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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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The Victor and the Survivor

Summary: Once in the Capitol everything changes for Bellatrix Rose. Haymitch starts to look like her best option at staying alive.

Pairings: Bellatrix Rose x Haymitch Abernathy

Warnings: none this far!

*not my Gif but all my writing!

Haymitch wasn’t lying when he said the peace wouldn’t last. As soon as we were in the Capitol, Darius led us to our suites. We were only there for a moment before we were then swept away to meet our stylists.

“They’re going to make you look marvelous,” Darius raved over us. Going on and on about their brilliance and how they helped to style his own attire.

I faintly wondered if Xander would ever speak again. He hadn’t said a word since we had stepped on the train. He took in the sights, but made no comments on them. He didn’t even speak to Haymitch. The young man might as well be an Avox.

Darius opened a door and led me inside. The metal room looked to be completely sterilized. A large wash basin sat in the corner, and a few robes hung beside it. Bottles upon bottles of shampoos and conditioners and other things I was unfamiliar with sat near by.

I wasn’t alone for more than five minutes when a busty woman popped in the room. Her hair was an unnatural shade of orange, along with her long eyelashes. Two assistants followed her in. Her eyes softened as she looked at me. Rather than hugging me or shaking my hand she went right for my hair, “Oh, my dearest. Look at you, we can most definitely work with this. I’ve seen nothing but black hair for the past three years.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “As long as you don’t cover me in coal like they did last year, I won’t fight you,” I joked. Slightly.

The woman laughed, making her gold corset shake slightly. “Yes, my predecessor’s style was a bit… flashy. Which is why I took his place this year. Where are my manners? I’m Analyse darling.”

I smiled. Her flamboyance was charming. At least she wasn’t mean. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Bellatrix.”

“Oh, I know all about you dear. And by tonight, so will everyone else,” she grinned. She took me by the shoulders and turned me to the middle of the room. “Let’s get started shall we?”

I was undressed and put into the tub. There they scrubbed me with the majority of the body scrubs. I liked the one that smelled like lemon, and despised the two that felt like sand. However the water was warm, I hadn’t had a warm bath in years.

Next they moved to my hair. Using shampoos, conditioners and some kind of foaming scrub. One of the assistants massaged my scalp, and they praised the color of it, asking me where I had gotten it from and telling me they would do anything to get it. It was nearly to my waist in length, and Analyse instructed them to trim it, but to keep as much length as possible.

The woman split my hair down the middle and made two puffy braids, then curled the back half that was kept down.

Makeup was next, and I didn’t hate it. More lotions were used so I smelled like a lemon pastry by the time everything was done. She had used dark shades for my eyes, making the green stand out. My lips were tinted a little darker than their usual color.

I liked that I still looked like me up to this point. A slightly darkened and matured version of me. But it was me nonetheless.

All three of them left for about two minutes, returning with a large garment bag. Excited looks filled their faces.

“While District Twelve might be challenging to others, I was extremely excited when I became the head of this team. I had a vision for your dresses,” Analyse said quickly as she unzipped the back.

I was soon clothed in a floor length black gown. A slit ran up the side and they dusted my legs, arms and fingers in a black glistening powder. Instricate whirls and swirls were ingrained into the fabric of the dress, certain places seemed to glow with life. She adjusted the straps to sit off of my shoulders.

All three of them admired me. Standing in awe of their work. Even I had to admit that they had done well. Instead of making me someone unrecognizable, they had simply enhanced my own features.

“Oh, darling, we couldn’t have asked for a better tribute,” Analyse gawked over me. Then she clapped her hands, “Now, we must get you to the stage before you’re late.”

As quickly as possible- I still hadn’t gotten used to walking in heels this tall yet- we took a series of elevators, and hallways until we made it to the stage.

It was more like a bunker. Holding an array of carriages, horses and people. Tributes stood next to their mentors, all sizing me up. Some looking afraid. Others looked ready to eat me. The games have already started.

District Three was covered head to toe in glitter. The male tribute’s chest was silver with a tan underlay, nothing but a small pair of shirts to cover him. He was nothing but a wall of muscle, and at least three times my size. I shifted my gaze when he caught me staring.

Our own carriage matched our theme. Black with intricate patterns etched into the side. Haymitch was leaning on it, sipping a dark red liquid from a crystal glass. Once his eyes landed on me he nearly dropped it. A familiar sadness filled his eyes for a split second. Just a flash and then it was gone. His smooth grin covering up everything else.

“They really dressed you up, Bell,” he said. He inched closer to me and touched one of the straps of my dress.

“I’m just praying I don’t fall off of this thing,” I answered looking at the tall open carriage. Ignoring the new nickname he had bestowed on me.

“You’ll do fine,” he said reassuringly.

“Where’s Xander,” I asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Finishing up his own primping I’m sure,” he said, still not looking away from me. His gaze was starting to make me uncomfortable.

I shifted a little under his gaze. Though with the motion I nearly fell over. His hands flew out to catch me, gripping me above the elbow so he didn’t disturb the powder that created my own gloves. He smelled faintly of oak and alcohol. He had grown out his hair since I had seen him last. No longer was Haymitch the solemn boy who had gone into the Games. If I survived, would I turn out like him? Would they change me into someone unrecognizable?

“You look a lot like her, you know,” he whispered. I didn’t have to ask which she he meant.

“Was she nervous? During the ceremonies?”

“We all were.”

Before I could ask more Xander and his own team of stylists approached us. His garb was close to mine only in suit form. His own fingers and parts of his face dusted in the black powder like mine.

There was no time to talk as the music began to play. Our teams loaded us into the carriage and we started to move slowly towards the open doors. I gripped the side of it tightly, the heels causing my feet to ache already.

Haymitch walked beside us. “Try and smile. I know you don’t want to, but do it anyway.”

I nodded. The crowd was roaring already. Thousands of them chanting, screaming, clapping.

“Wave, make them remember you. Make them like you,” Haymitch continued. Mostly to me, Xander had gone rigid, eyes wide. His own black coated hands clinged to the railing.

“Bell,” he yelled as the noise grew louder. I looked down at him. “Breathe for me, okay?”

I nodded again and took a deep breath. The crowd roared as we were carted in, I forced my best smile and lifted my hand to them. I pretended that they were my adoring public. As if they weren’t cheering for my death. As if they weren’t blood thirsty.

*****

Dinner was nothing short of extraordinary. After the opening ceremonies we were carted back up to the penthouse, stripped of our elaborate costumes, and summoned for dinner. I relished the feeling of the plush chairs, grateful that it wasn’t like the rigid styling chair I’d had to endure for most of the day.

And assortment of food was on the large and long table. Across from me Xander still refused to speak, but his eyes showed everything he was thinking. We both absorbed the amount of food that was in front of us. It was enough to feed all of my neighbors for weeks.

Fish laid with lemon and rice. Two entire chickens were stuffed with some kind of bread that had the sharp scent of pepper laced into them. Perfectly ripe vegetables and fruits sat in large and imaginative arrays. I’d never seen this much food in my life. Had never dared to dream of it. And they had turned most of it into art.

This time neither of us resisted. Both of us filled our plates with everything that was within reach. Each of us knew that this next week could be the last time we ever got a decent meal. There was no guess as to what the terrain would be like once we were in the arena. I just prayed it wasn’t rubble. I could handle a jungle, or a forest. Anything where there was a way to survive, to hide, to find water. But to find nothing but rock once we were put in?

I stopped that line of thinking when Haymitch walked in to find both of us gorging ourselves. He only smirked at us. “Don’t go too crazy, you’ll make yourselves sick,” he said, sitting down next to me at the head of the table.

I shoveled in another bite of the lemon fish. It was my favorite thus far, but I hadn’t even made it to the other side of the table. I changed the subject. “We start training tomorrow, what should we focus on,” I asked.

Haymitch’s eyes fell to me after filling his own plate. I was happy to see him eating and not just drinking.

“You two impressed the crowd, that’s a good start. They liked you so their more inclined to sponsor you later on. As for training you need to decide if you want to do that together or separately,” he said, tearing off a piece of chicken.

For the first time since we had gotten onto the train Xander spoke, “I’m not training.”

Everything at the table stopped. I couldn’t tell if it was from just him speaking or what he had said. But it was about five seconds before Haymitch asked, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not training. I’m not fighting. I’m not doing anything they want me to,” he said, simply going back to his dinner.

I looked at Haymitch, he only leaned back in his chair, seemingly okay with this answer. Like he had seen it before. “That makes my job a little easier.”

I slammed my fork down, “No, you can’t just give up. What about your family, your girlfriend? You’re not going to fight for them?”

Xander looked at me. He seemed tired. The life had left his eyes the second his name was called. He seemed to already be dead. “I don’t stand a chance. Did you see the kid from Three? Or maybe you didn’t see the girl from one who looked ready to eat us? I’d rather die my way, and not give them the satisfaction of a show.”

I pushed the tears away. Though we weren’t close, he was from my district. From my home. One of the only people that I was remotely familiar with in this world. And he was ready to die. If I was a true competitor I would be happy. It was one less person I had to worry about in the arena.

“You can’t just give up. You can’t just die,” I strangled. My throat was starting to close up from the tears.

He didn’t answer me. He only went back to eating, taking a large sip of wine.

“You have a family. You have someone to fight for. You can’t just lay down and die,” I continued. Though it fell on deaf ears.

“Xander, please,” I was standing before I could think of what I was doing. The Avoxes that had been filling our glasses backed away at the screech of my chair.

“You think this is going to prove something? You think this is going to change anything? You could go home, Xander. You could have a chance.” The tears were now free flowing.

His silence made sense now. He had made up his mind on what he was going to do long ago. Long before we ever made it to the arena. He was ready to die.

I felt large hands wrap around me. The faint scent of alcohol and cedar washed over me. I tried pushing his hands off me. “You have a reason. You have something to try to win for.”

My feet were plucked from the ground as Haymitch started to carry me away. For a drunk he was surprisingly strong. I kicked and screamed uselessly as he dragged me away from the table. My chest heaved with sobs, but Haymitch didn’t stop until we were back in my room.

He slowly set me on the bed, but I was back on my feet pushing at his chest. “You have to talk to him. You have to convince him to give himself a chance.”

He looked down at me sadly. Like I was a little girl who didn’t understand something. I didn’t like that look. I wanted to punch him for that look.

“Xander’s made his choice,” he said simply.

“He can’t just-”

His patience finally ran out. His grip tightened on my shoulders as he shook me, probably a little harder than he meant to. “Look Bell, there’s no way that both of you can come out of there. It’s just one victor. So this is good for you. You need to start worrying about how you can stay alive, understand?”

I sucked in a breath. He didn’t care. Haymitch didn’t care. I wondered if this was why we hadn’t had someone else win in the last five years. Simply because they had a mentor who didn’t care if they lived or died. But only part of me believed that.

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to fight,” I said while gulping for air. Most of it came out in a hiccup.

He finally stopped resisting the urge to touch my hair. He tamped down some of the hairs that had come loose from the two braids. “Some people don’t want to play the game. Some people want to go as peacefully as they’re allowed. Can you blame him for that?”

“I don’t want to die, Haymitch,” I whispered.

His eyes softened a little. “Then you fight Bell. You fight, and then come see me on the other side.”

“Will you fight for me?”

“We’ll give e’m a show. That’s all they want. Give them that and you’ll make it.”

#fan fiction #imagine #imagines #original character #thg haymitch #haymitch x reader #haymitch abernathy #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games fic #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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The Victor and the Survivor

Summary: When Bellatrix Rose is chosen as the female tribute for the 55th Hunger Games she is forced to trust Haymitch Abernathy to get her through it. With her own sister going into the Games and Haymitch coming out instead, will she have the same fate?

Pairings: Haymitch Abernathy x Bellatrix Rose

Warnings: None this far

A/N: I’ve wanted to write this for a long time so I finally settled down and did it! For all of you that are reading the Healer series, don’t worry I haven’t given up on it! I just need a little more time to start finishing things up! Also not my Gif but all my writing!

A crowd should never be this quiet. With the entirety of the district here there should be some kind of sound. Shoes on the gravel. A cough. A sneeze. Murmuring. Anything at all. But as my name was called by the Capitol official, a roaring silence took place.

My heart was in my throat. It seemed as if time was frozen. I’m dreaming. It’s just a bad dream.

Wake up. Wake up.

Two Peace Officers came into my line of visions with stunning clarity. I forced myself to move before they could drag me to the stage. I would not have that video playing on repeat for the next weeks to come. I refused to be marked as a weak link by the others right off the bat.

My footsteps sounded across the yard. Sallow eyes looked at me with relief. Grateful that it wasn’t them. Happy that it wasn’t someone they were close to. I couldn’t blame them, I had done the same thing every year previous to this.

The man at the stage smiled down at me as I stepped onto the platform. His purple eyes matched his lips. That seemed to be Darius’ theme this year. I’d never noticed his eyes though. I wondered if they were contacts, or one of the many surgeries the people of the Capitol had done. He reached his hand out to me, smile plastered to his face.

“Hello, lovely Bellatrix. What a beauty you are,” he purred over me. Running a hand through my long red hair. Unusual for the Seam. “Do we have any volunteers wanting to take the place of beautiful Bellatrix Rose?”

I don’t know why they asked this question every year. It was useless, and always answered with the same thing; nothing.

Three seconds ticked by. Everyone looked at me, but no hands raised. No one dared to move an inch in fear that it would be misinterpreted.

Darius squeezed my hand. I think he left a little bit of glitter on my fingers as he moved on to the other giant bowl that held the names of thousands of boys.

I looked out to them. As I was trying to pick which one would be my partner so to speak something caught my eye at the bottom of the stage. Below me and directly to my right a flash of blonde hair flashed. It moved gracefully as the drunk man slammed back the remnants of a flask. My mentor.

As if feeling my eyes on him his blue orbs looked up to me. Looked me up and down. Took note of my dress and tilted the flask towards me. I could almost hear the phrase on his tongue, Welcome to the Games kid.

I forced my eyes forward as Darius covered a few of the name cards in glitter before picking one up. Slowly, because this day wasn’t tortuous enough, he made his way back to the microphone.

“And the boy representing lovely District Twelve… Xander Lexton,” Darius said brightly. Purple eyes now searching the crowd for the young boy who would stand beside me.

A tall but slender dark headed boy stepped forward. I had seen him a few times in school. He was just a grade ahead of me. His girlfriend was my age and they were talking of getting married after we graduated.

Xander was led beside me. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t dare to look up into the cameras. Didn’t move as Daruis uselessly asked for volunteers. No one moved.

With another ferocious smile Darius grabbed my hand along with Xander’s. “Ladies and gentleman, I give to you, the Tributes of District Twelve!”

No applause ensued. No one moved. A woman wailed in the back. Most likely his girlfriend or his mother. They all looked at us with hungry and painful eyes. Our great goodbye with the sound of silence.

****

The train was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It moved at a fast speed, and yet nothing jarred or moved out of place.

Food sat out on decorated tables. Mounds of it. Meats and vegetables I didn’t recognize. Pastries that looked to be so delicate they would melt at my touch. Chocolate. Coffee. Tea. Anything I could think of in food was on a table in the train car.

Darius urged us to eat something before we retired to our separate rooms for the night. Though neither one of us dared touch it. For one it was too pretty to eat. And secondly, we no longer had an appetite.

I had the faint notion to eat as much as I could before going into the arena. However I was sure that if I put anything in my stomach I would most likely throw up.

“They won’t poison you until you make it to the arena. You’re no good to them dead yet,” Haymitch’s voice boomed in the car. Shoes now gone and a lightness in his wobbly steps.

His eyes fell to me again. Going over my red hair. He stopped himself from reaching out and touching it. I hadn’t been this close to the man in a long time. I saw the recognition and sadness flood his eyes.

Since birth I had been told of how much I looked like my sister. Of how we could be twins with our hair and freckles. Our green eyes that were identical.

Leihla had gone into the arena with Haymitch five years ago. Him seventeen and her sixteen. It was odd to think that I was older than she was now. I didn’t doubt that this was some Capitol trick. Having Haymitch mentor his fellow tribute’s younger sister. It was poetic. Funny, almost. Either way the Capitol won. Whether I lived or died the media would spin it to their advantage.

I forced a smile to my lips. He looked away.

Xander still hadn’t looked up from his shoes.

“It’s good to see you, Haymitch,” I said.

“You’ve grown up,” he said, seemingly sobering up.

The last time I saw him I was thirteen. When he came home with food and grain. Then the crowd had been loud. I remembered his apology to my mother.

“Um, what should we do,” I questioned, not really knowing where to start.

“Eager, are we?”

“Anxious.”

Xander’s leg began to tap. Occasionally he would hit the table with his knee. He didn’t look at or address Haymitch. My best guess was that he was still in shock. Still reeling from his name being called. I wondered what his goodbyes had been like.

Haymitch sized him up for a second. Sadness filled his eyes. More than anything he looked… tired. I wondered when he had slept last. Something told me not for a few years. He went on, grabbing a cake from the table and setting it in front of me. “Relax, for one. Then we can move on to other things.”

He pulled a canister of dark amber liquid from the bar and finally took a seat across from me and next to Xander. He poured a drink for my fellow tribute then one for himself. To my surprise Xander took it with shaking hands.

I left the pink cake alone. Though I could smell strawberries. I’d had them all of once in my life. Someone had picked them out in the woods and brought them back. Leihla had traded her favorite scarf for them.

“Take a bite, it’s all she would eat while she was here,” Haymitch coaxed. Though he wouldn’t say her name.

I didn’t like to think of her in the Capitol. Didn’t like to think of her on this same train or anything close to the Games. I preferred to remember her with me. Walking me to school. Or braiding my hair. Smiling down at me while we raced back home. She always let me win.

Pushing the cake away I looked back up to Haymitch. “What should we do before we get to the Capitol? Do we start training right away?”

He let out a huff and leaned back into the chair. Xander finished off his first glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. “You meet with your stylist first. They’re going to give you an image, help the people get to know you. Your stylist is your ally here, work with them.”

“What image works best?”

“It varies year to year. Just be likable. Get people to like you, that’s how you’ll get sponsors. You’ll need that later on.”

“How do I-”

Haymitch held up his hand. It was steady and almost as big as my face. “We’ll have time for all of this later. Right now, enjoy the peace. You won’t have it very much longer.”

#the hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games fic #haymitch abernathy #haymitch x reader #thg haymitch #the hunger games imagine #Haymitch Abernathy fan fiction #fan fiction #imagine #imagines #original character

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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The Healer

Summary: Morning comes and Brylee is forced to face the music of Chris’ inevitable departure.

Pairings: Chris Argent x Brylee McCall

Warnings: Slight swearing, some angst

A/N: Happy to be back with this fic this week!! Not my Gif but all my writing!!

Through the night and through the rain I stayed in his arms. We were a mess of sheets, kisses, and ecstasy. Being in his arms was easy. It was the most ease I had felt in a long time. The most at home I had been in as long as I could remember. For a moment we weren’t alone. For a little while we were just two people in a cabin.

As the sun rose he dozed beside me. Though he had held up fine through most of the night, when dawn came I saw the tiredness fill his eyes again. He was gaining strength. Which made me both happy and sad. He was getting better, which meant there wouldn’t be much reason for him to stay here any longer.

I traced idle patterns on his arm that was draped over my waist. His breath tickled my neck. Slow, even and warm. It took everything in me to keep the shiver at bay. My fingers ran over his, the ones that had become familiar to me in such a short amount of time.

I knew I shouldn’t have done this. Had thought it through the night.But I had pushed it aside. And too soon I would have to face the music.

Sunlight poured in from the curtains. The rain had stopped, and the rays were making their way to the bed. His skin was finally gaining its normal color back. He wasn’t quite as tan as I had once known him to be, though the sickly gray he had favored over the week had dissipated. Slowly I turned to face him. I couldn’t help but let my fingers run over his nose, his beard. I craved to be as close as possible.

He seemed peaceful for once. His mind finally empty. His heart sated for a little bit. When he had first entered town the thing almost everyone took notice of was his calculating gaze. Scott especially. Chris hadn’t lost it even with death knocking on his door. But now he was calm, relaxed. I liked this look on him.

Before I could get settled with his image in front of me I got out of bed. The wooden floors were cold on my feet and it sent chill bumps running up my arms. No matter where I looked I couldn’t find my top. Settling for one of his button ups I covered myself hoping to push away the chill.

“Going somewhere,” his raspy voice made me jump a little.

I turned, having finally finished up the last button. His blue eyes were now fully awake. A small smile shining under his unruly beard. “Coffee,” I stated.

Before I could start to tame his wild morning hair which would lead to another round in the sheets I bolted for the kitchen. I filled the pot with water and then dumped almost half the bag of grounds into the filter. The heavy scent of pecan and vanilla did wonders to soothe me.

I should have known I couldn’t do this with him. Have him for a little while and then let him go. He wasn’t Derek. He wasn’t just a man who was there to soothe a part of me then leave with no strings attached. He was… important. I wouldn’t go as far as saying I loved him. But he was more than a fling. More than casual sex.

It didn’t matter. He would be gone soon, and I would no doubt be back to work on others in no time. He would become a faint memory. Something that happened which I would go back to every now and then. But I was sure it wouldn’t be much more. Soon I would wallow alone and find a way to deal with it. Like I did with everything.

I heard him approach. His footsteps still a near shuffle with his injury placement. We hadn’t broached the topic of what had attacked him since the night he was left with me. Pulling two mugs from the cabinet I didn’t face him. Was too much of a coward to look him in the eye longer than three seconds. The coffee wouldn’t brew fast enough for me to get out on the porch. To get out of this stifling house that was covered in him. Covered in his scent and memory, and blood.

Calloused strong fingers once again wrapped around my wrist. Coaxing me to look at him. A request not a demand. A touch so gentle yet so strong. An anchor. “Is something wrong,” he asked in a near whisper.

“No,” I lied, forcing myself to look at him and smile to sell it.

He didn’t believe me. The man was a human lie detector, I should have known not to even try with him.

My eyes drifted away from his back to the coffee pot. I hated his perfect crisp blue eyes. They had borne themselves onto my memory. The coffee still wasn’t done. How long could it possibly take?

“If it’s something about last night, I’m-”, he started, fingers still wrapped delicately around my wrist.

“It’s not.”

“Really, because you were fine until this morning.”

“I am fine. Last night was… great. And now you can go back to wherever you were and we can move on.”

His hands moved to my hips, making me face him. I realized then that he had only put on a pair of jeans. They slung lazily on his waist. Teasing and taunting me. I forced my eyes back to his. There was no winning no matter where I looked at him.

“That’s what you think last night was,” he questioned. I hadn’t seen him this riled in a long while. Fire lit in those ice like eyes.

“What else was it?” Silence. An answer. He didn’t know. I carried on before he could blabber on about some kind of sentiment that would only be a half truth. “Look I probably shouldn’t have come in last night like I did. You were hurting and… I’m glad I could fix it for a while. But you and I both know that this isn’t going anywhere. You’re not staying in Beacon Hills, and I’m not leaving. So we can just leave it.”

A new kind of fierceness took over him. Something new and brash that made my heart rush with hope. “That’s not what last night was. And I don’t know why you’re trying to bullshit me right now.”

“It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth Chris. And it’s okay,” I felt unwanted tears flood my eyes. Last night was stupid and I should have never let it happen.

“Talk to me, what are you so worried about,” he asked in a softer tone. Almost pleading with me.

Before I could give him an answer the door squeaked open and I jumped out of his embrace before the new guest could catch us. I thought I had locked the front door. Which meant it was one of the only other people with a key…

“Mr. Argent, you’re back,” Scott said, a beaming smile covering his face.

If you would have told me that’s how my brother would greet Chris one day I would have laughed. But seeing them now was sweet. They were forever bound together by Allison. And maybe the only two people on the planet who carried close to the same kind of grief for her.

Chris put on his signature smirk, saving his smiles for when the time truly called for it. “It’s good to see you Scott.”

My brother’s gaze turned to me, “Is this the patient mom was talking about?”

I was happy that he didn’t notice our state of dress. Just yet. I prayed he wouldn’t smell Chris on me. He seemed to be so elated that the older man was here that he wasn’t paying much attention to anything else. “Yeah, what are you doing here?”

His brown eyes snapped back into focus as if suddenly remembering he had a mission. “Mountain Ash, we need some for tonight. Thought you might have some in stock.”

I started walking to my small clinic where I held all my remedies. “Should I even ask what you need it for?”

“We’re trying to set a trap for the Dread Doctor’s latest creation.”

I handed him the large canister holding the dark ashes. “Do you need help?”

His eyes became compassionate, trying to ease my worry. He hated it when I tried to play mom. Had complained about it since we were kids. But he was my little brother, so no matter what he did I would always worry about him whether he liked it or not. When he had turned into a werewolf the instinct had only heightened.

“I’ll call you if anything happens, but for now we should be okay,” he turned back to Chris. “What brought you here?”

Quietly and quickly Chris had put on a white tee shirt. How he moved so soundlessly always freaked me out. Training of a hunter I guessed. “Mystery beast a few counties over,” he raised his shirt and pulled down his dressing. Showing the three long stitched scars.

“How does the beast look,” Scott asked, half jokingly.

“I wish I knew. Your sister saved my life the other night,” Chris’ blue eyes fell back onto me.

“I know the feeling. She’s helped a lot of people,” my brother smiled warmly at me. Then his eyes wandered to what I was wearing.

I started to lead him to the front door, “Is there anything else you need for tonight?”

Slowly he looked to my house guest then back to me before following me. “No, I think that’s it. Are you guys okay here?”

“We’re fine, Scotty. If anything goes wrong, or you need anything call me.” His eyes were still roaming over me and Chris, not fully listening to me. I pulled his attention back to me with a sharper tone. “Scott, I mean it. Be careful tonight.”

He finally looked at me. The warmth that was normally there replaced the suspicion that had been in his features before. My not so little brother pulled me in for a hug. He had outgrown me his freshman year. It hurt me to know that he was practically grown now. I wish so desperately to go back to when he was little. “We’ll be okay sis,” he whispered and was out the door.

I let out a long breath leaning heavily on the wooden frame. I stood like that for a long time all the while feeling Chris’ presence behind me. He never left me. Wouldn’t leave me no matter how much I wanted to be alone at the monet. Though that part of me that wanted him here was glad he stayed. Was glad that he wasn’t running. I wished I could tamp that part of me down.

“Brylee,” he said, not coming much closer.

I loved my name on his lips. Loved when he whispered it. Loved when he moaned it. Loved when his voice simply carried it across his tongue.

Building up my courage I turned around still leaning on the door. I’d need something solid behind me. The unwanted tears had returned. I maintained my breathing to keep them at bay. I wouldn’t cry while he was here. Not now.

“I know you can’t stay. I know there’s too much here for you. Too much of Allison here. And it’s okay, I’m okay with it. I’m okay with what you let me have,” I pushed out in a single breath. Because if I didn’t I would lose my nerve.

“I never said that,” he defended meekly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“You don’t have to.”

“So that’s what last night was for you. Give a sad man some comfort?”

I shook my head. “No. I wanted… I just…” I was losing it.

Slowly he came closer. Like approaching a wild beast. I assumed that’s what I looked like right now. “You wanted what? To make me feel better? To make you feel better?”

“That wasn’t all of it.”

He was inches from me now. I could feel the heat coming off of him. The fever was gone. Sickness almost fully healed. And yet he was still warm. Still begging me towards him. “Then what is it? What’s the whole of it? What did you want?”

I felt a tear slip. Damn it.

“I wanted… I wanted… you,” I whispered. My knees were going to buckle beneath me.

“Me,” he questioned. I’d never seen this man confused. He always seemed to know everything. Always seemed to have everything under control.

“You. I thought it was a stupid crush when you moved into town. But then… it just grew. And I wanted you. Last night I couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

He went silent and still. I had really just screwed it up. I had shown my full hand, and now he would leave with my dignity broken too.

“I didn’t allow myself to look at you for a long time. I was married, and you were young,” he started softly. Afraid of what might come down on him should he speak too loudly. “But you were always there. Always on my mind. Always just a breath away.

“After Allison died I didn’t think that I could ever… feel good again. But when I woke up and saw you over me, it was like I was alive for the first time in a long time.”

His fingers laced through mine. I wanted to buckle at his feet, but I held myself against the door. I forced myself to stay up right. I would not become a mess on this floor for him. For anyone.

He let his head rest against mine. I wondered if he felt the same need I did. Had the same flame that burned whenever we allowed ourselves to fall into each other. His free hand came to wipe a few of the tears that had escaped.

It would never cease to amaze me that a man capable of such violence could be so gentle. The man had never been rough with me. Had never laid anything but a gentle hand on me. Had used the utmost care last night. He was strong, but had the mind to be careful.

“It’s not enough to make you stay, is it,” I dared to ask. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. To know that I wasn’t enough to push the demons from his mind. To know that I simply wasn’t enough.

“This place used to kill me. It consumed me with memories, with tragedy. I wonder if that might be because I never tried to make new ones in it,” he said.

My heart fluttered as I felt his words fall onto my lips. His breath mingling with mine.

“Chris…” I tried to stop him. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

“Will you have me? If I stay, will you take me?”

Another damn tear slipped.

“Yes,” I breathed.

His lips were upon me in an instant.

#chris argent #chris argent x reader #fan fiction #imagine #imagines #original character #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #chris argent fan fiction #chris argent imagine #scott mccall #derek hale

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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Ocean Master

Summary: Olivia is a Meta human who joined the Justice League. But in her off time she resides in the same town as Aurther. When he asks her to take in his brother Orm for a while she can’t deny a friend. Her abilities make her perfect for the job, and it’s been a while since she’s had a house guest.

Warnings: none!

A/N: I wrote this a while ago when the first movie came out, and I’m publishing it while I work some more on the Healer series!

*Not my Gif but all my writing!!

The moment Aurther had brought him to me, I had an unnerving feeling. I wasn’t sure why. But there was something about him, the power from his stance. The grace with which he walked. The look in his eye that seemed like he could level mountains with that penetrating gaze.

Everything about him was foreign, in the most unusual and curious way. I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid, or if I should get closer. Dive deeper to see what lurked behind those beautiful, sharp blue eyes. Though I wasn’t sure I fully wanted to know the depths of him. He had tried to kill Aurther, and take over the entire sea. He was the acclaimed Ocean Master.

He stood at the end of the dock, his hair such a light blonde that it was near white. He was light skinned, his pale complection nearly matching his hair. His frame was slimmer than Aurther’s, but just as muscled and toned. Only an inch or so shorter than his half brother. And his eyes, just as blue as the sea. Very unlike Auther’s, who’s were a hazel, hovering near orange at times.

For brothers they were absolutely nothing alike. Aurther taking after his father, and his half brother taking more from their mother’s side. They didn’t favor one another in the physical sense or in personality. Other than the fact that they both had a very steely gaze, one that no one would dare mess with.

Standing next to each other on the dock they looked like night and day. Aurther’s stance at attention, but at ease. Comfortable in himself and his surroundings. His brother stood straight backed, chin high. Ready to attack anything that came his way. A king still, despite losing his throne.

I walked with Atlana and Tom, Aurther’s parents, to meet them at the end of the small old dock. I had met them less than a month ago, but I grew close to both of them quickly. Their mother was calm and sweet, yet she had a spine of steel. They had told me her story, and it gave me hope. She had overcome tragedy, faced down many horrendous things, and survived. Found happiness.

And Aurther’s father, much like Aurther himself. Full of energy, even in his old age. Always had a smile on his face, especially now that his love had come back to him- or so Aurther had said. And was the most laid back, easy going person on the island. But like his love, he was strong. He’d raised Aurther on his own, somehow managing to make him into a man. Making him love both sea and land. Even through his heartbreak. Even though it was his wife’s people that took her from him.

I could feel the nerves radiating off of both of them. Their thoughts and concerns were loud in my own mind. They were worried about what Orm might do while on the surface. About what he was capable of destroying. Not just the buildings and land, but what laid within their family. Tom hated the idea, but he did it for Atlana. He knew that he was still her son, and he would do the same thing if it were Aurther.

Looking back to Orm, I faintly wondered why I had agreed to this.

We stopped mere feet from them, Atlana moved forward and greeted both of her sons with a kiss on the cheek. Both of the men seemed to soften at the touch of their mother. I could feel the love coming from both of them, the longing that still remained from the time they had both been separated from her.

“Mom,” Auther said, then his gaze shifted to me. A small smile covered his face, “Olivia, good to see you.”

His smile was infectious. It had been since the day I’d met him, I couldn’t help but smile back, “Good to see you to Aurther.”

He looked to his half brother and I followed his gaze. Orm’s eyes had come my way. Like it was the first time he had actually taken notice of my presence.

Until now I’d only heard stories of the former Atlantian King standing before me. Right now he didn’t look particularly harmful. His thoughts were nothing but pure calm on the surface. Something cool and steady and churning. Like the very waters we stood above.

He took me in, accessing me with that crisp gaze of his. Another thing he had inherited from his mother, I noted. But there was something else there, a smoldering that didn’t match anyone or anything else I had seen.

“Olivia, this is my half brother Orm. Orm, this is Olivia, she’s the one you’ll be staying with in your time here,” Aurther introduced us properly.

Orm didn’t look particularly impressed with me. Though he wouldn’t be, he despised land dwellers. Looked at us like pests.

I gave a small smile and ducked my head, “Nice to meet you.”

He bowed his head but said nothing to me. That calm had turned into full annoyance. Coming off of him in waves. His thoughts ran through my head, like someone shouting down a watery tunnel.

They’re leaving me here? With this… human girl? I am to stay here with her?

I’m not too pleased with your presence in my home either. I shot into his mind.

I watched him physically flinch. So hard he almost fell off the dock.

He had no idea of my abilities. The ones sometimes even I myself couldn’t control. The ones gifted to me- if you could call it that- by the same explosion that had given Barry Allen his speed. I was a Meta-human. And a strong one according to the scientists who experimented on me.

“You’re in my head,” Orm said, only a slight tremble coming with it.

“I’m in everyone’s head,” I said. Though it was really the other way around. Everyone was in mine.

Orm recovered himself, and went back to the stiff spined, cool demeanor he had once occupied. Only this time he kept a closer eye on me.

Aurther and the rest of them had bemused smiles on their faces. I had spoken to all of them mind to mind a few times. I remembered when I’d first done it to Aurthur, how he’d jumped out of his skin and was ready to pounce.

“Olivia’s a… different type of surface dweller. She’ll be keeping an eye on you during your stay,” Aurther said lightly. My powers didn’t faze him much anymore. In fact it was how we stayed in communication a lot of the time he was away. A way to discuss things and send messages without anyone being the wiser.

Orm still didn’t take his eyes off of me fully. I shifted on my feet at his gaze. It was so intense I couldn’t help but squirm.

“Orm,” Atlana spoke softly, “Please don’t think that this is punishment. It’s meant to show you what makes this place worth fighting for. And that our people can live peacefully together.”

Spoken like a true queen, I thought.

He still stood proud. Still looked at this place as if it were a garbage dump. But he turned his gaze from me to his mom, “I understand mother.”

He said it softly, like if he said anything above a certain tone to her she would disappear again. But he still wasn’t happy with the idea. I could feel the growing annoyance, the discomfort, the aggravation. I was convinced he was only doing this for Atlana, like Tom. Like all the men here were doing this because of one thing they actually had in common. Their love for the light haired queen standing before us.

His thoughts confirmed it, when she gave him a sad smile and his aggravation melted.

Slightly.

He looked at me again, this time a little less startled, “So where will I be staying?”

I decided to ignore the irritation in his voice. One of us had to be civil. He was going to be here for a while. I had to make this as easy as possible. At least for myself.

“This way,” I said, nodding to the other side of the beach.

Aurther’s parents currently resided in the house just below the lighthouse. It was Aurther’s childhood home. And it was just a few yards away from us as we stood on the dock.

The house I had purchased- with the gracious, if not excessive, salary of Bruce Wyane- was a blue beachfront house about two miles east of the light house.

I had come here to visit Aurther once on business for the League, it was the first time I had ever been near the ocean. I had found that the water, crashing against land, always moving, always roaring, had calmed and silenced the voices in my head. Had given me peace I hadn’t felt in years. Comfort and solitude.

I’d bought the house only a few short weeks later with the help of Aurther, happy to share his hometown with me.

I set out and let Orm follow me, the rest mercifully stayed behind. I didn’t think he would settle in well with everyone standing around watching him.

Update me later tonight? If he gives you any problems let me know, Aurther said to me silently.

I can handle it, I said simply.

Though I knew he would be checking in frequently, along with his mother. And I knew I would be giving them both all the information they needed.

He was quiet most of the walk there. I couldn’t help but notice that he was still in his Atlantian armor. Steel and mesh, shaped to help him flow through the waters easily, and quickly. They didn’t look too comfortable though. None of them did. I had seen Aurther’s suit, and Mera’s, and none of them looked like they would be comfy. I couldn’t even figure out how they got them on or off.

I glanced behind me once or twice to make sure he was still there. Though it wasn’t totally necessary, with my abilities.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to bolt the first time you turn your back like a child,” he said. The first real attempt at conversation he’d made with me.

“I’m not worried. You wouldn’t get the chance anyway,” I answered. Slowing my pace down to fall in step with him.

“Because you can hear my thoughts,” he asked irritably.

“Because hearing thoughts isn’t all I can do,” I said as my house came into sight.

I had repainted it when I bought it. A light sky blue, with a white door and white windows. It was the only place that had ever been mine. The only place I had ever felt at home in.

And he looked at it as if it was the nastiest thing he had ever seen. Like he was too good to stay in this flimsy thing I called my home.

To his credit he kept his thoughts quiet. Or at least as quiet as he could manage. No one could ever fully quiet their mind, but this Atlantian came close. It was enough for me to push down the annoyance that came with him regarding my home in such a way.

At least my sanctuary wouldn’t be totally disrupted. Not if he could keep a damper on his mind. Though I doubted he could keep that up forever.

We stepped through the door and he took in everything. The paintings that scoured the walls, all my own work. And the small piano that sat in the living room next to the window. And the kitchen that was just to the left of the living room.

It was most likely tiny to him. Compared to the scales of Atlantis. I had seen images of it through Aurther and Mera. Pictures and memories stored in their minds. And it was grander than anything of that here on land.

“Your room is upstairs, next to mine,” I said leading him up the stairs that were just to the left of the front door.

My room was adjacent to his. His door right across from mine, and the bathroom that we would share between the two at the end of the long hall.

I opened his door for him and let him enter. The window let in natural light, and I had the tendency to leave almost all the windows open to let in the sea breeze and the sound of the waves.

“There are clothes for you in the dresser, the sheets are freshly washed, and you can come and go as you please, just let me know,” I said, trying to play hostess best I could.

The rule of him telling me where he would be was a stipulation of Aurther’s. He wanted to know that his half brother wasn’t making any more plans against him or anyone else on the surface.

Bringing Orm here had been a compromise between Atlana and Aurther. A way to keep an eye on him, and show him that this place was worth defending not destroying. But they knew that he wouldn’t see it being cooped up with his mom and Tom. So I offered to take him in.

His mother had high hopes for him. Frankly right now I couldn’t see them, or understand them. But I guessed that came with being a mother. You never gave up on your children.

He surveyed the room as he had done everything since he came ashore. I waited for him to say something. A thank you, or even a small grimace. But he said nothing and I knew I was wasting my time waiting.

I turned to let him get acquainted with his new surroundings. I felt him, his mind, his presence, all the way downstairs. He was angry, and resentful. But most of all, he was nervous. Scared.

He had never been out of the ocean, never been away from Atlantis for very long. And he was afraid. I knew what he felt. To be away from home. To be afraid of what comes next. To not understand where to go, or how to carry on.

I backed off, turned off and took control of what I could and gave him privacy. He didn’t need me intruding right now. He didn’t want me prying into his thoughts. And with the nasty thoughts that he was starting to think of my home- not just my house, but the shore and land itself- I didn’t want to hear it.

******

#dc comics #dc universe #orm marius fanfiction #orm marius #ocean master #aquaman imagine #aquaman #aquaman fan fiction #dc fanfic #dc fan fiction #Orm Marius imagine #imagine #imagines #fan fiction #original character

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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The Healer

Summary: After almost a week Chris Argent is still in Brylee McCall’s care. And both are seeing sides of each other they never thought they would.

Parings: Chris Argent x Brylee McCall

Warnings: Fluff, kissing, some blood, nursing things

*Not my Gif but all my writing!! Also this one runs a bit long!!

Part 4

We fell into a routine of sorts over the next few days. As the lines of his infection slowly started to recede he started to gain strength. He felt good enough to walk on his own. And the second day he was here I decided to take him off of his IV.

It was almost like having a roommate. He was quiet most days. But every now and then something would spark his interest. Something about the house. Or asking about Stiles or someone else in town. When he felt up to it he would ask about the past creatures we had encountered while he was gone. I could see how bittersweet it was for him. How much he loved the place and missed the people. But how hard it was to remember things that were once close to Allison.

Though the comfortable silences were easy to live with. Quietly I cooked while his steady presence remained on my porch. A silent dance ensued between us on the days he felt up to helping me. And on the two days I had patients, he was a soundless bystander who let me get on with my work.

His being at my house was almost more of a comfort than it was an annoyance.

I had finally convinced him to sleep during the day when he felt like it. That part of him that had been scared to sleep or be unaware had disappeared in the last few days. With his body fighting the infection he needed all the rest he could get. Convincing the never still man of this was tough, but eventually I broke through the thick and high walls of his. I also had the help of him not being able to keep his eyes open on a few occasions.

It’s what he was doing now. And I curled on the couch with a book in the small down time I was allowed. Diving into the story, the pages taking me somewhere new and far away from here. A knock disrupted my reading. I hurried for the door before the person could ring the doorbell and wake Chris.

Swinging the door open my mother stood there in all her glory. Holding a bottle of wine and a bag of my favorite popcorn. A smile covered her face, though it started to fade slightly when I didn’t let her in right away.

“Are you going to let me in, or am I just going to stand out here with this bottle,” she asked, only half joking.

I quickly shook myself out of my stupor. “Yeah sorry, come in. Just be quiet, I have a patient resting.”

Her eyes turned understanding as they always did. She did as I asked and set the wine carefully in the fridge, barely making a sound. “So that’s why I haven’t heard from you. I was starting to get worried,” she said in a hushed tone.

“It’s been a tough case. He came in with deep lacerations and an infection set in. I’ve only been able to get his fever down a handful of times. It’s starting to worry me,” I took a seat at one of my bar stools while she leaned over the sink.

“Do you know him?”

Usually I didn’t mind talking about my patients with mom. She was a nurse so she understood most of my situations. But this was a little different. She and Chris had become decent friends once she got over him hunting Scott. I wasn’t sure if him being back would upset her in some way. And I didn’t know if he wanted anyone knowing he was back.

“Kind of,” I settled on. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. How’s Scotty?”

She eyed me for a second, noting how I changed the subject too fast. But she played along with my little game for the time being. “He’s fine. Him and Kyra got a lead on the Dread Doctors, they’re trying to follow it the best they can.”

“What about you? How are you handling things?”

“As best as a mother can with her children running wild,” she gave a small laugh.

I leaned over and let my hand rest on her shoulders, “We’re just doing what you taught us mom.”

Patting my hand she nodded. “It doesn’t look like your patient has let you sleep very much.”

With her hawk-like eyes she never missed anything. How she never found out about Scott turning into a werewolf sooner than she did I will never know. Even with a busy work schedule she never missed a beat in my or Scott’s life. She knew every time we snuck out. Every time we did something bad. Or when we had our first kiss and neglected to tell her about it. She claimed it was her own supernatural power.

I sat back down on the stool looking at the half full coffee pot. I had been through more coffee than ever in these past few days. “He’s had rough nights. He refuses to take any kind of pain killer so all he does is toss and turn trying to get comfortable. Plus I’m still checking his wound and temperature every hour.”

“I can always fill in for a day or two. I’ve got some off time coming up,” she offered. Always looking out for me. Always ready to put in a helping hand.

“No, you need the rest as much as I do. I’ll be okay for now.”

She walked around the counter and wrapped me in a warm hug. Giving me the comfort that only a mother could provide to a child. The embrace that always provided a blanket of safety and comfort.

“If you need anything, just call. I can be here if you need me,” she said, leaning back and pushing a few stray hairs away from my face.

“I will mom.”

I saw her off, waving from the porch as she drove down the bumpy road. Clouds were starting to darken again. It would begin to rain soon. And once more my roads would become a muddy mess.

As I stepped inside Chris was pouring himself a cup of coffee. His graying hair was pointing in a few different directions. It took all of me not to giggle at the sight. I’d never seen him so… disheveled.

His eyes were starting to become clear again. The fog of tiredness, and heavy medication wearing off. “How was your mom,” he asked, taking a long sip of coffee and staring at me over the rim of his mug.

“I thought you were asleep, not eavesdropping,” I quipped. He shrugged, not looking ashamed in the least. I continued before he could ask anymore questions, “You look better. How are you feeling?”

“Good, but sore,” he said honestly.

“Why don’t you sit on the couch and I can take another look at your wound?”

He wordlessly followed me, used to the routine of my checking things. He seemed to be less agitated every time we went through this spell together.

His skin was hot to the touch, which I hated. It was like flames on my fingers every time I brushed against him. Every time we bumped into each other in the kitchen. Every time I pulled his bandage up. Every time I helped him out of or into bed. I knew it was the fever that was doing this. However it sometimes felt as if the flames would transfer to my own skin, and linger long after I had left him.

I pulled the bandage off and for once was pleased with what I saw. The red lines had started to recede. They were almost halfway gone. The puffiness around the wound had lessened. And the stitches were all holding up nicely even as he gained more sense of movement. It was the most improvement I had seen since he was brought here.

“It’s the first time your eyebrows haven’t scrunched together while looking at it,” he said almost too quietly for me to hear.

I looked back into his blue eyes. The ones that were addicting. “It’s looking better for once. You’re finally making some progress. If you didn’t start soon I was going to have to take you into Beacon Hills.”

“If you were so worried, why didn’t you tell your mom about me? I doubt I could fight off both of you while I’m like this.”

I looked down to the couch, trying to hide the blush that took over my cheeks. “I didn’t know who you wanted knowing you were back. And I… I don’t know, I just, I wanted you to trust me.”

Calloused fingers found their way to my chin. Slowly he made me look at him again. He made me look him in the eye. Flames burst onto my skin, and I had never been so glad that he couldn’t hear my heartbeat. It was going to leap out of my chest.

“If I didn’t already trust you, I wouldn’t have had Maddie and Josh bring me here. You’re one of the only people I can be sure of at this moment,” he said gently, like speaking to a loved one. Someone he cared for.

I prayed that the blush in my cheeks didn’t grow any deeper than it already was.

*****

After our nightly routine of dinner and some time by the fire on the couch I situated him in bed. Once he was comfortable I retreated to my own room. Even though I was exhausted, sleep eluded me.

I tossed and turned, and did everything in my power to fall asleep. Nothing worked. Not counting sheep. Not reading for a while. Not even staring at the wall or forcing my eyes shut. Sleep was not my friend tonight despite me needing it desperately.

It had been almost a week since I had gotten a full night of rest. Nor had I gotten to sleep in. If I kept this up I wasn’t going to make it.

The rain started an hour into my tossing spell. Usually the thick rain drops pounding onto the roof sent me to sleep quickly. The soothing sound wasn’t enough tonight though. Instead they were music helping to keep my brain alert. I was going to go crazy laying here.

Ripping the sheets off of me I stood and slipped out of my room. Before I could make my way for the kitchen I noted the light was still on in the guest bedroom. I wondered if he was having just as much trouble as I was. Or if maybe I was somehow keeping him awake. Not able to stop my curiosity I knocked on the door, pushing it open to find him standing by the large window.

He had taken off his shirt. His large frame took up most of my view. Broad shoulders flowed seamlessly into his long torso. The only thing disrupting his figure was the bandage covering up about half of his abs. Despite the trauma his body had been through, he still kept his sculpted shape.

I pushed the blush from my cheeks as best I could. I stammered over my words and forced my eyes to the ground. “Sorry, I thought maybe… Um, I thought I was keeping you up, so I came to check on you.”

I could hear him shuffling closer to me. Though he had gained a lot of strength back, it was still hard for him to walk normally with the wound on his side. It was a miracle that he was walking at all.

“I was afraid I was keeping you up,” he said. I could see his feet in my line of vision.

I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t look up. I had seen him without a shirt plenty of times. Who had stitched him up? Who had helped him dress himself? This was ridiculous. I was a medical professional, I could keep it that way.

Lifting my gaze straight to his eyes I could see the small amount of humor in them. It seemed as if he was trying his best not to laugh at me. To not be humored by my reaction. But under that humor was a deep sadness. His eyes were lined with a little bit of redness. Like he had been crying.

“Are you okay,” I near whispered, afraid to embarrass him, or make him upset.

It was his turn to push his gaze away from me. “I’m fine. Just one of those nights.”

One of the nights he couldn’t push his grief away. A night where it consumed him and demanded to be felt. Demanded that he bow to the sadness and memories both good and bad. When the guilt consumed him and he couldn’t escape his losses.

“They happen. It’s okay if you want to talk about her, Chris.” It took a lot to keep my hand from moving to his. I was seeing all new sides of this man in this little escapade that brought him to me.

He started to run his fingers through his beard. Taming the wild hairs, putting them back in their place. Over the last few days I had noticed that one of his ticks was being unable to sit completely still. A bad habit for a hunter.

“It’s not that I mind talking about her. Talking about Allison is what keeps her with me. It’s the… the guilt that gets me these days,” he answered.

“The guilt of what?”

“Of feeling happy. It doesn’t feel right to… move on. To be happy without her here.”

He finally looked back at me. This was the most sad I had ever seen him. Even at Allison’s funeral he had been stoic, somber, held together. But before me was a man torn apart by grief and guilt. No longer did he put on a facade, and pretend to be okay.

I gave in to the instinct that was calling me to hold him. Slowly, so as not to startle him, I took him into my arms. Pulled him by the shoulders, standing on my toes to get my arms around him. I let my fingers dive deep into his hair, like my mother had done to soothe me as a child. He didn’t resist me, or push me away from him. Instead he melted into me. Wrapped his arms around my waist and sank his head onto my shoulder. As if we had been doing this for years.

I felt his breath on my neck. Felt the deep long sigh he let out. His leaning weight on me, the contact of his skin, as familiar as a lover. The man’s hair was as soft as silk.

“It’s okay to feel something other than pain for a while. I don’t think Allison would want you to be sad all the time. It’s okay to remember her and move on. It’s okay to feel happy, Chris,” I whispered.

We stayed in each other's embrace for a long while. That comforting silence falling back upon us. Not needing words to understand each other. Not needing to speak to be heard. Right now he just needed someone to lean on. And I was okay with being that person.

He finally pulled back, though he didn’t go far. He leaned his head onto mine. Now his warm breath was on my lips. He was so close I could nearly taste him.

I knew what was coming. Like every girl knew before the proposal happened. Or when her boyfriend was going to ask her to prom. I knew he was going to lean in. Part of me shouted to go away. To step out of his arms and keep the professional relationship between us.

I told that part of myself to shut up.

His lips descended onto mine warmly. He was no longer plagued with fever, but he held warmth. Warmth that ran through me and made me burst with flames of my own.

I let my eyes slip shut. Let the feeling of him being this close take me over. My fingers combed through his silk-like hair, while his own hands roamed over me. They had pushed some of my blouse up, getting us as close to skin on skin as possible.

Barely sucking down air he deepened the kiss. Pulled me as close as he could manage. I was still on my toes trying to reach him. Trying to get deeper into him. If I could have faded into him I would have.

He started to back up, pulling me with him. His soft full lips never left mine as we moved together. Slowly and carefully we sank into the mattress. Chris began to tug at my top as I straddled him, careful to avoid his wound. Though he didn’t seem to care.

His eyes burned in a way I had never seen. Burned bright with desire. For the first time in a long time he looked… alive. He looked like the same man I had first met. The one with a passion and a calling. I savored the look he gave me. Felt honored that it was me who had been the one to ignite it.

His lips found their way to my bare shoulder. Soft delicate kisses roamed over me. As I lost myself in the feeling of small fires starting up, I deeply hoped that I could keep him like this. That I could keep him alive in a whole new way for as long as possible.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fan fiction #chris argent #chris argent x reader #teen wolf imagine #chris argent fan fiction #chris argent imagine #fan fiction #imagine #imagines #original character

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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The Healer

Summary: After Chris Argent is left on her doorstep it falls to Brylee McCall to take care of him. Old feelings start churning and she’s not sure how to handle them while her new house guest settles in.

Pairings: Chris Argent x Brylee McCall and past Derek Hale x Brylee McCall

Warnings: Blood, nursing things , lots of fluff in this part!!

*Not my Gif but all my writing!!

Part 3

As the day progressed so did his infection. It was as if nothing I threw at it worked. His fever would drop then spike again. The red lines thankfully didn’t grow, but they refused to recede. One promising sign was he had gained an appetite. He held down soup and crackers well, though I didn’t want to risk him eating anything heavier.

Chris refused to go to bed during the day. However he dozed on the couch for a little while in the afternoon. Anytime I mentioned moving to the guest room, he brushed me off. Claiming he wasn’t tired, which was a lie anyone could see. And that he wanted to be alert for a few more hours. I couldn’t determine if he was afraid to go back to sleep, or if he felt something might be coming for the house. Maybe he was afraid of the beast that had attacked him.

I hadn’t ever seen the man afraid before. Scared. He was steel through and through. So seeing this softer, more vulnerable side of him was something new for me. I had watched him slay beasts, chase my brother, and hunt down Derek. It was harder than I realized watching him be a weaker version of himself.

Dark rolled around and I finally coaxed him into the bed of my guest room. To his displeasure I pampered him and made sure he was comfortable. With the placement of his new scar it was difficult finding a position that didn’t agitate it. Eventually, with more pillows than I could count and at least fifty flips, we finally found something that controlled the pain.

I had checked his wound along with his vitals one more time before finally leaving him for the night. I set an alarm for three to check him again. I was hoping the new round of antibiotics would send him to sleep. He wouldn’t take any kind of pain killer despite how much he was hurting.

I took a fast shower. Cleaning up blood I had missed and the overall stench of gore. Once I slipped into my pajamas I allowed myself to relax in bed. The softness of the mattress overtook me and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Too soon I was woken by a loud thud and a groan. I was up on my feet in less than a second, rushing into the guest bedroom. Chris was laying on the floor, blood pooling on his tee shirt, looking more annoyed than I had ever seen him.

His blush still hadn’t left his cheeks. I kneeled beside him, “What are you doing?”

He let out a huff of annoyance. “Just wanted some water. Thought I had the strength to make it to the kitchen.”

“Well, you don’t. You should have called me.”

He only groaned again in response. Most likely he had torn some stitches loose. His IV was still placed in his arm and everything else looked to be normal. Though I feared his fever was starting to spike again with the sweat covering his forehead.

I slowly sat him up to face me. “You’re going to have to help me get you back into bed. Hold on to me and I’ll help you stand.”

Easily he stood up, leaning heavily on me. The warmth coming from him was unnatural. Once he was up I eased him back into bed, lifting his feet to rest comfortably like we had done before. Only I laid him down a little flatter than before so I could look at his wound.

As I pulled up the tape I saw four ripped stitches which had already stopped bleeding. I let out a huff of my own. Without another word to him I went to the exam room, grabbed gloves and a suture kit, then poured him a glass of water. He was fidgeting with the IV line when I entered.

“I’m sorry,” he said while I sat down on the bed and started getting things ready to stitch him up again. “I really thought I could make it. I didn’t want to wake you.”

The red lines and puffiness were still prominent around his three slashes. If they didn’t clear up soon I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I doubted he would let me take him to Beacon Hills for treatment. Not to mention, how was I going to explain his condition to the doctors?

“It’s okay, just please don’t do this again. I don’t have enough suture kits to replace all of your stitches,” I answered as I put on my gloves.

He smiled at me. “Okay.”

“Do you want something to numb the area,” I asked, though I knew the answer before he gave it to me.

“No, thanks.”

I set to work, cleaning the area and trying to keep any other kind of bacteria out of the wound. I don’t know how he was sitting still. With the infection I was sure that the edges of the deep slash were extra sensitive. But the only sign of discomfort that he showed was furrowing his brow and grinding his teeth.

As I started the first stitch I asked him a question. Something to distract him a little from what I was doing. “So where did you go when you left last year?”

“What,” he asked, not taking his eyes from my hands on his side.

“You never said where you were going when you left. A few hunters that came in two months ago said they knew you, and saw you in Virginia,” I continued my work. Undoing the broken stitch and replacing it with a new clean one.

“I ended up in Virginia before I was called here. But when I left I was only a few counties away. My wife grew up there, and I knew a few hunters who could get me some work,” he answered.

“You don’t talk about her often.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as I pulled another broken stitch. “There’s not much to talk about really. We weren’t… in love. We really only married each other out of necessity, mixed with a bit of loneliness. When she died it was more like losing a good friend rather than a wife.”

“That sounds…”

“Sad, I know. But it worked for us. And it gave us Allison.”

I wondered if he would have gone back and changed anything now. If he wished that something hadn’t brought him to Beacon Hills. If he wished he had never married Allison’s mother so he wouldn’t have the heartbreak of losing them both. But he seemed a little better about it now. Not bitter about how things ended for him. Rather just nostalgic.

“Are you still seeing your lover boy,” he asked in a playful tone.

I yanked a little harder on the next stitch that I pulled out. “What lover boy?”

“Derek. I thought you two had become an item when I left,” he said a little more cautiously.

I thought back to the few sparse nights Derek and I had spent together. It made me wonder how Chris had known about it. We had never told anyone else about it. Mostly because I didn’t want to freak out Scott. And Derek wasn’t one to go prancing around about the details of his love life.

Fighting the blush that came to my cheeks I continued to tie the new stitch together. “It wasn’t really anything. Didn’t last long. I was sad, and lonely. He was too.”

This isn’t the conversation I had in mind to distract him. It felt weird talking to him about my love life. About Derek, whom he’d tried to hunt down on multiple occasions. About any of my past romances in general.

I started on the final torn stitch. Pulling it out slowly and steadily. Then starting on threading and tying the new one. I felt the strap of my tank top fall off of my shoulder as I worked. But with my hands gloved and in the middle looping thread through an open wound, I couldn’t reach up and fix it.

One strong finger looped under the strap and returned it to its rightful place. His gentleness tickled my skin, making chill bumps appear on my skin. I repressed the shiver that threatened to run down my spine. When he was done his fingers still lingered close to my skin. “It’s his loss,” he whispered.

I went on as if I didn’t hear him. As if the words didn’t send butterflies into my stomach. Like nothing had transpired between us. But the warmth of his fingers still lingered on my skin. And that feeling alone made me want to burst at the seams.

“Where will you go after this,” I asked. Trying to shake everything his nearness made me feel.

He finally let his hand drop back to the bed, making sure to keep some distance from my bare thigh. “It depends on a lot of things. How fast I get out of here, and if Maddie and Josh have caught the monster two counties over yet. Are you determined to get rid of me?”

“With your condition, I won’t be getting rid of you anytime soon. You’ll need some time to recover, and kick this infection.”

“You don’t look too happy,” he said, his eyes starting to fade again as his energy started to deplete.

I finished the last stitch and returned the bandage to where it rested before. I’d put a fresh one on him in the morning. Slipping off my gloves I put everything in the bag of the suture kit to throw away later. I finally looked at those blue eyes of his. “I’m not happy about your condition. I am happy that you’re in my care though.”

Small, tired smiles filled both of our features.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fan fiction #teen wolf imagine #imagine #imagines #fan fiction #chris argent #chris argent x reader #chris argent fan fiction #chris argent imagine #Derek hale #original character #chris argent x original character

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

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The Healer

Summery: Once Chris Argent is left on her doorstep it falls to Brylee McCall is determined to take care of him. Though as he comes to she can’t help but see the changes in the man she once knew.

Parings: Brylee McCall x Chris Argent

Warnings: Blood/Gore, nursing things mostly

*Not my Gif, but all my writing!!!

Part 2

He slept through the night, which was no surprise. Every hour I checked his vitals and fluids. At four am the blood bag was finally empty and his blood pressure was secure enough that I didn’t think he needed it anymore.

Coffee and cat naps fueled me through the night. I was too afraid to fall into a deep sleep. Without monitors there was no way for me to hear alarms if his vitals started to drop. However he was growing stronger by the hour. It was slow progress, but it was progress nonetheless.

I watched the sunrise. In the few months I had lived here I’d only watched the sunrise a handful of times. Usually it was the mornings I had patients like this. Ones that required constant monitoring. The rest of the time I preferred to sleep in. I had to take those days where I could.

As I finished breakfast in the orange hew of the kitchen my watch started to beep. I slowly made my way to the exam room. In the late hours of the night I had cleaned up the mess of me fixing him up. Mopped up the blood, and threw away the used gauze, needles and whatever else I had used in my frenzy. Before that I had busied myself cleaning him. Taking warm wash cloths and cleaning the dried blood off of his fingers, torso and legs. Making sure that he would be as comfortable as possible when he woke up.

Sweat still covered his brow, and his hands were clammy. The infection luckily wasn’t spreading, but it was still taking its toll on Chris. I ran the thermometer over his forehead, 103.2. It wasn’t great, but it was coming down.

My calculations were right, and the antibiotic drip was finished. I unhooked it from him and the half-used saline bag. I’d give it a few hours then if he wasn’t improving I’d start up another round.

It saddened me that he was here alone. Most of my patients had at least one person outside waiting on them. Someone by their side hoping they would be okay. But Chris… he was alone now. The hunters who brought him in didn’t care anything about him. Didn’t even leave a phone number for me to call. If the man had died last night I wouldn’t have had anyone to call. Though I would have been here. I would have remembered him, and made sure he had someone’s hand to hold if it had come to that.

I thanked God that it didn’t.

Throwing away the antibiotic bag and my gloves I wandered back to his side. As I was about to lift the tape off of the cover of his wound, calloused fingers lightly wrapped around my wrist. Looking down I found blue eyes staring at me. Tired and a little pale, however they were open and calm.

His fingers lacked their usual strength. And his voice was hoarse as he said, “I guess you saved me.”

A small smile covered my face. “You didn’t exactly make it easy on me.”

“Have I ever?”

I shook my head. No he hadn’t. Not when he was after my brother. And not the first time I had saved him. He was just a difficult man in general. Though I couldn’t help but love it about him.

“I need to check your stitches, then I can sit you up if you want,” I offered. He only nodded.

His fingers finally left my wrist, though they were lacking strength they still had their warmth. I lifted the bandage wrapped around his new scar, careful of the tape. The stitches were holding up nicely, he hadn’t done anything to disturb them in his sleep. But the lines of his infection weren’t looking much better. And with his temperature the way it was… We needed to keep a close eye on it.

As I put the bandage back in place he spoke again, “I don’t like the look you’re giving me.”

“It doesn’t look great,” there was no use in trying to dodge the bullet. Besides, even if I had bluffed he could no doubt feel the effects of his injury. “We just need to keep an eye on it, an infection is trying to close in.”

“You make it sound bad.”

I lifted him slowly, letting him adjust to the new position. I could see the discomfort plaguing him despite how he tried to cover it. “I can give you something for the pain,” I offered, though I was sure he wouldn’t take me up on the offer.

He was looking around the room now, going over every detail of the sterilized exam room. Supernatural remedies mixed with modern medicine. A makeshift hospital. “No, thanks. I want to stay awake for a while. You really fixed the place up here. It’s much better than what people say it is.”

“Is that why you risked your life just to be brought here,” I questioned.

A blush from the fever had taken over his face. His cheeks and forehead were a rosy color, it was much better than when he had come in here looking gray. “I asked them to bring me here because I knew you would take care of me without butchering me. I’ve seen your work.”

“Yeah well, your buddies that brought you here didn’t stick around longer than they had to. They did, however, leave your bag here.”

“How nice of them.”

“You should find some better teammates, Chris.”

He finally looked back at me, the color in his eyes becoming more vibrant as he gained stability. “I didn’t know you were concerned.”

“When you show up half dead on my doorstep is when I become concerned.” I let out a huff of air. He was treating this as if it were no big deal. Maybe to him it wasn’t. “Do you know what attacked you?”

He shook his head, though the motion pained him. “No. Maddie and Josh, the two whom you despise, swore it was a wolf. I wasn’t so sure. Now I know it’s not a wolf, which means I have no clue what the hell is roaming in those woods.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Josh and Maddie seemed determined to find whatever it is that attacked you.”

“Good, they should be.”

I rolled my eyes. Hunters, they never changed. I decided to change the subject. “Would you like me to help you get dressed?”

He stumbled on his words, “What?”

I pointed to his almost naked body, save for his underwear. He followed my finger, if he hadn’t already been blushing from the fever he definitely would have now. His discomfort amused me just a little. I had never seen the man look so… boyish.

“No. I mean yes I’ll get dressed, but I can do it on my own,” he stuttered.

“You can’t, you’re a fall risk. And you have an IV to work around, I’ll be right back,” I said, giving him no room to argue with me. I went and grabbed his black duffle bag.

Once back in the room I took out a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt, then a pair of socks. His feet looked to be freezing, though I knew he wouldn’t say anything if they were. Better to just cover all my bases. I took the shirt first and laid it across his lap.

“Let’s get your shirt on first, it’ll most likely be the easiest. Then we can move on to your pants.” He only nodded in return.

I scrunched up the shirt as if I were about to dress a toddler. Slowly and carefully I eased it over his head. Next I took his arm that wasn’t attached to the IV and helped him slip it through. Though I tried to be as gentle as I could I saw the discomfort it caused him. His eyebrows scrunched together as he clenched his teeth to keep from groaning.

I made sure the line of the IV was where I wanted it before taking his other arm and guiding it through the other side. Once again repeating the uncomfortable process. Wordlessly I took the saline bag off of its hook, then ran it through the arm of his shirt so it was no longer tangled within it. My fingers brushed his warm skin, and I quickly wrapped up the first part of the clothing process.

He seemed a little winded from the process. Though it was a small task, with what his body had gone through last night it must have felt like a marathon for him right now.

“I can put your pants on lying here if you don’t feel like getting up,” I offered.

“I’d like to save my dignity and stand, please,” he grinned slightly.

“Then we’re going to swing your legs to me slowly. After that I’ll help you stand.” Again he nodded, just ready for the process to be over.

I took a small grip of his calves, keeping them together as he slowly maneuvered himself towards me. It was taking all of his strength to do this small motion. It would take him a while to get back to normal. I was sure that wasn’t what he wanted to hear right now.

Once his legs were dangling slightly from the exam table I moved my hands to his waist. His muscles were still prominent, hard and obvious under my small hands. His larger hands moved to my shoulders without me telling him to do so.

“Don’t be afraid to lean on me until you have your footing, okay?”

He finally looked me in the eye again. “I’m afraid if I fall I’ll crush you.”

I smiled. “I promise I’ve had much bigger guys fall on me. You’re not going to fall. If you feel like you can’t stand then we’ll just sit you back down.”

Another nod, and we were moving. His feet fell heavily to the floor, but they remained steady. He did as I asked and leaned on me, only a little. He swayed slightly, probably dizzy from the blood loss and medication. As soon as he was steady enough I reached for the jeans. I bent down and pooled them at his feet.

“Just keep leaning on me,” I said.

He carefully slipped his first foot into the pant leg. I slipped the remainder of it up to his ankle, then waited for him to do the same with the other foot. He repeated the process and let out a small grunt. This was his bad side I noted. I assured him we were almost done as I raised the other pant leg up to his ankle. Grabbing the waist line of the pants I slowly raised them up with me. I tried my best to ignore the strong muscles of his legs. Tried not to think of how intimate this seemed. And prayed that there wasn’t a blush on my cheeks as I zipped and buttoned them.

Finally I looked back up to his blue eyes. They were fading again. If I didn’t get him in a seat soon he was likely to fall over on me. And I wasn’t strong enough to lift him back onto the exam table by myself.

“I can get the wheelchair and move you into the living room, or the guest room if you’re up to it. It’ll be more comfortable than here,” I said.

“Okay,” he whispered. He was fading fast.

Quickly I grabbed the chair and took him to the living room. He was able to transfer to the couch with minimal help from me. As he sat there catching his breath, the color started returning to his eyes and his breath became steady once more.

Most likely to his annoyance I took his temperature again. Time had flown and it had been almost an hour and a half since I had last checked him. 101.5, it read. Slowly coming down. Maybe the antibiotics were finally starting to kick in.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I half joked while I took his blood pressure. He didn’t fight me while I worked on him. For that I was grateful. I’d had one too many patients that were annoyed when I tried to take care of them.

He let out a small chuckle that only held an ounce of real humor. “No, not bad at all.”

I was satisfied with his vitals. They were almost back to normal with the exertion he had just been through. I wouldn’t be surprised if it took him a week to get his sats back to normal levels.

“Are you hungry, thirsty? I’ve got plenty of things here. Though I wouldn’t recommend anything heavy on your stomach.”

“Coffee wouldn’t be too heavy, would it,” he asked, his eyes near pleading. Just for that I wouldn’t deny him a simple cup of coffee.

“Cream or sugar?”

“Is it bad coffee?”

I laughed and got up to make him a cup. After handing him the steaming mug I retreated back to the exam room to get his socks. I silently slipped them onto his feet before he could argue with me. My suspicions were confirmed after touching his ice-like feet. They would most likely stay that way until he started moving around more, producing more blood flow.

As I sat down beside him he looked at me, there was a haze filling his eyes now. Tiredness setting in again. “Thank you. I think you’ve found your calling in this line of work.”

He continued to sip his coffee, obviously pleased with the taste of it. “I like it. The work. The place. It’s… almost perfect,” I answered.

“I can tell. There’s a spark in your eye that wasn’t there before.”

And there’s one missing from yours, I thought. He’d lost that spark. The thing that drove him had died with Allison. Now it seemed the only thing pushing him was the promise of death.

“How’s your family,” he asked, trying to make things casual. Like I hadn’t just saved his life, and he wasn’t about to pass out on my couch.

I decided to play along. “Fine. Mom’s busy at the hospital. And Scott’s almost ready to graduate.”

“I heard something about some Dread Doctors showing up.”

“We’re still in the process of finding them. They’ve been elusive to say the least. But Scott has a good team behind him. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

I hoped what I said was true. The Dread Doctors had been a menace to society. It wouldn’t shock me if whatever creature had attacked Chris was one of their creations. They were known for creating real monsters, something worse than the books or movies.

“How have you been,” I asked. I wanted to see if he would give me a real answer.

He took another long sip of coffee. Then he started to fidget with the IV line. “As good as I can be. It’s not like this every week, you know.”

“I don’t know. Judging by the scars, I don’t believe you,” I rolled the sleeves of my sweater down.

“My work is dangerous, it always has been. That won’t ever change. But I take care of myself.”

Again I didn’t believe him. Something told me it didn’t matter what I believed.

“You could have called at least. There are still some people around here who care about you,” I said. It bothered me that he hadn’t reached out in the past year at all. Not a letter or a text. No calls. We hadn’t been close, but I considered him a friend. Someone I could rely on. I thought maybe he had thought the same of me. Maybe of my mother.

He let out a deep breath. Though I think he wished he wouldn’t have with his wound. “I just needed to get away. There are a lot of memories here for me, and I didn’t feel like living around them all the time. That included the people here. Scott, Lydia… You.”

It was hard feeling the sting of his words. Though I couldn’t blame him for how he felt. I faintly wondered how hard it was for him to be this close to town. Close to the place where his daughter had started to grow up. How much had it taken for him to come be fixed by me?

I felt his hand slip onto mine. The calluses of his fingers were rough against my skin. His palms were still clammy from the fever. “It’s something I have to take day by day. As I’m sure a lot of people around here have to. However, this place became more of a home than anywhere else. And I’ll always be drawn back to it,” he said.

I squeezed his hand in return. As a silent reply. I understood why he had left. Why he still loved this place yet couldn’t stand to be here all the time. Though it didn’t make me miss him any less. And it didn’t tamper my hopes that he would stay.

#chris argent #chris argent fan fiction #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #imagine #fan fiction #Scott McCall #chris argent x reader #original character #original character fanfiction

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bmckay1120 · 6 months

Text

The Healer

Summery: Brylee McCall is the sister of Scott. Though she lacks supernatural powers, she helps where she can. Which means becoming a nurse for both the natural and supernatural beings of Beacon Hills. Before she can blink an old friend shows up wounded and near dead on her doorstep. Only he’s not the same man that left Beacon Hills.

Pairings: Brylee McCallxChris Argent

Warnings: Blood/Gore

*not my Gif but all my writing!!

Part 1

It started raining at noon, then had proceeded to do so for hours on end. Most people complained about how bad it made the roads. How the rain clouded their vision, making the twists and turns of the road almost impossible to navigate. Then it made the back roads muddy, the low spots flooded, and so on down the list of complaints it went.

However I couldn’t find it in me to complain. When you lived in Beacon Hills for your entire life you became used to these things. You came to love them. Here it was mystical, and the drizzly weather amped up the feeling. Out there in the rain anything was possible. Anything could happen. Anyone could show up.

As the rain poured down I sat contentedly on my porch. Happy with the cup of coffee in my hand and the roof I had put over my head. The thing I had done on my own. A small yet cozy house situated on the outskirts of town. Far enough away that I could be back to my mom and brother should I need to. Yet far away enough that I had peace and trees surrounding my little safe haven.

Mom had loved the investment opportunity. The maturity of my decision. And had offered to pay a little on it to help me. I’d only asked for her signature to be a co-signer of the house. Scott loved the house simply because it provided a place for him and his little pack to hide away when school was over. Anytime I needed to leave town he was sure to “house sit” for me. Along with Styles, Lydia, and the rest of the gang.

I loved that I had my own place, but that my family was still near. Most of all I loved the work I did to provide for this house.

Once Scott was turned my nursing skills weren’t enough to keep him alive anymore. It was the same for Lydia and a lot of his pack. So I got closer to Deacon. He taught me his tricks and trades, skills that I could use to heal anything. Never again would I watch as wolfsbane was pumped into Scott’s system. I wouldn’t be helpless watching as some other unknown supernatural substance took hold of my brother and his pack.

When I first looked at this house, I saw not only a home, but a refuge. The unused garage was quickly turned into a mini exam room, hospital, and recovery spot. Filled with both medical supplies and things to help with the more supernatural injuries that came my way. Soon word spread and patients from all over in all kinds of forms were coming my way.

It filled my days and provided me with a sense of purpose stronger than what I’d had at the hospital. I was finally out from under the doctors’ thumbs and able to do my job to the best of my ability. And now no one posed the threat of having their secret exposed if they went to the hospital.

When my mom was on duty if she ran across the stray werewolf, or a few times a werecyote, she was sure to send them my way. I had regulars, like the Hales who couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. They were more than pleased to not have to go to the hospital and try to explain to the staff how they came about their injuries. And once in a while a hunter passing through town would stop by. Though that hadn’t happened in a while.

This week had been slow. A few stitches for a friend who didn’t have insurance. Along with two broken fingers for Scott that I had to set so they would start the rapid healing process. Typically when the rain started up the patients started to lessen. Everyone stayed inside safe and sound. Or they weren’t able to get to me because of the condition of the roads. I couldn’t help but be a little happy about the lull. Sometimes with it just being me out here things got busy. Mom helped when she could, though it wasn’t as often as I needed. So the downtime was nice.

As I took another sip of coffee, the dark roast warming me against the cool breeze that came with the rain, I heard tires grinding through the mud. In the distance headlights shook as the car hauled as fast as it could towards my house. The large black SUV ambled on, the giant tires cutting through the thick mud.

I quickly ran into the house, set down my coffee, flipped on the lights to the exam room and rushed back outside to meet the potential patient coming my way. I didn’t recognize the car which meant they were most likely from out of town. If my mother had sent them my way she would have called me so I could prepare.

The SUV barely slid to a stop in the slick mud in front of my house. A burly man covered in tattoos stepped out not minding the downpour of rain. “You Brylee Mckall, the healer,” he asked in a gruff voice. The gun strapped to his waist along with the gruff exterior suggested he was a hunter.

“Yes, do you have someone in the back?”

Instead of answering me he simply went to the back and opened the trunk of the black vehicle. I followed quickly, the cold now seeping into my bones. Adrenaline started pumping through my veins, preparing me for what was to come.

A blonde woman covered in blood looked up to me with desperate but clam eyes. I assessed her, looking for any sign where the blood might be coming from. However she seemed to be fine if not slightly shaken. Then looking down to where her hands were my heart threatened to stop altogether.

Blood pooled around him. His brow was bruised, along with his arms. The blonde woman’s hands were almost wrist deep into his torso, yet blood still pumped out of his large frame. The man’s salt and pepper beard was smeared with blood. And it was that face that I knew. One that I had fought against, then eventually came to rely on as a friend. Chris Argent lay unconscious, halfway dead in the back of the SUV.

“Help me get him inside,” I stepped into nurse mode and started assessing everything I could about him. I blocked out who he was and set out looking for every possible way to save him.

The large man hefted Chris onto his shoulders and followed me through the house. I could hear the faint dripping of his blood onto my floors. It pushed me to walk faster.

Opening the door, the exam table was halfway ready. I lowered the headrest, turning it completely flat so I could get to work. “Set him on the table,” I said as I snapped on a pair of gloves and grabbed the scissors.

I started cutting away his blood soaked shirt. Three large slashes cut across his torso. With all of the blood pouring I couldn’t see how deep they ran. Though if the cuts had nicked any kind of artery or major organ he would most likely be dead by now, that was promising. Barely.

Cutting away his jeans just to make sure there was nothing else I had to fix I asked the two confirmed hunters, “What happened?”

The blonde answered me with a snark in her voice, “What does it look like happened? He was attacked.”

“By what?”

Nothing on his legs other than some bruising. It didn’t look like anything was broken. I grabbed my suture kit and started dousing his chest in hydrogen peroxide. However, by the inflammation of his skin it seemed that infection was already starting to set in.

As I started to pack gauze into the wound to tamp down the bleeding the burly man answered me in a more somber tone than the female. “We don’t know, it’s what we were trying to figure out when things went south. There were reports of attacks like this two towns over, we thought it might be a wolf gone rogue. But once we got there we weren’t sure. When this happened before he passed out Chris insisted we bring him straight to you. Refused to go to anyone else.”

I had finally gotten the blood to staunch a little. Though it wouldn’t last long and Chris was starting to look a little pale. Luckily none of it was black so I didn’t have to figure out the mystery of what he had been brutalized by. Or face the threat of him turning into something.

Hustling to the fridge I grabbed a bag of O negative. There wasn’t time to type him and I had a large supply of O Neg. As quickly as I could I started a central line and hooked up the blood supply. It hadn’t been easy finding a vein, and it took me longer than I was comfortable with.

Starting back on the large wound the tattooed man spoke again, “Look, we have to get back and find the thing that got Chris before it gets anyone else. You good here?”

I hated the hunter’s mentality of dumping and running. They did it with everything in life. Chris had been different in that aspect. But his sister hadn’t. And neither had his late wife. The rest of them were all the same. Once you became useless to them they stopped caring what happened to you.

“I”ve got things under control here,” I said, starting to thread a needle to start stitching him up. I’d have to monitor him for internal bleeding, but I was praying that the lacerations didn’t run that deep.

Without another word to me the hunters left. It shocked me that they didn’t just dump him on the side of the road. Or leave him out in the woods to die. They didn’t seem like the type to get attached to anyone or anything.

Thoroughly and quickly I started to stitch him. His blood was starting to clot so it was beginning to lessen as I pulled the gauze from the first of the three long lashes. My heart eased only a little at the small victory. However the redness and puffiness had me worried. Red streaks were starting to crawl up his side.

Last I had heard of Chris was that after Allison had died he went off with a group of hunters. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from it all. It was obvious to Beacon Hills that he and his wife hadn’t been head over heels in love. Though he was sad about her death Chris had pushed on. He’d had Allison to look after and comfort. He’d had a reason to go on. But losing his one and only daughter broke him. He’d loved her with his whole being, and once she was taken the man I had once known was gone.

He’d left town, and no one blamed him. I couldn’t remember the lie he had fed to the town about how Allison died. I did remember how it had hurt Scott. She had been his first love, his first everything really. She was sweet and easy to welcome into the works of things. I had lost my brother to grief for a while. He had coped somewhat. But how did a father cope?

I wondered if hunting things like what had taken his daughter helped. If it brought him any semblance of closure. Seeing some of the recent scars that were barely healed let me know that he was pushing the limits. Most likely he had half of a death wish. Which is what led him to my table in the first place.

He could have easily found a doctor or a hospital two towns over. Yet he drove the extra miles, wasted the extra time, lost more blood, just to get to me. Maybe he thought he would die on the way here.

After two hours, at least one hundred stitches, and a back ache to last a lifetime, he was finally in the clear. At least for now. I wrapped his wound, checked his blood pressure, and listened to his lungs. Both were clear and steady. His breathing sounded better than it had when he’d been brought in here. Now they were deep even breaths, no longer were they shallow and labored.

His blood pressure was starting to rise, and color was returning slowly to his face. All promising signs. I started him on antibiotics to start fighting the infection that was coming. The man was in for a long recovery.

I just prayed he stayed stable enough for me to keep him here.

#teen wolf #chris argent #Chris argent fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fandom #scott mccall #chris argent x reader #chris argent imagine #teen wolf imagine #imagines #fanfiction

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bmckay1120 · 6 years

Note

19 with Steve? Please and thank you!

Soft angel artsy Steve. I hope you like it!

Kisses meant to distract the other person from what they were intently doing.

Steve Rogers is quiet.

Bare feet. Bare chest. Long cotton lounge pants tied low at the hips. His hair is messy, sleep mussed; golden strands catch the early morning sunlight as he sits, hunched over the small wooden desk butted up against the window. His hand moves in determined strokes, rippling the muscles along his broad, strong back.

No files. No schematics. No mission briefings.

He’s focused, but peaceful. A rare glimpse of Sunday morning domestication. Of normalcy. As if putting his life on the line for the sake of the world isn’t his day job.

He’s so engrossed in his work he doesn’t hear you approach, startles a bit when you press warm hands onto his back, slide them up over his shoulders and wrap them around his neck.

“Hey, handsome,” you murmur, leaning over his shoulder to press a kiss onto his temple.

“Mornin’,” there’s a smile to his reply, but he doesn’t break stride, long fingers working magic across the paper stretched before him.

Color coats the tips of his fingers. Soft purple, dusty pink and sunset orange gather beneath his nails, along his cuticle beds, staining the skin down to the first joints. The box of soft pastels you’d gifted him last Christmas sits open to his right, neatly and carefully maintained.

You watch as he smooths fingers along the paper, carefully blending each swath and stipple of color into a dusky, watery sunset. It’s beautiful. Not unlike everything Steve has a hand in.

You move your hands from around his neck, slide them beneath his arms and spread them across the front of his chest. You lean forward, press against his back, place soft kisses along his shoulder and up his neck. He’s silent until your mouth reaches his ear, and then he breathes a long sigh through his nose.

“Do you know,” he murmurs finally, “how incredibly distracting that is?”

You smile against his skin, smooth your hands down his torso, along the muscles that involuntarily tighten beneath your fingers, “Mmhm.”

“And you aren’t a bit sorry for it, are you?”

“Nope.”

Steve chuckles, leans back in his chair and tugs at one of your hands, effectively pulling you from behind him and down onto his lap. He settles you there, presses the pastel he was holding, warm yellow, into your own hand, and guides it over the paper.

“No,” you protest, “I don’t actually wanna mess it up.”

“You won’t,” and his lips press against the back of your shoulder now, “I just need a bit here.”

He guides your hand along the horizon line of the drawing, and then your fingertip, blending out the final touches of color as he presses intermittent kisses against you.

“There,” he says, satisfied. His hands drift to your waist, bleed color onto the soft white cotton of your sleep shirt.

Your eyes sweep the finished product, admiring Steve’s ability yet again, “It’s beautiful,” you say, “Makes me feel like I’ve been there before.”

“You have,” he answers, bunching the fabric in his fingers, tugging it up to expose bare thighs. Lips move along your skin as he continues, “Remember Beirut? The botched mission where Sam broke his leg. And you were so sick.”

“Oh.”

And images flash across your mind, pieced together and half forgotten with the hazy sickness of flu. Steve carrying you up flights of stairs. Holding your hair back while you were ill. Pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. It had hit you hard, crippled you for several days, had forced Steve to familiarize himself with you in ways that were too intimate for either of you at the time. In ways you were grateful you couldn’t remember much of now.

“Good times,” you tease as he tugs your shirt over your hips, slips his fingers beneath the hem and skirts them across your stomach, “I can see why you want to remember them.”

“I do,” he insists, fingers drifting ever higher, “It’s where I first knew I loved you.”

“Ah,” you arch against his touch, tilt your head back onto his shoulder, allowing his mouth access to your neck, “That’s so-” you shudder as stubble drags across your skin, “-wrong,”

There’s a pause. You sit up straighter, process his words again.

“That’s so wrong,” you repeat.

Steve’s silent, fingers rubbing lazy circles along your ribcage.

“Beirut?”

Lips touch the nape of your neck, “Yeah.”

“That was way before we were together.”

A noncommittal hum.

“Steve. Months before.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Yeah, well?” You shift in his lap, turn so that you can see his face. It’s sweet, all the places pastel dust has found its way onto him. A swoop of purple across his forehead. A dusting of orange along the side of his nose. Your heart swells, flutters in your chest as you smile at him, “you never told me that.”

“Technically I did. You were just in too much of a fever pitch to remember.”

And you shake your head, your laugh exasperated as you regard him. Fingers move to rub away the color on his forehead, but you only make it worse, spreading yellow alongside it. Steve mirrors your smile, and it’s sweet and lovely and a little bashful.

“So I’m slow on the uptake,” he shrugs, “It all worked out in the end, right?”

“Yeah. Because I was tired of waiting. Because I kissed you.”

And he laughs, tucks a lock of hair behind your ear as he closes the distance between your mouths, “I’m not above returning favors.”

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