always was fine.”

“I know, dear. But all alone like that? If someone were to pass by your little house and decide to rob you? I don’t know what I’d do,” he said with a somewhat paternalistic tone.

You sighed. The doctor was a little old fashioned, but he was kind and worried for your safety. His heart was in the right place, but his pestering you about living closer to town got old as hell. Shaking your head, you finished filing everything away and grabbed your handbag.

“Let’s go,” you mumbled. “Good night, doctor,” you called over your shoulder as you swept out the door. Arthur tipped his hat to him as you walked by and followed you to his horse.

***

“Alright, so how come no one asked me any questions?”

You felt Arthur shrug behind you. “Just let a few people know you’re stayin’ with me for a bit, until I investigate the disturbance around the south of town.”

In a town like this, news spread quick; the doctor must’ve heard it during his lunch. And unfortunately for you, Arthur had gained enough trust that people would believe him. Yours was the only cabin in the south because it was uphill and no one wanted to hike home. Everyone else lived towards the northwest, and you noticed that Arthur lived towards the east, also away from town.

“Why don’t you live closer to everyone else?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he shot back.

You were silent for a while, and he patiently waited for your answer. After a while, you replied, “I like the birds and the sounds of the forest. I can hear the creek on some nights, just beyond the hills. It’s peaceful.”

“Ayup, same,” he grunted.

A few more minutes of silence passed.

“Is there actually a disturbance near my house? Or was that a lie?”

Arthur was silent for too long. You turned around to look at him, and he finally answered.

“There’s somethin’. Haven’t quite pinned it down yet.”

You stared hard at him, trying to figure out if he was fibbing.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said sternly.

“But you’ll do other things to me,” you muttered.

He grabbed your jaw and pulled you close. “You’re a thief, remember? If I weren’t such a merciful man, I’d drop you off at the St. Denis sheriff office with some of that jewelry you stole.”

You swallowed. Yup, he definitely knew which floorboards to look under. You still glared at him though.

He let go of you and grabbed the reins again. The rest of the trip was made in silence.

***

Back at Arthur’s cabin, you started to prepare dinner; he had a rabbit from the other day hanging out back, and you picked some herbs from outside to go with it. You thought it was rather convenient to have herbs growing out front; you contemplated doing the same for your house too.

Arthur had wandered off to get water, and you finished cooking just as he returned, carrying two large buckets. He looked a little cleaner, too.

As you placed two dishes of roasted rabbit with some carrots on the table, you realized he only had one chair. Turning to look at him, he shrugged and sat down in the one chair, wrapping one arm around you and pulling you into his lap.

“Eat,” he commanded. You were about to argue just out of spite, but your stomach growled. Deciding that arguing was better done on a full stomach, you ate begrudgingly at first, but soon you just enjoyed the meal you made. He was quiet; it was almost nice. He ate with one hand, his other arm wrapped around you the entire time.

***

After dinner, you got up to clean up the plates. You noticed his hand lingering on you as you moved out of his reach. He offered to heat up some water for you to clean up, and you just nodded as he bustled around the room behind you while you washed the dishes. It was strange. It was surreal.

You wondered when things would turn.

He finally went into the bedroom and closed the door. You waited a few moments to see if he would come back out before going to the basin to wash yourself with a clean flannel and the nice warm water he had heated for you.

You kept your eyes on the door as you took off your blouse and skirt and wiped yourself down. Normally, washing would be relaxing. Now it was stressful as you jumped at any creak in the room. Quickly putting everything back on and finally feeling clean, you faced the bedroom door. Were you supposed to go in there? Unless you wanted to sleep on the floor, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You heard Arthur call your name through the walls. His voice was muffled coming from the other room, but you heard his words clearly.

“You comin’ in yet?”

You sighed. Walking towards the room, you opened the door.

You immediately covered your eyes, but he laughed, so you put your hands back down and glared at him. He was sitting on his bed in only his short drawers, and you could see the muscles, the scars, and strangely enough, a simple tattoo of a wolf over his heart. Your eyes lingered on the simple black lined tattoo long enough for him to notice.

“C’mere and I’ll tell you,” he coaxed. You stepped closer, just within arm's length. But when he reached out, you stepped back and took a deep breath; you almost fell for his trap.

“Tell me first,” you quietly said.

He gave you a wry grin, as if he knew you weren’t going to fall so easily. “The wolf means loyalty, so I’m told.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“A tattoo artist up north,” he said, his grin widening.

“I meant…”

“I asked for it,” he answered to your surprise, suddenly looking at you seriously. “To remind me of what matters most.”

Loyalty. You tilted your head, considering him. Yes, you were technically a thief in the eyes of the law; and in the eyes of the town, Arthur had been a godsend. There were less bar fights, less robberies, fewer visits from the local gangs. Even though you were biased against him at the moment, you knew he was good for the town.

He held out his hand to you. “Come closer, kitten,” he said, his voice deepening with desire. “I want to hold you.”

Your mouth suddenly dry, you slowly walked towards him and took his hand. He pulled you into his lap so that you sat sideways. Reaching up to loosen your hair from its ribbon, he started peppering your cheek with soft kisses as he ran his hand through your hair, letting it fall down your back. You felt him caress your leg with his other hand, his fingers pressing against your inner thigh.

“So lovely,” he whispered against your neck as he nibbled on your soft skin. His touch became more insistent, his hands lowering in their exploration as he moved to unbutton your blouse. You sat there like a doll, both turned on and shocked still. Where was this coming from? He was being so soft with you, and you didn’t expect it. You expected, well, you expected the same as last night in the jail cell.

Instead, he was gently removing your shirt, while lifting up the hem of your skirt so he could slip his fingers between your legs to touch you intimately, stroking the fire within you as he kept kissing every inch of skin he could reach. He licked the dip of your collarbone and you moaned. Moving further down, he held your breast and licked and fondled you, teasing your sensitive parts until you reached up to his shoulders and gripped him tight, silently begging for mercy.

Then you felt him plunge his fingers into your wet slit, felt his thumb stroke your clit in the best way. Crying out, he encouraged you to pant and moan like a whore.

“You sound so good, kitten. Come for me,” he murmured. Your fingers dug into his shoulders so tightly, you were sure you drew blood with your fingernails as you came hard, sobbing with the intensity of it. He silenced your cries by kissing you deeply.

When he finally let you up to breathe, he smiled at you, satisfaction written all over his face. Your breathing was ragged, your eyelids were heavy. He lay you down beside him on the bed and took off the rest of your clothes. He pulled you close and wrapped his arms around you.

“G’night, kitten,” he whispered as you fell into a hazy, afterglow-imbued sleep.

***

The next morning, when you woke up, your clothes were laid out on top of your suitcase for you. Arthur was gone, but you could hear some noise in the other room. You got dressed and stepped into the other room.

Arthur was washing a pan. It smelled good, and you looked at the table with its one chair. There was a plate of eggs.

“Took you long enough,” he said teasingly. “I’ll take you to work after you eat.”

You sat down to eat. The eggs were actually pretty good. Had some herbs in there, too.

The rest of the day passed normally: he took you to town, you worked all day, he came to pick you up, took you to his house. But this time, you noticed something different.

There was an extra chair at the table.

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Hey look, I made a floor plan of their cabins:

Part 2 is here.

#arthur morgan #arthur x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #writing #nsft #red dead redemption 2 #dubcon #deputy arthur #lemon #deputy AU #desperate desire