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aperrywilliams · 1 year

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Don't Go to See Her (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: After the team saved Austin, the signs point that she and Spencer are romantically involved. Reader is not amused by the idea. Are her suspicions correct?

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Some curse words (maybe more than usual, I don't know). Sleeping together is mentioned but not described. Spoilers for 4x9. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: I wrote this one based on this request. Tell me what you think!

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Founding Robert Parker's location wasn't as difficult as we thought. But we needed to be faster: the clock was ticking, and a girl's life was on the line.

Arriving at the house, we split into two groups—Morgan, Hotch, and Reid leading the first one. With Prentiss and Rossi, we stayed behind.

It was odd, though. I know Spencer doesn't like the takedowns that much, but this time he insisted on going with Morgan in the advanced group.

The commotion lasted a few seconds until Morgan assured us he had got Parker and the girl was safe. As Rossi and Prentiss entered the house to check, I saw Spencer with the girl coming out. As expected, she looked shocked but physically fine. I approached to assist them.

The poor thing was shaking and kept muttering, "I called you, I called you," which seemed strange to me, but Spencer only nodded, saying, "I know, you did very good; now you're safe."

That got my attention, but I didn't give it much thought; it could be the adrenaline of the moment affecting the girl, and Reid was just playing along.

We returned to the precinct with the unsub in custody. After Hotch interrogated him getting a full confession, we needed to finish the paperwork before going home. I couldn't help but notice Spencer wasn't there, though. What happened to him? When I saw Morgan, I asked him.

"Maybe he's with his girlfriend," he pointed, chuckling.

Spencer? Girlfriend? What did I miss?

"His what? Who?" I asked, confused.

"The girl we saved. She's a bartender. Did you know Reid charmed her the other night in the club she works? That's why she had his number and called him when she saw the unsub," Morgan recounted.

I was taken aback. I didn't know that. It made sense, though: that's why Spencer was so adamant about going first into the house. How did I not notice sooner?

"Oh. I didn't know," I mumbled.

"Yeah, it seems pretty boy got game," Morgan teased. "Do you need him for something?" He asked.

"No. Not really. Just curious. Uh - thanks, Morgan," I hastened to say before moving quickly to the precinct's kitchen.

I didn't want Derek to see me… freaking out.

Now, why should I?

Well, maybe because I have been developing a massive crush on Spencer in the past years? And maybe thinking of him with another girl was the fear I wasn't ready to face? Not yet, at least.

Okay, I know it sounds selfish, but either way, I can't bring myself to make a move on him. And I think I will never do it. That would mean ruining our friendship, and keeping Spencer as my friend is more important than this stupid crush.

It has to be.

But it didn't help that Hotch sent us to the hotel for the night, and I couldn't see Spencer in the lobby with Morgan or any team member.

He wasn't there.

Once in my room, I tried to calm down and not overthink the situation. What if they only were talking and hanging out? Maybe in a friendly manner. Nothing to worry about, right?

Or a lot to worry about.

The next morning we were all in the jet, ready to fly back home—all but Spencer.

"Where is Reid?" Hotch asked. As a cue, Spencer rushed in, mumbling apologies for being late.

He sat by my side. It wasn't uncommon for Spencer to do that. When I joined the team two years ago, I started sitting by his side. He didn't complain, and even he found in me someone who didn't bother his rambling, quite the opposite: someone who fueled his habit with delight.

What can I say? I have always felt comfortable around Spencer. We are still the youngest team members, and the flights have been more fun with us talking or just reading next to each other.

This time, Morgan and Rossi were in front of us.

"How was your night, Romeo? I didn't hear you when you came back," Morgan teased. Spencer's face flushed red as he briefly looked at me.

Oh, God. My mind ran wild, and I didn't like what I imagined. I turned my face to the window to not return my gaze to him.

"Leave the kid alone," Rossi told Morgan, maybe because he wanted to spare him the mortification of telling details of his night.

His night with the girl I was jealous of right now.

After Rossi's warning, Morgan dropped the topic and stood to get comfortable on the couch so he could sleep. David did the same but took a seat at the back of the plane. I didn't dare to look at Spencer, so I faked being asleep most of the flight. Even so, I could see from the corner of my eye how he was texting someone. From time to time, his gaze shifted to me, but I pretended not to notice.

My heart ached, but it was my fault. I shouldn't have entertained the idea of having Spencer as someone more than a friend.

For the rest of our flight, I kept my eyes closed. And when we landed, I was the first to descend from the jet to run to the car. I could hear Spencer calling my name, but I didn't turn back. I was overwhelmed, and I wanted to be at home.

It wasn't something I did on purpose, but I couldn't help it. In the following days, I paid extra attention to Spencer's behavior. He seemed happy and relaxed. He focused more on his phone during the day, and it was obvious why.

Fuck. I had lost my chance.

Son of the bitch. I bet they were dating now.

Sadness led to anger. But I knew I had no right to be angry, so I changed my attitude to distant and quiet. Spencer noticed my behavior change, and he obviously wanted to know why. So every chance he got, he asked me something, whatever came to his mind. Spencer looked extra attentive to me, worried when I hadn't eaten or drank enough water during a case. Even he brought me coffee almost every morning.

But for every gesture he made, he only got sourness from me.

The times Spencer asked me something, I gave him curt answers. The times he brought me a coffee in the morning, I usually would leave it untouched.

I know it wasn't an acceptable reaction for a grown-up woman, but I got all bitterness and couldn't help it.

"Are you okay?" He asked me in the BAU's kitchen one afternoon. I didn't even look at him.

"Yep," I replied, grabbing a mug to fill it with coffee. Spencer cleared his throat like when he was hesitant about something.

"You seem- I don't know. We haven't talked that much in the past few days; I-" Spencer stuttered. I knew he was trying to get me talking, but I didn't want it. I didn't want anything but go home a cry my eyes out.

"I guess it's because you have been busy," I muttered bitterly. But Spencer didn't hear what I said.

"What?"

"Nothing. Forget it," I said curtly, passing by him to go back to my desk.

Things between us have become even more distant since that. Spencer stopped asking me questions. The usual morning coffee ceased too. I didn't sit by his side in the jet anymore.

Now the text messages began to turn into phone calls. I could see how Spencer laughed over the phone and blushed whenever she probably said something more spicy to him. I hated perceiving all those things.

The worst part is that the team noticed it too, which was evident. For God's sake, I work surrounded by the best profilers in the country. What else could happen?

First, it was Emily who asked me if everything was okay. I lied, saying everything was just fine. Then it was Morgan telling me that he saw Spencer and me acting differently. I lied again, claiming I didn't know what he was talking about.

Even Garcia questioned me one day about my relationship with Reid.

I don't know if they believed what I told them, but at least they didn't keep asking questions.

Fighting against your own feelings is exhausting and useless to a certain extent. As much as I tried to convince myself that it was best for Spencer to have someone that wasn't me, my inner self continued to mourn for what would never be between us.

That may be why I felt like throwing up when I heard Spencer ask Hotch for days off to go on a trip. It was worse when I saw the plane ticket on his desk: a non-stop flight to Atlanta.

That afternoon we were going through some files in the conference room. Nobody else was there. So I couldn't stop my mouth.

"You never take days off," I pointed out.

Spencer's eyes shifted from the files to meet mine, and I could see his frown. At this point, we had weeks without talking about anything but work-related stuff.

"Pardon?" He asked.

I should have relented, but my lips got life on their own. Better said: my thoughts made their way out before I could stop them.

"I saw your flight ticket. You'll go to see your girlfriend?" I asked, trying to sound like it was nothing.

Spencer's face turned red, his lips pressing tightly and jaw clenched.

"Who?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"The girl from Atlanta, Spencer. Who else?" I said, as it was stupid even asking that.

"Austin," he corrected. "Her name is Austin. And no, she's not my girlfriend," he said curtly.

"Whatever," I muttered, shrugging.

Spencer looked pissed. I didn't know why exactly. I thought it was clear we assumed he had a relationship with the Atlanta girl. But I kind of understood his nuisance: I didn't talk to him in a while, and I was doing it now to show my annoyance for something I didn't have the right to.

"So what if I go? Is there a problem? I have plenty of vacation days," Spencer said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know that. Since I have known you, you barely took a vacation," I commented. It was the truth. Spencer never takes days off.

It wasn't the important thing, though.

"So what is it (Y/N)? There is an issue for you?"

Spencer's question was the second call for me to let it go, but no.

"Not an issue for me, believe me. I mean, you can do whatever you want with your life," I said in the most deadpan tone possible. That way, I could cover my real feelings.

Spencer's gaze kept on me, barely blinking, waiting for what could come next.

I huffed in annoyance before continuing.

"But how much do you know this woman anyway? How can you be sure she is not playing with your feelings, uh?"

Because, of course, I had to phrase it like I was the concerned friend, not the way it indeed was: as the hurt and jealous girl.

Spencer seemed like he didn't expect what I said.

"What? Is that really what worries you?"

Of course not, genius. But I can't tell you that.

I kept silent, hoping I wouldn't give myself away if I said more words.

"What's wrong with you, people? Now everyone thinks the same fucking thing? First Morgan, then Penelope, and now you. You don't know her!"

Spencer Reid just cursed and yelled? That wasn't good.

I physically took a step back. Maybe I pushed too hard.

"That's because I worry - we worry about you. We don't want you to get hurt," I tried to explain. It was partially true. I would never find a girl who could fulfill all my expectations for Spencer, but even if I tried, I was sure Austin wasn't even at the bottom of the list.

"Get hurt? You don't know what you are talking about!" Spencer shrieked. It was good that the door was closed because, at this point, someone could have heard our argument.

"And you don't know her! What do you think? She surely flirts with a lot of guys! You are another check on her list!" I rebutted, trying to match his tone.

Was I being unfair? Most likely, but I was already on this line of reasoning. I hated myself for it because I should be honest with him. He is my friend, after all.

I was accusing a girl of something without reason, just founded on my bias and compromised judgment.

Spencer scoffed and shook his head.

"Last time I checked, I was a grown-up man (Y/N). I can make my own decisions, you know? And for the record, I could have expected this from anyone but you," he informed sternly. I saw the disappointment written all over his face.

Shit. I fucked it up. I hurt Spencer with my misconstrued speech of 'friend's worry.' It broke my heart to hear him talk that way. I needed to do something to fix it. I closed my eyes and sighed to collect my thoughts. He had the right to be pissed.

"Spencer, I know. I'm sorry. I - I didn't want to sound like you weren't an adult. I have never wanted to hurt or underestimate you. You are my friend," I tried to apologize, softening my voice.

"So why are you so upset? Don't think I didn't notice you've been avoiding me in the past weeks. Did I do something?"

Spencer seemed truly worried about my behavior.

"No, Spencer. You - you did not," I tried to reassure him. Looking at his hurt eyes, I told myself I couldn't lose him for a thing like this. If he feels happy with her, so be it. My role is to support him, not question that. "I - uh. I have been a little out of me recently. But it's not your fault. I guess I'm just a bit stressed after the last cases we had."

Great, keep lying (Y/N). Keep lying.

"It's that so? Are you sure there is not something else?" Spencer asked for confirmation, inspecting my features. What did those eyes mean? Like they were pleading for something that I didn't know.

I nodded regardless. "Yeah. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," I told him with a tiny smile.

I'll be fine. Those words were mostly for me. However, Spencer believed them because that led to stopping our argument. After we hugged, he promised to have a coffee to talk.

The coffee talk never came, though. I used all my excuses to avoid having a heart-to-heart conversation with Spencer. He tried, but I wasn't ready. Maybe I will never be prepared.

Days passed, and Spencer's trip was around the corner.

That last afternoon, he went to my desk to say goodbye. His flight was booked for the following day.

"I get going now," he announced, fidgeting with his satchel's strap. I stood to give him a tight hug.

"Have a good flight. And - uh - have fun, okay?" I mumbled after parting from our embrace and patting his chest. His lips formed a tiny smile.

"That's is what you want for me? I mean, me to have fun?" He asked shyly. I cocked my head. Was he asking for my blessing to do whatever he was thinking of doing with Austin?

"Spencer Reid. You deserve all the good things in this world. Everything that could make you happy. And if this trip is one of them, then it is what I want," I told him reassuringly.

He looked at me with that beautiful hazel eyes of his. I could have melted right there and then.

After kissing my cheek, he left the bullpen.

I stood there as if the world had just ended. Yeah, it sounds dramatic, but tell that to my poor broken heart.

Next step: rush to the bathroom to cry.

The cold tile didn't even matter. I was sitting on the floor, knees to my chest, arms around my legs. The tears ran freely. That was until I heard a knock on the door.

"(Y/N), are you there?" It was Emily.

Shit, not now, please.

"Can I come in?" She tried again. After a few minutes when I realized Emily didn't leave. I sighed in defeat and barely moved to unlock the door so she could get in.

"Hey! Are you okay?" Emily asked. Not a very assertive question. My answer could have done better.

"Ye - yeah," I sniffled, whipping my tears with the back of my hand.

"Uh - sorry, but you don't look like you are," Emily pointed. "If I have to guess, I would say something to do with Reid," she ventured.

"No. It's not like that. I mean -" I trailed off.

How could I ever explain this? Emily sat on the floor, too, by my side.

"This is about his trip to Atlanta?" I hid my head between my legs but nodded nevertheless.

"Do you think they got romantically involved, and that's why he is flying there?"

"I don't know Em. And I wish I could stop thinking about that," I muffled my words between my arms. Emily rubbed my shoulder to comfort me.

"You really like him, uh?" I tilted my head up, an embarrassed look adorning my face.

"Me? What?" Emily chuckled.

"Come on. Everybody knows (Y/N), minus Reid. Which is very unbelievable, but it's Reid. You like him. And it can be an understatement because, at this point, I would say it's more than that," she stated, now crisscrossing her legs and gazing at me for confirmation. I darted my eyes to the floor in resignation.

"Fuck. Is that obvious?" I mumbled.

"Yep," Emily pointed. "That obvious, indeed."

"But Emily. I can't. He's my friend. And I can't lose him."

That was my biggest fear, even if now I felt like I was drowning because of unrequited love.

"So you prefer to lie to him? Pretend it doesn't hurt and play the good friend card? That's not healthy. And you'll end up losing him anyway. Spencer would appreciate it if you were honest with him, and you deserve to be honest with yourself, too. He may not feel the same way, but at least you won't be hiding from your feelings. And if he's not the man for you, then you can move on without the 'what if' plaguing your mind."

I listened to her words in silence, and somehow they made all the sense in the world to me. It was just that even so, pushing myself to do something about it would be a bigger leap.

"Are you sure you didn't work as a therapist in some of your Interpol assignments?" I asked, frowning. Emily laughed.

"None of that. But I know you, and I also know Reid. Your bond, guys? It is stronger than a simple friendship. You both deserve the truth, believe me."

Maybe Emily was right. It was worse to pretend that nothing was happening. But I knew this would end up burying our friendship with Spencer.

My soul ached, but my heart was breaking from keeping my feelings to myself.

Sitting on my couch and watching TV did not help shut down my thoughts. What if I can never get over him?

Fuck it. Emily is right. He has to know.

I took my car keys and drove to his apartment. If I thought about it too much, I would surely regret it, so I just drove. It was already night, and the empty streets gave me the reassurance I needed.

Descending from my car, I noticed that my hands were sweating profusely. My head was pounding, forcing me to close my eyes to relieve some tension. I took the stairs almost on autopilot.

Now I was standing in front of his door without a clear idea of what to say—also feeling the certainty that I would be rejected.

I knocked on the door three times and waited. My mind raced to all possible scenarios.

'Calm down. You can do it.'

Spencer opened the door and saw me standing there. He seemed confused.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He was already in his sleeping outfit. What time is it, anyway? I didn't even check my watch when I decided to come.

"Hi. Uh - sorry, I came here all of a sudden. I-"

I felt like I was going to faint at any moment. I must have looked pale because Spencer's eyes morphed from curiosity to concern.

"Hey, come in. You don't look okay. Come to sit down and tell me what's going on," he offered.

Grabbing my hand gently, he led me to his couch and made me sit.

"Do you want me to bring you a glass of water? I can find you something to eat-" I didn't let him finish.

"Don't go to see her," I blurted out. I didn't plan to say it like this. Not at all.

Spencer's frown deepened.

"What?"

"Don't go to see her before I can tell you what I have to say," I rephrased, my eyes filling with tears.

My lack of explanation led Spencer to think about what had started our argument days before.

"(Y/N), I don't understand. I thought you were okay with it. Are you going to say again that Austin is trying to take advantage of me?" He asked defensively. I shook my head, biting my lower lip.

I can't lie to him anymore. I need to tell him the truth.

"So, what is it?"

"I'm sorry. I know this will sound selfish, but I can't keep this to myself anymore-" I babbled between sobs. Spencer tried to follow my words, but I was a mess in front of him. He sat by my side on the couch, his hands on my shoulder to help me to focus.

"Hey, easy. (Y/N), you need to breathe," he instructed. I just did that. I was freaking out without explaining a word yet.

Once I felt my breathing steady, I dared to look at Spencer.

"Okay. I'll start again," I announced. Spencer nodded. "You see, I thought I would never say this to you, but I need to," I chuckled bitterly. "I - I'm not opposed to the idea of you with Austin because I'm judging her without knowing her, which is what you're thinking I'm doing. I - I'm opposed to the idea because I would have liked to be her."

Spencer's eyes widened. Did he get the message?

"What?"

"I know. It's crazy and lacks rationalism, but I have felt this for a long time. I'm so sorry I'm telling you this now. It's unfair to you. You and Austin are dating now, and I came here to say these things. I'm so sorry, Spencer."

"Wait. Are you saying you… like me?" He hesitatingly asked as if he was afraid of misunderstanding my words.

"Like you? God, I think I love you at this point," I chuckled bitterly. "I know I should have done something earlier, and now it's late, but I was afraid of losing you because of this. I was ready to be buried with this secret if that meant having you close. And I-" Spencer gently rested his hand over mine to stop my rant.

"What changed? Why are you telling me this now?" He asked, looking at me intensively. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

"I - I don't want our friendship standing over a lie. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me. Even if you don't want to talk to me again, I would have to live with that," I concluded, averting my gaze.

"Hey," he said softly, with his fingers on my chin, tilting my head to return my look to him. "Why I wouldn't talk to you again?"

"Because I ruined our friendship? I mean, I have been a total bitch with you in the past weeks, and now you are in a relationship with Austin. I-" Spencer didn't let me finish this time.

"Stop saying that. I'm not in any relationship with anyone. Where you got that?" He asked.

What? Wasn't it obvious?

"I - uh. That's why you're flying to Atlanta. Right? Well, maybe you two are not official yet, but there is something between you both," I concluded.

Spencer chuckled, shooking his head.

Wait, what? Why was Spencer chuckling?

"There is nothing between us. I mean, romantically speaking. We get along pretty well; we are friends. That's all."

I looked at him suspiciously. Spencer grabbed my hand and kept talking.

"Believe me. Nothing had happened and never will happen between us. And do you know why? Because I'm already in love with my best friend."

I wonder if I fully registered what he was saying. Was he in love with someone else? With his best friend? Wasn't me his best friend? Oh. Oh!

"You-?"

"Yes,” he nodded. “And not in my wildest dreams did I think you could feel anything close to that for me.”

"How come you never told me anything?" I asked, still in shock.

"I guess I can ask the same thing," he sneered. I chuckled.

"But how? I mean, are you serious? Not because I just confessed my love for you?" I questioned, suddenly feeling anxious that Spencer only felt sorry for me.

"Can I give you proof that I'm serious?" He asked me almost in a whisper, subtly flicking his gaze between my eyes and lips.

I might pass myself out at that point. But I was not going to let this moment go away, which already seemed like a dream. I barely nodded, looking at him expectantly.

He scooted closer to me on the sofa, slowly bringing his hands to each of my cheeks to cup them. Without breaking eye contact, he whispered, "I love you (Y/N). I have been in love with you for a long time.”

"I love you too, Spencer,” I said back. Spencer smiled and leaned to kiss my lips.

The kiss started with us just brushing our lips tentatively. Then it was more determined but soft and sweet, one of his hands behind my head, the other cupping my jaw. My arms around his neck.

Fucking shit, I was kissing Spencer. A kiss that took years in the making.

His lips were warm and plump. A bit chapped, but I didn't care. I would have stayed like this forever, kissing him until my own lips went numb.

Before the kiss turned more heated, we parted—a grin plastered on our faces. But suddenly, my mind brought me to reality.

"Wait. Then what about Austin?" I asked.

It couldn't be that I had imagined everything I'd seen in these last few weeks, right?

"What do you mean?" Spencer questioned, softly stroking my cheek.

"You both-? I mean, the calls? The night you spent together? This trip? Are you sure you didn't-" I trailed off. Spencer giggled, a redness covering his features. After clearing his throat, he spoke.

"Would you believe me if I told you everything you just mentioned has to do with you?"

"Whit me? I don't understand." Spencer nodded, bringing my hand to his lips to kiss my knuckles.

"You'll see. When we arrested Parker, you helped me to lead Austin to the ambulance. Once there, she was calmer and began asking me questions about work, what would happen to Parker, and other stuff. I tried to explain a bit, and that's when you came over to let me know that we were going back to the station. When you turned to the car, I stared at you for a second—enough for her to notice. ‘Uh-oh. FBI Reid has a crush,’ she told me. I don’t know how she knew, but she knew. It’s funny because I have denied that fact for years, but I couldn’t lie to her. So I tell her everything,” Spencer shrugged.

“You told a stranger you loved me?” I asked in shock.

“Sort of? That night, I spent hours with her in the same bar. But mostly, it was me, after drinking several scotches, talking about how wonderful you were and that I didn’t know what to do, that you were my friend, and I was conflicted. She gave me advice, you know? That I needed to do something. To show you I cared. The texts? They were to track my progress with you and give me more ideas to get to you.”

“The gestures. The coffee in the mornings. The snacks. You asking me about anything that could happen to me,” I recounted. Spencer nodded.

That started to make sense now.

“But you seemed upset. You barely talked to me. So I was sad and lost. I already trusted Austin with this. I couldn’t go to JJ or Emily. It was complicated. I couldn’t go to you for obvious reasons.”

“So the trip is-“

“A chance to clear my head and get used to the idea that nothing would happen between us. I was positive when you told me you wanted me to be happy. I understood that doesn’t include being with you romantically,” Spencer admitted, pouting.

“Oh, my God. Spencer. We both were so so wrong. What kind of profilers are we? I was sure you both were dating. I was sure you slept with her that night. I’m so embarrassed now,” I shrieked.

“And I thought you were worried because you didn’t want your dork friend to be tricked by a girl. Because you cared about me, but just like a friend,” he said, shoulders slumped.

This time I grabbed his hands in mine.

“I wasn’t honest with you about my feelings. But I’m not going to make the same mistake again. I promise,” I leaned in to kiss him. Spencer reciprocated right away.

“Me neither,” he whispered, pecking my lips again. “So I guess now I don’t have a flight to catch tomorrow,” Spencer pointed as he wrapped his arms around me. I looked at him.

“Why do you say that?” I asked casually. Spencer raised an eyebrow.

“Weren't you the one who came saying not to go?” I chuckled.

“I said, ‘don’t go to see her.’ But a short vacation trip to Atlanta doesn't sound like a bad idea, only if that includes me,” I suggested cockily. Spencer laughed.

“Oh yeah? And how would we make that work?”

“I have many vacation days, you know? Hotch wouldn’t say no to me,” I winked at Spencer. He looked at me mischievously.

“If that is so, then I have many plans for you on this trip,” Spencer said, leaning in to give me a passionate kiss that left me breathless and seeing stars.

After all, things were not as they seemed to be. Spencer wasn't in a relationship with the girl from Atlanta, my love wasn't unrequited, and Spencer was just as overwhelmed by his feelings as I was. Someone would say, ‘they are made for each other.’ What can I say? I totally agree with that statement.

Oh! and another important thing I need to remember: once in Atlanta, I have to visit Austin to tell her I don't hate her and that I’m kind of grateful she crossed paths with us.

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Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @thebloomingeagle @pauline5525mgg @maltamurdock @disaster-in-waiting @pebble-has-a-mirgraine @anamiad00msday @chlochlosworld @milivanili99

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!bau!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #don’t go to see her #4x9

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jokingmisfit · 8 days

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Not Yet Forgotten

Platonic Future Hamato Brothers x Neglected Reader

Warnings- Angst with Happy Ending, Reader is Casey Jr's Sibling, Neglectful Parental Figures, Severe Injuries, Mentions of Blood and Broken Bones, Near Death Experience, Hurt with Comfort, Head Injury, Mention of Reader having Mystic Powers

Notes- I may make a different version from 3rd person pov to show how bad the boys felt. I don't know anything about medicine so please forgive me for any incorrect everything. Wrote this right before therapy and I think it shows. Lol, Enjoy!

Your breathing was fast, but muffled through your hand. It felt like your lungs were on fire. You don't know how far you've run, but you hope that it's far enough.

Only an hour earlier, Krang dogs surrounded you and your crew. The rest were already dead... You were frightened and angry. You knew that if only they'd taught you how to fight as well as they had Casey, then you wouldn't be in this situation. They didn't care for you. Your brother being far too important, apparently, for you to be cared for at all.

Made sense in your mind. You didn't look like your mother like Casey did. Didn't share a name or even blood. Just another "stray" she'd picked up, but she loved you. In her own way. Too bad when she died the knowledge she left you with was all you'd be given. No sessions with Leonardo. No kind words from Michelangelo or Raphael. No scolding on health or knowledge from Donatello. It was like you were invisible. Unimportant.

You and your team had done so much. Achieved amazing things, but every achievement was overlooked. Every injury was ignored. Perhaps you did learn a few things... Fending for yourself. That didn't help now, though.

Climbing the rubble. You could feel the parts of your body move in ways they weren't made for. You were strong but how strong would you have to be to defy death itself. You had sent out the SOS so long ago, yet it seems as if nobody will come.

Your blood stained broken concrete rocks. You prayed to whatever higher being was above that, just this once, they wouldn't overlook you. That the people who were supposed to care the most would save you.

You finally collapsed at the top of the heap. Only small peaks of the red sky could be seen. You were safe, for now, but you were bloodied and broken. Your stash of medical supplies were carried by a dead man. You wouldn't last, not long, at least.

You hit the alert again seeing as the purple light went out. Hitting the button over and over as your breath thinned. It felt harder to breathe with every second.

An alert came back to you. A communication. You heard April once say it was like a phone call. Whatever that was. You pressed the button to hear the voice on the other end. It was Donatellos.

"Are you there? Can you hear me?" His voice was wavering. Something you'd never heard before.

With a raspy tone you whispered out your response. "You got... got te loc-location right?"

He sighed on the other end. "Yes we have it. A rescue team has already found the rest. Where are you hurt?"

"Hehe." Your laugh is cut off by coughing. Blood bubbling up in your lungs and throat. Looking at the gashes and stuck out bones, you answer. "Every- Everywhere..."

Silence met you on the other end. Silence and the clicking of the keyboard.

A deep breath, and you talk again. "I know... I- I know you all... Probably don't- don't care... but I don't wanna die... I don wanna die." A sob escapes your mouth, cutting off your sentence.

The pain and fear causing tears to cascade down your face.

The clicking stopped at your words.

Donatello responds after a few seconds. "They're almost there... I- You need to stay awake and you'll be fine. We- I won't let you die."

"I'm- I'm so sorry..." Your breath stops in your chest. "I shoulda- should of done better... I try- tried so hard... Was never good enough. I can't- can't breathe." Your words are heavy and painful as you sob them out.

"HELLO!" You heard Leonardo yell.

Before you had a chance to answer a light came from your gear. The communication line ending and sends an alert to the other mutant.

Footsteps could be heard from multiple beings. Talking and panic is heard as you stare at the broken roof with blurry eyes.

Raphael's face coming into view before anything else. If you weren't in so much pain you'd smile at him. Instead you stare as he picks you up gently. His words sound soft but melt in your head making them unknown. He holds you close and moves quickly.

A whisper escapes you. "you came..." The statement soft and broken from your lips. The only evidence he heard you being the tilt of his head as he stares with worried eyes.

You held on tightly to your consciences. You held on for however long it took to be laid on a table. Long enough to have something put over your face. Long enough to feel a hand pet your head slightly as your eyes finally close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hurt. Everything hurt. Your eyes flutter open, but they're unfocused.

"They're awake!" You heard someone yell.

You flinch at the noise. A whine escaping the back of your throat from the pain.

"Be quiet. They're not going to react well to loud noises." You heard another voice scolds matter-of-factly.

You huff out heavy breaths. You try sitting up only for a large hand to, gently, hold you down. You blink several times to try and see better. Figures, shapes, and colors bounced around but nothing appeared sensical.

"How are they?" A voice says nervously and stern at the same time. Their footsteps stop towards you.

The hands that were moving on and around you pause for a moment before an answer. "They're discombobulated."

"What the hell? English, Donnie." The voice answers.

Your voice is scratchy and comes out in squeaks. "Don- Donnie?"

Your question goes unanswered, but you were glad you finally knew who one of the voices belonged to. You were with Donatello.

"They had a head injury, so their brains jumbled. They can't see straight... At least we can be sure that they can hear fine." He answers with distaste.

A hand sets itself on your head and plays with your hair. The voice above you talks nervously. "So shouldn't we be talking to them? They're probably so scared right now. Aren't you?"

You realize that the end was directed at you, but you lost the energy to answer. You tried to speak, but nothing came out, as if your body didn't agree with your mind."

"Mikey’s right," The deep voice spoke. "We need to comfort them right now."

You wanted to tell them not to force themselves. That you knew they were only here because you were hurt. That once you were better they'd go back to the way it was before. But you couldn't speak, and the feeling of actually being cared for felt so nice.

The weight in your chest may have been painful, but it felt so good to be loved. If your head wasn't so fuzzy you might have cried.

Your name was called, almost urgently. You hadn't realized you weren't listening. So caught up in your own head that you forgot to listen.

You looked slightly to the person calling out to you.

"You still in there, kid? Lost ya there for a second huh?" You could hear the smile in his voice.

That was Leonardo right. He's the one to smile when things are bad. That means the deep voice was Raphael... All four of them were there for you.

You wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Maybe you were imagining things?

"You need to relax. Your heart rate is spiking..." Donatello tells you strictly.

Raphael's voice picked up from the foot of your bed. "Don, I don't think they can necessarily control that... Y'know?"

"Sigh," Donatello answers him. "I'll fix it myself."

You felt the bed adjust, setting you up slightly. You felt his hand on your arm fiddle with something sticking out of it.

You felt calmer, almost, instantly. Surprisingly, your vision cleared slightly. Things still blurred but you could make out their faces so much more.

A crowd of turtles that left no space to see what room you were in. The lights still felt too bright, yet they were dimmer than any room you’ve been to. The blue lights gave you more of a clue. The screens lights bouncing and reflecting off the men. Was this Donatello’s lab? It had to be.

With your eyes now clearer you were able to hold them onto the figures separately. Their blurred faces held concern, fear… It was definitely a sight.

“You feelin’ better?” Raphael asked sweetly. He loomed over the edge of the bed, yet still he managed to keep a distance.

Despite the medicine making you feel better your head and chest still layed heavy on the bed. The only response you could manage was a broken noise from the back of your throat.

Leonardo laughs sadly. “Y’know maybe we shouldn’t ask them too many questions, heh.”

If you could shake your head in agreement you would. The other three certainly did, or at least it looked like they did.

You took a deep breath in and out letting everything sink into your skin, into your bones. You had your own list of questions you wanted to ask them. Like, how bad is the damage? Why are all four of you here, there’s more important things to do? Did any of the others live?

You could feel all four eyes on you. Feel them stare like you were the only thing worth looking at. It confused you, so you turned your eyes to the only one who you knew had all the answers, Donatello.

“Right, well I suppose you want answers. Yes?” He asked, oddly nervous. “Where to start,” he whispered to his screen before sighing. “You have a major concussion, obviously, you have two broken ribs, a broken leg, a sprain in your right arm, you have large lacerations on your abdomen, and you had punctured one of your lungs.” He lists off easily. “All of which have been cared for, however you will be immobile for quite a while. I estimate approximately 12 weeks and 3 days. Do you understand?” He asks you calmly.

You huffed at him, hoping he would understand that you were listening. He seemed satisfied with your response and went back to typing on the screen. Of course you were slightly confused by this as you hoped he’d elaborate on why they were all there.

Clearly noticing your confusion Raphael talks with guilt. “I think they’re confused on why we’re here…”

He says it like he can read your mind.

“Why would they be confused about that?” Michelangelo laughs out shakily.

“Probably, because we’ve neglected them for years.” Donatello answers within seconds.

Leonardo being the next to speak, like they were taking turns. “We really fucked up that bad, huh kid?”

You couldn’t hold his gaze. The guilt was so evident on his face. You’d never imagined they’d realize what they’ve done. You pictured you’d grow into an adult and leave the Resistance without anyone knowing you were gone.

“Listen, I know- We know we should’ve done better for you…” Leonardo sighs. “You are just as important as everyone else. As the Resistance. As Casey Jr. I was always so caught up with him and being a leader I forgot that I had to be there for you. You always seem to have a hold on everything. Always seemed so sure. So confident… I never thought you might need help to. It was such a terrible mistake and I should have known better, should’ve been more and done more for you,” He leans over and grabs your hand gently. “I promise to never act like that again. I will never let anything hurt you like this. I will never leave you alone again. I swear on my life kid I will do anything, everything to make this up to you.” Tears from his eyes fell onto your clasped hands.

You couldn’t hide the shock from your eyes as you were crying too. It was like your body finally jump started and tears fell so freely.

“You were always so strong,” Raphael starts. “I don’t think any of us thought that our lack of attention would hurt you so much. You always shined so brightly on your own.” He chuckled sadly. “I never thought you’d need us so much, Jr’s strong too, but he relied on your mom more than you so when she died we- I thought you could handle yourself. You’d never seemed to waver. I’m so sorry.”

The regret he held in his words weighed heavy on your mind causing more tears to fall from your eyes.

“My turn already?” Michelangelo laughed, tears in his own eyes. “Heh, I remember this one time I was talking to one of your group members, she seemed so excited to join your team. I remember I asked her what she was so excited for… It was you. She told me that she had seen you and your team fight. Saw how well you worked together, but she was mesmerized by you. She told me years ago she idolized me for my mystic abilities,” He laughs quietly. “But she admitted in this conversation that she idolized you even more. Because you were more like her than I was and your mystic abilities were so strong…” He pauses with a sad silence. “A part of that conversation fortified in my mind that you didn’t need anyone. You were able to figure everything out all on your own. Lead your own team. Fight and save lives like a pro. I should have taken into perspective your feelings. I used to be so good at feelings, but it seems I’ve lost my way a little bit. But I promise not anymore. You’re never going to feel left out again. I guarantee it!” He ends off happily

Silence fills the room. The only thing truly heard was the buzz of machines and various sniffles.

The silence was cut off again by Raphael. “Donnie… Are you going to say anything?” He asked both encouragingly and authoritatively.

“Sigh.” Donatello stated tiredly. He turned to face you more. “I’m not good with emotions. They were never something I could grasp fully. I’ve worked hard on fixing that, but I see in some areas I have… failed. I personally assumed if you needed help you would come to me, however looking back it’s clear you had and I pushed you away.” He states uncomfortably. “As an adult I should have been more prepared and I wasn’t… You were just a child, you are a child, and you’ve experienced so much on your own. I can assure that we plan on remedying that.” He ends sincerely.

After listening carefully to all their words your heart swelled with happiness. You were still afraid that they may not be true, but you were hopeful and so glad to finally be seen. The love you felt radiate off them in blissful waves made you smile. You forgave them as soon as their words left their mouths. As soon as they told you they cared. There was nothing better than feeling true love for what felt like the first time. You couldn’t help but be happy.

“Get some sleep, Kid,” Leonardo says. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

#rottmnt #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #rottmnt x reader #platonic rottmnt x reader #future rottmnt x reader #platonic future rottmnt x reader #platonic donatello x reader #platonic leonardo x reader #platonic raphael x reader #platonic michelangelo x reader

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sofasoap · 1 year

Text

Death, comes easily.

Pairing: Simon " Ghost" Riley x f!Reader/OC ( aka "Mini" MacTavish )

Summary: The threat never stops. Inspired by the piccadilly circus mission.

Warning : Mature theme, Violence, swearing. Angst. open ending ( possible happy ending? if you want. )

A/N : I had this idea while commuting to work, and wrote it within 20 minutes before seeing my first patient. I just had to get it out. So expect lots of mistakes. English isn't my first language. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Turn back now if you don't like it.

Character of Mini MacTavish is from @saltofmercury fic " “The Favorite MacTavish” " which she graciously let me borrow and write bit more expanded universe. Please go read her wonderful story to get bit of background. Thank you for leading me your character.

"masterlist" for more stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

You woke up with blurred vision and pounding headache.

Blinking rapidly, trying to get a better look at your surrounding. There's carnages everywhere. How did you get here? One minute you were browsing around the for replacement of broken kettle, and the next thing you heard a huge blast, which must have knocked you out.

Something wet start to drip into your eyes, you try to raise your hand to wipe it, and realise you were tied up. Looking down, you have this huge military like vest on you, with wires and what looks like explosives.

Gunshot sounds echoes in the building. More shouting and screaming.

Suddenly you saw four men storming up the staircase, scouting the area.

One of them has a skull face mask on.

"….. Simon." You called out to him, voice hoarse.

Ghost's eye met yours, you see it widen, a flash of fear.

"Mini!!!" Hearing your brother's voice calling out to you, you turn your focus to the other three men, running up towards you.

"What.. what happened?"

" Terrorist attack. They set multiple bombs off around Piccadilly circus." Soap explained as he hovers over you, assessing the situation. " Fucken steaming Jesus." He cursed. Soap is demolition specialist, but disarming bombs are slightly out of his league.

Price and Gaz kneeled down beside you, intense worry shown on their face.

"Bravo 6 to base. Request bomb squad specialist to our location IMMEDIATELY. I repeat, URGENT."

"Captain, there's only FIVE minute timer left on this, we need to get started immediately ourselves." Gaz commented.

"I'll do it." Ghost volunteered. There is no way he is going to stand on the side and do nothing to help you to get out of danger.

Swiftly following instructions relay on by the squad specialist, along with Soap's expertise, the men started dismantling the bomb. Coming up to the last two wires,

" Red or Blue." and you saw all four of the men frowned.

" I ASK RED OR BLUE…. WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S RANDOM!!!" Ghost shouted. He is starting to lose his cool.

" Three minutes left .. " Gaz commented. You starting to sense distress and worry from the men.

Closing your eyes, you whispered out your decision. "Just go boys.. I can't let all you go down with me."

" We can't leave you here. I AM NOT LEAVING YOU HERE." Simon rejected.

" Simon, the kid need their dad," Looking at Soap, Price and Gaz, " And their uncles."

" AND I NEED YOU." You can hear the strain in his voice.

Opening your eyes again, you turn towards your brother. "Johnny. Just go. Look after the kids for us with Emma. Tell the kids I love them. and Ma and Pa too.. Gaz, Uncle Price, Thank you for everything." you whispered.

Price nodded. He made a lot of difficult decision in his life. This will probably the one that will haunt him for rest of his life. After the three of them gave you a quick kiss and hug, they started pulling back. You can hear Soap's anguish cry as they leave the building.

".. You know I love you very much right Simon? A Lot."

" I know love. I know…" He pulled his skull mask off. Tears streaming down his face. Taking a deep breath, he lean in for a kiss as he cut the wire.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x oc #simon riley imagines #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick

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taiey · 5 months

Text

tma fanon:

basira: hey jon can you do this thing for me that explicitly involves using your spooky eye powers and that will therefore drain you and make you hungry. no you can’t eat someone’s trauma afterward. what do you mean you don’t have the exact information i need yet?

tma canon: she does not know that, and when she does know she does not do that.

Could she know the price? We have no statements about other Eye avatars, unless you count Gerry, who seems to know that hospital keycode freely. Statements from other avatars don’t mention ‘paying’ for using their abilities because they’re, uh, not running low, generally speaking. Elias is exactly as helpful as ever.

And, of course, John is deliberately concealing the true cost of his powers all through the first half of season 4.

He’s sort of still concealing that, in 146? He says, you know, I got blown up and stabbed and buried alive so then went out and tortured someone. …which are all physical injuries. For Jess Tyrell, we can guess from the matching 'two weeks’ that the trigger was him trying to Know of Peter Lukas’s plans in 139, but all John says now is “I just tried to – I was weak. R-Ravenous”. (possibly because “I hurt myself trying to learn things, and therefore hurt someone else” is … a very Eye thing, and a noticeable escalation from “I got hurt trying to save the world from the Stranger/Melanie from the Slaughter/Daisy from the Buried”.)

So she lacks background information on the subject. She also has very poor intuition when it comes to the Fears; real logic is more natural to her than their dream logic. Sometimes this serves her very well, like the Unknowing! Other times… well, “So I’m guessing it represents academic isolation or something?” in 195 is a funny example of her difficulties. But it’s all ultimately of a piece with how she reacts to John’s Eye powers in season 4. There’s a sort of lurching - she’s kinda freaked by his Knowing things early in the season (and the Eye says “sweet! just what i was going for!”) but over-corrects to “By this point, I just assume the Eyeball tells you” by 140. She doesn’t instinctively get that it’s only going to volunteer stuff like “your year eight PE teacher died of pancreatic cancer”. (and the Eye says “aw, i was hoping for more than 'I… wasn’t wondering?’”)

What she does know… she probably has the tape from 107, where John was in America compelling people for information on Gertrude’s movements and growing gradually weaker until he read one paper statement and was fine. She knew she brought him after he woke up from his coma just in case and he read that asap and seemed recovered; she didn’t know, for months, that he wasn’t. She knows that he forced Breekon out of the Archives and extracted a statement from him and that seemed… strenuous? But that, if he was telling the truth, he didn’t go and hurt any random strangers to heal from it.

That seems the obvious comparison for 148, now that I think of it. (in the sense of 'obvious’ where i have never thought of that before writing this, lolp) He didn’t tell her that it was trying to Know Lukas’s plans that hurt him; he did imply that extracting Breekon’s didn’t (like that); when she says “Any luck finding her?”, well, what’s she got to compare it to? He did say in 140 that “I deliberately tried to… Know something, like I did in the coffin, but there was too much, and, uh –[…] It just hurt” but that’s framing it as the size of the request, not opposition, that hurt. A location is just one piece of information; that’d be 'small’, right?

John doesn’t say anything like “I’m just seeing what you’re seeing. Still a bit weak from my trip up north, to be honest.” and then, more specifically, “Doing that sort of thing consciously… makes me hungry.” until… 147 and 148.

She doesn’t sound like she takes it very seriously ...but she drops the question immediately. In 155 she’s the one looking for Trevor/Julia/Annabelle, not John. In 158 she asks for his normal human thoughts on various things, analysis of the information they have and not spooky Insights. [and yes those are the only further episodes with john and basira talking in s4 lol :|]

That one question in 148 is the first time she learns the price and the last time she asks him to use his powers.

Until season 5, when the price is, very evidently, already paid.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma meta #basira hussain #jonathan sims #meta #mine #grumbling #magnus canon vs fanon

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bebe-writes-stuff · 3 months

Text

I made a

Tokyo Rev prompt

Bluelock prompt

MHA prompt

-- Go read them!! JJK is next, obviously, like how could I even forget. I gotta compensate yall for the amount of trauma Gege is giving yall. MY MAN IS GONE, GEGE, I HATE YOU. -- Ima tell yall right now, this fanfic has absolutely no fucking relation to the current timeline of this tragic asf anime. okAy?-- Anyway this prompt,

For this story I wanted a specific theme and certain character development for Y/n, (I literally use what I learn from my English class to write these mfing stories...embarrassing)

At the beginning, Y/n, leads a reserved and quiet life not because she is shy but she just finds it better not to associate with other people. Because she possesses the ability to feel and perceive the true emotions of others. This ability makes her more of an observer than a talker, She can feel peoples Anger, Sadness, Fear, Anxiety, Guilt, Shame, Jealousy, Envy, Disgust, Frustration, Loneliness, Despair, Regret, Resentment, Insecurity, All of it. but because those people's emotions weren't long term and not intense, Y/n couldn't see curses (for now) but deep within her soul, she knew something evil was around. So one day, something tragic happens, I have decided what yet. But because this certain event caused very intense negative emotions that Y/n could feel, it was like a veil had been removed from her eyes and she started seeing curses. It was like a nightmare at first, the constant horrifying creatures she'd run into. but for some reason, they would never attack her, in fact they'd take off and run away any place she was near. which was strange because for a curse to be frightened something has to have an even greater cursed energy which is exactly the case with Y/n. She hasn't realized yet but every time Y/n felt someone's negative emotion, it transferred to her. As a result causing her to have an immense amount of cursed energy, it's so great that even jujutsu sorcerers and the higher up can sense it from miles away, without even understanding who or what this cursed energy was coming from they decided to execute it as soon as they get hold on it, the only issue was they couldn't place where this cursed energy was coming from. It was like a switch, sometimes it was so intense and sometimes there was absolutely no trace of it. but what the higher ups don't know, Gojo (daddy) has already traced y/ns location and sent a certain 3 students to supervise and watch her, but that doesn't go unnoticed by her which she's pretty quick to notice her pursuers and doesn't take long to confront them. also I still haven't decided a cursed technique for her...Womp Womp

--Oml idk if this made any sense, for some reason when I have an idea I can't write 100% of what I want, ughhhh, enjoy, and let me know if you guys want this fic--

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virgoilluminati · 11 months

Text

Belongings

Chapter 10: “Matilda you talk of the pain, as if it’s all alright.”

(Series Masterlist)

A/N: hey it’s been a while, buuUtttt I finally finished this chapter! Whoop whoop 🙌 🙌 . This story is about to get a whole lot more interesting, and it’s time for y/n and Harry to face the music; but not in a way you might think???

Warnings: Angst.

Word Count: 3327

Thursday: @11pm

Will: Y/N, I haven’t be able to get a hold of you, something has come up. I can stay before our wedding now!

Friday: @8am

Will: Y/N, not sure if you are getting these, presuming your phone is dead, because I know what you’re like haha. But we need to talk, it’s about the bakery

Friday: @11am

Will: Y/N, please call me. It’s your dad, he can’t handle this on his own.

Will: Y/N! Are you even getting these messages.

Friday: @4pm

Will: Please y/n, call me. I don’t want something bad to happen. I’m trying to stop it but you have to call me.

Will: y/n after everything that’s happened. I am sorry.

Friday: @9pm

Will: hey I’m not sure if you’re gonna get this, presuming that the service in your hotel is bad or we keep missing each other but, the problem has been resolved. Don’t worry - I have sorted it out. Have a nice time and call me when you’re back.

Saturday:@8am

Will: hey, when you get back please come to the bakery, we really need to talk.

***************

As Harry wakes up early in the morning, he finds himself in a delicate situation. Y/N is peacefully sleeping beside him, and he wants to preserve the tranquility of the moment without disturbing her. With a mixture of adoration and caution, Harry quietly admires Y/N's peaceful gestures, gently stroking her hair as she softly slumbers.

However, his curiosity and unease get the better of him when he notices notifications popping up on Y/N's phone. Harry's initial instinct is to ignore them, respecting Y/N's privacy and the boundaries of their relationship. He knows it would be wrong to invade her personal messages.

Yet, despite his intentions to let it be, the notifications persist, and Harry can't help but notice one particular contact—Will. His heart skips a beat, and conflicting emotions swirl within him. He recognizes that reading Y/N's texts is a violation of trust, but the temptation to know what lies behind those messages gnaws at him.

In a moment of realization and a desire to protect their connection, Harry decides to take a different course of action. He feels it's best not to let the potential distractions of those messages come between them during their special week away. With a heavy heart, he takes a deep breath and deletes all of his own texts, not wanting Y/N to become preoccupied or conflicted by the reality of their situation.

It's a difficult decision, driven by a mix of selflessness and fear, but Harry hopes that by doing so, he can maintain the integrity of their time together and shield Y/N from any unnecessary complications. He knows that when the right moment comes, they will address their relationship openly and honestly.

With a sense of heaviness and a tinge of guilt, Harry sets aside the phone and turns his attention back to Y/N, their peaceful slumber, and the promises their future holds

Y/N and Harry decide to conclude their week in London with a trip to the picturesque South Downs, a range of rolling hills located in Southern England. They embark on an adventure to climb one of the hills in the area, eager to take in the breathtaking views and enjoy the beauty of the countryside.

As they arrive at the chosen hill, Y/N and Harry begin their ascent, taking in the natural surroundings and the refreshing countryside air. The climb proves to be invigorating, and they find themselves immersed in the tranquility of the landscape.

As they reach the top of the hill, they are rewarded with a stunning panoramic view of the South Downs stretching out before them. The rolling green hills extend as far as the eye can see, dotted with quaint villages and framed by the clear blue sky. Y/N and Harry pause for a moment to soak in the beauty of the scene, feeling a sense of awe and contentment.

They find a comfortable spot to sit and unpack a picnic they had prepared earlier. Surrounded by nature's beauty, they enjoy a delicious lunch while sharing stories, laughter, and the warmth of their company. The peacefulness of the surroundings creates a serene atmosphere, allowing them to relax and forget about the hustle and bustle of city life.

“Y’know, one thing I can’t get past, why now? If you’ve felt like this for a while, why didn’t you just tell me?” Y/N asked taking a bite out of her marmite sandwich.

“Because, relationships ‘an me, don’t work. Never had. I got close to someone, they then get scared and overwhelmed and leave. Didn’t wanna even risk it with you-.” Harry opens up about his struggles with relationships, expressing his fear of burdening someone else with the pressures of his fame and his inability to maintain long-term commitments.

“I guess that’ changed when I told you-.”

Y/N listens attentively, understanding the weight of Harry's words and the vulnerability he is showing. They take a moment to gather their thoughts before responding. With a gentle smile, Y/N reaches out and places a hand on Harry's, offering comfort and support.

“I’d never leave’ you. Y’know that? Believe me, even if I tried, you Harry Styles follow me wherever I go,”

In a heartfelt response, Y/N assures Harry that finding the right person is key to overcoming his fears. They explain that a strong and healthy relationship is built on mutual understanding, trust, and shared experiences. Y/N acknowledges the challenges that come with Harry's fame but emphasizes that true love and support can withstand any pressure or obstacle.

Harry's eyes meet Y/N's, filled with a mix of gratitude, affection, and newfound hope. In that heartfelt moment, the air between them becomes charged with emotions. Their connection deepens, and they both feel the weight of their unspoken feelings.

Without hesitation, Y/N leans in, capturing Harry's lips in a tender and sentimental kiss. It's a moment of realization and the beginning of a new chapter in their relationship. The world around them seems to fade away as they embrace the authenticity of their emotions.

After the kiss, they pull back slightly, their foreheads gently resting against each other's. They exchange a shared look, a silent acknowledgment that they are ready to embark on this journey together.

Feeling a renewed sense of optimism and excitement, Y/N and Harry embrace the significance of the moment. They continue to cherish their time on the hill, knowing that their bond has deepened and that they are now on a path of love, understanding, and support.

“When we tell Will, it’s gonna be hell, for a while. But we’ll get through it. I promise,” Harry responds, knowing deep down that life was going to get much harder.

*******************

"Hey, Will," Y/N replied, forcing a smile as she stepped closer to her supposed fiancé. "It's good to see you too."Y/N glanced at Harry, her eyes momentarily betraying the complexity of her emotions. She released his hand with a gentle squeeze, trying to hide any hint of hesitation or longing.

She kept her tone light and cheerful, trying her best to maintain the façade. Deep down, she knew this charade couldn't last forever. There were decisions to be made, and she couldn't keep living a lie.

Will approached Y/N and enveloped her in a warm hug. She leaned into it, seeking comfort and familiarity. But as she closed her eyes, she couldn't help but think of the man standing just a few feet away. Harry, her true love.

They had embarked on this ruse for the sake of protecting their relationship, but it was becoming harder to deny their feelings. Y/N knew that sooner or later, she would have to confront the truth and face the consequences.

As Will released her from the embrace, Y/N took a step back and glanced at Harry, silently communicating a mix of sorrow and determination. They both knew that their time together as an engaged couple was drawing to an end, and they had to find the right moment to reveal their true feelings.

But for now, Y/N had to focus on the present, on the act she had to maintain. She turned her attention back to Will, forcing herself to be fully present, at least until she could find the right moment to be honest with him.

As they engaged in small talk, Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Harry, their eyes silently conveying the depth of their connection. They both understood that they couldn't keep up the pretense forever, but until the time was right, they had to play their roles.

“Y/N.” Y/Ns father came from around the corner, clearly concerned, looking like he hadn’t slept it days. Immeadiatly, she rushed to his side, hugging him and asking what was wrong.

In the wake of the tense situation with Harry and Y/N, Florence and Will exchange a significant glance, silently communicating their shared knowledge of the circumstances. With a mixture of regret and sorrow, they turn their attention back to Harry and Y/N, who remain unaware of the underlying turmoil.

Florence, hesitant but resolved, finally speaks up. "We tried to reach you," she admits, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. Will adds, "But it was too late."

Harry, perplexed by the cryptic exchange, demands answers. "What was too late? What's going on?"

Y/N, sensing Harry's confusion, steps in, attempting to sort out the situation and seek comfort from him. She feels a mix of emotions—worry, confusion, and a deep sense of loss. However, she also knows that Harry is just as clueless as she is about the unfolding events.

"It's about the bakery, Harry," Florence finally confesses, her gaze downcast as she wrestles with the weight of her words. "We couldn't afford to keep it running."

Y/N's heart sinks as the reality of the situation begins to sink in. She tries to assure herself that she had savings set aside for such emergencies, and she had shared them with her father in case things got worse. She pleads with her father, hoping he had used the funds.

But her father, stubborn and proud, rejects the idea. "I refuse! Those savings were for your dreams, not for this. Besides, it wasn't enough."

Y/N is devastated, feeling the weight of their family's legacy slipping through their fingers. She mourns the loss of the bakery, an integral part of their lives and their identity.

However, Will interrupts the despair with a glimmer of hope. He explains that his family stepped in to save the bakery, taking it over to ensure its continuation. Y/N, confused and unable to comprehend Will's involvement, looks at him with a mix of surprise and gratitude.

"How?" she manages to ask, her voice choked with emotions.

Will moves to the counter, placing a new pin, symbolizing the continuation of the bakery. "My family offered their help," he replies softly. "Consider it an early wedding gift."

Y/N's heart sank as she processed Will's words. The realization of what it meant hit her like a tidal wave. The family bakery, a place filled with memories, love, and her dreams, was no longer hers. It had been taken over by Will's family, effectively binding her to this arranged relationship even more.

Her mind raced with conflicting emotions. Gratitude for the saving of the bakery warred with a sense of loss and the feeling of being trapped. She had always dreamed of running the bakery, of preserving her family's legacy. But now, it seemed like that dream was slipping away, replaced by a future that was not of her choosing.

Y/N's gaze shifted to Harry, her eyes pleading for understanding and support. She wanted him to see the turmoil inside her, to assure her that they would find a way out of this predicament together. But even as she sought comfort from him, she knew that the revelation of her true feelings for him would only complicate matters further.

As Y/N's father stood there, guilt and exhaustion etched on his face, she realized the sacrifice he had made. He had chosen to let go of the bakery to ensure her financial security. And while her heart ached for the loss, she couldn't deny the love and concern that lay behind his decision.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N turned her attention back to Will, her supposed fiancé, and the man who now held control over her family's legacy. She knew that she needed to tread carefully, to find a way to regain her independence without causing irreparable harm.

“I thought you’d be happy.” Will argues in fustration. Allowing his true temper to show through now it was just the two of them.

“I am. It’s just-.” Y/N wasn’t happy. She knew deep down, will owing this place meant, nothing she ever did here would be hers any more. It would be theirs. A world which she no longer wanted.

“I should’ve been invovled in the conversation.”

“Well, I’m sorry. It’s not like you went and left us for London for a week.” Will snaps, shaking his head.

Y/N's eyes widened at Will's outburst, his frustration finally breaking through the surface. She had known him as a patient and understanding person, but now his true temper was on display, and it startled her.

"I understand that you're frustrated, Will," Y/N

responded, her voice calm but tinged with a touch of sadness. "But this is a lot for me to process. The bakery was my family's legacy, and now it feels like I've lost a part of myself."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her disappointment. She had hoped that Will would comprehend the significance of what had happened, but his defensive response only added to her doubts and concerns.

"I never wanted to leave you and my family," Y/N continued, her voice filled with a mix of pain and understanding. "I needed that time away to figure things out, to find myself and discover what I truly wanted. It wasn't about abandoning anyone; it was about finding my own path."

As they stood there, the weight of their unspoken emotions still lingering in the air, Y/N couldn't help but steal a glance at Harry. It was a silent reminder that there were still choices to be made, and that their hearts held the key to their true happiness.

******************

Y/N's gaze intensifies as she confronts Harry about his suspicious behavior. She can sense that something is amiss, and her instincts push her to uncover the truth. She presses him further, urging him to open up and share whatever is bothering him.

Harry, caught in a web of guilt, initially tries to dismiss Y/N's concerns with a simple denial, saying it's nothing. But Y/N's persistence and their deep connection make it difficult for him to maintain the facade.

With a heavy sigh, Harry finally admits to his actions. He confesses that he had intentionally deleted all of the conversations between Y/N and Will, effectively blocking her from being aware of the ongoing situation with the bakery. The weight of his deceit hangs in the air between them.

Y/N's heart sinks, her eyes welling up with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. She feels a deep sense of disappointment, knowing that the person she trusted and considered the love of her life had invaded her privacy, going through her personal messages, and then deliberately lied to her face.

A wave of emotions crashes over Y/N—anger, hurt, and a sense of betrayal. She feels robbed of the chance to make informed decisions about her family's bakery and deeply wounded by the breach of trust.

Unable to find the right words to express her emotions, Y/N looks at Harry, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and disappointment. The silence between them is heavy, and the damage inflicted on their relationship is palpable.

“Say something.”

“Say anything at all!”

“I can’t believe you! After everything I’ve done - you did this to me! If I were here I could’ve stopped this! I could’ve been able to get the money together.”Y/N's voice trembles with a mix of anger, hurt, and frustration as she responds to Harry's explanation. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, and the tension between them reaches its peak.

““I didn’t know that it was about this! I thought he was going to try convince you to come home! And I didn’t want you to leave me! I thought you’d read his text, then realise that this was all wrong and go back to him.” Harry's face contorts with regret and remorse, realizing the gravity of his mistake. He never intended to hurt Y/N or undermine her abilities. His actions were driven by fear and a misguided attempt to protect their relationship.

“So you didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant. You, Harry fucking styles didn’t trust me! A women who is willing to drop my family, my friends and my fucking fiancé for you, and yet you don’t trust me to know who I want.”

“Y/N! I do trust you, I do I just-.”

“Leave!” Y/N snaps, leaving him speechless. In all of the years they had been close he had never seen her this angry before. And to know he had caused this made him want to die.

Y/N's words strike Harry like a dagger to the heart. The anger and hurt in her voice reverberate through his entire being, leaving him speechless and overwhelmed with guilt. He watches in silence as she walks away, her footsteps echoing the distance growing between them.

The weight of the moment settles heavily upon Harry. He never imagined he could cause Y/N so much pain and anger. The realization that his actions had led to this breaking point fills him with a profound sense of remorse. It feels as though the ground beneath him is crumbling, and he is left standing in a wasteland of his own making.

As Y/N's anger lingers in the air, Harry's mind races, desperately searching for a way to make amends and repair the damage he has caused. He knows that mere apologies will not be enough, that he must prove through his actions that he is willing to change and regain her trust.

A wave of regret washes over Harry as he replays the events that led to this moment. He had acted out of fear and insecurity, seeking to protect their relationship but only succeeding in driving a painful wedge between them. He wishes he could turn back time, undo his actions, and rewrite the narrative.

With a heavy heart, Harry contemplates the depths of his love for Y/N and the devastating consequences of his mistakes. He understands that the road to redemption will be long and uncertain. But he also knows that he cannot give up without a fight, that he must confront his own shortcomings and strive to become the person she deserves.

“Y/N. I know you angry, but please don’t do this-, we can get through this together-.” Harry yells, running over to y/n attempting to comfort her. In response she immediately walks away, going back to the kitchen to speak to Will and her dad; wanting nothing to do with Harry.

Harry's desperate plea echoes through the air, but Y/N remains resolute in her decision to distance herself from him. She continues walking, determined to seek solace and support from her family, leaving Harry standing there, feeling the weight of his mistakes.

“Go Harry. Please.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic rec #one direction #harry styles concept #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles x y/n #harrystylesxreader #harry styles x reader #harrystyles cute

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nanabansama · 2 years

Text

What Makes a Yorishiro?

Well wouldn't you like to know...

But no, really, what DOES make a yorishiro? I thought I knew at first, but recently, I've started thinking my definition is a little... off.

So I wanted to revisit yorishiro in this post, and review the explanations AidaIro has given us within the context of JSHK! Please, join me, as I barrage you with screencaps you have probably seen a hundred times. ☆ミ

Our first introduction to yorishiro is Hanako in Ch. 6, where he explains that the divine yorishiro are like batteries to the school mysteries. If you get rid of them, they power down! Easy to understand.

He also makes mention of the fact that this yorishiro should be located in the innermost reaches of Yako's boundary. Obviously, the best offense is a good defense, so keeping your yorishiro in the safest, least accessible part of your boundary is a no-brainer. Still worth mentioning, though.

Finally, Hanako states that it's something that "has the most value" to No. 2, and something that "means a lot to her." These are very positive connotations. Nene then equates this to the scissors Yako received from Misaki, a token from her first love.

Much later, Tsuchigomori explains to Yashiro that yorishiro are objects with the strongest feelings connected to them. This is veeery interesting, because this is vague enough that it could mean any type of feeling.

A page later, Tsuchigomori says that the reason the moon rock is his yorishiro is because Amane changing his future surprised him. So it seems like the primary emotion behind this yorishiro could have been surprise. However, considering Tsuchigomori cared a lot for Amane, it's hard to say it didn't also come from a place of love.

...anyways I am skipping No. 3 because it doesn't matter yet...

Briefly touching upon Shijima Mei, it makes sense why the sketchbook is her yorishiro. It's a memento from her creator, and the place she originally sprung to life. I can't say exactly what emotion or feeling could be tied to it, but all that matters is that it's obvious she cares deeply for the original Shijima Mei.

Mei even says so herself!

Very touching.

And now, we are finally getting to the reason I made this post!!

THIS HOT MESS

See, in Ch. 94, Hakubo makes it clear that he is not able to feel love in a traditional sense. It is, apparently, too foreign an emotion for a demon, and even more so for a demon that lacks desire like he does. So naturally, he eats her.

The thing about Sumire is, I think she woke up that desire within him. This is the closest thing to love he can feel, but he can never truly love her as he is. Not in the right way.

A bit tragically, Sumire actually directly quotes Tsuchigomori's quote from the 4 PM Bookstacks, which is that a yorishiro is an object that the school mystery has the strongest emotional attachment to. Ignoring the fact she is literally calling herself an object, she interprets this as him returning her same feelings. Oh, my poor girl...

Still, No. 6 is a school mystery, and his connection to Sumire is the most powerful emotion he has ever felt. He even openly admits he would fall in love with her if he was human, proving this is just a demon’s version of “love.”

Thus, in the end, I would say that every yorishiro so far has had a theme of love behind it. And isn't that sweet? Isn't love the strongest emotion of all? Love is always said to overcome every odd, isn't it?

But what about loss? Can we not say that these yorishiro didn't emerge from feelings of anguish? After all, the loss of a loved one is so powerful,

it can even take another's life.

How sad.

...The thing about Tsukasa and Amane is, I can't say what the primary emotion behind him being his yorishiro is. Amane is all over the place when he comes to Tsukasa.

One emotion I see is fear.

Not necessarily of Tsukasa himself, but what Tsukasa reminds Amane of. Of what Amane became. Out of control, and capable of taking the life of his own brother. He is his own brother's murderer, and it terrifies him.

His greatest fear in the Hell of Mirrors is his brother's dead body, after all. A reminder of what Amane really sees himself as: a killer.

But one could also say guilt is a powerful emotion for Amane. Not only did he commit murder, a crime, but he did it towards his own flesh and blood. His little brother. As the elder sibling, it was his duty to protect him, not kill him.

Tsukasa even uses this against him, being shown to manipulate Amane's feelings about murdering him for his own purposes.

But would guilt really be enough? What about sorrow?

I already alluded to Amane taking his own life shortly after killing his brother, but he was also very close to his brother as a young child, and at least up until they entered middle school.

The loss of anyone in your life can hurt, no matter who they are. What makes it most painful, though, is that they’re close to you. Dear to you. Loved by you.

A loved one dying is terrifying.

The guilt is overwhelming.

You’re filled with unbearable sorrow.

Because you love them.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

...

I must admit, while originally typing up this post, I wanted to end it on a theory that maybe a yorishiro doesn’t have to be selected out of a feeling of love. And I think that can still be true; Hakubo’s feelings towards Sumire aren’t true love, after all, and Tsuchigomori’s feelings towards the moon rock could just be simple surprise.

Even so, I can’t believe that Amane doesn’t truly care for Tsukasa, or that love is not the driving force behind his emotional attachment to him. It is a toxic love, for sure, and one that brings him intense pain and sorrow, but one he cannot help but feel. I only hope that they may one day mend things between them.

Anyways, thank you for reading all the way to the end! I’ve been wanting to make a few other posts lately, so hopefully I can get those out soon.

Take care of yourselves, and remember, go tell someone you love them today! You never know when they could disappear or fall into a hole, so make every moment count, guys.

♡♡♡ Bye-byeee～!!!

#地縛少年花子くん #toilet bound hanako kun #hanako kun spoilers #amane yugi #analysis #my theories #yorishiro #yugi twins #tsukasa yugi #nanafushigi

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fioreofthemarch · 8 months

Text

Finding Her - Chapter 16

Link makes notes, takes photos and keeps time on his quest across Hyrule, in the hopes of finding Zelda and staying sane until he does. [ Previous | Next | First | AO3 ]

Log Date: 15:30. 8th month, 21st day 104AC Location: Minshi Woods, North Hyrule Weather: Foggy

I can’t believe it. It’s finally happened: I’ve found her!

I wish I realised it sooner. There's a reason I haven’t seen her anywhere: I’ve been looking in the wrong places.

Been thinking while I walk. Open air helps with the clarity. She wasn’t in any of the towns or the Temples. That cruel ghost in Hyrule Castle wasn’t her. She isn’t up on the sky islands (have explored most of them now) and I hope to Hylia she’s not stuck down in the Depths, but I think the Yiga would’ve let me know if she was. If they’d captured her, they wouldn’t bother trying to impersonate her.

So what is left. Not much. But, it’s always the last place you look, right?

I thought, you know, good time to go see the Deku Tree and get the Master Sword back (again). That’s when it hit me. What better place to shelter Hyrule’s Princess than the Korok Forest?

The Lost Woods are completely sealed so it looks like I’ll have to go through the Depths to get into the forest. All the Koroks here are talking about it but they don’t seem worried, so neither am I.

It’s nearly over. We’re so close. By this time tomorrow, she’ll be home.

A photograph of the dense woodland of North Hyrule, and the korok diaspora hanging out amongst the trees. They look at the camera with blank but inquisitive expressions, somehow.

Caption: They're just friendly little guys.

---

Log date: 15:30. 8th month, 22nd day 104AC Location: Korok Forest, Great Hyrule Forest Weather: Clear.

I don’t know what to say.

No, I do: Link, you fool. You idiot. Getting your hopes up, for nothing. Stop lying face down in the grass and get back on the trail.

The Koroks are side-eyeing me, I can feel it. And they don’t even have eyes. Mr. Hero seems upset, they whisper. Yeah, I am!

Zelda’s not here. The Master Sword is not here. I can’t fight the Demon King without the sword that seals the darkness. No one is being sealed anywhere by a Bokoblin Horn.

I guess it was good that I came here. Ganondorf’s blight reached even this sacred place. Found and fought some Gloom Hands within the Deku Tree. Didn’t take any chances. Rained bomb arrows down on that thing until it shrivelled up and then cut down the Phantom Ganon that followed afterwards. Didn’t take long. Have fought worse.

I can sense the presence of the Master Sword, the Deku Tree told me, and then a new map marker appeared on the Purah Pad. But … the marker is moving. And fast. It doesn’t make sense — I’d have noticed a sword hurtling across the countryside by now.

I asked the Deku Tree if he had any more clues, but all he talked about was the time Zelda and I came here to retrieve the Sword, nearly half a year ago now. He said something about the Sword’s strength growing with time, along with my connection to it. The truth is within you, he said, you just need to listen for it. But I don’t hear or feel anything.

I need to think. And I need help. Maybe more answers will come on the road…

A photograph of the towering Deku Tree, his stern expression unreadable and inscrutable. Koroks hover at the edge of the frame, eternally persistent and unphased by the ebbs and flows of fate.

Caption: This place should be a haven, and yet..

---

Log date: 09:30. 8th month, 24th day, 104AC Location: Kakariko Village, Necluda Weather: Rain. Light snow overnight.

Back in the familiar embrace of Kakariko. Coming here was the right choice.

Needed advice. Rode south from the Korok Forest and sought out Paya as soon as I arrived. Caught her up over some green tea and pickled swift carrots. Let her know that, surprise, ‘Zelda’ was a ghost the whole time. Paya took it surprisingly well. Only children fear ghosts, she said, and I swore it was Impa’s voice speaking. Those who are gone cannot hurt us.

Anyway. I told her I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have any clues about Zelda or the fifth Sage. I tracked the Master Sword to Eldin using the new map marker, but I couldn’t see anything. Nothing but rocks all around and a cloudy sky above. There are more geoglyphs I could find, but… I need to make more progress in the present before revisiting the past.

Paya knew just what to do. Trust the Sheikah to have all the answers. Change comes not through contemplation, but action. She pointed me towards the floating Ring Ruins and all but commanded that I investigate. Act then, Master Link!

Found some ancient writing inside the ruins that the researchers Tauro and Calip deciphered, with Paya’s help. Seems like they point to someone named Mineru, in the Zonai Ruins to the south. We leave in the morning. Tauro is beside himself with excitement. I’m sitting in his camp, watching him pace back and forth trying to write Paya a ‘going away’ letter. Can see him blushing under his bangs — he’s smitten.

Feeling optimistic. It would make sense for the fifth Sage, maybe an ancient Zonai, to take Zelda into protective custody. Maybe hidden in the ruins and cut off from the world, Zelda doesn’t know that we’re looking for her. It would make sense, for her to be there. It would make perfect sense.

A photograph of the floating Ring Ruins in Kakariko Village. In the foreground are Paya and Tauro in private conversation. Paya whispers something in Tauro’s ear, as he crouches down to listen with intense focus. Paya has her hands clasped in front of her waist and stands with a calm confidence.

Caption: Good for them.

---

Log date: 20:13. 8th month, 26th day 104AC Location: Jo-ku Usin Shrine, Thunderhead Isles Weather: Thunderstorm

Need a break. Sheltering in an ancient Zonai cavern. All go, go, go since leaving Kakariko. Waded through marsh and swamp at the Zonai Ruins with Tauro for a whole day, examining murals and fighting off lizalfos. Hate those guys.

We found some Zonai armour, completed an ancient ritual (Tauro enjoyed that), unveiled a whole new archipelago — but no sign of Zelda, or the fifth Sage.

Getting frustrated. Might just be this storm. All my gear is completely soaked. It’s just… the more places I look, the more I fear it — the thought that I buried months ago to stay sane. The thought that answers a terrible question – when someone goes missing and doesn’t come back, what does everyone assume happened to them?

I thought I could sense her, and sense the Sword. But maybe they’re just echoes. Just ghosts. Apparently the Master Sword is nearby, moving past the SkyView Tower on the Popla Foothills. If it is, I can’t see it through the clouds…

Pressing on. Will find this fifth Sage if it kills me. What else to do? I’m a hollow machine, the only thing real about me is the air I breathe.

If I stop moving, I’m gone.

A photograph taken from the Thunderhead Isles of the Popla Foothills to the north. The Light Dragon is seen flying just below the clouds. There's a sense that, no matter where someone is in the world, the dragon’s light would shine upon them. It's a familiar feeling, like the light that shone from Hyrule Castle when its Princess called out to— wait. No, stop that. That’s— what are you talking about? The feelings aren't familiar at all. It’s just a dragon. Nothing more. This isn't even a good photo. It’s blurry, and dark, and should just be deleted.

---

Log date: 07:45. 8th month, 27th day 104AC Location: Construct Factory, The Depths Weather: Not applicable.

Finally good news. The fifth Sage is here, in the Depths.

Barely made it to the end of the Thunderhead Isles. Didn’t sleep. Heart’s been in my throat all night. I had braced to find a tomb, but found instead a Zonai mask that led me to this Construct Factory. Then I heard the voice in my mind – Link, Zelda’s Chosen Protector. I am Mineru, the Sage of Spirit.

She couldn’t say much, except that she had been hidden in the Purah Pad all this time. Since it wasn’t designed to hold a living spirit, she had to lay low. Remembering now that Purah told me the Purah Pad was the key to the final Sage. I guess she figured it out, somehow.

Mineru’s little more than a poe, so we’re building her a new body. She says she’ll explain everything when we get to the Spirit Temple, and that we have to hurry. Zelda’s Chosen Protector is going as fast as he can, because I think it all makes sense now. Zelda IS down here in the Depths, safe in the final Temple. I thought… something worse had happened to her. Something that couldn’t or shouldn’t even be possible. But, it wasn’t true, in the end. Thank the Goddess.

I’m so tired, Zelda. I just want you home with me. Surely, this time, I’m right?

Surely, this time, you really are here?

A photograph of a large construct, half-built and still ensconced in its protective shell at the entrance to the Construct Factory. Though its eyes are open, the Construct is not yet awake.

Caption: We’re close, I know it.

---

~ Welcome to the Purah Pad ~

Today's Purah Pointer: Always make sure to che###%%% mon[][]rs%% in--

[Mineru.exe initiating...] [Initiation complete]

Message Medallion activated.

Connection established.

MNR | 11:00 Link? Are you there? I’ve routed my comms through the Purah Pad, it’s easier to communicate this way. Telepathy is a strain, after a while.

LNK | 11:02 I don’t want to talk.

MNR | 11:02 I know what I showed you at the Spirit Temple was a lot to take in. Zelda told me you would be upset, but she was sure her plan would work, and that the Master Sword would be–

LNK | 11:02 There’s nothing to be upset about.

MNR | 11:02 Link.

LNK | 11:03 We don’t have any proof she went through with it.

MNR | 11:03 Yes we do. You have met her.

LNK | 11:03 No.

MNR | 11:03 Link, she was guarding the Great Sky Island. She saved you from a Gleeok in Hebra. In Hateno, she guided you to Lanayru. And I saw the photo you took of her on the Thunderhead Isles.

LNK | 11:04 That wasn’t her. That dragon isn’t her.

MNR | 11:04 Denial serves no one. The dragon is a dragon of light. It would make perfect sense for it to be her.

LNK | 11:04 Don’t say that.

MNR | 11:04 Say what?

LNK | 11:04 Nothing makes sense.

MNR | 11:04 Link. Go to her. You will see what I see.

LNK | 11:05 I don’t want to talk about this.

MNR | 11:05 You cannot ignore the truth.

LNK | 11:05 Leave me alone.

MNR | 11:05 Do this for her, Link. She missed you so much.

LNK | 11:05 LEAVE. ME. ALONE.

MNR | 11:05 Link, wait—

Purah Pad power down initiated.

Powering down in 3,2 — *blip*

#totk #tears of the kingdom #zelink #link #mineru #my writing #tloz #tloz fanfic #link knows that mineru knows that link knows that mineru knows WHAT HAPPENED OH GOD

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leiawritesstories · 10 months

Text

PART TWO: FEBRUARY

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Word count: 7.8k

Warnings: graphic violence, alcohol, mentions of homicide, Sam, police bureaucracy, innuendo

All the thanks once again to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading 🫶

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“P-please,” stammered the man chained to the steel wall, his voice pitched high with terror. “I sw-swear, I don’t know anything a-at-at all.” Dark, wet patches marred his torn clothing–the stains of blood, sweat, urine, and pure uninhibited fear.

Rowan rolled his eyes and idly danced a small knife across his gloved knuckles. “If you knew nothing, Mr. Wilkins, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He was pleasantly surprised it had taken this long for Cairn Wilkins to start talking, though he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed drawing out the interrogation as long as possible. Perhaps he could speed things up…“Mr. Wilkins, why did you blow up your own warehouse?”

Despite the way his body must have been screaming in pain, Cairn managed to stiffen his spine and muster a glare. “I d-didn’t blow up–” a deep, raspy breath–“my own fucking warehouse.”

“Who did?” Feigning disinterest, Rowan flexed his black-gloved hand atop his black-clad thigh, drumming his fingers against his sturdy cargo pants.

Cairn coughed and spat blood. “The fuck should I know?”

Faster than a cobra, Rowan struck. His brass-knuckled fist slammed into Cairn’s already-broken ribs hard enough to deepen the break, making the man groan deeply, his breath reduced to a sputtering wheeze. “I can smell your bullshit,” he said flatly. “Who was it?”

“Fuck…you.” A second later, Cairn screamed, writhing in his bonds as a long, narrow strip of his skin fell to the concrete floor, landing with a soft, wet thwack.

His face utterly bored, Rowan flicked the short, slender knife back into his sleeve. “The sooner you spit out a name, the sooner that person pays.” He had a sense that appealing to Cairn’s obvious greed would provide the last bit of convincing needed. He was right.

“Th-that…fucking Gal-Gala-Galathynius bitch,” Cairn wheezed, fury flashing across his battered face.

Rowan raised a skeptical brow. “You mean the Galathynius who was seen lounging on the roof of her building on that night? The Galathynius who was miles away from your pathetic little warehouse? That Galathynius?”

“That bitch–” Cairn paused to spit out another mouthful of blood. “Did it.”

“Hmm.” Rowan mulled over the information and shrugged. “You seem convinced. Now, while we’re on the topic, why would Galathynius blow up your warehouse?”

Cairn’s glare, though quickly overtaken by agony, was venomous enough to kill. “Because that bitch knew I was coming for her.” Once he’d started ranting, he couldn’t seem to stop. “She killed my– uh, Arobynn in cold blood. Some fucking bullshit about how he was a sleazy criminal bastard who didn’t deserve to live. She’s got it in her stupid head that she’s cleansing the world of v-vil-villains–” he paused to gasp for breath–“and I’m next on the fucking list.”

“That was quite a speech.” Rowan’s tone was as dry as the Red Desert. And yet…something about Cairn’s unhinged rambling clicked with his theory. Cleansing the world of villains. He almost snorted out loud. Maybe if Aelin Galathynius wasn’t a villain herself, he’d believe it. “So what, you were going to end her before she ended you or some shit?”

“Yeah.”

At that, Rowan did snort out a laugh. “Sometimes, I can’t fucking believe the shit I hear.” He stared at Cairn for a moment. “Thank you for the information.” With that, he slammed his fist into the man’s temple, knocking him out cold, then exited the warehouse and nodded to the pair of soldiers standing outside. “Drop it off like we talked about.”

Rowan had known as soon as his man informed him they’d got Cairn Wilkins in custody that he was going to interrogate Wilkins and then dump whatever was left in a location where it would easily be found. He hoped that the bastard’s remains would turn up as another homicide scene shortly later, and he hoped that would give him the first block of evidence he needed to present to Gav. With any luck, Aelin Galathynius would find Cairn Wilkins’s battered self, kill the bastard, and leave him for the police and the press to find.

Which was exactly what happened.

“Lieutenant!” The police sergeant burst into Rowan’s office, interrupting a relatively slow, rather boring morning. “There’s another homicide scene.”

Rowan was out of the office in seconds, the sergeant falling into step beside him and quickly briefing him on the details. He nodded. “Thanks, Luca.” Luca was one of the few members of the Orynth PD investigative team that Rowan tolerated, mostly because he was passably smart, observant, and usually kept his mouth shut unless he was saying something important.

Luca nodded sharply. “You’re going to the scene?”

“No.”

“What?”

“No need.” Rowan stopped at the door to Captain Westfall’s office. “Keep me posted if there’s any significant evidence.”

“I…right. I will.” Luca turned on his heel and strode away. Another reason Rowan tolerated the kid–he didn’t ask stupid questions.

Before Rowan could decide whether he was going to knock or just barge into that incompetent twat Westfall’s office, the door flew open to reveal a steaming-mad Chaol Westfall. Rowan could practically see the smoke pouring from his ears. “Just the man I wanted to see,” Rowan drawled.

“Just the asshole I was about to summon,” Chaol growled. He stepped aside so Rowan could enter his office and slammed the door behind the two of them. “What the fuck, Whitethorn?” Rowan hadn’t even been on the investigation for two weeks before Chaol stopped calling him “Lieutenant.”

“What d’you mean?” Rowan couldn’t resist playing innocent; riling up Police Captain Chaol Westfall was just too fun. And too easy.

“I mean the fucking victim,” Chaol snapped. “What. The. Fuck.”

“If you’re accusing me of murder, Shale, you really should think twice about your precious little job.”

“That’s not my na–whatever. You know what I’m fucking talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t. Could you specify?” It took all of Rowan’s self-control not to snicker at the delightful shade of purple Chaol’s face was turning.

Chaol’s dark eyes narrowed in fury. “You tortured that victim before he was murdered,” he seethed. “Don’t give me any bullshit about how similar it is to the MO of the other homicides. It’s not. It’s your work, and I recognize your work when I see it.” He took a deep breath. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you, I’m the head of this investigation, and therefore you come to me for clearance before you go off and fucking torture someone?”

Rowan just rolled his eyes. “I’m an outside contract, Westhall, not one of your brainless lackeys. If I decide your methods aren’t working, then I use my own.” One corner of his lips curled up into a vicious smirk. “Besides, it worked. I got the info I needed. It’s not my fault Wilkins happened to end up getting finished off by some other criminal.”

Chaol muttered a string of truly creative curses under his breath. “Get out of my office, Whitethorn.”

Rowan threw Chaol a lazy, sarcastic salute and strolled out of the office, not bothering to close the door behind him. He went down the hall to the investigative team’s main gathering space and checked in on the evidence they’d gathered from Cairn Wilkins’s murder scene. It wasn’t much, just a few photos and samples of his clothes. He asked a few questions but mostly left everyone else alone, knowing that they could handle taking care of this crime scene. All he did was add Cairn Wilkins to the whiteboard, the latest addition in the column labeled Homicides–String?

His theory that all the deaths were connected was coming along nicely, as was his slowly-crystallizing theory that Galathynius was behind the crimes. After the setup with Cairn’s worthless corpse, he believed had one of his key pieces of that goddamn “concrete proof” he needed. Now, he just had to hope Gav would listen to him long enough to see his point.

Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, waited until Rowan’s angry footsteps had faded away before he picked up his cell phone and called his boss. He drummed his fingertips on the desk as he waited for her to pick up, muttering a curse under his breath when her phone went to voicemail and he had to try again.

The second time, she picked up just before it was about to go to voicemail again. “Unless you have something worth sharing, go back to stamping paperwork with your ass or whatever it is you useless cops do all day.”

“Pleased to hear your sweet voice too, Commander,” Ren drawled.

Aelin rolled her eyes so hard he could practically hear it. “Say something worthwhile or shut up.” The rapid clicking of her keyboard in the background indicated that she was probably working on something very important.

“Cairn Wilkins turned up dead.”

“I know.”

Ren blinked, his thoughts momentarily stalling. “He turned up dead on Galathynius property,” he continued. “Whitethorn got his dirty little hands on the bastard first, though.”

“I know,” Aelin repeated, her tone utterly dry.

“How the hell–”

“Wilkins’s worthless corpse turned up on my property.” She hadn’t stopped typing while they were talking. “Put two and two together, if you can, and deduce what happened. You’re a police captain, Westfall, aren’t you supposed to be good at figuring out this kind of shit?” Wry amusement laced her words.

“You did it.” Ren grumbled a string of curses under his breath.

“Not personally,” Aelin said offhandedly. “Not that I didn’t want to. Unfortunately, I have bigger and better things to do than finish off a worthless piece of shit who would have bled out anyway.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Has anyone ever told you how goddamn impossible it is to have a productive conversation with you?”

She snickered. “Actually, yes. You’re one of the few who’s said it this bluntly, though, and that’s part of the reason why you have this little job, Captain.” She pronounced his title with dripping sarcasm, a not-so-subtle reminder of what he was supposed to be doing. “Thanks for confirming that PD knows about Cairn’s, ah, untimely demise.”

He could have sworn she was laughing. “So it wasn’t you?”

“I’m assuming it was one of the trigger-happy guards that are on night patrol down at the warehouse.” She shrugged. “Like I said, he would’ve bled out anyway. A swift death was as much mercy as he was ever going to get.”

As Ren hung up the phone and turned back to the endless stack of paperwork that came with posing as a police captain, he sighed yet again. He had to admit it: Aelin was right. Hearing that she herself hadn’t killed Wilkins, though…perhaps he could find something about the scene to distract Whitethorn from running off to tattle to his commanding officer.

He pulled up the images of the crime scene, zooming in on the close-ups of Wilkins’s body. Knowing from experience that Aelin’s preferred method of finishing someone off was a slit throat, Ren examined the throat, and…well, that was interesting, indeed. He checked again, making sure he was actually seeing what was real and not deluding himself, saved copies of the close-up images, printed off a set of the photos, and strolled off to the investigative team’s meeting room.

“Fucking hell,” Rowan seethed. “You better not have doctored the photos, Westfall, or I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’m a law-abiding citizen and a member of the police force,” Ren drawled, immensely satisfied by the way Rowan caught onto the implied insult and turned a surprising shade of crimson. “All I did was properly examine the images.”

“I’m going to get confirmation from the morgue,” Rowan snapped. Abruptly, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the meeting room. Ren snickered. It was almost too easy.

And when Rowan returned from the morgue with confirmation of what Ren had discovered in the photos, the look on his face was worth every second of verbal abuse Ren had had to deal with since that man joined the investigation.

Cairn Wilkins had indeed been killed on Galathynius property, but his fatal wound was not the severed throat that had been the common thread linking all the other homicides and, coincidentally, was the notorious criminal Galathynius’s preferred method of disposing of victims. Rather, Wilkins had been shot through the throat. The state of his brutalized body was consistent with the string of tortured victims that Rowan firmly believed were Galathynius crimes, but the cause of death simply did not match.

“Hope that isn’t too drastic of a factor,” Ren said calmly as he passed Rowan on his way out of the room.

“Fuck off,” Rowan grunted. His jaw muscles pulsed rapidly; hell, his entire body was coiled with tension like a spring stretched to its maximum limit.

Although he did enjoy testing the limits, Ren knew better than to push Rowan Whitethorn over the edge of that deadly anger. So he just offered a bland, smarmy smile and strolled back to his office, wondering what the hell would happen when Whitethorn inevitably crossed paths with Aelin.

A week before the Galathynius Inc. annual gala, Aelin paced across her living room, wearing a path into the expensive carpet despite not having any shoes on. Two pencils were haphazardly shoved into her messy updo, and she was about three seconds from screaming every swear word in every language she knew.

“Are you fucking serious?” she half-yelled, ready to throw her phone at the nearest wall. “There’s only a week left!”

“Lin, calm the fuck down.” Ansel ordered in her I’m-your-lawyer voice. “I visited the ballroom today to confirm that they weren’t bullshitting us. The whole goddamn building is flooded.”

“Fuck,” Aelin groaned. “What the hell else could we possibly book?”

“Elide’s already been on the phone with every other place on our list. So has the event planner, and everyone gave the same response. Booked out.” Ansel muttered a rather creative curse. “I’m looking into the last couple of options, but we might have to–”

“Wait.” Aelin’s gaze honed in on a framed photo of her parents that hung on her wall. The snapshot had captured Rhoe and Evalin in the middle of the gala, formal wear and everything, laughing at a private joke they were sharing. Brushing off the pang of grief she always felt when she saw reminders of her parents, Aelin focused on the background of the image. “They’re at the office,” she whispered, mostly to herself.”

“The hell?” Ansel’s question jerked Aelin back to reality.

“Don’t bother calling any other venues,” Aelin responded. “We can hold the gala at the office.”

“Um…”

“Thirtieth floor. It’s listed as a ‘multipurpose space’ but mostly used for random conference meetings or other big speeches. My parents held the gala there a few times when every other venue in Orynth was booked out.”

Ansel sucked in a soft gasp. “That’s right. How’d we forget about that?” She started typing rapidly in the background. “Call Ells. I’ll call you back if I need anything.” She hung up.

Aelin released a deep breath and called her right-hand woman. “Hey Ells, I’ve got us a solution.”

“Please fucking share,” Elide grumbled. Aelin heard the telltale hiss of a can opening and knew her dear friend was probably cracking open a cider. “Every single fucking venue in this city is booked.”

“We’re holding the gala at the office. Thirtieth floor.”

Elide swore quietly. “Why the fuck didn’t I remember that? Rhoe and Evalin held events there all the time.”

“Slipped all of our minds.” Aelin pushed back the memories of her teenage self at those events. “I only remembered when I walked past the photos on my wall.”

“Right, your whole decor is probably just photos of you and your family at that office,” Elide teased.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “If I hadn’t been dragged along to every goddamn event Gal Inc hosted, we’d never have met, you know.”

“I know.” Elide tapped on her iPad in the background. “Okay, I’m gonna talk to the caterers. Thanks, Ae.”

“Call me if you need anything.” Aelin hung up and poured herself a generous glass of wine. Maybe she shouldn’t be relying on the alcohol after a long, exhausting day, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She did, however, limit herself to just one drink.

She had to be sharp for her meeting that night, after all.

“N-no, I swear, I'm telling the truth!” The man’s voice cracked.

Lounging in a comfortable chair with her booted feet propped casually on the desk, Aelin regarded the man sitting across from her with great disdain. Not speaking, she just lifted her hand and crooked two fingers, calling one of her men over. The huge, muscled, masked man chuckled darkly and flicked out a dagger with a soft zing.

The man opposite Aelin shook with terror. “Pl-please, Boss.”

Aelin arched an eyebrow. “Begging so soon, Tern?”

“I don’t know anything,” he whimpered, cringing away from the knife.

Aelin lifted her chin. Her guard grabbed the sniveling man, hauled him up by the collar, and let him squirm pointlessly in the air for a moment before setting him back into his chair and tying his arms and legs so he couldn’t wriggle away. He looked to Aelin for confirmation. “Boss?”

She nodded.

“I–I haven’t–aaahhhh!” Tern screamed, thrashing futilely, as Aelin’s guard ripped open his shirt and sliced his dagger slowly down Tern’s right pectoral.

Aelin clicked her tongue. “Pity to mess up such fine tattoo work. Vaughan is truly an artist.” She steepled her fingers, watching her guard work on Tern until the bloodied, bruised man relented.

“S-st-stop,” he wheezed, spitting blood and a tooth onto the concrete floor. “I’ll tell you.”

Standing, Aelin strolled around her desk and leaned on the front edge. “I knew you’d come around eventually.” She tipped her head, and her guard stepped back. “Speak, Tern.”

He trembled. “It was Finn.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“H-he did it himself, had me and a few other guys sneak onto the ship and kill or subdue the crew, then took over command. He was bragging about it for weeks.” Tern inhaled shakily. “Said he knew a woman couldn’t properly arm her shipments.”

“Did he, now?” Aelin’s voice was lethally soft, dangerously controlled.

“Yes.”

“Fascinating.” She smiled softly. “It was very kind of you to tell me, Tern. Thank you.”

He blinked in shock. “I–you–you’re welcome, Boss.”

She patted his bleeding face with a gloved hand. “I hope you have a competent doctor; you’re going to need it.” With that, she sauntered away.

Tern wheezed out a shaky sigh, but he couldn’t control the part of him that was a giant raging misogynist. “Bitch,” he whispered, thinking Aelin couldn’t hear.

Bang.

“I thought you might say that,” Aelin mused, knocking the empty chamber out of her gun and holstering the weapon. She tipped her head towards Tern’s corpse. “Dump it.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” her guard grunted.

She left her gun in the warehouse’s weapons room, locked up, let herself out, and headed back to her shitty apartment down by the shipping district. It took her almost an hour to get there, thanks to the traffic accident blocking half of the freeway, and she was bone-tired by the time she finally slipped through the window and bolted it closed. Dragging herself to the bathroom, she stopped to glance in the mirror to check on her suit.

Gods fucking damn it. There was blood staining the material again.

After a quick shower, Aelin dumped her suit in the bathtub and filled the tub with water, laundry detergent, and some bleach. She left it to soak overnight and got herself into bed, falling into deep, exhausted sleep as soon as her head hit the pillows. In the morning, she’d deal with the damn suit.

In the morning, the damn suit was mostly clean, so she drained the tub, rinsed her suit, and wrung it out–a task that took far too long and made her swear violently. She’d have to call Nehemia and see if she could figure out a way to make the fabric less of a pain in the ass to clean.

As she folded up the damp suit, Aelin’s fingers passed over what felt like a frayed spot. She frowned and held the suit up to the overhead light, searching for whatever she’d just felt.

Fuck.

It wasn’t a frayed spot.

It was a tear. A tiny one, but still a tear. The suit’s material was supposed to be incredibly difficult to damage, which meant…

Fuck.

She could only hope that the torn scrap had come into Aedion’s hands, because if the police had it–or worse, if the TSF had it–that fabric would be the first piece of hard evidence linking Boss Aelin Galathynius to her crimes.

“I shouldn’t be this jittery,” Aelin muttered, clasping her hands tightly together to stop herself from twisting her rings, the one and only nervous habit she had. “It’s just the gala, it happens every year.”

“Lady.” Elide swept gracefully across the room, two tall glasses of champagne in her hands. “If you don’t stop quivering, I will kick your ass. Have a drink. Charm your guests. Stop fucking worrying.”

Gratefully, Aelin accepted one of the champagne glasses and took a long, long sip. “What would I do without you, Ells?”

“Probably lose your damn wits,” Elide snarked, winking at her dear friend. “Now, please go over and chat with Cortland before I strangle you for ignoring our company’s newest acquired partner.”

“As you wish.” Aelin drained the champagne, placed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and walked over to the Cortlands, who were making small talk with some of Aelin’s employees.

Mark and Sam Cortland, the father and son duo who ran Cortland Advertising, had officially joined Galathynius Inc. just a few weeks ago after months and months of negotiations. The advertising company’s stock and profits had been tanking ever since a tabloid article supposedly exposed Sam’s affair with one of the interns. Aelin’s covert research had confirmed that the tabloid rumors were true, and she’d approached the company with an acquisition offer after letting them flounder in their sudden decline for a few months. Initially, of course, the Cortlands had been completely opposed to the idea of letting another company, especially one as potentially notorious as Galathynius, Inc., acquire them. But after Aelin had sat through a few weeks of pointless arguing, she simply dropped three printed photos onto the conference table and watched Sam squirm.

That had been a very productive meeting.

“Ms. Galathynius.” Noticing her approach, the elder Cortland welcomed her into the small knot of people, dipping his head at her. “Spectacular event, as always.”

“Thank you.” She allowed a small, professional smile. Mark Cortland was a complete gentleman, refined and well-mannered, and she actually enjoyed working with him. Sam Cortland, though, was an entirely different story.

“You look exquisite, Ms. Galathynius.” Right on cue, Sam had a compliment. He even went so far as to lift her hand towards his face for a kiss…until he caught sight of her icy expression and dropped her hand faster than a hot coal.

“Sycophancy doesn’t become you, young Cortland,” Aelin said softly, just loud enough for the small circle of people to hear. A few of the others muffled snickers. “But thank you for confirming what my friends have already expressed.” Sam’s face flushed a gratifying shade of crimson, and he made a hasty excuse and strode for the bar.

“Keep an eye on him,” the elder Cortland murmured to the man nearest him. “My apologies for my son’s behavior, Ms. Galathynius. He hasn’t yet adjusted to being someone’s subordinate.”

“He will, in time,” Aelin reassured him. “If it helps, he can report to you, rather than to one of my employees. Perhaps he’ll still feel autonomous that way.”

Cortland nodded. “We’ll see.”

Aelin chatted with him and his colleagues for a few more minutes, her friendliness setting all of them at ease. She’d found that to be her best asset–showing a friendly face at public events. It helped reassure everyone, especially the company’s new additions, that she might be the intimidating CEO in the office, but she was perfectly approachable and had a sense of humor. She left Cortland and his colleagues with a promise of lunch soon and headed across the ballroom, picking up another glass of champagne as she passed a waiter. She flashed a thank-you smile at the young waiter, who couldn’t possibly be more than eighteen or nineteen, and chuckled to herself as his face turned pink. As she strolled towards Nox, she caught sight of a very familiar blonde head and reversed her steps.

“Uncle,” she beamed, genuine joy on her face as she came up to Gavriel’s side.

Gav beamed right back and hugged her briefly but affectionately. “You look just like your mother, Ae,” he murmured. “How are you?”

Aelin had to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. “I’m just fine, Gav, so stop worrying.” Her lips curled into a genuine smile. “I’m a little sleep-deprived, but that tends to happen when you’re working on a major project.”

“Please tell me you’ve been eating something that isn’t coffee,” Gav teased.

She smacked his arm. “You’re impossible. Yes, of course I am. Elide bullies me into having real groceries in my fridge, you know.”

“As she should.” He dodged her next swat, years of serving in Terrasen’s special forces having honed his reflexes. “Before you ask, Aedion’s working.”

“Of course he is,” Aelin sighed. “I swear he works more than both of us combined.”

“That he does,” her uncle agreed. “No matter how many times I try to convince him to leave the lab every once in a while, it’s like he doesn’t even hear me.”

“We’re having lunch this week, so I can bully him then if you want.”

“Please do.” Gav’s eyes crinkled with humor. “Tell that boy his father wants to see him, too.”

Aelin laughed. “I might just have to let you take my place at lunch so you can bully him.”

“I wouldn’t say no.” Gav squeezed Aelin’s free hand. “Oh, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Another one of your rookies?” she teased. “Uncle, you bring one of the new guys every year, and every year I tell you to stop meddling in my love life.”

He smirked, the expression pure Ashryver. “Hard to meddle in something that doesn’t exist, Aelin dear.” Before she could protest, he linked her arm through his and raised his other hand, crooking his fingers in a beckoning gesture.

The most gorgeous man Aelin had ever seen strode up to Gav, lifting the chiseled line of his jaw in an effortless salute. She barely had any time to sweep an appreciative glance over his height, his muscles, his piercing green eyes, and the exquisitely tailored suit that accentuated his physique when he spoke, addressing her uncle.“Sir?”

Just like that, ice shot through her heated blood. That voice. She knew the sound of that voice. She’d heard it over the Orynth PD radio. This man was the special forces officer on the investigation.

Hmm. She could have…fun tonight after all.

Rowan had been dreading the Galathynius, Inc. charity gala since the moment Gav informed him that he would be the second special forces guest that year. Apparently the TSF and Gal Inc. had some form of partnership that allowed Gav two invitations to the gala. Every year, Gav picked one of the newer soldiers to show off, probably so he could set the poor guy loose on the wealthy, lustful businesspeople who attended that kind of event. The idea of being smirked at and flirted with for hours on end made Rowan’s skin crawl. Not only would he have to wear a formal suit–which meant absolutely no weapons–but he had to stand around and smile and fucking chitchat with a roomful of complete strangers. The open bar was a blessing. Honestly, he’d been incredibly relieved when Gav motioned him over, drawing him away from an incredibly uncomfortable conversation (if one could call it that) with a platinum-blonde woman who wasn’t even trying to conceal that she wanted to get in his pants.

“Sir?” He stifled the urge to perform a full salute and simply lifted his chin at his commander.

The expression on Gav’s face was nothing short of meddlesome. “Rowan, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” His grin widened. “This is my niece, Aelin Galathynius. Aelin, dear, this is Lieutenant Rowan Whitethorn, Terrasen Special Forces.”

Holy fucking shit.

Every single coherent thought vanished from Rowan’s brain as he stared into the completely stunning face of Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the woman he was convinced was behind one of the biggest criminal outfits he’d ever encountered. He couldn’t stop his gaze from trailing down the elegant lines of her body, appreciating how the deep crimson silk of her formal dress molded to her subtle curves, the way one long, tanned leg peeked through a slit that was nearly indecent, the smoky makeup enhancing the brilliant turquoise of her eyes, and the lipstick that matched her dress perfectly. Lipstick Rowan suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to kiss off of her full, plush lips.

Aelin arched one perfectly groomed blonde brow. “Does he talk?” she asked Gav–her uncle!–in a throaty, musical voice that had Rowan’s cock twitching in his pants.

Gav chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Occasionally.” Say something, idiot, his eyes practically screamed.

Rowan cleared his throat. “P–pleasure to meet you, Ms. Galathynius.”

“Oh, the pleasure is entirely mine,” she purred, so much charisma thrumming in her tone that Rowan had to think up images of sad puppies to control his body’s reaction. Untucking her arm from Gav’s, she slid it into Rowan’s and shook his hand firmly, her skin soft against his rough calluses. “Where are you from, Lieutenant Whitethorn?”

“Wendlyn,” he replied. “Trained at Doranelle before accepting the TSF offer.”

“Impressive,” she hummed, and damn him straight to hell, the innuendo in her voice would be the death of him. “I’ve heard that the Doranellians are some of the best-trained soldiers in the world.”

“You’ve heard correctly.” Gav grinned at his niece. “If you’ll excuse me, dear, I believe your chief of sales has been trying to subtly wave me over for the last ten minutes and is about to cause a scene if I don’t acknowledge her.”

Aelin laughed softly, the musical sound sending sparks shooting down Rowan’s nerves. “Business calls,” she quipped, placing a kiss on Gav’s cheek. “I’m sure I can entertain Lieutenant Whitethorn while you have a boring conversation with someone else, Uncle.” Gav smirked and left, walking over to a woman who must have been one of Aelin’s colleagues, leaving Rowan and Aelin alone. Together.

“Well.” Aelin turned the full force of her bone-melting smile onto Rowan, and gods burn him, he was helpless against such power. “Can I get you a drink, Lieutenant?”

“Please,” he grumbled before he could stop himself. “Gods, I’m sorry, I’ve just never been that comfortable at…this kind of event.”

She flashed him a conspiratorial smirk. “Too much bullshit?”

If he’d been attracted to her initially, he was completely head over heels for her now. “You get it.”

“Of course I do,” she snorted. “I’ve been coming to business events since I was fourteen–perils of having ambitious parents, I guess. Well, I certainly learned how to survive a gala: have an open bar.” She led him over to the bar and waved at the bartender. “A little boost, Owens?”

“Sure thing, ma’am.” The bartender grabbed two shot glasses, poured a measure of whiskey into each glass, and slid them across the bartop.

Rowan picked up his glass and held it up to the lamp, admiring the rich golden-amber color of the whiskey. It looked like a damn expensive brand, and with that look, it was probably worth every dollar of its price. He tasted the liquor and his eyes went wide. “Damn.”

Aelin’s brows raised. “Was that a good or bad damn, Whitethorn?” Behind the bar, the bartender let out a wheeze, covering it rapidly with a soft cough.

Rowan rolled the whiskey around on his tongue. “Good. Definitely good.” He clinked his shot glass against hers and downed the fine liquor in one go, almost regretful to take it like a shot. Whiskey this good deserved to be sipped. To his shock, Aelin drained her shot in one go as well, barely even blinking as the liquid burned down her throat.

The whiskey warmed Rowan’s blood enough for him to crack a smirk. “If we were anywhere else, Ms. Galathynius, I’d have to buy you another drink.”

The grin she gave him in return was nothing short of sensual. “If we were anywhere else, Lieutenant Whitethorn, I just might say yes.”

Fucking hell. He was in such deep shit.

Aelin talked with Rowan for another few minutes at the bar, covertly gesturing at Nox to keep the whiskey coming, and eventually let him go off to find Gav after several more shots. She couldn’t muffle her satisfied little smirk as she watched the supposedly unflappable lieutenant stumble once and quickly catch his balance. Clearly, her little scheme to get the fearsome lieutenant a little tipsy had worked.

“You are an evil, brilliant woman,” Nox muttered as he collected the shot glasses.

She flashed him a deadly smirk. “And you controlled yourself surprisingly well when I said Whitethorn’s name. I was expecting at least one broken glass.”

He snorted. “If I was anyone else, I’d have dropped the fuckin’ bottle. Dunno whether to be terrified or excited that he’s here, though.”

“A little bit of both.” Aelin drained the small glass of water Nox had given her and stood up. “Thanks for the drinks, Owens.”

“Anytime, ma’am.” He winked at her. “Anytime.”

In her periphery, Aelin noticed Ansel covertly gesturing at her, so she headed over to meet the redheaded attorney, who corralled her into a small knot of men talking in low voices. One of those men was none other than Archer Finn, CEO of Finn’s Imports, LLC. His little shipping company had recently developed an…interest in Aelin’s shipments–or, as the rest of the world called it, piracy.

“Ms. Galathynius.” Ever debonair, Archer stepped to her side. “May I have a dance?”

“Of course,” she replied, accepting his hand and accompanying him onto the dance floor. He was a competent partner, if not particularly skilled at masking his surprise when she dropped the news. “How has the business been lately? I’ve heard you unexpectedly lost a few vessels.”

His short, tight inhale confirmed what she suspected, but his voice was even. “You know how unpredictable the weather at sea can be, I’m sure.”

“Indeed.” She clicked her tongue softly, using the slow spin he guided her through to slightly tilt her upper body, drawing Archer’s very male attention to the deep V-neck of her formal dress. “I’ve had shipments damaged by storms as well. Truly unfortunate.”

“Quite.” His eyes narrowed into a cunning, if lascivious, expression. “I wonder, though, if it would benefit a leader such as yourself to contract more than one importer, lest you put all your eggs in one basket.”

It was almost too easy. “What a novel suggestion,” she purred, lacing her tone with just enough sarcasm that Archer wouldn’t realize she was mocking him. “You’re offering me a partnership.” It wasn’t a question.

“I believe Finn Imports and Galathynius, Inc. would mutually benefit from an alliance.” Clever of him to word it like that. Archer Finn shipped drugs and arms to a sizable number of Erilea’s biggest crime rings–or he had, until a series of unfortunate, unsolved murders destabilized most of the outfits.

Aelin hummed softly, pretending to mull over the proposal, and swayed with the dance just enough for her toned leg to flash through the slit in her skirt. “Perhaps we could.”

Archer swept a brazen gaze down her body. Asshole. “Let’s set a meeting, then. Monday? I have a handful of openings in my schedule.”

Aelin refused to shudder beneath the badly disguised lust in his lecherous gaze. “I believe we could expedite the process of our alliance if you present your terms now, rather than later. My meeting schedule tends to be booked out weeks in advance.”

“Spoken like a true savant.” The fool couldn’t even recognize a veiled insult. “I’m offering to import fifty percent of your Kingsflame deliveries and thirty to fifty percent of your Gal Tech deliveries, and of course, I know how to be discreet.” He smirked. “As for compensation, I believe fifteen percent would be reasonable.”

“Fifteen percent of net profit, or fifteen percent of gross profit?”

He couldn’t mask the avarice that was his guiding characteristic. “Gross profit. However, I’m also willing to distribute a portion of the deliveries at no additional cost.”

“Hmm.” Aelin pretended to consider his outright robbery of an offer. “Ten percent.”

“Ten percent profit?”

“No. Ten percent of my Kingsflame and tech deliveries.” She squeezed his hand tightly before he could protest, shutting him up. “Ten percent…to begin. If you can demonstrate your competence after an initial trial period, we can negotiate increasing that amount.”

He nodded slowly, seeing her logic. “How long would the trial period last?”

“Four to eight weeks, depending on how frequent my shipments would be.”

“And are you willing to accept a fifteen percent compensation?”

She smothered her snicker. He really was predictable. “I believe it would be wise to set the compensation rate in proportion to the percentage of goods you import. For example, if you import ten percent of the Kingsflame shipments, you receive five percent of gross profit. If you import twenty percent, you receive ten percent. And so on.”

Archer ran the calculations in his head, clearly entranced by the prospect of the immense wealth a deal with Galathynius could bring him. “Agreed. On all terms.”

“Excellent.” She flashed him a professional smile. “My attorney will set up a meeting with you so we can sign the necessary paperwork.” The song drew to a close, and she stepped back from Archer, dipping her head in the customary gesture of appreciation for a dance. “I look forward to our partnership, I truly do.” She couldn’t control the wicked, steel-edged smirk that edged across her crimson lips.

Aelin turned away from Archer, her mind already clicking pieces into place for the “partnership” with Finn Imports. She fully intended to sneak back to the bar and have a drink of water, if not something stronger, but before she could step away from the dancefloor, a broad, callused hand landed on her waist, and she found herself in the arms of Lieutenant Rowan Whitethorn.

“May I?” he murmured, his voice thick and a little slurred, eyes bright with the effects of the whiskey he’d drunk earlier.

“Of course.” She rested one hand on his shoulder–even in six-inch heels, she had to raise her hand to his shoulder–and placed her other hand in his. “I’ll try not to step on you, Lieutenant, since my shoes might cause some damage.” The music started again, and he led her into a dance with more grace than a probably drunk person should have.

His low, rumbling laugh was something straight out of her nighttime fantasies. “Those heels prob’ly hurt you worse than anyone else, don’t they?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Beauty is pain, though.”

“Bullshit.” His whiskey-bright eyes, the exact color of evergreen forests, lingered on her face, dipping to her crimson-painted lips. “’Cuz you’re beautiful, not painful.” He blinked. “Wait. That made no–what did I say?”

Aelin snorted a laugh. “I believe you called me beautiful.”

“That I did.” Rowan’s guiding hand on her waist pressed her closer, until they were sharing breath. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Ms. Galathynius.”

“Please, call me Aelin.”

“Aelin,” he repeated, and gods, the way her blood sparked at the sound of her name on his tongue. “Call me Rowan, then.”

“Rowan,” she murmured, lowering her lashes in a demure manner she knew drove men wild.

“Stunning,” he whispered, his gaze meandering down her form and back up to her lips.

She smiled, more appreciative of his compliment than any other platitude she’d been offered that night, because his was genuine. It probably came from liquid courage, but it was genuine nonetheless. “You clean up rather well for a soldier, yourself.”

He grinned, a brilliant flash of teeth that lit his face with youthful joy. “Soldiers have to dress up sometimes, too, Miss CEO.” As the music built higher, he spun her outward, keeping a delicate hold of her fingers.

Aelin took that opportunity to slip out of his grasp and exit the dancefloor.

She made it all the way into the quiet hallway that led to the bathrooms before Rowan caught up with her, the wintry scent of his cologne tickling her nostrils. “That was surprisingly fast for a drunk man,” she teased.

“I’m not drunk, Aelin,” Rowan mumbled, his voice a deep, velvet caress. Those stupidly huge hands of his wrapped around her waist again, backing her gently against the wall.

“Oh?” She raised one eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you see this, Rowan darling?” With that, she sidestepped him, ducking into a short, shadowed side hallway. He stayed right behind her, catching her again as soon as they were both in the quiet, darkened space. Tilting up her head, she caught his eyes in the shadows and smirked. For a moment, their breaths were the only sound in the space, the only thing passing through the tension that crackled between the two of them.

Then Rowan sank one hand into her hair and crashed his lips into hers.

Aelin melted her body against the hard, muscular planes of his, caught his jacket’s lapels, and dragged him closer as she let her lips fall open, deepening the kiss. Fuck, the man kissed like a god, his lips warm and soft, his tongue tangled with hers in the most delicious way. Desperate for a breath, she broke away, tipping her head back to draw in a lungful of fresh air, and he took that opportunity to press his deviously talented lips against her throat, sending a shudder racing down her spine. Stifling the moan that threatened to escape, she threaded her fingers into his cropped hair and tugged him back to her lips, kissing him deeply, hungrily.

He broke the kiss after an eternal moment, his chest heaving as he practically gasped for breath, clearly just as wrecked by the kiss as she was. Despite the alcohol she could taste on his lips, he didn’t falter once as he whispered her name, his voice hoarse with barely-concealed desire and a hundred other emotions she wouldn’t name. “Aelin.”

That desire–the desire of the man who was trying to put her behind bars–was like a bucket of icy water dousing her simmering lust. She slipped his grasp and darted away, ducking into a secret hallway that she knew was nearby. She waited there for a few minutes, hands pressed over her mouth to keep Rowan from hearing her shuddering breaths, until his footsteps faded away into the distance. Then, she steeled herself, straightened her spine, and pressed her thumb into the hidden keypad that was next to her, opening a concealed door with a muted click and heading down the hidden hallway to her private exit.

Rowan didn’t remember anything after his and Aelin’s kiss, the kiss that shook him to his very core. He’d been too stunned to chase her when she disappeared, and in the space of the twenty seconds it took him to recover his breath and try to follow her, she was gone.

He didn’t remember walking back to the gala, his head spinning with alcohol and Aelin’s kiss. He didn’t remember heading straight for the bar and downing another few drinks. He barely remembered making his excuses to Gav and getting the hell out of the gala before he could do anything stupid like tear apart every floor of the building looking for Aelin.

In a hazy, alcohol-blurred fog, Rowan made it back to the barracks, stripped out of his suit, and collapsed into his bed. Sleep claimed him in minutes.

When he woke up, bright sunlight hit him full in the face, and he buried his face back into his pillow, groaning. Fuck, it was too much. Too bright. His head was heavier than a wheelbarrow full of bricks and foggier than a San Francisco morning.

Someone snickered from his left. “Long night, Whitethorn?”

“Fuck you,” Rowan grunted into his pillow, flipping his middle finger at the jackass who dared to comment on his rough appearance.

Lorcan mercilessly ripped the pillow out of Rowan’s arms and snickered some more. “Get your ass out of bed, Lieutenant Hungover. There’s water and ibuprofen on your nightstand. Commander won’t wait forever to see you, y’know.”

“Bastard,” Rowan grumbled. He rolled over, grabbed the water and medicine, downed both, and forced himself to sit up and reach for the fatigues that he always kept in a neatly folded stack on the shelf of his nightstand. As he pulled on his shirt, a coherent thought broke through the foggy mess of his brain. “Salvaterre?”

“What.”

“Why does Gav want me?”

Lorcan shrugged. “Fuck if I know. He sent me to get your drunk ass out of bed right after morning briefing, said he needs you in his office as soon as you can stand up.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a jackass?” Rowan rolled his eyes.

“You do, every day.” Lorcan smirked and threw Rowan a mocking salute.

“Oh, fuck off!” Rowan yelled as Lorcan left the room. Muttering under his breath, he quickly finished getting dressed, strapped his Kevlar vest on, and chugged another glass of water before leaving his room and going upstairs to face the commander.

Gav was about as welcoming as a wall of bricks. “Whitethorn,” he said flatly when Rowan walked into his office. “Nice to see you up and about so early.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Rowan saluted sharply and said nothing, his lips flattened into a firm line.

His commander returned the flat stare. “Do you know what day it is, Whitethorn?”

“Saturday, sir.”

Gav scoffed. “Today is Saturday, February 28, Whitethorn. You know what that means.”

Fuck. It was the last day of February. And Rowan was not even a single inch closer to the proof he’d promised his commander he’d be able to gather. Not after the--gods fucking dammit.

That kiss…Aelin had thrown his previously set theories into scrambled chaos.

“Dismissed.” Gav turned his attention back to the paperwork piled atop his desk. “Clock’s ticking, Whitethorn.”

~~~

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#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin the crime boss au #crime boss aelin x investigator rowan #tw: violence

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credince--writes · 1 year

Text

Beth

JITTERSVERSE

AO3

A/N: Merry Christmas.

“I can continue this for as long as needed.” The man stated- Ghost would simply refer to him as Goon.

The one behind him?

That was Twit.

The third was Lopez, sauntering into the room with a disinterested, maybe annoyed look on his face as he approached. His boots were white, with gold stitched detailing, stiff pants, and a suit jacket on top of his button-up. He shuffled the jacket off of his shoulders, Twit quickly scampering over to him to take the coat and tuck the fabric away somewhere safe.

Soap’s hands were bound, all he could do from his position was hold his head up and stare at Ghost, the men in front of him trying to save his energy. Keep his senses alert. It was a lot harder to escape when you were unconscious.

Lopez’s presence lingered, taking small but articulated steps closer and closer to Ghost. From this angle, he couldn’t exactly tell what the man was looking at. At one point or another, they’d drug a chair in, the two men fighting against the trashes of Ghost’s body until they were able to secure him to the metal chair scraping against the cold concrete floors.

He was used to having the hard shell of the mask in front of him. A safety net in a way- or a shield. The plastic shields him, creating a dark visage that would strike fear into the poor sods who have been graced with the misfortune of being in his warpath.

It is what made him the Ghost.

A feared creature.

You can not lose a Ghost.

You can not kill a Ghost.

You can not find a Ghost.

But without the mask?

Maybe, that just means he is just a man.

This wasn’t his first hostage situation, where he landed up in a situation like this, far from it. But there was something different that stunk, rancid, in his nose as he tensed his muscles in anticipation of a strike to the body from the Goon.

He was betrayed.

But it wasn’t like Graves.

Yea, Graves had worked with them, become bonded with them to some degree- forming some layers of trust.

“Jitters was the rat. She escaped, MIA.”

Maybe he was dead, this was just some twisted form of Hell he would endure, maybe a nightmare. But it couldn’t be a nightmare, he knew that. The feeling of his blood pounding in his ears, the scar on the lower left of his abdomen right above his hip ached like it did when it was humid outside- ready to rain. The ache in the joints of his fingers, and the pain. Oh, the pain. The pain that blossomed all around him, the hunger. The gnawing feeling of his gut as he tried to keep his wits.

He’d been hurt worse.

He’d survived worse.

Hungrier,

More deprived of sleep.

But this?

He’d sworn to steel himself from any potential harm, not let anyone close enough to drive a spike through his hard as if he were some kind of vampire. His only weakness- to be struck through the heart.

Maybe it was true.

It was a feeling, he’d been told. To know when you would die. Your body would accept it before your brain did- sometimes the other way around. But your body would communicate, and your brain would scream. Soul aching in longing of potential to finally move on to find some kind of solace in whatever afterlife there may or may not be.

Standing in front of himself,

Simon Riley.

He was but a man, was he not? Clutched in his hand he would look down, holding the hard, damaged plastic of the mask before glancing back up to stare at himself. Only not to find it, to find a void- the cold, emptiness of longing of something.

But too long for something to come is better than to mourn for the loss of something you’d once had.

Instead of a void, he was now sat in a dingy little flat. Nothing on the walls, a single chair tucked up next to a weak-legged table in the kitchen. Everything was neat and orderly, the corners of cabinets worn with the exact location he would open them from. No plants, no decor, no photos.

No Mirrors.

To look into the mirror sometimes he would look directly into the eyes of what he’d mourned long, long ago.

But then that warmth came.

A pestering, irritating warmth.

His name was John MacTavish.

At first? He snuffed out the spark, refusing to allow the potential of any harm to come to him. A long, drawn-out battle as if he were defending his safe space from a wildfire, the air full of propane. Any spark coming nearby would be a certain death sentence.

It took time.

Patience.

More than he knew a human could have within them.

Anger, and a lot of it.

But soon enough he found himself holding a box with a small little flame, the flame burning strong and bright, even if it were small. A strong base under the fire that gave it the foundation to prosper.

And he protected it as if it were his only goal in life. Even if it meant isolating himself in that little dingy flat, cowering in a corner while holding the flame to his chest in hopes of feeling the heat radiate into his chest. Sometimes, he would even throw the flame back, fearing the potential of relying on its heat, horrified of the potential he would freeze without its warmth. A punishment, in a way. To of once lived in the cold, too worked like a dog to tend the fire, bring in the wood, stoke it, care for it, only for it to be snuffed out too soon. Left in the cold once more.

To toil again, would it mean to result in the same fate as Sisyphus? To always fight to reach the top, only to end once again at the bottom in pain?

But then there was that ember, almost suffocated out that drifted into his peripheral one day. Not one to sit idle on potential threats, no matter how small he inspected the ember. Deeming it no threat. But as he remained in close proximity the ember burned its surroundings, spreading across the landscape and erupting into a fire of its own. Without any tending- without any toil. So he approached it, silently, as if to sneak up on it. Exchanging a hand and placing fuel on the fire and watching what would happen.

God, the heat that it created was beautiful.

And it scared him.

As if he were a little boy again.

But his little flat was warm already- the heat comforting. He’d ignore the fire, hoping it would die out on its own. So he protected in in the best way he could, building up walls around it and refusing to allow it to spread.

It didn’t.

Maybe it was all a guise of luring the man into a sense of safety, to not fear the cold.

But he blinked-

And it was gone.

There was no fire, at least not anymore.

He saw it, with the cold look in her eyes as he stared at her that day.

“Why? Or you’ll have me benched?” She spat back, the volume of her voice rising.

“You an I both know that you couldn’t handle it out there.” His hisses out, body going surprisingly stiff.

“Maybe it’s because you fucking killed children?” She laughs, throwing her hands up and hopping off of the couch. “Last I remember I was the stable one.”

“You do not belong on the field.” He states again.

“And maybe you don’t either, remember, in the room, oh who was it? Was it Be-”

The cold look in her eyes.

The fire was gone.

And his heart ached and brain screamed because the worst of it all was he wasn’t ready to go back into the cold.

When you leave the heater running in your flat, and the entire space- the bathroom even behind shut doors becomes too hot you’ll cut off the source of the heat.

Doesn’t mean the heat leaves immediately.

He was sitting in that dingy little flat clinging to any remnants of heat while it still drifted through the air.

The feeling of Lopez’s boot kicking him in the chest, sending him tilting backwards and gliding with the floor. His head rolled to the side, staring at the white boots in front of him. The shiny white leather tainted with a smear of blood across the toe.

The two men picked the chair up again, as he was questioned more and more.

His refusal to speak was consistent.

“I know who you are.” Lopez laughs. “Thinking you could catch me, detain me, stop me? Do you know who I am? I am the fucking king!”

Silence.

“Tell me…” He voice droned. He stared.

He didn’t care to listen primarily because he knew he would keep his mouth shut.

A strike lashed out, coming into contact with that soft spot where the highest part of his ribs gave way to meet with his abdomen. Ghost’s chest heaved, trying to keep up with his body’s demand for oxygen.

Just keep breathing.

“If you don’t want to talk then I will fucking blow you’re friends brains out.” He hisses, grabbing Soap by his hair and lifting his limp body up, stuffing the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

He would not speak.

This would no be in vein.

He squeezed his eyes shoot, hands clenching as he refused to even look at the pitiful way Soap’s eyes flashed open, looking at him in agreement to not speak. They would not break, they would die here regardless. It would not be for nothing.

The crackle of the radio on his hip broke his train of thought.

“Hello, Mister Lopez.”

Jitters?

Ghost’s eyes trailed up, watching as Lopez’s body stiffened before looking to the two men who fed him a confused look in response. He stepped back, dropping Soap onto the ground as he strode back a foot or so before pulling he radio off of his hip and lifting it to his mouth.

Soap’s lead lolled over, looking up at him as if questioning the integrity of what they both heard. As if it had been a hallucination, it couldn’t of been. Was she here?

She sold them out?

“Who the fuck is this?” He snarled into the radio.

“You know.” The radio paused, the sound of the audio crackling as the feed was cut off. “It’s rather rude to blow off a meeting.”

Meeting?

She was meeting with him?

“I have no meeting with you.” He said. He lowered his hand, yelling to the two men behind him who were scrambling to grab there weapons and stand at attention.

“You do, and your fifteen minutes late actually.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are talking too? Huh? Do you not know who I am?”

“Your name is Farhad Lopez. You primarily make your money from drug operations but have decided to branch out into the realm of the internet to spread you influences of sex trafficing. You’re also an incredibly dull man who enjoys the subtle pleasures of large gaudy ash trays. You’re wearing a pair of hideous boots with slacks, taking off that cute little coat jacket of yours really emphasises the weight you carry.”

Lopez’s body language falters for a moment, looking around and yelling something in Spanish. The men begin charging for the door.

“Those two men need to stay put, or there will be consequences.” Jitters spoke calmly into the radio.

“Where are you!” He yells, not into the radio.

“Everywhere.” The radio crackles.

Lopez’s eyes are wide, and he circles the room, looking to the doorways and back to the men before lunging and kicking Soap with all of his might. “You knew about this! Huh? Think your friends can save you? You’re as good as dead!”

“I’m still waiting on my meeting, Lopez.” She speaks into the radio.

“I have no meeting with you.”

“Ah, I’m filling in for Antonio.”

“Where is my boy?”

There was a pause.

“Dead. He’s right next to me, actually.”

“I am going to gut you, hang you from the power lines and watch you rot.” He spits into the radio.

“I think we should have a conversation.” She replies. “I have some information that would be very useful to you about the two men in front of you right now, actually.”

His head snaps towards Ghost. “And what kind of information would that be?”

“That if they are harmed from this point on in any way. Any chance of that information is useless.”

“Where are you?”

“Where am I? I am at our meeting, in your office.”

He waves his hand at the two men, who then charge out of the door towards his office. He follows shortly after, allowing the door to slam shut leaving them alone.

Ghosts eyes dared to glance down to meet Soaps. Muscles in his shoulders straining as his chest continued to heave trying to keep the panic flooding through his senses at bay. She was here. Betraying them- actively. In front of his eyes. He didn’t want to think that it was possible- that this could ever happen.

“That if they are harmed from this point on in any way. Any chance of that information is useless.”

What?

Her eyes felt heavy, standing in front of the window staring down at the busy hands of the workers below her. Her hand clutched onto the radio as if it were a lifeline. She was sure that if she was bigger, stronger, that the detah grip she had on the little black plastic would shatter into tiny little bits.

She was alone in a room, with two corpses.

She was alone in a room, pondering her life choices.

Could she maintain the facade?

Her stomach growled.

Her body ached.

She didn’t dare keep her eyes closed for anything longer than a moment because she knew that she would fall asleep.

But she needed to do this.

To save them.

Or at least try.

Insert herself to be a hero of a story that she was never meant to be in. To be discarded and tosses aside, picked up by the wind and to be thrown right back into the bowels of the lines. To be a hero would mean to be brave.

She couldn’t say she felt brave.

She couldn’t say she felt anything at all really.

It was all just a dull throb.

Two frantic knocks on the bolted door behind her caught her attention, in one hand, she held a radio, in the other hand she held a gun. Walking over slowy, she unlocked the door to stare down the two men in front of her, nodding, they turned and quickly ushered into the room, one grabbing her and reaching the gun stuffing it into his own waistband and shoving her back. She lifted her hands up as she moved back over by the window waiting for Lopez to grace her with his presence.

“You.” He paused for a moment, stalking forward and grabbing her by her shirt. “You know them. You were there.”

She glanced down at his hand on her shirt, decicing not to dwell on it too much for the time being. “I was.”

“I should kill you.”

“You could try.”

He pulled the gun, pushing it up against her temple. The contact of the cold metal against her skin made her eyes close, almost shattering the thin layer of strength she had left.

“You are a walking corpse.” he stated.

“With information you seem to want.” She replied.

He let go of her, removing the gun from her temple and pushing her back. Nearly faltering for a moment before laughing- hearty enough to pinch his eyes shut as he stepped over to his chair behind the desk to take a seat. “You are insane.” He states, waving his hands lightly before kicking his feet up on his desk and lighting a cigarette. “So. You wanted a meeting? Let’s have a meeting.”

“Are you aware of what a Deadmans Switch is?”

The cigarette lingered in his mouth just a moment longer than what would’ve been that of confident body language. His hand gripped the little white paper, pulling it from his lips and immediately ashed the cig, lowering his legs from the table and glint of his eyes shifting in a way that she knew that she had his attention.

“Yes.”

“Good.” She nods, glancing at the two guards. One stood a few feet away from her, other posted up by the door. She no longer had a gun on her person- nor a knife. The knife burried in the throat of the corpse splayed ut on the floor. Blood long sense pooled and straining into the rug beneath the table.

“Antonio knew what a Deadmans switch was, willing to die to make sure that what I knew wasn’t released.”

“So.” His hands folded together. “What do you know?”

“Ah. That’s the thing, you don’t get to know that. Not yet at least.”

“Listen-”

“Antia.” She stated simply, watching as his eyes widened focusing on her.

“That means nothing.”

“All detained hostages will cease any forms of interrogation from this point forward. Starting now.”

“Is that all you want?”

“For right now.” She nods.

He reaches over, grabbing the radio and speaking into it in Spanish.

“Tell me how you’re connected to Russia.”

“No.”

“Jose.” She states, watching him falter once more.

“I can’t tell you.”

“I’m sure you can, really. Farhad Lopez, Jr.”

“They will kill us all!” He yells.

“Rose.” She states. “Thats the list, is it not?”

“I will not!” He slams his fist down on the table.

A few things vibrated- jolted even with the collision of his fist into his desk. To find out, from the source the involvement of him tangled up in bed to Russia. Right from the tap. For him to betray that, to provide an assured death sentance to his status- his notariety in the criminal word he would need more than a list of names of his children.

Maybe he didn’t truly understand the gravity of the situation.

A man who was used to being in control.

Maybe he needed to be shown just how out of control he was in this situation.

“Kill them.” She states.

The guard next to her stiffens, head glancing over to Lopez at his desk eyeballing her as if she just barked and chased her tail.

“Who?”

“Them.” She nods her head over to the guards. “If you’d like to have a real conversation, you and I both know they already know too much.”

He stood up, trying to get up in her face. “I am done playing games, little girl.”

“I was never playing a game.” She replied. “Shoot them.”

He pulled the gun from his waistband, pushing it forward and pressing it against her chest. “I can kill you right now.”

“But you won’t.”

“That is a wager, do you not value your own life?”

“I think you and I both know that this is not a wager I will loose.”

There it was. The shift of tension. The slight tremble in his hand when he relaizes the gravity of the situation. That everything led up to this single day- this failure. The corpses- the stench of blood filling the stuffy office. She’s sure it wasn’t always stuffy, but it seemed that the flow of hot blood would fill a room with the stench of iron and make it a little stuffy. It was a little intoxicating, in a way.

To see the fear.

Of a grown man.

A man who was regarded in power.

She took a step forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun and using a finger to point it away from her, pointing it at the guard across from her.

“One thousand, three hundred sixty seven. Mangrove way. San Franciso.” She said, softly. So softly. As if she was brushing her hand against the cheek of a baby- a little bundle of fragility and innocence. She looked from her finger, to the barrel of the gun now pointed across the room to the guard. To his trembling hand, the color paling from his face.

You try to keep the things that are close to you as far from harms way as possible. Your wife-

Your children.

“See?” She asked, ever so softly. Fighting against the urge to offer him a soft smile, smugness creeping into her voice as she spoke. “Now you have to kill them. They heard me say it. Now they know it.”

No one should know it, really.

They were innocent.

Slightly.

Maybe they had never felt the blood drip into their hands, splatter against their face and heard the wails of agony that scratched and bounced off of the cement walls Lopez haunted. But they’d survived off of the blood money. They’d lived their quaint little normal life. Gone about their days as if the man of the family wasn’t committing acts of atrocity- he couldn’t have. He was a good man, taking care of them filling her belly with children and heirs to his empire.

So he kept them safe.

Hidden away.

Maybe it wasn’t safe enough.

Or maybe she was a demon lurking in the shadows of this story. Clinging onto the biggest fears around her-

Betrayal.

Loss.

Defeat.

A deadmans trigger.

He knew what it was for now. He wasn’t desne.

If he killed her, she would kill his family.

“So.” She spoke again, rattling him from his thoughts. “Do what I told you to do.”

He pulled the trigger, shotting the guard closest to him and stepping forward. The guard at the door scrambled, reaching behind to grab hold of the door and try to throw it open, bring himself to safety. Lopez shot him in the back three times, blood splattering out and painting the door in front of him before he slowly slid down the wall, crumpling almost as if to make a new doormat.

“I knew you’d make the right decision.” She praised him, watching as he stared at the corpse of one of his men- one of his right hands blood splattered against the wall.

It was like the saying things fall apart.

He was watching it fall apart.

Crumble into his hands.

He was normally the one who would cause the chaos. And it always hits the ones who inflict the most paint the hardest. To relaize once again that you were human- that you could be harmed. This egotistical godhood created around you visage of power and money was worthless with the right strings pulled, the right incentives dangled over your head.

“You’re going to tell me about the Russians now.”

“I won’t!” He yelled, pointing the gun back at her.

She stared at the barrel, a dull, distant expression crossing her face as she stared at the gun metal.

“I’ll auction off the information, to the highest bidder.” She explains. “Before you have time to even contact her- in the dead of night they will be captured. Maybe if they are feeling kind they would kill them all in their sleep. Mutilate their corpses and display how they killed Commander Lopez’s family.” She paces, moving out of the line of gunfire.

“The other option, personally my favorite. Is that you kill me. The deadman is initiated and a predetermined list of your top competitors are given all of that lovely information. Fuck, even some of the local gangs there in San Fransico will get that information just to throw them a bone. They’ll turn it into a warzone, and it will be long, painful, confusing, and all your fault. It will get media attention- unable to be bribed and covered up. And I know that the Russians don’t like it when anything gets media attention. Shit, they don’t like any of their partners having weaknesses, or at least ones they arent able to control. That’ll leave you, Mister Lopez, in the worst situation of them all. You’ll probably try to flee, escape somewhere. But they will catch up to you, find you. And you know what happens when they catch you, don’t you?”

…

It was morning.

Price sat at his desk- cup of stale coffee at his desk as he read what was displayed on the screen in front of him.

-HELLO

-JITTERS

-I DON’T HAVE A LOT OF TIME

-JITTERS WHERE ARE YOU

-THE GENERAL IS BEING BLACKMAILED. WHOEVER BROKE LOPEZ OUT IS AFFILIATED WITH RUSSIANS AND HE IS COMPROMISING MISSION DATA

-JITTERS ARE YOU ALRIGHT WHY DON’T YOU COME BACK

-HE’S PUT A SHOOT ON SIGHT ORDER ON ME LASWELL *UNKOWN* I DIDN’T GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTED. THEY THINK I’M A TRAITOR. A RAT I CAN’T GO BACK THEY’LL KILL ME

-YOU NEED TO COME BACK

-HE SENT ME TO A A DRONE IN A TREE. A DATA DROP *UNKNOWN* IT HAS ALL OF THE DATA HES GONNA BURN ME I’M A LOOSE END

-YOU’RE NOT A LOOSE END YOU NEED TO COME BACK SO WE CAN SORT THIS OUT

-SO THEY CAN KILL ME I AM NOT A TRAITOR AND I AM TIRED OF BEING TREATED LIKE ONE

__________________________________________________________________

CALL ENDED

He didn’t know how many times he had read that log over and over.

Each times his eyes would graze across the screen trying to find what he was missing. Laswell was unable to get to the General, but it had been confirmed he was in the states dealing with something with a much larger priority than a rogue PMC.

Whoever broke Lopez out.

His eyes narrowed.

Did he do something wrong? What had led to this point of her not being able to ask for help? Laswell was alreayd doing her best, digging up any potential leads on connections to Russia from any angle that would be relevant in this situation.

“What the hell is going on here?”

She stopped, glancing over to see Price walking in through the doorway, face plastered with a thoroughly irritated expression.

“I don’t know, Captain .” She replies bitterly.

“The hell has gotten into you?” Price asks, hand reaching out to grab her shoulder.

“Maybe the fact that you all don’t fucking trust me- and think I’m some kind of helpless, traitorous rat!” She yells, slapping his hand away.

Ghost stood still, rigid watching her movements.

“Calm down.” Price said evenly.

“No, I’m not going to calm down. You all are treating me like im mental-”

“I am ordering you to stand down.” He speaks again.

To have the weight of lives on your shoulders. To be their leader. It carried guilt, a strange breed of it. One that mixed with anger, sorrow, envy. He’d remain strong, never waver his strong facade of leader.

The coffee was stale, not that it mattered. He wasn’t drinking it for the taste, can’t remember the last time he had the ability to savor a consumption of caffeine out of anything other than desperation to get back to work.

“Sir?” A voice at the door caused his eyes to snap up, seeing Miles standing in the doorway, a frantic look in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“We have an issue.”

“Spit it the fuck out, what kind of issue?” He snapped.

“Jitters has hacked our network and left us a message.”

Miles scuttled over, all but tossing his laptop onto his desk and showing the message displayed on his screen.

_____________________________-

_______ MESSAGE_

__FROM: J1tt3r5

987654ftfr6789098___________________

CORD. XXXXXXX.XXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX.XXXXXXX

REQUEST IMMEDIATE MEDICAL EVAC, HOSTAGE

END INPUT_________________

____________________

“Where did you find this?” He asked.

“She put it… Basically everywhere. I ran the coordinates it is a warehouse fourty miles from here.”

“Send me those coordinates now.” He ordered, pushing past him and running out in the hallways dispatching a team immediately calling for air support and medical.

It wouldn’t be wrong.

"There was this one time- you can't tell anyone." She lowered her voice.

"I'm listening." He responded, blinking a few times as Price pierced his skin with the needle.

"I went fishing."

"Where?"

"On a lake, and I caught a fish."

"What kind?"

"I think it was a bass."

"Love me a bass." Price commented, Jitters shot him a look.

"This is a secret Price, you aren't in this conversation." She laughed out lightly. He shrugged in response, continuing his work.

"So I caught the bass, and I tried to kill it, because I didn't want it to suffer. I tried bopping the fuckin' thing like three times. Didn't die." She starts laughing nervously.

"You couldn't kill a fish?" Gaz asked.

"Not the point."

"That's the point I'm getting."

"So I threw it back in the water-"

"After you beat it?"

"Yes, after I beat it."

"That's rather cruel."

"No- what was cruel was when I tossed it back in the lake it didn't swim away. It just kind of fell over on its side and started to float." She started laughing again. "And while it was floating, I kept trying to splash water on it to get it to swim away- but it wouldn't. And then this fucking bird flew down and ripped it out of the water."

Gaz snorted. "Sounds like I shouldn't take you as my fishing partner."

"Yea. I'm good never fishing again." Jitters agrees.

He wouldn’t let this one go.

……..

To be in power. The kind of power where the money is flush and the vices are plenty. The kind of power you can taste. The kind of power that is earned through blood.

That is what it seemed like everything ended with these days.

Blood.

“And you’d kill children?” He sneers.

“Don’t look at me as if you haven’t destroyed families- killed the innocent for no reason other than to see the look of despair as you stroked some kind of ego with your power. You have no stones to cast from your glass house!” She yells. “You were sloppy. You’re paying the price for it now.”

“I will never pay the price.” He spits, voice dripping with venom as he grabbed the gun.

“Not even maggots will touch your corpse.” She replies.

“I will not die.”

“Maybe you won’t.”

The sound of an explosion was heard in the building. His head quickly jerking to the side to see a swarm of black- special forces charging into the building and shutting the whole of his operations down. Rifles raised, mowing down anyone who dared to turn a weapon upon them and face their rage.

“Why are they here!” He screams, waving the gun at the window. “You are a traitor! A rat! Why would you help them!”

She pondered.

Why?

Why was she helping them?

“I want to watch you fuckin’ burn.” She replied. “You took it all. All I had left.”

He laughs. Dry. Strained.

“If I burn, I will take you with me.”

“Fine by me.”

She lunges to he side as he fires, bullet grazing her side. Both of her hands slap onto the table grabbing hold of the large glass ash tray sat stop the table as she twists, swinging it and cracking the patterned glass against his head. His hand twitches, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet directly into her core.

It was like a beautiful dance, choreographed in slow motion.

Ghost heard the commotion, arms struggling against his ties when he saw Gaz leading a team of men into their room rushing towards him. Soap was unconscious, but Ghost had managed to listen to the sound of his breathing and at least the sound of his shallow shuddery breaths was enough to give him peace he was alive. Once Gaz got hold of his arms, getting the ties off of his body he was pushing up.

The scream of pain made him want to vomit- but the surge of adrenaline muted the screams of his nerves.

“Ghost!” Gaz said, grabbing for his arm as he pushed pst men.

“She’s here.” He said, storming out of the door.

He ran.

It was the adrenaline, the sound of blood pumpking through his ears as he rounded the corner into the main processing flat of the warehouse. The look of Special Forces cuffing down workers and gunning down guards bringing him some kind of solace.

Where is she?

Jitters?

Jitters where have you gone?

The sound of crashing glass alerted his eyes upward, staring as the glass framed by black metal broke out, a corpse falling through the air back first. A display of limbs, his hands holding onto the gun as he continued to shoot up at the ceiling in rage as he pulled the trigger. Body falling, life fleeting.

Until he came into collision witht he ground. The sound of a skull coming into contact with concrete from such a heigh creates a sickening crack. Not that he had any time to thing of the wet soun of brains splattering against the floor, relishing in the feeling of seeing the prick who caused so much pain dead on the pavement and wishing that he had been the one to do it himself. To be the one watched as his life drained from his eyes and to be the one who would inevitable meet him once again in Hell.

His eyes drifted upwards, narrowing on the office space the glass came from. His legs were moving before his brain could fully compute it, lungs expanding and contracting his his muscles burned- screamed, giving it all that he had left. He needed to find her.

He didn’t even know what he would do if he found her.

Kill her?

That seemed to be on the table.

Legs screaming as he ran up the stairs, arms reaching out to the door and pushing as hard as he could- resistance meeting the door but it being no match the his body weight slammed up against the door. The corpse sliding to the side as he pushed into the room, his eyes frantically scanning the various corpses in the room until it fell upon her.

Fallen backwards, deep red blood gushing from her middle pooling over her coat and onto the floor.

She was alone in the room, with four corpses.

She watches had his body slid backwards, lifting as he became airborne with the strike. She registered the feeling of falling backwards befor ethe could register the feeling of pain coming from her middle. And it didn’t hurt. It was just like everything else-

Dull.

She watched as the glass broke beneath his body weight, sending him hurdling towards the inevitable meeting with the cement below him.

That’s when her hand reached down, spreading out over the expanse of the warmth now dripping out of her and seeping into her clothes. She fell, slowly. Knees bucking underneath her as she came into contact with the ground.

She hoped they were safe.

She hopes Price got her warning.

She didn’t want it to be in vain.

They were here.

Maybe she’d die before they’d get to her.

Maybe that would be the best possible option in this scenario.

For her to die like this.

Like some kind of faux hero.

Maybe they wouldn’t even recognise her struggles, the effort to protect a family that had cast her aside.

She tried to push herself up, tried to really move anything-

It was cold.

She didn’t hear the sound of boots stomping against the ground but suddenly she could feel hands wrap around her, pulling her body up into a chest that she knew was too familiar.

“Ghost…” She smiled, looking up to see his eyes glimmering- some expression she couldn’t be bothered to read at the moment. It was a struggle- it took so much effort. To lift her hand, lift it off of the wound and to press a single finger against his nose. “You’re missing your face.” She sighed out happily. “You’re alive.”

She couldn’t hear him yelling.

She couldn’t hear him begging.

“Hey… Can you make dinner tonight? I’m so hungry.”

“Jitters. Look at me. Keep your eyes open!” He yelled. “Medic! Medic!” His voice was strained- it was almost unfamiliar to him to hear the emotion in his voice as her cradled her body up to his chest.

“I’m so tired Ghost…” She all but whispered.

“Keep your fucking eyes open!” He yelled. “Please! Fuck- Don’t you want to know who Beth is?” He asked, the desperation in his voice evident- maybe not to the two of them, but to the heavens above. The fates watching the scene unfold before them.

“...Beth?” Her eyes opened, slowly, trying to focus up on his face.

“My Sister- Sister in law. She came into my family- she gave me a nephew. Made my family so happy. Just stay awake and I will tell you anything you need to know.” He begged.

“Where… Where is she?” She asked.

The tears welled up in his eyes, pouring over the grease paint and down onto his mask. “She isn’t here. She isn’t here right now but I will take you to meet her. Just keep your eyes open.”

Her eyes closed.

“Open your eyes! Medic!” He screamed.

“I did it.” She smiled.

“What? What did you do?”

“I left. I’m sorry I left.”

“It’s ok… I’ll meet her.” She said, hand reaching up and clutching onto his torso. “I’m so tired…”

“Don’t. Go. To sleep. Please.”

Please

Is this not what she wanted?

She did it.

She did something about it.

She finally, finally stood up for herself.

But was it all worth it in the end?

To feel the fear of man. To feel the power in that moment- to redeem yourself, prove a point with bloodshed.

"Only the good die young." He adds.

"That's not comforting." She sighs. "I want to be good."

"And the maggots that eat my flesh will eat yours too! But they won't eat until I'm good and fucking ready- because I can't even say I'm good anymore!"

“Now you have to kill them. They heard me say it. Now they know it.”

Please

Was it all worth it?

Would she do it again?

Jayme sat, fingernails digging into her palms as her wrists rubbed against the metal handcuffs anchored to the table in front of her.

“But I ask one thing.”

Laswell looked up, closing the folder and tucking it into the bag that sat at her side.

“You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”

“It’s a request.”

“Then ask.”

“That all of that.” She nods her head towards the table, the folder. The secrets contained inside. “All of it. Stays a secret. I don’t want to be Jayme when I’m there.”

“Then what- who do you want to be?”

“One thousand, three hundred sixty seven. Mangrove way. San Franciso.”

“I want to be the one they fear.”

#Jitters Au #john price #cod mwii #gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x oc #john mactavish #cod #task force 141 #modern warfare

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lesbesapphic · 2 years

Text

Heeyyyy i am in absolute love with the illict affairs au (i hope i spelled that right lmao)And i wanted to ask what wanda would do if would call her, completely drunk and high, while at a party which wanda strictly forbid her to go. Like would she use that paddle again or smth? And can i be on your tag list? Because i am overall in love with your writing. <3 submission by @smuttynattyfanfics

Hey! I am happy that you seemed to love the au. It is called illicit affairs like the song by Taylor Swift. Yes ofcourse. Please comment on the last chapter of Illicit affairs so i can tag you the next time i update.

Edit 1- Had to repost this because of some issue.

Warning - heavy manipulation, dark Wanda, spanking, paddle, crying, punishment.

Punishment

A sorority leader! Wanda au (dark)

If Wanda has told you to not do something she expects to be obeyed. She doesn't even think that you had it in you to disobey her.

When she tells you to jump, she expects knows that you would ask how high not why. She has made you believe that you were incapable of any decisions for yourself.

She decides what you do in your free time. She decides what extra class you would take, she decides who you hang out with when you aren't with Darcy.

She always makes sure you know how right her decision is, manipulating you into seeing her side and believing that is the ultimate truth. She had you worshipping her.

So if Wanda has told you to not go to the party, she expects you to follow by her decision.

She was aware that how easy it is to keep people from her own group away from you but she couldn't deal with everyone. She knew she had her limits.

She didn't have complete control over fraternity groups and their friends and friends who would be there with the booze and drugs.

A part of her didn't even trust you completely when high or drunk. She wanted to always be two steps ahead of everything. No risk.

So imagine her surprise when she gets a call from a drunken you, laughing and giggling while you tell her how much you missed her.

First thing Wanda thought of was you being in the party but she brushed the thought away, giving you the benefit of doubt knowing how much you feared her. And her punishments.

So she decided to ask where you were.

What she heard was enough to set her jaw, she could hear the music behind you more clearly now. She was in her bed , reading with her glasses on.

She had sent you away tonight. Despite the pouting and whining you did at being denied of the pleasure of sleeping with her, curled up in her arms as she played with your hair while reading. You loved such intimacy with her.

She was aware of how much you cherished these moments so she would occasionally give you taste of sleeping with her for few days before again going back to keeping you a little distant. Leaving you wanting.

So you were begging to stay with her tonight, eyes wide and a little teary, "Please, Wanda. I will be good. I promise." You swore as you clutched her hand, which was caressing your cheek looking down at you, entertaining your pleading while having set her answer in stones. Just enjoying your begging.

"I will sleep at once. I will stay quiet when you would.." You stopped and could feel yourself burning in embarassment and what you were going to say. Wanda sensing your discomfort, grinned as she squeezed your cheeks.

"When i would what, darling?"

"Play with me." You whispered and looked away, slowly your eyes meeting Wanda again with hope in them as you thought she would let you sleep with her but she only gave a soft laugh that you could feel yourself melting in.

"Aww. Thank you, kitten but no." With a slap on your ass Wanda had send you scurrying away, sulking at your predicament.

She swallowed her words of threats, telling herself that she would get enough time with you later to remind you of who was in-charge and who hold the reign. Whose game you were playing.

"Send me your location." This was the only thing she said before hanging up on you.

You had panic instantly and rushed to Darcy, scared out of your mind. "What the fuck?! Why did you call her, dumbass?" Darcy asked, her eyes wide in fear.

Mind frantically thinking about what she would face with Natasha if Wanda sees her here and tell Natasha about it.

"Did you send her the location?"

"No"

"What the fuck? You seriously want to keep her waiting? Send it." Darcy rushed and you quickly send Wanda the location knowing by making her wait you had sent yourself in a deeper trouble.

You could see Darcy panicking as well and now you didn't care because she was the devil in disguise who convinced you to get to party.

"What if she kills me?" You wondered out loud and Darcy scoffed pushing you in the corner,

"Kill you? She would kill me! If not, she would get Natasha to kill me!" Darcy exclaimed before frustration filled her features, "Because i don't know why my girlfriend has to obey everything yours say."

You felt your heart ache when Darcy called Wanda your girlfriend but you didn't think much of it as your mind was filled with dread.

"Don't tell her i brought you here." Darcy said but even she knew the first thing Wanda would want to know was who decided to sway your desire to please her.

She would want to torment someone else as well as you.

Hopefully Natasha would enjoy what she would have to do with Darcy.

It wasn't long when you saw the front door open and Wanda's beautiful face walking in, she hadn't bothered dressing up but she looked gorgeous in just a black top and icy blue shorts, the sleeves reached her palm emphasizing her hands.

Her eyes instantly sought you out in the room, narrowing when she noticed you chewing on your nails, a habit she had gotten rid off for you.

You instantly dropped your hand and sat up straighter, jumping up and following her when she motioned.

The car ride was silent half-way down the path until Wanda finally spoke up, "Who did you went to the party with?"

Your stomach set with dread, you didn't want to snitch on Darcy as you chewed on your bottom lip, "No..No one. Alone." You answered and gasped when Wanda abruptly stopped the car and turned to look at you,

Her eyes were flashing with fury, before she took a deep breath, "This would be the last time I am asking. Next you would be answering the paddle."

Your eyes widen in fear, you didn't really think of what punishment Wanda would choose for your transgression, this was the first time she was actually speaking of a punishment for you after you had accepted to be with her. A dirty secret.

Maybe in these changing days you had forgotten that it was the same Wanda who had spank you till you were a crying and blubbering mess begging for her to stop on your first meet.

You were conflicted between being a good friend and saving your ass. Quite literally.

You knew she would break you after two smacks but you wanted to hold onto for Darcy as long as you could.

Wanda turned back around when you weren't fast enough for her. When you both reached the house, Wanda dragged you out. You were staggering on your feet to maintain balance being drunk and high.

Most of the seniors were awake when Wanda pulled in. They watched as Wanda dragged you in, her hand painfully clutching your arm. Natasha gave a lazy look at the commotion, sighing when she figured she would have to deal with Darcy later.

Jane on the other hand looked concerned but the drunken state you were in, she knew you had went to the party even she forbidden you to go to and Darcy as well.

If Wanda hadn't punish you, Jane would have taken the liberty on it. She trusted Wanda on this.

She sent Darcy a quick where are you text. She was ready to go pick her up though a part of her wished that the raven was in her room

Wanda dragged you straight to her shower, pulling you under the stream of cold jet as you squealed and tried to move away, whimpering and begging for her to stop. It was her way of getting you sober..

After that Wanda dragged you, grabbing her paddle and getting straight to business. She had you bend over her lap, painting your ass red and blue while you whimpered and moan.

Begging and screaming for her to stop as sob wreck your body but you couldn't help but leave a wet spot on wanda's thighs, already feeling the humiliation when she would make you lick her thigh clean of your mess.

You didn't understand why Wanda wasn't stopping until you realised her last words to you, "It was Darcy!" You cried out hands reaching back to hide your ass from the continuous blows which stopped immediately.

You felt Wanda's hand taking yours in and locking them to your back while her other hand went up and down your ass cheeks feeling the heated flesh.

"I knew that my baby would not dare to go against me unless someone else is there." Wanda squeezed your abused flesh and you whimpered, feeling her fingers gather your wetness, playing with your soaked cunt.

"I am sorry, Mistress.." you moaned out and Wanda smirked to herself seeing your attempt to use a title and get her to forgive you sooner

"You would be when i am done with your punishment." Your eyes widen when you heard her and felt her grab your wrist and lock your legs, picking up the dreaded paddle again

You realised that till now she was just making her paddle get the answer of her question and your real punishment begins now.

Needless to say you weren't able to sit for a long time afterwards and stayed glued to Wanda being oh so submissive that she almost felt like spanking you every night.

---

Hope you all enjoyed it. 💖

#wanda maximoff #reader #mcufic #wanda x reader #sorority wanda au #dark wanda au #illicit affairs au #lesbesapphicwrites #natasha romanoff #darcy lewis #jane foster #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff x femreader

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cozy-rose · 8 months

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Rare Moments of Rest

SICKTEMBER DAY 2: "I'm So Sorry"

Fandom: Criminal Minds ♡ Main: Emily ♡ Ship: Platonic Emily/Spencer ♡

Read on Ao3

Features: Emergency landings, keeping a close eye, borrowed sweaters, stuffy noses, and late night chats

…

“Reid, you have to hurry up. If you can’t handle this…”, Hotch whispered sternly.

“Be careful, man…” Morgan added.

Spencer twisted his head around, shushing his fellow agents and pressing his palm out toward them.

“I got this, you guys. I just need to focus.”

“I don’t know, man, you look nervous…”

Spencer thought about the task at hand. He had to be gentle… skillful…

“Oh my god, you guys are ridiculous. Do you want me to wake her up?” JJ carped from the front of the jet, “We have to get our seatbelts on, we’re landing any minute now.”

“Shhh!”

“What, Spence? Are you scared of the wrath of Emily Prentiss? I’m surprised all of this turbulence hasn’t woken her up already.”

“I’m not scared, JJ… She just looks so peaceful.”

“Okay, well she needs to be upright.”

The thing was, Emily hardly looked peaceful anymore. After returning from Paris, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep on the jet, keeping too vigilant to let herself fully relax. Here she was though, curled up into herself, a bit more disheveled than she usually would let the team see her.

“Hey, Emily?”

Reid placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, his thumb pressing gently into her back. In the past year, Reid had felt a new sense of tenderness for his fellow agent. He guessed going to their funeral must do that to a person.

“Emily, can you hear me? You need to wake up.”

But Emily was back from the dead now, he was looking at the proof right now. Her chest rising and falling with each breath, and the flush of warm, red life across her cheeks. Reid tried his best to handle her with care, while making a point not to treat her like something fragile. He knew how that felt, and how it delayed healing. In this moment though he felt a looming sense of guilt, about to disturb what he guessed was a rare moment of rest.

“You have to wake up… There’s a storm ahead, and we have to land.”

He was met with a grunt, muffled as she brought her arm over her face. He tried to shake her shoulder, gently, but his attempts were futile as the jet was rocked to the side by turbulence. Emily shot her eyes open, stifling her fear as soon as it arose; she despised feeling this vulnerable.

“We’re landing early and waiting out the storm tonight. We’ll be back in the air tomorrow, but we have to get our seatbelts on”, Reid explained.

Emily wordlessly nodded, pushing herself up and off of the couch and to a nearby seat; rubbing her eyes and nose like a just awoken child.

…

The jet landed roughly on the slick tarmac, rain viciously pelting on the windows. This was an independent runway, dark, and in the middle of nowhere. A rental van waited for them outside, parked just a little too far away.

Soaking themselves to the bone, the BAU booked it to the van, and Emily was fighting to keep up with her team. Pressure weighed in her sinuses, now uncomfortably knocking in her skull as she ran. Her breath raggedly scraped against her throat, mouth open, hungrily begging for air that she couldn’t seem to get through her nose.

Ducking into the van, Emily took her seat in the back row with JJ, Reid soon nestling between them. She wiped a stray drop of rain that was traveling down her nose, another dripped down her neck, causing her to shiver. Reid piped up next to her.

“Can we turn up the heat? Can’t really feel it back here…”

…

The team reached their home away from home for the night, a mid-size lodge off the beaten path that Garcia had found on a home sharing site. It was quaint, but definitely a last minute booking, but at this point as long as it had a roof, it was good enough.

Rossi grumbled something unintelligible as he headed for one of the bedrooms. Hotch headed upstairs for a shower. Morgan found a basket of snacks in the kitchen, provided by the locations host and wasn’t shy about digging in. JJ scolded him, saying he should at least read the card propped up on the basket first, listing the house rules.

Emily was unsure where to go, standing awkwardly in the hall next to Reid who was fiddling with the thermostat. His sandy hair still damp and sticking to his forehead.

First things first… Let’s get changed.

“Fuck!” Emily cursed. Reid jumped at the sound.

“What’s wrong?”

“My bag… it's on the plane.”

Reid noticed a whine in her voice, something nasal that he wasn’t used to.

“I guess I’ll ask JJ-“

“No! No, I have extra stuff. Here.”

Reid bent down and unzipped the duffel near his feet. After rummaging for a moment, he pulled out a thick knit sweater, a melange of warm earthy tones and some crumpled sweatpants. He looked up at Emily, resembling a child showing their parent a picture that they just drew and Emily felt her chest flood with warmth. She took the bundle and held it to her chest. The greens and the purples of the ensemble just looked like Reid, and if she could smell right now, she would know that they smelled like him too.

…

“Looking cozy, Prentiss.”

Emily smiled at Morgan, cocking her head to one side and opening her arms to show the sweater in its full glory. JJ giggled.

She felt cozy as well, maybe a little too much so. Emily soon found herself having trouble keeping her eyes open, legs tucked up underneath a knit blanket. The rain drummed on the window behind her, threatening to lull her to sleep. She could hardly focus on JJ, and Morgan’s conversation, never mind contribute.

Emily also found herself having to sniffle often, pressure growing painful in the spaces underneath her eyes. She tried to deny the inevitable, but ran out of energy. She was obviously sick, and she hated being sick. Not that was an unpopular opinion, but she was sure she hated it more than most. This was unfortunate because ever since she was a kid, was prone to sinus infections, especially during dramatic shifts in weather. Moving from one country to another as a kid, especially when their climates were very different, always resulted in a nasty fever and relentless sniffling. Emily remembered how the kids at her new schools bullied her. It was bad enough having a larger nose, never mind when it was rubbed raw and pink.

The next thing she knew she was being woken up again, this time by JJ.

“Hey, sorry to wake you, but I'm going to turn in. There’s a big bed we can share upstairs. It’ll be more comfortable than the couch.”

Emily stretched her neck, noticing that the rain had stopped.

“I think I’ll just stay here for a bit. I might raid those snacks, and then I’ll come up.”

Being honest, Emily didn’t know if she would be able to make it up the stairs. Every limb felt heavy. Her clothes still felt as if they were rain-soaked, weighing her down and binding her to the couch. All she wanted to do was tuck her legs even closer to her chest and sleep.

“Okay… Are you feeling alright?”

Emily felt her eyes already fluttering closed. She pried them open with the last bit of energy she had left.

“Hmm? Yeah. I’m good Jayje. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

…

Emily gasped, waking up from a less than peaceful dream. She couldn’t pull air through her blocked nose, and in the hazy space between being asleep and being awake she began to panic. Unable to breathe, her fight or flight response kicked in. Wrestling with the blanket that had tangled up with her legs, she made a beeline for the door, attempting to escape the invisible force sent to strangle her.

There was a covered porch that wrapped around the outside of the house. Emily shuffled onto the wooden slats. One hand clutched her chest and twisted her loose sweater between her fingers, the other reached out to the porch railing. She opened her mouth, swallowing the cool air that tasted of rain and soil. Between labored breaths she could hear someone. Garbled words that sounded miles away- somewhere behind a thick wall of glass.

Two large hands broke through the wall, shattering the glass and taking hold of her shoulders.

“Hey! Emily… breathe.”

Emily nodded, struggling to bring Reid’s face into focus in the dim porch light.

“Breathe… In through your nose-“

Ha!

This phrase brought Emily back down to the earth that she was tasting. It grounded her, despite how silly it seemed.

I can’t breathe through my fucking nose. Thats all! I’m safe. I just have a stuffy fucking nose.

She squeezed her eyes closed, dipping her head down and letting out a laugh.

Reid, confused on how to respond, let out a chuckle himself.

“A-Are you alright?”

Emily nodded without looking up, sniffling pathetically. She patted Reid’s arm in gratitude, his hand still resting on her shoulder.

“I’m alright. Thangks.”

…

They sat together on a porch swing, facing each other and leaning back on the slightly damp pillows behind them. The seat shook a bit every time a shiver ripped through Emily. She crossed her arms in front of her, pulling her knees up to her chest again. She looked at the sky, a deep inky black.

“Wait…what timbe is it? Why are you awake?”

“It’s almost four. And please, you think someone like me has a healthy sleeping schedule?”

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips.

“That’s fair… God, I can’t wait to get hombe. I-“

Emily was cut off by something invisible, a far away look falling across her face. Her lips parted and a sharp intake of breath cause the swing to shake again. Emily nestled her face into the crook of her elbow without uncrossing her arms, tensing up with a series of three stifled sneezes.

“Ugh… ow.”

Emily’s eyes pinched closed. Pressure and pain thudding behind her eyes, in her ears, and even around her teeth.

“Gesundheit, Emily! Did you know you can rupture an eardrum when you hold them in like that?”

“Ndo, I didn’t…”

Emily wanted to come up with a witty response, she loved poking fun at Reid’s anecdotes, but another tickle distracted her, rather intensely. She ducked into the sweater sleeve again, this time succumbing to a forceful sneeze, just one this time, but she let it fully take over her. The swing jerked sideways, causing Emily to plant one foot on the floor to stabilize herself and Reid.

“There you go!”

“Oh. Shit.” Emily sniffed, catching her breath. She ran her sleeve under her nose. “Oh…oh no- shit! Reid, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry for sneezing, Emily.”

“Ndo, ndo… Your poor sweater. I forgot it was yours, I’b so disgus-“

“Well, I wouldn’t have given it to you if I was worried about that.”

“…but I wasn’t-“

“You never sleep on the jet anymore. But yesterday you were able to sleep through a storm…”

“Hm.”

“And you always get sick when we go somewhere really cold in the summer, so-”

“You just put it together.”

“I mean I am a genius, Emily.”

“I thingk you’re just a good friend, Reid… Thangk you.”

They sat together until the sky began to brighten, oscillating between stretches of conversation and silence. During the silences Emily found herself thinking back to those kids from school, and how they didn’t matter anymore. She had a friend now. Someone to meet her where she was at. Someone to indulge in vulnerability with. Someone who who would lend her a sweater, and never make fun of her nose.

#emily prentiss #spencer reid #criminal minds #sicktember #sickfic

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destiny2skeleton · 17 days

Text

Chapter 1

Lotus

—————————————————-

I felt the cold salty breeze blow over my body. It was so calm and serene, like a fading memory of long ago. I slowly pushed myself up, sand sliding and shifting under my weight.

‘ ‘ Can you stand? ‘ ‘

I looked up at the source of the voice, finally seeing it in the clear. It was an odd round floating robot of sorts, like those lightbulbs back on earth but alive. It scanned over me, I presume to check vitals or something of the sorts, or even for injuries.

‘ ‘ How am I? . . What even are you? ‘’

My tone seemed to be taken as fearful, the robot seeming to respond to my question with a calm and soft tone. To not raise my worries any more.

‘ ‘ Do not be afraid, I understand this is a lot to take in right now. I will answer what I can soon I promise. I just need to make sure you are all healed up, I mean this is my first time healing you. ‘ ‘

It swirled around me for a good few minutes, checking each part it could for injuries, seeming pleased and proud of itself for its work.

‘ ‘ Ok- now I can do the whole speech of why I’m here. Ahem- I am a ghost, well now I am your ghost, I was sent by the Traveler to bring you back from the dead. You were called like many others to come and fight against the darkness. ‘ ‘

A ghost? It seemed the traveler had brought back the people who it once failed. I looked around me, seeing many dead and rotting bodies of fellow soldiers that have died fighting on this battlefield.

‘ ‘ Do you know what happened here? ‘ ‘

My voice was barely above a whisper, not wanting to alert enemies if there was any still roaming close by.

‘ ‘ No, sadly, you’ve been dead for quite some time. I’m guessing you have no recollection of your life before you died. ‘ ‘

It blinked at me as I shook my head as I tried my hardest to recollect my lost memories. None coming back, and no idea if they would ever return.

‘ ‘ No, I can only recollect a few things. ‘ ‘

It slowly nods itself, watching me stand. To which I nearly fell over, looking like a toddler just learning to walk. Pushing myself, I managed to regain my sense of balance and stability, dusting off the sand off myself. I ripped a pistol from a skeleton’s grip, I would need it more than they did. Making my way carefully down the war zone, keeping myself aware of any other entities, friend or foe. The wind filled my ears, along with the smell of rain. A storm must be brewing, I will need to find shelter soon if I am out here for that long.

‘ ‘ So, I must ask, do you have a name? ‘ ‘

I looked to the side it was floating on. Watching as the eye moved a bit in a mimic of pondering the question.

‘ ‘ I don’t have a name per say, the traveler just says I am a ghost and I’ve been addressed as that. But if you desire to address me as something else, I will not be opposed to it. ‘ ‘

I felt intrigued by this answer, taking the time to take any characteristics of this ghost. I took note of its feminine voice, and calming nature of sorts. I could only feel one word, that seemed to be like a locked up memory of the full context. I felt myself mumble the name by accident.

‘ ‘ Lotus . . . Like the Lotus flowers back on earth. . She always liked those. ‘ ‘

The ghost perks up to my answer, seeming to whisper it over and over to see how the name felt. She had a happier expression as she floated quickly around me.

‘ ‘ I love it, I will gladly be called Lotus, I can’t believe I actually got a name from my guardian! Oh I can’t wait to tell the others- Oh, I apologize for my sudden rush of excitement. ‘ ‘

I chuckled, softly smiling.

‘ ‘ Don’t worry, I understand. I would rather have you be happy since, it’s just you and me now.. ‘ ‘

So, it was me and Lotus now, in an unknowingly familiar world.

‘ ‘ So, you said there were other people that are, guardians. If you don’t mind me asking, how do we locate them? ‘ ‘

I knew if there were more people with a similar waking up experience, maybe there was a person who could answer all my questions. My debt, my purpose to the traveler along with possibly if there was a way to recollect my memories.

‘ ‘ Well, I know somewhat how to get there, sadly we don’t have the right supplies or vehicles to get back to earth in which they hold their main base of operations. ‘ ‘

As she talked she showed a hologram of the familiar planet, it seemed they were in the country known as Russia. It was nothing like the reef with space debris and odd light particles, it had life on its land and oceans.

‘ ‘ So, do we need a ship to get there? Couldn’t we try reworking one of the crashed ships around us? ‘ ‘

I motioned to the literal junk yard of ships around us, it seemed to go on for miles. She only sighed at my statement, shaking herself in disapproval.

‘ ‘ We can’t, they will take more time to repair and test run, in that time we could just locate a ship in a more stable condition. ‘ ‘

I huffed a bit, but understood where she was coming from. The ships had dents and some have already been picked clear of their spare parts by who knows what. But, now we had a bigger issue, actually finding the damn ship in question could take quite a while to find one in the condition we needed. Along with if there was someone with the ship, if they would let us take it. We wandered around the land for what seemed like hours, taking breaks now and then to check soldiers for ammo and supplies. It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do until we got on the course towards earth.

There was soon a camp in the distance, and to our luck it had a ship! Bad news, this was at first glance to be a fallen camp, which was odd, why would fallen need an earth based ship. It didn’t matter, all I knew is that they weren’t gonna let us stroll in and chat, we'll have to take the ship by brute force. I immediately rushed into the camp, shooting bullets into fallen left and right. But sadly I was still lagging behind in my muscle memory to fight, causing my first death with the ghost. But, instead of being brought back to the limbo-like world, I was gasping awake again on the ground quickly going back into the fight. It was like that for who knows how long, but soon the last fallen finally was dead. I stood there holding my blade, out of breath from the quick nature of the fight and the 2 revives I just went through.

I would have to get used to that, but for now, it’s time to get that ship. I slipped myself into the cockpit as Lotus faded into the central controls. It slowly roared to life, showing the gps based system.

‘ ‘Hell yeah let’s get out of here! ‘ ‘

We soon took off into orbit, Lotus putting in the coordinates to the base. She seemed so cheerful that we were finally on our way.

‘ ‘ Oh I can’t wait to get home! I just know the Vanguard will love to see a new guardian! ‘ ‘

The vanguard..? Who were they..?

#destiny 2 #destiny hunter #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #destiny oc

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melishade · 1 year

Note

How does Optimus escape Shockwave anyways? And what's he going to do afterwards since he's injuries, has two human children with him that aren't very healthy right now, and doesn't know where to go since he's on the main lands. And the reunion between them and everyone else must've been somethin'.

Previous Episode in the Dark Timeline

...Am I really about to write out this entire scene because the Dark Timeline has evolved into a hyperfixation, even though I'm currently working on the chapter Secrets for Attack on Prime?

*Takes a Deep Breath*

Before we begin, recall these for the build-up of the escape:

TFP Shockwave Part 1 (The Dark Timeline)

Part 2

Part 3: Shockwave’s Experiment

Part 4: Eren’s emotions

Part 5: Prisoners of Shockwave

Part 6: Arrival

Part 7: Dark Energon

TW Violence! TW Gore! Let’s go!

“What are we going to do?” Gabi wept, clutching her head and curling in on herself. She continued to weep at the hopelessness of it all.

“Gabi, look at me,” Optimus told her, “Please.”

Gabi reluctantly raised her head, the tears still falling.

“We will find a way out of here,” Optimus promised her.

“But how?!” Gabi exclaimed, her voice cracking from the lack of water.

“The glass container you are in,” Optimus explained, “Shockwave left it too close to the edge of the table.”

Gabi turned her gaze downwards and realized Optimus was right. Her prison was too close to the edge of the table. But...it confused her. Shockwave seemed so careful and calculated. Why would he be so foolish like this?

“What I need you to do is knock yourself off the table,” Optimus instructed.

“But...it’s too high,” Gabi whispered in fear.

“The fall is not too far for it to kill you,” Optimus explained, “You will be bruised, but you will be fine.”

“But I haven’t eaten anything, and everything hurts,” Gabi told him. Before she was captured, she would have done something like this in a heartbeat, but fear over-rode everything right now, “I-,”

“Gabi, I understand your fear, but we need to get out of here and we need to find Porco’s location. We have not seen him in days and we need to find where Shockwave is keeping him,” Optimus told her sternly, “Our survival hinges on your cooperation. Please.”

Gabi could hear the earnest sincerity, the insistency, the concern in his voice and hesitated. She looked down one more time before taking a deep breath. For Porco, for Optimus, for her!

Gabi took a few steps back until her back hit the glass. She rammed into the other side of the glass, causing her container to shake from its position.

“Again,” Optimus told her.

Gabi rammed into the glass again, causing the container to shake even more.

“One more time!” Optimus encouraged her.

Gabi yelled as she rammed against the glass with all her might. Gabi yelled as the container tittered over the edge and fell to the floor. She yelled in pain as the glass container hit the ground hard, causing it to shatter. She tried to get up, but the pain from hitting the ground and the glass under her piercing into her skin made it hard to do so.

“Are you alright?” Optimus asked her.

“Ow,” she whimpered, holding her bruised side. She was certain she broke a rib, “It’s hurts.”

“Can you stand?” Optimus asked her.

Gabi forced a nod as she used her bloodied hands and weak arms to push herself to her knees, and then to her feet. She swayed a little from side to side before she almost burst into tears. She was out. She was out of that claustrophobic cage.

“Good,” Optimus said, “Now, I need you to take the largest piece of glass you can carry and jam it into the cuff around my leg.”

Gabi turned her gaze to the blue, electric cuffs on Optimus’ ankles and wrists, pinning him to the berth. “Wouldn’t it make sense to free your wrist?”

“You are too exhausted and can only do so much in your condition,” Optimus explained, “Climbing to my wrist will take time. Just destabilize the one on my ankle and I will take care of the rest.”

Gabi then looked around and saw a large piece of glass that had remained in tact and grabbed it. Normally, she would have been able to carry it over her head with ease, but due to the lack of food, she struggled to get it off the ground. She grunted as she dragged the glass across the floor to the bottom of the berth. She rest the glass against it and climbed up to where Optimus’ pede was before dragging the glass up with her. She stumbled backward and hit her head on Optimus’ pede, causing her to yelp in pain.

“Gabi!”

“I’m fine,” she moaned, rubbing the back of her head. She heard the hum of the electric cuff and turned to still see it glow a bright blue. She just needed to break this one. That’s all she had to do. That’s all she needed to do! Gabi grabbed the glass, and with all her strength, managed to jam the glass into the cuff. She gasped as she saw it spark and destabilize, but she pushed on with what little strength she had and ignored the sparks flying. She was getting out of here. They needed to get out of here! Gabi screamed with her hoarse voice as the cuff’s current cut off, knocking her back and onto the floor, destroying the glass in the process.

Optimus grew worried over Gabi’s condition, and once he realized his leg was completely free, he bent it towards him. The Prime then arched his back upwards and groaned at the resistance he was trying to create. He wanted to pull until another one of the cuffs broke. Gabi watched in fear as Optimus yelled and snapped the cuff on his right wrist off rather violently. Optimus wasted no time and transformed that servo into a blade, jamming it into the cuff on his left wrist. Once his left wrist was free, he sat up and jammed the blade into the left ankle cuff, causing it to break.

Optimus tried to stand up, but his own injuries caused him to stumble forward and crash into the ground. Gabi yelped at the impact the Prime created, covering her ears and shutting her eyes in the process. Optimus held his side and rested on his servos and knees, groaning in pain. He then turned his attention to Gabi, who had still kept her eyes shut. Optimus rested his body on his knees and reached out a servo towards her.

Gabi squeaked at the cold and unfamiliar sensation of a hand holding her so carefully. She trembled as she realized she was getting picked up from the floor, but she refused to open her eyes.

“Gabi,” she heard the deep, baritone voice speak, “Thank you.”

Gabi stopped trembling and opened her eyes to see Optimus looking down at her with a small yet relieved smile. Gabi felt her fears fade away, even for a brief moment as she lowered her hands from her ears. Gabi could only nod in response, but yelped as the Prime began to move. Gabi wrapped her arms around one of his digits and held it tight as Optimus tried to stand. He slammed his servo against the console to the monitor before using it as a support to push himself up. Optimus could feel his legs tremble. His knees were ready to buckle, so he placed Gabi on the console before using his other servo to grab and steady himself on the station. Optimus forced himself to stand up fully, leaning against the console. His face grew stern, hiding his pain as he began to type on the keyboard, accessing Shockwave’s files to the ship.

“W-what are you doing?” Gabi asked in confusion.

“We need to find the location of Porco Galliard, along with other information and experiments that Shockwave may be running,” Optimus explained as he continued to search through the files, “We need to relay this information back to the island in hopes that we can defeat him.”

Gabi understood Optimus’ explanation, but the words on the screen were daunting to her. What kind of language was that? She couldn’t understand what any of it meant. She did manage to get some pictures. She nearly threw up at the sight of the titan experiments, but was also confused at something else. It looked like a giant mountain with a flat top in the middle of the desert.

Optimus continued searching through Shockwave’s database as fast as he could, his face slowly turning into a grimace. This was bad. He had an off sight laboratory where he was conducting his experiments. Porco was there as well, and he’s been getting to that sight through a groundbridge. Of course Shockwave would make himself a groundbridge. He couldn’t have been riding on the Predacon’s back this entire time. What else did Shockwave have?

Optimus searched deeper into the files and was almost disgusted at the detailed experiments on the Eldian people, but he hid his displeasure from Gabi. He didn’t need her to be more stressed out than she was right now. Optimus had also discovered that the Predacon did not have the ability to transform like Predaking and the others. It was probably a good thing long term. Optimus kept scanning through the files and paused when he came across something that caught his attention. Optimus gasped and lifted his servos from the keyboard, causing Gabi to snap her head at him.

“What’s wrong?!” Gabi asked.

Optimus kept staring at the screen. It talked...extensively about dark energon...inside Porco Galliard. Shockwave had dark energon, and he was using Porco to get it and create a new serum! Optimus snapped out of his shock and quickly scanned through Shockwave’s systems to get to the ship’s schematics.

“We cannot rescue Porco at this time,” Optimus told Gabi.

“What?!” Gabi exclaimed, forcing herself to stand up, “No! We have to go save him! Optimus, you promised!”

“You are malnourished and I am injured.” Optimus found the settings for the ship’s cloaking technology and how it was set up for the ship, “We are in no condition to retrieve Porco on our own. If we try now, we will all die by Shockwave’s hand.”

Optimus transformed his servo into a sword and pried open the side of the console to reveal and entanglement of wires. “We need to return to the island in order to get reinforcements to save Porco. If they are still alive, then we have a chance to increase our numbers.”

“But...Porco will still be suffering under Shockwave,” Gabi whimpered, “We can’t leave him.”

Optimus paused in his work and lamented her distress, shutting his optics in shame. “I know. I do not wish for Porco to suffer even more under Shockwave than he already has. If we go now, we will die, and no one will be able to rescue him. If we leave now, then Porco still has a chance at being rescued.”

Optimus then raised a servo to the console before wrapping the other around a set of wires. “Gabi, when I hit the console, the cloaking system will be disabled. It will alert the island to our location, but it will also alert Shockwave of a system malfunction. We both must be ready for the worst possible outcomes. Alright?”

Gabi could see the servo hovering over the console. If they did this, there was no going back. They could live, but they could also die. But...there was also a chance to get out of this hell. Gabi clenched her fists. “We come back for Porco. We’re not leaving him behind!”

“We will,” Optimus swore to her, “I promise.”

The girl searched Optimus’ optics, and saw nothing but honesty and truth. Gabi nodded her head. “Do it.”

Optimus slammed his hand on the console, causing alarms throughout the ship to blare and a red light to blink and fill the room. Optimus grunted as he yanked the wires out of the console before wrapping it around his own neck. He then picked up Gabi and placed her there. Gabi quickly grabbed onto the wire and held it tight as Optimus forced himself to stand and limp out of their prison as fast as he could.

=================

Wheeljack jolted as the Jackhammer’s alarms went haywire. The Wrecker ran and saw the screen, a new signal popping up on the ship’s radar.

“’Cee! Megatron! Shockwave’s ship is on the radar!” Wheeljack shouted.

“Follow that signal!” Megatron ordered as Arcee ran inside the Jackhammer, “I’ll follow soon after!”

The Jackhammer’s doors shut as Megatron flew towards the inner Walls. He needed to grab Eren first! They needed to save Optimus together!

=============

Shockwave raised his helm, his train of thought broken when he heard the monitor blaring. He turned his attention to the screen and stopped the shock treatment on Porco when he realized that his ship had shown up on the radar. The scientist hummed a little. It could have either been a malfunction, or...the Prime is making an attempt to escape.

The Predacon had awoken to the sounds of the noise and growled in agitation. Shockwave walked over to his creation and scratched under its chin, soothing it and causing it to purr at the affection.

“Terran,” Shockwave spoke. Terran opened its golden optics and stared at his master. Shockwave then pointed to the monitor, specifically the ship on the screen, “Hunt.”

Terran screeched in response to Shockwave’s command before standing on all fours. It flexed it’s golden wings before flying out of Shockwave’s lab and away from Shockwave’s testing site towards its master’s ship.

=====================

Optimus leaned against the wall, forcing himself to continue down the hall to the exit to the ship, activating his battle mask in the process. He managed to get a good layout of the ship through the console, but it was taking time to reach the exit. His body ached, and he could feel the sting of his wounds. The cuts, the energon leaking, all he wanted to do was collapse and rest. But the two of them were on a time crunch, and he needed to know exactly where they were. Optimus tripped over himself and almost fell, causing Gabi to yell and cling to the wire for dear life.

“Apologies.” Optimus said to her before he pushed onward. When he reached the exit of the ship, he pushed on the mechanism to the door, and the hatch slowly opened. Optimus winced while Gabi shut her eyes at the abundance of light pouring into their vision. When the hatch stopped, they both opened their eyes to see the light of day. They could see the beautiful blue sky, light of the middle of the day, and an abundance of clouds below them. Gabi couldn’t help, but be in awe at the sight. She wish that she could admire it more, but screamed in fear when she looked down and realized how high the two were. Optimus turned his attention downward and realized the situation. He had no idea how to pilot the ship, and he was too weak to try. Jumping from this height would have resulted in both of their deaths.

Optimus turned his attention to the jet engines directly above them and transformed his arm into a blaster. Gabi grew concerned as he raised his blaster to the engine.

“What are you doing?!” Gabi exclaimed, but Optimus didn’t listen and fired anyway. The energon directly hit the engine, causing it to explode and the ship to spin out. Gabi screamed in fear as Optimus held her close and shielded her from the explosion and the debris. She continued screaming as the ship stopped spinning, but continued to descend towards the ground. Optimus gripped the side of the hatch and clenched his dentas in concern. He prayed to Primus that the crash would be enough for them to withstand before they had to run!

“Looks like you could use an assist, Chief,” A familiar voice crackled through his comm. link.

“W-wheeljack?” Optimus stuttered in surprise. Optimus then heard the familiar hum of an engine and turned his helm to see the Jackhammer flying directly towards them. He...he was here?! How was he here?! And why?! Did they find the neutral ship?! The Jackhammer pivoted towards them as its hatch opened, revealing Arcee holding both sides of the wall to steady herself from the movement.

“Arcee!” Optimus exclaimed.

“You have so much explaining to do!” Arcee shouted at him, but the Two-Wheeler couldn’t help but smile at Optimus.

Optimus was stunned at her statement, but gave a small smile in response. “I am glad to see you as well.”

Wheeljack’s systems began to blare once more as the Jackhammer picked up something on the radar, moving fast and heading straight towards them. “Reunion later! We gotta move!”

A loud screech was heard, and Gabi yelled in horror and pointed at the sight. Arcee and Optimus gasped as the Predacon flew towards them with maddening speed. Arcee quickly held her servo out to her leader. “C’mon, Optimus! Let’s go!”

Optimus tried, but almost stumbled off the ledge and plummeted below. He went back to hold the edge and wince at the pain all over his body. He wouldn’t be able to reach the Jackhammer like this, despite how close it was. They were plummeting to the ground, going with the flow of gravity. He could fall and take Gabi with him, and the Predacon was coming in too fast. All of them could get hurt, or worse. Optimus made a decision, one where there would be minimal causalities.

Gabi yelped as Optimus took her and removed her from his shoulder. The Prime cradled the human girl in his servos and Gabi looked up to see Optimus’ optics...full of remorse.

“Forgive me,” he whispered to her.

Gabi couldn’t process the words. “What?”

“Take her!” Gabi screamed as Optimus tossed her from his servos to Arcee. Gabi reached out for the Prime and grunted as Arcee caught her in her arms.

“No!” Gabi extended her hands for the Prime. Wheeljack saw the Predacon coming in too close and thrusted the ship forward to dodge the impact. Arcee stumbled from the jerk of the ship, but Gabi kept her eyes on Optimus. Her heart stopped beating and her voice got lodged in her throat as the Predacon rammed into the Prime. The creature made a direct hit at Optimus’ face, tearing his battle mask into shreds. The talon tore through Optimus’ flesh, leaving three ragged claw marks that went through his cheek, barely missing his right optic, and dug out of his forehead. The impact of the collision threw Optimus off the ledge of Shockwave’s ship. Arcee gasped as she realized what she just witnessed. Energon stained the talons of the Predacon and flew from Optimus’ wound before his unconscious body plummeted towards the ground.

“NOOO!” Gabi wailed as tears exploded from her eyes. “OPTIMUS! AHH!”

Gabi kept screaming and crying her head off, trying to tear herself out of Arcee’s grip and get to Optimus. Meanwhile, Arcee was in a state of shock. He saved a human girl. Optimus saved a human girl. He chose her over himself. Whatever doubt she had remaining about Optimus Prime being a fake were now completely gone. Arcee grit her denta as the Predacon turned around and dove right after Optimus.

“Wheeljack! WHEELJACK!” Arcee shouted at Wheeljack.

“On it!” Wheeljack turned the Jackhammer around and dove right after them.

Optimus’ limp body continued to fall through the clouds and towards the ground below. The Predacon flapped its wings to accelerate towards the body. It opened its maw to bite and tear into Optimus, but before it could clamp its teeth, a powerful, purple, beam hit the Predacon in its side, knocking the creature off course and away from Optimus as he continued to fall. The Predacon shook its helm and continued to flap its wings, turning its gaze to the source of the attack.

Megatron was flying as fast as he could to the Predacon, with Eren riding on top of him in titan form, and holding onto the wing with crystalized hands for dear life. Eren glanced down at Optimus falling body and gasped in fear. He was unconscious. He was bleeding. He was plummeting to his death. The child in him wanted desperately to grab him and save Optimus, but he was quickly snapped out of that selfish desire when he heard the Predacon roar and charge towards them.

“We stop the Predacon!” Megatron spoke, “We get Optimus!”

Eren roared in agreement before jumping off of Megatron and into the air. Megatron transformed and grabbed Eren’s arm before the titan shifter fell past him. He spun and threw Eren towards the Predacon. Eren crystalized his fists and punched the Predacon directly in the face before grabbing one of its feet. Eren held on tightly and the Predacon tried to bite him and shake him off. However, Megatron charged towards the Predacon and used his sword to slash at the beast’s neck. Megatron growled as the cut wasn’t deep enough and the creature quickly regenerated. The Predacon turned it’s attention to Megatron and charged the fireball building in its throat. Before the Predacon could launch the attack at Megatron, Eren climbed the beast and yanked its neck downward, redirecting the fire blast towards the ground. The Predacon tried to pull Eren away, and throw him off. The Predacon took notice of Optimus still falling and vulnerable, and pulled its neck to redirect its attack to Optimus. Eren jammed his arm in the beast’s mouth, taking the brute force of the attack and catching his entire arm on fire. The Predacon choked on Eren’s arm, tearing it off in the process. The charred stump of Eren’s arm started to regenerate, but was taking a little longer compared to a clean tear. But the loss of Eren’s arm allowed for the Predacon to swing its neck and throw Eren off of it. Eren spun out of control and almost started to fall, but his back ended up hitting the top of the Jackhammer. Eren clung to it with his other arm before he fell off.

The Predacon tried to go after the Jackhammer, but Megatron rammed into the Predacon via alt mode. Megatron transformed back into his bipedal mode and grabbed his sword and stabbed the beast repeatedly in the throat. The Predacon choked on its blood and Megatron tried to aim for the spark, but the Predacon began to thrash and fly around like mad, causing Megatron to keep his grip on the beast.

“Wheeljack, can’t you try and shoot the slagging thing?!” Arcee shouted at Wheeljack, gripping his seat with a crying Gabi still in her arms.

“I can’t get a good angle while the kid and Buckethead are trying to wrestle this fragger in free fall!” Wheeljack retorted, “I could also hit Optimus in the process!”

“Then get Optimus!” Arcee told him.

“At that speed?!” Wheeljack reminded, “I’m all for doing crazy stunts, but if Optimus isn’t conscious, he’s just going to crash into us and fall off or go through us with the speed! I can’t catch him ‘cause I’m driving, and you can’t ‘cause your short! The only ones who can get Optimus are currently fighting a regenerating Predacon!”

Eren jumped off the Jackhammer and grabbed the Predacon by its tail. He tried to climb onto the beast, but with all the thrashing and flying it was doing, it ended up whipping Eren off of him. Megatron saw its wounds heal as it charged another fire blast directly for his face, but Megatron grabbed his shield and blocked the attack. The force still made him let go and sent Megatron plummeting downward, but he didn’t suffer too much damage.

Eren couldn’t focus as he continued spinning out in the air. He grunted as his back hit hard metal. He quickly crystalized his fingers to grip the metal and prevent himself from falling. He raised his head and was stunned to see the flaming engine of a large ship in front of him. This wasn’t the Jackhammer...this was Shockwave’s ship! Eren turned his gaze upward to see Megatron flying back up and try to cut the wings off the Predacon. Eren grit his teeth in the nape and swore to himself. He didn’t have any weapons like Megatron. He only had his fists. Eren looked around him and felt the heavy metal under his finger and smirked in the nape. He might not have a weapon, but he didn’t mind borrowing from Shockwave a tool or two. Eren sunk his claws in the metal of the ship and ripped a chunk of it from the falling ship before throwing it up at the Predacon. He quickly grabbed some of the wires in the ship and tore them apart before chucking it in the air.

Megatron was ready to throw his sword at the Predacon, but paused in surprise when debris hit the Predacon in the face. He looked down at the source and saw Eren tearing apart Shockwave’s ship from the outside and throwing it at the Predacon. Megatron smirked with delight, feeling a small swell of pride at Eren’s idea. He grabbed some of the debris coming his way and threw it at the Predacon. The Predacon grew furious and threw a powerful fire blast through the air, burning through the debris surrounding them.

“How far until we hit the ground?!” Arcee asked.

“20,000 feet!” Wheeljack answered.

“Wait! Wait!” Gabi begged as Arcee forced Gabi to let go of her and placed her in Wheeljack’s lap.

“Watch her!” Arcee ordered as she ran to grab a grenade.

Wheeljack groaned before looking down at Gabi and picking her up by her clothes. “Sorry, kid. Can’t have you flying about the cabin.”

Gabi yelled as Wheeljack opened his chest compartment and dropped her in there before shutting it. Gabi begged to be let out, banging on the inside of the chest, but Wheeljack ignored it as he continued flying down, trying to fire off a flew blasts to hit the Predacon but unfortunately missing. Arcee opened the hatch up top and climbed out of the ship with a grenade in her servo.

“Eren!” Megatron shouted as the Predacon flew towards Eren and landed on the top of the ship in front of him. Eren crystalized his feet to keep himself on the ship before crystalizing his fists and getting into a fighting stance and charged. The Predacon shot another fireball at the teen, but Eren quickly ducked his head, his hair catching on fire in the process. Eren ignored it as he glanced behind him to see the smoking engine. An idea sprang into his head as the Predacon fired another blast, but this time, Eren unhooked his feet and pushed himself off the ship. The Predacon’s attack hit the other engine and the ship blew up from the ignition. The Predacon went flying, while Eren was sent spinning upward by the forced of the explosion.

As Shockwave’s ship plummeted at a faster rate, Megatron tackled the Predacon from behind and pulled at the beast’s wings. The beast thrashed violently, trying to throw Megatron off once more. Arcee jumped towards Eren and quickly grabbed the teen’s hair. Arcee then showed the grenade to Eren and pointed at the Predacon.

“Shove this in the Predacon’s jaws so I can get a clean shot!” Arcee ordered. Eren took the grenade as Arcee kicked Eren with all her might towards the Predacon. Eren ended up wrapping his arms around the Predacon’s neck as it roared. Eren punched the beast in the throat and dug his claws into its neck. Eren then put the grenade between his own jaw and grabbed the maw of the beast with his hands and forced it to open its mouth. The Predacon thrashed and bit at Eren’s fingers, tearing a few of them off. Eren then punched the Predacon in the face in response to try and disorient it. The Predacon then howled in pain as it felt its wings being torn off bit by bit. Megatron continued to press into the creatures back with his pedes and pull on its wings. Sparks and energon flew as the metal creaked and tore with the force.

“10,000! Hurry up!” Wheeljack warned.

Eren sunk his hand into the Predacon’s eye socket and roared in fury as he pulled on the beast’s eye ball. Eren screamed in the nape and pulled as hard as he could, successfully tearing the beast’s optic out in the process. The Predacon roared even louder than before, but it was enough of a distraction for Eren to open its jaws and jam the grenade inside. Megatron let out a loud battle cry as he tore the Predacon’s wings off. Megatron threw the wings aside and both quickly jumped off of the beast. Arcee transformed her arm into her blaster and aimed it at the grenade in the mouth of the beast. Eren searched frantically for Optimus and saw that he was right below him.

“Optimus!” Eren yelled in the nape, diving towards Optimus as Arcee fired. Eren could hear the sound of the explosion go off behind him. He could feel the heat on his back and see the debris falling around him. He wasn’t sure if the Predacon was dead, nor did he care. He needed to save Optimus. He needed to save his mentor. His father!

Eren extended his hand towards Optimus as he found himself getting closer to him. And the titan shifter couldn’t help but...remember. He couldn’t help but remember all the people he couldn’t save. His inability to save Hannes from that titan. His failure to act sooner when trying to save Levi’s squad. His weakness when he couldn’t avenge Thomas and the others from the 104th. His helplessness as he watched his mother get eaten by the same titan that later killed Hannes.

His fingers spread out as tears formed in his eyes, failing to notice Optimus regaining consciousness. Please. Please let this be enough. Please let their efforts be enough. He actually found himself beginning to pray. He just wanted to save Optimus, after everything he every did, asking for nothing in return. Please let him save one of the few people who gave him hope, who treated him with fairness and respect, who...saw him as a human. No more. No less.

Eren’s eyes snapped open as Optimus clasped Eren’s arm. Eren tightened his own grip and gasped in disbelief at Optimus’ stunned and scarred face. Eren laughed in the nape as the tears continued to fall. Eren pulled Optimus close and they held each other tight as they continued to fall together. Eren looked up to see Megatron flying towards them and stretched his arm out to the titan. Eren managed to grab Megatron’s wing and crystalized his fingers to tighten his grip. Megatron flew towards the island as fast as he could with Eren and Optimus in tow.

“We got him! Let’s go!” Arcee shouted. The Jackhammer flew under her and Arcee quickly grabbed up as Wheeljack followed Megatron. The Two-Wheeler looked back to the Predacon’s body crashing into the ground along with Shockwave’s ship. She didn’t know if that killed the beast, but she prayed to Primus it was enough.

Optimus held onto Eren as tightly as he could, while Eren tightened his grip on Megatron’s wing. Megatron ignored the pain and the extra weight as he flew over the sea, keeping his focus of getting to the island. Eren kept his other arm wrapped around Optimus as he shut his eyes. Just a little longer. Hold on a little longer. Don’t let go! Do not let go!

Eren gasped as Megatron suddenly transformed, forcing Eren to let go of the ex-con. Eren held onto Optimus as tight as he could as they both crashed into the ground; however, the momentum they were flying at caused Eren to let go of Optimus as they rolled across the ground. Megatron ended up hitting the ground a little further away, rolling more violently across the dirt.

Eren groaned in pain as he forced himself on all four, rubbing his head to ease his pain. Eren gasped as he heard Optimus groan. He snapped his head to see Optimus forcing himself to sit up. The Prime moved his hand across the grass, and seemed surprised at the sensation, and even where he was.

“Optimus,” Eren breathed in the nape, “Optimus! DAD!”

Eren scrambled to his feet and bolted towards the Prime. Before Optimus could register what had happened, Eren slid on his knees and tackled Optimus into a hug, wrapping an arm around his back and placing another on his head. Eren sobbed in both human and titan form, trying to find the words of how relieved and happy he was. They did it. They saved him. They saved Optimus. He was alive, and they didn’t fail him.

Optimus had to take a moment to register what was going on. He couldn’t move. This...this was real. This wasn’t a dream. He was...Eren was...he was out...he was alive...It worked. By the Allspark it worked. Optimus felt lubricant well up in his own optics and a few of those tears fell down his cheeks. Optimus ignored his pain. He ignored his bruises and wounds and just wrapped both arms around Eren.

“Thank you, Eren,” Optimus said with a strained, yet relieved voice, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Megatron forced himself up a little by his arms to see Optimus and Eren hugging each other so tightly on their knees. Megatron could see Eren sobbing with relief, and he also spotted those few tears escaping Optimus’ own optics. Megatron collapsed onto his back and stared up at the sky, and he found himself...laughing. Laughing with genuine joy. It worked! Primus’ sake, that worked! The former warlord heard galloping and turned to see the Survey Corps riding towards them with expressions of bafflement and tears of excitement. They quickly got off their horses and ran towards Optimus and Eren.

“Optimus!” Hanji screamed with tears coming down her face, causing the two to end their embrace. Eren still supported Optimus by placing one of his arms over his shoulder.

“I would advise not to administer contact,” Optimus warned as he gestured to his bruises. But the Survey Corps quickly saw the wire still around his neck and flew up to that with their 3D gear hugging him there as best as they could. Optimus wanted to retort, but he couldn’t say no those tears of happiness and relief. He was so happy to see them alive that he did his best to cradle them with his other servo.

Levi slowly approached Megatron, keeping his eyes on Optimus and the Survey Corps. Levi also found himself...laughing and even smiling a little. “I can’t believe you pulled it off.”

“Me too,” Megatron laughed in agreement.

Not far behind, the Marleyan Warriors and Magath got of their horses to see the tearful reunion. Pieck felt happy for them and smiled a little. Reiner and Annie were also relieved to see Optimus alive. Lara was just touched at the sight and placed a hand over her heart, while Magath was just in a state of shock. he couldn’t believe it. They pulled it off. They managed to get Optimus back.

The Jackhammer landed on the ground and the hatch opened. Arcee and Wheeljack quickly ran out to see the tearful reunion and sighed with relief. Arcee; however, remembered something and turned to the Wrecker.

“Where’s the girl?!” Arcee exclaimed.

“Oh, right.” Wheeljack opened his chest to reveal a disoriented Gabi.

“Primus,” Arcee swore as she pulled Gabi out of Wheeljack’s chest compartment, allowing the Wrecker to close it.

“Sorry, kid,” Wheeljack apologized.

Gabi shook her head, and gasped with joy to see Optimus alive. She then turned her attention to Arcee and did her best to hug her. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, Chief!” Wheeljack called out, “What’s with the kid?! What do we do with her?!”

Optimus placed the Survey Corps on the ground as Pieck raised her eyebrow in confusion. She turned her head to Arcee and let out a shocked yell at the sight of Gabi in the Two-Wheelers arms, covering her mouth in the process. Reiner was confused by Pieck’s yell, but followed her gaze and almost collapsed right then and there.

“GABI!” Reiner, Pieck, and Annie quickly ran towards the ship, tears coming down all of their faces.

Gabi gasped at the familiar voice and smiled at the sight of the three, specifically her cousin. “REINER!”

Arcee put Gabi on the ground, and the girl tried to run at the same frantic speed everyone else, but her frail body would only allow her to limp. Reiner didn’t care and merely met Gabi in the middle, hugging her so tight and refusing to let go. The two cousins try to find the words, but all that came out were cries of relief, sadness, and joy. Pieck and Annie quickly hugged the duo, and they all fell to their knees and cried together. Meanwhile, Magath was dumbstruck. He…saved Gabi. Optimus….actually saved her, when many would have left her behind.

Optimus sighed with relief at the sight. They were okay. He kept his word. They would be okay. Optimus then remembered Porco’s fate, and all the information Shockwave held in his database. He also found his vision to be spinning out, it becoming distorted and filling with black. His injuries. He needed to tell them before he fell to his injuries.

“...Eren...,” Eren froze at the way Optimus called for him, and realized...how weak it sounded. Eren turned to see Optimus’ optics flickering in and out as he tried to look at his student.

“...I...need...” Optimus’ optics rolled to the back of his helm as he collapsed in Eren’s arms.

“No! No! Optimus!” Eren screamed in the nape, “Optimus, get up!”

Megatron shot up the minute he heard the screaming and yelling from Eren’s titan form and the Survey Corps and saw Optimus barely hanging onto life. He scrambled to his pedes and ran to the distraught Eren, almost hitting Levi in the process.

“Optimus!” Megatron kneeled and froze as he noticed the complete extent of his injuries: the scars on his arms and legs, the scarring on his chest plate showing it was clearly cut open by force, the broken mask, the three, vertical, claw marks taking up the right side of his face just barely missing his optics. He was leaking energon everywhere!

“Wheeljack, get your ship ready for transport!” Megatron shouted at the Wrecker as everyone begged for Optimus to wake up. Gabi had seen the chaos and tried to run to Optimus, but Reiner had hold her back. She tried to wrangle out of her cousin’s grasp, but she herself was too weak to do so.

Optimus could barely see, and his hearing was going in and out, hearing nothing but panicked screaming. He managed to see Megatron in his vision and weakly raised his arm to touch Megatron and get his attention.

“Mega…” Optimus weakly spoke.

“Stay awake!” Megatron ordered in anger and fear, “You are not dying after everything we did to get you back!”

“P-p…atch,” Optimus forced out, “dark…ener…Por…co…”

“Patch?” Megatron questioned in confusion before his optics widened. “What does he know?! Optimus, what does Shockwave know?!”

“Every…” Optimus could only hear more panicked screaming as his world faded to darkness.

(This all happened because Shockwave didn’t place a container correctly. Lol. And don’t worry. The next chapter for Attack on Prime will come out later today. I just need to take care of some stuff. I hope you enjoyed this.)

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ikeromantic · 2 years

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Hi, I like your rescue the mc for Mitsuhide story so can you do something similar for Chevalier or Licht?

So this one took me a bit to put together. I chose to write for Licht (Chev has a rescue scene already that will be posted as part of the route re-write). So, here goes! Approx. 2000 words of Licht rescuing his beloved Belle. TW for implied animal abuse and off-screen animal death, and for violence.

Licht glanced at the edge of crimson sun as it slid below the horizon. The hour was late, and there was no sign of Emma yet. He felt a flicker of annoyance, with worry quick on its heels. She should be back to her rooms by now, but it was just him and a pile of books.

He waited past sunset and into full dark. Still no sign of the Belle, though a servant had come by to turn down her sheets and fluff her pillows.

Was there some event today, he wondered. Perhaps a dinner or an outing Sariel failed to inform him of. That scenario seemed unlikely. Both for the idea Sariel would forget anything and that even if he had, Rio would be here waiting with him.

Licht tired of waiting and set off to find Sariel. He promised himself if the councilor was at fault, he was going to quit this job. Guarding the Belle was simply too much to ask, especially when she disappeared on him like this and made him worry.

Sariel was in his office as usual. When Licht asked about Belle’s location, the councilor’s eyebrow twitched before he answered. Even the devil has tells, the prince thought. “Perhaps she ran into one of your brothers. I’ll send a servant to inquire,” Sariel told him.

“Do that.” Licht was already turning to leave.

“Are you going back to her room?”

“No.” Licht did not elaborate. He readied a horse and rode out from the palace, thoughts churning. He knew Sariel didn’t believe the Belle was with his brothers. He trusted the councilor would search the palace high and low for her, but Licht had a feeling she was not there.

It was that vague sense of guilt that crept into his chest like a cold fog when he knew he’d brought someone more misfortune. He’d warned her so many times to stay clear of him, but she never listened. Licht could see her in his mind’s eye, lips lifted in a sweet smile. Her voice calling to him, telling him how much she adored him. Ignoring the danger to herself every moment he was near.

That was why he knew she couldn’t just be somewhere in the palace. No. His ill-fortune was not so kind to those close to him.

The first place he checked in town was the bookstore. When he woke the owner, Licht learned that she had been there and left with an armful of books, Rio in tow. But he didn’t know where she went after that.

Licht checked the cafes and bakeries. Yes, she was sighted, and no . . . no one knew where she went. He was almost mad with not knowing. His Belle was gone and he feared he might never find her. That she would be gone, never knowing that he . . . that he . . .

“M-mister?”

The prince glanced down to find a scrawny street urchin huddled in the alley beside the bakery he’d just left. He couldn’t tell how old the kid was, or much else. The child wore oversized clothes more patched than whole, and probably held together by the layers of grime that coated them, skin, hair, and fabric alike.

“Yes?” Licht squatted down to look the kid in the eye.

“Are you looking for the nice l-lady?”

He tilted his head, studying the child. “I am. Did you see her? Do you know where she went when she left here?”

The kid bit their lip nervously. “I . . . I . . .”

“There is a reward if you tell me.”

“I don’t want no reward.” The kid huffed. “Just, you gotta tell me mister. Are you her friend?”

Licht considered. Technically, he was her bodyguard right now. But he didn’t want to explain to this child the complicated nuance of their relationship.”Yes.”

“Alright. She gave me some bread and then she went that way.” The kid pointed. “But some men stopped her. They said they was taking her to a special place. And if she didn’t go, they was gonna hurt her other friend. The blonde one.”

Licht felt his chest still, a frozen pond that made him brittle and cold all over. “Where is this special place? Did you see the blonde friend again?” He tried to keep his voice gentle, but knew it came out flat.

“I don’t know about the blonde guy. Maybe they got him too? But they said where they were going with the nice lady,” the kid swallowed, “they took her to the basement of that tavern. The bad one.”

“The bad one?” Licht wasn’t sure what the child meant. There were a number of disreputable spots in town, places where criminals gathered and illegal activities were housed. “Which? What does it look like?”

“It’s got the two dogs on the sign. Fighting.”

The prince knew immediately which one that was. Sariel shut it down several times on complaints of animal cruelty and other petty crimes. Nothing like kidnapping or - or worse. “Thank you.” He gave the kid a tense smile and then tossed him a gold coin. “Go and find the nearest guardsman. Tell him Prince Licht is rescuing the - ah - a noble lady from Contest. Can you do that?”

“Uh. Yeah. Ok.” The kid pocketed the coin.

Licht didn’t wait for more. He ran.

The tavern came into sight at the end of a narrow dirt lane. The houses along this street slumped on their lots, upper stories leaning out over the road on rotted beams and peeling boards. The windows here had no glass. Some had bars or shutters barely hanging from their hinges. None had lights inside, not even the flicker of a burning candle. That made Contest stand out.

It was a beacon of warm light and raucous laughter, filled to the brim with men of questionable disposition and ladies with eyes as hard as granite. The smell of it wafted on the night’s breeze, liquor and piss and vomit, the sweat of unwashed bodies. Licht could not imagine his delicate Belle in such a place.

He considered going through the front door. It was guarded by two large men who wore leather saps at their belt and likely carried knives under their coats. Licht knew he could take them, probably before either called for help. But then he’d have to pass through the whole common room to find the basement entry and while he fought forward, anything might happen to the Belle in the rooms below.

Risking her safety was not acceptable. Not when it was his fault she was here.

Licht carefully crept around to a side alley and slipped behind the tavern. The space back here was littered with garbage and the corpses of small animals. It seemed they still held dog fights here, and other even uglier spectacles. He ignored the queasy sights and focused on finding a rear entrance.

There was a backdoor here that likely led into a storeroom or kitchen, but he passed it hoping for some better option. It seemed he had some good luck for that at least. On the left side of the tavern, in a narrow gap between buildings, he spotted a pair of cellar doors.

The wood of them was rotted enough for light to pour through a myriad of cracks and tiny holes. Someone had thought to set a padlock on it, but the black iron of the lock was set into the soft boards.

He listened outside the door for a moment. There were voices inside, but fewer than the crowd in the common room. Licht could not make out what they were saying, but he gauged around five men. There could be more if some were silent. A wiser course of action would be to wait and assess. To get backup. But he couldn’t let Belle linger there another moment. He would die first.

Licht crashed through the door and landed on the stairs below. His entrance drew every eye in the room. There were far more than five men. There were twenty at least. More than any sane swordsman would take on alone. Not that these men looked keen to try. He took a breath, trying to quickly analyze the situation.

Most of the people down here were sitting in chairs, hands curled around little paddles with numbers on them. They did not appear to be armed though a few carried ostentatious decorative canes or thin dueling swords. The danger came from the five men on the stage.

One stood at the head as if addressing the seated audience. Two held a struggling woman between them. She had a sign around her neck that read, ‘Jadedite Beauty’. Two other men stood beside a line of chained women, each with signs hanging from their necks. There were cages too, and in them, bound men. Rio was one, his eyes swollen shut, his face and body bruised. The men were clearly guards, and carried saps and riding crops at their hips.

Licht’s eyes sought his Belle of their own accord. And she was there. Standing shackled beside one of the guards. Her arms were bruised and her lips were split and swollen. The sign on her neck read, ‘Plaything of Princes’. Her eyes met his and Licht saw in them a flash of desperate hope.

That was the last thing he really saw before his vision turned crimson, a red fog that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He did not consciously think to draw his sword, but found it in his hands. His body was moving, pulled forward by an incandescent rage at seeing her treated like this. That it would happen to any woman was a horror but his Belle, his kind, pure-hearted Belle . . .

The next minutes were a blur. Blood and shrieking voices, the hot sting of his own pain and the smell of copper. When Licht came back to himself, he was kneeling in front of her, his face pressed to her gown. Hot tears mixed with the spattered gore on his cheeks and stained the fabric of the Belle’s skirt.

She stroked his hair, whispering a flood of endearments and gratitude.

Around them lay bodies, the five kidnappers and several of their customers. Anyone who stood between Licht and the Belle. Their captives stood or crouched nearby, still in shock. Freedom hadn’t settled yet in their bones.

Licht looked up at his Belle as if there was no one else there, not in the room, perhaps not in all of Rhodolite. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice catching. His throat was tight and the words tore like barbed metal. “This was all my fault.”

“You’re . . . Licht, no,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have sent Rio off on errands. You and Sariel warned me and I - I . . .” Her eyes widened as she looked down at him. “Licht! You’re hurt!” She knelt in front of him, her hands trembling as she touched the bloodied edges of his clothes where daggers had torn both fabric and flesh.

He shook his head and his vision swam. “I’m not important. But you, are you ok?”

“How can you say that? How can you say you’re not important when . . . to me you - you matter most?” She hugged him gently, carefully, her arms held just barely touching.

Licht pulled her close, not caring about the sharp burning agony that lanced through him. He deserved that and worse. His fault. Though he knew he should be pushing the Belle away, he couldn’t let go. Not yet. He promised himself he would - he had to, for her sake - but just a little longer with her in his arms. Because she needed the comfort. He laid his cheek atop her hair and let the sweet, clean scent of her wash away the stench of the basement and felt guilty for the peace it brought him.

Pinpricks of shadow dotted his vision, swarming until Licht could not tell if his eyes were open or closed. If he died now, like this, he thought, that would be alright. “I hate you,” he whispered, or perhaps only thought the words. Though in his mind and on his lips they meant - love adore worship - something very different.

#ikemen prince #ikepri licht #licht klein #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #drama #tw violence #tw implied animal abuse

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