#the rain the silver knife the car scene

[fluentmoviequoter]

One More Favor

Pairing: Titans!Dick Grayson x fem!reader (most of this fic takes place in/around Titans 1x2)

Summary: When Dick takes Rachel out of Detroit, he needs help, but he'll have to call in a few favors first.

Word Count: 5.0k+ words

Warnings: POV changes (that hopefully make sense), fluff, a little bit of angst, descriptions of injuries/self-harm (reader cuts her arm open to remove a tracker), several descriptive fight scenes, guns?, spoiler for Titans.

A/N: This is my first Dick Grayson fic, and I actually wrote it several months ago and just got around the editing it. Dick may be OOC, but I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think!

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info (OPEN)

Gotham City - 4 Years Ago

The heavy door creaks as it is pulled open, warm air blowing out into the cold rain. You step inside, dropping your umbrella in the overflowing bin and wiping your shoes on the mat. Shivering slightly, you run your hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm up.

“Hi, Alfred,” you greet as you look over at him, your smile dropping at the solemn look on his face. “What happened?”

“Master Grayson left last night. He left you this,” Alfred answers as he hands you an envelope, your name written in Dick’s handwriting across the front.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” you ask, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Alfred. I’m going to go home,” you say as you pull the door open and step out, waiting for the door to close behind you. You take a deep breath and start running, not even thinking about the umbrella you left. As your tears mix with the rain on your skin, your heart feels about as warm as the Gotham City air.

Fremont, Ohio - Present Day

“Where are you taking me?” Rachel asks, spinning one of her rings on her finger as she looks out the window.

“To see an old friend. She can help us,” Dick answers, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

An hour later, Dick checks his phone while he waits in the car as Rachel goes into a truck stop. He tracks her through the window as he dials a number he hasn’t called in years. It rings several times, and he thinks he won’t get an answer.

“Hello?” A voice asks as the line connects.

“Hi, Alfred, it’s me.”

“It’s been a long time, Master Grayson.”

“I know. This is a one-time thing; I need a favor.”

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

You enter the diner, sighing as you fall into a booth. Looking up at the television mounted in the corner, you see a story about yet another murder in Detroit. It’s almost as bad as Gotham City these days. 

“How’s my favorite customer today?” Dan asks as he walks to the booth, his apron still on.

“I’ll bet you say that to all of your customers,” you counter with a smile, your hood still pulled over your head.

“I most certainly do not. What can I get you today?”

“Just some tea, please.”

“You need to eat.”

“Will you let me pay?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I’m not letting you give me free food every day, Dan. Just tea.”

“Fine,” Dan sighs, returning to the kitchen and passing your order to a waitress.

The bell above the door chimes as it opens, a few sets of footsteps echoing as the door closes. You pull your hood up further, turning to face the back corner. Kelsey, Dan’s only waitress at this hour, drops off the mug of tea and a book, smiling at you as she walks away. She’s been lending you books since you first visited two months ago. You slide it closer, shaking your head as you read the summary: a vigilante who gets a new partner. Sounds familiar.

Benton, Pennsylvania – 3 ½ Years Ago

You take a deep breath before you dig the knife into your arm, making a shallow slice from the middle of your forearm up to your elbow. After you drop the knife into the hotel bathroom sink, you grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and dig around, gritting your teeth as you ignore the pain. When you finally see a glint of silver, you grab it and pull. The tracker makes a ‘clink’ sound as it falls into the sink and goes down the drain. You sigh as you pick up the pre-threaded needle and start on the stitches. Good luck finding me now, Bruce.

Norwalk, Ohio – Earlier Today

“If the police are looking for me, is it smart to be on an interstate?” Rachel asks.

Dick sighs, knowing she is right. He pulls off at the next exit, getting on a small Ohio state route and heading south. They drive for about thirty minutes before coming to a small diner, claiming to have the state’s best chicken and waffles. Dick is ready for a break, so he doesn’t fight Rachel when she asks him to stop. They walk into the diner, and Dick looks around, planning escape routes and scanning for trouble. The waitress and the cook both say hello as Dick and Rachel sit by the window, the kitchen and the door visible. Dick looks at the only other customer, a girl in an oversized sweatshirt leaning over a book and nursing a mug of something.

“I’m Kelsey. What can I get you, folks?” Kelsey smiles as she approaches their table.

“Chicken and waffles, please,” Rachel orders.

“Coming up, and for you, sir?”

“Just coffee,” Dick answers, smiling.

Dick watches as the cook takes the order from Kelsey before nodding toward the girl in the booth. Kelsey walks over and starts talking to her, but Dick can’t tell if it is a friendly conversation or a ‘you need to leave’ conversation. Kelsey’s shoulders drop as she turns around and walks back to the kitchen pass-through, shaking her head as she speaks to the cook. A plate and a mug slide onto the counter, and Kelsey carries them over to Dick and Rachel, telling them to let her know if they need anything.

“What are you looking at?” Rachel asks.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s going on over there,” Dick answers, gesturing across the restaurant with his chin.

Rachel looks over and cocks her head slightly, “Kelsey’s happy but a little worried, the other one is really hard to read.”

Dick nods, sipping his coffee as he looks up at the television screen. His heart drops as Rachel’s picture appears on the screen, but it is gone before he can say anything. Dick looks toward the kitchen, but no one is there. Turning his head, he sees the cook talking to the other customer, sitting at the booth with her. Kelsey and the cook stand, and the cook returns to the kitchen as Kelsey walks toward their table.

“How is everything?” Kelsey asks.

“Great. Those were definitely the best in the state,” Rachel answers.

“Need anything else?”

“Just the check,” Dick answers, reaching for his wallet.

“It’s been covered,” Kelsey assures before clearing the table.

“By who?” Dick asks, eyebrows furrowing as Kelsey smiles.

The girl in the booth looks up suddenly, leaning to look out the window. She stands and moves toward Kelsey, telling her something before walking out the back door, the book she had been reading abandoned at the booth. Kelsey whispers something to Dan before turning quickly to walk back to Dick and Rachel.

“Someone is here for her,” Kelsey says to Dick, gesturing toward Rachel, “there’s a room through the kitchen with a back door.”

Dick and Rachel stand quickly, following her through the kitchen. They all freeze at the sound of gunshots, then begin moving again.

“Why are you helping us?” Dick asks.

“Favor for a friend,” Kelsey answers as she opens the back door. “Be careful.”

Dick nods as he ushers Rachel to stand on one side of him, gripping his gun in his other hand as they slowly round the building. The girl in the sweatshirt, who Dick really needs a new name for, is standing in the parking lot, a pipe falling from her hand and three unconscious men sprawled on the ground around her. She looks up before dropping her head, putting her hands in her pocket, and walking away. Dick hears one of the men groan and decides to leave before they come to. Rachel keeps asking him if he knows the girl, and the only answer he can supply is, “I don’t think so.” Maybe he should make it his new catchphrase.

Gotham City – 4 Years Ago

You enter your apartment and grab your backpack, dumping its contents out on the floor before you run around and grab what you consider “essentials”: an extra pair of shoes, a change of clothes, cash, a fake ID, a sweatshirt, a blanket, and the letter from Dick. You slide the letter into the protected laptop pocket of my backpack, promising yourself you will read it someday, but not right now. You put on your best pair of sneakers, comfortable and warm clothes, and a jacket with a hood before walking to the ATM, emptying your account, and ditching your card before boarding a bus to Princeton. As you watch Gotham City fade behind the bus, you cry because you lost a part of yourself, and you know it would hurt too much to see reminders of him. So, you leave.

Glen Easton, West Virginia – 2 Years Ago

You check into the small motel with cash and a fake ID, grateful you can sleep in a real bed for once. You find your room and collapse against the small mattress, setting your backpack beside the bed. You open it and pull out a change of clothes before showering. The letter from Dick is still in the computer pocket, unopened. When you think you are finally ready to open it, you get scared about what is inside it and change your mind.

You retrieve the sweatshirt from the bottom of the backpack and put it on. Then you order a pizza and turn on the TV. The sweatshirt is the only thing that provides you comfort after leaving Gotham City. You left everything that tied you to that life, except the sweatshirt, and nights like this make you wish you had realized Dick was going to leave and chased him.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Why are we driving around in circles? I thought you were taking me somewhere?” Rachel asks.

“I’m looking for the girl that helped us,” Dick mumbles as he looks across the street.

“Oh,” Rachel says with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve felt different since you saw her in the diner.”

“She just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

“Someone you knew. Seems like a lot more emotion than simple acquaintances.”

“Fine, we were best friends. We did- some stuff together and we were super close,” Dick said, failing to find a way to explain their vigilante activities.

“You did stuff together?” Rachel repeats incredulously.

“Not like that,” Dick huffs. “We just- she was my best friend, and I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Why?”

“I left.”

“You left her?”

“I didn’t leave her; I left the life I had then.”

“And by extension, her,” Rachel scoffs. “Why haven’t you called her?”

“I tried, once. Her number had been disconnected and I didn’t know her new one. Or if she even wanted to talk to me.”

“Surely you know someone who would’ve stayed in contact with her. Call them.”

Dick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He does know someone.

“Right now,” Rachel adds, “I can feel your sadness and it’s bumming me out.”

Dick pulls over, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing the number. “It’s me again. I need one more favor,” he says when the line connects.

“Of course, Master Grayson,” Alfred agrees.

“I’m looking for,” he glances at Rachel, who is listening intently, before finishing, “her. I was wondering if you had a new number for her. Or know where she is?”

“Master Grayson,” Alfred says sadly, “we haven’t seen her in four years.”

“Four years?” Dick asks, eyes widening.

“Yes, sir. She left right after you did.”

“Did you give her the letter?”

“I did. She ran out of the manor, literally, after I gave it to her. We have not heard from her since.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“Last we knew she was in Benton, Pennsylvania. But that was nearly three and a half years ago. I’m sorry, Master Grayson.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick says before hanging up.

“Sorry,” Rachel says quietly, “I shouldn’t have made you call.”

“Not your fault,” Dick assures her before pulling out. He slams on his brakes and backs up, turning into an alley and parking.

“What?” Rachel yells, gripping her seat.

“I think she’ll go back to the diner, they seemed to know her. Enough to give us free food on her behalf.”

“That’s what you think happened?” Rachel asks sarcastically.

“You’re the one that read their emotions.”

Rachel sighs before agreeing, “You’re right. She’ll go back.”

They find a small motel and get a room for the night, leaving their stuff in the room before returning to the diner. Entering, Dick and Rachel look around but only see the cook and a different waitress. 

“Welcome back,” the cook, who introduces himself as Dan, greets.

“Hi, Dan. We’re looking for the girl who was in here this morning. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt, reading a book, and left quickly out the back door,” Dick explains.

“Yeah, I know her. Why are you looking for her?”

“She helped you. That’s why you’re so nice to her, if not a little protective, isn’t it?” Rachel asks.

Dan’s brow furrows as he answers, “Yes, she helped me.”

“We’re not trying to hurt her or get her in trouble or anything. She helped us this morning and we’d like to repay the favor,” Dick promises. “Could you at least give us her name?”

“I don’t know her name,” Dan answers. “But she’ll probably come back here in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Dick and Rachel say together.

The following morning, Dick checks out of the motel and drives to the diner. They both look to the booth where she sat yesterday as they walk in, frowning when they see no one there. Kelsey smiles as she greets them and takes their order, exactly as they had yesterday. Dick spins his mug around as he watches the television, trying to keep himself from staring at the door.

“Dick,” Rachel whispers a few minutes later. She gestures toward the counter, where the girl is now sitting, wearing the same sweatshirt as yesterday.

Before Dick can do anything, Dan’s voice fills the diner. “All three of you need to get somewhere safe. Everyone in town is talking about some secret service agents asking about you folks.”

“All of us?” The girl in the sweatshirt asks.

“You know how these people feel about cops, but they’ll come in here eventually and you don’t need to be here,” Dan says.

“11 North Country Road 29,” the girl in the sweatshirt calls as she stands, “you got that?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Rachel answers, practically dragging Dick to the front door.

Dick gets in the car and speeds toward the address, hoping that the girl in the sweatshirt will meet them there. And give them her name. He parks between the house and a row of trees, where the car is hidden from the road. The back door is unlocked, and Dick sweeps the house before ushering Rachel in. Several minutes later, the back door opens again, and the girl in the sweatshirt walks in, coming face-to-muzzle with Dick’s gun. Her hands are raised as he lowers the gun.

“Sorry,” Dick apologizes as he holsters it.

“Not a problem. I’d give it a few hours before leaving,” the girl says, moving past them.

“Thank you. For yesterday and right now,” Rachel says.

“Least I could do. I’ll be in the back room if you need anything.”

Rachel waits until she is out of earshot to turn toward Dick and ask, “She really reminds you of this girl doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “That obvious?”

“Your shame is practically choking me. Why did you hurt her?"

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not an excuse, Dick.”

Rachel walks toward the back room, determined to find a way to help Dick get over his hurt.

Omar, Ohio – 2 Months Ago

“Take your hands off the girl,” you demand as you enter the dark room.

Three men turn toward you, one raising a gun as the others take a step closer. You see a girl tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth, blood everywhere, and fear in her eyes. 

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, sweetheart,” the man with the gun growls.

“Right back at ya,” you say, taking a threatening step toward him.

The two other men charge toward you. You catch one of their fists as they throw it toward you, twisting him in front of you to encounter the brunt of the other man’s hit as he throws it. Their shared momentum knocks them both to the floor. You slide across the floor, elbowing the third man’s knee as you grab his hand, flipping his wrist so the gun falls to the floor. You pick it up and level it at his temple.

“One more time: let the girl go,” you demand slowly.

One of the men on the floor throws a knife, which spins in the air and nicks your arm. You glance toward him before swinging the gun and taking three shots, taking out one knee on every man. As they groan in pain and roll on the floor, you untie the girl and ask her where to go. She directs me to her father’s diner.

“I’m looking for Dan,” you say as you carry her through the back door.

Dan comes running, grabbing his first aid kit as he sits beside her. “Your arm needs attention?” he asks as he points to your scarred forearm and the small bloody patch from the knife.

“No, I’m all good. Thank you.” You begin to stand, but he stops you, refusing to let you leave until you eat something.

“You’ll never pay here. Come back anytime,” Dan says when you leave an hour later.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Sorry about him,” Rachel says as she walks into the back room.

“It’s completely fine.” The girl in the sweatshirt laughs softly, her hand playing with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rachel says as she sits in a chair across from her.

“How long have they been looking for you?”

“About a week. Since they killed my mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rachel shrugs. “Just so you know, the guy I’m with, Dick, he’s a cop. And he’s not usually this weird.”

She laughs again, looking up long enough that Rachel can see her face.

“You remind him of someone he used to know.”

She shakes her head before changing the subject. “You’re Rachel, right? I’m assuming you can do something, otherwise, they wouldn’t be looking for you.”

“I can feel what other people are feeling. There’s something inside of me, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Rachel, you can learn to control it. It’s obvious you’re a good person.”

“I tried to read your emotions at the diner yesterday,” Rachel admits, “but you have a lot, and they were overlapping.”

“A lot has happened to me in the last few years. I don’t even know what I’m feeling all the time.”

“They’re clearer now. You’re sad and regretful,” Rachel says quietly.

“I don’t care that you’re looking, Rach. The more you use your powers, the better you’ll get at them. And you’re dead on.”

“Sometimes, when I touch people I can see some of their memories,” Rachel explains.

The girl in the sweatshirt smiles. “You don’t even know my name.”

“What’s your name?”

She extends her hand and answers, “Find out.”

Gotham City is cold in winter, and the freezing rain is not helping the temperature issue. Robin is fighting behind me, our backs touching as we take down the last of the numerous bad guys.

“Nice work,” Robin says as he smiles at me. “But you’re cold, stop touching me.”

“Oh? I am cold? Your Kevlar is practically frozen,” I respond sarcastically.

He pulls me into his side, pressing the button on his belt to turn on his cape heater.

The setting changes: a large door opens, and an umbrella is placed in a bin, destined to be forgotten.

“-left last night. He left you this.”

An envelope trades hands, and a name is written on it. The door is opened and closed, then running in the rain gives way to stressed packing and boarding a bus. The same envelope is unopened years later, a new scar appears on a forearm, the same backpack is stashed in a motel, and a sweatshirt is the most prized possession.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“It was you,” Rachel says, her eyes wide as her hand slips from yours.

“What was?” you ask.

“You’re the girl Dick left, the one he’s feeling so guilty and sad about.”

“He what?”

“He saw you in the diner and was reminded of a girl he used to know. He said they ‘did stuff together.’ You don’t look like that girl; you are that girl.”

“What did you see?” you ask, confused about how exactly her powers work.

“I see some of the most important things in your life. I saw you fighting with Robin and then learning that someone left. You’ve been on the run since then, haven’t you? And the sweatshirt means something.”

“What do you know about Robin?”

“I know who he is. I know what he went through. I think you two should talk.”

A noise outside causes you to stand suddenly. “Stay here.”

You walk out, seeing Dick holding his gun as he moves toward a window. You move to the other side of the room, by another door, and stand against the wall as the door is kicked open. A hand holding a gun comes inside; you grab the wrist and slam it down against your knee. The gun hits the floor and slides away. The man raises both hands to your shoulders, pushing you backward and into the wall. You form a fist and slam it up into his chin, his head snapping back as his grip on you loosens. While you fight him, Dick takes on a second man who enters the house.

Dick moves behind the door, grabbing the man’s shirt collar and flipping him to the floor. He attempts to get information from him but comes up empty. Slamming his fist to his nose repeatedly, Dick doesn’t stop until the man loses consciousness. He looks over and sees the girl in the sweatshirt standing from the floor, wiping blood from her nose.

“That was impressive. You two could be partners,” Rachel says as she walks in, smirking as she looks over at you.

Dick opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, telling them, “You two should get out of here while you still can.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rachel says, crossing her arms. “Not until you two talk.”

“About what?” Dick asks.

“Rachel,” you warn.

“She’s right. We do need to get going.”

“Show him.”

“Either we need to leave, or I need more information,” Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A phone rings in the back room, and you walk away to answer it, releasing a breath as you realize it was Kelsey.

“What was that about?” Dick whispers.

“You two have to talk before you never get a chance again,” Rachel says.

“Someone broke into your house and assaulted several officers,” you say as you return, “the police are calling a nationwide manhunt for you, Rachel.”

“I am not leaving without you,” she says, stepping toward you and grabbing your hand. 

Her eyes fall to the sleeve before she glances up at you and pushes the sleeve up. You push it back down quickly and look away from her.

“I can’t go with you,” you say sadly, shaking your head.

“You can if you want to,” Dick offers, “you’ve been a huge help.”

You look toward Rachel, who only nods as she squeezes your hand.

“Just tell him,” Rachel whispers.

You take a deep breath before you look up and pull your hood down. “Hi, Dickie.”

Dick’s eyes widen as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“Rachel said I remind you of someone,” you say. “I thought-“

Dick cuts you off by rushing forward and hugging you tightly. You return the hug, gripping him tightly and burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I left,” Dick whispers.

“It’s okay.”

“Tell him everything else,” Rachel encourages from beside you.

You squeeze Dick one more time before pulling back and saying, “I left Gotham City after you did. Alfred gave me the letter and I just ran. I’ve been in a bunch of small cities since then, but nowhere as long as here. I saved Dan’s daughter from some kidnappers and just stayed for some reason.”

“Alfred said he didn’t know where you went after Benton,” Dick says.

“I cut my tracker out in Benton,” you explain, pulling your sleeve up and exposing the scar.

He reaches forward and gently runs his fingers up the scar. “Tracker?”

“Right. Bruce told me he sedated you when he gave you yours, something about you being too excited about being in the bat cave.”

“He put a tracker in me?”

“He put trackers in all of us.”

The phone rings twice before silencing. “That’s our cue to leave,” you say.

Columbus, Ohio – 1 Week Later

“How’s your arm?” you ask as you enter the room.

“Healing quickly,” Dick answers, smiling as he looks up at you from the hotel bed.

“Looks good,” you say, gently holding his arm, “yours probably won’t scar.”

“Pizza’s here,” Rachel calls as someone knocks on the door.

Dick answers the door and gets the pizza while you and Rachel get drinks from the mini-fridge. You all sit on the small couch as you eat, and you can’t help but think of old times. The following morning, you, Dick, and Rachel load into Dick’s car and drive toward Covington. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Rachel asks as we wait in the car while Dick goes into a police station. 

“Tell him what?’

“That you still love him.”

“I-“

“I can feel it. I could feel it when he was Robin and when you found out he left, in the safe house, and right now.”

“I don’t know, Rach.”

Dick sighs as he gets back in the car. “I got the description of the woman who broke into the crime scene.”

“Where to now?” you ask.

“Arcade. 5 miles north,” Rachel answers.

You laugh lightly as you shrug at Dick.

“An hour,” Dick says as he puts the car in gear.

“And a half,” you and Rachel correct together.

You give her some cash before you and Dick find a seat where you can see the entire arcade.

“You’re good with her,” you say as you steal a fry from his plate.

He playfully swats your hand away before moving his plate closer. “So are you,” he agrees.

You watch Rachel for a moment before looking down at your sweatshirt sleeve.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, his hand landing on your arm.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, still looking down. “This sweatshirt is the only connection I’ve had to you for the last four years.”

“What?”

You extend your arm toward him, watching his face as he grabs your wrist and looks at the sleeve, his initials and a small Robin messily embroidered on it. 

“You kept it?” he asks.

“Of course, I did.”

“Mine’s in the trunk of my car,” he admits, smiling as he looks back up at you.

“Really?”

“You think that I’d leave it after all the hard work we put into them? I couldn’t leave it behind; it felt like leaving you behind. I tried to call you.”

“I left my phone; didn’t want Bruce to come after me.”

“Why does Rachel keep telling you to talk to me?”

You laugh before answering, “There’s something I haven’t told you and she wants me to.”

“What?”

“That I’m in love with you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

Dick is silent as he stares at you, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said any-“

Dick pulls your wrist gently, slamming his lips to yours. His other hand raises and wraps around the base of your neck, pulling you closer. You move your hands to his waist, pulling yourself closer to him as you kiss him like he’s your source of life.

“I take it you told him,” Rachel says, suddenly standing on the other side of the table.

Dick pulls back, smiling at you before saying, “Shut up, Rachel.”

“I’m out of money.”

Dick pulls a fifty from his wallet, handing it to her and smiling in gratitude as she walks away. She nods and returns the smile.

“I love you,” Dick says.

“I love you,” you respond, stealing another one of his fries.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I wanted to find you but had no idea where to look.”

“Rachel was right. We could be partners. Again.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Grayson,” you smile before kissing him again.

“You didn’t read the letter did you?”

“I couldn’t,” you admit, shaking your head, “hurt too much. Why?”

“I wrote it to tell you I loved you. I wanted to take you with me but was scared.”

“I guess I should read it then, because I love you, too, Dickie.”

You and Dick watch as Rachel walks toward you, a tall woman with bright Magenta hair on one side and a green-haired boy on her other side. 

When they reach the table, Rachel says, “This is Kory and Gar. They have some interesting stories.”

“This feels familiar,” you mutter to Dick as you stand up.

“I’m gonna need a bigger car,” Dick says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fic #titans!dick grayson #dc titans #fem!reader

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

Let me tell you about my Saab III

Let me tell you about my Saab. I was turning over moon rocks, the wreck of Moonbase 4 still sending plumes of black smoke up into the atmosphere, the orbital flares glowing red to indicate to the shuttles that containment had been breached and that the cleansing fires of the Nuclear Protection Network ought to soon be rained down mercifully upon the surviving population for the good of us all. I was alone with just my thoughts and a fully charged plasma carbine when into my field of vision hopped a moon creature. Not just any moon creature. Half Time Slim, the trickiest moon rat this side of the Sea of Tranquility. Slim was a piece of work. A real fuck. A tricky fucking piece of shit, was Half Time Slim. You couldn't talk to Half Time Slim without leaving the conversation a hundred bucks lighter. You couldn't enter a deal with him without the point of a knife cuddling up to your windpipe. You couldn't think about the guy without tossing and turning in your bed. The very last thing I wanted sliding in front of my space helmet from stage right was Half Time Slim. But here he was.

"You've had your eyes on my Saab for a while, human," he croaked. This was an understatement. He'd seen me tenderly massaging chrome oil into its paintwork while it was parked outside the former Moonbase 4's former tavern and nearly killed me over it. He knew I'd do anything for it. Not to have it, just to care for it. I'd do anything it needed. I was putty in its angular silver chassis. But time wasn't on my side.

"In a hurry, Slim," I told him, dropping the moon rock I was holding and sliding its Helium-4 crystals into my saddlebag. "No time to talk chariots." He shook his head smugly. "You'll never make it to the perimeter on foot now, human," he said. I looked up. I couldn't see the shuttles on account of the smoke but with sudden grim clarity I realised he was probably right. I'd scavenged too long. There might be only half an hour until every unprotected molecule in the AtmoDome was incinerated. There might be less.

"So what's the play, Slim?" I asked. "This isn't a donation, is it?" He laughed a horrible gluggy little wet laugh, like a chunk of gristle being sucked down a drain. "You want my Saab," he said, "and I want a keycard for the anti-atmosphere turret to keep the shuttles off long enough for some associates of mine to prise open the Moonbase 4 bunker." I gasped. What he was talking about was mass murder. The anti-atmosphere turrets would bring down the unsuspecting NPN shuttles with no resistance. It would take six hours for the gunships in high orbit to arrive on the scene - all the time in the world for Slim's goons to break in and lay waste to the Earth Federation diplomats cowering in the bunker.

"Tell me why I shouldn't ventilate you now," I snapped, pointing my plasma carbine at him. He laughed again.

"Because I own the only Saab on the moon, and you'll never have it," he croaked. He knew my weakness.

"Take me to it," I said. He led me to a squat hangar in the shadow of the flight tower and there it was: silver, angular, perfect. The car of my dreams. Overhead a sexy mutant model on a holobillboard nodded encouragingly as I reached for my wallet. I tossed him the keycard and hopped behind the wheel. "The very best of luck to you, Slim," I said, roaring out of the hangar towards the interbase highway. As I hit the tarmac I floored it. I'd given him the wrong keycard, and he probably suspected it, and he was probably scanning it right now and as soon as he did he'd be after me. He probably EXPECTED me to give him the wrong keycard. He probably never intended to really part with his Saab. Up ahead the tunnel under the crater lip loomed, and I swerved off onto unsealed moondust. If I was him the tunnel's where I'd plant my goons to recover the Saab and kill the driver. I gunned it up the steep incline. At the top I wrenched the handbrake and looked back. A line of hoverbikes raced up the interbase, but it was impossible to say whether they were Slim's. Then I caught the yellow spark of a missile erupting from the barrel of a pocket launcher. Guess it wasn't impossible.

Overhead, three huge pod-shaped shuttles were slowly swiveling into formation, spacing evenly to extract maximum efficiency from their nuclear payload. Ten minutes, optimistically. And now I had a missile to I'd need to outmanoeuvre. I revved the engine and screeched out over the lip of the crater, only to find a cliff instead of a slope.

Slowly, gracefully, my Saab drifted down 40, 50, 60 metres onto the floor of the crater. I braced myself for impact. When it came it wasn't pretty. My head smashed onto the fine black leather of the steering wheel. Blood cascaded into my eyes and onto the gorgeous black plastic cupholder. I saw stars. I saw flames. I scrambled to undo the seatbelt, then realised the flames weren't from my Saab. Ahead, the missile had exploded harmlessly on moon rocks. With an aching head I turned the ignition and drove. I joined back up with the interbase. Behind me, the hoverbikes swung into view. I swung my carbine out the window and squeezed off a few rounds. One of the goons exploded into green goop. I was reminded of a tender memory from my childhood. My mother calmly helping my brother and I tuck our legs up into a small oxygen vest compartment and closing the doors with a sweet smile. The moment before they clicked together I saw a sliver of her profile turn a beautiful bottle green as a bandit's plasma round struck her. Then she was gone. Up ahead the moondust churned on either side of the highway as a gyrocopter landed. Well, shit. It was Half Time Slim.

"Out of the car, pal," he ordered through a megaphone. Not an option. The edge of the AtmoDome was still a five minute drive away. An unbearable slog on foot through the moondust.

"Forget it, Slim," I yelled back. "I know you'll never goop the car." I revved the engine.

"I'm giving you a chance," Slim called. "There's a kill switch. I could have ejected you long ago. But you have something I need." It was a good story, but I wasn't in the market for good. I needed perfect. "And what is that, Slim?" I shouted back. He paused for a moment, and I realised. I was all he had. Like me he'd left his plan too late. He'd counted on sitting out the coming atomic firestorm in the bunker, and he thought he had time enough for me to betray our deal. But he'd miscalculated. Now he needed a ride out of here.

"Moon rats don't get evac clearance, human," he shouted over the noise of his copter. "Let me in and we'll call it even." I didn't even think about it. Help a fellow creature escape vaporization? That was one thing. But help one who'd shank me and toss my body out onto the highway the second we were clear of the AtmoDome perimeter, all for payback and a little memento of Swedish auto engineering? No deal. I floored it. He hit the kill switch and my body was sucked upwards to the sunroof but I'd already lashed one hand to the wheel with a jumper lead. With my free hand I reached down and leaned on the gas. The car jumped forward. A minute later the vacuum closed up and I slumped back into the seat. A kilometre to the edge. Slim's copter was right overhead, but the ceiling was getting lower with every passing second. Then he was zooming ahead, landing the thing right in front of the perimeter gate, climbing out hands raised imploringly, except there was a grenade in one of them but I was already in moondust, swerving around him, through the automatic gates with his face a mask of insane rage as the rolling cloud of dust smashed him into the AtmoDome force field. A second later I was wincing and cowering as the blast from the simultaneous nuke drop, brighter than the sun, smashed and roiled against the inside of the dome. Not a lick of heat escaped. That's how I got my Saab.

#story time #Let me tell you about my Saab

[princessofgayskull]

in celebration of one year of she-ra season 5 and canon catradora, here’s the first scene of cruel summer (upper west side: part III)

Hazing Arizona, June 1995

Rain was rare this time of year.

Rarer were the types of thunderstorms that brought enough rain to flood the roads that evening, tearing up the night sky with flashes of white that illuminated a mass of thick, gray clouds indomitable above stretches of desert. On that night, there was rhythm to the relief the rain bought; a challenge to the usual beat of the kind of summer that left every inhabitant of the town high and dry. Yet despite the barrage of thunder and lightning and fleeting downpour, it was the sort of storm that promised to be gone by morning having left no evidence of its waning threat of destruction.

But in the room marked by dark shadows and a haze of smoke, the night was still young and the rain was just another variable that needed to be waited out.

Static from that evening’s rare desert thunderstorm had followed the blurred lines that were the occupants of the room, blurring the nameless, faceless people into indistinguishable shadows. The static powered the most holy of objects beyond its wear and tear: a police radio that sat, scuffed, at the center of the poker table- the center of room, the center of everything. The static rippled through the crowded den causing the languid yellow of the light bulbs to stutter and flicker. Like traveling through a circuit, the static connected everyone waiting around the poker table and kept them suspended in a kind of twisted, suspended anticipation.

Crackling, the radio woke, as if to cement the apprehension; it wasn’t just the lingering smoke that had everyone holding their breath.

“Officer Johnson, what’s your 10-20?”

Someone- it wasn’t known who- flinched at the sound. Another curled their fingers into a fist, but this smallest of actions went unsent. A quick flick! of a throwing knife tossed into the static only to be caught by the handle again disturbed the no one’s concentration. Again the radio crackled before an immense strike of thunder deafened the sound of another officer’s reply to the first. When the thunder subsided and the radio fell silent, someone coughed. No longer could the sound of dripping from the crack in the ceiling be detectable beyond the static.

Sitting at the table, in the center of the static, was a shadow more myth than man. His figure, less opaque than the ones of his companions that evening, a testament to his winning streak in a line of waiting games. In dry and calloused fingers, the man- known by the moniker Hordak around this dry and calloused area- he twisted a set of dice, pushing them under his thumb, shifting the surface area under his fingers. He would roll the dice eventually, he always did- but not yet. Not now. Tonight, Hordak was once again gambling stakes in a game of waiting. The die stayed in his grip.

What was happening here hours before the storm was easy to assume for the room’s newest member: stacks of red and black poker chips washed out in the flicker yellow light punctuated sets of overturned playing cards on the carpeted green of the table that had become the graveyard of this unfinished game. A wad of cash, a golden watch washed out in the dim light, and a half-empty carton of Menthols sat next to the winning hand of the round. It was the Menthols next to him that Hordak reached out for then with his free hand; in his other, the dice clacked, pulled apart by two fingers only to be crushed under the force of his grip once more.

Hordak unveiled a lighter- it’s not known from where- and brought it to the cigarette teetering between his lips, the smoke he exhaled cutting straight in the direction of the shadow that sat opposite from him. The smoke cut her form as it traveled through the room’s small expanse, defined the wrinkles of her face, the taut line she kept her lips pressed into. Whispers between cautious onlookers of the scene had called her by the name Mrs. Weaver. This woman had her arms folded across her chest, her fingers almost white from pressing into her sleeves, and she held her gaze level with Hordak’s, eyes narrowing as he continued to smoke through the silence.

The police scanner had been silent for a while now. Ten minutes? Twenty? Maybe an hour and a half, or a whole latent hour. Time here was as trapped as the shadows in the smoke and static. No one idling around the poker table could say how long it had been since the static brought the radio to life, only that the sound of rain had long past faded. The anticipation, much like a lung expanding as it took in new air to hold, had grown in droves- but still, no exhale. 

“This really going down tonight, boss?” Another woman, one with the form of a body guard and the throwing knife of a bagman, who’s undefined shadow took up the length of the door frame, cut through the static by asking. 

Hordak inhaled, blowing out smoke in response. 

“Patience,” the die in his hands clacked softly, “Good things come to those who wait.”

A phrase like this- one malleable, assured- was uncommon from the sullen, hot tempered man the room’s occupants called their boss. There was a practiced strain to his voice that was borderline unnerving. No one here was the sharpest tool in the shed, their presence in the house was an example of that, but even the dullest among them knew challenging Hordak at the head of his kingdom was the same as having a death wish.

“And how long have we been waiting for?” asked the woman sitting in the direct line of Hordak’s smoke. In this light, her face took on a sickly grey wash that was almost inhuman. The way her fingers curled deeper into the muscle of her arm was just another unseen, short lived gesture of animosity that became lost in the static.

Hordak did not reward her shrewdness with an answer- but his grip on the dice grew tighter nonetheless.

The stub of a dying ember was what remained of Hordak’s cigarette when the radio came back to life, cutting the tight tension in the room in half with just a few words. 

“-is Johnson,” a rumble of static and then, “We got a Code 963 at the corner of Alwyn and Teela. Multiple fatalities, car was totaled and on fire when I responded-” another rumble, this one quieter, “-don’t see any other vehicles in sight. Requesting backup, over.”

“10-4-” The static washed over the voice on the other end before the responding officer could finish. Just as quickly as it had sputtered awake did the radio collapse back into silence. The silence that enveloped the room now crawled up the limbs of its inhabitants, keeping them frozen in place and from making any sudden moves as they waited for the dyad of forces at the table to make theirs. 

“There,” growled Hordak, smashing the bud of his cigarette between his finger and his thumb, “Is that all you ask for?”

A light flickered. Another swish! of the knife lacerating the air to come back to the clutch of the bodyguard in the doorway. The woman’s chair scraped the floor, but she made no move to leave it and walk out of the room, her new prize now safe and secure. 

“I expect her to be delivered to me by the end of the week, as per our arrangement.” Oh, and how bold was this woman to tempt her fate further by pushing through the fumes and poking Hordak’s scalding anger. Another low growl, dripping with indignation, escaped his lip as her last warning.

This woman had, afterall, been desperate enough for his help in the past. Whatever importance their symbiotic deals of the past carried- Mrs. Weaver was not in any position to bargain. Now her foolishness was rearing its ugly head as she was brash enough to come to him again. Who was she to make additional demands in the light of the staggering cost of her bounty?

Hordak’s knuckles turned an unnatural white, the die protesting under the pressure of his ever closing fist. Even through the haze he caught the gleam of familiar pride that flickered in this woman’s eyes- the pride of beating an unworthy, unchallenging opponent- and he knew that he would not have it. But just as his own chair scrapped the floor and Hordak moved to put her in her place lest she forget to mind her tongue in the future, to show her her place, the bodyguard caught her knife midair again.

“What about the other one?” the bodyguard dared to prod, “Weren’t there two, or am I missing somethin’?”

Right. The job that had brought them all to this table tonight. One woman’s foolishness wasn’t reason enough to derail the objective when it could be easily taken care of after the storm had passed. 

As if to answer his bagman, Hordak peeled back the fingers of his right hand one by one until the set of dice sat squarely in his palm. His bagman gave him a nod, shifting the entirety of her weight so that she was now standing in the room and not just on the precipice of it. Hordak didn’t bother to put the die down as he knocked the Menthol’s in the bodyguard’s direction. The carton spun for a brief moment before a flash of yellow and silver plastic broke from the paper confines. 

Folding up her throwing knife, the bodyguard stepped forward and grabbed the packet of cigarettes.

“The supplies are where you left them earlier. Your only issue should be waiting out the rest of this rain. Our…” Hordak’s eyes narrowed in the direction of his table’s guest, “informant shall meet you there in time.”

“Hmm, can’t wait to finally meet this chick,” the bodyguard muttered under her breath as she turned on her heel back towards the door frame her shadow inhabited only moments earlier, the cigarette carton pocketed without an afterthought.

“You are not to be followed. Understood?” It was the last instruction Hordak left her with.

“Pfft. Never am, boss.”

With that, her form blended back into obscurity. The sound of her footsteps as they echoed off the old wooden floors and the creak of the door opening and shutting was the only indication the bagman had been in the house that night at all. But even those imprints would fade and become subliminal with time.

The bodyguard now a forgotten, out of place memory, Hordak and his guest found themselves alone against a background of insignificant insurgents. Neither made a move to speak. Neither thought it smart to back down in the face of this tension. Neither considered themselves humble enough to lose- saving face be damned. Because neither Hordak nor Mrs. Weaver had pushed the thought of their previous, interrupted standoff out of their minds; whether this was the beginning of a new, separate dispute or a continuation of well established friction was just semantics. 

Both were teetering dangerously close to the edge of the boiling point- almost with wanton abandon for the chaos that would ensue. And no one, not a single trivial figure in the room on the night of that rare storm, wanted to be around when the years of tense civility bred between them erupted and took all of them with it.

Hordak’s jaw tensed as Mrs. Weaver waved the wafting smoke from her face. The corner of her lip upturned at the sight- the cinch in his brow, the tightening of his fingers around his precious die, the slight twitch of his shoulder, it brought Weaver a great satisfaction. His patience was bowing against the pressure, quivering like a string pulled to taut right on the verge of snapping. 

This. This was her favorite part of these evenings, the ones wasted away breathing in his exhaled chemicals and sitting in the stench of his decay. Watching the inferiority of her superior bleed him until he was dry; a fitting punishment considering the position he put her in. He had imprisoned her in this backwater town and shackled her to a deficit she’d long worked off, yet he thought himself the almighty conqueror when he was merely the host of this parasitic partnership they shared. He needed her- as a governess to his motherless, a secretary to his proprietaries- and so she intended to take him for all he was worth. Just like all the others.

She may have signed her name on the dotted line, but it was the devil who wrote the contract and handed her the pen all those years ago.

However, never being one to wait around in the name of watching her machinations sink in and take hold when her plans were at long last beginning to manifest, Mrs. Weaver forced her expression into one of boredom. Because she could wait. She could waste the last dredges of this rare, godforsaken thunderstorm for all she cared. But she knew- and revelled in the vindicating knowledge- that she didn’t have to.

She’d won, afterall, hadn’t she? A sad man playing king did not even fill his emptiness, and it wasn’t much for entertainment. They could play this little game of theirs when the sun came out.

Only when Mrs. Weaver lay her hands down to push herself away from the table, the sad king grunted his dissatisfaction and caught her eyes. Ever the sore loser, this little demonstration meant that Hordak was refusing to let her excuse herself from the game until he had won the round. Mrs. Weaver clenched her fist as his voice cut through the smoke. 

“You will repay this debt,” he spoke with a cold type of confidence, his voice low and his stare unwavering “Along with all of your others.” 

There was a quiet buzz, a flicker.

His words were a challenge she was just simply not strong enough to resist. Hordak’s grip around the die relaxed, his fingers flexing, as she stumbled headlong into his waiting trap. Ah, there it was. Her lips upturned in a scowl, her fist shaking at the very reminder of who was really in control. So she chose to forgo her mask of apathy in favor of salvaging her pride, wounded as it was. What a showing of her true cards; the woman’s bluff was embarrassing at best, just another pretender with an empty hand and too, too much to lose. 

“Repay you? It’s you who should be repaying me! It was my idea to stage Smith’s “accident” to get him off of your trail and destroy the evidence against you and- and your pretend little mob family!”

The die spilled from Hordak’s grip, hitting the green of the table as the last of her pathetic attempt to disarm him spilled from her mouth. He stood at once, his weight displacing the contents of the poker table, the toppling of chips a prelude to his fury.

“Enough!” Hordak shouted with a force that rivaled the earlier thunder. “You are not to continue testing me, woman. Everything you have is mine to give or take as I see fit, including the girl!”

A light bulb, somewhere in the background, buzzed. Flickered. Shorted out as the fuse finally blew out and left them in a half-lit smog.

Even in the dim glow, the sight of Mrs. Weaver deflating, returning to the size of her true ego, was reward enough. Hordak exhaled in the sound of her silence and savored it even so. Because she was so quick and careless to forget that she was under his thumb, indebted by her own choices and own doing, she thought herself of more consequence than what she really was- a pawn on his board and just as indispensable. It would be no waste to get rid of her with the snap of his fingers.

Had she really been so tactless to forget she meant nothing more to his plans than that of an exchangeable position? Hordak saw straight through her empty threats, no part of him amused or distraught by her excuses at a bluff. For he alone held the winning hands; he had the deck stacked in his favor, not hers. 

With the tension shattered beyond repair by their lightning-and-thunder exchange and bets off the table, it should’ve followed that Mrs. Weaver dug her knife in deeper and dug her grave further. The indistinct face should’ve prepared to turn their gaze away, to hide behind their drunkenness and let this woman reap what she’d sown- but her next verbal counterattack never came. Hordak had become a walking target for her wrath, yet remained unscathed. Unchallenged. 

Rather, Mrs. Weaver held her tongue- just like the sad king told himself he wanted. In the silence, the static resettled itself back in as if it’s presence had never been interrupted.

Her mask of apathy restored, Mrs. Weaver was calm as she stood up from the table, her voice steady as she said, “She will be brought to me by the end of the week. Then I will see about returning my other… debts.”

She hit the last word like it was nothing more than… than an amusing joke. And if this was really the game she and Hordak treated it as, then the gamble might’ve died there, the consequences never would’ve been.

No one saw Mrs. Weaver leave that night. It’s not that no one was looking- everyone’s bloodshot eyes followed her in her little performance against Hordak. She just didn’t walk out of the room, across the foyer, and through the front door, not that anyone would ever speak about that night again to say that’s what happened. Maybe it was the deep intoxication of the room full of witnesses. Maybe it was the haunting elixir of smoke and static- chalk it up to it’s mind numbing, memory warping effects.

Mrs. Weaver was there one moment. The next she was just another shadow cast by the remaining yellow light flickering throughout the room. A palpable, uncomfortable emptiness was left behind in her wake; the kind that couldn’t be stomached. It brought sweat to the skin and a shortness of breath, a sense of make it stop, make it fucking stop, fingers twisted up into the nearest surface and eyes pressed shut willing the nightmare away. But relief- please wake up, wake up, goddamnit!- it never came. And something in the tangible static promised it wasn’t going to any time soon.

At the center of his kingdom, Hordak now stood alone. Alone as his pride was humiliated. The muscles in his hand twitched, fingers reaching for a long gone carton of cigarettes and lighter he’d given just as freely. As simple as that, the man more than myth was losing his fragile hold on control. It was slipping, inch by inch as Mrs. Weaver’s words, trapped by the smoke in the room, echoed loud in his ears. The satisfying sensation so brutally ripped out from under him leaving him with no ground to stand on and nothing- no one- to fall back on.

Right before the static ripped through the radio for the last time, it could be seen: the most obvious elephant in the room. Hordak, for all of his sauntering, understood that he was reduced back to nothingness without that crucial hold of control.

“-Johnson again. I think what we’ve got here is some sorta hit-and-run situa-”

A roar erupting from his fuming, the nameless, faceless occupants of the room turned a blind eye as Hordak brought his fist down into the center of the police radio and did not see it die in a blowout of smoke. The machine sparked and hissed its final words, but those noises were long forgotten to those who heard. In the remnants of the destruction, no one saw the force of Hordak’s fist send the table’s contents flying every which way.

No one saw Hordak’s precious dice as they were separated and catapulted in two different, aimless directions. And to this day, not a single living soul that was there in the static and the smoke of the room on that night of that once in a blue moon thunderstorm, knows where the two dice landed. 

To Be Continued

#upper west side: cruel summer #uws:cs #upper west side #happy catradora day! #CW: smoking #cw: car accident #cw: gambling #cw: death #tonally this is very different but I can promise the rest of the fic won't be like this this is just the beginning!

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Hello! I’d like to request an imagine with Abby and a female reader, I was thinking something like they’re both on a mission and lose (not death) eachother because of how hectic everything is

(image reference by @cloudyreality​)

What a great idea for my first time writing angst! Thank you for your request  💌

This is a 3.7k fic in which the reader and other members of the Salt Lake Crew are called out on a rescue mission and things get chaotic.

Warnings: language, violence (against reader and others), mention of attempted sexual assault, death (no major character)

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A Close Call

You were ripped from your sleep by a firm hand shaking your shoulder. When you opened your eyes, Manny’s bearded face was inches from yours. It was still dark outside, the only light in the room creeping inside through the cracked door to the hallway.

“Get up, Y/N, we need you.”

You rose with a start, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and grabbing some clothes to put on.

“A mission? Right now? What’s going on?”

Manny filled up your water bottle and brought you another few supplies while you packed your bag.

“Scar attack during a patrol run. Owen just came back alone, Jordan and Leah are still out there. Jordan got hit, I don’t know how bad it is but we gotta get them out of there immediately.”

Quickly slipping on your boots and grabbing your jacket, you followed Manny out the door and to the garage.

Nora and Abby came in at the same time, carrying a metal box with medical supplies. Abby’s face was still pale from sleep but her eyes were alert and focused. Owen was standing at the back of a truck and marking the way to the others on a map of the city center. When he turned around, you flinched. He looked awful. His eyes were sunken in and there was no color in his face except for a dark purple bruise on his cheekbone. Yet, as he spoke, he sounded calm and collected, ready to get this mission done and bring everyone back safely.

“Alright, I left them at this bank here. The rain these last days has made the rivers downtown much more dangerous, I just tried to map out the best way with the Jeep but be prepared to continue on foot if needed. Jordan took an arrow to the hip and it somehow paralyzed his leg, we couldn’t get him out of there alone.

I need us to always stay together in a tight group, watch all possible hiding spaces for Scars, and get in the bank as fast as possible. Then, Nora has to try and patch him up as much as possible so we can take him back to the truck. Manny and I will carry him. I need you” - he looked at Abby and you - “and Leah to protect us and Nora on the way. Be as quiet as possible. Understood?”

You all agreed and Owen jumped in the driver’s seat while Manny sat next to him with the map to navigate. Abby lifted the metal trunk in the back of the truck and helped Nora up.

“You okay, Y/N? I can hear your teeth rattling from here.”

You tried a smile. “Thanks, Abby, I’m alright. Just cold and tired, I hope this works out as planned.”

She helped you up as well, then she jumped on and closed the tailgate, sitting down next to you and putting an arm around you to keep you warm. No one spoke, but as you leaned closer into Abby, Nora gave you a slight smile and a nod. You were going to be okay.

As expected, the flooding in the city was worse than usual, but at least the rain had stopped and the moon guided your way. You could already see the building Jordan and Leah were hopefully safe in at the moment when Owen suddenly stopped the car.

You stood up to see what was going on and swallowed hard as you saw the scene in front of you: rapids had formed in the river and were brutally ripping down plants and taking other objects with them. You had to get to the other side and, even more difficult, get back with the injured Jordan.

Everyone began moving silently down the stream, weapons drawn and forming a circle around Nora and her medical kit. When you finally found a more or less safe spot to cross, Owen and Manny went first, testing out the rocks and debris that had been wedged into each other to form a momentarily stable bridge over the rapids. Nora went next, silently jumping from step to step and keeping an impressive balance and smoothness to her movements. Abby covered you as you quickly crossed the stream and quickly followed your steps, placing her hand on the small of your back reassuringly as your team rebuilt its tight formation and started moving through the shadows towards the abandoned bank.

Owen led you to a side entrance he had covered with some wooden planks and the five of you quickly slipped inside. You were all on the lookout for infected but the place seemed clear, the rings of your flashlights illuminating the counters and smashed glass fronts, rotting bills of old money on the floor and finally the door to the back room where you could hear quiet voices.

Leah jumped up and drew her gun as Owen entered. A wave of relief washed over her face when she recognized Owen and Nora, the medic rushing to the injured man on the floor beside the dark-haired soldier.

“Oh thank god you’re here! I was so scared you didn’t make it to the base.”

Jordan was conscious but badly hit. An arrow was protruding from the top of his right leg right at the hip joint and a small pool of blood had formed on the floor underneath. Manny sat down next to Nora and helped her sort out her supplies. He loosened the makeshift bandage Leah had made out of some old fabric and tied around Jordan’s leg and hips. Nora was Isaac‘s best medic and she proved her reputation now. Completely calm and collected, she clipped off the arrow and started to strategically fasten bandages around Jordan‘s torso.

„I can’t take the arrowhead out here, it’s probably damaged some nerves, and pulling it out could make it worse. You need surgery back at the base. Can someone get me more fabric and something to make a splint?“

Leah quickly got some towels from a cupboard and started cutting it into stripes while Owen took his axe to some shelves and brought back a few long, slim pieces of wood.

You knelt down and helped stabilize the wounded wolf as Nora began fastening the wooden splints to Jordan‘s leg and hip, forcing him to stay completely straightened out so he wouldn’t fall or bend over and increase the damage to his hip.

Jordan would be carried upright, supported by Owen and Manny and using his healthy leg to move with them. A stretcher would make a bigger target and immobilize those who carried it; you were still in a war zone.

You helped Nora pack her things while the men got into position and Leah and Abby discussed the best defensive formation for the way back. Abby was going to go first and keep an eye out for any movements, then the three men, then Nora and Leah in case Jordan needed help, and finally you to watch your backs.

At the front door, you took a final breath and braced yourselves, then Abby gave the signal to move. The first steps went better than expected. You were moving fast, the only sound being Jordan’s quiet panting as he gave his last bit of strength to get back to the truck.

When you were almost at the crossover, you noticed something in a first-story window across the river. The woman clad in beige and brown saw you at the same moment. She pulled out an arrow from behind her head in one swift motion and cocked her crossbow just as you screamed „Get down!!! Ambush!“

Suddenly there was movement. You ducked and the arrow intended for your head soared over your shoulder so closely you could hear the feathers on it whispering in your ear.

Hooded figures emerged behind pillars and burned-out cars just as you pulled your gun and shot at the woman in the window. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, then her head tipped back and she vanished from sight.

There was no time for shock, you had to protect yourself and your team. Abby was fighting a large man with a giant hammer, but you could tell she would be fine. Jordan had slung his arms over Owen‘s shoulders from the back and held on so he would stay standing up while Owen had his hands free. He was shooting at Scars further away while Manny was dealing deadly blows to a younger man‘s head with a metal pipe. Leah was covering Nora with a shotgun and blasting away through the empty car windows. You stepped out from the shelter of the house front and scanned the other buildings for more archers, ignoring the screams of anger and pain around you. Protect the squad. Watch your backs.

The man Abby had fought was lying in a puddle of his own blood. She was further away from you now and fighting two younger scars at once. One of them slashed her arm with a knife and she howled out in rage. Your first instinct was to scream out her name but you stopped yourself. It would distract her and allow the scar couple to catch her off guard. She was furious, pulling two knives and lunging forward at her attackers. They stood no chance, red hot blood spilling from both their throats as they looked at each other with an expression that seemed surprised, but not scared. They staggered towards each other and fell to the ground, choking and wheezing before finally laying still.

Abby had already moved on to help Owen fight a man with an axe that had come dangerously close while he had to take a second to reload.

Suddenly a rush of panic made you whirl around and look up. An older man with a bow almost as tall as him was standing on a first-floor balcony, aiming directly at you. You pointed and shot exactly at the same time he let go of the arrow.

Too slow. You watched the arrow come towards you in slow motion, undeviating from its owner's last target. Your attempt to dodge the sharp silver dart came too late. The tip sank into your shoulder as you watched the man fall forward and hit the ground with a dull thump.

The others hadn’t noticed what had happened. Leah was fighting back to back with Manny, Nora was crouching behind her trunk and shooting at a woman running towards her, Owen was holding up Jordan behind a pillar and shooting at several scars still behind the cars and Abby was in another bloody fight with two men with a hammer and a knife.

Your shoulder didn’t hurt at all. It just felt like someone was pushing you back, trying to tip you over. Stumbling backward, you scanned the buildings trying to find other scars on higher ground before they could hurt your friends. A sense of calm waved over you. You had done your job, there were no other Seraphites hidden to attack from behind. The gun in your hand dropped to the ground, the metal clank strangely loud in front of the fighting noise.

As you fell backward, you could hear the rushing of water underneath you. The rapids were screaming at you, daring you to take up a fight with them and lose as so many others had before. The surface felt like a brick wall when you hit it, then the current pulled you under. The water was ice cold, thousands of needles pricking you at once and suddenly there it was. Agonizing pain. Your shoulder felt like a fire had been lit inside of it and it was burning your lungs from the inside, eating you up and leaving no room for anything else. You let out a terrified scream that was swallowed by the water around you.

You needed to get to the surface. Breathe in air before your lungs could fill with water. You kicked and thrashed about, trying to find your way back up without moving your wounded arm. Finally, you burst through and gasped for air, your functioning hand desperately grabbing on to plants and scraps of metal at the water’s edge. How far had the water carried you already? Were the others ever going to find you?

You managed to hold on to a branch and pull yourself onto the riverbank, the water relentlessly continuing to pull and tear at your feet. Your teeth were chattering and you couldn’t feel your hands and feet, breathing becoming the hardest task this day had given you.

„It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re just going into shock, it’s okay, they’ll find you, just breathe,“ you kept whispering to yourself as you lay on your back and closed your eyes.

You could hear shots echoing from the walls of the buildings and screaming; they couldn’t be far. After a last, deafening shot, there was silence. Owen was talking, he sounded exhausted but okay. Apparently, no one had gotten badly hurt. Suddenly you could hear Abby screaming.

„Y/N?! Y/N!!! Where are you?!“

You had never heard her this distraught before. Her voice was cracking and her yelling was high-pitched and panicked. Now everyone was screaming your name and running around. You tried to take a deep breath and answer but only produced a gurgling sound.

„Y/N?! Fuck, check if she was pulled behind one of the cars or into the building. Did these pendejos take her?“ That was Manny. He was close.

„Abby, come here! Her gun!“

Someone was running. Metal scraping over concrete. „Y/N!!! Are you down there? Fuck, you think she fell in? The rapids, oh god-“

It sounded like Abby was close to crying now, screaming and pleading your name as she ran along the river.

„She’s not in here, I checked.“ That was Leah. „Shit, did she fall in the stream?“

„I don’t know, her gun was next to it. Fuck, fuck, fuck, please let her be okay. Do you guys see anything in the water?“ The usually so collected and strong soldier sounded absolutely terrified.

You tried to answer again. It was only a whisper, but you kept going.

„Abby, I’m here. Please come. Abby.“

Your whisper became a mumble, your raspy voice refusing to work with you, but you concentrated and tried again.

The steps were close. You took a deep breath. „Abby.“

„Y/N?!“

A blonde-haired head peeked over the broken off concrete over your head. Abby looked horrible, tears leaving white streaks in a mixture of blood and dirt on her pale skin, her lip cut open and bleeding and strands of hair sticking to the drying blood on her face and neck. When she saw you however, her face lit up and she screamed out „She’s here! Come quick!“

With a single jump she was next to you, pulling your upper body onto her knees and lifting your head so you could breathe better. Manny and Nora were there in a heartbeat. The dark-skinned woman pressed a hand to your shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

„Another arrow? Jesus Christ. Y/N, listen to me, you’re gonna be fine. I’m going to get that thing out of you as soon as we’re back at the stadium. I'll patch you up a bit now, but we really need to get moving."

„That’s okay,“ you whispered. „I’m just so cold.“

Abby immediately took off her jacket. Nora stopped her.

„Wait, let’s get that wet jacket off first. We’re gonna have to cut her out of her clothes anyway.“

She grabbed a knife and quickly freed you from your soaked, ice-cold army jacket, then she cut off the long arrow a few inches from the entrance wound. The medic was quick to press some bandages around the wound and form a sling out of strips of fabric to fixate your arm to your chest. When she was done, Manny helped prop you up and wrap you into Abby‘s jacket. It was coated in blood, but still warm and most importantly, it was dry.

„Everything okay down there? How long until we can move?“ Owen yelled.

Nora closed her metal case. „We’re done for now. You can start moving Jordan to the crossover, we’ll be right with you!“

Abby gently pushed her arms under your body and pulled you towards her. You wrapped your healthy arm around her neck and she followed Manny and Nora back up to the others.

„I thought I’d lost you.“ Her voice was quiet, her eyes still alarmed and scanning the perimeter. You sank your head against her chest and found comfort in her warmth.

„I know, me too. I thought I’d drown.“

The blonde inhaled sharply and held you tighter, not able to look you in the eye.

„I should have paid more attention to you and protected you. I'm so sorry.“

Before you could reply, you had reached the stepping stones through the water. Leah, Owen and Manny were helping each other carry Jordan over to the other side, deeply focused but still on edge for any possible attackers. Nora was next, pressing her medical kit to her chest and hopping from one safe step to another in concentration. You and Abby went last. She carried you like it was nothing, never losing her balance in the slightest while Manny and Leah were watching the area attentively with their guns drawn.

When you finally got to the Jeep, the others made a bed of blankets in the back for Jordan and you. Leah sat cross-legged with her boyfriend's head in her lap and Abby lifted you up on the platform next to him. She climbed up and pulled you close to her again while the others got on, still on guard. Owen and Manny jumped in the front and Owen hit the gas.

He was driving as fast as possible without throwing you two around in the back. Nora was already preparing Jordan for surgery, he would be the first in the operating room. Manny tried to radio the stadium entrance so they would get everything ready for your arrival but had had no luck so far.

Abby was rocking back and forth slightly, softly caressing your hair and face with her rough, bloody fingers. The terror in her eyes still hadn’t subsided, she was staring through you and chewing on her bottom lip.

„Abby.“ It took all your strength to form the words that were fighting to get out. „This wasn’t your fault. We all did the best we could. It’ll be okay.“

She flinched and looked up, letting her eyes wander over the buildings around you.

„I should have watched your back. I didn’t even see you fall.“

Her eyes were glinting, tears dangerously close to following the paths that had been carved out for them earlier. You put your healthy hand over the soldier's and were surprised to find she was shaking.

„Listen to me, Abigail. I don’t blame you for any of this. If you need my forgiveness, you have it. I know you did all you could. Will you please forgive yourself, too?“

Her mouth became a harsh line as she wiped away the tears with the wrist of her free hand. She turned her head and raised a hand, probably to greet the wolves at the entrance to the base. You knew you wouldn’t get anything else out of her.

Abby had this habit of making everything her problem, her responsibility, or, in the worst case, her fault. It had been that way when those men from the outpost had followed you one night after drinking too much a year ago. You had watched a movie with Abby and Manny in their room and walked back to yours when the hunters emerged from the cafeteria. They had come on to you from the back and tried to hold you down but they didn’t know you and weren’t expecting you to be a trained fighter. You brought them up to speed in less than a minute and they were out cold long enough for you to get Isaac, Abby, and a few other soldiers to be there when they woke up. Isaac had them thrown in his prison wing and you hadn’t seen them since. He probably tested out some tactical ideas on them and you didn’t mind one bit.

Abby however had been inconsolable. She didn’t speak for a week after, infuriated with herself and convinced the attack was her fault as she should have walked you back to your room and watched your back. You had tried to get her to calm down and let it go for weeks, telling her over and over that nothing had happened and you could take care of yourself. She had probably never really gotten over it, even though she had slowly become her normal self again.

This had to be a hundred times worse. You had actually gotten hurt today, and none of it was Abby’s fault but you knew there was nothing you could say. So you just held her hand and pressed yourself closer to her body, closing your eyes and waiting to arrive at the medical tract.

Luckily people were already waiting for you, instantly carrying Jordan inside on a stretcher and offering you one, too. Abby just told them to get out of her way as she carried you in the second operating room and laid you down on the cold table.

“I’ll stay right here all the way through, I’m not leaving. You just keep breathing.”

The pain and disappointment in her flat voice were heartbreaking. You squeezed her hand and nodded. “Thank you, Abby. I’ll give my best.”

When the medics came in to get you prepped for surgery and put you under a light anesthetic, you were almost asleep anyway. Abby cleared the space for them but stayed in the corner of the room like a statue, grinding her teeth in thought as she stared at the table beneath you.

You knew you had to make this right somehow, you couldn’t let Abby beat herself up over this forever. As you drifted into a sedated sleep, you promised yourself to spend every day at Abby’s side until she was laughing again. This woman was everything to you and you would show her. You would love her so much she had to finally forgive herself and let go of all the regret to make way for better things.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #the last of us 2 #abby tlou #abby simp society #abby anderson fic #abigail anderson #angst

[mego42]

fav lines tag

RULES: share your favorite sentence/paragraph from each one of your fics and tag 6 other fic writers to do it too :)

tagged by the talented brilliant incredible @foxmagpie (💖)

tagging: @pynkhues @hypermania @bethsuglywigs @riosnecktattoo @missmaxime @sothischickshe @joeyjoeylee

some ground rules: I’m only doing brio fic bc at some point when I wasn’t paying attention I wrote a metric fuckton of it and we’re already gonna be here all day bc my other ground rule is I’m allowed to interpret the concept of a line however i want. i’m also gonna tell you why i picked them bc no one can stop me. cool? cool. good talk. 

your monster looks like mine

okay so my first choice for fav would be the entire ~conversation around whether or not beth had a choice when she set rio up bc oooof I just love how that came out so! much! BUT if I’m limiting myself to something closer to a line, I’m going with this one. i love what it establishes for rio’s emotional state when it comes to beth, i love how it captures their push/pull constant one upping battle, I love the rhythm of the flow of it and the grandiose verbiage (i was having a frankly unreasonable amount of fun with natural phenomena imagery throughout the whole fic and this captures a bit of it). idk I just think it’s neat.

The words rip through him, a bright, blazing comet trail whipped across his sky, illuminatin’ his landscape, impossible to ignore.

Elizabeth’s spread out on the bed below him, golden hair tumblin’ around her face, mouth red and swollen, lookin’ up at him like she’s got him. Like she’s figured some shit out. Like she fuckin’ did something by putting that together.

Like Rio doesn’t fuckin’ know. Like that doesn’t fuckin’ haunt him, torment him, mock him every time she pulls some of her bullshit and he’s left picking up the pieces, knowin’ damn well what the right answer is but also knowin’ he’s always gonna be wrong when it comes to her.

--

a song inside the halls of the dark

another one where I’d pick a whole scene if I could BUT if  the whole opening flashback isn’t on the table (idk I love it for 14,000 reasons including how it sets up the bookend structure for the chapter, how it sets up a bunch of the final payoffs, the tone of it, idk everything about it came out exactly how I wanted it to and I really love how it tees up the ending), then I’m going with this bit from the final brio scene. it ties back in a whole bunch of threads that have been woven in and out all the way back to the first chapter and closes them out in a way that also feels (to me) like a beginning which I love bc the whole theme of the chapter is it’s a beginning, not the end.

What does it mean then, that he’s slept so soundly beside her?

The playhouse glows softly. She wonders how many more times she can get away with sanding it before it weakens past the point of supporting the kids’ weight and the whole thing collapses.

Behind it, she can see the long shadow it casts reaching for the boxwoods bordering the yard. The lines of the structure frame windows of bright moonlight on the grass, eerily reminiscent of the windows that loomed large in the nightmares Beth abruptly realizes she hasn’t had in weeks. Not since that last night at Rio’s loft. And that’d been the last one since...his car. Canada. The night all of this started.

Beth blinks. What does it mean that she’s slept so soundly beside him?

A-live, alive, alive, I—

Her breath catches.

—

pills’n’potions

I don’t have any grand reasoning for why I picked this bit from the 4th (i think?) ~ch as my fav, I just really like writing annie and rio interacting and I especially love writing them with annie like, intellectually aware that she should probably be afraid of him but also spiritually incapable of not being herself and rio being wildly annoyed by it

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

[...]

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

—

trade my heart for honey

the only thing sexier than rio being good at pool is beth being a fucking shark and rio being out of control turned on by it.

Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.

It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table.

Every stripe remains in play.

"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over.

—

swaying evergreens

the whole theme of this fic is the terrifying intimacy and vulnerability of sharing your most precious moments and memories with someone you care about and I like how this touches on that along with sort of nutshelling the double edged sword of grief-tinted memory which is another major theme

There's somethin' extra about these unguarded moments. That Elizabeth trusts Rio enough to drop her guard completely and give him this completely unvarnished look at her. It's been over a year since he's been back in her bed, since the first time he'd slept here, but there's still somethin' tentative about it. Like there's a part of him that's never going to be all the way over the first time he'd been here, that can't fully believe how far they've come, that this isn't going to crumble, melt, drain away.

Truthfully, Rio doesn't mind it, that faint edge. He's well acquainted with the different flavors of loss, and the threat of it's a counterpoint that keeps him sharp. Lets him know this is real but not somethin' he'll take for granted.

—

swear on a silver knife

there were a couple of sexy tension bits that made for strong contenders but ultimately this won bc I’m obsessed with how this reference to 306 came out.

“I told you. I got my own debts to pay.” He bit off the words like it cost him something to repeat them.

Beth shivered, abruptly right back at that picnic table, cheeks wet and staring at him, searching for any hint of the man she’d—she’d—anyone besides the cold, unfeeling stranger sitting beside her, blood so fresh on his hands she could nearly smell it underneath the scent of the cold, misty night rain falling around them, blurring her eyes, beading in her hair and on his eyelashes.

—

listening through the air shaft

this was a really hard one to narrow down but I ultimately went with this but bc I love it for a culminating look at how beth and rio’s relationship has evolved throughout the fic and also bc a version of this scene was the first thing I wrote for the whole fic so it was fun to finally get there with everything in place behind it. I also just love it as a reference for the dichotomy of both beth and rio and also how complicated that is makes being around them for everyone else

They aren't even doing anything, just quietly working side by side, but there's a synchronicity to their movements, a quiet peace that makes Dean feel more like an intruder than anything else that's happened today, and he hates it.

It’s so far from the guy that’d broken into his home, beaten him up. Who’d looked at him with those terrifying, blank, shark eyes before casually shooting him in the chest like it was nothing right where they’re about to sit down and share a meal.

A guy, Dean suddenly realizes, he hasn’t seen any hint of in a long, long time. It’s not that he doesn’t think that part of him isn’t there, it’s just...it’s weird, is all, how completely he puts it away.

It reminds Dean of Beth, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.

God. They look so...so domestic. Sweet. Disarming in a way that completely undermines everything Dean thought he'd known about the guy and their whole...thing.  

He just—he doesn't get it, what Beth sees in him.

—

now use both hands

idk I just like this bit let me live

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember.

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing.

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom.

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him.

Rio doesn't look back.

—

I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

you can take my made up backstory for rio and mick from me when you pry it from my cold dead hands.

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.

—

as the world turns, the blunt burns

I pull this every time I have to pick a fav and I can’t even really explain it aside from I think I’m really, really funny and that’s enough

Beth suddenly sobers as much as she can when she feels like she's simultaneously floating away and sinking into the Earth and wipes her eyes. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"You're in the house, ain't you?" He's answering Beth but looking at Rio.

"Mick," Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently, he doesn't have all of the information. "We're in the yard."

"Yeah, Mick," Rio says, glaring. "You're in the yard."

Mick shrugs, and Beth realizes he isn't scared of Rio at all. That's a neat trick. How does he do that? Maybe he can teach her.

—

smoke, fire, it’s all going up

there are realistically many other better lines in this fic but this one never fails to make me laugh so it remains my fav.

"You- you-" She sputters at him, flailing around a little. "You were the one that started mailing me pieces of a dead body."

"You blocked my number." Rio snarls, which is not what he'd meant to say, and he hates that she trips him up.

"That is not a proportionate response!"

—

got a kiss (with your name on it)

it was this or the text exchange at the beginning of the fic bc I strongly believe established relationship brio would continually roast each other for their past dumbassery but the elizabeth kink won out

"Come here," Rio's voice is thick but insistent in a way that brings every cell of Beth's body to attention. She hooks her thumb over her bottom teeth and drags her lower lip a little, a gesture full of who me mock innocence, waiting for him to say-

"Elizabeth." There it is.

There's an endless amount of things that Beth finds ferociously, irresistibly sexy about Rio, but when he says her full name in that commanding tone? Even if she's pissed the fuck off and has no intention of doing what he wants, it gives her goosebumps.

—

say it’s all in my head (i remember what you said)

I will be real with y’all, I forget I wrote this fic a lot of the time hahahaha but! that means every time I’m reminded I go back and am like oh yeah! I like this! anyway there isn’t like, one specific but I really love most as much as I really like the tentative breathless nervousness and then also overwhelming so muchness and I like how this but captures both of those

For a single, breathless moment, she stands in the middle of the room, alone and terrified.

Then Rio wets his lips and comes towards her, moving with that languid grace she's never been able to look away from even before she had any idea why that could be.

All of the fear collapses like a dying star, sending a supernova of relief and molten heat zinging through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head swims, and every cell in her body feels like it's leaning towards him- like she's made of magnets on a molecular level and he's the lodestone.

He gently pushes her bangs off of her forehead, slowly running his fingertip down the side of her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilts his head towards hers and stops, going no further than halfway, leaving it up to her to close the distance.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she leans into him and tentatively touches her mouth to his for the first time.

—

the world is on fire (and no one can save me) / what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way)

two for one!!! idk if either of these is my number one favorite line from either fic individually but I really like how they both play together. I like writing beth and rio pov and having them mirror each other’s narration both in thought and structure a lot bc I like thinking of them as two versions of the same

Beth checks her phone, nothing from Rhea, and sends a quick I'm here, text me when you're close, and I'll grab a table before wetting a paper towel and wiping away the last of her smeared mascara. With precise, brisk movements, she snaps open her bag and fishes out her compact, her lipstick, and her mascara; lining them up click, click, click on the tiny shelf below the mirror.

She can live with this; she has to live like this; she will live like this.

She flips open the compact and methodically dabs away the flush and pallor and shadows that are not grief, are not loss, are not anything other than shock and horror that she'd gone so far, that she'd lost control, that she'd killed a man (that man).

and

So what the fuck had he been doin' with Elizabeth fuckin' Boland, giving her chance after chance to cross the line? What the fuck was the point of a line if it might as well not be there at all? All because he liked her big blue eyes and the way she worked a tight sweater? Nah, that ain't him. That can't be him. That's the kind of shit that'll get you killed, and he's got three spent bullets in his pocket and a scar next to his heart if he ever needs the reminder again. 

He shifts in the driver's seat, reaching into his pocket and fishing the bullets out. Lining them up on the dashboard with a definitive click, click, click. He looks past them to the brightly lit valet station. He's been parked in the back of the lot for ten minutes now, waiting for Rhea to give him the go sign. He ain't hiding, doesn't need to, Elizabeth ain't lookin' for him, he just wants to make sure he sees her before she sees him. Get a good look first, so he can size up the situation.

#good lord when did i write so much fic????????? #imagine if i hadn't onlly stuck w/ ch 12 of song #it would've taken me weeks to do this #tag games #my fic #shut up meg #gg related

[urslasherbaby]

How Fascinating Pt. 2 - Chromeskull x Reader

Guess whose favorite little piggy is back to piss Jesse off~

Jesse was sitting alone at his dark mahogany desk reviewing the same footage over and over again. The same footage he’d been looking at for over a month. The same footage that gave him a perfect look at the clever little piggy who’d managed to escape him. After you’d dropped the camera from getting pinned tot he wall, Jesse got a perfect view of him wringing that little neck of yours... that is until that shit-eating smirk spread across your face and you stabbed him with the syringe. He couldn’t even tell at this point if the whole scene made him turned on or furious. Either way, he was counting the minutes until his team tracked you down.

As if on cue, Spann came bursting through the door. She definitely knew better than that, so it had to be important.

“Sir, we found her,” she revealed. Jesse was already out of his seat, grabbing his phone on the way out the door. Spann tried in vain to keep up with his long stride down the hall.

“Sir, please--before you make your move, we have to consider the possibility that this might be a trap. The girl has somehow managed to evade our re-con team for a month now. Suddenly appearing like this out of nowhere could be dangerous!”

Jesse had ignored every word. He was already texting his driver to bring his car around. The rest of his team had a collective panic attack after the piggy-bitch left that little message just waiting for the cops to raid the place. But Jesse knew better: years of teasing and torturing these girls meant that he knew a call when he saw it. If you were really so “fascinated” with him, you weren’t gonna say shit until you two met face to face. 

And Jesse planned on making that happen real soon.

The drive wasn’t far out, only about two hours from the offices. Its destination was a small park, seemingly abandoned given how late it was and how hard it was raining. However, Jesse noticed a very familiar figure out in the darkness. He signaled his driver to leave, only driving around the block until they were needed again.

Walking closer, he felt himself getting excited to finally end all of this. His knife felt heavy inside of his coat pocket and his hands were just itching to wrap themselves around your throat again.

Finally, you noticed him coming and flashed him that audacious fucking smirk. Change of plans: first he’d fuck that smile right off your face, then he’d slice you into pieces.

“Hey there, killer,” you greeted cheerily, like you were saying hi to an old friend, “Or... should I call you Jesse?”

That surely made the man stop firmly in his tracks.

“Or Mr. Cromeans? I didn’t want to be rude. Oh, nevermind, it doesn’t really matter. After this is all over, I’m sure we’ll become much more acquainted.”

Jesse cocked his head in confusion before gathering himself again. He came here for a reason: the park was isolated, no one was around to here the piggy scream. Just as he began moving for his knife, you stood up and approached him.

“Still as stoic as ever, huh,” you say, closing the distance between you two and tugging on the lapels of his jacket, “Spare me a moment of your time, handsome?”

Jesse’s heavy breathing tried to calm him down but this was seriously testing his patience. But still... you’d held up your end of the bargain by not squealing. Five minutes... then he’d make a masterpiece out of your corpse.

“I’m assuming you not gunning for the knife I felt in your jacket is a sign for ‘yes’. Excellent! Now then, if we're going to do this right, you’ll need this,” you said, holding up a small silver phone and tossing it to him. Looking it over, it was clearly a burner you probably got at some gas station. Jesse was almost impressed at the effort you’d gone to hide yourself from him--and yet you were still so eager for his attention. His new favorite piggy was quite the little puzzle.

“My research on you told me you’re a big texter. Wouldn’t it be fun if we could finally just... talk,” you gushed. Jesse through the phone back to you with a new message already on it:

Get to the point, piggy.

The look on your face gave nothing away as you smiled and gazed straight into his eyes. 

“Of course. Well, as I said back at my house, I really do find you fascinating, and as satisfying as its been watching the police chase their tales, it just doesn’t compare to seeing the real thing in action. So... I’m here to make you an offer you can’t refuse. Something that will hopefully be beneficial for us both and that will more importantly put an end to our little one-sided rivalry.”

I get to slit your throat and run over the corpse?

“Cute. Nope, although you are close. The offer... is me.”

You?

“Me. I’m giving myself over to you completely to do as you wish. I don’t care if you treat me like a slave or fuck me like one--so long as I can see the action up close... I’ll be perfectly content.”

Oh? Well, that’s too bad, piggy since I don’t see you living that long.

Jesse then brandishes the giant knife from his coat pocket and levels it directly at your throat. You could feel its razor-sharp tip grazing your jugular.

And yet... all you did was smile at Jesse infuriatingly.

“Perhaps you didn’t understand me,” you said, putting a finger on the edge of the blade and pushing it slightly out of your way, “There’s no point in getting upset here. I’m surrendering! I’m giving myself up to you completely.”

You took several small steps towards the man as Jesse glared at you cautiously. Something about the steadiness of your voice, how sure you are that he won’t hurt you. It was confounding the effect you managed to have on him is so short a time. Soon you came chest to chest with him, looking up at his mask with the most sincerity Jesse had ever seen on you.

“You’ve taken hold of me, killer. I was your’s the second you came into my life,” you whispered, placing your hands on his chest once more, “So... what do you say?”

Of the myriad of thoughts running through Jesse’s head--the bloodlust, the weight of the knife in his hand... your sparkling eyes, the way your clothes clung to your skin in the rain--all he could really focus on was the way he felt that night: alive.

Of course, he got a rush every time he drove his knife into some squealing little piglet, but you... you challenged him. You awoke something in Jesse that absolutely aroused him. So maybe he found you a bit fascinating too...

His arm slowly lowered and put his knife away. The same hand gradually snaked up your waist, the nitrile gloves causing you to shiver, and wrapped around your throat. He pulled you nose to nose, just like that night so long ago. You could feel him start to squeeze ever so slightly, and just as you started to think you must’ve miscalculated... Jesse raises his free hand to show you a new message on the phone you gave him:

I’d say we a have a deal.

#i know i know i'm terrible! #but no matter how i tried i couldn't help but make it a three parter #i promise smut will come soon!!! #chromeskull x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #slasher fic #slasher imagine #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #laid to rest

[time-and-souvenir]

Born to Die

Summary: The end of chapter 18 from Victor’s point of view, but when Victor and MC try and stop what’s to come....things happen much differently. 

FYI:  Angst, lots and lots of angst, mild nsfw and trigger warning for readers that don’t handle death well and of course chapter eighteen spoilers. 

Wordcount: 3,752!

Notes: As always, I use a random name for MC. I really like writing from the guys POV for some reason and as always, Victor is the number one for that. But after the release of the new chapters I wanted to do something different. My own AU after chapter 18 and since chapter 18 is full of spoilers, everything is underneath the read more, I hope you enjoy ❤️ 

“Victor, I have a way, and I know it will succeed. Will you listen?” Aurora spoke softly, her entire body trembling with pain. It must have started then. He looked away from her and to the chaos around them instead, it was a living nightmare. “No need.” Victor shook his head; he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He already knew what was about to be said and what was about to happen, and he was never going to accept it.

“You never let me finish talking. This time, you have to promise me. Kill me.” She spoke firmly, her voice sounding final and absolute. I whipped my face back to her, fighting against the urge to grab and shake her. “SHUT UP!” Victor raised his voice without thinking, shaking his head as his eyes started to burn.

“She’s entering my body now. If she succeeds, there’s no going back. Don’t worry, I won’t die. Every other time, fate has snatched me from death.” She sounded so sure, but how could we know if that’s what would happen? Where was the truth and the lie? “This time it will too. I’m begging you, don’t let the me that I was slip away. Will you?” She spoke like everything was final, that they already had lost. Surely there was something they could do; passages of his journey through time started to play through Victor’s mind like a movie and his hands clenched. He felt so useless.

“Don’t even think about it!” The ravenette cried, his voice didn’t even sound like it was his anymore, he sounded desperate and panicked. Victor tried to piece together a plan, but he already knew what to come, even though every cell in his body fought against it. If only he could use my evol he could---

“But in the future, you kill me! This is an unalterable fact. You always ask me, why am I so, why so self-confident? I remember the first time I saw you, I yelled in your face.” Aurora leaned against Victor, every movement took great effort and he gritted my teeth as his hands moved to her shoulders to steady her. She kept talking, “But really, I’m timid. Often, I’d rather hide from the world than face the truth. I’m afraid I’ll lose everyone around me, that I’ll end up alone. You’ve never lost before, but this time Victor…you lose.” He was focusing so much on her that he notice her reaching for his wrist. The brunette ripped his watch off and took a step back stumbling as she left his arms. “And I don’t want to be the dummy anymore.”

“Give that to me!” Victor reached out towards her, desperation and anger coloring his voice. “Give it to me! Come on!” He pleaded; Victor almost wanted to beg but she shook her head at him. They both knew what was going to happen, yet he couldn’t accept it.

“I finally beat you once. Victor, in the future you need to smile more, don’t always be alone. I’m really in pain now. Please kill me, I beg you.” Aurora spoke softly, her voice fading more and more with each word. She leaned against the ravenette, her head resting on his chest and he suddenly felt how hot she had become. All around them people screamed, people fighting and tearing away at one another; yet it was all white noise and all he could see was her. She gazed up at her former boss, seemingly too weak to say or do anything else. Her beautiful dark eyes imploring him, the same eyes that had stayed with Victor for years as he tried to find her. They had just found each other and once again they were being ripped apart.

Victor closed and opened his eyes as one of his hands reached behind him to his side, while the other held her steady. He moved the arm that held her behind her back, squeezing her shoulder as he positioned her. His eyes burned as tears started to fall. “I don’t admit defeat. I’ll still win that bet. I always do what I say I will.” Victor tried to steady my voice, trying to sound confident for her. The time evoler had seen this scene so many times before yet holding her like this, it didn’t feel real. He blinked but the tears kept falling, there was nothing he could do. Victor had failed her; he had failed them both.

“Victor carry my memory and live on,” Aurora’s voice pulled him out his thoughts and she smiled up at him. Her body had become limp and weakened to a point where she couldn’t move, yet she smiled for him. His beautiful, brave dummy to the very end, just like before when she had saved him before, twice over. The ravenette pulled the dagger out and positioned it above her, his hand trembling ever so slightly. All of their times together, his memories with her flashed through his mind. When they met as kids, when she saved him and the others from being taken again and experimented on, saving her from getting hit by a car not once, but twice and when they first met again in the rain, to her saving him from getting hurt yet again. Over and over they played through his mind and Victor realized in that moment, in that time they had together how much he truly loved her. If only he was strong enough to stop it.

Gritting his teeth, he moved the dagger downward and in one swift motion into her chest, blood spurting from her and all over his hand. The crimson liquid spread, and Victor watched as her chest rose and fell, waiting for her last breath. “No matter where you are, I’ll always find you.” He vowed one final promise to her, a promise he would keep no matter what the cost. Before he could do or say anything else, the light that had been glowing behind me became blinding and everything came to a stop. Aurora disappeared from his arms and he felt myself floating, the familiar feeling of time covering me, and the ravenette slipped away into unconscious, into the unknown. His last thoughts of her.

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

Moving from time had always been strange, flying from one timeline to the next felt as easy as breathing. While others denied or hated their evol, Victor embraced his. It gave him the power to do what he wanted, and it made him feel strong. He had learned at a young age what his evol could do but importantly it gave him the power he needed to protect others. To protect her. A small dark-haired girl with big doe eyes came to his mind, but why? She was important, but he could pinpoint why or more importantly what her name was. What was happening? Victor felt like he was floating, the normal feeling from using his evol so why did his mind feel a muddled mess?

Victor tried to open my eyes but was met with nothing but darkness instead. Frustrated he tried to harness his ability, calling his time back to him but to no avail. Clenching his fists, he reached out and turned only for his hands to touch nothing but empty air. The little girl kept slipping into his thoughts along with a young woman that looked like an older version of herself. Memories of her that Victor didn’t remember and precious moments he didn’t understand. Suddenly a brightness shone behind him and he whipped around, one of his hands lifting up to cover his eyes in response. The light lit up everywhere and filled the empty area, moving closer and closer to the ravenette. Narrowing his eyes, Victor noticed a murkiness at the center of the light, but before he could watch it further the light reached him and once again, he felt himself floating into sleep.

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

All at once the time evolver felt himself falling and falling, his hands reached for something to grab onto, but his fingers felt nothing but air. Suddenly he felt like he hit the ground and into himself? “Sir….sir, excuse me sir! Did you hear me?” Goldman’s voice was suddenly beside me and the assistant leaned over searching Victor’s face. Blinking, the ravenette looked Goldman beside him in confusion. He was dressed nicely, a simple tuxedo with his signature glasses. The look on his face was concern and he looked a bit frazzled. Victor glad he wasn’t the only who one seemed confused. He took a second trying to gather his bearings and he cleared his throat.

“No, I was thinking of something else. Repeat what you said,” The CEO in him took over and he spoke firmly as his eyes drifted around them. They were in a massive room full of people socializing, like Goldman everyone was also dressed in formalwear. A quartet played soft music nearby, enhancing the lively atmosphere. “I suggested you go thank the Queen, after all she did let me live and she’s done so much for you, sir.” Goldman’s mention of “the Queen” made Victor turn back to him, the ballroom, the people around them and how he got there seemingly forgotten. His assistant looked a little exasperated, but he tilted his head behind him, and Victor followed his gaze.

A group of people clad in head to toe black sat around a giant golden chair; there were so many of them standing around it that he couldn’t see who they were talking to. But Goldman said something about a Queen….the Queen? “Right, I’ll…I’ll go do that.” He turned away from Goldman and focused on the clustered group ahead of him. A strange mass of people: a stern, dark haired woman glaring at everyone around her, one man wore heavy military garb and had a horrible scar over one of his eyes and closer to the chair was a man with silver hair, a smirk on his face as his tattooed arm spun around a knife. A pause in his step made him falter a bit, the arrogant man with the knife….Helios, his name was Helios. These people were so familiar because they were an organization called Black Swan, a group he was directly involved with.

The ravenette’s head as if the fog in his mind was lifting bit by bit and he regained his footing, walking towards them again. There were other members that looked familiar but not worth focusing on, although they tipped their heads at him like they knew one another. Finally, he made it towards the gleaming chair he saw earlier and the sequence before him made him pause. A tall, lanky man with jet black hair lounged on one of the armrests, one of his hands laying on the back of the chair. He was leaning towards the person who was sitting in the chair, Victor’s gaze moving from the man to the woman sitting there.

Blinking, a surge of shock went through him and he could feel his heart start to race. It was the same woman he had first thought of from before: chocolate colored hair with warm eyes to match, petite and fair skinned. She was leaning up to the man and she said something in his ear, making him laugh before she turned her gaze towards Victor. Thump, thump, thump…he started to hear his heartbeat in his ears. The woman looked a bit surprised at first, but her surprise quickly shifted into a delighted smile. She lifted one of her hands up to the man who sat close to her and he took her hand, bringing it to his lips before standing up and helping her stand.

The time evolver could feel his eyes narrow somewhat at their interaction, but he quickly hid his annoyance and focused on the woman before him. The brunette wore a long, dark evening gown with small straps that hardly covered her shoulders and adorned with lace down the middle. The man helped her walk closer to Victor, before taking a step back holding the CEO’s gaze and smirking.

“Victor, you’re here.” The woman’s voice broke him out of reverie, and he looked down at her in shock, they did know each other but how? Smiling, she reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing him tightly. Aurora, the name suddenly popping into his mind…this woman’s name was Aurora. Without a word, he squeezed her hand back and followed her as she let him away from the group, everyone parting to let them through. They walked by what felt like everyone in the ballroom and they all bowed their heads in respect as they passed. All of this was so confusing, but he kept following her something inside him urging him to.

Aurora led them away from the crowds and to a balcony, two men opening and closing the doors to let them out on it. It was nighttime and cool out, the stars bright above them and the atmosphere calm as music flowed to the balcony from the party inside. She finally let go of his hand and stepped forward to admire the few, he immediately reached for her without thinking feeling the loss of her warmth. “It’s beautiful out isn’t it? It’s a great night to celebrate.” She turned around and leaned against the railing, still smiling at him. Victor had no idea why he was there or why the people were celebrating inside, but his sole focus was on her. All his thoughts were consumed by her, he knew her somehow, the thought of her cemented into his very marrow.

“Dance with me?” The ravenette asked and reached out a hand, he held her gaze as she stepped forward, sliding her tiny hand into his own. He wrapped his arms around her, and they started to sway back and forth, their gazes locked with each other.

“I’ve always loved seeing you in a suit, did I ever tell you that?” Aurora beamed up at him, her fingers lightly moving over the fabric on his shoulders. Blinking, Victor took a quick look at himself and realized he too, just like the others were dressed up as well. He still didn’t know why or what was going on, maybe she could help fill in the blanks or explain the pounding of his heart. Looking down to her, he opened his mouth but closed it as he caught her gazing at him. There were many, many things in her eyes and all train of thought disappeared as he started to feel himself drown in those beautiful eyes.

He moved one of his hands up her arm and up to her neck, his fingers caressing the bare skin there. Aurora inhaled and her eyes fluttered closed and he couldn’t help but shiver at how happy that made him. Sliding a finger underneath her chin, he tilted her face up to meet his and he bent down pressing his mouth against hers. It was a light, chaste kiss at her, a simple meeting of their lips. Victor pulled back a bit and looked down at her, Aurora’s eyes fluttered open and they stared at each other for a few moments before both of her hands reached up to cradle his face. One moment they were looking at one another, the next the brunette’s lips were on his own again, the kiss much more passionate.

She slammed her mouth upon his, her tongue immediately sliding in between his lips to press against his own. The ravenette moaned into her mouth and pulled her flush against his body, his hands sliding down her arms to grip her hips. He dug his fingers into her, locking her close to him as he suddenly felt move backwards. They kissed and kissed, his head angling towards hers and he couldn’t take it anymore he lifted her and spun her around. Breaking the kiss, Victor pushed her against the doors of the balcony, his hands pushing up her dress so he could wrap her legs around his waist. Aurora once again pulled his face towards hers again and they were kissing once more, nothing but the sound of the music from inside and their heavy breathing between them.

Her hands moved from his way and made their way into his hair and he moaned into her mouth kissing with everything he made while his lower half grinded into her. Their tongues kept pressing and tangled with one another and he could feel the already growing erection he had for her throb and worsen. Breaking his mouth away from hers, he trailed kisses down the side of her and onto her neck, before resting his face in the crook there. “Ah…I wondered when you would come back to me, tonight of all nights. What a dream come true Victor,” She murmured into his ear. Panting, he suddenly felt the urge to pause everything an empty, harrow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.

“What….what do you mean? You’ve been waiting for me?”

“Ah yes, the you before well, he wasn’t you after all.”

He lifted his head and looked at her confusion, eyes narrowing in confusion as he looked at her. She smiled and reached a hand to his, one of her fingertips tracing the outline of his lips. “Ah, you remember my name and you want me, but you forgot everything else? That wounds me, Mr. Li.” Smirking, she moved the finger that was tracing his mouth to the center of his forehead and lightly pressed against the skin there. “Let me remind you then.” A hot flash of pain started to form where she touched, spreading from his face and all over him. He couldn’t move and all he could do was grimace as the hot surges flooded through him.

Then he felt nothing for a moment as if the pain never happened, and he looked at her huffing completely confused. Smiling, she cradled his face once more and kissed him. The moment her lips touched his own, thousands upon thousands of memories started to fill his mind. His childhood, LFG, his family, his Mother, his childhood, learning he was an evolver, Aurora. So many memories of Aurora, when they were children and they were brought back together again because of her production company. Teasing and arguing with one another, cooking for her face, starting Souvenir. Then he started to remember all the recent events, the flu that ravaged Loveland and the country, going back in time to find a solution. Pain, so much pain. And finally, his last moments with Aurora, what she had begged him to do and----

“YOU!” Victor pulled away from her, the force of the horror he suddenly felt almost made him drop her. Aurora smirked and reached forward, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to her. He was in so much shock that he just went along with her movements and held her again.

“You were too late Victor and because of you, this is what has come to pass,” She reached up and smoothed back his hair and he immediately stiffened against her.

“How? I don’t…how?! I stabbed Aurora, I ended it before you—"

“You were too slow, you two were so busy chatting and making false promises that you didn’t make it in time. It really hurt when you stabbed me you know.” Aurora frowned at him and caressed the side of his face. Victor felt nothing but dread as he was forced to look at her, his entire body suddenly felt like ice as he remembered everything. “Because of you and the other me, I was able to make a world and twist it exactly how I originally wanted. It’s what everyone gets for forgetting me.”

She reached up and grabbed a hold of his hair and pulled him to her again. He winced but didn’t fight her, he was so shook up remembering everything, killed the Aurora that he knew that he didn’t know what to do. “The rest of them don’t remember me, but I made them mine again anyway. Gavin was a nuisance though always trying to do the right thing, he didn’t last long in this world.” She shrugged her shoulders and pecked him on the lips. Sighing dramatically, she relaxed her arms and put them on the back of his neck.

“Why? Why did you make me remember? Why did you bring me here?” Victor’s voice shook as he spoke, disbelief and anger filling him. Aurora stroked the back of his neck and looked into his eyes. “Simple, I wanted you to suffer like I did.” She spoke matter of factly, like it was the one and only clear answer in the entire world. Once again, she grabbed his hair and pulled him to her, his eyes glaring into her own as her face neared his.

“So, tomorrow Black Swan will the destroy the entire human race and you will get to watch every moment of it and suffer knowing that once again, you won’t be able to do anything.”

“I won’t Aurora, I won’t. I’ll use my evol and---”

“I won’t let you Victor; you aren’t in power here…I am.”

Gritting his teeth, he tried to pull away from her and she tightened her gripping it tighter. He tried to reach out to his evol instead, but nothing came. His eyes went wide and pure horror washed over him. “What did you do? How are you---mphh!” Aurora kissed him again, forcing his mouth open allowing her tongue to push and press against him. He tried to ignore the stabs of desire he felt, it wasn’t his Aurora after all, but he couldn’t help desiring her and he felt disgusted.

She held him like that for a while and when she let him breathe, he felt weak and he panted looking at her. Aurora let go of his hair and cupped his chin in one of her hands. “You can’t beat the Queen Victor; you made the wrong choice.” She spoke with absolution and she smiled at him as she watched the realization in his eyes. Hanging his head, he laid his head on her chest and blinked the tears that pooled in his eyes, he had failed yet again.

#Victor #mlqc victor #mr love victor #love and producer #mr love #mr love fanfic #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fanfic #mlqc #mr love mobile #mr love dream date #my writing #fanfics #mlqc spoilers #mr love spoilers #mr love queen's choice spoilers

[wwwafflewrites]

Runaway Winchester

Through all your years with the Winchesters, after running from demons and vampires and ghosts. After sticking up for one another and having each other's backs, it had never crossed your mind that you might run from them.

Here you were, bare necessities held by straps on your shoulders. A silver knife at your waistband and a loaded gun on your hip. A vial of holy water, a little bag of salt, an iron poker, all in your drawstring bag. Flannel, jeans, and steel toe boots were your current friends.

You stopped at a nearby bus stop. It was an hour wait until the next bus came, but you were confident you were far enough from the boys to relax a bit. Most shops were closed, so you just quietly minded yourself on the bench, admiring the crickets' songs and the soothing dark of the night.

To most hunters, the night was their enemy. But you couldn't see what was to blame it for. Despite the chaos that occured with monsters in the night, they also lurked the same amount in the day. There is an equal enough balance of time of day and monsters' activity that it was stupid to fear it. Fear the monsters, not the dark.

You were going to stay alert for this last trip and then crash at the next motel. You were covering your tracks alright, you thought. You had ditched most of your identification, minus your backup one that they weren't aware you even owned. You had set your phone to the bare minimum apps, only still with you to call emergency services if it ever came to that.

You were tired. Bone tired and ready to sleep, but not so exhausted that you couldn't wait an hour. You had to wait an hour. This was your only shot to cover up your trail. You'd been purposely leading the Winchesters east awhile, but you planned on do a 180° on them. You had a rough idea of what you wanted. To go far west, lay low in the country, help out at a farm to earn some kind of pay.

And avoid hunting at all costs.

Because that would lead the Winchesters right to you.

It wasn't that you hated them. It really wasn't. They were the bravest, best men you'd ever met. A little too selfless, a bit harsh, maybe... but good-hearted and well-meaning.

You just… you just didn't mix.

Specifically with Dean Winchester.

He said your music taste was terrible; he said that you were too girly, that he didn't want the chick flick moments; he always rejected your attempts at hugs, which usually were more for yourself than anything, and it made you feel worse when he withdrew and gave you stupid excuses; he offered you no reassurance when you failed at something because 'there's no room for mistakes' even though he made them everyday, more so than you ever did.

He was just so frustrating.

There were arguments. Over everything. So many long, tiresome circling arguments of the same topic like you were both in a time loop. There was always something to blame about you. You were too careful, or too pushy, too confident, too determined. Your personalities were polar to his and it led to heated discussions like whether they should gank the seemingly moral werewolf, or to run in a vamp nest on a whim.

Dean would always throw it in your face when you were too reckless. They would throw it in your face when you were wrong, and when you had screwed it up. Like you didn't know it already. Like you didn't tell yourself again and again a million times in your head, each day, every night. Reminding yourself of your failures so repeatedly that there was a rhythm to it. No, they didn't need to do it for you. That was already your job.

After those terrible arguments of raised voices and mean, glaring eyes, Sam would then try and console you. Honestly, it just made you feel worse. Even if he didn't try to, he always took Dean's side in the long run. He'd tell you what Dean really meant to say, without his swearing and impulsive wording. 

And every single time, you were in the wrong. It seemed as if the world was spinning in the opposite direction as you were.

So you left.

In fact, you didn't really question it. You just wanted to clear your head for a while. You didn't know how long… just… a while.

You knew they would look for you. And as much as you were a friend, you were also a responsibility. A chore. Something to save and protect and hoard. But you knew that if you waited long enough, a larger, meaner priority would come along and rip away their attention. And hopefully, they would slowly forget about you.

At least, that was your plan.

Still curled up against the bench, you felt a drizzle of rain against your face. And as your flannel began to soak with cold water, you wished you were still in the warm safety of the bunker with a leather jacket around your shoulders. A little laugh bubbled up and you let your hair shake and drip down onto your jeans in hilarity. 

It was a stupid wish.

///

After Dean called your name for the third time with no response, he was fed up. He was already livid; you had, once again, run into danger even though Dean had specifically told you to wait in the car. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but the ghost had been disemboweling young women for the past two straight weeks, and he had been admittedly nervous for you. Was that too much to ask?

He got out of his chair, throwing the useless, stupid research on the glowing table map thingy that he hadn't really named yet. He went marching over to your room, irritation carved into every feature of his face. He said while throwing open your door, "I swear if you don't come out of here, we are going to have some issu—"

You weren't there.

He spent several seconds blinking at the scene, and it took several more to connect the dots. Dean ended up standing there for twenty seconds, bow legged and leaning against the doorframe. His irritation quickly melted into a look of utter bafflement. Where..? Nobody was in the kitchen. Nobody was in the war room. Nobody was…

Your room was empty. Too empty. Kind of a spotless empty. You weren't a very neat person. There was always a little clutter, usually a flannel or two thrown about. You weren't a slob, you were on the road too much for that, but you were never this excessively clean.

From bafflement, came fear. His eyes widened, his mouth too, and soon he was shouting your name through the bunker.

Dean's heart stuttered when he heard footsteps. He breathed, "Oh, thank—"

But it wasn't you. It was Sam.

"What is it?" His brother asked.

The million dollar question.

Sam became concerned as the silence grew and he continued to observe the panic drawn in Dean's eyebrows. "Dean?"

"She's gone," Dean blurted. "She's… she's… her room's spotless, and her gun, and her knife, and her—" Dean tugged at his hair and swore. Loudly.

"Hey, calm down. We'll find her."

Dean shook his head. "We taught her all there is to know about hiding."

"Yeah. We taught her. We know all her tricks."

"Knowing her tricks and knowing how to get around them is a lot different, Sam! How are you going to track a disabled cell phone? Huh? And how, pray tell, are you going to track someone who usually makes all the ID scams? She probably has ID's we don't know exist! Sam, she could be anywhere."

Sam look lost in thought. "She always liked the country," he murmured.

"What?"

"Dean, come on, think. Her country music that you always complain about? She grew up on a farm before she started hunting. Come on, you know that. She loved it."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Of course it doesn't. God, Dean, no wonder she left! You don't pay any attention to her!"

He scoffed. "Course I do."

"Yeah? Then what's her favorite color?" Sam asked quietly. He looked down at his brother with a disappointed look.

Dean decided he hated that look. "Her favorite color? Come on, what are we, second graders?"

"You don't know," Sam whispered in an uncomfortably sad awe, like Dean forgot his birthday or something mushy like that.

Dean decided he did not like that at all. "Blue," he said, trying to sound confident. But as Sam's face fell further, and all that confidence deflated like a popped balloon. His brother had on those stupid puppy eyes of his and it was giving Dean a headache.

"It's green," Sam told him. "You know why?"

"Why."

Sam leaned up against the wall, amazed. "She likes your eyes. She thinks they're nice."

Dean's ears must have malfunctioned. "What?"

"I can't believe you are that clueless. For someone who constantly dishes out pickup lines and hooks up with girls, you sure can't read her, can you?" Sam shook his head and decided to lay it out as flat and as plain as he possibly could for Dean's sake. "She likes you, idiot."

Dean's face was unreadable. His stupid head wasn't computing any of this. All his mind could do was could do was ask stupid, stupid questions. Why did she leave? She liked me? Do I even listen to her? Do I yell too much? Do I dismiss her? But there was one he couldn't help but single out. One he couldn't help but pour his focus to: Why didn't I take it easy on her?

Dean's face finally broke into one of overwhelming regret. "What have I done, Sammy?"

///

Just three days after settling at an orchard with the Carter family, you were finally finding yourself again. Finding your usefulness. Sure, the days stretched long and hot, but each one was as rewarding as the last. You were healing from the hunts, slowly, but surely.

It felt really good. Like, really good. Healthier than you'd been in weeks. Rich, homemade meals, and no fast food made you feel incredible. You even managed a regular sleep schedule, and while it wasn't perfect, it was something. Nightmares still plagued you, but they felt far away. Unreachable in such a wonderful home and environment.

You forgot how much you missed the country.

The Carter family was extremely kind to you. You simply had asked them for a bit of shelter from the rain and they took you in under their wing without question.

They were so wonderful that the Winchesters probably would have been suspicious. And as much as you didn't want to be skeptical, the hunter side of you was screaming. This punch in the gut feeling that something wasn't right, something wasn't normal. And you couldn't shake it.

But this happened all the time with hunts, didn't it? And then you would screw everything up to a gut feeling. So maybe this time you could just forget it. You were sick of messing up. You deserved this. This little bit of happiness.

They were older, late sixties, but so pure and kind hearted. Mrs.Carter made pies, and it reminded you of Dean. While Mr.Carter would often read in his lonesome, and you couldn't help but think of Sam.

Was this what they were? Replacements?

This? This gut feeling was just a little home-sickness. You weren't used to the eerie silence; you were used to blasting 80's music, the rumble of the Impala, or the tap of keys on a laptop. Hell, you were used to Dean shouting at you.

Here, you were without the faint smell of whiskey and instead sweet hay. The country had become so unfamiliar that half of you had shut down. You had locked the door and chucked the key into the farthest reaches of your mind, because it hurt. You lost your home and farm to supernatural creatures, and had lost yourself in the world of hunting. You forgot the peaceful life that came with the country.

You traced the symbol carved into the bed frame. Where had you seen this before? It was clearly old, and you'd seen it several times throughout the farm. On the barn doors, the mailbox, even the front door. What was it? Why couldn't you remember?

See? Again, here you were, doubting the Carters. You couldn't believe yourself.

You opened your phone. Six missed calls from Dean were painfully lit up on your lock screen. Biting your lip, you turned off airplane mode. Hovering your finger over the 'call' button when you heard someone shouting your name.

It was dinnertime. 

You had tossed your phone on the bed, scoffing at how ridiculous you were, doubting such wonderful people.

You made your way to the kitchen, where a beautiful meal was laid out for the family. You were just amazed at how fantastic the food was. It was like a dream Thanksgiving. Heavenly mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, stuffing, and a large, golden roast. You didn't know where to start.

"Wow," you whispered.

Mr. Carter patted you on the shoulder. "Please, eat as much as you'd like."

The food was good, as always. Really good. And after you were satisfied, you began to excuse yourself and walk to the sink to put your plate in.

"Where are you running off to?" Mrs. Carter asked. "There's still desert!"

You paused. "Oh, no, I'm okay—"

"I insist," she said, putting a plate of pumpkin pie at your seat. Just as you were about to protest, she set a spoonful of whipped cream on top of the giant slice.

A bit reluctant, you sat back down, carefully picking up your fork and taking a bite of the pie. You supposed you could eat it, if it would make her happy.

She beamed at you. "You were such a scrawny thing when you came here. Now look at you! Full meals! I nice bed to sleep on!"

You slowly nodded. "Thank you for all this, really, but I think I'll get out of your hair tomorrow morning." Something felt off. You didn't really know. But this gut feeling wasn't disappearing.

Mr. Carter sighed. "Unfortunately, we can't let you do that."

You were completely frozen. You had your fork in your mouth, staring up at them in something akin to terror.  You were internally cursing yourself for not trusting your instincts.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHY THE WINCHESTERS WERE RIGHT, something inside you screamed.

You had thought something in the whipped cream tasted funny. Good thing you just kept on eating, idiot. This is why Dean is so harsh on you. This is why you shouldn't have run away.

"Just let it sink in. You'll feel so much better," someone cooed in your ear. "So much better."

You didn't like it. All you could hear was the rattled sound of your panicked, shallow breath, and you realized your eyes were closed.

"So much better."

///

Sam and Dean were on their own little search party for three days.

Dean was antsy. "Sam, I don't know, maybe she's not here. There are so many other towns with farms."

"This is where the bus got off. Dean, look: I mapped out the entire bus system and this is the shortest and easiest way to get anything near the country. She has to be here."

"I know, it's just, where is she then? We checked twenty-two families already. Twenty-two, Sam!"

"I know, but I have this… I dunno, this gut feeling that we missed her, and I—" 

"The Carters'." Dean cut Sam off, eyes flashing with horrified realization. "That—that symbol on their front door. I couldn't put my finger on it, but those are for pagan gods, Sam."

Sam shifted his feet. "How do you know for sure?"

"Don't you remember the scarecrow? The… the…  That town that took couples and sacrificed them? There was that book on pagan gods. But I saw that symbol." He shook his head. "I knew I had seen that symbol somewhere, damn it. I should have said something."

"You're saying the Carters' could have kidnapped her?"

"It's a start."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jeez."

"Yeah, no kidding."

///

You came to with a blazing headache. You managed a squinty glare, keeping what little dignity as you watched your captors defiantly.

"There you go, little hunter." Someone's hand, their cold, clammy hand, rested on your shoulder. "We saw your little bag. You're a hunter, aren't you?"

You didn't respond, finding little reason to.

"Yeah, we thought so."

This guy was getting on your nerves fast, so you decided to bluff. "Sam and Dean, they're going to be pissed when they find me. I'd watch out if I were you."

Mr.Carter came into view. "I don't think you believe that, do you? You came here to hide. And it sounds to me like you did a pretty good job of it."

Your jaw clenched. "They're coming."

"Sure they are. You keep telling yourself that," Mrs.Carter murmured. "Hope they come soon. Our boy, here? Trust me, he's very hungry. A century of fasting does that to you, dear." Her smile was deceivingly warm. "Think he'll like that pumpkin pie, dearest?"

Mr.Carter grinned. "How couldn't he?"

You were so uncomfortable and lost and scared. How did you get here? Why couldn't you have just chosen the next farm over? Why does stupid hunter luck always lead you to monsters? From their conversation, it sounded like they were making a sacrifice. And something was going to eat you. Alive.

Through your evergrowing panic also came disappointment with this reality. Maybe this was God's will. Maybe he wanted you dead. Maybe this was good—you wouldn't be a problem for the Winchesters any longer, right? A lone tear tracked down your face—God, I don't wanna die.

The Carters would see to it that you did, though.

And this time, the Winchesters weren't going to find you. You had made sure of it. Your tracks were covered, so unless they got really innovative, they weren't going to track you down. To find you, you'd have to practically map out every route you could have taken.

As if they had the time to do that.

You worked your hands at the bindings, but your wrists and ankles were raw and sore. The knife stored in your pocket was too far from your hands to reach, so you were helpless. How the hell did Dean escape all the time?

You hurt a rattle of chains in the caged room in front of you. It was a dark cell, and the light was too murky to see what lied beyond the curtain. But there was a silhouette, and from what you could see, it wasn't human.

"It's a rabid werewolf, if you're curious." Mrs.Carter cooed at you, tracing your chin. "It won't hurt all that bad. Really dear."

Liar.

It was then that a chime rang through the house. The doorbell. The Carters sent you a wide eyed look, but before they could threaten you, you let out your loudest, shrillest scream.

///

Sam brought his hand to the doorbell, hesitating. "Dean, if she's not in there, we'll just be attacking an innocent family. Are you sure those markings are legit?" He couldn't see beyond the door of old wood and screen, only that the light was on and there were, in fact, people home. That wasn't much to go on.

"Sam, I'm sure. Let's do this, c'mon. Ring the doorbell. She could actually be in trouble right now."

Sam swore under his breath and pressed the button, listening to the soft chime echo throughout the house.

And after a pause, they heard a scream.

Both their eyes flashed. Dean kicked down the flimsy door, shoving past the kitchen to the source of the noise. As did Sam.

///

To your relief, you heard a thud from upstairs. The Winchesters had actually found you. They had kicked the door down and they were coming for you. They were coming. That was the only possibility because the Carters were petrified.

The cage jolted behind you. Before you could let out another yell for help, you were slammed to the ground. Mrs.Carter forced a cloth into your mouth and you gagged around it. She brought a belt around your neck and pulled, choking you and lugging you toward the cage. You struggled, kicking your feet at nothing and clawing at your throat, but whatever monster she was, she was much stronger than you.

By the time your face was red from a lack of air, there was a rapping of shoes against the wood of the stairs, and finally Sam was sprinting down the staircase. He wielded a stake in his right hand. Dean came down a second after. Sam lunged for Mr.Carter while Dean took on Mrs.Carter.

Both (pagans, you now assumed) fought hard, hissing and spitting at the hunters. But the Winchesters were trained fighters. Dean staked Mr.Carter right in the chest, growling as he twisted the stake into the monster's flesh. Mrs.Carter, however, wasn't staked in time, because she managed to snag the cage's lever. The cage yawned, and there was a pause. Then, the beast flew out at Sam, howling and slashing.

You gasped, grateful, but terrified. "Werewolf!" You hoarsely called. "It's a werewolf!"

Dean took a second to process that, but the second he did, the werewolf had two silver bullets to the chest.

The beast rocked, freezing in confusion and pain before it fell back.

"Timber," Dean said sarcastically. He made his way over to you, stepping over the corpses. "Are you… good? They didn't hurt you?"

You coughed, rubbing your sore neck but mostly alright. "I think I'm in one piece."

"Good." He threw down a hand.

You took his offer, wincing as he helped you to your feet, and you wavered a little.

He sent you that look.

You were quick to assure him. "Uh… she was dragging me. Lifted my shirt and scraped my back against the floor." You adjusted your rumpled shirt. "It's nothing."

Dean crossed his arms. "It's not nothing. None of this is nothing. Why the hell did you leave?"

"Because I screw everything up! I'm a liability, Dean. Every hunt you either bench me or I get captured or hurt or something, and that makes me a weakness in the next hunt. I'm pulling you down. I can't even leave right! I can't do anything without you having to swoop in and keep my ass out of trouble." You took a long needed breath, feeling weightless. "I don't want you to feel like I'm your responsibility. Like I'm just another chore."

Sam's face tightened. "You don't actually think—"

"I was trying to make this easier. I was trying to stay hidden, so that you two would give up and actually move onto things that are important. You guys constantly have things on your mind and you can't afford a distraction."

Dean and Sam's frowns both deepened.

"Look, I'm really grateful for this. I literally almost got fed to the wolves, here. But how in hell did you find me?"

Sam shifted. "We tracked all the routes you could have taken. I figured you'd always loved the country. We talked with a few families—"

"Twenty-two," Dean cut in.

"—er, yeah, twenty-two. Um, but Dean remembered the pagan symbols, so we figured this was the place. Turns out we were right, thank god."

You deflated. "I... saw those. Didn't think they meant anything." They always mean something. Do your goddamn research next time instead of blindly trusting a family that so generously takes you under their roof. You really thought people other than monsters would do that?

You brought your eyes up, observing them. And then a little part of you thought, they did that.

Yeah, they did. The Winchesters took you as their own. Maybe that's why you put your blind faith into these monsters, because they had reflected your life with the boys. Maybe the monsters did that on purpose, luring in their prey with things they loved and missed.

The Winchesters were confused and hurt, and probably didn't understand, but you were still family. With time, they would work around this.

"We'll work around this," Sam said, as if he had read your mind.

Sometimes, you wondered if this life was just a dream. That all these events were so coincidental, that there was always a monster around the corner and a Winchester at the next, ready to save you.

"You're not a burden. You're family and you're a hunter. That means something. If nobody made mistakes on hunts, there would be nothing to learn from. Nothing to grow off of. Listen, you can't have possibly made more mistakes than Dean or me, and you certainly aren't less forgivable. You do remember I started the Apocalypse, right?"

"We both did, Sammy," Dean said, nudging him.  He looked at you thoughtfully, and then pulled you into a tight hug.

You were too shocked to say anything.

"Hey I’m really sorry if I made you feel less important. That’s not what I wanted. You just scare the hell outta’ me and I don’t know… I get scared for you. I know this hunter life is scary and unpredictable, but nobody can do it alone. Nobody. That's a lesson Sam and I have learned after years and years of mistakes in this life. The mistakes don't end, and neither do the monsters, but if we got each other, we can learn to solve these problems together, alright? You got me?" He kissed your forehead. "God, I love you kid."

You allowed yourself a little happiness in his arms. But after a moment, you couldn't help it. "Damn." You paused. "Did you just have a chick flick moment?"

"No."

"You totally did!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam, back me up here."

Sam laughed. "It's okay, Dean. We all know you're a softie."

Dean scoffed, but soon he was laughing too. He clapped a hand on your back.

"Let's go get some pie. Pie solves everything."

He was right. It did.

And by God, did he blast country music the whole way home.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfic #dean imagine #dean winchester imagine #sam winchester #fanfiction #fanfic #dean x reader #dean x reader angst #dean x you #dean x y/n #angst #hurt/comfort #comfort #dean angst #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester #reader #reader insert #x reader

[nikki-writes-stuff]

While You’re In the World - Part One

Summary: The year is 1980, and when you come home to find a man on your doorstep, beaten and bloody and on the brink of dying, you patch him up and let him stay with you while he heals. But there’s something strange about this stranger with the metal arm, and it will take a while before either of you know who he really is. 

Read Part Two Here! 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Hello! I hope you guys like this story! I suspect that there will be three parts to it, and I’m so excited about this story idea. Please please please let me know what you think!!! 

The pavement was slick, the lights of streetlamps, neon signs, and apartment windows creating a kaleidoscope of colors against the rain-wet concrete. The air was still humid from the heavy spring shower that had just subsided, and your footsteps pitter pattered as you made your way towards the rickety stairs that led to your apartment. As you walked further down the alleyway, the sounds of cars flying by on the street stated to fade into the background, slowly being replaced by a boombox sitting right by one of your neighbor’s open windows. The sweet strains of Brandy by Looking Glass floated down to you, and you started humming along as you searched through your purse for your keys.

“Brandy,” you sang under your breath, “you’re a fine girl, what a good-“

Your voice cut off abruptly just as you were about to start climbing the stairs; a dark form was directly at their base, one that you hadn’t even noticed in the dim, late-evening light. You froze when you saw it shift slightly, its chest rising and falling in slow, wheezing breaths.

“…U-um… Hello?” you asked cautiously, fingers closing around the pepper spray you kept with you at all times.

The figure’s head popped up, revealing pale, sweaty skin framed by dark, chin-length hair. You squinted, trying to make out their features, but they were unclear; you could only make out that they had stubble. So, it was a man. You gripped your pepper spray tighter.

“Excuse me, sir, but… I need to get past you.” You shifted on your feet when he remained sitting there, not showing any inclination towards moving. “Sir, please, I live here. I don’t want any-“

He groaned, his left hand shooting out to grip the stair’s railway. He was wearing leather gloves despite the warmth of the spring evening, and he let out another grunt as he staggered to his feet. As soon as he was standing, though, he sank right back down, his right arm coming up to clutch his abdomen.

“Sir…” You stepped forward, hesitantly reaching out a hand. “Are you okay…?”

You tried to touch his right hand, but you flinched away as soon as you felt the dark, warm liquid that was seeping out from between his fingers. Blood.

“Oh, my god,” you gasped, suddenly gripping his arm. You only got to notice how unnaturally hard it was before he was pulling away, trying to distance himself from you.

“Trebuie să raportez pentru misiunea mea,” he whispered, sounding desperate. You frowned, holding your hands out in a placating gesture.

“I don’t know what that means. Do you speak English?”

His breathing was picking up, and you could see his head moving as he looked all around you, as if searching for something.

“…Need… Need to get…back,” he eventually muttered, trying once more to pull himself to his feet. “Report…”

“Listen, you can’t go anywhere in this state,” you asserted. “If you let me past, I can go inside and call the hospital-“

“No!”

All of a sudden, you felt his left hand clamp down on your wrist, and you let out a yelp at his bruising grip. You tried to yank your arm away, but that only added to your pain; you gave up your struggle quickly.

“No…” he said again, his breathing becoming more and more labored with each word. “No…hospital…”

You gulped, looking down at the hand on your wrist, and your eyes widened as you saw his sleeve ride up just enough for you to catch a glance of his forearm. Or, rather, the metal that it was made up of; shiny silver gleamed in the low light, its bands flexing and contracting with his movements. He must have noticed you staring, because just as suddenly as it had gotten there, his hand was drawn away, moving to rest against his bleeding stomach.

For a moment, you considered pushing past him, fleeing up your flight of stairs and locking yourself away until he left. He was a complete stranger – bigger than you, stronger than you, with what appeared to be a metal arm. And someone had either stabbed or shot him – who’s to say he didn’t deserve it?

But then he let out a soft moan of pain, falling back against your stairs weakly. He was still breathing, but you could see the amount of blood he was dripping onto the pavement; at this rate, he wouldn’t keep breathing for long.

With a sigh, you pushed aside your better judgement and reached down, ignoring his weak protests in that foreign language as you gripped his flesh arm with both hands. You dug your heels into the concrete and pulled with all your might, steadying him to the best of your ability once he was on his feet.

“C’mon,” you mumbled. “If you can climb the stairs, I have a first aid kit inside.”

At first, he didn’t move, and you were afraid that he was going to pass out. But then he lifted one shaky foot up, lowering it down onto the second step, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly, deliberately, you led him up the stairs, guiding him up to the landing. You only pulled away to fit your key into the lock, but as soon as your door was open, you once more gripped him and led him inside.

“The kit if in the bathroom. If you can just follow me-“

The second you turned away, you heard a loud bang as he fell to his knees. He was still babbling words that you didn’t understand, English finding its way every now and then into his mutterings.

“Report…. mission….find…”

You let out a huff and knelt beside him, flipping him over onto his back. He was as solid as a brick house, and it took several seconds of huffing and puffing before you were able to move him over. Once he was positioned the way you wanted, you flicked on the lights and ran to retrieve the first aid kit.

As you once more knelt beside him, you shooed away your cat as it started walking towards the man, sniffing at his flesh hand cautiously.

“Not now, baby,” you sighed, shooing it away.

The man’s eyes were closed when your gaze drifted up to his face, but you had to do a double-take once you took his features in. Now that you could see him in the light, he was…hot. Weirdly hot. Like, more hot than actual people were supposed to be in real life. Strong jaw, long lashes, full lips… You nearly got carried away with just looking at him.

But the blood stain was growing ever larger on your hardwood, and with a curse you got back to work. It appeared that he was wearing some kind of body armor; you struggled with the various clasps and zippers before finally pulling it open. Underneath it was a long-sleeved gray shirt; or, rather, it had once been gray, but now most of it was stained red.

Using the tiny pair of scissors from the kit, you cut away the fabric, eyes going wide when you saw the scene beneath it. Several lacerations were scattered across his torso; his body armor had been thick, but despite its coverage someone had been able to stab him through it. You counted four knife wounds, but they didn’t seem to go too terribly deep. What worried you was the bullet holes; there were only two, but they were bleeding the most profusely.

You couldn’t remember if you were supposed to take bullets out of bullet wounds in emergency situations, but you figured that if he could survive having a metal arm, maybe he could survive with a few bullets knocking around inside of him. Besides, he had lost enough blood already without you digging through his torn flesh.

With shaky hands, you pulled out a surgical needle from the kit, thanking the heavens that it came pre-threaded. You held your breath as you moved to the first bullet hole, and despite the fact that the man’s face held no trace of pain, you still winced as you pierced his flesh. You’d never actually done this before; you had only ever seen people stitch up wounds in movies, and you’d read about how to do it in an encyclopedia once for your research. You tried to recall and emulate those motions now as you treated the man beneath you.

“Shoulda just left him sitting there,” you mumbled to yourself. “Shoulda just called the damn hospital when you had the chance; now you have a bloody floor and a potential serial killer sleeping in your apartment. How you gonna explain that to the landlord?”

You worked as quickly as possible, and when you were done stitching all six of his injuries, you sat back on your heels, admiring your work for one moment. All things considered, you thought you did pretty good.

After that, you used some rubbing alcohol to clean him up before taping layer after layer of gauze over his wounds. Your own eyes were starting to grow heavy as you finished up, but you knew that there was still work to be done.

You didn’t even try to lift or drag him from his spot on the floor; you were exhausted, and he was probably over 200 pounds of pure muscle. So you cleaned around him, sopping up most of the blood with an old towel before washing your hands and retrieving a pillow from your bed. You yawned as you lifted his head, sliding the cushion underneath his skull before going back to get him a blanket.

You felt foolish as you tucked him in, but you’d already gone so far as to dress his wounds; you figured you might as well make him as comfortable as possible. After making sure that he was still breathing, you shuffled over to your couch, limbs heavy and sore from being so tense. As soon as you let your head fall back, you started to feel sleep overtake you; you barely registered the weight of your cat curling up on your belly as you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep despite the stranger laying six feet away.

_________

The grunting was what woke you up. Somewhere close by, you could hear the shuffling of fabric and barely-suppressed curses, and your eyes immediately flew open. You ignored the aching in your neck as you sat up, looking over to see the stranger from the night before trying (and failing) to sit up.

“Hey!”

His head snapped towards you, a pair of confused blue eyes glaring into yours.

“Where am I?” he whispered, voice still sluggish from sleep. “Who are you? How did I get here?”

“Woah, there. Calm down.” You stood up, taking a slow step towards him. “I’m not gonna hurt you; I found you on my stairs all bloody last night, and I-“

The man was glancing all around your apartment, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stand up. You let out a huff, seeing a small red stain bloom over the white gauze still secured to his skin.

“Woah, stop!” you tried to protest. “You’re tearing your stitches. Just calm down-“

“I have,” he struggled, starting to sway on his feet, “a mission. I need-“

“Listen, I don’t care what this ‘mission’ is,” you huffed. “You won’t be able to do anything if you bleed out. Just… Would you just sit down for one moment? You’re not going to get very far if you leave like this.”

For a long moment, the man simply looked at you, weighing your words even as more blood leaked through his bandages. You arched an eyebrow at him, setting your hands on your hips. Eventually, after a pregnant pause, he looked down and nodded his head, doing a double-take when he saw the growing crimson stain on the gauze. You winced and stepped forward, ignoring the way his muscles tensed up as you approached.

“C’mon, you can lay down on the sofa.” You held out a hand, ready to support his weight like you had last night. But he silently turned, bypassing your outstretched arm as he walked over to the couch.

He sat down with a quiet sigh, leaning back against the throw pillows as he carefully peeled back the bandages.

“Be careful with those stitches,” you instructed him, bending over to scoop up the first-aid kit.

He didn’t seem to hear you as he started analyzing his wounds, eyes scanning them clinically with nothing more than a small frown on his lips. You rolled your eyes and sat on the coffee table across from him, your knees grazing his as you opened the kit once more.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you scoffed. “You know, for saving your life?”

He arched an eyebrow, and his eyes darted up to look at you, but he still said nothing. All he did was reach forward and grab another surgical needle, biting his lip as he moved to start stitching himself up.

“Woah, hold on a second,” you exclaimed. You gripped his wrist and tried to pull his arm away, but he didn’t budge. “I can-“

“One of the stitches broke,” he finally mumbled. Your eyes flickered down to see that he had, indeed, pulled one of the stitches in his biggest knife wound.

“I can see that,” you said. “But you don’t have to, like… I mean, I can stitch it for you.”

“Why do you want to stitch me up?”

You paused at that question.

“…Because you’re bleeding?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, and he shook your hand off of his wrist once more.

“Not what I meant.”

“Well, why don’t you want me to help you?” you countered, watching as he steadily pulled the needle through his skin.

“Because you did a shitty job with the rest of them.” He gestured to the rest of his injuries, causing your jaw to drop.

“Fucking… I didn’t have to help you, you know,” you groused. “And considering the situation you were in, I would think that you’d be grateful that I even-“

The man was, evidently, tuning you out as he dug around the kit for the medical scissors, and with a sigh you stopped talking and handed them to him. He grunted as he accepted them from you; maybe that was his way of saying thanks?

You watched as he continued to patch himself up, replacing the stitches he’d pulled that morning and redoing some of your more sloppy ones from before. At first, you watched him work in silence, but after a while you started to get antsy, a thousand questions running through your mind to ask him.

“So… What happened last night?” you finally asked. “Did you get into a fight?”

His face remained stone cold, and you realized he wasn’t going to answer you.

“Okay, then,” you muttered. “Um… Are you from here? I thought I heard you say something in another language last night.”

Again, nothing. You huffed and watched as he finished tying off the last stitch, clipping it neatly before rooting around for more gauze.

“Do you have a name?” you eventually said.

He paused at that question, his face tilting up to yours. He blinked a few times, as if confused by the question, before starting to bandage his wound once again. He mumbled something under his breath, and you leaned closer, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear-“

“I said I don’t know,” he murmured. You shook your head, puzzled.

“What do you mean? You must know what your name is.”

He didn’t say anything more as he kept taping gauze over his abdomen, and you stood up, planting your hands on your hips.

“If you don’t wanna tell me your name, you don’t have to,” you grumbled. “But you don’t have to make something up about not knowing it.”

He glanced at you one more time before standing up, and you stumbled back in surprise when he moved towards your front door.

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?”

“I need to report for my-“

“Yeah, yeah, your mission,” you interrupted. “You kept babbling about it last night. But listen, man, if you go anywhere right now, you’re just going to pull your stitches again; you’ll bleed out before you can report to whoever it is you’re trying to get back to. You need to just lay down for a little while and focus on healing, or you’ll be in the same situation you were in last night real fast.”

He turned back to you, his hand already resting on the doorknob, and you could see the confusion written all across his face. His eyes ran along your features, as if trying to figure you out, before he finally spoke.

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

You were taken aback by his question, but you found that, when you answered him, you meant every word you said.

“Why do I need a reason to? You’re a human being like me, and you needed help.”

His eyes widened, and for a second all he did was look at you. You forced yourself to stare right back at him, watching those blue eyes as they came to the realization that you were being honest. Slowly, hesitantly, he let his hand fall off of the doorknob, and you smiled.

“Thank you. Now come lay down, and try not to pull too much on your stitches.”

Mechanically, he did as you said, stiffly laying down on the sofa. He had to bend his legs to fit on it, but he seemed comfortable enough as he settled back into the cushions. You nodded and moved to put away the first aid kit, but his hand darted out, settling on your wrist. He didn’t grip it like he had last night, and you thought you saw him wince when he saw the bruises his metal hand had left behind on your flesh.

“I… really don’t think I have a name,” he spoke quietly. “But they’ve always called me Soldier.”

You frowned at that, immediately wanting to ask who “they” were, but you already knew that he wasn’t going to tell you. So you just nodded, letting your other hand rest over his for a short second before starting to clean up once more.

“Ok, Soldier,” you breathed, tucking the kit under your arm. “Well… I’m going to make breakfast for myself. You ok with oatmeal?”

He nodded distractedly, looking away, and you turned on your heel to go do that. As you were cooking, you couldn’t help but ponder over the enigma that was currently laying on your sofa. You didn’t even know his name, just that he was supposedly a Soldier. Did he have amnesia? Maybe he’d been hit on the head or something in whatever fight he’d gotten into.

Whatever the case was, you knew for sure that you were in some kind of trouble. You didn’t know what kind just yet, but you had a bad feeling about it.

___________

He was most quiet on that first day. After your meager breakfast, you’d sat in the corner and typed away at your typewriter, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye every now and then. For hours on end, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, looking to be deep in thought. The only times he moved were to get up and go to the bathroom, and he didn’t say a word until that afternoon.

At around 3 or so, your cat had jumped up onto the couch, rubbing against Soldier’s legs. He’d jolted at the sudden appearance of the feline, and his eyes were comically wide as he stared down at your pet. You laughed at the sight, causing him to glance over at you.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a cat before,” you’d chuckled.

“I’ve seen ‘em before, it’s just…” He’d watched as it started kneading at his thigh, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been…touched by one before.”

You smiled as the cat settled down, laying in his lap and starting to purr.

“Well, Obi certainly seems to like you,” you’d remarked. “He loves it when people pet him.”

Cautiously, Soldier lifted his flesh arm and gently drew it over the cat’s back. Obi purred even harder and arched into the touch, closing his eyes as he leaned into the stranger’s hand. Soldier kept petting him, getting more sure in his movements, and you felt something warm bloom in your chest when you saw a tiny smile come over his lips.

“See? Looks like you’ve made a friend.”

That night, you’d slept in your bed, fully expecting to wake up the next morning in an empty house; you’d said goodnight to Soldier, telling him to wake you up if he needed anything, and he’d just nodded silently before turning his attention back to the ceiling. He’d seemed so dedicated to his mission that morning that, when you walked in the next day to see him snoring on the sofa, you’d been shocked.

Padding over to him quietly, you’d taken in his features while he slept; he looked so different when he was asleep. He didn’t have that perpetual frown on his face, and there were no worried lines on his forehead. You smiled a little, wondering why, indeed, you cared so much about his guy. Maybe it was because he was so clearly confused by every simple kindness you gave him; maybe it was how helpless he’d been when you first found him. But whatever the case was, you knew that you wanted to know more about the mysterious life he lived.

You’d sat your hand down on his shoulder, ready to ask him if he wanted any coffee, but his eyes had flown open at your touch. He’d flinched away, pressing his body into the sofa cushions as far as he could, swinging his left hand out towards your throat. With a yelp, you backed away before the metallic fingers could close around your flesh, but your heart was still beating a mile a minute.

For a second, he just stared at you, catching his breath, and you didn’t know what to say. Your brain was filled with things – you’re okay, it’s only me, I don’t want to hurt you. But you couldn’t articulate them as he watched you.

“I’m….sorry,” he eventually breathed. Slowly, he retracted his hand and let it fall into his lap, his head bowed as he looked down. One by one, he let his muscles relax, but you were still as tense as a bowstring.

After letting out a deep sigh, he turned to you, regret settling deep in his eyes.

“Did I…” He paused, as if trying to form the right words. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head shakily, but you still weren’t able to utter even a single word before you turned and fled to the kitchen. You turned on the sink and splashed water over your face, realizing two horrible truths at the same time.

The first one was that you still knew nothing about this man, except that he was dangerous. You’d known it from the beginning; you’d seen the scars littering his body when you’d dressed his wounds. He could kill you without any effort whatsoever, and he could probably get away with it, too.

But that fact wasn’t enough to overshadow the second truth. The second truth was what moved you to pour him a cup of black coffee and bring it to him with a bowl of cereal. The second truth was what made you offer to let him use your shower. The second truth is what motivated you to root through your dresser until you found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that were big enough to fit him.

And that second truth was this: he had been hurt before. You’d seen it in his eyes, in his knee-jerk reaction to being touched. You’d been reading it in his confusion, in his suspicion. You were beginning to think that he really didn’t know what his name was, but you didn’t need to know his name to know that he was being abused by someone or something.

So when he came out of the bathroom in your shirt and sweatpants, his hair dripping as he slicked it back against his head, you smiled at him and helped him back onto your couch before settling back down at your typewriter.

_________

“What are you writing?”

He didn’t know what prompted him to ask you. He’d been content to spend the past three days staring at the wall, petting Obi whenever he jumped onto the sofa, demanding his attention. He knew that he should have already left; he healed quickly – abnormally quickly. But something was keeping him here even after his wounds closed, with the strange girl who’d helped him for some unknown, foreign reason. He couldn’t stop himself from studying you, watching as you went about your quiet routine.

You blinked now, looking up at him from behind a stray piece of hair that had fallen over your eye. You blew it away, shoving it behind your ear, and he was almost tempted to smile when, a few seconds later, it fell right back into place. Almost.

“Um… I’m working on a book,” you replied, seeming just as surprised as he was at his question. “I’m a writer. Not a great one, by any means. But it manages to pay the bills.”

“What is your book about?”

“Well… it’s complicated,” you smiled. You leaned back, setting your hands on the floor behind you as you spoke to him. “I guess it’s a love story, but it takes place during the 1940’s.”

Something in his mind flickered at that, something dangerously close to being a memory. He couldn’t remember very far back; the only solid memories he had were of cold, concrete buildings, of receiving orders to do things that he never questioned, no matter what they were. He remembered pain, searing pain, ripping through his skull when he didn’t do as he was commanded, but the pain was somehow still there even when he did. There was no name, no humanity inside of him, and until you’d reminded him that he was, despite it all, still a person, he’d never even wondered why.

But now, he could feel something digging at the back of his mind, scratching at him as you kept talking about your book.

“It’s about a nurse who falls in love with a soldier she’s treating in France,” you kept on. “The problem, though, is that the soldier is married. But there’s also a point in the story where she gets roped into going across enemy lines to go undercover in a German camp, and the married soldier has to pose as her husband for their assignment.”

He nodded, tuning you out as he tried to follow that thought deep within him. It was there, right there, but he just couldn’t-

“Anyways, I’m almost done with my first draft,” you continued on. “But I can’t remember what year World War II ended; was it 1945? Or-“

He jolted, pulling himself upright as it came flooding back to him.

He was…smiling, actually smiling. There was a man standing with him in a red, white, and blue uniform, and he was laughing at something Bucky had said. Bucky…. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. James Buchanan…

“Whatever,” the man was saying, his blonde hair glinting in the candlelight. They were in a bar somewhere, and people all around them were drinking and singing. Some were even dancing. “I had him on the ropes.”

“What you had,” he teased, clapping the man on his shoulder, “was a serious lack of judgement. Which you still have, by the way. The only reason you still have a head on your shoulders is cuz o’ me, punk.”

“Jerk. Now c’mon; we gotta plan tomorrow’s attack.”

“C’mon, Stevie, what’s the point in winning a battle if you’re not gonna celebrate afterwards?”

When Bucky came out of the memory, you were standing over him, a hand on his shoulder as you looked over his face.

“Soldier? Are you ok? What just happened?”

He gasped, trying not to hyperventilate as the memory played over and over again in his head. He had a name. He had a name. He’d had a name all these years…

“Bucky,” he rasped. You frowned and shook your head, watching as he stood up and started to pace.

“What? Soldier, what are you-“

“Not Soldier,” he grunted, turning on his heel to face you. He gulped, looking down at his hands, clenching the one made of metal as he listened to its gears turn.

“Not Soldier,” he repeated. “Bucky. My name…my name is Bucky.”

_________

After that day, you never called him Soldier again. He didn’t tell you what had spurred on the sudden memory, but he seemed even more quiet than usual over the next day. Whatever he’d remembered, he seemed to be conflicted by it; you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had to have been feeling.

You tried to give him space, though, electing to go out that afternoon. You’d thrown on a pair of red shorts with a white Nasa t-shirt tucked into them, pulling on your Chuck Taylors before walking back out to Sol- Bucky. He was still pacing, running his hands through his hair agitatedly, but he stopped when you cleared your throat.

“Bucky? I’m going to go out, ok? I’ll be back soon.”

He’d frowned, glancing you up and down.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the thrift shop. And maybe the grocery store. I figured I would try and shop for more clothes for you; I don’t think you’ll fit into any of my other t-shirts.”

He’d nodded, seeming satisfied, but his voice made you stop once more as you moved to open the door.

“And you’re coming back?”

You’d turned around, surprised at how…nervous he’d sounded while asking you.

“Bucky… Of course, I’ll be back,” you assured him. He visibly relaxed at that, and you gave him one last smile before walking out.

When you eventually got back to your apartment, you were loaded down with several plastic bags, and Bucky immediately stood up from his seat on the couch as you entered.

“You’re back,” he said, but it sounded like he was assuring himself more than you. Your heart broke a little at that, but you just smiled and nodded, setting the bags down on the dining room table.

“Yeah, sorry it took so long,” you told him. “It took me a while to pick out clothes that I thought would fit you. But I think you’ll be happy with them. I got you some more sweatpants, a pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, a windbreaker… Oh, and some sunglasses just cuz.”

You smiled and handed him the bag, watching as he curiously started to sort through it. He wrinkled his nose a little at the windbreaker, making you laugh a bit. You’d thought it was fashionable; you’d read in an article recently that they were gonna be the next big thing.

“What’s this?”

You looked up from the groceries you were unpacking to see him holding a cassette tape, and you walked over to take it from him.

“It’s a tape,” you explained. “You know, like a music tape? You put it into a radio?” You knew from the blank look on his face that he had no idea what you were talking about. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

You’d gestured for him to follow you over to the boombox you had sitting by your sofa, and you popped it open to slide the cassette into.

“You put it in like this,” you started, “and then you close it again. Then you press play, and…”

Elton John’s voice filled the room, belting out the lyrics to Your Song, and the frown on Bucky’s face slowly melted away. You grinned, watching him as he listened to the lyrics. That same old tiny smile came over his face, and you felt as if you were going to melt at the sight.

“Pretty cool, right?”

Bucky nodded, finally glancing back over to you. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he turned away, seeming to think better of it.

“No, don’t do that,” you said gently. “What were you gonna say?”

He turned back to you and hesitated again, but finally he did as you said and spoke.

“I’m really… I don’t know what to think anymore,” he stammered, seeming to have trouble voicing the words. “But I do know that I’m grateful to you… For helping me, for letting me stay here. I… I don’t really know what to do, where I should go.” He looked down at his hands, blinking rapidly. “I don’t even know who I am.”

You bit your lip, reaching over to place your hand over his, its cold metal smooth against your fingertips.

“Whoever you were, Bucky… Whoever you’ve been, it doesn’t really matter. The memories will come back to you; we’ll make sure they do. But what really matters is who you’re gonna be. Who do you want to be?”

He looked up to you, his eyes growing watery.

“I…don’t know.”

“Then now is the time for you to figure it out. And while you do, you’re welcome to stay with me. I’ll try to do my best to help.”

He shook his head, turning your hand over in his.

“I still don’t understand why you’re doing all of this,” he murmured.

You smiled a little, ducking your head until he was meeting your eyes again.

“Because this is who I want to be,” you assured him. “Someone who helps.”

The two of you sat there until the song was over, its final words echoing in the space between you. I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…how wonderful life is while you’re in the world…

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #captain america #slow burn #reader insert #bucky barnes imagine

[wintryethereal]

A Fervid Greeting

Chapter Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 7260

Chris was watching the bacon and eggs cook as Seungmin and Changbin quietly watched TV when he heard his cell phone ring. He picked it up from the counter. Seeing the contact name and number, he answered. "Chris Bang speaking."

"Morning, Chris." Said police chief Jinyoung Park. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, sir. What's happening?"

"If you tune into the news, you can find out. I recorded it for you, so you don't have to turn on the TV and wait for them to repeat the message."

"Well," Chris looked over his shoulder. "A couple of the boys are watching a show right now, so that was awfully kind of you."

Jinyoung laughed. "I'm sending it to you now. I expect you boys to be at the station by seven."

"That shouldn't be a problem, sir."

"Good. See you then, Double Knock."

"Until then, sir." Chris ended the call, then stuffed his phone into his jeans. He turned around to face the living room and felt his phone vibrate; Chief Jinyoung had sent the video. "Changbin, Seungmin!" They glanced at their leader.

"Breakfast is ready. Come and fix your plates while I wake up Felix and Hyunjin. We need to be at city hall by seven." Said Chris.

"What happened?" Asked Changbin, stopping at the part of the counter closest to the living room as Chris came closer and Seungmin passed them to enter the kitchen.

"I don't know, but it's on the news." Chris paused beside the couch. Seungmin was busy making his plate. "Though, the chief did just send me a video of the news report." Chris took out his phone, swiped to view the message, and held it out.

Changbin took it. "Thanks, hyung."

"Don't mention it. Be right back." Chris said, and Changbin nodded. Changbin set down the phone on the island and took a plate from the overhead cupboards as Seungmin sat at the island and played the video. Chris left the living room and skidded across the antiqued brown wooden floor that was also in the kitchen and upstairs hallway.

Unlike the white drywall of the entrance and upstairs areas, the living room had wallpaper that was red like a wilted rose and patterned like the fur of a tabby cat. Its carpet was tawny brown, and matching light absorbing curtains were distributed in every room of the house. The only other rooms that had carpet were the bedrooms, studio and dojo. The doors of Bang Manor were simple: white with silver door knobs. But the black front door had an elegant, translucent window arch at its top. Matching window panels were on either side of that door.

Chris grasped the wooden handrail that matched the floor. The banisters were black metal rods, the newels the same wood as the handrail. He jogged up and walked to the first door on his left. Chris knocked before entering and heard Felix mewl. Chris flicked on the light and watched the boy pull himself up and stretch his arms with a silent yawn.

The bedroom was full of stuffed animals of every size and smelled of laundry and Doritos, its walls white except for one. Most of the plushies were squished into the hammock that hung from the far left corner of the room and stretched across the far wall, while others were on the bookshelf that had no books, it and the closet with folding doors on the right wall, and more were on the floor near his bed. His bedding was black, the pillows and underside of the blanket crimson red. The wall his bed was horizontal to had a mural of a fiery plain with a mountain of gold and jewels surrounded by burning forest. A flaming sword stuck out from the treasure, and fiery lightning rained upon the scene from black clouds speckled with embers.

"Time to wake up, Felix. We've got a meeting at city hall in an hour. There's eggs and bacon in the kitchen. Changbin has my phone, so you can catch up on what's happening." Chris said.

"OK. Thanks." The boy mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Chris left the room, closing the door behind him. He continued rightwards and knocked on the third and final door on that side of the hall before opening the door and turning on the light.

Hyunjin's bedroom walls were white, and the farthest had black illustrations depicting a red eyed figure sitting at the edge of a rooftop, looking onto the city below. An identical figure stalked a lanky figure with yellow eyes wielding a bloody knife. Finally, the red eyed man stood above the crumpled body of the skinny man, the assassin's dripping red hidden blade visible from his left sleeve. Blood spilled from the corpse and splattered onto the wall, which was patterned like brick. Above these scenes was a mantra in red: I am not blind.

There was a shrine to the right side of the room with framed pictures of each of the Stray Kids, along with a closet with folding doors. The five white candles were unlit, and the tea cup was empty, spare for the specks of leaves. Chris smelled the mirth Hyunjin had burned and Hyunjin's scent of lemongrass. His bedding was black but wasn't as cozy looking as Felix's, the pillowcases striped black and white. Hyunjin let out a whine as he stirred.

"Hyunjin, we have to be at city hall in an hour. There's breakfast in the kitchen, and the Chief sent me a video of what's going on you can look at with Felix." Said Chris.

"OK, I'm coming." Replied Hyunjin. Chris nodded, then left the bedroom and closed the door. He went downstairs and heard Felix's door open. Felix, in a loose orange shirt and black pyjama pants, crossed the hall to the bathroom between Chris' and Changbin's rooms. The second bathroom was through the first door on the right wall of the living room, the studio and dojo doors following it, to the left.

As he passed through the living room, Chris saw the television had been turned off. Chris ran a hand along the arm of the black couch. The loveseat and recliner matched the couch, but the recliner was made of leather. The coffee table had a black wooden frame with a foggy glass surface. He observed the picture in a simple black frame that was above the electric fireplace, behind the loveseat and recliner. Posed formally in their hero suits with mayor Brandon Gorge and the police chief before a blue backdrop were the Stray Kids.

Chris recalled how nervous they were before they were declared heroes with real powers instead of vigilantes with gimmicks up their sleeves. He remembered how they cried on the nights leading up to that day, afraid they would be falsely accused and imprisoned just for acting upon what came naturally to them. There wasn't even a court hearing: just a meeting at the city hall where the press was allowed an audience. While there were negative opinions, the general outlook of the public was loud enough for the city officials to properly analyse the evidence in front of them. This morning had a similar atmosphere, even though Chris hadn't seen the news report.

Changbin and Seungmin sat at the island. They each had a glass of orange juice. Chris met Changbin's eyes as he walked in. "Chan, this is pretty serious." Changbin said, tapping the cellphone that was face up on the counter. "You should really have a look at this."

"I will, Changbin." Replied Chris. "Let me fix my plate, and I'll do just that." Changbin gave a nod and stuffed his face with more bacon as Chan walked over and got a plate. He served himself, then sat beside Changbin and ate while he unlocked his phone and played the video.

The news anchor greeted the viewers and stated it was 6:00 o'clock, February 8, 2020. She said they would begin the news hour with breaking news. Residents of the Elizabeth Apartments had reported sounds of distress from the room next door to police around 3:15, that morning. (Chris heard Hyunjin come downstairs and briefly watched him enter the bathroom.) The victim was twenty year old Faith Lawson and the suspect her boyfriend, twenty one year old Han Jisung.

The neighbors who reported the kidnapping said the following to their news correspondent, some time after police arrived. (Felix entered the kitchen and said 'good morning'. Changbin and Seungmin answered him.) A middle aged husband and wife were shown with the male reporter outside of the apartments. (Felix got his plate and began to put food on it.)

The woman said they were awakened by Faith's sudden screaming. They heard Jisung tell Faith that she should 'Be still and quiet, and it won't be so bad.'. The husband said that they heard the couple having intercourse, the night before. (Hyunjin came out of the bathroom and walked into the kitchen and greeted the boys, who responded. He got a plate and filled it as Felix sat beside Seungmin.)

When the reporter asked if Faith and Jisung had ever fought, the husband and wife said 'no', that they seemed like a normal, happy couple. (Hyunjin took the empty stool beside Felix.) The video cut back to the newsroom. She said that the police had released censored photos of the crime scene and surveillance footage. She gave a graphic violence warning, then the video was played.

The camera in the lobby caught Jisung finishing his flight down the stairs, Faith over his shoulder. She was bound at her wrists and ankles with zip ties. Her forehead bled, an excessively large black bar edited to cover her wound. A copper coloured metal device with a detailed, key-like handle kept her mouth open. The outdoor camera showed a loitering black car. The driver opened the back door on the passenger side, then Jisung forced Faith in the backseat before entering behind her as slamming the door shut as the car sped away.

The reporter was shown again. She said that the car had arrived just minutes before Jisung was recorded fleeing the crime scene. The license plate of the vehicle had been captured, but the car hadn't been found. The screen swiped left to shows list of information about the car, driver, suspect and victim. Along with information already stated in the report, the woman said that the driver wore a copper coloured mask with an upside down cone shape carved into the forehead.

The anchor announced they would now show the photos. The scene was in the bedroom, the focus on the bed. The bedding was a mess, blood, saliva and urine on the sheets and pillows. The reporter said that police theorized that Jisung had woken Faith and struck her head with the device that was seen gagging her. The anchor stated that if anyone had any information on where the vehicle or Jisung had been after the kidnapping to contact the police as the number was shown at the bar at bottom of the screen. Then the video ended.

Chris blew hot air through his lips. "I'm surprised how much information the police released, but I guess they did it to warn the public." Seungmin and Hyunjin nodded, humming. "That's fucking scary." Everyone nodded and gave noises of agreement.

"Do you mind if I watch it again?" Asked Hyunjin. "I didn't see all of it."

"Of course." Chris answered, and pushed his phone into Hyunjin's hand. He played if again, Felix looking over to watch too. While the video played again, Seungmin rose from his stool, carried his plate to the sink and washed it.

"I wonder if this Jisung guy has a criminal record?" Pondered Seungmin.

"I guess we'll find out, when we get there." Replied Chris.

"He doesn't look like a criminal, at least." Commented Felix.

"That doesn't say anything about him, personality wise." Hyunjin said, as Seungmin seated himself again and Changbin rose to wash his plate. "Lots of bad people look unsuspicious."

"You make a point."

"Obviously, there's more going on than a simple kidnapping." Said Seungmin. "Whatever he used to subdue Faith with, it's some kind of medieval torture device."

"Yep yep," Replied Chris. "But it's nearly impossible to tell what it is, since we've only seen in use."

"I doubt the police have any guesses, either." Changbin said, returning to his chair. "And since we don't know where the car is, we'll have a harder time tracking them down."

"All we can do is find out what else the police know and do our best to find these guys and get Faith out of danger before it's too late." Chris said, and the other boys nodded. Soon enough, they all finished eating. Hyunjin volunteered to wash the dishes, so the boys went upstairs and into their room to change. While Seungmin's room was the third on the right side, Changbin's was first on the left and Chris' the second.

Chris' room had white walls, the left having posters of the Stray Kids illustrated like comic book characters by artists from a big comic book company. Individual portraits and group shots were scattered around the wall in an appealing way. Chris always chuckled when he looked upon certain posters. He had a lot of plushies in his his room, though not nearly as many as Felix had. They were neatly displayed on a bookshelf that had some books, the shelf on the wall opposite of the poster wall. Chris' bed was vertical to the far wall, the closet next to the shelf.

Chris opened his closet and took his suit from within. He removed his steel blue pyjama top and black pyjama pants that had thin white lines to make a checked pattern. Chris stepped into the matte charcoal one-piece spandex enforced with a thin layer of cotton for comfort and a cowl collar. The pitch black kneepads and elbow guards were enforced with steel-every members' gear was. The biceps, thighs and each side of the rib cage had three glossy black, diagonal strips of fake alligator skin tipped like spikes.

Chris brought out his gauntlets, which were made with glossy black leather and had steel knuckles and backside. The gloves had the stripes from the one-piece, except these looped around to the bottom. Chris took out and put on a black leather belt that had two pouches on either side. Its buckle was matte silver and had the letters DKC in black. Chris found his black leather boots, which came up to the middle of his shins, had a polished finish and had steel toes and soles. The bottom of the shoes had very good grips and were well padded, so Chris was able to be sneaky, despite the steel components. Finally, Chris put on his black leather cape that went a couple of inches past his knees and was tied to the collar of his costume with a lumberman's knot.

Chris exited his bedroom and saw Felix's bedroom door was halfway open. He saw Changbin behind the younger boy, helping an audibly struggling Felix zip up his black leather, full length sleeved shirt with a straight band collar. Felix had black leather pants held up by a black leather belt with a simple golden buckle with a pouch on the back, and kneepads. He had black leather shoes with half inch heels and steel toes and black leather fingerless gloves with his palms exposed.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Cried Felix, reaching a hand back and bending backwards a little.

"Well, if you stopped moving every time I move the zipper a milometer, you wouldn't be in pain and I could actually do this, today! Aish!" Changbin bickered. "Now straighten up." Felix complied, still whining.

"I should be able to do this in one go if..." Changbin jerked at the zipper, grunting. Felix continued to whimper, and cringed up his face. "If... argh, come on."

"Changbin," Chris said, walking into the room as Changbin and Felix watched him come in. "Let me take care of it."

"Yes, thank you." Changbin said, stepping aside, shaking out his hands. His costume had a waist length cape over his right shoulder that was white with a royal blue underside. It had a golden stripe along the edge and was attached to Changbin by an elastic strap under his arm. His long sleeved blouse with a Peter Pan collar and his harem pants were royal blue with white cuffs, the shirt's buttons and the two decorative buttons on the crotch white. He wore white leather boots with a golden stripe over the folded top parts of the shoes.

Chris came up behind Felix and grabbed onto the zipper. "OK, when I say 'three', suck in your guts."

"Wait, won't my shirt rip when I breathe out?" Felix replied, looking over his shoulder with doe eyes.

"If your powers are still working, no." Chris laughed, and so did Felix and Changbin. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

"OK: one... two... three!" Zip! Pop, crack!

"Aw," Felix said, right hand on his left shoulder as he rolled the joint and turned to look at his hyungs. "Did you guys hear that?"

Changbin and Chris chuckled, nodding. Chris said, "We did, yeah. You feeling alright, 'lix?"

"Yeah," Felix nodded. "I'm good. Ouch."

"Your breathing feels OK?"

"Yeah, feels fine, mate."

"OK, good!" Chris patted Felix's left shoulder, and Felix flinched, contorting his expression in reaction. "Sorry."

"You're fine..."

"Come on." Chris said, nodding to the exit. Felix gave a small nod as he and Changbin followed Chris out. Chris almost ran into Hyunjin, who was busy fiddling with the white cloth wrappings beneath his fingerless, black leather gloves. They jumped as Hyunjin's forearm brushed Chris'. Changbin and Felix stopped for a moment to take it what happened before continuing.

"Whoa! Sorry, Hyunjin." Said Chris, subconsciously raising his hand to gesture.

"It's fine, hyung." Hyunjin replied. "I wasn't looking where I was going." Hyunjin wore a sleeveless black shirt with a very low tuxedo collar that exposed the middle of his chest. It didn't take much movement for his nipples and toned but flat belly to be exposed. He wore black tights, black knee pads each with a tiny, four pointed white star, a belt with three pouches on his right hip, a jedok geom and dan geom with black handles on the other, and lightweight, all black slip-on shoes.

Chris massaged Hyunjin's shoulder. "Ah, it's fine. Come on." Hyunjin nodded, then followed Chris downstairs. He heard Seungmin leave his room as they went. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Chris looked back to watch Seungmin descend.

His costume consisted of a plum purple jumpsuit with long sleeves and gold cuffs, and a cape that ended halfway down his back. The cape was held by a clasp shaped like a hickory brown clover outlined in gold, and hickory brown slip-on shoes. Seeing that Hyunjin was on his way, Chris proceeded to lead the group outside. They walked left, to the garage attached to the house. "Why are we going to the garage from outside instead of from the dojo?" Seungmin asked.

Chris laughed. "Oh yeah." Hyunjin and Felix laughed. "Oh well! We're outside now." They arrived at the garage door and Chris pressed the button on his keychain to open it. When it was up just enough, they ducked under it and dashed to the black van with their logo on both sides.

"It's so dark in here." Said Felix. Chris unlocked the car, and it honked as its headlights flashed.

As everyone climbed inside the vehicle, Seungmin said, "Aren't you basically—?"

"—Oh yeah." The car rumbled with laughter as the doors were closed and the boys buckled up.

"Man, you really aren't a morning person, are you, Felix?" Said Hyunjin, as Chris started the engine.

"No," Felix shook his head, still smiling. "I'm really not."

Chris pulled out of the garage as Changbin ruffled Felix's hair. Felix gave a cry of protest and reached for his hand. Even though Felix had it, Changbin didn't let up. "Ah, but you're still cute."

"Stooop, oh my God." Felix playfully thrashed in his seat, kicking Seungmin's seat.

"Ah! You stop!" Seungmin shouted, reaching back to swipe at Felix's legs. As the Kids laughed, Felix pulled back his legs and swiped back.

                                                         —

Chris pulled into the curb in front of the police station. The lawn was littered with news reporters and camera men. "Oh yeah, the press is here."

"Of course they would be," Said Hyunjin, rather cheerfully. "This is the first time the city has called us for something like this."

Seungmin hummed. "The last time we came here under these kind of circumstances, we were finding out if we'd be allowed to be heroes, or not."

"We'd better get out there, guys." Chris said, turning off the ignition. "Let's go." The group left the van, Chris locking it once he saw everyone was out. Chris led the group up the gradual incline of the staircase, Changbin first behind him with the younger three close behind.

"Mr. Bang!" "Double Knock, sir!" "Excuse me, Mr. Bang!" The shouting voices of the reporters flooded the boys' ears as they marched forward. "Do you have any information about the suspect or his victim?" "Mr. Bang, do you have any insight on the case or the suspect's motive?" "Sir, do you believe that Stray Kids should be allowed to freely defend the city, as they currently do?"

The Kids weren't obligated to answer. In fact, they were legally prohibited from making any statement to the public without consent from the city. That didn't mean Chris didn't want to answer. He wanted to respond so they would stop asking the same questions time and again, but he couldn't, and that was just something he had to accept. It wasn't just to save face for the city or the police, it was to save face for the boys and to make sure no false information would be released. The media had been told this, four months ago, yet acted that their questions could be answered, or needed to be answered. It was one of the frustrating things about the job, and, today, it took a bit of effort for the boys to mute their voices.

The quintet were a little more than halfway to the doors of the building when Chris felt off. He stopped and looked among the crowd for something to click. "Chan hyung?" Said Hyunjin.

"Who... who called..." Chris muttered, Hyunjin and Changbin only hearing him because of how close they were to him.

"Who called what?" Changbin asked.

"That voice, where is...?" Chris' eyes flared open ever so slightly as he found a familiar face. "Minho." The boys easily found the handsome face of the man in the mint blue and white suit and held their breaths. His normally brown eyes were blood red and continually released a scentless black smoke.

"What are you doing here?" Asked Chris. The voices and movements of the reporters fell to a hush as he spoke.

"Who is he talking to?" Inquired a woman.

"Ha, he is a madman!" Exclaimed a male. "Go check into a mental ward, ya fucking lawless degen—"

"Hush!" Barked Hyunjin. "Let our leader do his job, please!"

"I don't know how you're making it so only we can see you," Chris said. A couple people murmured in wonder and doubt. "But I sure as hell know you're treading thin waters, Minho."

Minho drew out his breath as he inhaled through his teeth. To the surprise of the heroes, they were stained black. The smell of burned flesh slapped everyone within five feet instantly. The press reacted with nauseous expressions and sounds, stepping back or turning away to cough and hold in vomit. The Kids also turned to recover, but Chris swallowed the unfurling knot in his stomach and kept eye contact with Minho, refusing to show any sign of weakness to the serial killer.

"He's actually here?" A reporter said, her volume slightly lower than normal.

"Holy shit, what kind of power is this?!" Cried a male.

"Do you want me to answer what I'm doing here, or the secret to my new trick?"

"Why are you here, Minho?" Demanded Chris.

Minho gave a small smile and folded his hands in front of his abdomen. "Faith is alive. Jisung and I would love to—" Suddenly, the doors to the hall opened. Minho paused and let his hands fall to his side. Everyone watched the mayor and police chief come outside with a handful of officers.

Brandon had a friendly face and build and had a mauve tie with his light grey suit. Jinyoung looked familiar to a lot of people, but no one could quite put their finger on whom. He donned an all grey suit and his tie was matte silver. They had barely taken two steps when Jinyoung saw what what happening and put his arm in front of Brandon. The mayor stumbled back a bit, then gave a small gasp upon seeing what was before him. One of the officers whispered in Jinyoung's ear and received order 10-23.

"Hello, Mr. Gorge, Mr. Park." Greeted Minho, with a small wave. "Do I have permission to finish my explanation, or must I leave before I spill the wine necessary for the vines to grow?" Chris quirked an eyebrow and looked among his members, who also looked a bit puzzled.

Brandon and Jinyoung looked at each other. Brandon nodded. A moment later, so did Jinyoung. The police chief answered, "Go on, Minho. You have our attention."

"Thank you. So!" Minho clapped his hands, then folded his hands again. "Jisung and I would love to meet you boys at the asylum, at 3:53 PM: no sooner, no later. If you open those doors early or one minute past the designated time, the ritual will not only fail and make the core of the Earth expand to the point of destroying the planet!" Minho laughed for two seconds, then his laughter cut short. "I'm kidding."

Chris said, "I was going to say, Minho—"

"—Ah ah ah!" Minho wiggled his finger warningly. "There will still be a dire consequence for an early or late entry!"

"And what is that?"

"We'll be so upset that we can't free our girlfriend that we'll light the entire city on fire!" Minho flung his arms out side with a broad smile.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously." Minho nodded. "Anyway," He sang, and ran a hand through his hair. "That's all you need to know."

"We expect the angels to show up and try to stop us. You'll probably see one within minutes of coming inside, and they'll probably help you, or at least try. We'll see. It'll be fun." He wiggled the fingers of one hand. "Have fun at the meeting, boys! Bye now!"

Minho threw his head back. Chris instinctively reached out, even though he didn't know what to expect. Minho fell backwards as a fiery magic circle appeared in the stone stairs with a deafening bang like a rife had been fired. The crowd screamed, cowered and flinched. Some of the police did, too.

The Kids looked surprised but were able to find strength by looking at each other. Seungmin noticed the circle didn't erase the steps but wrapped around them and decided to remember that. A plethora of frostbitten arms with clawed fingers grabbed Minho and quickly pulled him through like he was a doll made of cloth. The circle disappeared with a bang, leaving no trace behind. More shrieks were given at the sound. As the people recovered, Chris turned his attention to the mayor and chief. His confident gaze was mirrored by Jinyoung.

"Come on, Kids." Said Jinyoung, directing their eyes to him. Nodding and shivering, the five quietly left the press alone.

                                                          —

Three watchtowers and small officer stations at their feet were lined up thirty feet apart in the middle of the Ocean, the one hundred by eighty foot lot that connected the four wings. They had female names in an attempt to make the asylum less dreary to inmates and visitors. The Ocean was boxed in by twenty feet tall, unpainted stone walls with steel walkways leading from one wing to the other. Steel stairs were in each corner. Six flower boxes of white and purple hyacinths were lined up outside the facilities and security stations. The boxes were blanketed in snow, but parts of the flowers peeked out from the cold powder.

Alicia was located east, serving as the residential and intensive care centre. She had three floors, the third being the underground intensive care level. Her ash white exterior was lined with vibrant red paint along the top and bottom, her roof grey. The clock tower in the left part of her body showed it was 3:48 in Roman numerals, a guarded platform below thirty feet above the ground. There was also a patrol on the level roof beside the clock.

Eva, the medical ward, was west. She looked identical to Alicia but had no clock tower and only had two floors. Sara, the entrance and parking lot, was north. The stone wall had a small weakness in the electric gate, but in case of an emergency, with the press of a button, three rows of spiked metal poles would thrust up from the ground. This security measure had yet to have been used, but it had been tested with a dummy driver and proven to be a viable asset.

Maria, the graveyard and garden, was south. There was no stone wall or electric fence where Maria met the Atlantic. The graveyard was neatly laid out to the west, the wooden benches and wide flowerbeds of more hyacinths to the east. There were ten headstones: four names belonged to patients from the first floor, and three belonged to patients from the second floor. Two belonged to stillborn children, though one hadn't been given a name but still had the name of her mother inscribed, and the tenth was that of the inmate who had murdered the three.

The police and Stray Kids had gathered at the asylum at two o'clock. Hyunjin was throwing his dan geom at a sandbag near Alicia and pulling it back with the white glow of his powers. One could tell that his speed was a little faster than the pair of watching officers' eyes could keep up with. "Uh, that's 471...?" Said an officer whose surname was Walker, hesitantly.

"475," Hyunjin politely corrected, pausing his exercise with the weapon in his hand to look at him. "But you were close."

"It's getting awfully close to 3:53." Said the other officer, Bridges, gazing up at the clock as Hyunjin resumed his practice.

Walker nodded. "That it is. I wonder if Chief Park is going to call one last meeting to go over everything, again."

Hyunjin replied, "Probably not. We're playing with time and demons, here."

"That's true enough." Walker nodded. Hyunjin caught his dan geom and sheathed it in one motion.

"I'm going to wait for the guys by the door." Said Hyunjin, resting his hands on his hips and looking from one man to the other, his eyes also drifting to the dozen officers standing by the doors. "Thanks for staying to watch, guys. Even if it got boring, after one hundred."

They both laughed. Bridges said, "Don't mention it, Ghost. We'll walk with you." Some ten feet behind them, Chris was delivering blows to the bags three officers were holding, alternating targets and how he attacked.

He brought up one leg in a jump kick and pushed himself off the sac with the other, the officer who held the bag staggering as Chris was launched across the ways and landing ten quick stomps to the second bag, switching from foot to foot. The officer who held this bag was the best built of his peers, but he still needed to plant himself firmly into the ground to avoid being blown back at least five feet from Chris' power. Chris landed with a thump that had less impact on the beaten up earth because he wasn't wearing his own boots. His momentum boosted him rightwards, to the third bag. He pulled back his arms and whacked it upwards with his left arm, immediately followed by his right to make a 'double knot'.

With a choked laugh, the man who held this bag stepped around a bit. "Oof!"

"You alright, Shorts?" Chris asked, relaxing his posture and rolling his right shoulder.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. What a rush, ha ha ha!"

"Glad you're still having fun." Chris smiled and patted his left shoulder. "You sure you don't want to switch out?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I've only been here fifteen minutes, I can keep going."

"Daren," Said Johnson, the officer with the second bag. "You really should take a break." He looked behind him. "It's getting real close to that time, anyway."

Chris turned to look at the clock with the officers and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, damn! Guess it's time to gather everyone."

Shorts gave a nod to Alicia. "Ghost is already ahead of you." Chris and the other two men looked in her direction. Hyunjin gave Chris a wave, and Chris waved back.

"That he is!"

The third officer, Island, said, "Chief Park will probably call everyone over, in a mo—"

"This if Chief Park to all officers in the DCA: please alert the Stray Kids to gather at the door and proceed to said destination. Two minutes and thirty seconds until entry. Over."

"Yep." Said Johnson.

"Walk with us, Double Knock?" Said Island.

Chris gave a nod. "Of course." The four started their short walk and blended into Hyunjin and the two officers. "All warmed up, Hyunjin?" He nodded. "Good, good." Chris turned to watch out for whoever came next.

Seungmin and Changbin jogged over, Chief Jinyoung close behind with eight officers. Chris looked around the yard for Felix and scarcely saw him leap from the steel platform from the nearest watchtower and land hands first, the boy bounding forth like a cat until he was somewhat close to the others and then standing, shaking out his arms a little. "You alright, Felix?" Inquired Chris.

"Yeah, I'm fine. That wasn't too high of a jump." Felix responded. Chris nodded.

"All right," The voice of the Chief drew everyone's attention. "I don't have time to go over every part of this operation in detail, but I don't need to. Remember to check your surroundings and be prepared to make split second decisions. So long as you follow protocol and keep your heads on your shoulders, all should go well, and, ideally, there should be no casualties."

"It is likely there will be casualties, but it is our mission to minimize those numbers and save not just the patients and staff of the asylum, who are on lockdown, but to save the city from the evil threatening to burst from the schemes of Minho and Jisung. I'll be waiting out here, but know that I, along with every citizen of our city, will be with you in spirit." Jinyoung looked to an officer beside him. "Marley, how much time until 'go'?"

"Twenty-three, twenty-one, twenty..." Counted the man, who held a cellphone. With amazing efficiency, the Stray Kids moved to the front of the mass, the police force behind them in four full columns and a fifth column that had vacant one spot. They marched forward, Marley walking behind them to continue his task. "Thirteen, twelve, eleven..."

Chris felt a pair of eyes staring at him and found the wavering eyes of Seungmin. "Ten, nine..." Chris discreetly moved his hand over Seungmin's and gently tapped his skin. "Eight, seven..." Seungmin swallowed and fumbled his fingers until he held Chris' hand.

"We'll be OK, Seungmin-ie, I promise." Chris muttered. His voice swayed the interest of the other Kids. Seungmin sniffled and nodded. Hyunjin stood on the other side of Seungmin, and he rubbed Seungmin's arm.

"Three, two, one, zero." Marley glanced up from the phone and nodded once to Chris. "Negative one—"

"Go, go!" Shouted Chief Jinyoung. Not wasting time, the group strode forward and entered the asylum. The decently decorated lobby had sky blue walls, a tacky grey carpet and cheap cushioned chairs. The secretary, like all staff outside of medical and security, had already evacuated. The far end of the room were glass sliding doors, emergency steel doors retracted into the wall.

As the force went through the doors and began to pass the huge holding cell on their left, a voice came from the radios of the officers. "Dispatch to Adam, Boy, Charles and David: the city has not caught fire. Repeat: the city has not caught fire. Over."

"That's the immediate danger out of the way, good." Said Chris with a heavy sigh, ensuring his voice could be heard by at least those directly behind him. The holding cell had steel white bars and benches against the far wall and mats on the concrete floor, which continued outside of the cell. The walkway to the white door at the end of the room had several windows that looked into the cafeteria on the right wall.

"What's the time?" Asked Changbin, who was to the right of Chris. Felix was at Changbin's right.

Alley, a female from the second row, answered, "3:53:42, forty-three..."

"It's still too early to be sure that the city is safe." Said Russell, a man from the fourth row.

"I agree." Replied Chris, the other boys and some of the men nodding. It took group about twenty-five seconds to arrive at the door. They stopped, and Seungmin stepped up to the door. He pressed his hands and his left ear to its surface.

"Clear." Seungmin stated. He stepped back into line and Chris took his place to open the door. He had almost put his hand on the doorknob when a spider leapt through the window, its bristles roughly touching Chris' right cheek. The spider flew over Chris' shoulder and landed on the ground.As several officers gasped and began to raise their handguns, only to realize it was just a spider, Chris pivoted and saw the tarantula wasn't moving.

"It's dead?" Chris said, questioningly.

Seungmin nodded. "Tarantulas can't survive long falls. They get hurt even if dropped from a foot high. Though some species are more aggressive, it is mostly because they are Old World species or because of mood. They are mostly harmless. Their bites can hurt, but..." He shook his head and crossed his arms. "They require humid habitats. How did this spider get here?"

"The Devil, probably." Answered Addison, an officer from the fifth row, and a handful of them laughed.

"That's probably not far from the truth, actually." Seungmin said, bobbing his head. He made eye contact with Chris. "Allow me to examine its corpse, before we move on."

"Of course, go ahead." Chris said, nodding. Seungmin gave a nod in response before kneeling before the creature. He gingerly poked it with a finger and sharply held his breath. His breath shuddered, and he swallowed loudly. "Seungmin?" The boy's torso jolted, his eyes whipping up to Chris' and then relaxing. "Talk to us, please."

"S-Sure. This is a South American Pink Toe." Seungmin carefully picked up the spider and turned it over in his hands as he got to his feet. He looked at his peers while speaking. "Its pink colour darkens into maturity, and they live from seven to nine years."

"They are arboreal, meaning they live in trees. This gave them the name Antilles tree spider. They grow up to six inches, and this adult female is five inches. I noticed a strong magical presence from it, when it came through the window. It's gone now, but it stayed long enough for me to intercept how the sender felt, when it was created." Seungmin's eyes lowered. "It was Faith..."

"Wait, that means Jisung and Minho have already changed her." Felix said. "They've already won. So was the whole 3:53 PM thing just to lure us in?"

"Probably, yeah."

"It might not mean they've won, Felix." Said Changbin. "Just that they've done enough to make her able to do this." He pointed at the spider.

"What did you feel when you touched the spider, Seungmin-ie?" Asked Chris.

"Intense throbbing pain where my jaw starts." Seungmin rubbed beneath his ears. "My tongue felt alienated and cold, like it had nothing around it. It felt like I had been crying for hours. I felt so helpless, so small and weak, unable to do anything but obey."

"I'd like to find one of these alive, but I doubt I'll be that lucky. I feel as if something is hiding in our little friend." Seungmin turned his head to Felix. "Felix, would you mind—?" Felix widened his eyes and shook his head. Seungmin, Felix and Hyunjin laughed. Chris and Changbin joined, a few of the officers chuckling along.

"I'll do it, Seungmin." Hyunjin said, stepping closer and withdrawing his dan geom. He cautiously sliced open the spider, from its abdomen to its chelicerae. Its blood colour was normal, but scentless black smoke accompanied the liquid. When Hyunjin and Seungmin saw the smoke, their eyes flew open. Hyunjin took a hasteful step back, and Seungmin quickly put the spider down, keeping his face as far away from the spider as he could.

"I don't smell anything wrong with the smoke." Felix commented, shaking his head. "I do see something that looks an awful lot like a crystal in the front part of its body, though."

"Do you want to get it?" Asked Seungmin. Felix froze up for a second, then shook his head. "I thought so." Seungmin crouched before the tarantula and carefully picked into its body with his fingers to extract the white object. He held it in two of his fingers and rolled it between them. "It sure feels like a real crystal."

"Lemme see." Felix said, coming over to Seungmin, who moved the item into his palms. Felix touched it with one finger and rolled it around Seungmin's palm a little. "Yep, that's a real crystal. I'd ask if I could keep it, but I don't wanna be cursed, or something."

"I do feel a faint magical aura from it," Seungmin said. "But it doesn't feel malicious. If anything, it feels malevolent. Might even be lucky. You can keep it on you for now if you want, Felix."

"Cool." Felix took the crystal and stored it in his pouch. He quietly added, "Yay!" Hearing him, Seungmin chuckled.

"OK, let's move on." Said Chris, as Seungmin stooped down and got a small plastic bag from one of his pouches. He shimmied the tarantula into it as everyone but Hyunjin moved on, and sealed the bag before standing, placing the spider in a different pocket before jogging to catch up with Hyunjin. Chris waited for them at the door, the officers acting upon their order to divide and investigate both ways the hall went. When they passed through, Chris began to pull the door closed, but was shocked to feel the door slam itself.

"Well, that can't be good." Said Chris. Hyunjin and Seungmin laughed. "Come on, this way." He nodded to his right, and they hurried to return to the front of their group.

Chapter 1 — Chapter 2

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids au #bang chan #chan #christopher chan #seo changbin #changbin #hwan hyunjin #hyunjin #lee felix #felix #kim seungmin #seungmin #lee know #lee minho #han jisung #han #jisung #stray kids bang chan #stray kids chan #stray kids seo changbin #stray kids changbin #stray kids hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids lee felix #stray kids felix #stray kids kim seungmin #stray kids seungmin #stary kids lee know

[simpleboox-blog]

Colours: Chapter 1; Brown - Red

Pairings: none yet

Warnings: gore (sorta intense and descriptive fight scene), kinda fluffy at the start.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Okay so this is kinda my first time doing something like this but I really like the idea of using colours. It really sets the scene and the mood (for me anyways.) I would really appreciate if you like and reblog because I don’t get a lot of attention at my blog. But hey I don’t mind either. Btw if you do like and reblog this I instantly love you and will follow you.

Masterlist here!

Sam and Dean aren’t actually in this chapter, this is just introducing (Y/N) and her “tragic” accident that started it all.

Rain wasn’t promised today. Or anytime that week really. But she brought an umbrella with her anyways. She was thankful for it that evening as she was walking home, when a small drop of water landed on her forehead. She grinned as more drops began to fall and she opened up her brown umbrella. The colour was the same as the autumn tree trunks and the wild hare in among the leaves that had fallen on the ground. Walking, she passed an antique store, two thrift stores, a grocery store and a large ice-cream store. Everywhere was closing up, and she waved to each of the owners that were there. Only a couple of cars past, and she met not even a few people on her walk.

Eventually she arrived home, an old but beautifully designed building that was now filled with apartments. She opened the door and a blast of heat hit her in the hallway. Shivering, she took down her umbrella and closed the door behind her, letting in a couple of autumn leaves. To her right, was three apartments. The first one, occupied by a businessman who was rarely home. She barely saw him, but when she did he was always wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, muttering to himself about how late he was to go somewhere. The second one, occupied by a cheery couple that go by the names of Tim and Joe. Tim worked at the grocery store. He was quite generic and plain, he also helped her with her accounts sometimes. Joe was an artist. Always creating splashes of colours on canvases, and baking the most amazing apple pie you will ever taste. And the third, occupied by a young girl, still in college. She lived with two of her friends and they were throwing parties almost every weekend, which bothered the other residents of the apartments.

There were three floors, and she lived on the third. She walked up the stairs, her boots squelching with the rain. There were only two apartments on the second floor. One was unoccupied, and the other was owned by a kind old lady named Linda, who invited her in for tea every Sunday. On the top floor, her floor, was her apartment and a man named J’s apartment. J and her got along amazingly and they practically lived in each other’s apartments. J’s proper name was Jessie, but he hated it so he stuck by J. She moved in just over five months ago, while J had been here for two years.

Fumbling for her keys, she tried to open her apartment door, only to realize that it was already. Hesitant, she opened the door wider only to smell the most amazing cookies ever. She realised the breath she was holding when she say J, wearing an apron and a stupid grin, standing in her small kitchen. He placed a second tray of cookies on the counter and closed the oven. “Scared me there J.” She said, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on one of the hangers. She also kicked off her boots before closing and locking the door behind her. He chuckled, looking over at her. “Sorry. Guess I forgot to lock the door after me.” He said taking off the oven gloves and untying the apron from behind him. “Guess you did.” She said clicking her tongue.

“I don’t mean to pry.. but it’s been a while since you were over here. Everything alright?” She said walking over to take a look at the cookies. She heard J sigh and sit on the couch. “Not really.” He said. “Wanna talk about it?” She asked picking up two cookies and placing them on a plate. She put on the kettle as well for some tea. He shook his head. “Nah. I just kinda want to be with you for a bit. Just for tonight.” He said. She nodded and poured two cups of tea. Knowing exactly what J liked in his and what she liked in hers. She put the cookies and the tea down on the coffee table and sat down beside him, knees touching. “Alright, well, we’ll have a super cringey sleepover then. Cause’ I know they’re your favourite.” J looked at her with a mocking shocked face. “Are not!” He said. “Uh huh. With facemasks and cringey romance movies and blankets and cookie dough and-,” He started laughing and she stopped talking to laugh with him. “Okay maybe I do like them a small bit.” He whispered. “Knew it.” She whispered.

It was a couple of hours later, and her and J were watching the notebook on the sofa, her head on his chest and them both under a thick blanket that she had found in a drawer under her bed. She hated to admit it, but she loved being this close to J. He was different tonight, in a good way, sort of. He wasn’t stiff and awkward and acting like he was three feet tall. He was calm and charming and even slightly flirty. His hand was questionably low on her back and he gave her occasional smirks and grins. She sighed and shuffled closer to him, feeling her eyelids getting heavier.

A knock on the door startled her and she sat up, moving J’s hand off her reluctantly. She must have been drifting off, because she couldn’t tell what was going on in the movie. “I’ll get it.” She yawned, standing up and shrugging the red blanket off her. J gave her a concerned look before standing up beside her as well. “Are you sure? Who would be knocking this late?” He said. Already she could feel a shift in the mood of the room. It got a little bit colder and J seemed to be standing taller, making her feel quite intimidated. Suddenly the door lock began to open and she gasped, taking a step back. J was the only other person with a key to this place. And he was standing beside her. He put out an arm to protect her from whoever was currently picking the lock.

The door swung open and- and J stood there. “Sorry, I heard voices so I let myself in….” his eyes grew wide as he saw the other J standing beside her. “What the hell..” she whispered. “Get away from him.” The real J said. But fake J just laughed and she swore for a minute she saw his eyes turn a greyish- silver colour. “What Jess? Scared? Scared of me? Or should I say scared of losing her?” Fake J cast an eye over her and she stood back trying to get as far away from him as possible.

Fake J grabbed her arm to stop her and she screamed, struggling to get out of his grasp. He pulled her close and grabbed her other arm. “And she’s so pretty too. A shame.” Real J huffed with anger and grabbed a bat, swinging it violently at fake J but missing and hitting her over the head instead. “Oh jesus sorry!” He shouted. She fell to the ground, a ringing noise in her ear. But she’s gone through worse. Grabbing a vase off the coffee table, she threw it at fake J but he caught it and smashed it into a thousand pieces. He then grabbed her by the collar of her sweater and smashed her against the wall, again, and again until the ringing got worse and she swore she could feel bones breaking and she was struggling against his grip but he pressed a hand to her throat and slammed her one last time into the wall, making her gasp and choke on blood she was coughing up.

Real J finally grabbed his shoulder and threw a punch to his face. She slumped down to the ground, blood pouring out of her head and mouth. The two J’s were struggling but the fake J was stronger, stronger than any person. She saw fake J grab a knife of the counter she tried to scream but another fit of coughing and blood came and she tried to get up to help but her knees gave way and she banged right into a bookshelf, causing her to slump down into a shriveled ball again. Real J was shouting and fake J was bringing the knife into his chest and it was like it was all in slow-motion and she wanted to scream but nothing could come out. She felt she was drowning. Drowning in blood. In pain. In the blanket. In the curtains. In the coat on the hanger. In the colour red. She was drowning in red.

Read Part 2 here!

Tag list: none yet

#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #castiel #sam winchester #castiel x reader #castiel x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #dean #sam #sam and dean #supernatural fanfictions #supernatural fanfics #spn fics #spn fanfictions #simpleboox #simplebook writes #simpleboox colours

[dahliawolfe]

Luna

Pairings: Derek Hale/Andi Balik (OFC), Stiles/Lydia 

“Stiles! Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles stops in his tracks. He knows that voice. But surely, it’s not…

“Andi?” he asks, turning around. He hasn’t seen his cousin in nearly ten years, but there’s no mistaking those dimples.

She hugs him tightly. “How have you been, Little Cousin?” she teases, ruffling is hair. Andi is four years older than him, and she never lets him forget it. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been ok. What are you doing here?” Andi shrugs.

“It’s fall break at school, and I had nothing better to do, so I thought I’d come by and pay a visit to my favorite cousin.”

“I’m your only cousin.” Andi’s mom was Stiles’ late mom’s only sister. Andi chuckles.

“Plus, I’m looking for a place to settle down. I’m going to be finishing up my journalism degree soon, and I’ve been thinking about getting out of Denver. It just doesn’t feel like home since…” Stiles knows what she means. Since her mom died. Stiles hadn’t been able to attend the funeral, but his heart had broken for her nonetheless.

“Guys, this is my cousin, Andi. Andi, these are the guys,” Stiles announces later that night as the group gets together. They’re a small pack. They’ve lost too many pack mates. But they were stronger than ever. Scott, Lydia, Peter, Malia, Ethan, Stiles, and Derek. They’d all drifted apart for a while, but they eventually made it back to each other. And back to Beacon Hills.

“Hi, guys. Nice to meet you,” Andi says, giving a lame wave.

“Wait, this is THE Andi?” Scott asks, studying the girl.

“Yes, Scott.”

“There’s no way this beautiful creature is related to you,” Peter purrs, stepping forward. “Peter Hale. Lovely to meet you.” He takes Andi’s hand and kissing the back of it.

“Ummmm…Thanks.” Andi subtly wipes her hands on her jeans.

“I’m Lydia, Stiles’ girlfriend. I must say, I love those boots. We definitely need to go shopping while you’re here.” Andi beams.

“Thanks! I got them at this overstock place in San Diego, actually.” Lydia gasps.

“I’m Ethan.” Andi nods at the quiet guy.

“Nice to meet you, Ethan.”

“I’m Malia. You look nothing like Stiles.” Andi snorts.

“I obviously got all the good genes before this one was born,” she teases, nodding at Stiles.

Derek, as usual, is silent.

“You must be Derek, then. Hi, Andi Balik. Nice to meet you,” she sticks her hand out, and Derek shakes it, giving her a nod and a small smile.

“Nice to meet you. Yeah, I’m Derek. Derek Hale.”

Stiles can’t help but notice that Derek doesn’t take his eyes off of Andi as she settles in between Scott and Lydia. The broody man almost seems enamored with Stiles’ cousin. And Stiles thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can work with that.

“Stiles, why couldn’t we just order in, instead of coming out in this storm just to get tacos?” Lydia complains as they pull into the parking lot of Stiles’ favorite Mexican restaurant.

“Because, you can’t get quality like this with take out,” he replies with a snort, like the answer should be obvious. He helps Andi crawl out of the back seat, and they all begin the trek to the front door of the restaurant. The wind is howling, and lightning is flashing in the sky. It had been raining buckets not five minutes ago.

“I better get some quality salsa and chips for you dragging my ass all the way to the middle of nowhere for…” Andi begins, but she’s cut off by a ear piercing scream. At once, all of the wolves are on alert, and Stiles is creeping closer to the Jeep for his bat.

“What the hell?” Andi hisses.

“Stiles, get Andi and Lydia inside. Scott, Ethan, with me. Peter, Malia, take the back,” Derek instructs.

“Wait! What?! You’re going to investigate?! And you want me to stay with Stiles?! No, I don’t think so!” Andi protests, drawing a long knife out of her boot. Everyone looks at her in confusion and mild concern. She shrugs. “What? I live in the city. I have to protect myself.”

“You’re not coming,” Derek replies, matter-of-factly, turning on his heels and leading the others away. Stiles tries to shepherd Andi into the safety of the building, but she breaks away from him and continues on after Peter and Malia.

“Shit,” Stiles whispers, looking at Lydia, who is giving him a smirk.

“Well, I like her,” the strawberry blonde replies, strutting inside, waiting for Stiles to follow.

Once they’re around the corner, all the wolves drop fangs and claws, preparing to fight whatever is waiting in the woods. The smell of blood is nearly enough to gag them. Something else is tinging the air too. Magic.

“Dammit, I thought we were done with all this,” Scott growls.

“Me too,” Ethan adds. Derek has laser focus. He had moved home because he was tired of running, but maybe he should have stayed away. Maybe settling down wasn’t worth being attacked every week.

Andi smells the blood long before she sees the body. Nonetheless, there it is. Suspended in a tree from wires, like some horrible marionette.

“Holy shit,” she gasps, forcing everyone to turn to face her. She catches a glimpse of their glowing eyes, fangs, claws, and excess fur and stops dead.

“What the fuck?!” she hisses. Because, well, what the fuck?

Derek lets out a low warning growl. “I told you to stay,” he grinds out, stalking towards her.

“Well…I didn’t listen?” Andi replies hesitantly. Derek’s eyes flare red as he steps closer. Unbeknownst to her, Andi’s flash silver in return. Derek draws up short, and shock echoes through the pack.

“Peter, take her back. Stay with her,” Derek orders, turning away.

“Wait, no! I want to know what’s going on!” Derek growls again and turns toward her.

“You will go with Peter. Now!” It’s evident that Andi is straining against every fiber of her being to resist the order. Which is strange. She’s human. Right?

…

“Derek, what the hell?!” Scott demands once Peter and Andi are out of earshot.

“Those eyes, that means…She’s a luna,” Malia states, testing out the theory.

“But she’s human,” Ethan points out. “Right?”

“Yes,” Derek sighs. “She’s human. Yes, she’s a luna. It’s rare. But it happens.”

“It does?” Scott asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Yes. In ancient times, it was much more common. Usually, lunas were the born mates of alphas. That wasn’t always the cases, but there hasn’t been a known human luna in at least 200 years.”

“Dude, how do you know all of this stuff? That’s Stiles’ and Lydia’s thing.”

“My mother used to tell me stories of the brave human lunas that led their packs to victory against other oppressive packs.” The younger pack members look at each other silently for a few moments.

“Back to the problem at hand. The mage is gone. For now. But he’ll be back. Ethan, Malia, track him as far as you can and report back. Scott, call the sheriff. I need to speak to Peter.” With that, the alpha stalks off.

…

“Does John know?!” Andi berates. Stiles stands against the Jeep, his eyes wide at his cousin’s anger.

“Uhhh…Yeah, he…”

“Werewolves, Stiles?!” Andi hisses, instinctively lowering her voice.

“I mean…Yeah, but…”

“Stiles! You…I…Ugh!” she growls, throwing her hands up in agitation. Peter and Lydia are standing to the side, watching the cousins in amusement.

Derek approaches the scene and frowns at Peter, motioning for him to come over. Peter returns the nod and pushes off of his sleek black Audi, stepping toward his nephew.

“She’s…” Derek begins once his uncle reaches him.

“A luna. Yes. Your luna, specifically,” Peter replies with a smirk.

Derek raises an eyebrow, glancing at Andi across the parking lot. She has Stiles against the Jeep, a finger jabbed into his chest.

“But how?” the younger Hale questions.

Peter shrugs. “It happens. Look, lunas are rare. If another pack finds out about her, they could take her. A pack is stronger with a luna. And there are ways to force her into fitting into their pack.” Derek frowns.

“I’m not letting that happen.”

“Well, then I suggest you talk to her. Preferably before she kills poor Stiles.”

Andi looks around the diner. It’s nearly one a.m. and the place is pretty much empty. Except for a few truckers, two tired looking waitresses, and her and Derek. He’s agreed to tell her what was going on, and it was a conversation that she felt like she deserved.

“Andi,” Derek begins, hesitating. He’s not exactly good at sharing his feelings. “I…I assume you know what we are?”

“Yeah. I…I figured it out.”

“Ok, good. Well, there’s something you should know…about you.”

“Me? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a term in umm…or community. Luna. It means, basically a female leader of a pack. Specifically, in your case, a human leader.”

“Wait. Back up. Stiles said you were the alpha. So, that means you’re the leader, right? So, how can I be the leader? And how do you know that I am, anyway? Can you smell it?” She gasps suddenly. “Do I smell weird?”

Derek chuckles. “No, you don’t smell weird. Your eyes. They flashed silver when mine flashed red. Your luna was telling my alpha that she was there. I am the alpha, but well…there’s…”

“Derek, just say it, man. What could be crazier than the night I’ve had already?”

“The luna is the alpha’s mate. Since your eyes responded to mine, that means you’re my born mate.”

“Mate? Like life partner.”

“Yeah, except more…permanent.” Andi takes a deep breath.

“I…uhhh…I see. Well, that’s…interesting.” Derek lets silence settle between them for a few moments before speaking again.

“It…It doesn’t have to be that big of a deal. You’re not going to be forced into anything you don’t want to do. You still have free will.” Andi rubs her temples, leaning back in the pleather booth.

“Can…Can you take me to my hotel? I think I need to sleep on this. I’m not like…rejecting you, or whatever, but I…I just need a little time. Is that ok? Can we maybe meet up for coffee tomorrow or something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. That’s not a problem.” Derek pays for their coffee and leads Andi out to his car.

…

The next morning, Derek walks into the lobby of Andi’s hotel. They had agreed to meet at 9 a.m., and it’s 8:30, so he knows he’s early, but Derek believes in being early. He intends to just lounge in the lobby and wait, but he catches sight of Andi in the hotel gym right off of the lobby, so he decides to go say hello. What he sees when he steps through the frosted glass doors stops him dead in his tracks. Fresh, pink, raised scars stand out against Andi’s pale skin. It’s evident that deep gouges have been made in her flesh, and it angers Derek more than he can describe.

“Andi,” he greets hoarsely. The young woman snaps around, clearly surprised by his presence. Sweat is coating her skin, and her dark hair is stuck in curls to her forehead. Her knuckles are wrapped, and she’s been going one-on-one with the punching bag in the corner of the gym.

“Derek, hey,” she replies, walking over to him.

“What happened?” he motions to her back and sides. Andi frowns.

“The truth is, I was attacked about a year ago. I almost died. That’s why I carry the knife. That’s why I left Denver. There’s nothing there for me anymore. I had to get away. The nightmares, and the paranoia…it was too much. Please, don’t tell Stiles. He worries too much as is.” Derek steps forward, running a gentle fingertip down her side.

“Did they…did they get the guy that did it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I quit taking the detective’s calls. It was too much to handle by myself. I didn’t want to know. Ya know? I didn’t want to be told that he was still out there. I would have been terrified more than I already was.” Derek nods. He understands what it’s like to have to look over your shoulder constantly. And more than anyone else, he understands what it’s like to be alone.

“I…You…Are you going to stay here. In Beacon Hills, I mean?” Andi shrugs.

“Maybe. I do have family here. The only family I have left. But I don’t know. I’m a little lost right now. I’m trying to figure out where I’m supposed to be.” Derek steps closer, until he’s only a breath away.

“You have us. The pack. We can be your family. We can protect you. We can care for you. You belong here. You’re our luna, and you’ll always have a place here.” After looking down into Andi’s eyes, Derek leans closer and seals his lips over hers. It’s a slow, gentle kiss, but Andi leans into it. It feels good. It feels right, and Derek doesn’t push her further. He simply gives her one last peck on the lips before cupping the back of her head and placing a feather light kiss on her forehead.

…

“Alright guys, fill us in,” Derek demands as he leads Andi into the pack house later that morning.

“We lost the scent at the edge of town,” Ethan informs, nodding at Andi and accepting one of the doughnuts that she brought to the pack.

“Ohhhh, nice, Luna. Thanks,” Scott says, scooping up a glazed and a powdered doughnut and immediately cramming them in his mouth.

“Any word on who the victim was, Stiles?” Andi asks, propping herself against the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, Dad says he was one of the guys from the commune on the edge of the forest.”

“Excuse me? Commune? You mean cult? Beacon Hills has a cult?” Andi places her half eaten doughnut on the counter and crosses her arms over her chest.

“They’re not a cult,” Stiles protests. Andi glares at him.

“Uh huh. Neither was Jonestown.”

“Andi’s right. It’s suspicious. Scott, you and Malia go and check it out. Malia, keep a lookout for the scent you caught last night. Andi and I are going to the morgue.”

…

“What are these symbols?” Andi questions as she studies the body of the previous night’s victim.

“They look like some sort of rune. Magic stuff,” Derek replies. He doesn’t step any closer to the body because the smell is already too much to handle for him and his sensitive nose.

“Is there anyone who can read these?”

“Funny you should ask. Cuz here I am,” Lydia states, coming into the room. She walks over to the body, covering her nose as she leans down to inspect the symbols. “Definitely magical symbols. I’ve seen this before. I think these are Druidic runes. Deaton could tell you more. But some of these symbols mean ‘to rise’ or ‘ascend’. Maybe someone was looking for a power boost?”

“So, here’s a theory,” Andi begins, standing upright and walking away from the body, tossing her latex gloves in the trash. “What if the mage is part of the commune and was friends with this guy? This poor dude has some healed runes on his lower back that definitely didn’t come from last night. Maybe the mage used his friend here to gain more power, and then as a final boost, killed him in a ceremony of some sort?” Derek nods.

“It’s not the craziest theory that I’ve heard. Lydia, get with Deaton and see if we can’t come up with a binding spell to eliminate his powers so we can take him down.”

“Got it, Boss.”

…

Andi and Derek are exiting the morgue when the alpha’s phone rings. “Hello,” he greets, wrangling his keys out of his pocket. “That’s great, Scott. Hold on to him until we get to you. Lydia is working on a binding spell. We’ll take him out tonight.” With that, he hangs up and looks at Andi. “They found the mage on the commune. Scott and Malia are going to sit on him until we can take him down.”

“Well, let’s get to it, then. He’s not going to wait around forever.”

…

“Andi, Lydia, fall back. Lydia, you work on chanting the spell, Andi, you guard her. When we get him secured, we’ll give him the potion that Deaton sent to strip his powers completely. Then we’ll turn him over to the sheriff,” Derek directs.

“If he survives the spell and potion,” Lydia points out. It was risky. The potion was potent and could very well kill the mage, who turned out to be a lonely middle-aged man. Derek nods.

“Right. If he survives. Andi, you ok with this?” Andi pulls the blade from her boot again.

“I think I’ll be fine, Der.”

…

“By the way this wind is picking up, I’d say they found him,” Andi says to Lydia, who is chanting something in Latin. The wind is blowing fiercely, and the air has become choked with something that Andi has never experienced before. Just then, something whizzes by her head, and it takes her a few seconds to realize that it’s someONE not someTHING. Ethan crashes into the tree at her right.

“Shit,” she hisses, pushing Lydia behind her. Andi stands guard in front of Ethan and Lydia, crouched with her knife at the ready. “Lyds, if you could hurry up, that would be appreciated, Sweetie.”

She can hear Ethan moaning behind her. “How ya doing, Ethan?”

“I’m ok, Luna. I need to go back and…”

“Absolutely not. You will stay behind me.” This time, she feels it as her eyes flash silver.

As sudden as the wind had started up, it dies down. And Andi can breathe again. Lydia is through chanting, and is now smirking at her. Andi smiles. “Good job,” she compliments just as the rest of the pack enters the clearing dragging the mage.

…

“And you just found him? And he confessed to you?” John asks later that night as Andi drops the unconscious mage at the station.

“Yup. That’s the long and short of it.”

“Uh huh. Right. You’ve been spending too much time with Stiles.” With that, the sheriff shakes his head, and walks away, motioning for a deputy to take the suspect to the cells.

…

“That was a pretty damn good night,” Andi sighs, plopping down on the couch by Derek.

“That it was. You were great, by the way. Lydia told me how you took control out there.”

Andi shrugs. “I just did what felt right.” Derek gives her a smile.

“You’re a natural.” They stare at each other for a few moments, smile on both their faces, before Andi gets brave enough to lean in for a kiss. This time, she deepens it, and Derek happily complies. He lifts her to straddle his lap and slides his hands under the hem of her shirt, resting them on her hips.

“Can we…” she asks, pulling away breathlessly.

“Of course, Baby.” Derek hoists her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his hips as he carries her to his room. She nibbles on his neck all the way, causing him to let out deep, low growls. By the time he gently lowers her to the bed, his cock is rock hard against the front of his jeans.

Andi quickly unbuttons her pants, sliding them off of her hips and reaching for her shirt as she watches the muscles in Derek’s bare chest flex as he removes his own clothes.

Derek nudges her thighs upwards with his shoulders, kissing up her legs and bumping his nose against her covered heat. He crooks one finger in the cotton of her panties, pulling them to the side enough for him to snake his tongue into her. Andi hisses, fisting his hair in one hand, the bedsheets in the other.

Andi will proudly admit that she has never loved stubble more because Derek is driving her mad. When he pulls away to grab a condom and position himself at her entrance, she grabs at his shoulders, needing him closer.

“I’m right here, Darling,” he soothes, kissing her knuckles as he slides into her, bottoming out in one smooth motion.

“Derek,” she moans, raising her hips in time with his thrusts. Derek scoops her up so her chest is against his, but his pace doesn’t change. Andi sucks quickly fading marks into his skin and cups the back of his neck, looking up at him. She knows she’s close, and she can only hope that it feels as good for him as it does for her. He snakes a hand between them, flicking her clit gently, drawing her closer to coming undone. Her back bows. She’s so close.

Derek’s eyes flash red. Hers flash silver in return. And their glowing eyes lock for a few seconds before she springs apart, howling his name, her head thrown back, body taut. Derek steadies her through her orgasm, thrusting slowly and steadily. He gentles her with soft kisses to her temple as he chases his own release. Finally, he stills in her, smiling down at her. He lays her gently on the bed, tossing the condom away before laying beside her and pulling her close.

…

“So, I’m gonna be staying for a while. That is, if you’ll have me?” Andi says a few days later when the pack gets together. A chorus of positive affirmations fill the air, and the luna smiles. It looks like she’s found exactly where she belongs.

THE END!

Word count: 3618

#teenwolf #imagine #story #teen wolf fanfiction #tw #derek hale #stiles #scott mccall #lydia #peter hale

[aureumjeon]

Pitter-Patter (M) || KNJ

♡ Domestic!Au ♡ Husband!Namjoon x Reader ♡ !! WARNING !! Mention of miscarriage, depression, Fluff, Angst, Light smut. ♡ Words: 5.1K

a/n: *Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, nurse, midwife or anything. This was based on my own knowledge (I gave birth twice.) and of course, Google. I literally cried while writing the miscarriage scene. I have no intention of offending women who went through a mc. For those who experienced it recently or 10, 20, or even 30 years ago, I am so sorry for your loss. I will hold a special spot in my heart for you and your child. I am a mere stranger to you but I want you to know that there's a rainbow always after the rain.  🌈

“You’re not going to go through this alone,  I’m with you all the way.”

You were huddled up in thick blankets on the living room couch watching Marvel's Thor: Ragnarok with your loving husband, Namjoon. Too immersed in the comedic yet action-packed plot, you did not feel your husband's hand slither its way down to the apex of your thigh. "Babe..." You whined, wiggling your thigh, trying to shake off his venturing hand. "I'm trying to watch here." You said, completely unamused. He chuckled and retorted "But we've watched this movie THREE times now." With a heavy emphasis on the three. Giggles were the only thing you replied, waving your hands in his face trying to dismiss his logical argument. He snickered at your response and rested his head on your lap, looking up at you and admiring the view. He genuinely felt happy that he gets to spend his entire life with you, for better or for worst. There was only one thing he thought was missing. "Y/N..." He hummed your name sweetly, his voice low and smooth, and it felt like feathers titillating your eardrums. "Yes, love?" You hummed back while brushing your fingers through his silver tinted hair, eyes still focused on the television.  "Maybe..." He paused. Namjoon nervously swallowed a lump in his throat and carried on with what he was saying, “I think we could try again, Y/N. It's been 8 months." Your husband firmly stated, washing off any trace of hesitancy.

It took you a while to process what he was suggesting when it did sink in, the playfulness of your voice dissipated. Your face stone hard and a frown was embossed on your lips. With eyes cold as ice, you stared him down like he murdered someone. You stood up abruptly, causing his head to hit the seat cushion. "Ouch." He hissed. "Good thing its soft and we weren't lying on the floor." going over the back of his head with his fingers. You marched straight up to your shared bedroom and shut the door as loudly as you could. SLAM!

"Aish.." Namjoon sighed, pulling himself up and trailed over to where you headed. "Y/N." He knocked on the wood door twice but to no avail. "Love." He called you again, this time by your term of endearment for each other. You know you can't resist when he calls you that. The way the word escapes his lips, like a hot knife gliding through cold butter. Yes, it’s that smooth. When Namjoon heard the sound of the lock clicking, he slowly held the doorknob and nudged it open. “Y/N...” He whispered, inching closer to the side of the bed where you were seated. “Are you okay?” he inquired, rubbing circles on your back trying to soothe you. “I’m sorry...” you apologized, feeling guilty at your sudden outburst. It wasn’t his fault, and he definitely did not deserve that. You clasped his hand, lightly tugging at it, encouraging him to sit down beside you. He precisely did what you asked, wrapping his arms around you. You felt the warm, comforting heat radiate from his body.

“It’s not your fault, love...” He replied, voice gentle and soft. “Sorry for being insensitive.” He settled his hand on your face, thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. “Sorry if it seemed like I was rushing you.” Namjoon leaned closer to you and placed a kiss chaste kiss on your forehead. [Past] Rewind to the day you found out that you were carrying a little angel in your womb. "Love!" You shouted from the bathroom, your voice was quivering from excitement. Namjoon thought there was something wrong or that you were in trouble, he barged right through the door and exclaimed "Y/N! What's wrong?!” Tears were welling up in your eyes. You held up the at home pregnancy test kit in your hand, two solid red lines showed. After years and years of trying to conceive, the exhausting days filled with mapping out your ovulation period, ingesting an unhealthy amount of supplement that promised to enhance your fertility, and going back and forth with your not-so-affordable OB-GYNE finally paid off. "We're pregnant?" Your thunderstruck of a husband gleefully asked. "We're pregnant!" You jumped into his arms, feeling his familiar embrace. "We're... We're pregnant." He sighed in positive disbelief, tightening his hold on you. "I can't believe it!" He whimpered as his face dived deeper in the crook of your neck, "Finally." You softly hummed. The excitement of knowing that you will become a mother tickled you inside, setting off tiny, little butterflies. The following day you went to the clinic to professionally confirm that you were indeed pregnant. Your doctor delightfully congratulated both of you and enlightened you with everything you needed to know for the next 9-10 months. You took note of everything she advised, from 'what to eat and what not to eat' to 'sleeping facing the left was suggested, because it provided better blood circulation for the child." (A/n: Fun fact, this is true. My doctor advised me to sleep on the left side with both of my pregnancies. ) You were ecstatic, you undeniably were.

The moment you and your husband walked out of the building, your mind was focused on one thing, one thing alone. You looked at Namjoon with sparkly eyes and chimed "Baby clothes, bottles, binkies, shoes, bouncer, toys---" You were interrupted by your dimpled husband "Calm down, love. Isn't too early to buy those?" He chuckled, to which you replied with a pout. "And we don't know our baby's gender yet." His argument was convincing, but your stubbornness was stronger. You crossed your arms in a child-like manner, again pouting your lips into a c-shape while you stomp your feet. Indeed, like a 5-year old who was not allowed to use her tablet because screen time was over. "Come on, Y/N..." Namjoon stated, his hand was on your shoulders, trying to overpower you rebellious stance. "No." You huffed, cheeks puffed out. "Yah. You know you're absolutely gonna be the death of me, Y/N." He worded jokingly, raising his hands up in defeat "Fine." Your eyes grew 10 times wider at his surrender. "We can get a few things--," You yelled in excitement, cutting him off. "On one condition..." He continued, your grin turned upside down. "We will only get essential things." You face was like a clock, changing its direction every second. "Deal!" You joyfully replied, hooking arms with him. - "Look at this, love!" You exclaimed at amazement, pointing at the compact stroller that magically folds into a cube no more than 20 inches in height and width. Namjoon coiled his arm around your waist and kissed the top of your head. You reached the clothing section for 3 months and below. With wandering eyes, you gazed at all the lovely clothes stacked against one another, row after row, and aisle after aisle. They were just as adorable as you expected them to be. Varying from the palest shade of pink to the deepest shade of blue. Onesies, jumpers, sweaters, hats with fluffy cat ears on top, you name it. "Only what's necessary." Namjoon prompted you with a smile on his face, seeing you happy made him happy. "Yes, sir!" You replied. Your husband does have a point; it really was too early for this. You were just excited at the whole ordeal, and you were thankful that your husband was very kind, loving and understanding enough to let you do what you want. "These!" You plucked the 6-set whites onesies from the display hook. "And these, too!" A cute 3-piece pyjama set littered with doodles of cats, dogs and rabbits accordingly. You tossed them in the basket that was held by your husband. He walked behind you, following every twist and turn you took. Humming a song as he observed you with love-struck eyes. You, the love of his life, is now bearing his child. A family, he thought to himself, together the three of you will become a family. After getting what you needed, you hurriedly hauled your husband to the counter to pay for everything you bought. You got to the car and sat in the passenger seat, holding the bag of baby stuff. "You happy?" Namjoon smiled, his free hand resting on your thigh. "Very!" You lovingly replied, clutching on the bag. The first three months were hell, the doctor told you that this period is where your body will start to feel the surge of hormones. Some women feel nothing at all, while others experience nausea, vomiting, fatigue, cravings, smell sensitivity, and many, many more unpleasant thing. Unfortunately, you represent the latter.

You wouldn't survive it if it wasn't for you very supportive husband. He'd remind you when it was time to take your prenatal pills, cook you a full balanced meal, sing you lullabies when you had trouble sleeping, massage your back, legs and feet whenever you feel them ache, and run to the 24-hour convenience store when you want to eat weird combination of food like chocolate covered sausage. He was heaven sent, you looked at him with luminous eyes while he cradled your growing bump in his arms, kissing it more than a hundred times. What have you done in your past life to deserve a man like him? He was an amazing husband, and he will be an amazing father too. "We got a monthly check up tomorrow right?" You asked your husband at you scanned your phone's calendar. "Yes..." He hummed as he placed another kiss on your tummy. "I'm excited to see how much our little one has grown." You smiled. Namjoon crawled beside you, spooning you in. "Sleep, love. It's harmful to stay up late." He stated. You closed your eyes and felt your body drift into dreamland. Tomorrow comes, you were seated at the waiting area with your husband, waiting for your names to be called. "Mr. and Mrs. Kim?" The nurse at the reception desk stated, she smiled and added: "Mrs. Park is ready to see you now." You bowed and entered the room, greeting the familiar face of the doctor you've been seeing for almost 3 years. "How are you feeling, darling?" Your sweet doctor inquired as she gestured for your maternity booklet. "Have you eaten well and are you getting enough sleep?" You nod, while she scanned your previous record. "By the look of it, you're 16 weeks in today, congratulations again." She grinned from ear to ear. Happy to see that the Kims, one of her favorite couple has come a long way. She rose from her seat and guided you over to her examination table, helping you lie down. "Let's see how much the baby has grown." She clapped, reaching for her handy dandy tape measure and measured your bump. "Good, good. This is an appropriate size for a 16th week gestational age." You smiled and looked over your to your right, you husband giving you the thumbs up. "Next, we'll count the baby's heartbeat." She opened the drawer next to the examination table and pulled her Doppler foetal monitor. She uncapped the tube of Aquasonic 100 Ultrasound gel and spread it on the tip of the gadget. You jolt at the sudden coldness you felt. "Okay, stay still mommy. Let's find your angel's heartbeat.

Your doctor furrowed her brows after 6 minutes of searching for your little one's thumping heart. "That's odd." She obscurely said. The look of worry both flooded you and Namjoon's faces. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Park?" Your husband, who was presently standing to your right, impatiently asked while clasping your hand. "I'm having a hard time locating it." She answered, "It is possible your baby's in a very snug position, that might be the reason why my Doppler can get a hold of his/her heartbeat." You exhaled a profound sigh of relief, looking at each other with weary eyes. "It's going to be alright, love," Namjoon assured you, kissing your knuckles. "I'll ask my assistant to prepare the ultrasound room for us. We require a more powerful machine so we will use big Al, that's what we call him here." She smiled. "Please wait a moment Mr. and Mrs. Kim." She then left the room. "Everything's gonna be alright, I promise." Your husband assured you once more, as he felt your hands tremble in fear. "I hope so..." You sighed. You were finally in the ultrasound room, Big Al stood before you. "Okay. This will do the job." Mrs. Park affirmed, "Please." She gestured to the examination table, this time it was a bigger one. "With this, we will be able to locate it 10 times faster." You breathe in and out to release the tension in your body. The sonographer gave Mrs. Park the go signal, she slid the now mightier machine on your stomach again for a solid 3 minutes. You crossed your fingers and hoped for the best, anticipating only positive things. You train of thought was then cut short by the sonographer. "Mrs. Park, for a while." The young lady called to the elder woman. You and Namjoon's eyes were stuck on the both of them. She then muttered something into her ear, causing her happy demeanor to melt into a gloomy one. She cleared her throat and stood firm and professional. "Mrs. Kim." Her voice was laced with sadness, and you felt your own heart rate shoot up a hundred times. "I'm sorry." She outstretched her hand to hold yours, squeezing it tightly. Your mind went dull. "What?" You asked, utterly terrified at what she was about to say next. "The baby doesn’t have a heartbeat." You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces inside your chest, piercing you lungs making you unable to breathe properly. "What?!" Your husband yelled furiously, Mrs. Park was trying to calm him down. It felt like a gun was aimed at your head, and reality pulled the trigger. Big, heavy tears instantaneously fell from your eyes without a warning. You felt the ground swallow you whole. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?!

You suddenly burst into a desperate cry. You hopped off the table and fell to the ground with a loud thud; Namjoon rushed over and held you in his arms. The pain from the fall was no way near the pain you felt at the moment. Hearing the news with your own two ears felt like a death sentence. "Why?!" You screamed at the top of your lungs. "W-w-?!" sobbing endlessly. Words were not enough to express all the emotions stirring up inside you. If felt painful; it felt horrible; it felt terrifying; it felt excruciatingly unbearable; it felt like you no longer had a reason to live; it felt like all the sense in your mind, and your body was stripped off with just one sentence. "Why?! I did everything right!" You bawled, using your husband as a punching bag. "Why?! Why did it turn out like this?!" Your screams grew harsher that other nurses fled to the room to determine what all the commotion was about. You looked at Mrs. Park and wept "Why?" She bowed her and went down to your level. "I'm extremely sorry, Y/N." Her eyes filled with guilt as she failed you, in the sense that it was her responsibility to take care of the mother and child during the miraculous process of conceiving up to delivering. She did not see your future, and the future of your child turn out this way. "I'm sorry." She truly was. You and your husband were escorted to a private room, where you could take a rest. Your eyes were still bloodshot, red and swollen. You were shivering uncontrollably from head to toe. You were not in the right state for a conversation at the moment, so Namjoom was the one who discussed with Mrs. Park about the next step. Namjoon calmly explained to you that they scheduled you for a labor induction a week from now. Mrs. Park said it would be better to give you time to adjust, time to accept the reality as it is. There was nothing you or he could do to prevent it. Miscarriages happen, even to the healthiest of women. You headed home later that day, you haven't said a single word. It pained your husband to see you like this so he decided to take a whole month off of work, he was fortunate that his boss was kind enough to. He allotted his time to take care of you, making sure you knew you were loved, even at your darkest moments. The cursed day came, and you we're nothing but scared. Your husband looked at you with hopeful eyes "You're not going to go through this alone. I'm with you all the way." He assured you, giving you one last kissed before they wheeled you to the delivery room. "I love you." He voiced out enough for you to hear.

After two gruelling hours that felt like forever, you were able to deliver your child. He was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. You held him in your arms. He was tiny and fragile, no less than 5 inches long. You looked at his face; he's got Namjoon's eyes and your nose. You gently touch his little feet; you were in complete awe at his cute toenails. "Look, love." You hummed to your husband who carried the same face as yours. "Beautiful." He smiled through his faltering voice, "Our baby is beautiful." You looked at you husband and said "Byeol." You smiled faintly, "Let's name him Kim Byeol." He merely nodded "I think that's a lovely name." You tried holding back the tears, for these were moments that needed to be cherished. A mother and child moment that can never be replaced. You were celebrating the birth of your child, your beautiful child. He might not be here physically, but spiritually he is. He was in your heart, in your mind, and in your soul. And he always will be. He was a part of you that can never be taken away. You loved him the day he was created, you love him the day he was taken, and you’ll love him until your last breath. "Byeol." So that every time the sun goes down and the moon takes over its throne, you know he's there. Watching over you while you sleep and dream about him. There may come certain times when the skies are cloudy or filled with rain, he will hide. For just like you, he is terrified. Once the storm calms and there's no more need to be scared, he will show himself. He will show you and teach you that the darker the sky, the brighter your little star will shine. It was time to say goodbye. You were not ready, you were not ready to say goodbye yet. You knew he could not stay with you forever, but when they took him from you, you felt empty. Your life felt empty. It's like a huge shadow was cast over you, engulfing you in darkness. 'No, please.' You whispered to yourself as they took your baby away. You feel asleep almost immediately, your body was tired, of course. You needed to rest, your mind and your body needed to rest. You woke up to the next day. Your husband happily prepared breakfast for you, his eyes were still red and swollen from all the crying he did last night. You were silent; you were confused; you were lost. He was worried you didn't want to eat anything, but he still pushed it upon himself to get you to eat something even if it's a small piece of bread and a glass of water. Once your meal was finished, he handed you a white frame. Two little footprints in the middle of the page, the name "Byeol Kim" written in beautiful calligraphy just above it, and below it, the words "Forever in my heart" pulled a heart string. Each corner was decorated in white lace with intricate design, a pair of angel wings at each side. "A gift." He interjected. "From the hospital." You were still silent, but he knew deep down in your heart that the simple gift meant the world to you. After your induction, she advised you to stay at home, take all the rest you need, eat healthily and take care of yourself. She wished you a speedy recovery.

 The car drive home was quiet. No words, no tears, no nothing. He watched as you aimlessly walk around the house, clutching onto your stomach, mumbling incoherent words. He did not mind he had to feed you, bathe you, clothe you, and brush your hair. He didn't mind any of those things because this was the way he could help your recovery. He loved you, and he wanted to do everything in his power to help you get back up on your feet, even if it's one day at a time. Namjoon woke up with the sound of your cries. He ran to where the sound came from and discovered you on the floor in tears, holding on the clothes that you bought not so long ago. "Byeol..." You sobbed, looking at the baby clothes. "My Byeol.." Striking your hands on the floor. "My baby's gone." You mourned endlessly. "What's the point of living if my baby didn't get to experience it?" The sound of your broken cries echoed inside the entire house. Namjoon picked you, bridal style and carried you to your room. "Hush now, love." He sang, rocking you in his arms. "Byeol's not gone." Namjoon squeezed your hand and placed it against your chest, just above your heart. "He's here." Then he transferred it to his "And here, too." He smiled, "As long as we're here, he will be here, too." His voice was like a lullaby that alleviated your pain. You thought you were alone, that there was nobody that could understand your pain. You carried that child. You carried that burden. You felt sad you forgot about the other most important person in your life, Namjoon. You harmoniously pranced with him through the better, now, you're defying all odds through the worse. Your previous flare-ups with your husband were nothing compared to this, this was a level beyond any other level. You were grateful, extremely. You fell in love with the man who's willing to move mountains for you, search high and low just to make you happy. He would gladly surrender his life in exchange for yours to be spared, eternally, you were grateful.

[Present]

You ran your fingers through his locks, looking intensely at his black orbs. "I love you." He leaned in closer and captured you with a kiss. His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt, lifting it in one fell swoop, you giggled in surprise. Namjoon pushed you further to the bed with hungry kisses, his instincts kicked in when he plopped you, back flat on the mattress. He looked at your shirtless figure below him, and he bit his lip and said: "You’re fucking beautiful." And continued with the interrupted kiss. It felt like a lifetime; it really did. You were so frightened of another heartbreak and going through the same experience again that you cut off all sexual involvement besides kissing and cuddling for 8 months. You were amazed at your husband's strong will but felt bad, too. Because you were blocking something that comes so natural between two people that love each other. He understood where you coming from, of course. There were just times that his naughty little hands found it's under your shirt or inside your panties, it was cute but still. You weren't ready then. You are now. "Oh my god." You hummed. You missed the way his breath felt your neck while he was kissing you there; you missed the way your hands clung onto his shoulders, your digits digging in to his skin; you miss the way your back would arch every time he would suck on your supple flesh, drawing out purple bruise; you simple miss him. "Is... Is this okay?" He broke the kiss, making sure you wanted this as much as he did. "Yes." You mused, shimmying your shorts and panties down. Your action caused his pupils to dilate, breath heavy. "I love you, Namjoon." "I love you too, Y/N." His mouth inched closer to your perked nubs, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he sucked more marks, sending your senses into overdrive. "Uggh-" You moaned, hands curling into a fist. "You enjoying yourself?" He chuckled lowly, taking in your nipple in his mouth which earned another loud moan from you. He sucked on it, tweaking it between his teeth. "Don't... Stop..." You whined. His hands came up and cupped both of your breasts, kneading it with his huge palm and long fingers. Your body once again contorted into an arch, as the bolt of electricity ran through your entire boy. You hustled him away, for a second there he thought you wanted to back out, but to his surprise, you grabbed his shirt and plucked it over his body. "I like seeing you naked." You huffed, scanning his entire figure. He then untied the lace of his sweatpants and pulled it down to his knees before kicking it off. "Me, too." He boasted his hard 7-inch member meeting you tip to eye. His head was glossy due to the beads of pre-cum coming out of its narrow slit. "Wow." You mouthed, eyes still affixed on his dick. "What can I say, it missed you, a lot." He joked while pumping himself. "Want me to stretch you out first? It's been so long." He suggested. You shyly nod and wait for him to descend to you soaked womanhood. "I guess someone misses it, too." He growled, his face mere centimetres away from your core. "You smell as amazing as the day I ate you out for the first time." He groaned through close nit teeth, wanting to eat you whole. "F-fuck!" You whipped when he licked a stripe over you juice stained core. "You're so wet for me, Y/N," He pridefully stated. "And only for me." He was ravenous, like a carnivore that hasn't had a meal in days chomping down on its prey. Boy, he ate you the right way. He managed to pull himself off of your inviting pussy because of the need to fuck you was taking over his body. "Is that okay? You're pretty lubed up now." He gave you a certain glance that could only refer to one thing. You spread your legs, coaxing him to dive right in. Right away, his body hovered over yours, he lined himself next to your dripping core. "Tell me if it hurts, Okay?" He said before gradually pushing the tip of his cock. He went in nice and steady, "God, I forgot you were so fucking tight." He pushed in further, you pussy was swallowing his member inch by inch. Your walls were clenching around his shaft. You yelped at the delicious stretch, his pulsating dick in filling you up so good. The sound of your wanton moans reverberated in his ears making him pulled away and then snap his back into you so fucking hard. "Namjoon-ah!" You screamed as he thrashed you onto the mattress. You grabbed a fistful of his locks; you tuck your butt in and raised your pelvis a bit higher, giving him a better angle to penetrate you. "Shit." His voice was cracked, breathing heavy. "I think I'm about to come... " He whined, quickening his pace. "Cum with me, Y/N." With his words, your velvet walls hugged his hard member perfectly, his thrust we sloppy, an indication of him approaching his climax. "Fuuuuck!" He groaned out loud when he spilled his seed inside of your warm hole. "Fuck indeed." You playfully hummed while he rode out both of your highs. He managed to squeeze in one last push before his member turned flaccid. His body dropped on your own. "You're heavy..." You grumbled, his sweat mixed with yours "Sweaty, too! Ewww!" You joked. Namjoon looked at you and said "Shower?" with a big grin on his face. "Yes please!"

Five weeks have passed, and you were 4 days late for your period. You had been experiencing sudden mood swings and cravings the past week, your breast felt more tender than the usual and morning sickness plague you every single day. You searched for your spare Pregnancy test kit in your medicine cabinet. You peed on the stick, thinking nothing of it, not expecting anything. "Positive" You uttered, speechless at the sight of two red lines. "It's positive." You lowered your voice, hoping your husband didn't hear you. You wanted to surprise him and what great timing you thought, his birthday was just right around the corner. You stuffed the test in your pocket and ran upstairs. Rummaging through your closet, you found the box of your engagement ring. You pulled out all of the foam contents, making sure the small test would fit inside. "Yes!" It was a perfect fit. You couldn't wait for six more, so you had to tell him now. "Love??" You yelled. "Come up here for a second. I need to show you something." "In a minute!" He was hanging the clothes you had finished washing together. "What is it?" He stepped into the room and was greeted by you with a mischievous grin on your face. "Okay..." He cautiously shut the door behind him and continued "What are you up to?" He asked with a doubtful tone in his voice. "You birthday's coming up, and I got you an early gift!" You cheerfully stated. "You know you didn't have to." He tucked the strand of hair behind your ear. "You're already the best gift I received." Placing a gentle kiss on your lips. Your grin grew wider as you said: "I found something better!" You handed him the small box, and he looked confused. "Your? Ring?" He chuckled at your antics. "Open it, c'mon!" The moment he opens the box and laid eyes on whatever was inside, no words were spoken, he hugged you so tight, oh so very tight and said "Okay. This is probably the best birthday gift anybody has ever given me." Fast forward to a year and a half later with you sitting on the living room floor. Same old house, same old car, same old couch, but... Something was different... You were thankful your prayers had been answered as you heard the pitter-patter of little footsteps on the hardwood floor. End.

a/n: somewhat edited. idk 11/22/18

#bangtanarmynet #thebtstown #hyunglinenet #thekpopnet #kim namjon #namjoon x reader #bts namjoon #bts x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #namjoon imagine #bts imagines #kpop writing #bts writing #bts scenario #namjoon scenario #bts rm #rm fanfic #rm smut #bts stories #namjoon fic rec #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bts jhope

[flwrpotts]

betty cooper. some things.

age 7.

mud stains on her pink dress. hair bleached white blonde by the sun. scratches on her arm from trying to pet the feral cats. picky eater. loves climbing trees. always wants another story at bedtime. eats lucky charms for breakfast. steals polly’s headbands. helps mom cook dinner. helps dad fix cars. good at helping. challenges archie to races as they walk to school. makes faces in the mirror at ballet class. puts a bug in cheryl blossom’s hair at recess, ‘cause she can’t just be mean to people whenever she wants. plays patty cake with jughead during morning announcements. crawls into mom and dad’s bed when she can’t sleep. grass stains on all her clothes. cries when mom washes them out. doesn’t want to be a proper young lady, whatever that is. picks out the four leaf clovers on the playground. wants to be a vet when she grows up. wishes on shooting stars.

age 9.

reads every nancy drew book ever written. starts wearing her hair in a ponytail. carries a magnifying glass around in her backpack, just in case. shares her food with jughead at lunch. grease stains on her forehead. pink nail polish that never chips. pristine white keds. the first one to raise her hand in class. brings funfetti cupcakes to the bake sale. always beats archie and jug at candy poker. volunteers at the nursing home. volunteers at the animal shelter. volunteers at parent-teacher night. cries when mom hisses that her behavior is not becoming of a young lady, really, Elizabeth. listens to polly’s secret britney spears cd at night. writes her name in glitter pen. wears pink, plastic eyeglasses. spends hours double checking her math homework. plays the virgin mary in the annual riverdale nativity scene. wears rainbow earrings. rescues worms from the driveway when it rains. shiny scrapes on her elbows. only allowed dessert once a week. calories matter, dear, we wouldn’t want you to look like that muggs girl, now would we?

age 11.

bites her lip. double knots her shoelaces. never forgets to wear sunscreen. keeps the secret when polly steals a flask of vodka from their parents. goes to the double feature at the twilight drive-in every friday night with kevin. starts a diary. bakes cookies with her mother’s floral apron gaping on her chest. blushes with pride when jughead eats eight. walks the neighborhood dogs for pocket money. sings along to taylor swift in her room. writes her essays weeks in advance. claps a pillow over her head when polly and her mother get into screaming matches. wears a hideous, floppy hat when she gardens. writes nancy drew fanfiction. rolls her eyes when alice isn’t looking. spends hours in the tree house with archie, eating wheat thins and talking about the future. perfect manners. looks in the mirror and thinks not pretty enough. not smart enough. not quite enough.

age 13.

digs her fingernails into the thin skin of her palm for the first time and revels at the sharp, clear sting. loses the race for student council president to reggie mantle. bakes jughead cupcakes for his birthday. refuses to eat any. trades out the glasses for contacts. worries at the zit on her chin. hates puberty. wakes up in the middle of the night when polly sneaks back into the house. falls into brief, intense obsessions. with books, with music, with movies. doesn’t tell anyone. perfectly slicked back ponytail. monogrammed backpack. pink lipgloss. makes color-coded study guides. avoids her reflection in the bathroom mirror. blushes hotly when she sees archie shirtless through the window. still calls jughead juggie. listens to riot grrrl music when her mother is gone. finds condoms and slips of paper with phone numbers in polly’s bottom drawer. wears white, fuzzy earmuffs in the winter. closet filled with pastels. counts calories in the little notebook alice bought. wants something more out of life. doesn’t know quite what.

age 15.

feels something change in riverdale, a dark undertow lingering behind the picture-perfect surface. something strong enough to get washed away in. three earrings in each lobe- gold, silver, bronze. soft pink lipstick. hair darkening into brown at the roots. balances her schedule on the hair-thin blade of a knife. knits lumpy, handmade scarves. misses polly with a sharp, constant ache. wonders at the glamorous enigma of veronica lodge. gets turned down by archie and feels the rejection like a blow to the head- the overwhelming crack quickly giving way into numbness. throws herself headfirst into the mystery of jason blossom. falls into ride or die friendship with veronica like they’ve known one another all their lives. looks at chuck clayton and sees nothing but her own fear. tutors middle schoolers every tuesday. organizes the charity breakfast for teacher appreciation day. takes four ap classes. feels something flutter in her stomach when jughead smiles at her. fights with her mother. solves a murder case. smiles at her reflection. kisses jughead jones with her mouth open and mind running a thousand miles an hour and thinks oh. this is what i’ve been missing.

age 17.

wears red lipstick on prom night. graduates valedictorian. splits her time between north and south side. still volunteers more often than anyone else in riverdale. hums along with the car radio. still sometimes flinches at the ringing of the phone. buys the best birthday presents. teams up with toni to outlaw the serpent dance. doesn’t cry when her parents announce their divorce. gets accepted to columbia. goes to the library every saturday. drinks vanilla milkshakes without worrying about the sugar content. loves jughead jones with every bone in her body. tattoo on her right hip. hair loose around her shoulders. grin on her face. helps veronica throw the most elaborate graduation party riverdale’s ever seen. sets up toni and cheryl on a blind date. visits polly every weekend. goes to therapy. watches as the half moons on her palms turn silvery-white, scarred over and still-healing. lets go of perfection. holds on to better things.

#Betty cooper #jughead jones #archie andrews #veronica lodge #betty x jughead #Bughead #riverdale #riverdale headcanons #Betty cooper headcanons #some things #mine #thanks for reading!

[avengers-nextgen]

The Rise Of The Lost V

Bianca did not move from where she rested. Bucky carried her from the jet as if she were a child who’d fallen asleep on a long car ride. Everyone’s curiosity upon their arrival was nearly overwhelming but Wanda thankfully stepped in-sensing Bucky’s urgency.

The young girl was taken to the infirmary and immediately examined for any worrying damage. When none was found-aside from the spinal stitches which would inevitably scar- Bucky let out a sigh of relief. After a moment however, the silence became uncomfortable. He could almost feel Bianca’s apprehension and took it as his invitation to leave.

Just as the weight of the cot shifted Bianca’s broken voice arched timidly in the air like a broken bird. “Stay.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky still looked like a monster, he was covered in blood, his hair was wild, and his forehead was sticky with dried sweat. The look on Bianca’s face showed that she didn’t care at all. In this moment the poor girl needed something-no, someone- to ground her. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to suffer because of me.”

“It’s not your fault.” Bucky blinked in surprise at her words. All she’d ever done was blame him. “You wouldn’t want anyone else to experience your pain. I was stupid to think you would. Stupid to think you’d let someone make a monster like me.”

Bianca’s words were almost inaudible as she dissolved into dry sobs. She had shed all of her tears already. Bucky wasn’t sure what to do. He’d only had experience comforting Natasha who, for the most part, handled things herself. “Don’t blame yourself for their conditioning.”

But her crying gave way to something more. It was pure grief. She’d lost something, part of her humanity, and it wasn’t retrievable.”I wish they’d have just killed me.”

The statement sent a knife into Bucky’s stomach. He’d experienced all of those feelings before, the loss, the grief, the self hatred, and the anger. “It’s a good thing they didn’t.”

“I don’t want to be like this. I don’t even know what they’ve made me. I don’t even know who they are!” Bianca sobbed.

On the returning flight clouds had gathered and at last a clap of thunder signaled the inevitable rain. “We’ll figure it out. For now you need to rest and recover. After that I’ll tell you anything you have questions about, even do my best to explain things I don’t quite understand.”

— — —

While Bianca fought her own battles so did Sage. The first echoing of thunder froze her in a terror she had no control over. She’d been pacing anxiously, wandering if Bianca had returned, what had happened, had Bucky destroyed those responsible for Bianca’s creation? Lightning flashed in the windowed hallway ahead and the witch’s stomach twisted in distrust.

Alex who had gone to deliver the news, accompanied by Thalia, watched the odd phenomenon unfold. Neither of the heroes had ever seen Sage so panicked before. Her form dissolved over and over again and reappeared in a different portion of the glass container each time.

“She’s trying to get out.” Alex noted.

“It’s the storm,” Thalia noted grimly. “I should have expected it. Perhaps I could have given some comfort or warned her. I sensed it building.”

“Hey, there’s a situation out on the landing pad.” Orion, who had been floating aimlessly around the headquarters knocked lightly on the wall.

“What is it?” Alex frowned.

“Wakandans.” Scout called. He stepped up beside Orion and barely spared the other boy a glance. “They don’t seem enthused.”

— — —

“What is the meaning of this?” Siyanda frowned marching out into the rain to greet the Wakanda warriors.

“A situation has unfolded that needs attention.” Siyanda immediately located the owner of the familiar voice. It was rich and smooth and hardly held an accent much to everyone else’s surprise. “Your father sent us.”

“He did not need to.”

“Perhaps you should tell him that.” Acacia smirked. The warrior girl glanced about curiously and her eyes landed upon others rushing to the scene. It was instinct to draw the double bladed staff.

“What’s happened?” Alex questioned jogging towards the gathering. Thalia was close behind running with a lowered head to fight against the rain. “Siyanda?”

“Please address her by her title.” Acacia regarded Alex coldly.

“Title?” Thalia frowned pulling up beside Alex. “What title?”

“My official title,” Siyanda sighed,”is uneeded here. What is the issue?”

“Would you not like to speak inside away from this storm? It’s unflattering for you.” Acacia frowned giving the sky a detesful look. When Siyanda did not move the warrior continued. “Colonizers managed to steal half a ton of vibranium from a mine along the eastern border.”

The information immediately caused Siyanda’s shoulders to tense. “Could you not track them?”

“We tried,” Acacia’s expression took on a dark look, “all we found was a demand.”

“What was the demand?”

“They are requesting a transaction.” Acacia pursed her lips in thought. “A witch for our vibranium. Even more worrisome-they knew you were here. I could not remain in Wakanda without knowing you were safe. It seems you are in decent company.”

Alex wasn’t sure what to make of the warrior’s approving nod. “Thanks?”

“A what?” Siyanda frowned. A thunder clap echoed above and a heavy sheet of rain slammed upon them.

“A witch.” Acacia repeated.

“No.” Thalia blurted abruptly. “There’s nothing of the sort here. You’ve been miss informed.”

“Are you lying?” Acacia frowned and regarded the Asgardian. Thalia swallowed hard beneath the intense gaze.

Heavy footsteps pounded into puddles on the landing pad as Nathaniel ran out into the rain. “Alex, we gotta get Sage away from any source of the storm. She’s going completely out of her mind-I’ve never seen a witch hate rain so much in my life.”

Silence settled like a heavy blanket. Acacia’s eyes smoldered in anger and her glare flickered to Thalia. “Lying to the royal guard is an extremely unwise decision.”

“Nathaniel, always one for bad timing.” Alex growled. In less than a second both Thalia and Alex were sprinting off to enter the building once more.

“I hate it when they run.” Acacia sighed. With an elegant wave of her electric staff she pressed it into the ground. Electricity arched through the water in a vengeance. Nathaniel fell victim in a heap of steaming clothes. Alex was blasted clean into the air and into the side of the building. Thalia was unharmed.

Her father made certain that her boots were made of insulating material strong enough to withstand the worst of lightning strikes.

“How-“ Acacia didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence before a blast of red knocked her flat.

“You don’t get to show up and pick a fight with my friends!” Scout glanced worriedly at Nathaniel who was the closest to imenent danger. “Whatever you want you’re not getting. Leave.”

— — —

“What’s happening out there?” James yelled having pulled on his suit and equipped two very dangerous blades. Thalia didn’t explain, she only kept running.

“You’re kidding me.” Tony sighed tromping towards the commotion outside equipped in his suit. “They always have to make things difficult don’t they?”

“Wakandans?” Vision mused drawing up beside Tony, “It’s in their nature.”

— — —

Thalia leapt the platform railing with ease landing beside the containment cell that harbored her cousin. The sight made her heart ache with sadness. Sage was afraid of storms because of her father. And for reasons not her fault Thalia couldn’t help but feel responsible.

With a set jaw the asgardian drew her twin blades. The leather grips were slick from water running down her clothes and dripping onto the weapons. The sound of running in the hall made her tense.

Alex had recovered from her ordeal and dove over the railing in a panic. She crashed painfully onto the ground where an audible snap indicated a dislocated shoulder. Just as the poor girl crawled behind cover the railing overhead was blasted apart.

One of the elite warriors came running into the room. Her eyes landed on Thalia. “Step aside warrior, I will only warn you once.”

“And I will not be pushed around for a second time,” Thalia replied. “You will not be completing this mission as you planned.”

“Then it appears we have no choice.”

— — —

“You’re a witch too?” One of the warriors questioned as they regarded Scout.

“No, if anything I’m a warlock, and this isn’t magic.” With his eyebrows drawn together in concentration Scout swept the warrior aside.

Vision darted into the fray to quickly retrieve Nathaniel before returning safely inside. Tony did the opposite.

“Alright guys, let’s have a nice calm chit chat inside. Sounds nice yeah?” When a blast of blue energy arched in his direction he was forced to dive to the side. “You know, that was really rude.”

— — —

Thalia was confronted not by two other guards alone but by the royal guard chief as well. Her blades were a flash in the flickering light from the storm outside. Alex attempted to help but was only pushed back and remained on the outskirts.

A blade scratched across the asgardian’s face leaving a deep gash to ooze blood in its place. A growl echoed in the space and a black blue arched through the air in an elegant twist. Landing without a sound a flash of silver claws was followed by weapons clattering to the ground.

When all had stilled Thalia looked wide eyed at the panther suited figure who held Acacia aloft in one hand. “Enough!”

“You disobey an order from your father?” The guard held a look of betrayal on her face. The expression made Siyanda’s chest ache.

“This is not the way. Not like this. You will not take another’s family in such a violent manner.” Siyanda shook her head. Thalia stared at her friend in surprise. She had advocated to get rid of Sage from day one and now was turning against her own people to defend the very person she so avidly hated.

“She is a murderer.” Acacia grunted.

“She is human.” Siyanda protested. Their was a vulnerability in her voice that Thalia had not heard before. “I have learned one thing since being here, my dear. No matter where you come from or who you choose to be we are all people!”

Silence settled once more and Siyanda released Acacia though it seemed to take a lot of effort. Only Thalia noticed the silent sob. It was indicated by the shake of the shoulders. “You may leave now.”

“And what of your people?” Acacia would not meet the princess’ eyes.

“I will not neglect them. Have faith in me.”

“I have always had faith in you.”

“Then you will go. Now.” There was a firmness in Siyanda’s voice that came from years of training to take the throne of Wakanda, but there was an unsteadiness to it. “I have much to think about. For instance, why Sage is so entangled in every plight we face.”

— — —

Alex’s shoulder was patched up, Nathaniel spent a night in the hospital just to be monitored. Scout was left in disbelief in all that had happened. James began digging for information upon Siyanda’s polite request. Thalia remained outside of her cousin’s prison. Sage had not ceased her phasing in and out of physical form for hours. Thalia was certain she would wear herself into an exhausted oblivion.

A small part of Thalia feared that they would be back. That someone would inevitably snatch Sage away while she could not effectively defend herself. Bianca was the only other one to visit. Alex was to remain in bed upon her parents’ orders, and even curious Scout did not slink by.

Bianca watched Sage with a sad expression. “Sometimes I think she forgets how deeply wounded she really is.”

“‘Tis her pride.” Thalia noted with a stained voice. “It runs in the family. They have not locked you up again.”

“I-well, I have decisions to make.” Bianca swallowed hard. “I’m afraid that, should I do as I feel is just, she will hate me more ruthlessly than your father.”

“For that I am sorry.” Thalia felt tears prickle at her eyes. “Is it wrong to hate my maker?”

“No.” Bianca shook her head. “Many people hate their father’s.”

“I wish he had not caused so much pain.” Thalia who was always so strong began to cry. “It hurts more than my cousin. It hurts me deeply too.”

“When one is hurt the ripple expands to many beyond the intended target.” Bianca gave Thalia an empathetic look before leaving the warrior behind.

The warrior was left to cry herself to sleep. The storm raged on well into the night and it was under the disguise of thin darkness that Siyanda, tired and sad, in nothing more than rumpled pajamas, slunk into the containment facility.

She paused to observe the source of her troubles. She hated the witch for so long but listening to Thalia talk had given her a new perspective. It was not entirely Sage’s fault for who she had become-and Siyanda could no longer hate her. She had spent hours second guessing her decision but decided in that moment that she had made the right one.

Thalia, honorable as always, was still standing guard even in sleep. Siyanda carefully set the dual swords aside and leaned back against the thick glass. With care she shifted the sleeping girl-who was unwakeable when properly resting- to rest between her bent legs. Thalia leaned back against Siyanda’s chest as the princess slung her arms lightly around the torso of the asgardian. She rested her chin upon tossled blonde hair in contemplation. “What have you done to me Thalia Odin?”

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MiniMerMcCree C 7

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Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

Hanzo stayed until Jesse was asleep in the water. Little bubbles rose from the gills on the sides of his neck and popped quietly on the surface. He looked peaceful for once. The lines on his face smoothed out and his tail waving gently as he dreamed of better things.

Hanzo was loathed to wake him and move him back into the enchanted tank but he could not remain. The need to move tugged at his feet. A sickening anxiety gnawed at the back of his mind and he rose swiftly.

Once a decision was made, he could only follow through. His pack was by the front door and he threw it on after his jacket. The unicorn hair stitched into the lining sizzled quietly at the lingering presence of dark magic.

He smoothed the heavy canvas front before stepping out into the overcast day. Clouds crowded out the sun and a chill wind nipped at his heels. It drove him to his car and he shivered as he cast the ignition spell.

A simple safety precaution that had proved valuable in the past. The engine rumble to life reluctantly but Hanzo didn’t give it time to warm up. He pulled off the curb and into the street as the first drops of rain splattered his windshield.

Drumming his fingertips on the steering wheel, Hanzo devoured the miles in great gulps of twisting roads and empty countryside. The Witch of the Waste would have answers for him. She would know more about Jesse.

How did she come into possession of him? Hanzo chewed his lip as he pulled off the highway and into the sprawling town. He would not find the witch in the glittering downtown or in the high society towers that pierced the sky.

The cobblestones under his feet were slick with rain and oil. It rolled in iridescent rainbows down the pitched slope and Hanzo followed it. Thunder rolled above and it reverberated in the tattoos racing up his left arm and down his right leg. A power that charged him and gripped tight around his lungs.

He coughed from the pressure as he turned down the alley. Antique and thrift stores slowly gave way to dingy bars and cluttered, jam packed apartments and tenements. The rain soaked clothes left out on the lines that criss crossed from one side to the other and a tattered paper planter drooped under its own weight.

The witch’s shop was easy to miss. Little more than a narrow doorway crushed between two leaning buildings. Wilted flowers sat on the tiny porch and their tiny thorns pricked at his clothes. There was no room to avoid them as he knocked.

Seconds drew out as the rain fell on his head and soaked him through. He knew better than to knock again. Few made it out alive after trying to hurry a Witch.

A soft click behind the door was the only sign that he was welcome and he cautiously pushed his way in. It was much the same as the last time he had been there, overflowing and cluttered with magical paraphernalia.

The witch was behind the counter, bent over a massive ledger. Her quill scratched against the paper in a steady, unsettling beat. She did not look up as she spoke but the smile was clear in her voice.

“I see you have returned already, Hanzo.”

He stood straighter and slowly approached her. He had no protection against a witch as powerful as her but he had to know. He had to understand what had happened to Jesse.

“I have come to trade for information.”

She froze, quill hovering above the page and a fat drop of ink rolled down the nib and hung precariously. “How curious.” A twitch of her fingers and the quill disappeared.

Hanzo swallowed the knot in his throat as the Witch straightened. Her blue eyes flashed with something deadly as a dragon and she laced her fingers together. A tuft of her blond hair fell to cover half of her face, angelic in the way that curdled his stomach.

“Speak, Hunter.”

The words rose from his depths in a flood and crashed against his clenched teeth. He knew the witch’s old tricks and she laughed. It burned the air and the dragons crackled beneath his skin.

“I seek information about the creature I purchased some weeks ago from your shop.”

“Do you wish to return him already?” She tisked and her eyes flicked over him. “Ah, I see you have discovered Jesse’s situation.”

Hanzo fought down a wave of nausea as she held him in her gaze. The unicorn hair sewn into his jacket sizzled and crackled. “I know he is a sentient being that has been cursed.”

“He is.”

Hanzo took a slow breath to center himself. “I wish to break his curse and return him to himself. How did you come into possession of him?”

--

Jesse slept for hours in the bottom of the large bowl. Safe from the dreary day outside and the fearful dreams of the sea witch. His throat was raw from trying to communicate, trying to talk about the curse.

He woke with a start as the sun dropped below the horizon. A deep, terrible hunger rolling in his stomach. It radiated through his body and sent shivers down his spine. He ground his teeth and rose to the surface of the water.

His long hair spread out around him, plastered down his face as he stalked the room. There was no movement. He was alone and free. The charmed tank was still in the bathroom and Hanzo had foolishly left him.

No, please not now, he squeezed his eyes closed. Horror bubbling up around him as the clock ticked towards midnight and Hanzo had not returned. Maybe he would not return until morning, wherever he had gone.

Jesse reached for the edge of the bowl, claws skittering on the glass. He tightened his grip and it gave under the pressure. Scales rippled along his back and spines began to grow from his skin.

Agony broke along his flesh and his stomach shrunk tighter to his spine. He cried out for help, for something to eat. Anything to fill the void inside him that he could not fill in his past life.

“Hanzo! Hanzo where are you?” he sobbed and hiccuped on the sound. He couldn’t lure the only kind person he had known to their deaths but it was too late already.

The bowl cracked and splintered under his growing weight. He lashed out and rolled in the water. Drops flew to the corners of the room and dran down the bedside table and he cried at the cruelness of the Witch’s curse.

His fate was sealed. Hanzo’s too.

-

Exhaustion was a dead weight on Hanzo’s shoulders as he let himself into his home. It was pitch black inside and out except for the occasional flash of lightning. The dragons were restless beneath his skin and he reeked of burned out wards.

The witch’s aura had destroyed each and every one of them in their long bargaining for information. Hanzo sighed, a deep bone rattling sound that left him slumped against the door. He had more questions than answers.

The small talisman nestled in his breast pocket might have been worth it in the end. The promise of being able to talk to Jesse had been too alluring to pass up. He touched the side of his right arm and shuddered. She had taken his blood as payment and the wound had not sealed.

He should change out the bloody bandage. He barely managed to push himself off the door and towards the stairs. He was still so tired from his battle with the dragon on his last mission and now this.

He managed to climb halfway to his bedroom before the noise penetrated the fog. The knife was instantly in his hand, razor sharp and shining in the moonlight cascading from the skylight. He moved quietly, heart in his throat. Whoever was in his bedroom would be near Jesse. He had left him alone and vulnerable.

What have I done.

He crept to the landing, breathing slow and steady against the rolling anxiety. The dragons burned in his limbs, racing like storm clouds. He leaned forward to look past the open door. The room was lit fiantly by the moon, turning everything silver.

The bowl was shattered and strewn around the room. Jesse was nowhere to be seen. Hanzo darted to the scene of the crime, ignoring the cut of glass against his feet and hands. “Jesse?” He ducked low to look under the bedside table, panic bubbling up like black ink inside his chest.

Every hair on his body stood straight up at a low, rumbling growl. It vibrated his blood and send shards of pain deep into his brain. An inhuman crooning joined it and Hanzo was paralyzed. He strained to force himself to turn his head and face the monster laying in wait under his bed.

The wards should have warned him. The spells could have helped him.

Sweat dripped from his temple and ran into his eye. He could hear his own breathing like a rattle, distant and disoriented.

The knife shook in his hand and he slowly turned to face what he didn’t want to believe. The monster lunged from the darkness in a flash of blood red scales. Hanzo threw up an arm just in time to block a swipe of claws aimed at his throat. The impact sent him flying across the room.

Knickknacks rained down around him. A jade teacup shattered next to his face. His vision went blurry. He blinked to try to clear it. It couldn’t end like this.

It’s your fault.

You forgot to lock him up.

Jesse’s eyes were glowing slits in the dark, half hidden by the wild tangle of his hair. Fangs pushed past his lips and jutted from his lower jaw. Scales flared around his eyes and down his neck and bare chest.

“Beautiful.”

Everything went black.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

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