#based on my cross stitch heart patches | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joycejoyce38 · 2 years

Text

hermes crocodile kelly 27

Take A Peek At 10 Aurel Hermansyahs Luxury Bag Collections, A Few Of Which Price Billions Of Rupiah! Its unparalleled high quality requires the same craftsman to work on the bag for eighteen to twenty-four hours. The Mini Kelly II would possibly simply be more uncommon than a Birkin or Kelly bag. They hardly ever are out there in favorable colours and gold hardware, to not point out a mixture of each. An understated, rare and extremely collectable early 1970s Hermes black porosus crocodile Sac Malette with self-piping, comprising of one higher compartment with one gusseted tab patch p... Wallet in shiny patina alligator with 5 credit card slots, 2 pockets, zipped change purse and gold plated ’H’ tab closure. Today, vintage Hermès scarves, sometimes adorned in wealthy colours and elaborate patterns, serve many functions, simply as they did again then. Well-heeled ladies wear it on their heads, round their necks and, in a genius piece of cross-promotion, tied to the straps of their Hermès baggage. Kelly even once used one as a sling for her damaged arm. Mightychic presents a assured genuine very rare diamond Hermes Kelly Cut bag featured in wealthy jewel toned Blue Marine. This Himalaya Birkin is in Niloticus crocodile with palladium hardware and has tonal stitching, entrance flap, two straps with heart toggle closure, clochette with lock and two keys, and double rolled handles. The interior is lined with Gris Perle chevre and has... There a turnlock button simply in front, with the leather-based straps both sides and belt to open it. At the back, the triangular ends of the straps are fastidiously stitched with distinction stitch, so the back view isn’t plain but subtle and artistic. Demand for both kinds outstrips supply, meaning that inventory varies from retailer to store. Boutiques have their own fashion providing, with rare deliveries and little notice as to which colourways or finishes will be obtainable to purchase at any given second. For this reason, customers who need a model new bag should enquire in retailer, and seek recommendation from Hermès sales experts. As mentioned, the Kelly bag was renamed after Grace Kelly. She catapulted the type to fame when she was photographed with it – after being introduced to it on the set of Alfred Hitchcock’s To Catch A Thief – for an outing in 1956. This woman, who is familiarly known as Mama Nur, all the time seems glamorous at each alternative. This time, he was caught carrying a small handbag produced by Dior. The grey bag is the Small Lady Dior My Abcdior Bag sequence. This time the worth reached tens of hundreds of thousands of rupiah only, particularly Rp. In addition to Hermès, Roxy also boasts a spread of designer luggage from the likes of Chanel, Balenciaga, Saint Laurent, Dior and Fendi. The Parisian company, which got its begin making leather saddles and harnesses for horses within the 19th century, is a stock-market star. With that the bag was synonymous Grace and it was re-named the Kelly bag. If you resolve to purchase a pre-owned bag, you will get it quicker. As you know, it takes years to get one from Hermes. Also, you would possibly be capable of get it in your favourite color. Depending upon the leather, condition, hardware the value vary varies anywhere from $9K to $350K I hope my answer was useful. About the Design Since its 1984 debut, the Birkin bag has... Hermes, Kelly bag, Size 15, Color Prune, Leather Shiny Crocodile Alligator, Gold Hardware. This bag comes with a dustbag and strap, this ia a particularly rare bag. Mightychic presents a timeless Hermes Kelly Cut smoky Bleu Colvert Niloticus Crocodile. Now, add pawnshops to your record of places to hit up if you finish up within the temper for some luxe for much less. For quicker service we'll redirect you to shop the web site closest to your delivery vacation spot. Items in your bag won't carry over since our assortments vary by area. According to him, branded luggage are an investment that can be resold, especially when they're in want of funds. Not all of his bag collections are worth hundreds, some are fairly inexpensive. For instance, the Tabby Shoulder Bag 26 in Colorblock from Coach which is priced at only IDR 7.5 million. There’s the Constance bag, a favorite of Jacqueline Kennedy, the just lately relaunched 1970s-era Evelyne and, on the classic market, a slew of designs courting again to the Twenties. The first top-handled bag ever produced by Hermès was the Haut à courroies, which made its debut in 1892. A tall bag secured with a folded leather-based flap (fastened with bridle-inspired straps), it was designed to move using boots and a harness. As the world made the change from horse to automobile, the bag tailored, changing into a multifunctional travel satchel as an alternative of a chosen saddlebag. Today, a hundred and twenty years later, the HAC remains in Hermès’s line — and its distinctive flap and clasping straps have laid the groundwork for some of the house’s other iconic baggage. For Hermès, what began as a maker of leather-based equestrian items for European noblemen would ultimately grow into some of the storied fashion labels on the planet. Every sew is placed with care and every materials is excessive quality. re-pin.me replica hermes crocodile kelly The French label's Kelly and Birkin baggage have helped to safe Hermès’ place as an expensive fashion powerhouse. Even at present, the coveted Birkin and Kelly bag has the longest waiting list of any accessory in the world. JaneFindsis the world's leading Hermes and luxurious bag curator, collector and luxurious market pioneer. For example, the Boy Chanel Handbag – Grained Calfskin & Ruthenium steel Green bag with a beautiful bright green color. One of the Hermes Aurel collections is the Picotin Lock 18 Bag in taurillon Clemence Leather with Palladium plated Kelly lock closure. wikipedia hermes crocodile kelly This model is type of easy with hanging padlock accessories. Once your account is created, you may be logged in to this account. Christie’s ‘Handbags and Accessories Online’ public sale, 9 June 11am, at Christies.com. The actuality is, ready lists at Hermès stores now not exist.

#hermes crocodile kelly #himalayan kelly #hermes himalayan kelly #crocodile hermes bags #himalayan kelly bag #himalaya kelly #crocodile kelly #himalayan crocodile #replica hermes crocodile kelly

0 notes

calif0rnia-lovers · 4 years

Text

Heavy is the Head.

A/N: is this becoming a mayans mc/soa page? you tell me.

Taglist Sign Up || Masterlist

Pairing: Jax Teller x Reader

Request: lazy morning with jax

Words: 1.3K

Jax feels like he's been hit by a truck.

The sunlight that has managed to slip through the drawn curtains is not helping.

Typically this feeling is the result of too much whiskey, but Jax is stone-cold sober.

The hammering in his head is resonating behind his left eye.

A bruised left eye that looks way better than it did the night before. The icepack you'd given him had decreased the swelling but did nothing to help the nasty bruising that surrounds it. The brow that rests above the black eye is stitched together.

For a few brief seconds, he's able to remember the look on your face the moment you'd seen him yesterday. He was hoping Juice would finish his patch up before your arrival, but you caught him just as he'd gotten started.

"What the hell happened to your face?" You'd demanded as you'd dropped your bag onto the table.

Juice remained quiet, focusing instead of starting the stitches for the gash above your husband's eye. Jax's jaw had tightened as he stole a glance your way.

"It's been handled," was all he said, ignoring your rolling eyes, as he picked up the nearby bottle of whiskey.

The pain in his head is no match for the ache in his ribs. It ripples throughout his body, as he shifts beneath the comforter, causing him to pause and catch his breath.

His jaw tightens as he reaches up to rub his palms into his eyes.

Even if he feels like shit, Jax knows that staying in bed is not an option.

His hand drags along the sheets, his head rolling to the side to find your side empty. The sheets are cold beneath his palm, his eyes drifting shut for a brief moment.

When he finds the strength, Jax sucks in a breath and pushes himself up. Settling, with his back resting against the headboard, he blindly reaches towards the bedside table for his phone.

Only to find that his phone isn’t there.

He leans over, hoping to find that it's merely fallen to the floor. But it hasn't. Both his phone and his charger are gone.

Running his hand over his face, Jax settles for the wrinkled pack of Malboro Red and the zippo left alongside the alarm clock.

11:48 a.m.

If his head wasn't hurting so fucking much he might have had enough strength to care that he's slept the morning away.

"You know smoking kills, right?"

Glancing up from the cigarette between his lips, that he can't seem to light, Jax smiles to find you standing in the doorway.

You're wearing one of his t-shirts. The faded grey Reaper Crew shirt falling to brush against your thighs. You have a coffee mug in one hand, and the handle of a full hamper in the other. Balancing the hamper against your hip, you watch Jax try for a third time to get the zippo to spark.

"Is that your way of saying you wanna keep me around?" He chuckles, his eyes watch you cross the room.

"Just for a little bit longer."

You duck down to place a kiss against his lips before replacing the cigarette in his hand with the steaming mug of coffee.

He takes a thankful sip before nodding towards the bedside table.

"Have you seen my phone?"

Instead of answering his question, you turn and cross the room.

"Do you realize how hard it is to get blood out clothes?" You ask as you sit the hamper on top of the dresser.

You steal a glance at Jax through the mirror.

"Or sheets?" You add as you turn to face him. “Because it seems you go out your way to get your blood everywhere.”

Jax watches as you lean back, palms resting against the dresser. He knows in the morning light the damage to his skin appears ten times worse than it did in the clubhouse's dim lighting.

Your eyes pass over the purple mass that stretches across his ribs, lingering on his black eye and settling on the stitches against his brow.

You've seen Jax with much worse, on a handful of occasions, over the years. That doesn't make the sight any easier to take in.

"I thought I plugged it in last night," he sighs before taking another sip of coffee.

"You did." You nod before crossing the room. You take the mug from his hand before placing it on the bedside table. "I turned it off."

Jax frowns as you move to climb onto the bed.

"I appreciate the gesture, sweetheart," he sighs. His hands slips to your waist pulling you to straddle him. "But, the last thing I need is to miss a call, with all the shit goin-"

"Trust me," you smile softly as you settle against him. "You're not going to miss any important calls. I asked the boys to let you sleep in."

His eyes watch you, the innocent smile on your lips not fooling him for a second.

You allow your touch to settle over his heart, the smile on your lips growing. The warmth of your touch moving to his shoulders coax Jax into relaxation. His thumb gently rubs against the softness of your thighs, drifting higher to teases the hem of your t-shirt.

The warmth of his palm brushes against the curve of your hip before settling on the base of your spine. You silently oblige as his touch urges you to move closer. His lips press a soft kiss against your neck, his nose nuzzling against the soft skin.

"I asked nicely," you assure him, your fingers toying with the hair resting at the nape of his neck.

Jax's chuckle comes out muffled against your shoulder. He knew the conversation went differently.

It went more along the lines of you hastily answering his phone before the ringing could wake him up. You silenced Chibs before he could even get "Jackie boy" fully past his lips.

"Whatever it is, handle it."

When asked what you wanted him to do if something that required Jax's attention came up, you'd said something along the lines of "tell the boys to figure that shit out" because “someone's ass is going to get kicked if Jax didn't sleep more than eight hours today.”

"No one can say no to your pretty face," he hums in response, a gentle kiss pressing against your jaw. "I should have you do all the negotiating from now on."

"Well, the last thing I need is you crashing your bike because you haven't slept," you sigh as his head rests back against the headboard. "You may still look like shit, but at least now you can function."

Leaning forward, you place a featherlight kiss beneath his left eye. Jax's eyes drift shut as your lips move to his nose. The kisses you brush against his skin seem to absorb the pain behind his bruises. Your fingers brush against his jaw drifting along his neck as you finally press a kiss against his lips.

"You wanna talk about it?" You ask quietly, your nose brushing against his.

Jax's eyes open to find you watching him.

Instead of responding, he allows his hand to reach up and covers yours. Taking it in his, he gently rubs circles into your skin. He lifts your hand to his lips, leaving a kiss against your knuckles. His lips linger, placing a second kiss in the same place as he ponders your question.

He'll tell you.

He always does.

But talking about how his patience, that had been worn thin by someone trying to short him on a deal, and his slick tongue led to a fight wasn't something he wanted to get into.

At least not now.

He shakes his head, the corner of his lips tugging up to form a half-smile.

"Later...apparently my Old Lady benched me from club business."

He tilts his chin bringing his lips back to yours.

With nothing to rush your actions, the two of you enjoy the moment. Smiles and giggles off the walls of the quiet house. Jax's fingers lazily trace patterns on your arms, hips, thighs, anywhere he can.

He releases a groan of protest as you pull back, your lips pressing against the corner of his mouth.

"Okay. Time for a shower. Then breakfast." You place a final kiss against his lips before moving to get up. "You need something other than coffee and cigarettes."

Accepting your outstretched hand, Jax smiles.

"Yes, ma'am."

Main Taglist: @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @mariaxliliana @gemini0410 @thesandbeneathmytoes

#let me know what you think?#jax teller imagine #jax teller #soa imagine #soa #sons of anarchy #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam #imagines #sons of anarchy imagine #hunnam humpday #jax x reader

454 notes · View notes

midnighttmarauder · 4 years

Text

Sharp Edges

Pairing: Draco x reader

Summary: Draco is beyond grateful for reader, who is the only good, pure thing in his life.

Warnings: none

A/N: it gets a little angsty at the end because i couldn’t resist...sorry in advance.

***

Draco was all sharp edges. Everything down to the cut of his jaw was precise, honed. He was honest to a fault, intimidating without meaning to be, didn’t believe in sugar coating. He was his father’s loveless words, the quick smacks to the back of his head when no one was looking. It was rare to find him with a hair out of place, and his piercing gaze made many who managed to catch his eye weak in the knees.

But he only cared about you.

Where Draco was sharp, you were soft. Brushes of smooth skin against his calloused palms. Whispered giggles in the dark and an affinity for oversized threadbare jumpers – you wore his clothes more than you wore your own. It was you that Draco went to when his own sharp edges threatened to tear him apart. You who wrapped him in your arms and blanketed him away.

He found you in the courtyard on one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. He’d received a letter from home that had put him on the verge of tears for the better half of the morning. In potions, he’d added just a milligram too much of fluxweed, which had caused his potion to explode – Snape called him an idiot and made him clean it up without magic. To top it all off, he was so miserable during quidditch practice that the captain had threatened to kick him off the team and told him to go mope elsewhere.

You were wearing his jumper, Draco realized with a leap of his heart as he trudged towards you. It was an old quidditch quarter zip from fourth year that he had grown out of after a sudden growth spurt, but it was perfectly oversized for you. The jumper was so worn that one of the sleeves had an elbow patch and the threads were starting to pull out of the bottom. You had the sleeves pulled over your hands as you clutched a textbook. Herbology, maybe. Or maybe divination, judging by the way you furrowed your brows.

Draco couldn’t help but smile when you looked up, squinting into the setting sun as you heard him approaching. You sent him back a toothy grin and didn’t protest when he flopped into the grass and put his head on your lap. One of your hands immediately went to rest in his hair as you propped your textbook open on his chest. He knew it was divination.

“How was your day?” you asked. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, letting his shoulders relax against your legs.

“Horrible,” he replied.

“Wanna talk about it?” you muttered.

“Maybe later. Just…distract me with what you’re reading,” he suggested.

“But it’s divination. You don’t even like it,” you said.

“I’ll like it because you’re reading it. Tell me what nonsense Trelawney has you lot studying this week,” Draco replied. You tugged lightly on one of the strands at the base of his hairline.

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken this class again. None of this makes any sense. This chapter’s about crystal balls and dream interpretation. It’s all a bunch of guesswork, if you ask me,” you said.

“Read it to me,” Draco muttered. He was already feeling lighter as your hands traced through his hair and across his forehead. It was like you were wiping the stress of the day away with every brush of your fingertips.

“Dream interpretation is a method of divination that involves the analysis of dreams to better understand one’s subconscious and its desires. Dreams hold important information that can be used to predict the future. These prophecies often come in the form of riddles or symbols. For example, if one dreams about a loved one or themselves dying a horrible death, it usually means that they will either receive a gift or live a long prosperous life. How does that make any sense?” you read.

“Here’s what I think. I think Trelawney and the git who wrote this textbook are both off their rockers. Dreams can’t predict anything any better than soggy tea leaves can,” Draco said. You laughed as he shut your textbook and pushed it onto the grass. “I have a prediction for you. It’s come to me suddenly, in a vision.”

“Hmm, and what’s that?” you hummed.

“I predict that I will receive a kiss from a beautiful maiden, cloaked in green and sitting under the sun,” he said.

“You’re cheesy,” you muttered as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. Draco reached a hand up and cradled the back of your neck as you pulled away, leaning your forehead against his. The sun cast a golden halo around your hair, and Draco thought that you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, even if he was looking at you upside down.

“I love you. Y’know that?” he whispered.

“I know. I love you, too,” you replied. You pulled back with furrowed brows and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “What’s all this about?”

“I just…really love you. You’re the best thing in my life,” he said.

“Draco,” you began. He turned over suddenly and lifted himself to sit cross-legged in front of you. He took your hands in his and set them in his lap, running his thumb across the smooth skin of your knuckles.

“It’s true. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you. You’re so pure, so good, so kind and selfless. I’m so grateful, every day, that you love me. You make me want to be better, Y/N,” Draco said. You cupped his jaw and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. His cheeks burned crimson beneath your fingers.

“And I’m grateful that you chose me to love. You’re worth so much more than you know, Draco,” you muttered. Silver lined Draco’s eyes as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap, tucking your head under his chin. He pressed a kiss to your hair and rocked you gently back and forth, thanking whoever was listening for bringing you into his life.

When Draco’s father forced him to get the dark mark, it was you he was thinking of when he refused. You who kept him from doing anything stupid when his father told him that he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to live. He thought of you when the mark was burned into his skin – the sound of your laugh, your lazy smile in the morning before you were fully awake, the love in your eyes every time you looked at him.

And when he showed you the dark mark, it was you who cried for him. For the boy you loved and the life that he could have had. It was you who held him when he finally fell apart, and you who stitched him back together. Draco was grateful for you long before you had even fallen in love. But nothing compared to the gratitude and love he felt when you kissed the mark on his forearm and promised him that he would get through it as the two of you had been through everything else – together.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #harry potter imagine

332 notes · View notes

the-silentium · 3 years

Text

Murphy day - Epilogue

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - The survivor

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader, Hunter x Reader

Words: 2708 words

Warnings: None.

A/N: This side story became a prologue, so y’all enjoy this lil piece of fluff. If you guys have requests or ideas for some side stories, don’t hesitate to ask!

Taglist: @haloangel391

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

"Today's the day!" Wrecker exclaimed excitedly, opening the door so quickly that it hit the wall before bouncing back to hit his arm.

Unbothered, he pushed the door back to approach your frightened form on the bed to hit your shoulder playfully.

"Ready to return to the ship, pilot?" He laughed like this was the funniest joke of the universe. Well. In a sense it was.

"I'm discharged?" You asked, hopeful to finally get out of the medbay. Patch and Mylana have been very kind from day one and you were eternally grateful for their support through your healing process. But you were ready to get away from the white walls, bacta smells and occasional nocturnal pain screams down the hallway.

"You are!" He confirmed, placing a pile of neatly folded clothes with your clean boots on the bed beside your folded legs. "Crosshair got you some clothes."

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, well, what remained of it. To reduce the swelling of your brain they had to shave some of your hair to access the skull so Mylana offered to do a sidecut to save the remaining of your hair and make you a bit more fashionable. You were glad that you accepted, the style definitely suited you and the appreciative look you received from a certain sergeant made you forget what the word 'insecurity' meant. Added to your apparent scar, you looked badass.

"Is there another Crosshair on base? 'Cause I don't think we're talking about the same Cross." You maintained his gaze, bewildered.

Sure, the sniper had warmed up a bit to you. He came to visit, rarely, but still came nonetheless. He didn't talk much but his company was enough. He usually brought you holobooks about ships, from their mechanics to how to fly them.

He'd sometimes talk about some of his flying experience or recall some pranks he and Wrecker pulled on the regs if you sighed from boredom enough times. Oh and he brought you a tiny cup of caf one time. Tiny victories.

But to get you clothes? That you noticed were the right size? You must have done a lot more progress than you thought.

"Yeah. Said the gown would smell bacta." He bent over to sniff near your shoulder. "And he's not wrong."

You rolled your eyes, pushing his shoulder away.

"Fine. Wait outside, I'll change."

With a salute, he exited the room and closed the door slowly this time.

You grabbed the clothes, quickly pulled the socks on, followed by the black cargo pants. You admired in awe the lots and lots of pockets and immediately thought how many things you could put in them. Your own cargo pants didn't even have that many pockets. You swiftly removed the gown, folded it in a ball before throwing it in the basket in the corner of the room, cheering silently when you aimed right at your first attempt. Your arm really got better in the last 2 weeks the cast has been off.

You traced the scars on your inner arm and abdomen, your proofs that you survived hell and came back stronger. With a smile, you pulled on the grey long sleeve shirt Crosshair chose for you. You pulled up the sleeves a bit until they reached just below your elbow and stepped in your boots to hurriedly get out.

"Looking good Y/N!" Wrecker whistled looking you up and down, catching the attention of the nurses office.

"I have to agree with that." Came Mylana's voice, admiration in her eyes as she nodded with a grin.

"It's all thanks to you." You winked at her, passing a hand through your shaved side, carefully avoiding your sensitive scar.

"I dare to think that I did a good job with those stitches. I should have some credits." Patch appeared from around the corner, datapad in hands.

"You did and I can't thank you enough!" You laughed, hugging him when he opened his arms.

"You're welcome. Take care of yourself. No jumping off cliffs again." He chided, letting you go with a pat on your shoulder to join the nurse station.

"I will! And I fell! Big difference!" You countered, earning a scoff with a shake of his head.

"Well, this is goodbye until next time then! Although it would be nice if you weren't injured." Mylana hugged you, her hand softly patting your back.

"I'll be careful mom." You snarked, chuckling. "See ya Lana! Take care!" You jogged to join Wrecker who took a head start.

He walked you through the medbay, walked a long hallway and finally showed you the hangar where you spotted a familiar ship stationed at the far end. You took a deep breath in, letting out a moan at the smell of fresh air, oil and smoke.

"I missed this." You informed Wrecker, arms open wide at your side to feel the breeze stroking your exposed skin.

"I know what you mean." He resumed walking, glancing at you as you followed. "I was in the medbay for a month for that." He reminded you, pointing at his scar on the side of his face.

"I was in there for three." You deadpanned, looking around to take in the clones moving crates around and the mechanics repairing ships.

Before you knew it, you reached the ship where Hunter was waiting down the ramp.

"Looking good." He approved, the smirk deforming his tattoo, the sight of which sent tingles to your fingertips.

You remembered all too well the day Hunter fulfilled the one condition you asked for.

"That's what I said!" Wrecker said, passing you to enter the ship.

"Welcome aboard the Havoc Marauder." Hunter became more serious, his hand presenting you the interior of the vessel.

You followed his lead, taking in all the information he gave you about the ship while creating a mental map of the structure and rooms.

You weren't surprised when he showed you your cot, a small bed pushed against the far wall of a room where two sets of bunks were occupying the side walls. You quickly figured that a ship had very limited spacing and that you would sleep near them all. You weren't a fan of sleeping in your underwear anyway, the lack of clothing making you feel vulnerable.

"Here." Hunter caught back your attention, a well-known knife and tap in his open hands.

You took them back, eager to be your whole self again. Pocketing the tap, you traced the old tree carved in the wood of the knife handle, finding a deep comfort in the movement.

"What does it represent?" He asked, genuinely curious. "The tree."

"It's my family's crest. We've always been close to the jungle." You smiled, remembering the day your dad offered you the knife. "This knife has been passed down for many generations now-"

You frowned at the light bleating sound echoing through the ship. This was unusual.

"What was that?" You asked and when you turned around, Tech and Crosshair were in the doorway. You slipped the knife onto the nearby bed.

"That? Nothing." Tech replied too nonchalantly.

"You took him too?" Your eyes widen as a small green horned Shinehorn poked its head between Crosshair's legs.

Your face broke into a smile as you fell to your knees to receive the excited animal into your arms. You patted his head and scratched its sides, stopping when Tech closed Shiny's mouth when he started to make happy noises.

"He slipped in when we weren't looking. And he's not supposed to be here." He informed you, releasing Shiny slowly to make sure be wouldn't start babbling again.

"Oh. Okay." You stood up. "Are you guys keeping him?"

"Unfortunately, if the GAR finds him he'll be thrown away. So we have to take him back." Tech explained to your disappointment.

"It'll be your first flight. Without pressure, perfect to practice. Tech will be there to help you." Hunter told you, watching closely for your reaction.

"Cool! I feel ready for this." You affirmed, confident. Every day for two months you prepared yourself. You were ready for a first practical test. Your hands shot to your pockets by habit, reminding you of something.

"Crosshair!" You exclaimed to everyone's surprise. You almost laughed at their slightly wide eyes. "Thanks for the clothes! I love them!" You flashed him a toothy grin, bouncing from your toes to your heels.

"You're welcome." He grumbled, moving his signature toothpick in his mouth, snapping his fingers and leaving the room. To your surprise, Shiny followed Crosshair diligently, his tail straight up in the air, alert to Crosshair's commands.

You watched him go and disappear around the corner, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.

"He tamed him!" You yelped, pointing to the empty spot that Shiny occupied only moments ago.

"Yeah. He knows many commands now." Tech took a seat on a bunk, holding your gaze. "Stay, come here, lay down, light up and turn off. "

"Aw it's so sad that we have to take him back there." You pouted, but you knew why it was necessary. Didn't mean you had to like it though.

"It's for his best interest." Tech chipped, standing up to leave the room. "Oh and I brought you some food from the mess. Figured you'd get out of the medbay before they could give you your lunch." He told you in the doorway before going elsewhere when you thanked him for the kind gesture.

"Think you're ready?" Hunter asked from his spot leaning on the opposed bunk.

You smirked. "Doubting me Sergeant?" You asked, mischief sparkling in your eyes.

"No. Simply confirming with you." He cleared, raising an eyebrow at your expression.

"Then I confirm. I'm ready for a test run. I know all those manuals by heart and it's as boring as it sounds." You chuckled.

He pushed himself up before taking a few steps in your direction, only stopping when a single inch separated your chests.

"I bet that those manuals would be much more interesting if you'd read them out loud." He said lowly, eyes darting down to your lips before returning to your eyes, calculating.

"Now, I really doubt that." You rolled your eyes at his silliness. "I'm sure you'd fall asleep without a problem though."

"I'd have nice dreams then." He smirked and you couldn't stop yourself.

Your hand rose to the ink at the corner of his mouth, tracing its length carefully like you did that day he completed his part of the deal. Rising up to his cheekbone and temple, his head moved to the side to feel more of your fingers ghosting his skin before they finally entangled themselves in his locks.

He groaned, eyes closing in contempt like every time, his touch deprivation made him like putty in your hand. After that first day, he soon became your most frequent visitor and the Batcher who knew you the most. In turn, you became the first person outside of his brothers to know him well.

"I sure hope so." You whispered, closing the distance between your lips to take his breath away in a passionate kiss, your lips moving with his in perfect tandem. He followed your rhythm, too entranced by all of you overtaking his senses to be able to take the lead.

His fingertips barely touched your waist that you pulled away, the mischievous glint he distinguished before sparkling stronger.

"I have duty in the cockpit."

You tried to pass by him but he quickly blocked your way with his body.

"My hell of a catch-" He growled, his lips crashing back on yours, this time initiating the dance that you eagerly repeated. "-is a tease." He finished, eyes half close but loaded with desire.

"Only for you, sir." You purred, pecking his lips one last time when he straightened at the title, his breath catching in his throat.

You noted the reaction for later and ducked to the side to grab your knife from the bed and took off to the cockpit where you'd execute your very first attempt at flying a metal can.

On your way you took hold of the food Tech gathered for you and you sat in the pilot seat, checking the board before you with all its buttons, switches and levers while eating. You were happy to find out that you knew the vast majority of their functions.

"These are your credentials." Tech showed you his datapad, where your name appeared on top of the page with numbers and letters just beneath it, forming your personal code.

"How did you get that? I didn't do any studies here and even less enrolled in the army."

"Simple." He started, scrolling down to a particular section of the page. "I hacked the system through an encrypted connexion, created you a new identity within the GAR and gave you all the background needed to be a real pilot." He showed you your supposed diplomas and certifications of countless hours of flying practice that you really didn't have.

"Wow. I'm a genius." You noticed the grades attached to some of your supposed diplomas.

With high distinction, some of them read.

"Well, to be assigned to a team of elite commandos, you kinda need to be." He shrugged like it was pure logic.

"You say that but you got me. The freak who never flew before and lived on a planet where we still used bows to hunt." You stated flatly, pointing to yourself.

He met your eyes, blinking a few times behind his glasses to process what has been said and maybe find how to answer correctly.

"Can I take back what I said?" He asked, starting to feel the hot water he just put himself in.

"So you think I'm stupid?"

"What?!"

"If you take back the fact that I'm supposed to be a genius to be able to work with you, then you think that I'm stupid." You pointed out for him, enjoying how a rosy tint invaded his cheeks.

"N-no! Not at all!" He stammered, clearly panicking over his own words.

"Relax Tech, I'm kiddin'." You laughed, almost dropping your food.

"What's going on here?" Hunter asked, suddenly entering with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Tech called me stupid." You pushed him under the bus before taking a bite of your lunch.

"No I didn't!" He defended himself, the high octave of his voice almost made you choke on the food.

"Tech, don't insult our pilot." He reprimanded jokingly before leaving.

He slowly turned to you, the residual pink on his skin vanishing by the seconds, his half-closed eyes burned holes through your skull.

"I'm not helping you fly this ship." He grumbled, insulted.

"I'll do my best!" You affirmed before lifting a hand to your chin in thought and pointing to a random button. "That's the hyperdrive, right?" You faked innocence.

Tech blanched a bit, eyes widening all the while shaking his head in mild crisis. "You're not flying this ship!"

You shot your hands in the air in defense, chuckling at his expression. "Okay I'm done shitting you! Promise!"

Then you proceeded to name and explain the function of each button, each switch and each lever. He approved, sometimes adding stuff you couldn't learn in books and soon you were ready to depart.

"No more jokes." He glared before patting your shoulder and left the room to tell the others that you would soon initiate the take-off sequence.

You contemplated the hangar from your venture point, munching on some dry bread when you realized that you've felt more alive when you were stuck in a medbay bed for two months than you've ever felt in your life in the village.

The reckless gesture of leaving your house on Murphy day was stupid but it bring you so much more than you first anticipated. Instead of having a single day where you weren't stared at with distrust or even disgust, you found companionship, kindness, people who'd gladly talk to you instead of whispering among themselves behind your back.

Relief tears welled up in your eyes when you became aware that the heaviness weighing you down daily was gone. You were happy.

You found your home.

#bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars #clone wars #clone force 99 #murphy day

118 notes · View notes

fairlyspnfanfic · 3 years

Text

Rifts

Request from @elsamc13

Summary: Takes place S13e10. Dean and Sam are trapped in Apocalypse World, as the Wayward Daughters do everything they can to rescue them. Will their plan be enough? Will the reader be able to move beyond her past with Dean in order to save him?

Words: 4793

Warnings: Trauma, breakup, Bad Place, martyrdom

It had been a hell of a night. I had been scouring the town for any explanation of the haunting at the bus depot but had come up with more suspects than answers. Homeless people that had passed away at the bus station, accident victims of cars gone astray or out of control in the parking lot. There had been a mountain of possibilities. But the silvery, shrouded woman that had continually thrown me against, and eventually through, the wall of the bar across the street eventually narrowed my suspicions down to one.

The woman had just turned twenty-one and had gone out to celebrate. Only to end up being horrifically assaulted and left to die in the freezing cold behind the defunct busses that had been permanently parked. The ghost’s strength was evident in the bruises that battered my face. I looked into the rearview mirror, sighing and wincing as I attempted to clean myself up. The cuts were fairly superficial, and I didn’t think I needed any stitches. But the thin cut that tore across my bottom lip was still bleeding, coating my chin in the sticky liquid.

My cell phone had been laying in the passenger seat and now, it made a low hum as it vibrated against the leather. I hesitated before reaching for it, knowing that the last few dozen missed calls I had had were from him. The ex. The almost was. The not anymore. The One that Got Away. Whatever you preferred to call him. And I didn’t relish the thought of seeing his name flash up on the screen yet again.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes tightly, ignoring the pain that shot through my right eyelid from the black eye that was beginning to flourish. Turning the cell phone over in my hands, I opened my eyes as the screen lit up. “Jody,” I whispered as I read the name of the missed call aloud.

Quickly, I pressed Jody’s name, listening to the dead air as the call connected.

“Y/N?” Jody’s frantic voice picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, sorry I was finishing up a job. What’s up?”

“Oh, thank God you’re alright.” The relief that flooded Jody’s voice stunned me.

“Yeah, Jodes, why wouldn’t I be?”

There was a beat of silence as my question went unanswered. “Y/N, I need you to come home. Now.”

“Jody, what’s going on?” Jody had never been so adamant before, or so worried. It had been three months since I had moved in with Jody, using the Sheriff’s Sioux Falls home as my home base. Jobs had taken me away fairly regularly and I hadn’t spent more than two consecutive nights in the bedroom that had been designated as mine. But that didn’t change the fact that it was home.

“You just need to get here now, okay? I mean it. Get on the road now. I don’t care if you’re in the middle-”

“I just finished the job, Jodes.” I cut her off. “I’m only about an hour away. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Just....” Jody hesitated. “Hurry.”

The phone call disconnected and I sat starring at the cell phone in confusion before turning the ignition and pointing the car towards home.

I made the hour-long drive is just under 40 minutes, having put the gas pedal to the floor. Flinging the driver’s side door open, I practically sprinted up the steps, slamming the unlocked front door open in my wake.

“Jody,” I called out in a panic.

She quickly stepped out of the kitchen and walked directly towards me; arms outstretched and tears in her eyes.

“I’m so glad you made it home,” Jody whispered, pulling me into her tight embrace.

“Hey,” I began. “I’m okay. I’m here. I’m right here, Jody.” I wrapped my arms tightly around her, holding her as she trembled. “Jody? What’s going on?”

Slowly, she backed out of my embrace, swallowing hard as her eyes fixated on the floor between my feet. “Y/N,” she began, her words coming out as if she were choking on them.

I waited in silence, knowing she’d tell me once the words were there. But before she could, a face peered out at me from the kitchen. It was a face I didn’t recognize. A girl with dark olive skin and black wavy hair that barely touched her shoulders. She was holding a bowl and quickly throwing popcorn kernels into her mouth as she stepped closer to us.

“Hello,” I said, attempting to sound as normal as I could muster. “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” her voice was high, but cracked as she spoke. “Did you tell her?” The stranger looked at Jody expectantly as Jody shook her head.

“I was just getting to that.”

“Tell me what, Jody?” My voice was full of panic now. Secrets never gave me the warm fuzzies and now that this stranger was in on it, my anxiety was skyrocketing.

“Y/N, this is Patience.” Jody gestured towards the newcomer as she introduced her. I nodded my head as I inclined it towards her by way of welcome.

“Nice to meet you,” I grunted, crossing my arms and waiting for the shoe to drop.

Loud footsteps came stomping down the stairs to my right as I heard Claire’s voice ring out. “Y/N? Is that you? You aren’t dead?” The surprise and outrage in her words left me wide eyed.

“What?!” I yelled. “Why would you think I was dead?”

Claire hopped over to me, tucking herself into my shoulder as she gave me a quick one-armed hug, her eyes focused on Patience’s face.

“Ask the psychic,” she explained.

I turned my face to meet Patience’s, my face set in a hard line and my eyes bugged out of their sockets. “Why does she think I’m dead?”

Jody took a step closer, placing herself between Patience and I. “Claire’s right,” she started to explain. “Patience is a psychic. She’s Missouri Moseley’s granddaughter.” Her words were succinct, and I knew right away what she was implying.

“Patience,” I began, my voice low and empathetic. “I’m so sorry. Your grandmother was,” I hesitated. “She was a very special woman. Very beloved.”

I watched as Patience absorbed my words but she gave no response. Jody had let me know about Missouri’s passing when it happened. I had been on a case in Iowa, clearing out a Rugaru issue when the Winchester’s had worked with Missouri for the last time. It was the only time in the last few months that I regretted my avoidant personality.

“I still don’t get it. Why did you think I was dead?”

“Because I saw you die,” Patience explained, her words matter-of-fact, if not unfeeling.

I looked at her incredulously. “What?”

After an hour that seemed to last for days, Jody and Patience had explained everything to me. Patience’s visions, her seeing me die, and the fact that the Winchester’s were in some alternate universe that just so happened to be the same one where I died. My mind was swimming and I couldn’t seem to get my head above the water to take a breath, let alone understand.

“Y/N?” Claire rested her hand on my shoulder, giving me a slight shake as she tried desperately to get my attention.

I brought my eyes up to meet hers, but couldn’t find any words.

“We’re going to get them back, Y/N.” Claire’s attempt to reassure me fell flat.

“Sam and....” I swallowed hard. “And Dean. They’re missing?” I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and my breathing felt like it was getting shallower and shallower as I struggled to maintain my calm, something I was failing at desperately.

Jody shook her head slowly, confirming my fears. “But we know what we need to do.”

I looked at her, my eyes pleading with her to give me more information.

She rolled her eyes in return. “They were working with a girl, Kaia. She knows where they’re at and how to get there.”

“Okay, so let’s go!” I stood up dramatically, pushing my chair back as I did.

“Wait,” Jody said, reaching out and grabbing my hand. “We can't talk to her”

While I hadn’t thought my eyeballs would be able to stress themselves beyond my skull any further, her words quickly proved me wrong.

“What do you mean? Why wouldn't we talk to her? Jody, what the hell!?”

“She bolted,” Claire explained. “She was in the hospital, I went to talk to her, and she bolted. There were these bizarre monsters outside that attacked her,” my eyes widened even more. “We took care of it,” Claire stressed, holding her hands out to me as if to stop me from running. “But she’s down for the count. They got a few good licks in and she went down. She’ll be okay. Alex is patching her up, but, Y/N,” Claire hesitated, taking a deep breath. “She’s from that universe. Where Sam and Dean are. The Bad Place, she calls it.”

Claire’s face was that of a repentant child, as though any and all of this should fall on her shoulders.

I took a few deep breaths, attempting to steady myself as I pinched the bridge of my nose with one hand, resting the other on my hip as I began to pace. “So, you’re telling me that Sam and Dean are in some bizarro world, and the only person that can get us there is too busy having her boo-boos kissed to tell us how to get there?” My voice rose in volume with each word, my illusion of calm rapidly fading.

“It’s more than just that,” Jody said, standing up and slamming her hands on the dining room table. “Y/N, you’re missing a vital part of this puzzle.”

“What part, Jody? Sam and Dean are missing and we’re supposed to, what, sit on our thumbs and wait? I don’t think so!” I began walking towards the garage, knowing Alex would have the girl that was the key to all of this in there with her.

“The part where you die, Y/N!” Claire screamed at me with tears in her eyes.

“I don’t see how that matters even a little bit!” My answer bit at her, and I watched her recoil, surprise evident on her face as she did so.

“This isn’t negotiable.” Jody’s voice was deceptively calm and firm. “You go over there, you die. You aren’t leaving this house, do you hear me?” Jody squinted as her words came out full of anger.

“If Dean’s over there,” I caught myself. “If Dean and Sam are over there, then there’s absolutely no question as to where I’m going to be. My place is there. Saving them. And you know it.”

“I can’t lose you, too!” Jody’s exclamation took me by surprise.

“Jodes,” I began, but she held her hand up, effectively silencing me.

“No. Y/N, no. Okay? You’re staying here. I won’t lose another child.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and my heart lurched at her words. “I won’t do it, Y/N.”

I let out a deep breath. “It’s Dean,” I whispered.

“Yeah, I know it is. I know you two had a nasty breakup. I know you haven’t spoken in months and I know you regret it every day. But you cannot be the one to go over there. I won’t let you. If you go, I lose you, and I am not about to lose you, or anyone else. Is that clear?”

I attempted to swallow the lump in my throat that refused to diminish. “All that matters is Dean, Jody. I have to go-”

“Damnit Y/N, if he was all that mattered to you then you would’ve said yes when he proposed to you instead of turning tail and running for the hills!”

I took a step back to steady myself as my eyes focused on Jody. “Look,” Jody began, her voice calmer now. “Donna and I will go over there as soon as Kaia tells us what she knows. We’ll take care of this and you will stay here. There’s no other plan. This is it.”

My eyes flitted from Jody to Claire and back, both of them giving me the same pleading expression and both too stubborn and strong-willed to change their minds.

I nodded my head slowly, agreeing to their plan out of necessity, as Alex came running in through the garage door. “It’s Larsen’s,” she blurted out. “Larsen Brothers Shipyard off Route 14. That’s where the door is.” A small, dark haired girl with scratches adorning her face walked in behind her.

Jody and Claire were already grabbing supplies as we all piled into our vehicles and headed for the shipyard.

We arrived in less than ten minutes and gathered at the sidewalk in front of the entryway.

“Donna and I have got this. But that door, it’s been open for a while and there’s no telling what crawled out in the meantime. So, you guys? You’re playing defense, okay?” We all nodded in the affirmative as each of us armed ourselves accordingly.

Donna was standing at the end of the sidewalk, hugging Claire and Patience as they walked by her. I kept telling my feet to move, but no matter how loudly I shouted at them in my head, they wouldn’t respond. I felt an arm snake its way over my shoulders, pulling me into a half hug.

“He’ll be alright, Y/N,” Donna’s friendly voice sang out to me as she pulled my head towards her.

“I know,” I acquiesced. “Just bring him back safe, okay?” She gave me a quick nod and a smile before I watched her and Jody disappear into the building.

It had been a while since Jody and Donna had gone in. Too long. Claire, Kaia, and Patience had all begun to get antsy a while ago and my trigger finger was more than itchy in their absence as I reacted to each and every sound that came out of the building in front of us.

We heard a gunshot and all of our breaths stopped as we collectively stared at the building. “That’s it,” I said, cocking my handgun and holding it down to my side.

“You guys can stay here but I’m going in. Something’s wrong.” I began walking towards the front door, just as Claire wrapped her delicate hand around my wrist.

“Wait,” she said. “You can’t.” She flicked her eyes over to Patience and stared at me silently.

“It’s Dean,” I offered her as my explanation. “What good is being alive in any world if he isn’t in it?” I could feel moisture building in my eyes and I did my best to hold my tears at bay.

“I’ll go with you.” An unfamiliar voice sang out from the crowd as Kaia stepped forward. “You won’t know where you’re going if I don’t. I know where to go. And where not to.” She looked down at her fingers as she fiddled with her nails, nervously.

All four of us walked into the building, our eyes searching endlessly for any sign of Donna or Jody.

“Jodes!” I yelled into the emptiness. We heard the beating of feet above us as I dove for the staircase, yelling for the others to follow me.

By the time we found them, they had been surrounded. Unfamiliar monsters with sickly glowing red eyes stared at them as if they were a feast. I raised my gun and pulled off two shots directly into the back of their skulls. I watched as their bodies slumped to the floor in front of us, and Jody and Donna each turned their heads towards me.

Just beyond them, there was a glowing orange line that seemed to spark and fade.

“There,” Kaia yelled, pointing her hand towards it. “That’s the door!”

I watched as it slowly began to shrink. “No!” I shouted as my feet broke into a sprint with Kaia close behind me.

We leapt over Jody as she lay bruised and beaten on the floor, and made a break straight for the gateway. I tumbled to the ground, taking in the monochromatic surroundings I found myself in. Glancing back towards the rift, I could see it was still open, but just barely. And there was no telling how long it would remain that way.

“Come on,” Kaia said as she stood up, her teeth chattering in fear as she turned away from the door and walked away, beckoning me to follow her. My handgun remained clenched in my hand as I reached for the pocketknife that had been tucked away in my back pocket.

“Lead the way.”

We seemed to be walking for hours and I was sure that any portal that there had been had closed by now. Kaia continued to assure me that we hadn’t even been there an hour yet. I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the ends as I tucked it behind my ears.

“We have to find them, Kaia,” I begged. She gave me no response but continued on until we heard the sounds of breaking twigs and crushed leaves. Kaia hunched down in front of me, getting as low to the ground as she could as she held a finger up to me, insisting on my continued silence.

We peaked out of a threadbare bush to try to identify where the sound came from, when two figures began walking towards us, their movements tentative and quiet.

“Dean?” I whimpered as I lunged myself out into the clearing and towards him.

My name hadn’t fully left his lips when I crashed into him, my arms wrapping around his neck as tears forced their way down my cheeks. My breathing was ragged, but I’d never been so relieved. I felt his arms wrap around me, pulling me into him as if he needed to know I was real. He repeated my name again as I sobbed into his shoulder.

“I thought,” I cried. “I thought I’d lost you.” I leaned back and released my hold on him, finally meeting his eye.

He was blinking fast, confusion coloring his entire face and stance. But his eyes held mine as I stared into the deep emerald orbs that had always captivated me. He raised his hand, wiping the tears that had been falling down my face away with the gentle pad of his thumb. I closed my eyes, relishing in the feeling of his touch; his calloused fingertips smoothing over my skin sending shockwaves through me.

“Same here,” he said, as his jaw set into a hard, locked line, his eyes still focused on me.

“I’d hate to interrupt,” Kaia spoke up from behind us. “But we’re running on borrowed time here, if we aren’t out of time already. We’ve got to go.”

I pulled myself away from Dean, going against every urge in my body as I did so. Wiping my hands down my shirt to smooth it out, I dusted myself off and attempted to focus yet again.

“Hey Y/N,” I heard Sam’s voice calling from beside me. Turning my head to him, I took in the smile that was plastered on his face, giving him my own smile in return. “Heya Sammy,” I called as he reached out and squeezed my shoulder.

I turned around to face Kaia again, gesturing for her to lead the way. She seized the opportunity and began walking quickly back the way that we had come. I followed behind her with the boys in tow. The trek back to the gateway seemed to go faster, as if time had sped up now that Sam and Dean had been found.

A few minutes into our hike, Dean's hand wound its way into mine, interlacing his fingers with mine as he squeezed my hand tightly; a gesture he had often given me when he knew I was uncomfortable or stressed. I turned my head to make eye contact with him again as we continued walking.

“It’s just up there,” Kaia pointed ahead of us as she continued, panting. We could see the orange break in space hovering above the ground. It didn’t seem to have shrunk in size, but its vibrance had died down significantly.

“Run,” I instructed them, pushing Sam and Dean ahead of me as Kaia took off towards the rift. I followed behind, close on their heels.

We were feet away from the doorway when I felt it. A menacing, hooded figure clad in black sneaking up from behind. When I turned my head, I could see them throw their arm forward as the long, aerodynamic weapon they were holding came flying towards us, pointed directly at Dean.

“No!” I screamed, diving at him as I shoved him towards the doorway and put myself between him and the spear. I watched in slow motion as Sam and Kaia made it through to the other side. But, to my horror, Dean had stopped to turn around and face me, watching as the head of the spear sank itself into my back.

“Y/N?” Dean was screaming my name repeatedly as he reached for me, glaring over my shoulder at my assaulter and his would-be murderer. I fell forward, kneeling to the ground as I turned my head to look at the hooded figure again. I watched as the black hood fell back, revealing a familiar face and a sinister grin. “Kaia?” I whispered.

My vision began to go black as I felt Dean’s arms wrap around me, jerking me up to my feet before he lifted my legs in one arm, cradling my shoulders in the other. My head lolled back and in an instant, everything went black.

Dean was pacing the floor in Jody’s garage as Sam and Alex examined Y/N’s wound. She’d passed out before they had even made it through the doorway, but Dean had made sure that they came back home safely. The rift closed almost immediately after they came through.

“Dean?” Sam had called to his brother once they were back in their own world. But the only response he received was the garbled cries of Dean’s anguish.

“No,” Sam had uttered beneath his breath as he ran towards them, convinced that what he was seeing couldn’t be real. “No, she’s fine, Dean. She’s going to be fine. Let me take a look at her.”

He pushed his way to his brother, every step feeling like his feet were made of lead and concrete. But when he pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling the small pulsations of her carotid artery, he let out a sigh of relief.

“She’s got a pulse. A weak one, but it’s there. We need to get her some help. Now.” Sam reached out for her, wanting to remove the physical burden from Dean as he watched his brother collapse to the floor. “Dean!” Sam was yelling, desperation flooding him. “We have to go.”

Jody ran up to them, taking in the sight that she had feared. “We didn’t stop it,” she muttered. Patience walked up behind her, holding her hand over her mouth as if in astonishment.

“This is it,” she said. “My vision. This is what I saw.” Jody gasped, allowing the panic and heartbreak to set in.

“We’ve got to move her,” Sam told them. “She’s got a pulse, but she won’t for long if we don’t get her somewhere safe.”

Jody shook her head slightly, focusing yet again. “Get her to the car out front. Alex’ll patch her up at home.”

Before her sentence was finished, Sam was bolting towards the car, taking the steps down two at a time. Dean followed behind, his movements empty, as if a man possessed.

Jody wove her arm through his, hanging onto his elbow as they walked quickly towards the exit and to the car.

“I just got her back,” Dean said. “I just got her back. She can’t be gone already. I can’t...” He left his sentence unfinished as Jody rubbed a loving hand up and down his back, attempting to reassure him.

“It’ll be fine. She’ll bounce right back. She’s a fighter, yeah?” Jody opened the back passenger door of her car, urging Dean into the seat as Sam was laying Y/N across from the other side, resting her head on Dean’s lap.

Jody jumped in the driver’s seat, throwing the car into reverse as she pushed the “Talk” button on the steering wheel and called Alex.

“It’s Y/N,” she said succinctly. “We need you. It’s...” She hesitated, looking up into the rearview mirror at Dean. “It’s not good. We’re a couple minutes away. Be ready.” The one-sided conversation was quick, direct and to the point.

The tires squealed to a stop as Jody parked the car in the driveway, slamming the transmission into park and flicking the engine to the off position before everyone began hopping out of the car. Dean stayed where he was, slowly stroking Y/N’s hair as he attempted to soothe her into waking.

Alex was running out of the front door towards them, her scrubs still stained with Kaia’s blood from patching her up earlier, and her stethoscope still hanging from her neck. “Bring her inside!”

Dean did as he was told, sliding out of his seat, careful not to let Y/N’s head fall as he slowly pulling her out of the car and cradling her in his arms. In seconds, they were all standing in the garage as Dean laid Y/N down on the gurney and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Everyone, take a step back,” Alex ordered, listening to Y/N’s heart as she did so. “Jody, I need you to bring me an IV bag. We’re going to need to get some blood in her now along with as many antibiotics and as much saline as possible. She’s losing blood fast.”

The words seemed to all blur together as Dean dropped into the chair behind him, cradling his head in his hands. “This can’t be happening,” he repeated to himself, his eyes fixated on a drop of her blood as it fell to the floor.

Two hours later, Dean was sitting next to Y/N again, squeezing her hand between both of his as he stared intently at her face. Alex had assured him that she was fine. That she’d been all patched up, that the dehydration and blood loss had been combated, and that everything was going to be just fine in time. But he longed to see her eyes open and looking at him like she always had. Like she could see into his soul. He yearned to hear her voice, even if she yelled at him and never wanted to see him again. As long as she was alive.

He lowered his head, muttering “Please,” to himself over and over.

At some point, he must have drifted off to sleep, her hand still clenched in his, with his head resting on the side of the bed. She began to stir, grunting as she did so and squeezing his hand back.

My eyes were heavy and hazy. The pain that had flown through me on our way to the doorway seemed a distant memory and my body felt as though I were floating in the ocean; one wave after another pushing me closer to shore. I opened my eyes tentatively, hesitant to take in my surroundings for fear that the monochromatic world would still be surrounding me.

But in my hand, I could feel the warm familiarity that was Dean’s fingers interlaced with mine. I squeezed my hand around his, desperate to prove to myself that it was truly him.

“Y/N?” He woke with a start, his eyes focusing on my face as he brought one hand up to cup my cheek.

I gave him a smile, my eyes closing in a slow blink as I opened my mouth. “Hey there stranger.”

Dean leaned down quickly, pressing his lips firmly against mine, seeming to blow life into me with his kiss. The one that never failed to take my breath away.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, do you understand?”

I nodded as I laughed quietly, Dean’s forehead pressing down into my own.

“You got it,” I confirmed for him.

“Marry me?” The question came out as a plea as he pushed his head closer to mine, rubbing our noses against one another. The same question I’d run from so many months ago. But now, after all this time and after all that had happened, there was only one answer that I could give.

I smiled at him, holding my breath as my cheeks began to ache from the tension.

“Yes.”

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624 @waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy @carissime72 @deans-baby-momma @formulafun @woodworthti666 @yetanotherreader @crashlyrose @hobby27 @gabby913 @jxackles @polina-93 @supernaturaladdictsblog @fandomoverdose666 @deans-baby-momma @deanwanddamons @tazzi-baby @acertainhero @lilulo-12

(Desperate attempt to get my faves to notice me) @thinkinghardhardlythinking @smol-and-grumpy @wonder-cole-reads @watermelonlipstick @that-one-gay-girl @waywardbaby

45 notes · View notes

penguinwithitsarseonfire · 3 years

Text

Mosaic Broken Hearts (But This Love is Brave and Wild)

Part 2 | See the Full Series Here

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 5,140

Warnings: None

Summary: The Doctor knows she loves you, that isn’t her concern. However, doesn't know what to do about it. For help, she calls up one of her old faces for advice, but doesn't get the regeneration she was bargaining for. (This is technically a sequel to Your Hand Print's on my Soul but can be read as a standalone)

Key: Y/N - Your Name, Y/P1 - she, he, or they, Y/P2 - her, him, or their

A/N: So here's what I've decided on the pronouns front. When Reader is the subject of the sentence, it'll be Y/P1 (these are for pronouns like she, he and they). When reader is the object of the sentence, it'll be Y/P2 (these are for pronouns such as her, him, and their). I'm doing it like this because thanks to a wonderful anon, I've learned that people use this extension that changes Y/N (and other acronyms) into your name. So instead of just Y/P, I figured it would help if I made a distinction. Let me know how you feel about this and how it goes!

“Right,” the Doctor said, and she dumped the small book in front of Yaz. “I need your help.”

Yaz looked up from her phone. The Doctor didn’t know what had captured her attention, but apparently she had been refreshing her feed all day. “…Right,” she glanced down at the book, then back at the Doctor. “What’s up?

“It won’t take too long,” The Doctor said. “I just need your opinion.”

Yaz set her phone to the side, and cautiously picked up the book. “What on?”

The Doctor gestured to the book.

Yaz opened it and flicked through a couple of pages. It was a photo album of all the Doctor’s past faces, and as Yaz flicked through them, her face fell into a small frown. “Hey Doc, no offence or anything but… Why am I looking at a bunch of photos of random old white men?”

“They used to me,” The Doctor said, and she sat down in front of Yaz, cross legged so that she was looking slightly up at her. Yaz had been curled up on the living room sofa, the BBC playing softly in the background on the TV.

They were in Yaz’s family apartment, house sitting for them whilst Yaz’s family were down at the Coast. Her family had extended the invitation to both Yaz and the Doctor, but neither wanted to be too far away in case of a crisis.

Yaz sighed, sitting up right so she could flick through the book properly. She eyed the Doctor, as if she didn’t quite believe her. It was a look the Doctor got often from her new friends, and it gave her an edge of amusement. “Hmm,” Yaz eyed the Doctor’s eighth face. “What am I looking for exactly?”

“Which one’s the most trustworthy,” The Doctor said, then she frowned. “No wait, that’s not right. Which one looks like they’ll give the best advice?”

Yaz raised an eyebrow. “Best advice? Doc, I can’t judge that from a photo.”

“Sure you can!” The Doctor said. “You can get it from a vibe! Besides, I need a neutral party to decide. I can just imagine technicolour dream coat and I getting into an argument. He wouldn’t like my rainbow, which doesn’t even make sense, have you seen how much rainbow is on him!”

Yaz quickly flicked backwards through the pages, until she landed on the Doctor’s sixth face, in all his curly blonde haired glory. “Is this him? Technicolour dream coat?”

The Doctor nodded her head. “Oh just look at that coat, I loved that coat. I reckon I’d look smashing in that coat today.” Yaz gave it an amused smile. “It’s certainly… striking,” then she closed the photo album and gave the Doctor a look, and the mood completely shifted.

The Doctor hated when Yaz did gave her this look, it was too… knowing. It was like she was piecing together all the things the Doctor had ever said, stitching together the real Doctor, the version of herself she wasn’t sure if she wanted the others to see. “Why do you need advice from one of these blokes anyway? We’re all here for you Doc, all of us.”

The Doctor’s jaw clenched. What was she supposed to say? Oh yeah, don’t mind me, I’m just in love with Y/N and need advice on how to deal with it, nothing big or important at all.

Because that was the thing though, she wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to do about it. She wasn’t sure whether she should pursue you, if that would even be fair, given the weight that was her everything.

And? If she did decide to pursue you? If the Doctor was really going to be so selfish? Well, she couldn’t even begin to know where to start with that.

So fresh eyes, eyes that understood her to her very core. That’s what she needed.

“Honestly,” the Doctor swallowed. It was difficult being honest in this face, speaking so openly like this. She had to practise, not just for herself, not just for you, but for the rest of her friends too. “I don’t know,” she said, eventually. “But I know, right now at least, the only person who can tell me… is, well, me.” I just don’t know which me to choose, I don’t want to be biased about it, base my decision on baseless things like the opinion on a coat, for example.

“And Yaz, you’re good at this, brilliant at it even. You know people, you know how to judge people immediately. I’m asking you because… well, because I trust you. You’re one of my best mate’s Yaz, who else would I ask?

Yaz chewed her lip, giving the Doctor a look she couldn’t yet recognise. “Alright,” she said, at last. She flicked through the book, and the Doctor watched as Yaz scrutinised each and every one of the Doctor’s old faces. She made some comments from time to time, mostly about the clothes the Doctor had once worn, or certain hairstyles.

Finally, she settled on someone. “Him,” she said. “He’s got a knowing face.”

She turned the book around so the Doctor could see. Huh. Yaz had chosen her tenth face; Sandshoes.

Well, technically her eleventh face, but that was neither here nor there.

The Doctor pondered over the thought for a moment. He wasn’t a bad choice, in fact, he was probably the best choice of the bunch. He’d wanted love more than anyone, he had fallen in love, so easily, so quickly, so readily.

At the very least he knew how to navigate it.

“That,” the Doctor said finally. “Is an excellent choice, I think.”

“Yeah?” Yaz said, and she was smiling. “You reckon?”

The Doctor nodded vigorously. This could work, this could be perfect.

Which was why, when the Doctor was finally alone, she set her plan into motion.

You, Ryan, and Graham had agreed to come over around the same time Yaz’s fam did, which had been the Doctor’s suggestion. She just needed one short moment, just a minute, a quick duck out and duck in, none of you would ever even notice – you wouldn’t know.

So, when Yaz’s family came home, and she was letting them inside, the Doctor snuck into the TARDIS, which had been parked in the spare room.

Now, the thing about time travel, the very tricky thing about time travelling, is that travelling through your own time stream could be messy, very messy. The Doctor knew this, of course, and, when she had decided that she was going to meet up with her past self, she had planned to circumvent this.

The first thing she had to do was think of a location that wouldn’t be prone to a violent world ending, explosion making paradox – which she had already done; The Medusa Cascade. She had been there enough, in so many regenerations, that the old girl would barely bat an eye should she materialise at the same time as a past version of themselves.

And even if the TARDIS did realise when exactly she was going (which, of course she would, nothing got past the TARDIS), well, the TARDIS was such a romantic, surely she wouldn’t mind.

So the Doctor punched in the coordinates.

The second thing the Doctor had to do was send her old self a message, one that conveyed the urgent-ness of the meeting, but not too urgent. She’d run into her timestream so many times now that it was basically an annual holiday for her, but that didn’t change the fact that this was something she definitely shouldn’t do lightly.

She had a message, or, well, at least, the idea of a message.

The third thing, well, the third thing she had to do, was sync up their TARDIS’, create an artificial temporal feedback loop between the two TARDIS’ so neither one of them would vomit the Doctor(s) out. Hopefully, what it would do would allow both her and sandshoes to exist in the same TARDIS, whilst also not existing in the same TARDIS at all.

The Doctor waited for someone – you, to tell her that she was clever.

Then she whacked her head on one of the crystals that towered around the console and realised you weren’t in the room at all, that all of those words had just been her internal monologue.

Huh, well then.

She rubbed her head with the back of her hand, trying to subside the throbbing, pounding, sensation that was rattling against on her forehead. She punched in the rest of the coordinates, pulled up the leaver, and was off.

The TARDIS groaned loudly. She was shuddering dramatically, and the Doctor almost groaned. “C’mon old girl, don’t tell me you’ve gone bitter in your old age.”

A panel on the wall popped off, leaking angry fiery, sparks. The Doctor yelped, and glared around her person, so the TARDIS could clearly see who the glare was directed at. “Now that wasn’t necessary.”

With a shaky grumble, the TARDIS landed, floating in deep space. The sparks stopped as soon as they started, and the Doctor made a mental note to patch it up before she left.

Right then, time for the message.

A video call wouldn’t be right, not for this. She needed something dramatic, something mysterious, something her past self would latch on and be too curious about to ignore. A simple message, completely appropriate, just 13 words:

↠ In a sort of pickle, Bad Wolf and all that. Fancy a cuppa?

And then, of course, she sent the instructions on how to create an artificial temporal feedback loop between the two TARDIS that her past self could follow. Of course, since this was herself that she was planning for, she knew damn well that he wouldn’t read the a word of them.

So hopefully that would mean that she would wind up inside his console, instead of it being the other way round. She didn’t have the time or energy to defend her stylistic choices to him.

The Doctor waited anxiously, pacing around the console like a nervous cat, like one sound would cause her to flee. She wasn’t even sure why she was nervous, she was only seeing herself, after all.

Which was exactly why she was nervous.

She considered bailing, finding another face of her to talk to instead. She was going to get distracted by Ten’s spikey hair, she could already tell.

No, that wasn't true.

She was scared, she felt like she was being selfish.

The thing was, Ten had loved someone too: Rose. She had been wonderful, utterly fantastic, and to this day the Doctor still loved her, in her own way. She loved Rose as an echo, a memory of what-ifs and could have beens.

The Doctor wasn't sure how it would feel to have a future version of herself tell her that she would one day love another, that it would be so tangible and close, after losing someone so awfully. She couldn't imagine that sort of pain.

Actually, she could imagine it, quite easily. It was dreadful.

She had experienced it once, with Rose.

And River.

And she wouldn’t ever, couldn’t ever, experience it with you.

The Doctor took in a deep breath. The message has already been sent, an invitation for just the two of them to talk. She couldn’t back out now.

She eyed her fez, sitting by the steps that lead up the TARDIS corridors. It was a split second decision, one second she was debating whether or not she should grab it, the next, it was on her head.

She felt more herself, more confident, wearing it.

Yeah, totally still her.

The first thing she noticed was the way her skin prickled, as if thousands of tiny needles were lightly poking her. Then the room around her went fuzzy, and the Doctor felt dizzy. In an instant, she was stumbling into a different TARDIS, with familiar brown poles, wires swinging freely in the air, and old grating under her feet.

Except… there weren’t any brown poles, or grating under her feet. The Doctor stared underneath her and oh no.

Something had gone very, very wrong.

For one thing, the most obvious thing, the thing she should have noticed immediately: she was standing on glass.

The Doctor looked around her, she was surrounded by orange chromed walls, golden metal plating, and round little lights sat into the sides. It was familiar, intimately and completely familiar, because this console room had once been hers.

But this wasn’t the console of her tenth face… this was-

“Who,” a familiar voice rang out. “Are you?”

The Doctor turned around slowly, and eyed her eleventh face carefully.

Gods, she had forgotten how big that chin was.

“So,” she said slowly. “I’ve got a bit of explaining to do.”

“A bit?” Eleven said. He said the next two words under his breath. “Bad Wolf,” he then turned to her. “I haven’t heard those words in a very long time.”

The Doctor took in her old self. He seemed tired, his clothes were a bit disorganised, with his shirt untuck and his suspenders hanging limp by his knees. His hair was a mess too, flopping over his face like he had just regenerated. He seemed stressed – scared, almost.

It was almost as if-

“Lake Silencio,” Thirteen breathed, the realisation hitting her with so much force she stumbled backwards slightly. “That’s about to happen, isn’t it?”

His eyes visibly widened – they were so expressive, these eyes. They were the only things that showed his age. “How do you-”

“I’m so sorry,” Thirteen said. “I wasn’t supposed to run into you, especially not now. I was trying to find sandshoes.”

“What? Sandshoes?” Eleven drummed his fingers against the console. “Spikey hair, big sad eyes?”

“Yup, the very same.”

“Why would you even want to talk to him, he,” Eleven straightened, and marched towards her. “No, wait, hold on. That’s distracting, you distracted me with information.”

Thirteen raised her hands up, placating. “I really am sorry-“

“Who are you?” Eleven repeated. “You can’t be me, I’m, I’m about to-”

“I am though,” Thirteen interrupted, and she scrunched up her face. She knew he didn’t want to finish saying that sentence as much as she didn’t want to hear it. “I’m you, a couple faces down the line.”

“You can’t be, you shouldn't exist," Eleven said, an edge of an accusation in his voice. “How do you exist?"

"Aww," Thirteen drew the sound out. "Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, something to do with spoilers."

"Spoilers," Eleven let out a half laugh, a half scoff. "Now that's a word that's thrown around a fair bit." 

River.

The Doctor's hearts ached for her, they always would, in a way. A memory of so many chances, of sly smiles, and fleeting moments.

"Trust me though," she said. "I am you, we have a future."

Eleven’s mood changed almost instantly. “A future," he breathed, and he had a wistful smile on his face. "Well then, that's something. I hope it's a good one."

"I do my best."

"Right then," Eleven said, and he clapped his hands together. “What are you here for? What’s so urgent that my future self would come barrelling in like this? I did pop the kettle on.”

Thirteen grinned. “Peppermint tea?”

Eleven rummaged on the console for a moment, before throwing a small cardboard box in the air. He caught it one handed and turned to Thirteen with a wink. “Of course.”

He then jogged towards the kettle, not waiting for a reply. “I do love the fez by the way,” he called out. “It’s suit’s you! Let me know it was you, too. Well, that and the scan I did as you landed.”

Thirteen looked around frantically, scrunching her face up at the TARDIS interior. “Scans? When’d you do scans?”

“As you materialised,” he replied. “Set it up with Donna, remember?”

Thirteen racked her brain for the memory. That had been over a thousand years ago for her.

“Vaguely,” she replied, and hopped over to him.

“Ah, losing that memory with age then?” He eyes sparkled as he passed her a mug.

“Careful whippersnapper,” Thirteen teased. “I’ve got centuries on you.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Eleven replied. They move in sync, in a sort of tandem that only they two were familiar with. They were the same person, but also so starkly different.

“But what do you think?” She said, and she gestured to the fez, but really, she was talking about all of her. “Still me?”

Eleven eyed her up and down quizzically. “Most definitely,” he said. “An upgrade, I’d say.”

Thirteen grinned as they sat down. “Tell you what, buying women’s clothes, still not used to it.”

“Nah,” Eleven replied. “It’s been ages.”

They sat on the threshold of Eleven’s TARDIS, each with a mug of peppermint tea in hand, staring out at the Medusa Nebula. Thirteen was curled in on herself, one knee tucked into her frame and the other dangling freely. Eleven, however, sat openly, his legs swinging free.

She didn’t know how long they sat there in silence, just taking in the bright dust clouds dancing across the inky black universe.

“I’ve met someone,” Thirteen started, after another moment. “A human.”

“Well,” Eleven took a sip of his tea. “That is something we do.”

“No it’s,” Thirteen floundered for a moment, trying to find the words. “It’s different.”

“Define different.”

Thirteen struggled to find a way to describe it, to fully articulate what it was like, what her love for you was like. So, she told a story.

“Do you remember,” Thirteen said. “Gods, it was so long ago for me, but there was this way Amy once described Rory. How, sometimes you meet beautiful people, but they’re dull as a brick. But then you meet someone, and their personality just becomes synonymous with their beauty…”

“She said Rory was the most beautiful man she had ever met,” Eleven finished.

“Exactly, and, well… Y/P2 name is Y/N,” Thirteen said, and risked looking at her younger self.

She watched him blink as the realisation hit him. “Oh,” he said softly, and it was enough.

“Yeah,” Thirteen breathed out.

“So…” Eleven said. “Sandshoes.”

Thirteen chuckled at that, and took a sip of her tea. “Yeah.”

“He would’ve been a bit moody about it.”

Thirteen snorted, and Eleven laughed. “Oi, don’t judge it,” Thirteen said. “My friend picked him out, said he’s got ‘a knowing face,’ so I went with it.”

“He would’ve known how to cope with it,” Eleven said. “That’s for sure.”

“That’s what I need,” Thirteen said. “See, I know I love Y/P2, I keep it safe, hold it in my hearts. That’s not the part that worries me.”

“You just don’t know what to do with it,” Eleven surmised.

“Exactly,” Thirteen nodded. “So, you’re right, and so was Yaz. Ol’ cockatoo hair would’ve known.”

“And you got me instead,” Eleven said with a rueful grin.

“Yup,” Thirteen said. “So? Got any advice for me?”

“Not really,” Eleven replied. “But tell me about Y/N, maybe that would help?”

Thirteen smiled, staring out at the Medusa Nebula, and thought of you. “Well,” she started. “Y/N’s amazing, just so thoughtful, so selfless. I don’t even know if Y/P1 realises just how much she does for others, I think it’s just so innate and present within Y/P2 that for Y/N, it’s just a state of being.”

Eleven sounded out your name on his lips, enunciating it carefully, almost reverently. “It’s a nice name,” he said. “Straight out of a storybook.”

“It is,” Thirteen agreed. “And, okay, so, you know that energy humans have? That wonderful quality that just fills them with so much vibrancy, so much life?”

“Always,” he looked riveted, like he was hanging off of Thirteens every word.

“Well, Y/N just sort… encapsulates it. It’s like, there could be an entire solar system, an entire nebula,” she gestured to the view. “Right there, but the only thing worth looking at is Y/P2.”

“But everything,” Thirteen continued. “Absolutely everything to Y/P2, is so new and exciting. I could show Y/N the seven wonders of the universe, take Y/P2 to see the most dazzling sights in the next universe over, or just show Y/P2 some pink snow, and Y/P1 would find it all just as extraordinary as the next.”

Eleven’s mouth formed a small smile. He took a small sip of his tea. “That sounds… wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Thirteen said, and then, suddenly. “If you were me-”

“I am you,” Eleven said, giving her a wry grin.

“Yes, I know that, but me, me. As in, this face me. Would you pursue something with Y/P2, would you try?”

Eleven let out a heavy breath. Thirteen had no doubt as to what he was thinking about, who he was thinking about – she had lived it, after all. I would be different hearing it, though. “Yes,” he said, after a moment of thought. “I would, if I could. What you’ve said, it sounds like… well, it sounds like everything.”

Thirteen swallowed. It certainly felt like everything.

“The thing is though,” Eleven added. “Is it what you want, is it what Y/P1 wants?”

Thirteen scrunched her face up at that. “I don’t know.”

“Look” he said. “I know next to nothing about this sort of stuff, really, it was absurd you came to me-”

Thirteen snorted, again.

“-But the way I see it, the fact that you’re going around, asking people stuff, questioning this, seeking answers, that’s got to count for something. Loving a human… I can’t imagine anything better.”

“And when I lose Y/P2?” Thirteen challenged. “When Y/N is gone with everyone else, what do I do then?”

Eleven sighed. “What we always do, what we’ve always done. Keep moving forward.”

Thirteen huffed out a breath. “I don’t know if I can do that, again. I’ve lost so much, more than you could imagine-”

“Oh I’m sure I’d be able to, one day.”

“-Right,” Thirteen ran a hand through her hair. “I’m just exhausted though. I’m so sick of losing people, of losing everyone. You fix things, you move on, and then it just keeps happening,” she gave him a desperate look. “I’m not sure I could lose someone again, I’m not sure if I could lose Y/P2.”

“I suppose then, you’ve got to think of the alternatives,” Eleven replied. “What are you willing to do, what boundaries are you willing to set?”

Thirteen considered it for a moment. Then it hit her. “I don’t want to set boundaries. Well, Y/N can set boundaries of course, but me? I… I want whatever I can have…” she scrunched up her face. “I think”

“Do you always do that?” Eleven asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

He mimicked her expression, scrunching his face up. “This.”

Thirteen couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Y/N says I do, Y/P1 notices things, that one.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that, either,” Eleven said. “Face it, we’ve got a type.”

“Plucky adventurous willing to take on the universe?” Thirteen suggested.

“Exactly,” he sobered, after. “I can’t tell you what you should do. Even though I am you, I think that’s something only you, you can decide.”

Thirteen let out a half-hearted groan. “That’s what Vastra said.”

“Oh, Madame Vastra! How is she?”

“Not enjoying her meals as much as she was,” Thirteen commented idly. “She liked Y/N though.”

“Well that’s important, her approval is hard to come by.”

Thirteen thought about Clara, and Amy, and River, and all the people the Doctor had been close with whom Vastra approved of. “She does have excellent taste.”

“Wait,” Eleven said. “If Vastra told you the same thing, why’ve you come to me – or, well, why’d you go looking for sandshoes?”

Thirteen winced. “I may have… um, interpreted it literally.”

Eleven laughed. “I would’ve done the same.”

“You will,” she sighed. “I just… I feel so…” she groaned, not finding the words. She didn’t want to say inadequate, or wrong, because neither of those words fit.

Eleven, though, just nodded. “I know,” he said. “I feel it too.”

“I’m just worried that my own self-doubt, or, well, not even that, but, I just feel like it will stain my decision” Thirteen went to take another sip of her tea, and frowned when it came up empty. “I want to make sure, whatever I decide, I do it for the right reasons, I do it for Y/P2. Y/N’s the most important thing.”

“Well,” Eleven said, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t think any version of ourselves are the best person to talk to, then. We’ve all got that” he waved a hand in the air. “Sad self-doubt thing.”

The Doctor thought about you – you who was so bright, so good. She was scared of hurting you, she was scared of hurting herself, too.

And this was all under the presumption that she could woo you, too.

She groaned, again. This was all just so messy.

“Y/N,” Eleven said slowly, again. It was as if he was trying to fit your name in his mouth, hold it, like the act could help him remember it, help remember you.

Actually, no, it wasn’t ‘as if’ at all. Thirteen knew him, she had been him, she knew Eleven better than anyone.

And she knew, if she were in his position right now, she’d be doing the same.

“I’m sending invitation,” Eleven said, after a moment. “To the Ponds, to River, the people most important to me. I mean, I got the guest list because I’ve already seen it, bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, this-”

“Or a bootstrap paradox,” Thirteen supplied. “You’ve got questions like who made the list? Where did it come from?”

Eleven gave her a rueful grin. “Still obsessed with the ‘why’ I see.”

“When haven’t we been,” Thirteen countered with a soft grin.

“Although, and, I’m not sure how much of this you remember,” Eleven said. “The feeling of it, at least. When it hit me that this is what I had to do… I was grateful it was those three on the list. I think I need them there, I couldn’t go through with this alone.”

Thirteen nodded. She remembered, and she suspected she knew where he was going.

“So,” Eleven continued. “I guess what you need to think about is, if all of this,” he gestured around them both. “Was to end tomorrow, where would you want Y/N? Where would you need Y/P2?”

The question made Thirteen pause. She hadn’t ever considered that, not for a moment. She thought back to times when you had been missing, or lost, and how the only thought on her mind was how she needed you back, needed you here, by her side.

“Wow,” she breathed.

Eleven chuckled. “Yeah.”

It was an important thing to think about; boundaries. What was the Doctor willing to sacrifice? How far was she willing to go to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt, and that, in turn, you wouldn’t get hurt either.

“Right,” Thirteen stood up and brushed down her pants. “Thank you for this, I think I needed this.”

“The tea or the chat?”

Thirteen shrugged. “Both. I love a good tea, my friend’s mum makes the best tea.”

“I’m not going to remember this, am I,” Eleven said suddenly. “We’re too close to creating a paradox.”

“Part of the reason I chose this place,” Thirteen replied.

“Then…” Eleven scrunched up his suspenders in his hand, leaving his tea deserted as he stood. “The Ponds. How are they? Do… do they?”

Thirteen swallowed her sadness at the question, doing her best to give him an encouraging smile. “They live long, happy lives.”

He scrutinised her for a moment. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The long happy lives starts in 1938.

She gave him a small, sad smile. “Spoilers.”

Eleven huffed. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

But he helped her get back to her TARDIS, and the familiar glow of the crystals warmed her hearts. She rolled her fez in between her hands, thinking about what her younger self had said, thinking about you.

What did the Doctor need? How was she supposed to work it out?

Eleven was right, it wasn’t something that any of her past selves could tell her. It was such an intimately, personal question. And not one with a clear answer.

She threw the thought in the back of her mind. She had all the time in the universe to work it out, hopefully. And rght now, she missed her fam, she missed you.

So she pressed the buttons she needed to press, pulled down the levers she needed to pull, spun her mini TARDIS that sat on the console, and flew home.

As she landed, The Doctor wondered how long her younger self would stay by the Medusa Cascade, holding the memory of their conversation, the knowledge that he would live, regenerate, and fall in love again.

If it were her (and it was, in a way), she would stay there for a long time, just thinking of you.

It was only a second or so after she had landed that there was a knock on the door. Surely it wasn’t Yaz, she couldn’t have realised that the Doctor had gone.

The Doctor swung the door open, completely unprepared for any sort of excuse to give Yaz.

Except, it wasn’t Yaz by the door… It was you.

You were giving her an amused grin, and the Doctor wanted to capture it, hold it and cherish it in that special place that held everything you gave her. Every smile, every laugh, all of it.

“Where did you get off to?” You asked.

“Oh, I just had to check out a thing, you know how it is,” she stepped to the side to allow you to come in.

“Not really,” you said. “I’m not the time travelling alien in suspenders.”

The Doctor almost snorted. Little did you know.

You were holding a bigger bag than normal. The Doctor wondered if that meant you were going to be staying longer. She hoped so. She watched your face fall into a confused frown. “What on Earth happened there?”

The Doctor followed your gaze, landing on the panel that the TARDIS had blown off in a petulant fit. Well – not a petulant fit, the Doctor would never let the TARDIS believe that’s what she thought. “Uh…” The Doctor tried to think of an excuse, any excuse. “Just some maintenance.”

“Right,” you drew out the word, clearly not believing her. “Oh!” You suddenly turned to her. “I forgot, Yaz’s mum has invited us to have tea with the family. Graham and Ryan too.”

Doctor grinned. Tea at Yaz’s. Tea with you at Yaz’s.

“Sounds brilliant.”

A/N^2: If you've made it this far, thank you for reading!! I'm having a lot of fun with this series/collection of standalone fics all set in the same universe with the same premise. On request I’ve started a tag list, so, if you'd like to join it, just let me know!

Tag List: @fictionalhoomanofnowhere @dreamer7black

#the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th doctor #Doctor Who #DW #as always this is not edited #it wouldn't be on brand if it was whoops

112 notes · View notes

sylvain-writes · 3 years

Text

Guarded Hearts and Safe Houses (Leonardo x Reader) Chapter 2/9

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, canon typical violence/injury, light angst, strangers to lovers, supportive family. -for @melodiousmelodrama

Your father stumbles over his words as he asks you to repeat yourself. He's caught whispers of a faction of vigilantes working in the shadows, but he could have never imagined mutants. Mutant turtles.

Your mother, of course, takes one look at the state they're in and any concerns she has about who and what they are are swept under the rug. She sees people who need help. People she is in the position to help. So she gets right to it.

The couches usually give ample seating as they wrap around the walls of the living room. Tonight, they make do as beds for the turtles with their firm, but plush cushions and their deep seats. Father covers the cushions with sheets to catch the worst of the blood and grime, but Mother is so caught up in the hustle and bustle of these strangers in need that she doesn’t seem to notice her white carpet is getting stained with it all.

“Grab me the big kit, sweetheart,” she says to you in a rush. “The one under the bed.”

You’re on it. You turn so quickly, you don’t notice the turtle standing behind you until you’re pressed against his armored chest. “Oh, sorry.”

You look up at him and he looks down at you, eyes narrowing. Their crystal blue color is mesmerizing, so much more human than you would have guessed possible given the rest of him - shell, tail, and all. But beyond the remarkable color of his eyes, you see a depth of pain.

“Excuse me,” he says. His voice is rough with exhaustion, and his gaze slowly turns to his injured companions. “I must see to my brothers.”

You nod as you pass and hurry down the hall to your parents’ bedroom. The first aid kit under the sink was one thing, full of adhesive bandages and a small roll of gauze. Some spray for bee stings and antiseptic wipes. The medical bag your mother stores under her bed is a whole other story. She’s used this kit to stitch your father’s finger after he sliced it making her anniversary breakfast in bed. And set your broken arm while you waited for a taxi to bring you to the hospital.

By the time you return to the living room, Mother has the turtles arranged along the couch. The one with the most pressing injuries lies in front of her. She’s removing his orange bandana and wiping his head with a damp towel. Mother gives you a small word of thanks for placing the bag beside her.

“Injuries need to be cleaned. Whomever is able is welcome to use the shower. If not, use bottled water to help flush out deeper wounds.” You could see the pinched expression on her face. None of this is ideal. But she has enough sense to keep these men far from the hospital.

The red-banded turtle shifts in his spot. His mouth twists and his shoulders roll as if anxious to get moving. Instead of asking if he’d like to go first, you tell him straight, “The bathroom is down the hallway. The first door on the right. Come on. I’ll get fresh towels from the closet.”

He looks to Leo and receives permission by way of a hum and a nod.

“Go on, Raph,” Donnie says as he cradles his injured knee. “I’m better off having the doc take a look at this first.”

The couch and Raph both groan as he stands. He follows you to the shower and the look of relief on his face when he finds the wheelchair accessible shower Father had installed for Gran is wide enough for him. The knobs of the shower are self-explanatory and since he doesn’t ask for help, you don’t offer.

You stack a few towels on top of the sink, place extra bars of soap beside them, and leave him to the rest.

Mother meets you in the hallway with her jacket and purse in hand. “I need to run out for more supplies. Your father is keeping Gran busy in her room so she doesn’t ask about the commotion. Those young men will be fine while I’m gone, but I want you to continue helping them clean up. Leonardo is wonderful, but he’s trying to do more than he should in his condition.”

She cups your face with her gentle touch and gives you a soft smile.

“Ma?” you ask, wondering why the tender look in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says.

You smile back at her and let her go.

In the living room, Leo kneels at Michelangelo's side, taking up where your mother had left off. He's silent while Donnie bites back a hiss of pain.

You rush over to help him with his knee. As you watch the wound, no longer soaking the towel with blood, your brows knit together in curiosity. "Are you... healing already?"

"Our healing factor is quite remarkable... compared to humans. By my calculations the tissue damage done to my knee will take only a few days to heal, while the cartilage and bone may repair within the week. Based on my study and understanding of human biology, the same injury in a human would require reconstructive surgery."

You slowly nod as he speaks, in awe of him - his existence, his healing factor, his knowledge, his fearless confidence in his body's resilience.

Behind you, Leo huffs and a pair of tweezers clatters in the metal bowl beside him.

Your gaze darts between Donnie and Leo. Leo’s mouth is set in a hard line, his brow is furrowed with concern. Donnie flexes his leg and wraps clean bandage around his knee. Since it looks like Donnie has things under control, you shift your focus to Mikey and Leo.

You stand behind Leonardo, the sight of his swords sheathed across his back reminds you of his skill and leadership. But as you watch over his shoulder, you see the source of his frustration as he stares down at his hands. Broad, blunt fingers would be ill-fitted for the delicate work of picking shards of glass and metal from his brother’s wounds. Even if his hands weren’t shaking.

You gently clear your throat and pick up the tweezers from the pan. You kneel beside him, trying to ignore the way his gaze lifts to watch you settle down but finding it impossible to ignore the bulk of him at your side.

Your arms brush as you reach toward Mikey and he makes a small move to give you room, but the full mass of him is right there, hovering. He’s warm and solid. His breath on your shoulder comes and goes so steadily you think he must be counting each inhale, pause, and exhale.

Instinct tells you to talk to fill the silence between you. Talking with Donnie was easy. Heck, even getting Raphael into the shower wasn’t too hard.

But Leo is an imposing figure. He’s their leader. He’s all strength and seriousness. He’s in mourning. He looks over his youngest brother and you can see the weight of his failures in the stoop of his shoulders and the drawn down corners of his mouth.

“My mother will be back any minute,” you say as you pull shards of metal wire from Mikey’s palms. “She’ll have you all patched up and ready to go as soon as she can.”

“We’ll be out of here before her return.”

His confession halts your progress and you turn to get a good look at him. “I think you should stay.”

His eyes widen at your insistence, but you know that you’re right. You think Raph may back you up, if he were around, but he seems mighty comfortable spending his night in the shower. Donnie’s eyes are on the ceiling, pretending he has nothing to do with the conversation. So, you continue.

“Mikey, right?” Delicately taking hold of the unconscious turtle's limp hand, you bring Leo’s focus to his youngest brother. “He stays. If you go, fine. But he stays.”

“I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

“Well, neither am I.”

Raphael finally shows up with a towel over his shoulders. “Who’s doin’ what now?” He favors his left arm, but you wonder if that’s due to injury or handedness in general. Even the wounds to his side have started to heal, leaving light, smooth scars in the place where stab wounds and slashes were before.

“Mikey stays here," you say with conviction. "He hasn’t woken up yet and my mother would kill me if you all left in your condition.”

“Well, I’m not going yet,” Donnie replies lightly, “I didn’t get my shower. And Raph probably used up all the hot water, so we gotta wait for the boiler to fill.”

Donnie heads to the bathroom while Raph lies back on the couch. He folds back the sheet so he can lie on the couch. And you let him know there are throw blankets and extra pillows in the basket beneath the end table.

“Thanks. Dunno why you’re anxious to leave, Leo. This is real hospitality.” Raph’s jabs would have landed harder if his eyes didn’t flit to Mikey’s unconscious form while he spoke. Raph grabs a book from your father’s stack of crime thrillers and thumbs through it while he waits for Donnie’s return.

As you fish debris out of Mikey's wounds, Leo paces through the open layout of the apartment. From the kitchen counter to the electric fireplace, he stalks back and forth. Raphael grunts when his brother blocks the lamp light, but he stopped turning pages ten minutes ago.

Your work on Michelangelo is almost done. His wounds are clear and clean, free to heal without trapping debris under the skin. You can feel Leo’s eyes on you as you spread antibiotic lotions over his cuts and check under the rest of his bandages to see the healing progress of the rest of his wounds. It’s incredible how fast their bodies repair themselves. It makes the fact that Mikey hasn’t woken up yet even more unsettling.

Donatello returns and crashes on the couch next to Raph who’s trying desperately to look like he’s not ready to fall asleep. “Though we heal quickly," Donnie explains, "the process takes a lot out of us. To heal most efficiently, Mikey’s energy is being diverted to his deeper wounds, keeping him unconscious. Raph, on the other hand, is embarrassed by how bad he snores.”

“Hey.” Raphael smacks his brother's chest and Donatello crosses his arms, laughing to himself.

“I don’ care if ya hear me snore. I just don’ wanna fall asleep and then get woken up by our fearless leader over here, who’s gonna make me carry our little brother back home.”

A quiet voice speaks up from the kitchen. Leo sounds tired and beaten, “We’re staying here for the night. I won’t move Mikey in his condition.”

It’s as if the room itself breathes a sigh of relief.

Donnie and Raph quietly raid the basket for pillows and blankets, making themselves comfortable enough to sleep on the couch. They're making themselves at home, you think, and that settles some of the anxiety you’d been feeling at not having more room for them to rest. But Donnie and Leo are only half of the story. You tuck Mikey, giving him a whisper of hope and a caress on his cheek, then you join Leo in the kitchen.

Leo stands, hands braced against the counter top, as you approach.

“You’re doing the right thing.” You say, trying not to startle at the way his head snaps up at you. Trying not to shrink away from the raw emotion in his eyes.

It’s not your place to judge what’s best for his family, but you can’t help but follow the feeling in your gut. And that’s telling you that the brothers came into your life for a purpose. You try to reason with him. “My mother can monitor Mikey and check that everyone’s injuries are healing properly when she returns. And again in the morning.”

He turns his face away from you with a huff and grumbles through his teeth. “We’re not accepting charity.”

You take a step back, confused. They had just fought off an army shouting plans to take over the world. If anything, you were looking for ways to pay them back for their protection, for their sacrifice. “You needed help. We’re doing the best we can.”

Leo doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, his tone doesn’t have the same edge of frustration. “We shouldn’t have come here.”

Careful not to encroach on his space, you approach the table that stands between you. “Well you’re here now. And your brothers are healing. Why don’t you let me take a look at your shoulder?”

He looks at you once again and his icy resolve has been replaced by surprise. As if he thought no one had noticed the way he’s been stooping and favoring his right arm. You’d catalogued his injuries when standing over him as he kneeled tending to Mikey. The lacerations to his shoulder had looked thin but deep and the burns on his shell spanned most of the upper rim.

You pull out a chair. “Sit.” Your word is gentle but firm. There’s no room for argument.

He sits.

You take a deep breath as you assess the damage done to his trapezoid. It’s nasty stuff, clean lines but if he doesn’t take it easy and let himself heal, then the cut is going to separate. Your mother may be able to save him from a thick scar if you can convince him to let her stitch it up. For now, you’ll make do as you can with butterfly bandages and gauze.

Your work on him is delicate. He doesn’t say much, but neither do you. You pay close attention to his reactions as you move from his shoulder to his shell. Every hitch of his breath pierces your heart.

Though he tries to remain silent, it’s clear by his gasps and the way he holds his breath that the burns have made his shell and the skin behind his neck far more tender than his shoulder. After a few minutes, he’s no longer hiding his pain.

You console him with a smooth drag of your hand over his arm. His thick muscles twitch under your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t make any sound for you to stop.

“I think I got all of the gravel,” you say, giving his bicep and encouraging squeeze. “I’m going to apply some burn ointment. It stings before it soothes. Are you ready?”

Leo sits straighter and gives a short nod.

You squeeze the ointment onto the wound and spread it with your fingertips.

Leo grips his knees and pulls in a sharp breath between his teeth. His breaths come in quick, harsh puffs. You pet a wide patch of uninjured shell to ease him through the worst of the pain.

“Think I prefer Father’s poultice to this,” Leo says through clenched jaw. “Makes me want to gag but it doesn’t pack such a punch.”

“You have a father?” You feel like it’s a stupid question the second it comes out of your mouth. They’re brothers, they are a family, it makes sense that they’d have parents.

Leo looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes still wet from the pain of his shoulder. “Our sensei. He took us in when we were first mutated. He’s looked after us all these years. Taught us the way of the ninja.”

“Master Splinter,” you recall from the story he told your parents.

“He’s like a father to us,” Leo explains. “He’d never let us accept help from humans. We were never supposed to be seen.”

“So, now what?” You’re not afraid of Leo, but the way he speaks about his father with reverence and deference, has you worried for your family about what it means to be the only humans who have encountered these mutant vigilantes.

Leo places his hand on yours. “We’ll protect you.”

“From your father?”

“No. No, he’d never want any harm to come to you. Especially not after all that you’ve done for us. But you’ve placed yourself at great risk with the Krang. And the Krang isn’t the only danger out there.”

You look down at your joined hands. Leo’s thumb brushes your inner wrist as he speaks. You wonder if he realizes the movement at all.

“We’ll protect you,” he says again. He seems to notice his hand is still on yours and drops it quickly. He turns so you can no longer see his face. “As payment for your kindness and medical care. We are in your debt.”

Your stomach twists at the loss of his touch. You stare at the back of his head for a moment before turning to the table to pack away Mother’s supplies. “Thanks,” you say shortly, zipping up the bag. “Looks like the shower is free. And your brothers left you plenty of space on the floor to sleep.”

“I won’t sleep. Someone needs to keep watch.”

You nudge the burn ointment over the tabletop. “For after your shower,” you say. And, with your stomach still in knots, you bring the medical equipment back to the living room.

#tmnt x reader #gender neutral reader #leonardo x reader #leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #my writing #guarded hearts and safe houses fic

36 notes · View notes

aroworlds · 10 months

Text

[image description: three banners comprising five heart shapes made of five rows of crosses, akin to cross stitch. Each row is four crosses high. A single cross fills the space between the hearts, separating each from the next, while a row of crosses high extends across the banner above and below the hearts. The banners are coloured, respectively, to match three different pride flags: alterous (yellow/grey/pink/red), aplatonic (purple/blue/lime green/cream) and queerplatonic (yellow/pink/yellow/grey/black). Each banner is shown in two versions: one with a gradient background in matching flag colours, the other with a transparent background.]

Cross Stitch Heart Banners

Flags: Alterous, Aplatonic, Queerplatonic.

All banners/stickers are available for free personal or non-commercial use with credit to one of my accounts. They are not available for commercial use.

For flag creator posts, please see @aroflagarchive.

35 notes · View notes

litwitlady · 4 years

Text

What We Carry With Us

CW: Alex experiences a combat flashback in this fic. There’s mild depictions of blood and violence. Please read responsibly.

The snowstorm hits earlier than forecasted. Alex hadn’t expected to be locked away in Michael’s bunker while the snow accumulated up above. Hadn’t expected three feet of snow to fall so quickly with at least three more on the way. Hadn’t expected to be snowed in with no one but Michael Guerin for the foreseeable future.

Michael manages to shovel a path from the bunker to his airstream with his telekinesis. They hole up in the trailer for warmth, the generator prepared for a few lingering cold days. Alex doesn’t know what he and Michael are at the moment. Only knows they’ve been spending a lot of time together. Meals at the Crashdown, long discussions about Caulfield and family legacy down in the bunker, drinks at the Pony. Maybe it’s just friendship. Maybe it’s more. Maybe it’s both.

The point is – he doesn’t know. And there’s danger in not knowing.

Michael throws himself on his bed, kicking off his boots and propping himself up on his pillows. Arm thrown lazily behind his head. Alex watches out of the corner of his eye, still taken all these years later at the long, lean form he paints against crisp, clean sheets. It’s one of the main reasons his sheets never stay crisp or clean for very long.

Alex doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s standing awkwardly, shoulder sloping into Michael’s makeshift closet. The door nothing but prettied up plywood that scarcely holds his weight. He tries to act natural, but his brain keeps attacking him with explicit images of the last night he spent here. How he’d climbed behind Michael and fucked him so hard the thin bedframe started to splinter. And then waking up the next morning to Isobel and those goddamn bagels.

There’s a clock somewhere ticking, echoing loudly in the narrow trailer. Alex feels his eye start to twitch. Tries to think of something to say – anything to break this uncomfortable silence. He dares a glance at Michael. His eyes are closed, his breathing has deepened. Alex wonders at his ability to fall asleep in a moment this rife with tension. But then Michael’s hand pats the bed next to him. ‘You can sit down, Alex. I’m not going to bite unless you ask me to.’ He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, but his lips quirk up. Doesn’t need to see Alex to know the effect he has on him – will always have on him.

It's a risk. Getting that close. But then Michael looks at him, eyes filled with a naked need, and Alex is moving as quickly as he can to close the distance between them. Falling on the flat mattress at Michael’s feet. He hates himself just a little. For all the ways he never says ‘no’. For all the ways he always says ‘no’. And how quickly he manages the contradiction.

But he’s trying to change that.

Michael pushes himself up a little higher on his pillows. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ Lines are suddenly furrowed across his forehead. They put Alex on edge immediately.

‘Okay.’ Alex sounds hesitant, worried. And he is those things, but he’s also curious. He watches Michael bite at his bottom lip, running the question back and forth in his mind. Working out the kinks and formulating the perfect calculus.

‘You’re going to think this is weird. And it probably is. So, feel free to tell me to fuck off.’ He’s fiddling with the bottom button on his shirt, pushing and pulling through the wrong buttonhole. Alex can’t help but fixate on the small patches of skin he keeps exposing. He knows every inch of Michael’s body, can feel that precise stretch of skin yawn beneath his fingertips, and yet he’s still such a marvel.

Alex settles back against the headboard that doubles as a kitchen wall. ‘Whatever I’m imaging in my head right now is probably way worse.’ He shrugs and picks at his cuticles. Heartrate slightly elevated. He notices how close their knees are, wonders what would happen if his leg crossed that invisible barrier to rub against Michael’s. Would there be any room left in the airstream for questions? For any words at all?

The yellowed newspaper normally taped to the window has come loose and is flapping softly against the glass. Michael reaches up to flatten the corner back into place, but the act is futile. ‘What was it like over there? In the Middle East?’

Immediately, a distant desert landscape unfolds in Alex’s mind. He’s back in Iraq, at that tiny village market. A bright Friday morning. Sun so low he can feel his skin burn. The hustle and bustle of people kicking up the dirt and dust, his eyes watering. In the muddy road, there’s a boy kicking a soccer ball. A little girl cries in her mother’s arms. Several dogs sniff the food stalls. A group of men are having tea outside a small bakery. And then the world is upside down. The earth shakes with so much screaming. The spray of someone’s blood soaking through his fatigues. A sudden, searing heat and his skin on fire.

He comes to with Michael violently shaking him. Shouting his name in frantic whispers. But Alex can’t hear him. There are tears falling down his face, dotting his t-shirt with little minuscule constellations. His hands are shaking and his breathing ragged. Michael’s hands have moved from his shoulders into his hair, pulling their foreheads together. Alex concentrates on the jagged edges of Michael’s half-chewed fingernails scraping across the sensitive skin of his scalp. Syncs his breathing to that soothing back and forth scratch.

When sound returns, Michael is saying sorry on repeat. Alex takes several deep breaths and puts his hands on Michael’s chest, pushing gently. Wanting to calm him but also needing space. Alex reaches up and rips the flapping newspaper from the window, flattening his palm across the freezing glass. The cold grounding him in time and place. He continues to breath for several more minutes. Michael has gone silent.

Alex’s heartrate slowly returns to normal and he grabs Michael’s hand. ‘I’m okay. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. Just got caught off-guard. That hasn’t happened in months.’

‘No, Alex, I shouldn’t have asked. And with no warning. I’m so, so sorry.’ Michael’s hands reach out for Alex but stop short. The rules have changed, and he doesn’t want to make another mistake. Doesn’t want to end up hurting Alex more than he already has. He balls his hands into fists and drops them at his side. ‘Do you need anything? Some water?’

‘Water would be good.’ His throat is dry, and he knows Michael needs something to do. While Michael digs through his mini-fridge, Alex hugs his good knee to his chest and stares down at the indent in his jeans where his prosthesis ends. He tries to curl the toes on his right foot, but, of course, nothing happens. He hates how much his chest still aches at the disappointment. He’s never told anyone about that day. Decides to change that as Michael returns with bottled water.

‘Thanks.’ He uncaps the water and gulps down half the bottle in one go. He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and tugs Michael back down onto the bed. They sit facing each other, legs touching at every point possible – Alex no longer needing or wanting the extra space. Just the opposite, actually. He places the water down behind his head and grabs for Michael’s hands. ‘I’m glad you asked – despite what just happened. I feel like if I was allowed to talk about it more, I might be able to heal better. But no one ever wants the truth about my service, about my leg. Everyone just wants a hero to martyr on main street. A celebration and a parade. A purple heart for the front-page picture. And in all that, I get lost.’

Michael pushes a stray lock of Alex’s hair behind his ear. ‘You’re never lost to me. I always see you. Maybe sometimes I just don’t know how to ask. I guess that’s pretty obvious by now.’

Alex smiles at him and puts his hands on Michael’s knees, using them to center his focus for what he’s about to say. ‘You know, war is often boring. You sit in makeshift buildings in crumbling old air bases or bake beneath the desert sun in stitched together tent cities. You talk about home and play cards. Go on routine missions that result in fucking nothing. Wake up, repeat. Wake up, repeat. And so much of that was not bad. So much of that was forging an odd sense of family. Which felt good.’

Outside the snow has briefly turned to ice. The wind has picked up and the trailer sways. The temperature has dropped despite the generator’s best work. Michael grabs a blanket from beneath them and spreads it across their laps. Searches underneath for Alex’s hands on his knees. Waits for him to continue.

Alex inhales deeply, squeezes Michael’s knees and keeps going. ‘There are maybe a handful of days when anything big happens on purpose. Missions you understand are likely to go south sooner rather than later. Moments when you stare at a living, breathing person. Finger on a trigger. And every time you squeeze that trigger, so much time spent trying to convince yourself you’ve saved American lives. But you haven’t. All you’ve done is commit murder. And all you are is a murderer.’

He feels Michael flinch at that word – ‘murderer’. But it’s the truth Alex has to live with for the rest of his life. And now, so does Michael. Michael, the not so secret alien. Alex, the not so secret murderer. One of those things decidedly worse than the other.

‘You’re not –,’

Michael tries, but Alex will not let him. ‘I am. And no one – especially not you – gets to pretend otherwise.’ Alex is staring him down. Eyes wide and as serious as he’s ever been. Holding his breath waiting for Michael’s acceptance. Otherwise, the conversation is over. And perhaps so much more.

There’s a showdown happening between them. He can feel Michael’s resistance. Is surprised when Michael slides impossibly closer, practically climbing into his lap. Large, familiar hands on his cheeks – his head held steady, golden-hazel eyes boring into his own. ‘You’ve killed people, Alex. I get that. I do. And I hate the fucking military, so I know there was no noble reason for what you did. That American patriotism is a scourge upon this planet. It preys upon the most vulnerable among us. Scared kids with nowhere else to go. I have understood that since the day you left for basic. Better than you, even. I have never and will never see you as a murderer. I have never and will never love you any less.’

They are both right and they are both wrong. And for the first time, that’s okay.

Michael places his hand on Alex’s right leg. At the exact spot where what remains of his leg gives way to his prosthesis. ‘You don’t have to tell me now. But I’d like to know what happened when you’re ready.’

Alex rubs the sore muscles in his thigh. ‘Suicide bomber. Well, three suicide bombers. We weren’t on mission. Just visiting a village market on a quiet Friday morning.’

Michael shoves Alex’s hands aside, replacing them with his own. Massaging the knots out with his talented fingers.

He sighs and continues. ‘I don’t remember much other than the putrid smell of burning flesh. May not have even been my own. Everything erupted into chaos. My ankle had been severed by a burning piece of twisted metal. They had to field amputate my foot. I woke up in Germany with a bad infection. More surgery, less leg. But I was lucky. We were a squadron of ten and then we were three.’

Neither says anything for a long time. What is there to say anyway?

Alex yawns. Michael can see the exhaustion settling in around his eyes. ‘You should sleep. It’s getting late.’ The sun long since disappeared beyond the horizon. ‘Take the bed. I’ll crash in my chair.’

But Alex won’t let him leave. ‘Help me with the prosthetic.’ Together they remove Alex’s pants and free his leg. Michael strips down to just his boxer briefs. Alex follows suit. They curl together underneath the wool blanket. Michael tucking Alex into the crook of his shoulder. Alex’s arm tossed across Michael’s stomach, fingers stroking at the soft skin along his ribcage.

‘Thank you for telling me.’ Michael whispers the words into Alex’s hair, following them with a kiss. Alex stretches his neck up and Michael bends down to kiss him on the mouth. Slow and easy.

There’s a clock somewhere ticking, rhythmic and lulling. And as the snow piles up outside, they fall into the best sleep of their lives.

#malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #i've wrestled with this for days #pretty sure i'll never be satisfied #content warnings above #angst and very serious topics

97 notes · View notes

constilationn · 4 years

Text

Fire and Rain || Part 8

A/N: sorry about the delay guys!! I've lost my inspiration recently but we’re back with a vengeance!

Rating: T??

Warning: bad words, sexual innuendos and a lil bit of dominant Poe

Summary: Poe takes you out for a lesson in his ship and it’s safe to say, you’re a natural

Part 7 🔥

You woke a few hours later, head pounding lightly as you forced your aching body up and sank against the pillows resting against the headboard of the bed. The low buzz of activity lay just behind the door in front of you but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to try and stand up, not when there were waves of nausea washing over you as you looked down to the plain white shirt and pants you’d been caged into. Gently, you lifted the hem of your shirt, examining the cut on your abdomen. Six hasty stitches ran from your hipbone up to the outline of your ribs and, judging by the depth and sizeof the gash, you wondered how you’d survived so long.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” You looked up to Poe who leant against the doorframe, arms crossed and his eyebrow slightly raised as he watched you lower your shirt. “Personally, I’m not sure how you lasted so long.”

You smiled, wincing a little as you moved. You hadn’t noticed the pain before, or the ache in your bones eveytime you moved. “I couldn’t go passing out and leaving you to fend for yourself, now could I?”

He shook his head, closing the door with a soft click and moving to sit next to you. You moved over so he could slide easily next to you, slipping his arm around your shoulders as you rested your head against him. “I’m sorry.” He murmured.

“What?” You frowned, looking up at him. “Why?”

“I should’ve taken more care of you. i didn’t even check your cut until we got back here.”

“You had other things to worry about,” you answered, taking his hand in yours. “Like getting us home?”

“I know but—“

“Poe.” You raised a finger to his lips, feeling his grin agasint your fingertip. “You took excellent care of me.” You shivered as he kissed your finger. “And I’m all better now.” It was true, there was a dull ache around your cut but nothing you could handle and, honestly, Poe made you forget all about it. “I’m all better now,” you whispered, “you patched me up out there in the stupid desert. I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.” He laughed, “My first-aid is shit.”

“Oh? Thats why I’m sitting here, healthy and alive then?” You nudged him gently and he laughed.

“I think that’s more on you.” his fingers grazed across the exposed skin of your arm and you leaned into his touch. “You’re strong, you know. You’re a fighter.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, pushing against his side gently. Poe chuckled, pulling you back into him with soft ferocity, keeping you close to his side. You loved the way his skin felt again yours, how safe you felt in his arms. Fuck, you couldn’t figure this man out.

“I’m serious. You should come out on missions more.” You met his eyes, surprised to find no trace of a joke in his eyes. “I could teach you.”

“Teach me what?”

“Teach you how to fly.”

You gaped at him, “you mean fly a ship? Like an actual ship?”

Poe laughed, “Yeah , sweetheart, that’s usually what we fly.”

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

You looked down to your hands, down to your wound, straight down to your fee that had only stepped off of the base three times in the years that you’d been there. Just thinking about made your heart speed up, exploring the galaxy, having an unparalleled freedom that you’d never experience. And having Poe by your side through it all. You gave a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Poe’s grin could’ve lit up a thousand different cities.

“Yeah,” you smiled, pulling away from Poe and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold on your bare feet and you shuddered, the thin white shorts and shirt doing little to give you any warmth. Tentativley, you put your weight on one foot, then the other and took you hands off the bed until you were standing up, ignoring the pain that bloomed across your stomach. “Okay, lets go.”

Poe slid an arm around your waist, both of you prentending that you didn’t need him to help you stand. “You sure, sweetheart?”

“Of course.” You shivered again and Poe waisted no time in draping his jacket around your shoulders. “I’m keeping this.” You grinned, slipping your arms in and wrapping it tightly around you.

“Sweetheart, it looks a thousand times better on you.”

You gave him an almost sarcastic grin trying to draw attention away from the blush rising steadily to your cheeks. “Aw, bless.”

🔥

“Try again.” Poe clutched the bottom of his seat, knuckels white as you gripped the joystick, narrowing your eyes at the empty landing stip in front of you. “Please be careful.” He added, giving you a cheeky smirk and trying to hide his panic.

“Listen,” you forced the joystick towards you, ignoring Poe’s wince as you slowly destroyed his ship. “I’ve got this. It’s like riding a bike.”

“It’s really not.”

You punched the button on the panel for what seemed like the millionth time, pushing your foot slowly down onto the acceleration and holding down the lever on your right until the last possible second. “Okay,” you muttered, “lets go.” You let go of the lever, pushed the acceleration all the way to the floor and the ship shot from the Hangar and across the landing strip until you pulled the joystick up and you were in the sky, cheering as you finally, finally, mastered Poe’s ship and, as gently as you could, landed back outside the Hanagr.

“You fucking beauty, baby!” Poe finally let go of his seat as the engine silenced beneath you, pulling you onto his lap as you kissed him, smiling against his lip. “You did it.” He murmured, kissing over your nose and cheeks.

“We did it.” You corrected, grinning broadly as he kissed you again. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve got there eventually.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Dameron.” You laughed, “C’mon, I almost destroyed your ship at least three times.”

Poe winced, running a hand along the panel, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

“It’s not like you can fix it.” You swatted his arm playfully as he shook his head, pressing kisses to your jaw and neck. “Maybe I can be the pilot and you can be the technician.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Bit late for that.” You giggled, slipping out of this lap and swinging your legs over the ladder to climb down.

Poe gaped at your retreating figure. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You waited for him to join you back on the Hangar floor, pulling his jacket tighter around you to combat the draft from the Hangar door. You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “I’ve already taken your cock, remember?”

You barely heard the low growl from Poe as you leant back, crossing your arms as he bit his lip in frustration. “Baby,” he warned, eyes darkening every so slightly as you grinned smugly, “don’t go starting something you can’t finish.”

You ran a teasing hand along his arm, watching as he shivered and fucking revelling in the look that he gave you. “And what if I want to?’

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He growled, ctahcing your hand and pulling you tight agasint his side.

“I’m a dangerous girl.” You murmured, tracing his waistband with your fingertip. His eyelids fluttered closed for a fraction of a second as he tried desperately to collect himself. “Shame I can’t show you.” You pulled away, giving him a sweet smile.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He murmured as you took a step away from him, watching Poe’s chest rise and fall unevenly.

“Do you remember on the ship,” you titled your head as he ran his tongue along his teeth and laughed in frustration, “that whole thing? Yeah. You brought this on yourself I’m afraid.”

“Sweetheart,” he shook his head with an infuriated smirk, “you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“Oh I think I do.” You gave the tip of his nose a final, teasing kiss and sauntered away, not bothering to hide the grin on your lips.

#star wars #Star Wars Fic #star wars imagine #poe dameron #poe smut #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fic #The Force Awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #Fic #fanfic #series #fire and rain

66 notes · View notes

sirmattchap · 3 years

Text

The Dawning

“You h-have no idea how-w-w lucky you are, to not feel cold…” Tank bitterly spoke between chattering teeth. His blood was frozen, and his bone gripped by the icy tendrils of the encroaching blizzard. His decrepit armour provided no protection against the elements. The fireplace he crouched in front of weakly flickered with life, the ramshackle cottage he sat in was home to a constant battle between the fragile heat, and the oppressive cold from outside. An electronic snicker came from across the room from a dusty table. Atlas sat with crossed legs, scrolling through documents on his datapad, paying no mind to the chilly air blowing through the broken window next to him.

“And you have no idea how lucky you are, not having to defragment every month.” He brushed some snow that drifted in off of his robes. “Do you ever miss it while we’re on operations?” Atlas asked, not even looking up from his work.

“It?” Tank looked at him and moved his hands closer to the flame. “You mean The Dawning?” Tank shrugged and looked back, the small blaze reflecting off his sapphire eyes. “I guess… Not much is different, maybe some new snacks at the stores. I guess this year, there’s just more to think about you know?”

“Agreed. Too many changes for my liking. I prefer things to be boring and simple.” he reponded

Tank reached into a pouch on his side and pulled out a small ring and rubbed it gently in his palm. “I think I miss the people the most… it’s so isolated out here.”

Atlas looked up from his datapad and tilted his head. “What, are we not good enough company?” He snarked.

Tank laughed and admired the ring. “No offence but being around you guys kinda got stale after the first hundred years” He shot back with a sly grin.

“HURTFUL!” Hayes shouted, kicking in the door to the cottage, with him came a burst of snow and blisteringly cold winds, instantly snuffing out the fire. Tank’s head snapped to Hayes. A new inferno roared inside his eyes as he stared into Hayes’ very soul. Atlas almost burst out laughing seeing the fire go out. Hayes ignored it, willfully or accidentally, neither was sure; he just rested his rifle next to the door and walked to the fireplace

Tank clenched his jaw and hissed. “I will make sure your Ghost never finds your remains…” Hayes smiled and stopped next to him, tousling Tank’s short grey hair, which only heightened his rage. Tank fists clenched, surges of arc energy sparked off them.

“Calm down old man, no need to break your hip.” Hayes pulled out a flaming hand cannon from behind his back and held it beside Tank’s head, shooting into the fireplace. A blast of heat filled the cottage, burning a patch of hair off of Tank’s head. “There, happy?”

“Ahhh! Bastard!” Tank patted a small patch of cindering hair. “Why am I not even surprised at this point!?” Hayes shrugged and sat down across from Atlas, leaning back on the chair and propping his legs up on the table. Tank’s Ghost took shape next to his Guardian, healing the man before disappearing again. Tank immediately stood up, gliding his hand across the fresh area of hair, all while glaring at the blasé Hunter, idly smiling widely with his eyes closed.

“No need t’ thank me!”

Atlas looked away from his document, resting his head on his hand, watching the two intently. “Frankly, I’m amazed it only took a hundred years for this to get old.”

Hayes let out a small laugh, “C’mon, y’know you both love me, without me, it’d just be you two and no offence, but that’d be soooo boring.” He cracked open his eyes and stared down Atlas. “Well, more boring than usual.”

Tank sighed, “How’s it look?”

“Well Jim, it looks like it’s gonna be another sunny scorcher out here, make sure to pack your sunscreen.” Hayes sassed, relishing the stern unimpressed look on Tank’s face. Atlas never gave him disapproving looks, that’s the worst part about trying to annoy Exos as he’d say. “Well, if you must know, it’s the same as yesterday and the day before and so on. The remnant of these Devil’s are still keeping their head down and battling out the Winter. I can’t possibly imagine what that’s like.” He rolled his eyes.

Tank rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a seat between the two. “And the Tower?” Tank looked to Atlas, expecting a much better result.

“No new orders, but a bunch of new news. Rumours say The Guardian has found a way to use the Darkness? That can’t be right… can it?”

“Mercury and Mars are just... gone. At this point anything is possible,” Hayes noted.

“Anything else?”

“Hmm… Dawning wishes from Eva, Tess gives us gift cards for one free Bright Engram when we arrive at the Tower. Lynnette wishes you a happy Dawning too.” Atlas gestures to Tank, before continuing “a bunch of messages from the usual suspects asking for Hayes to come back and open the bar-”

“Ughhh I’m missing out on so much business…” He groans while dragging his hands down his face. “Especially with the Darkness being here? People need to drink away their fears.”

Tank shook his head, keeping quiet to let Atlas pick up where he left off. “Weird structures have been appearing on the Moon, in the Dreaming City and the Tangled Shore, and Osiris… Oh no…”

“What?” Tank and Hayes leaned forward, both of them trying to hide a string of fear that rang in their hearts.

“...Osiris lost his Ghost… He is safe in the Tower, but he is reclusive and quiet since he lost Sagira...” Tank and Hayes moved back shocked. A quiet note hung in the air, as the wind outside picked up and snow fell like hail. Atlas turned off his datapad and spoke hushedly. “How long did he spend in the Infinite Forest? Several decades? Spending so much time alone with the same Ghost, never saying a word to anyone else, isolated like that. Can you imagine that?”

Tank looked to Hayes, who gave him a knowing smile. “Yeah, I think I could.” Hayes chirped.

Atlas glared at Hayes, “Yeah, but you have not lost Chaplin, Tank has not lost Omar, and I have not lost Cassini. To lose them would be losing a part of your soul.”

A ghostly silence fell among them, stopping the conversation in its tracks. They all hated the silence, but no one could muster the ability to speak first. Their thoughts all consumed by the idea that the apocalypse is coming, and they could be next. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes dragged on for hours. Or at least it felt like they did. Then, Omar appeared next to Tank, speaking softly. “I think now would be a good time buddy, save the mood and all that.”

Tank nodded “I think that’s a good idea.” Omar turned to the Warlock and Hunter, and spun his shell, materializing two engram shaped gifts, wrapped crudely with paper depicting cartoon Ghosts, engrams, and glimmer. “I know we agreed on no gifts seeing as we were going into the field, but I thought these could break up the monotony if we were out here too long. Go ahead, open them!” Tank looked uncharacteristically happy, looking almost unnatural for having, as Hayes would say, ‘resting bitch face’.

Atlas began by delicately unwrapping the present, taking care not to damage the paper, revealing a cardboard engram underneath to hold the shape. Atlas tried carefully to open it but ended up tearing the thing in half. Onto the table fell a pristine new set of robes. He admired the craftsmanship that went into the stitching, making it seamless to all but the most attentive onlookers. Fine gold lines of threads snaked around the outfit creating beautiful patterns. The few metal parts that there are, were painted with Dawning imagery. Atlas looked to Tank confused. “This is from this year’s Guardian clothing line for the Dawning, is it not? But- how did you get it? We’ve been out here for three months.”

Tank smirked, proud of himself. “I just so happen to have been chosen last year as the model that the male Dawning Titan armour is based on; can’t exactly make a set of armour without measurements. So I called in a small favour with Tess to get an advanced copy of this year's set. I think it’ll look good on you.”

Hayes snarked “Ooo more options for dress-up time? I’m sure you’re happy about that ey’ Toaster?” he mocked. Atlas looked to him, but Hayes’ couldn’t get the angry look he was hoping for. “I ever mention how creepy it is that you tin-cans don’t really have facial expressions?”

“Dozens of times…” Atlas agonized.

“Good, it’s true.”

“Thank you Tank, I love it.” Atlas gratefully accepted the gift, clutching it close to his chest.

“Alright, sentimental time over, my turn!” Hayes eagerly tore apart the wrapping paper with little regard, shredding the cardboard in the process. He stopped dead in his tracks though when he saw what his gift was. He pulled out a square crystal bottle with a large crystal stopper at the neck of the bottle. Amber liquid swirled inside as he moved it around, examining it. His hands shook a little when setting it down on the table. He carefully removed the stopper and took a sniff before capping it. “You…”

“Found a bottle of centuries-old aged whiskey. I remember you talking about how older drinks always taste the best, so I kept my eyes open anytime we left the Tower. Remember that old Bunker we found on Mars? There was a bottle tucked away in a safe, who knows how old that stuff is, but I think it’s gotta taste pretty good.” Tank's pride was oppressive, smiling wide in the enjoyment on their faces. Well. Hayes’ face.

“Wow, that’s… Thank you.” Hayes’ words oozed with sincerity. He looked around, causing his Ghost to appear. Hayes held up three fingers, then knocked on the table. His Ghost nodded and produced three small glasses on the table in front of him. “What’s a gift if you can’t share it right?” Atlas nodded, turned on his datapad, and set up a small festive song to play in their merriment. Hayes poured a small amount into each glass, making sure not to give too much, then slid them across the table to each one of them. He raised his glass and looked at both of them. “To our survival!” Hayes cheered.

Atlas tilted his head and grabbed his glass. “To our friendship!” he continued.

Tank smirked and raised his own. “To another year!” He cheered.

Their glasses clinked as they toasted, and drank the liquor. Tank and Atlas immediately spat it out in disgust, as Hayes pleasantly finished his without a care in the world. Once he finished, the three of them burst out laughing, both sides complaining and defending the drink. A blizzard raged outside, but inside burned with unbridled jubilation.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny the dawning #the dawning #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny trio #atlas-7 #Hayes #Tank #fanfic #destiny fanfic #short story #destiny guardians #guardians

22 notes · View notes

margoshansons · 4 years

Text

Desperate Measures 15/?

MASTERLIST: (don’t ask about part ten)

Summary: Raven undergoes a terrible operation to save herself, and Finn recruits delinquents for a mission. Y/N is one of them.

warnings: surgical procedures, swearing, canon-typical stuff

notes: I’m finally back with a chapter and hopefully I’ll be able to update regularly again. Tbh, I feel like no one cares about this story anymore, so seeing it receive some new love has made my heart very very happy. Based on 2x02 “inclement weather”

***

Bellamy paced his cell, the wire digging into his wrists as he waited for another interrogation. Byrne, Sgt. Miller. It was only a matter of time before Kane decided to show up. It was only a matter of time before he had to face the man who had helped float his mother.

Today was that day apparently.

The door slid open. He had seemed taller on the Ark, more intimidating.

Down here he was just another adult who was playing with things they didn’t understand. Another adult who refused to believe them.

“How long are you gonna keep me locked up in here?” Bellamy sighed, his shoulders slumping.

Kane crossed his arms, “As long as it takes until I’m sure you’re not a threat to others.”

He resisted the urge to scoff. The only threat they faced was the grounders.

“Those are my people out there” Bellamy growled, his irritation starting to get the better of him, “I should be out there looking for them, not--”

“You shouldn’t be doing anything” Kane cut him off, tone stern, “Your time of being a leader is over.”

Bellamy clenched his jaw. His time of being a leader will never be over. As long as his people survived, he would do whatever it took to keep them that way.

The sound of metal dragging on metal caught him off guard, Kane sitting down on a lone crate, gesturing to another one he had brought over. Bellamy knew the drill.

Here came the interrogation.

“I need you to tell me everything you know about the grounders” Kane paused, inhaling, “and my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Bellamy asked, arching an eyebrow.

Kane creased his, “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Bellamy decided to play his game. “I know Y/N Franco survived a bullet wound to the leg and was one of the hundred who managed to make it back home. The rest of my friends are out there, probably dying and you’re sitting here acting like the real threat isn’t out there torturing our people!”

“That’s enough!” Kane barked, teeth grit in brewing anger, “If you aren’t going to help me, then I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”

As the new Chancellor stood up to walk away, Bellamy chuckled mirthlessly, remembering what Maria had said so many times before.

“She was right” Bellamy called out, “You’re not her father.”

He watched as the Chancellor buried his emotions in a fist, slowly turning around with an ease he had only seen Y/N wear before.

The two men eyed each other, never losing eye contact as Kane sat back down, hunching over to lean in closer to Bellamy. The interrogation continued.

***

Her leg throbbed, but she could walk. The bullet had been safely removed, and she was thankful Murphy was a lousy shot.

She was thankful Murphy had only hit the muscle.

Raven wasn’t as lucky.

Y/N stood beside Finn, watching anxiously as Abby discussed what needed to be done to save Raven.

“The bullet is still shifting” The doctor informed the mechanic, “I was hoping it would stabilize by now.”

“So take it out” She and Raven spoke at the same time.

Abby and Jackson shared a nervous look, unable to hide anything from anyone down here. No one was.

“Raven” Abby’s tone turned gentle. “The bullet is pressing against your spine, if we leave it in you’ll live but...you’ll never walk again.”

Y/N swallowed at the news. On the ark, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Zero G solved that. Down here? With grounders abundant and new threats popping up everywhere? Where they needed their legs to run? Raven needed to walk. Raven needed that surgery.

“Take it out” Raven pleaded, showing no sign of backing down from her decision. “In zero g I didn’t need my legs. Down here I do.”

Abby sighed before nodding slightly to Jackson. She felt Raven’s calloused hand snake itself into her own, eyes pleading with her.

“Will you stay?” The weakened girl asked, “please?” Y/N nodded, leaning down, her leg still hurting but she ignored it. Raven was going through much worse. She could deal with a little leg pain if it helped Raven.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She replied, brushing a hand over her friend’s hair. A weight knelt down beside her and she caught Finn staring intently at his ex, grasping her and Y/N’s hand in his own. “Neither am I” He spoke softly, his gaze never leaving Raven’s.

“We’re almost ready” Abby called, turning Raven on her stomach before lifting up the mechanic’s grey tank top, marking the infected area with a black marker. Y/N felt her breathing shift. Raven’s grip grew tighter around her and Finn’s hands, a silent plea.

The scalpel made its way to the marked area, ready to cut into her--

“Stop!” Raven cried, a tear streaking down her ashen face, fear flickering through her eyes. “I’m so scared” Her voice broke and Y/N broke along with it.

This was her best friend.

More than that. They were sisters. They grew up together. They were meant to change the world together. And now the strongest person she knew was breaking down before her eyes.

“Hey” Y/N whispered, drawing Raven’s attention away from the surgery, “Look at me and Finn.”

Understanding swirled in her dark brown eyes.

She squeezed their hands together.

She was ready.

Finn switched his gaze to Abby.

Y/N’s never left Raven’s.

“She’s ready” Finn announced.

The screams were deafening.

*** Bellamy’s blood became ice as screams rang through the small compound. What if it was Y/N? She had been scheduled for surgery. What if the screams were hers? What if she was suffering and there was nothing he could do about it?

“It’s not Sparky, if that’s what you’re worried about” Murphy deadpanned from across the room. Irritation flashed hotly through Bellamy’s body, the traitor’s voice not helping his anxious state. “She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.”

He clenched his jaw at the statement, because against his better judgement, Bellamy knew Murphy was right. Y/N would refuse to scream during surgery, especially if it was just a bullet to the leg.

Before Bellamy could respond to the true statement, the doors slid open once again, revealing Kane and Byrne ready for another interrogation. Except this time the subject matter was one person.

The same person he had been thinking about minutes before.

“What the hell happened to my daughter?” Kane’s eyes were ablaze, searching back and forth between the two men, desperate for answers. Kane turned toward Bellamy, stalking forward, “You told me grounders don’t have guns.”

“They don’t” Bellamy spoke calmly, slightly unnerved with how desperate the Chancellor seemed. No one had ever seen him this vulnerable. Or this angry. “You wanna know what happened to your daughter?”

Kane clenched his jaw, the slightest nod answering the question.

“Ask him.” Bellamy gestured toward the opposite wall.

Toward John Murphy.

***

Y/N exhaled, wanting to cry tears of relief.

She had made it. Against all odds, Raven Reyes had survived.

“She’s a fighter” Abby pointed out later, wiping the scalpel and tweezers clean of the crimson liquid. “You all are.”

Y/N smiled shyly at the compliment, her thoughts drifting toward Bellamy. “Some of us more than others.” She murmured.

Abby froze, turning around to face the engineer. “You want to go see him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Y/N nodded.

“Please Abby” She pleaded, “If you knew what Murphy’s done, what he did to me, Raven and Bellamy, you wouldn’t have him locked up.”

The doctor sent a puzzled look before glancing between the two girls. Her mind began to weave the pieces together, an incredulous look on her face as Abby threw another glance at Y/N’s freshly stitched up leg.

“This way,” was all Abby said, pulling the engineer forward through the curtains of the med tent until she landed in front of a panel that looked out of place. “You can exit through there, your dad’s waiting out front, but this should be able to get you past him and Byrne.”

She threw her arms around the woman who had saved her and Raven’s life, grateful that she had someone in this camp on her side.

Her feet stepped out onto the grassy fields, sunlight streaming across her face, blinding her vision and heating up her face as she soaked up the yellow rays. Her boots crunched against the patches of dry grass underneath her as she managed to find the entrance to the newly dubbed Camp Jaha.

She avoided the awestruck gazes of her fellow Ark citizens, every one of them knowing exactly who she was. The poor orphan from Mecha station taken in by Marcus Kane. Before she was thrown in solitary with the rest of the delinquents to be sacrificed for their sick experiment.

Before she was sent down to die.

Alpha station was exactly the way she remembered it. Down to the last piece of scrap metal that had fallen from the sky. The metal walls confined her. Everything was too small.

She couldn’t believe she ever thought this was the biggest thing in the world.

The earth was a never ending maze, the same way she had viewed Alpha at one point, and now Alpha was nothing to her. A confining box meant to keep everyone in line.

She peeked down the corridor leading to the stockade, watching the guards, wondering if there was some way to cut the power so she could sneak in unseen.

An arm on her shoulder caused her to flinch.

She whipped around, senses on fire as she drew her fists, stopping when she met the shocked face of David Miller.

“Sgt. Miller?” She asked, disbelief crossing her features. The Chief of the guard relaxed, all the tension gone from his shoulders as he recognized the face in front of him.

“Y/N,” The chief breathed, “I’m so glad I found you. Did Nate follow you back at all?”

She froze at the question.

For the first time since being discovered at the dropship, she allowed her thoughts to turn toward those she failed. Miller, Monty, Jasper, Clarke.

All gone.

Taken.

By grounders or something else. But it didn’t change the fact. She hadn’t saved them. She had failed them all.

“I’m sorry” She swallowed, ignoring the guilt pressing against her chest, “I don’t know where he is.”

David’s face fell.

“I broke my promise” Y/N admitted, voice thick with emotion, “I promised you I’d take care of him, and I--I failed. I’m so sorry.”

He left with a broken smile and a pat on the back. His words ringing in her head long after he was gone.

“You did what you could.”

No she didn’t. She should’ve gone after them. She should’ve stopped hiding. She should’ve tried to fight off those who would try and harm her friends. And now she was paying the price. A hand grasped her bicep and pulled her backward, pressing her against the wall, a hand covering her mouth.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw who it was.

“Finn?” She spoke through his hand, the muffled sound muted by the flesh against her lips. The long haired delinquent shot several paranoid looks behind his shoulder before whispering his plan to Y/N.

“Your dad lied about the search team. Finding our people, going after the grounders, all of it. They’re not going after our people Y/N,” Finn informed her, his eyes bugging out of his head, “So we’re taking matters into our own hands. Monroe and Sterling are on watch, you and I are going to sneak in and free Bellamy. What do you say?”

He gently lifted his hand free from her mouth to let her give her answer.

It was a reckless plan. And there’s no telling whether the grounders even had their friends in the first place unless they managed to build smoke bombs. But it was better than anything she had come up with.

It was better than staying here and failing again.

“I’m in.”

Sneaking in was marginally easier than she expected. Especially with Marcus putting several guards in front of the door because he didn’t like how close Bellamy had gotten with her. Thank whatever higher power above for secret passages.

They had kept her safe from Marcus’ disappointment on the Ark and now they’re going to help her save her friends.

“Get up” Finn instructed, Y/N using the pliers to cut the zip ties around Bellamy’s wrists, “We’re going to save our friends.”

Bellamy’s skeptical look disappeared as he rubbed his raw wrists. Anger stirred in her chest at the sight of the red lines, but she shoved it aside. She would deal with her father later. Right now her friends were in trouble.

“About time,” Bellamy smirked, turning toward Y/N, “Your idea?” She shook her head, “Finn’s, and we gotta hurry. Now.”

Bellamy grasped the pliers from her hands and moved toward the opposite wall, her anger spilling out of her as Finn finished her thoughts for her, “What the hell are you doing?”

He had cut Murphy free.

“He’s the only one who’s been to their camp.” Bellamy explained as if Murphy’s presence being needed was the most obvious solution in the world.

Y/N rolled her eyes, moving forward to meet Murphy, “You shoot me again, and I promise I will kill you.”

His response was cut off by the appearance of Monroe, “Hey, Sterling just signalled, someone’s coming.”

The four of them ducked out, closing the panel behind them as Alpha station dropped them back by the medical tent.

“You’re late” Abby scolded, David by her side as their flashlights lit up the area surrounding the gate.

“Bellamy decided to bring company” Finn retorted.

Bellamy sighed, pulling Murphy’s bonds tighter, “He’s the only one that’s been to their camp.”

The two adults nodded before handing off the firearms to the delinquents, David entrusting his own pistol to Y/N, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Find my son, his name is Nathan Miller.”

She didn’t need to know that.

She knew exactly who to look for.

She knew exactly who she had failed.

***

DM Taglist (closed): @chloe-skywalker @im-a-writer-right @clarkewithameme @shatteredlovesick @your-typical-giggle @rhyxn @amongthewildthingss @furiouspockettoad @niammain @cxddlyash @lena-davina @kaylinfayezink @gingerxarmy @super-marvel-dale @travelnottogoanywherebuttogo @nerdbookish @valeskasecco @strangerliaa @simsvetements @molethemollie @thebookisbtr @im-a-stranger-thing @jordangdelacruz @oopsiedoopsie23 @multifandombookstore @okj232 @asian-male-enthusiast @minigranger @jooheonbee @libraryoffandomsuniverse @pancakefancake @weird-pale-blonde-person

#the 100 imagines #the 100 imagine #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake x kane!reader #bellamy blake x franco!reader #bellamy blake imagines #bellamy blake x nightblood!reader #fic: desperate measures #series: desperate measures #the 100 fic #the 100 fanfic #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake fanfic #bellamy blake fanfiction #otp: you have me #my fics

96 notes · View notes