#four feet leave the ground and her brain shuts off it’s so funny
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BOOK ONE | BOOK TWO | [BOOK THREE]
Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | [Five] | Six | Seven | Eight
FIVE PEACE ON EARTH
“Surprise!” Katie announced.
“Go to hell,” Melissa replied, looking down at the cake sitting on the table in the rec room. “Happy Retirement? You stole me a welcoming cake?”
“No, we didn’t steal it,” Katie said.
“It was made for someone else though,” Javy answered.
“How thoughtful.” Melissa put her hands on either edge of the table. “Want me to knock your stupid cake on the floor?”
“No. If you don’t want it we’ll have it.”
Melissa took her hands off. “Then have it. I already ate.” As she returned to her room, one of the metal flaps shook; she shot a glance at it. Besa’s face peaked back from the crack. “If you do anything to celebrate my arrival, I’ll turn you to stone.”
“You turn people to stone…?” She said, clearly afraid. Heh.
“Want to find out?” Melissa smiled a big, stupid, fake grin, and went back to her room undisturbed. She lifted the flap, sat down on the rough mattress they placed on the concrete. She had a lamp on the floor next to her and nothing else. She started to unlatch her goggles, and -
Knock knock. June. Only a couple days and Melissa already knew her pattern: knock knock KNOCK, knock knock, KNOCK KNOCK. Melissa reluctantly re-latched her goggles and threw open the flap. “What do you want?”
“I only wanted to check in on what went down the other day in group.”
“Nothing went down.”
“That’s my point! I wanna check in that you’re making friends and influencing people. That’s an old book, y’know. Not saying you need to -”
“Is there a book called ‘shutting up and leaving people alone’? You could really use that one.”
“Aw, gee, I don’t think so, but if that’s what you really want, I’m all about respecting your boundaries. But sometimes, when your boundaries are being broken, that’s the best time to process what’s troublin’ ya.”
“Here’s a thought: go process your brain worms.”
“You’re gonna be here a while, ya know. Might as well get to know everyone. Get to know the vibe of the place.”
“Okay, teacher, can I ask a question?”
“Shoot.”
“How many suicides has this place seen? How many people got too bored of steam pipes and bricks and - “ She mimicked hanging herself.
“That’s not a very funny thing to say.”
“An answer like that implies the answer’s not zero. Now, did you wash up the blood yourself? Did you paint a little yellow flower over it? Did you give a eulogy about the power of positive thinking and just keeping up your goshforsaken spirits? Well, Gosh is dead, sweetheart. Live with -”
BRRNG BRRNG BRRNG of an alarm, flashing lights down the corridors, the raising of metal…
***
They walked across a small beach, to a wooden pier that creaked in the waves, a pier that looked out over the city.
“Biggest pier on Earth. So long there’s a train out to the end.”
“Wow.”
“There’s this little theme park by it. Adventure Island. I went in a couple times.”
“1 AM. It’s so quiet. Just us and the waves.”
“Aye. Sometimes, the night’s beautiful.”
“What’s the most beautiful part?”
Clive paused. “I’ll be honest. I really can’t see a bloody thing. ‘Sides you.”
“I forget you have eyes meant for...daytime...awakeness.”
“I’ve only been nocturnal for a year. I’m not ready to count my eyes out yet.”
Frantic flapping, and Malphas flew in low.
“Someone’s coming! Two men!”
“Are they Agency?” Clive asked.
“I don’t know!”
Eliza pulled herself to her feet. “We should go.”
“No.” Clive sat where he was. “We have as much of a right to be here as they do.”
“I know we do, but-”
Clive crossed his arms. “We always run and hide. Hear a person outside the docks, we cower and hide away for twenty minutes. Creeping around downtown so that a hipster doesn’t see us. We can’t keep doing that.”
Eliza debated what to do. And she decided to stand her ground. Clive rose up, and joined her at her side. Two men ambled down the path. They were white, middle-aged, and one seemed familiar to Eliza, though she couldn’t place how. Both were overdressed for walking the lake at 1 AM, and Eliza suspected their motive wasn’t simple jogging or fishing.
She prayed that they would go by, willing them to leave. But they made a beeline for the pier. She took Clive’s hand. He held it tightly.
“What do we have here?” He was graying and stocky, and when he spoke his voice was gravelly, like a smoker’s.
“Jeeeeesus,” the other man - the familiar one - was brown-haired and serious, his face like a disappointed teacher’s. “What tree did you fall out of?”
“If I looked like you, I’d -” The gravelly-voiced man mocked holding a gun to his head. “BLAM!”
“I hope you’re aware this is our spot.” The other man said.
“You don’t own it.” Clive replied.
Clive held firm, but Eliza was glancing around. Trying to find an exit if things went south.
“I don’t know where you got the idea we were asking you.” The gravelly voiced man said.
“You never asked me to leave.”
“That part was implied.”
Eliza watched helplessly as the familiar looking man punched Clive in the gut. Her boyfriend doubled over in pain. Adrenaline surged through her body. She let out an involuntary hiss. Her fangs glistened. Her claws trembled, anticipating a strike. But could she do it?
“Get out!” The man spat in Clive’s face.
No. She couldn’t. She took Clive’s hand, yanking him to his feet. They ran. Clive shook with rage. Eliza kept looking back, afraid they would follow. They ran past the Union and up the hill, using the surface entrance they were never supposed to use, Eliza seeing danger within every shadow.
They scurried through the tunnels and collapsed onto the well-worn couch.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t…” Eliza said.
“There was nothing you could do. I shouldn’t have made you stay.”
“No. We had to try it.”
“We’ll go back in our rooms. See the world through a little window in the zoo. And he’ll go back to his job, his family, his house…”
“We could still go out.”
Clive hung his head low. “Not anymore. It...it’s not safe anymore.”
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
***
Malphas flew over State, and Laura, Manuel, Eliza followed on foot. It was evening, but the traffic was heavy. They were passing a theater, where a show was about to start; through the windows, Laura could see many people buzzing about beforehand.
“Are you, uh, okay?” Laura asked.
“Yeah, I am now,” Eliza answered. “You?”
“Yeah…no. But. Yeah. No.”
“How about you?” Eliza looked at Manuel.
NO :).
“I saw things. When it was singing to me. I saw my family and where I grew up, and…did you hear it?”
I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING.
“Yeah.”
“What did you see, Wolfgirl?”
“Uh…my family, I guess…hey!”
Laura watched as Eliza and Manuel were caught among a crowd of people - and before she could follow, Laura found herself pushed back and forth by groups rushing to get in. People were all around her, a crowd, packing her in, breathless.
When the crowd dissipated, she found herself half a block down. She looked back. No Malphas. No Eliza or Manuel or…
She reached in her pocket. No Gef.
But something else caught her eye. Caught something even deeper. Captured all of her attention, all of her thoughts and worries and hopes.
***
A glittering marquee for another theater, across the street. She found herself drawn to it, as if sleepwalking.
No one was in the ticket booth. No shows tonight, a sign said.
A ticket popped up anyway.
***
“Did the ghost do something to your voice?” Eliza asked, feeling very stupid as the words left her mouth, but unable to stop them from emerging.
Manuel shook his head. SOMETIMES WHEN I GET OVERWHELMED IT HURTS TO TALK.
“Overwhelmed by…the ghost?”
NO :( THE COP
“I’m…sorry for running out on you…” Eliza scratched the back of her head; the pinprick of pain surprised her, and she drew back her flat, human fingers with dots of blood.
YOU DIDN’T RUN OUT ON US, YOU WERE FOLLOWING MALPHAS AND WEREN’T STOPPED.
“It wasn’t my fault?”
NO :)
“Why does it hurt to talk? Did the smoke hurt your throat?” The words felt very stupid again, but they wouldn’t stop emerging.
I DON’T KNOW, IT HURTS. IT’S BECAUSE… Manuel trailed off his writing. I’M AUTISTIC.
“Oh. Um, that’s okay, I’m the chupacabra.” Why, throat? Why?
Manuel looked up from the ground, and stared right in her eyes, and raised his eyebrows; then he looked back at Laura for a reaction, and…
“Did she run off too?” Eliza said, with a weird hint of very, very stupid pride.
***
Inside the theater, Laura found herself in a lobby: expansive, but empty. The darkness was only broken by a faint, flickering light from a half-open theater door.
She walked over. Her mind was beginning to wake up. Beginning to scream, beginning to thrash against its current daze. She couldn’t feel something controlling her; in fact, she could barely feel anything at all.
Laura pushed open the doors and entered a theater, its stage lit by a droning projector. It chugged along, projecting images Laura couldn’t understand. A montage: a gray sky, a pair of eyes unattached to a body, a mountain. A few images kept repeating: a man with long hair, wearing rags. A strange, black shape that hurt to look at.
But then the images changed.
It wasn’t images from another being’s life. It was her own.
Laura, in the house. Laura, in the woods. Laura, 9th grade, before the bite.
But then the projector groaned, and the images changed again.
The cop, the one in the hospital and the one on the Square. The hospital, the slice of claws, the spray of red. Laura’s face transforming.
A werewolf crouched over a body in a police uniform, its maw stained red with blood, chunks of spleen stuck between its - her fangs. Laura’s eyes, wide.
“Don’t you want it?” “Don’t you want revenge?” “Don’t you want to be strong?” Voices, she couldn’t see from where. “You could have it.” “You can have it!” “Don’t you want it?”
“I…” She did want it. She did, in a great deep secret place, wish she could stand up to the people who hurt her, who dismissed her, and therapeutically rend their flash with her fangs and claws. Only if they make the first move, of course.
But…
Distantly, the projector chugged, a hiss pierced by pops. But Laura was walking down the aisle, down between the chairs, down towards the screen, set up at the end.
She reached out to it, and a hand reached out from the screen and reached out for her…
She was pulled back, spun around to face Eliza, who let her go, and Manuel, standing by the projector. “Let’s get…” Eliza grabbed Laura’s hand, missed, found it, grabbed more forcefully. “Let’s get out of here.”
She tugged her up the aisle, leading her, carrying her; she heard a grinding of metal and an explosion of dust. The same strange dust Malphas kicked up; it flew around her, a storm that gave her painful, hacking coughs. She doubled over, but couldn’t stop, let Eliza carry her. As they reached the top of the theater, they saw a man, a thin man, dark, who rose a bow…
Something within the dusk shrieked; something unseen, as Laura didn’t turn back…dust flew around her, and…
Something cold brushed her leg, and she yelped; Manuel took her other hand, and the three of them charged out the door, charged down the street, not heeding the stares of the people around them. Pounding, breathless, taste of iron in her throat; they didn’t stop until they reached a small park, with a white post. On it was etched the letters
M
A
Y
P
E
A
C
E
P
R
E
V
A
I
L
O
N
E
A
R
T
H
in English, Japanese, Spanish, and Hmong.
They collapsed onto a bench; Manuel stroked her hand, before stopping to pull out his notebook and write WHAT DID IT SHOW YOU?
“You don’t want to know.”
“You should really tell us,” Eliza said.
“It showed me…a lot of blood.”
A street musician strummed an off-key guitar on the corner, warbling out something about his mother.
“Your blood?”
“No,” Laura said simply, and Eliza seemed to understand.
I WONDER WHAT IT WOULD SHOW ME… Manuel wrote. WHY IS IT TAKING PEOPLE?
“Did you hear voices?” Laura asked.
“Yeah,” Eliza answered.
“Maybe that’s why it wants us. It has some messed up chorus stuck in there and it needs a few members.”
DO YOU THINK IT WOULDN’T TAKE ME BECAUSE I’M NOT TALKING?
Laura shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Manuel’s eyes glanced around a bit, then he pointed his pen at where he wrote WHAT DID IT SHOW YOU?
Laura leaned in. “It showed me…it showed me being able to defend you two. It showed me me all transformed, and…” Manuel nodded, and Laura stopped talking.
“We should call the Doc,” Eliza suggested, pulling out her phone.
“She has a number? Aren’t you not allowed to use phones?”
“It’s some encrypted app.” Eliza stepped out to wrestle with her phone.
Malphas swept down and perched by Manuel. “Ah, not-a-wolf, you found your dear compatriot?”
WE DID.
Gef suddenly appeared on the post, and lunged off it, tackling Laura right in the face.
“Gef!”
“Hardly trying to maintain the facade, eh?” Gef hissed at Malphas and reared up. “Abandoning us again, you -!”
HE WAS LOOKING FOR LAURA. WHERE WERE YOU?
“I? Why, knocked out of Laura’s pocket I was, by the ravenous hordes of -” He groaned in horror. “Theater people. Nearly crushed me on my way back! They’ll never know what evil they abetted tonight, but the Devil will, I’ll tell you that much.”
YOU DON’T LIKE THEATER PEOPLE?
“Why should I?”
YOU’RE SO… Manuel paused his writing. DRAMATIC
“HOW DARE YOU! Betrayer! To think I rode on your shoulders!”
Laura knocked Gef off her face. “I’m feeling kinda shaky still, Geffrey, so…”
Gef scrambled up Manuel’s side and jumped into his bag. “Onward?”
Manuel sighed. ONWARD…:(
***
Eliza’s phone finally connected. “Doctor Sjöberg, we -”
“We’re on high alert,” Sjöberg said. “Nothing to be afraid of for you on the surface, but an alarm in the tunnel triggered and we have yet to clear it, and cannot come or go until that time.”
“Doc, the ghost hunt isn’t going well. The ghost is dangerous. It’s already taken people.”
“That’s…quite concerning. Miss Keita is on the surface, you should ask for her assistance while we clear this lockdown.”
“Jainaba? Doc…it already has her.”
“What?”
“It has her and one other person, we don’t know who that is. But…”
“Hang on. Do you have her number?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Let me contact her, then. See if we can still reach her…”
***
Singing and wind and emptiness, total, desolate emptiness, a quiet of the kind Jainaba had never experienced before, that you could never experience in the world outside the…outside the ghost.
All broken by the ringing of her phone.
She drew it from her pocket. Dr. Sjöberg. She picked up. “Doc?”
Static, and…
Beep beep.
***
“The Tunnels can’t help us,” Eliza said, putting down her phone. “They’re on lockdown. Sjöberg tried calling Jainaba, but…she says all she heard was this grinding noise, and over it some chanting. Not her, though.”
“She’s still in there,” Laura said. “I saw her.” Laura remembered Jainaba’s hoodie: the only touch of color in that horrible, gray realm.
“It’s on us, Wolfgirl. Unless you know anyone else who could help us.”
JESSIE? Manuel scribbled down quickly.
“I don’t…I don’t want to call Jessie,” Laura said.
WHY NOT?
“She’s. She’s still mad at us going off on our own with the whole black dog thing, and I don’t, like, want to bother her again…”
LAURA.
“I’ll call Jessie.” Laura pulled out her phone; Jessie picked up quickly. “Jess, uh, it’s Laura. We’ve got ourselves into some trouble and we were wondering if you could help us out.”
“What kinda trouble?”
GHOST TROUBLE! Manuel pointed at what he wrote.
“It’s, uh, there’s a uh, supernatural thing that’s…that’s really supernatural. Really supernatural and, uh, paranormal also. But not…we didn’t run off into it this time, you know? Sjöberg wanted us to go.”
“The ghost?”
“She…she told you about it? Uh, great, well, we’re downtown and the ghost is…the ghost is, uh…”
“Can ya put Manuel on the line?”
“No…why, though?”
“No reason.”
“Yeah. Well, we may be eaten by a ghost, and we were wondering if you could do anything to help us, uh, not be eaten by a ghost. Which, yeah, ghosts do that. Or…they don’t eat eat people, but, uh…”
“Where are you?”
“Downtown. Uh, State at Gilman.”
“I’ll be right there. Hold tight.”
“We may have to move to follow the ghost.”
“I’ll find you all. My nose is strong enough. Stay safe ‘til I get there, though?”
“‘kay.” Jessie hung up. “Jessie should be on their way.”
Manuel patted the bench beside himself, and Laura took that seat; Eliza continued to pace, Malphas perched on the nearby building. “Sorry if this gives you a bad impression of the Tunnels. I’d understand if you don’t want to come down here anymore…”
“Uh, unless you’re fighting ghosts every single night, I’m not gonna hold up tonight as representative of the whole.”
“I’d understand it, Wolfgirl. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
“I’m not getting rid -”
“It’s a joke.”
Eliza paused, and laughed nervously. “If you have too much going on up here to join us down there, I’d…”
Manuel quickly scrawled something down. I’M VISITING YOU AS OFTEN AS I CAN :)
“Good…” Eliza blinked.
The street musician on the corner strummed his instrument. “This is my ghost song, this is my ghost song, the song of the ghost that lives under a bank and the ghost is America…”
Laura, Eliza, Manuel, and Malphas all exchanged confused looks.
“The ghost is white, and the ghost is cold, and the ghost is -”
“Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” Laura asked.
“Extremely bad poetry?” Malphas cawed, and they went over to check on him.
***
7:45.
“My name’s Bezoar I.L.M. Zop-Zo.”
He had the same beard as two-thirds the men Laura saw downtown, and a striped shirt and plaid jacket. He slung the guitar over his shoulder as he walked.
“Wow,” Laura said dryly.
“It’s not even a stage name. My mom had a way with names. The kind of way that involves a wrong turn. You know what a Bezoar is?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“It’s a lump that forms in somebody’s stomach from all kinds of gunk. They used to think it cured poisons. I’ve got a song about my mom naming me that…”
“Oh...nice…so you saw the ghost, right?”
Laura thought Bezoar was telling the truth, but she still doesn’t trust him - and wouldn’t have gone after him alone, only feeling safe due to Manuel and Eliza’s presence - and while she thought Bezoar had seen the ghost, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t been too strung out to see anything useful about the ghost.
They passed back up towards the capitol.
“Last night, I was out presenting a heart-poem…”
“A what?” Laura asked.
“Oh, yes, I must illuminate. During the day, I do songs everyone knows, for money. At night, I perform for only myself. I let my heart’s verses sing free!”
“...oh.”
“And then I saw it there!”
He pointed to the top floor of the State Historical Museum.
“Through the glass, shimmering bright! It assumed the form of cosmic dust, and I knew I had to follow it!”
“Why?” Eliza asked.
“We’re all stardust, are we not? I couldn’t deny a herald of the cosmic unconscious.”
“It went up there!” Bezoar raced around the Square, retracing his steps. “There! There!”
Laura wished he’d just tell them where it went instead of roleplaying every step. She followed him to the all-glass building, which was half a bank, and half fancy restaurants.
“The bank?” Laura asked.
“Yes. That’s when I knew this was no cosmic herald. For a herald of the divine to step into such a temple to avar-”
“But what did it do?”
“It went through the glass. It passed right through, and then it sank into the realms of Mother Gaia.”
“It sunk in? What does that mean?”
“It means it went right through the floor and into the Earth. I could almost see this light. Not the ghost’s, but these little wisps. More manifestations of false consciousness.”
“...yeah...so the bank is haunted?” Eliza asked.
“Aren’t they all?”
“Like, man, I agree with you, but-” Laura said.
“Unkkk!” Tendrils of light hung down from nowhere, and looped around his armpits. They lurched him upwards. Up, towards a storm cloud of dust in the sky above; up, with force and speed.
“No!” Eliza jumped up and grabbed onto one of his feet.
Laura tried the same. She couldn’t reach. She fell back onto the sidewalk, where Manuel caught her…unintentionally.
“Help me! Help!”
The dust swirled and came together and became the full ghost. Eliza held on tight, but it only drew Bezoar higher. She found herself lifting off the ground with him.
“Eliza!”
Laura ran over and jumped for her. Still. Too. Short.
Eliza let go. She tumbled to the ground, landing by Laura. Helpless, they watched as Bezoar was swiftly pulled to the ghost, kicking and screaming.
“What are you doing?” It was the cop from the park.
“Help! Help!” The sickening crack of ribs, and Laura and Eliza looked away as the void consumed him.
“Answer me.” The cop said. “Do you know these two?” She pointed towards Eliza.
“I...I…” How could Eliza explain?
The cop crossed her arms. “Can I see some ID from you?”
As Bezoar was pulled in above them, as he screamed and kicked against glass, Eliza dug around in her hoodie pockets for her ID. An ID she never, ever had. She realized that the ghost had moved in: it was all around them. Its hands high. It tilted its head. Studied the two of them as the strange farce continued.
“If you could do this quickly-” Laura said.
The cop glared. “If you won’t present your ID, I’ll have to take you in. Turn around and put your hands behind your back…”
They looked up. The ghost was moving in. They knew they couldn’t run. Not with the cop on one side and the ghost up above. They waited. Let the cop step closer, let her start her work…
She screamed. They didn’t look up. They knew she was kicking in the air up above, kicking as she was dragged into the void…
Laura remembered what she saw in there. Imagined Bezoar in that lifeless plain. Imagined Jainaba.
Imagined…the cop too, she guessed.
Imagined Eliza. Imagined Manuel. Imagined Gef. Imagined herself, fading to nothing over an eternity. No. No…
“Four.” A male voice growled. “Four!” A girl cried. “Four!” A boy joined in.
The ghost dived them: floating down from the sky, tendrils whirling. Laura recoiled; knew she couldn’t be suspicious. Tried to hold still. Tried, tried, really tried. Others passed by.
To them, there was nothing.
Down the street walked the archer, at a deliberate pace, walking around a girl who giggled to whatever she was listening to on her airpods; she had no idea there was a man next to her, a man raising a bow.
“Not yet!” the girl yelled. “Not yet!” “Give me time!”
The archer notched an arrow, but a pair of men passed in front of him; he lowered his arrow, but held his head high, aiming at the ghost.
The ghost crumbled into dust. The archer walked off, past Laura, Manuel, and Eliza. The archer was gone. Bezoar was nowhere. Neither was the cop. Laura, Eliza, and Manuel were alone, and nobody around them knew why.
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in sickness and chaos
#natasha romanoff x fem!reader (ft. besties yelena and kate <3) (requests are open!)
WARNINGS: well, hm, reader is sick, swearing, not a warning but reader is implied to have geokinetic related powers :)
�� getting sick isn't anyone's favorite thing to do, but the havoc caused by two sisters and a certain archer is the best medicine money could never provide.
A/N: this was requested! I actually wrote this yesterday night at like 3 am and added a few more things today SO no thoughts head empty their conversations in this one are the ones that's going on in my head between my four brain cells....bare with me okay 😭 I hope you enjoy it <33 missing natasha, yelena, and kate sm @marvel give them back to me this isn't funny 🙄. also mint chocolate is horrible #breakingmysilence
! word count: 1.5K
natasha knows something is wrong when she feels the ground quake beneath her feet.
steve's coffee cup trembles in his hands, and some of tony's miscellaneous papers fall onto the floor.
wanda's spatula flies out of her hands at the third quake, bucky's metal arm shakes (it never does that), and sam rubs his temples.
yelena seems the least amused as she enters the kitchen, and everyone looks to her in confirmation.
she nods solemnly in greeting, "it's y/n."
everyone's eyes then fixate on natasha as she nods back at her sister, bravely walking out of the kitchen and approaching your room.
"ACHOO!" the ground quakes once more, and natasha briefly hears glasses in the kitchen breaking.
she staggers and mumbles curses under her breath as she knocks quickly at your room, going into your room as soon as she receives a response.
"c-come in," your voice sounds incredibly weak.
"how bad are you feeling?" natasha asks worridly, pressing a hand onto your forehead, "pretty bad."
she notices how red your eyes are, her concerning gaze unbreaking when you cough heavily.
"you should get out of here, nat," you groan dramatically, "it's too late for me!"
"oh, shut up, you big baby," natasha smiles slightly, "have you taken any medicine or drunk any water yet?"
"uh....no."
"Y/N!"
"I'm sorry, okay! I just-" you make grabby hands at the water and medicine that yelena placed on your desk a while ago, "so, so far."
natasha rolls her eyes playfully and hands you the medicine and water, which you promptly took and drank before she could reprimand you again.
"there, all better," you try to perk up a little.
"yeah...no," your girlfriend shakes her head, "you're going to have to stay in bed, at the very least, I know you're going to try not to sleep."
"AW, but nat! I had plans with kate and yelena today!" you complain to the redhead, who ignores you as she helps you sit up gently and fluffs your pillows, "I took too many rain checks already, with training and missions and all."
"I know," natasha smiles sympathetically, placing a light kiss on your nose, "I'm sorry, princess, but you're staying in bed. no arguments. okay?"
you have no choice but to agree, knowing that natasha would watch you like a hawk from now on until you felt better.
"can I at least see yelena?" you beg natasha, pulling at the hem of her shirt, "pleaseeeee."
"fine," natasha sighs, gently taking your hand off her shirt and kissing your palm, making your face warm, "I'll call her up, alright?"
yelena is in your bedroom in minutes, and she brought everything a sick person SHOULDN'T eat. after a long lecture from natasha, yelena hides it all in her vest, whispering to you that she'll let you eat anything once natasha leaves your room.
you talk about other topics, the normal banter between your favorite sisters serving as music to your ears, although many others in the compound would disagree.
"feeling any better?" yelena's hand has not left yours since she first entered the room, and you nod, "yeah! much better!"
"let me check," natasha quips, coming close to you to place a hand on your forehead again, "you haven't be sneezing for a while so-"
"ACHOO!!!"
you sneeze on natasha's face accidentally and the whole compound tremors and you vaguely hear bucky downstairs screaming 'oh, come. ON!?"
natasha still somehow remains standing, while yelena actually fell off the bed.
"I'M SO SORRY!" you apologise profusely to your girlfriend who shakes her head, but runs to the bathroom to wash her face, "that was...really gross, but it's fine!"
yelena, meanwhile, laughs her ass off, "I can't! that's the best thing I've ever seen since seeing natasha slam into a glass door!"
natasha walks out of the bathroom, face littered with water drops, a scowl evident, and she throws a stuffed toy at yelena's head.
soon, a full on pillow fight starts, and you whine at the sisters who were messing up your room unnecessarily, "that's not fair! I can't even participate!"
yelena and natasha share a look, and burst out laughing, and you glare at both, crossing your arms.
"you? have a pillow fight with us?" natasha chuckles, catching her breath, and grabs yelena's face with her hand, pushing her back when she notices her trying to pounce.
"yeah? what about it?" you scoff, eyebrow raised.
"no offense, and I love you, but," yelena slaps her sister's arm away, and the redhead sticks her tongue out at her, "we'd definitely kick your ass."
"THAT'S BULLSHIT."
"YOU'RE JUST SALTY BECAUSE I'M RIGHT!"
"okay, okay," natasha intervenes, raising her hands towards the both of you, "no more brawls."
"yeah, it's only okay when you initiate them," you mumble under your breath, loud enough for natasha to hear.
"oh so we're playing it that way!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," you feign innocence, and you shriek when natasha starts to brutally tickle you.
you will a small tremor under her feet and natasha trips and falls on the ground, hissing.
"AHA!" you brag, smiling at the camera (yelena was filming the whole thing), "even when sick, I can still beat my girlfriend's ass!"
"bullshit."
"don't copy my word."
yelena texts kate about what was happening as you and natasha bicker.
yelena: kate bishop, you've got to come down here, this shit is hilarious 😭
kate bishop: NOOOO I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE SNEEZED ON NATASHA'S FACE LMAO BYE.
yelena: they're so disgustingly loud I can't do this alone anymore.
kate bishop: sorry I'm too busy laughing at the vid you sent but I'm otw 🏃♀️
you narrow your eyes at yelena who was smirking at her phone, "who are you texting?"
"just told kate bishop about everything," yelena smugly announces, "she's on the way now."
"everything?" both you and natasha say at the same time, wincing.
"everything," yelena mocks, "don't worry! you two probably still have a shred of dignity left somewhere!"
"you're horrible," yelena blows you a kiss, "tell me something I don't know, y/n/n."
"I'M HERE!" a blur of purple blasts into the room, holding coffee and donuts.
that was quick.
"you brought the unhealthy food!" yelena praises kate, taking the donuts from her, "I'm starving, thank you, kate bishop."
donuts hardly was the best thing to eat as a meal, but yelena is already staring and picking at them like they're the best things that have ever happened to her.
kate shakes her head and giggles at her friend, but makes her way over to you, "oh you poor thing, are you feeling better yet?"
in truth, you just felt extremely tired, the sneezes and coughs were less and less frequent, and your eyes felt slightly lighter, "a little, yeah."
"good," kate pats your head affectionately, "don't worry about our hangout, okay? you already took multiple rain checks, what's one more?"
yelena snorts, chocolate on her mouth, and you pout, natasha kissing it off, claiming that she never gets sick (it's truly a lie but hey, you want to kiss your girlfriend).
"got you the tissues you want by the way," kate hands you a pack, "I remember saying you need a specific kind."
"oh my god, you're a lifesaver, thank you," you grin gratefully at the brunette and she shrugs, "anytime!"
"did you just get mint chocolate donuts?" yelena deadpans, holding it up like it was a dirty rag to kate's face, "uh, yeah?"
"that's disgusting!" yelena exclaims, and natasha who seemed to have forgotten that you were sick and was cuddling you refutes her statement, "no it's not. mint chocolate is great!"
"no, you're just weird," yelena replies, dropping the donut on her sister's open hand, "take it, it deserves you."
"it does taste good!" natasha indignantly states again, "y/n? what do you think?"
your nose scrunches as your girlfriend's face turns to you, the trust in her eyes draining when you shake your head, "disgusting. horrible. should never be in anything ever."
yelena gestures to you proudly, "see, THAT'S why she's my best friend."
natasha gasps at you, "I thought I could trust you," you bury your face into her shoulder, nuzzling closer into her warmth, "nope, sorry."
"kate?"
kate looks between the three of you and grins, "I love mint chocolate!"
"a girl after my own heart," natasha declares, high-fiving the archer, "you're now my official favorite."
"suck up," yelena teases the archer who kicks her on the shin, "ow!"
kate sits on the chair next to yelena and natasha continues to argue about how mint chocolate is the best flavor in the world.
they might be overly chaotic, but you truly could not ask for a better group to take care of you when you're sick.
"bullshit."
"is that your favorite word for everything?"
"it indeed is, actually," you remind the girl next to you, "but let's forget about that, could we? just cuddle me, romanoff."
"my, my, someone is awfully needy," natasha teases, nevertheless intertwining her hands with yours, "you seem to have forgotten that you're the one who wanted to cuddle with a sick person."
"they're so gross," yelena whispers to kate, who was eating a donut and not paying attention to anything else, "I don't know what you're talking about, they're adorable!"
"you're so going to get sick."
"at least I'll have you to take care of me."
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff angst#natasha romanoff fluff#black widow x reader#black widow imagine#natasha romanov imagine#avengers imagine#avengers x reader#natasha romanoff fanfiction#natasha romanoff oneshot#natasha x you#marvel x reader#mcu x reader#marvel imagine#mcu imagine#marvel headcanons#mcu headcanons
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Call Me Back
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader
Warnings: death, a small sexual innuendo, and lots of commas and long sentences
Word Count: 3.4k
Summary: You and Wanda promised each other you would always call to check in, and Wanda’s going to do her best to keep that promise, no matter what.
The first time you met Wanda was… well, when was the first time you met Wanda? Was it when wisps of red flashed in front of your eyes, projecting images so horrific and lifelike that you all but collapsed in a heartbeat? Or was it when she stepped forward to shake your hand timidly, grief and determination filling the witch as she promised to make up for it?
“I- I wouldn’t have done it if I… we were just trying…”
“Don’t worry about it,” you had told her with a smile before confiding in her about your own missteps, how you’d wreaked havoc on all of New York with your powers of body modification after your own parents died, how Fury finally got the Avengers to catch you, and how they quickly became your new family.
-
“You mean they really almost burned the kitchen down trying to make you a birthday cake?” The brunette giggled later that night as you recounted the story of your sixteenth birthday, the two of you sitting comfortably beside each other on the living room sofa.
“Yup. And when Nat showed up with an ice cream cake fifteen minutes later to find smoke in the living room, Sam told me she freaked on everyone.”
“Excuse me, Y/N, I did not do any ‘freaking.’ God, is that what you teenagers are calling it now?” The two of you erupted into laughter, and the redhead could do nothing more than shake her head, a smirk playing on her lips no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.
---
Much like Nat and Steve predicted, the two of you became fast friends. You sat next to each other on movie nights, sang karaoke in your room when you thought everyone else was asleep (if they weren’t awake when you started, they certainly were once you were thirty seconds into Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”), and, much to Steve’s dismay, when you finally became confident with your ability to grow wings on your back, snuck out regularly for late-night flights around the compound.
But you also insisted on being there for Wanda’s training sessions, even if it meant you had to wake up an hour earlier. You cradled the witch in your arms when she woke up night after night with an aching hole in her heart before you eventually insisted you guys just share a room. And you promised her, above everything else, that when you went out for anything, whether it be a quick grocery run or a month-long mission, you’d let her know you were okay.
You knew the promise she pleaded you to make was a result of the anxiety she suffered. She’d lost everyone she cared about; if a simple text or call was enough to put her at ease, you’d do it in a heartbeat.
---
“Wanda,” you’d whispered, the teen immediately sitting up straight when she’d heard the cracks in your voice. “I- I don’t know what to do. I’m safe, but...” She told you to stay there, don’t move, she’d be there in minutes. And, with your brain unable to function enough to think of any other option, you listened.
Her heart broke at the sight of you, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself and your head hung, you feet occasionally kicking the wet sidewalk. The neon sign of the restaurant your date had promised to meet you at illuminated one side of your face, allowing her to see the tears that you had tried but failed so desperately to hold in. But the witch didn’t let you see her emotions, instead whisking you away from the unfamiliar section of the city, brushing the tears off of your cheeks and bringing you to the twenty-four-hour diner for milkshakes. She made a fool of herself in front of the waitstaff until tears flowed from your eyes once again, but this time, the crystalline drops rolled down your raised cheeks, aching from smiling too hard.
-
When you had a panic attack during training because you couldn’t get one of your body modification attempts to reverse—”Wanda, I cannot be stuck with claws for hands, I can’t!”—she refused to let you hang up until the steady sounds of her own breathing calmed you down, the sharp nails receding and making way for the soft pads of your very human fingertips.
-
And when she called you after the mission in Lagos, you worked tirelessly to complete your own solo mission as soon as you could. You returned to the tower to find her holed up in the bedroom, news broadcasts playing nonstop on the television to remind her of the horrors she’d committed; accident or not, she told you, she needed to hold herself accountable. You simply shook your head at her, holding out your hand without another word. She didn’t take it at first.
“You can’t fix it, Y/N. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She was expecting you to fight her back on it, yell at her and demand that she take your hand, or perhaps you’d go the complete opposite direction and leave her alone, let her be swallowed by guilt and anguish, rip open old wounds and form new ones as she thought of how she tore apart families that were probably much like her own. You did neither.
Wanda’s green eyes remained fixed on your outstretched hand. You stayed silent, one eyebrow cocked as if daring her to see what would happen should she choose not to take it. It was only then that she realized, for once in her life, the person she most loved wasn’t leaving; the support she so desperately needed wouldn’t be yanked away from her when it was mere centimeters from her grasp.
So she rested her fingers in the palm of your hand, and you pulled her out to the balcony where the two of you had spent night after night watching the stars instead of sleeping, making up funny names for each of them and rolling in fits of laughter that only came to those delirious and sleep-deprived enough to understand just what was so funny. Except, this time, instead of dropping into the oversized beanbag chair that was the usual spot of your stargazing shenanigans, she watched curiously as you removed your shirt. Her mouth dropped as you closed your eyes and allowed the white feathers to emerge from beside the ridges of your spine. Although it was a process she’d seen several times before, your modifications had never ceased to amaze her, and your angel-like wings had always been her favorite. The witch admired the additions as you allowed them to flap slowly, once, twice, before turning back to her.
“Let’s go,” you finally spoke, the order gentle but leaving no room for negotiation.
“Where are we going?”
“Away.” That was enough for the brunette, who squeezed your hand before following your lead. She allowed you to guide her through the maze of clouds and couldn’t help but smile softly as the sun’s rays hit your face at just the right angle. You wore the exhaustion from your recent mission on your face, and streaks of dirt covered the bruises that she was sure littered your body. But she was content, in awe, because you were you. You didn’t put up walls to hide your scars from the world, didn’t use passive-aggressiveness to hide the passion that burned in your heart. At the end of the day, you were good, purely and truly good. You were an angel; even the sun knew it.
What Wanda didn’t realize, but what you taught her that night, as she sat surrounded by sunflowers, the moon, thousands of gleaming stars, and the tickle of your feathers as your wing pulled her close to you, was that she was one too.
“I’m glad you called me,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the open sky as you pointed out a particularly bright spot. “I’m gonna call that one… Philip. He looks regal, real proud. Look at him, so much brighter than the others, and he knows it too.” The witch breathed out a soft chuckle, stroking her fingers over your feathers as she responded.
“I’m glad I called you too. And I think Philip is a good name for him. What about that one?”
“Hmm… Walter? He’s a bit more serious, I think. But you see the one next to him?” You waited until you got a nod from the girl before continuing. “That’s his sister. She makes sure he has fun, even when he says he doesn’t want to. But you name her, Wands. Naming stars is a two-person job, you know.” She squeezed the elbow that you nudged her with before giving in.
“Alright… that’s Delia. And, yeah, she’s the best. The life of the party. Walter keeps her grounded, though,” Wanda added, to which you agreed to with a hum. You two fell quiet after that, enjoying the comfortable silence and looking up at the twinkling lights, some of them gaining names and stories, others waiting to be named another night.
“Wanda?”
“Yeah?”
“You call me if you ever need me, okay? I know we started this with me calling you, but I’m here for you too.” The witch met your eyes with a firm bob of her head, but you continued, desperate to make sure she understood. “And if I don’t pick up at first, you call me back, okay? Call me until I respond, promise?”
“I promise,” Wanda soothed gently. “I will.”
“Okay, good, good. Because,” Wanda felt a brush of your feathers against her upper arm as you fluttered your wings, slightly agitated, “because I think I love you. I mean, um, I know. I know I love you. I love you. Yeah, I-” Wanda shut you up with a kiss, her lips pressed urgently against yours. And if you hadn’t lost your breath from your rambling or your declaration of love to the girl of your dreams, then you most definitely lost it as your lips melted into hers, in the comforting warmth of her palm against your cheek, and in the words that left her mouth as you finally pulled apart, breathless.
“I will, Y/N, I promise. Because I love you too.”
---
People thought you were inseparable before you started dating, but they all realized how wrong they were after that night. The two twin beds quickly became a queen-sized mattress, sideline support during training sessions became fierce yet playful spars, and the private giggles you guys shared grew tenfold. Fury wasn’t exactly happy that his unofficial daughter was now dating, but he was pleased by how efficiently the two of you worked together, which led you to this moment, the two of you covering the Quinjet while waiting for the rest of the Avengers to finish their business inside the massive Hydra base. With Wanda covering the ground and you in the sky, flying with the white-feathered wings that Wanda loved so dearly, the two of you held off the swarms of Hydra agents relatively well. With a small break in between incoming agents, Wanda looked up to check on you, but she was a moment too late. Before she could even think to warn you, the pure feathers she loved to brush her fingers through fell from the sky, the white stained with red, your screams ripping through her eardrums.
No one, including Wanda, had time to think as she exploded with a new rage, one that hadn’t run through her in years. One that she hoped she would never experience again, but here she was. And there you were.
While you were held in the air by her signature red mist, the opposing agents fell to the ground. She didn’t care about their screams, only yours. And with them all dealt with, she could turn to you, rushing you both into the Quinjet and yelling for the other Avengers to get back here, now.
But her efforts were futile. She could press down on the wounds all she wanted, beg for you to come back until her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but nothing would work. You were gone the instant the missile had hit you, and as much as Wanda wanted to deny the truth, she knew it just as much as your other teammates did when they rushed onto the Quinjet. You were gone before you could say a single goodbye.
---
The first time Wanda called was from your shared bedroom. She dialed your number before tracing the pillow where your head would have laid, running her fingers over the cartoon carrots that covered the comforter. The yellow bedding set was a gag gift Tony had gotten the two of you when you got your new bed.
“You know, since I figure the two of you will be going at it like rabbits,” he winked before getting immediately smacked in the back of the head by Steve.
“They will be doing no such thing,” the supersoldier had chastised him with a roll of his eyes. “God, Stark, sometimes I forget you have a brain when you say such stupid things.”
But you loved it, telling Wanda, “The carrots remind me of you, Bunny.” And how could she return the present when you were being so sweet about it? But the sheets didn’t make her smile in the same way they once did because you were gone. No one was there to tease her about the way her nose wiggled much like the little white fluffy creatures or promise to get her carrots from the market the next day.
The call went to voicemail, and as bittersweet as it was, Wanda savored it because it was you. Your voice. But the beep came far too soon, and your turn was done. So she spoke.
“Y/N, hey, it’s me, Wanda. I, um, I love you. I’ll always love you, yeah?” The witch put the phone down, thinking that was all she could bear to say as the lump in her throat ballooned in size and hot tears filled her eyes. But just before time was up, her hand shot up to press the device against her ear again. “Call me back, milaya.”
---
The second time Wanda called was from the balcony. The brunette eyed the sparkling diamonds that filled the sky, wondering how you could be gone when, the last time she was here, you were right there beside her, laughing over the boys’ latest shenanigans and Ned, the newly named star.
Now, the beanbag chair felt too big, too empty without another person sitting next to her. Without you. So she dialed your number, the only number she bothered to learn by heart, and waited for the dulcet tones of your voice. As the dial tone rang, she ran one hand over the white feather that laid gingerly in her lap. Natasha had given it to her along with several others a few days after your death. Each of the team members had one to remember you by, but the spy had picked out the biggest and most brilliant ones to give to Wanda.
“I know how much her wings meant to you-” Natasha stiffened as Wanda threw her arms around her. But the witch didn’t care, her tears soaking the redhead’s shirt as she tried to find the words to thank her. She couldn’t, but it was okay. Natasha knew anyway. Wanda had little time to reflect on the memory before her face brightened at the sound of your voice.
“Hi, this is Y/N-
“And her girlfriend, Wanda! She’s taken, so don’t even think about it, you jerk!” Wanda smiled slightly at your jubilant laughter, remembering how you’d pushed her away for interrupting you.
“I’m not available right now, but leave me your name, number, and message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay? Talk to you soon.” The witch’s eyes closed slightly as the greeting ended with a spell of your giggles before it was interrupted by that damn beep. God, how she hated that beep. Nevertheless, she took a breath and spoke out into the clear night sky, looking up at the stars as she did so.
“Hi, lyubov moya, it’s me. Wanda. I’m calling you back, just like you told me to. I’m not okay. I need you. I love you.” Her breath caught in her throat, forcing her to pause for a moment, but she forced herself to keep going a second later. “Sam and Bucky did the stupidest thing today. Nat and Steve were all over their asses. You should’ve seen it. I miss you. Please, call me back. I’ll tell you all about it.”
---
The last time Wanda called was from the sunflower field. The two of you hadn’t been here since the night you told her you loved her. In fact, it took Wanda several hours to find it since she hadn’t been paying much attention to the route the first time you came.
Once again, the night was clear, the stars lighting up the dark canvas with their radiance. She missed the feeling of your wing wrapped around her, of your presence next to her. But she had one of your feathers in her fingers and your voice in her ear, and to ask for more would be greedy, right?
“Hi, angel. It’s Wanda. I’m calling you back to leave a message, but I can’t do it again after this because I don’t want your voicemail to fill up, okay? I’m sorry, I know I’m being selfish, but I need to be able to hear your voice, so I can’t let it fill up. But I haven’t forgotten you, I promise I haven’t. I never will. I’m still-” Wanda swallowed, a fighting effort to calm the waver in her voice. “I’m still not okay, but I’m trying. For you. But I’m not okay, I need you to call me back. I’ve named one up there Halia, but her twin sister needs a name. And naming stars is a two-person job, you know.” The witch sniffed once as the corner of her lip curved up slightly, remembering the playfulness in your voice when you’d first said the line. “Call me back, Y/N, please.”
With the message over, Wanda clutched the phone to her chest, her breaths becoming faster and shallower as she closed her eyes, trying to accept the knowledge that it’d be the last time she’d ever leave a message, the knowledge that she was really losing you… the knowledge that she already lost you.
---
Months went by. Wanda wasn’t sure how they did, but they did. The first sign of it was the first Halloween without you, as she saw the other couples dressing up in matching costumes that you would’ve loved, costumes you would’ve pointed out to Wanda with an excited bounce and told her you’d have to wear next year. The next was Thanksgiving, when Wanda ran through the list of everything she was thankful for and came up short when she thought about the people she still had left. And then it was Christmas, and Valentine’s Day, and the first day of summer.
And while Wanda did her best to move on, she always found herself under the stars, dialing your number. She sat on the balcony, in the sunflower field, wherever she could see the sky, and she listened to your voice telling her that you’d call her back as soon as you could, always forcing herself to hang up a second before the beep could cut you off. Wanda named every other star she saw, leaving the ones in between for you and hoping that you’d approve of the names she chose.
“I’m naming that one Angel for you, Y/N,” Wanda murmured. “It’s even brighter than Philip. It’s the brightest star in the sky. I know you think it’s silly to name things after people, but this one’s just special, so you’re gonna have to make an exception, okay?” The brunette’s lips stopped moving, but her eyes stayed wide open as she watched the star as if, if she watched it long enough, studied it hard enough, you would materialize from its luminescence. As if you would come back to her. But when you didn’t, she finally allowed her watering eyes to rest, her eyelids drooping to surround her in darkness.
“I’m not okay, Y/N.” The witch’s voice was softer than it had ever been, more tired. But this time, there was no one to whisk her off and make her forget the heaviness of it all. “I need you so badly. I love you so much. I always will. But, please, angel, call me back.”
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x fem!reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff#avengers x reader#marvel#mcu#I wrote something#alwaysmarveling
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Idk if you do one shots inspired in songs, but if so, Would you mind doing one with a Taylor Swift's song which is called "The 1"? With Mason Mount please
< i love taylor so much and i really hope i didn’t completely butcher this, but thanks for the challenge :) >
MASON MOUNT ONESHOT
the 1
( WARNING: little bit of angst and fluff?, swearing )
word count: 1.8k
Things don’t often go as we expect them to, and it’s often incredibly difficult to replan your life around that massive change and adapt your lifestyle so you can — in reality — live again.
It’s like trying to find your feet when you’re in the air — it feels impossible but you know with time you’ll eventually meet the ground again.
That’s what it felt like when you and Mason broke up four years ago.
You were fresh out of uni and at the time, you really thought he’d be it for you, and honestly, so did he. A break up thrown into the mix of having to navigate adult life just seemed to put a huge stopper on all your plans; the holiday you two had both booked for a weekend away in Ireland, the meals out with friends that you had to cancel, and the house showings you were set to attend.
Looking back on your relationship now, you realise it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to end up with Mason. All the years and effort and time put into loving him were — without a doubt — some of the best years of your life (at that stage in life), and did you regret it?
Not one single bit.
But four years is the perfect amount of time to heal, remove the salt from the wound and finish grieving.
But he was here. In real life.
You’d imagined running into him in the supermarket or on a night out with your friends, but a bus stop?
That one was weird. Mainly because you both hated catching the bus with a burning passion.
But it lead to a catch up over coffee.
It was a quiet place, out of the way of the usual lunchtime hustle and bustle in the city, and for that you were grateful. You could hear your own thoughts.
It was awkward at first, you couldn’t keep your eyes from fixating on his figure, his features, because four years can really change a person. He was much broader, his hair a little shorter, but he was still that same Mason you once loved.
You knew that because the first thing he did when he sat down was offer you that cheeky, charming smile that had you hooked from the second you met.
He’d asked how you were, and you answered honestly: you were living well, your best life, and to the fullest. And you knew and he knew that it wasn’t a lie.
He could tell by the smile on your face and the new, sparkling band on your wedding finger. He half expected that blow to sting a little — that you’d found someone and he hadn’t, but he was never one to be bitter whatsoever, at least, not when it came to you.
Instead, he offered his congratulations and the only inkling of regret he held was not being there when it happened.
I guess you never know, never know,
And if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed,
And if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow,
And it’s alright now.
There was silence after that.
You had one thing on your mind, and you knew by the way he was looking at you that he was also thinking the same thing.
You took a sip of your coffee.
He mirrored your actions, seemingly startled when you placed your mug onto your saucer, the chink of porcelain against porcelain echoing around the small shop cutting through the previous quietness.
“I think I hated you for a while.” You murmured, and if Mason wasn’t leant over the table slightly, he would’ve missed the statement completely.
He nodded in understanding, his brown eyes shining with the faintest hint of guilt.
“I think I was so frustrated with the idea that we just…didn’t work, and I blamed it on you.” You paused, fingers twisting your rings.
He paused, mulling over his words, “And now? Still hate me now?”
You bit back a small smile and met his eyes, “No…I think it’d take a whole load of bad shit to get me to hate you.”
He smiled.
“That’s good to know.”
“I mean, I think it was a long time coming anyway, that break up.”
“It didn’t feel right for a while.”
“No,” you agreed, “as much as it hurt to admit, I think we just failed…as a couple. There was a point where we were just together for the sake of not giving up on the relationship, but with no real reason to continue.”
But we were something, don't you think so?
Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool,
And if my wishes came true,
It would've been you,
In my defense, I have none,
For never leaving well enough alone,
But it would've been fun,
If you would've been the one.
He seemed to ponder over your words, and although he never voiced it, he came to the conclusion that you’d just put into words — perfectly — the itch that had been tickling his brain for the past few years.
“Despite that, you can’t deny that we weren’t something…” he started, before breaking off and shaking his head, as if the mere thought was ridiculous.
“We were something special. I think, had things stayed like they were in the beginning, that…you and I…” you waved your hand, tilting your head, and he nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Me too. I think…in another life we could have made each other happy. It would have been fun.”
The words ‘if you would’ve been the one’ echoed in your head, and despite the passive aggressiveness of your conscience, you found yourself holding back a smile.
“Water fights in winter and eggs with ketchup…perfect. I’d never have gotten tired of that.” You mused, and he spluttered slightly on his coffee, laughing along with you in what felt like a decade.
I have this dream you're doing cool shit,
Having adventures on your own,
You meet some woman on the internet and take her home,
We never painted by the numbers, baby,
But we were making it count,
You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.
“Then again, who knows? Maybe you’ll fall over in the airport and some lucky person will help you off the floor—”
“You’re about to say something cheesy, aren’t you?” Mason covered his mouth, scrunching his nose in anticipation as you nodded.
“All this nostalgic bullshit has me emotional! I swear, just this once…just this once, and I promise you can laugh about it afterwards.” You swore, holding out your pinkie for confirmation.
He didn’t hesitate, and linked your pinkie.
“You’ll find someone else. It’ll be love at first sight—hey, let me have this moment…maybe love at second sight, knowing you… you’ll go to some really magical place and have the most amount of fun you’re ever gonna have…hikes, skydiving, looking after animals I’m sanctuaries…you’re gonna have the time of your life — like Grey and Swayze.” You sniggered, unable to hold in your laughs at the ridiculous scenarios.
Mason pulled a face, unable to hide a smile.
“Okay, okay. End of story: they’ll be perfect. The Chandler to your Monica or the Robin to your Ted. But, you understand what I’m talking about, right?” You asked, sighing out of frustration.
“You’re saying I’ll find my person.” He concluded, sitting back in his chair.
“Yeah.”
We were something, don't you think so?
Rosé flowing with your chosen family,
And it would've been sweet,
If it could've been me,
In my defense, I have none,
For digging up the grave another time,
But it would've been fun,
If you would've been the one.
“Like…your grandma and grandad. I want what they have.” Mason smiled.
“They’ll be pleased to hear that,” you said, “I don’t think they’re quite over us yet. You were too…you at family meals. They fell in love with you too.”
This time Mason really laughed. Really laughed. He threw his head back and the people working at the counter turned to look at him, fighting their own smiles at his carefree nature.
What you’d said wasn’t even that funny.
“Too me? Thanks, I think?”
“Oh, that’s definitely a compliment. You’re too damn charming for your own good, it’s a problem. You should come with a warning label on your forehead: EASY TO LOVE.”
“That’ll solve a lot of problems.”
There was silence.
It was relieving to say the least.
“That whole conversation was about four years too late.” You said, pursing your lips.
“Better late than never.” Mason murmured, his eyes trained on you.
The pressure on your shoulders was lifted. All the things that needed to be said were said.
As time passes, the wound heals — sometimes, but in your case, that was true, as hard as it was to come to that conclusion — and it suddenly became easier to recall the loss of what might have been without bringing you back to wishing it would be again.
It was nice.
“Would it be totally inappropriate—”
“Not at all.” You interrupted, shrugging at his raised eyebrows.
“You didn’t know what I was going to say.” He chuckled.
“I’ll have you know that years of knowing you granted me the issue of knowing what you’re going to say,” You said, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.
“What was I going to say?” He challenged, “If you get it right, I’ll get you tickets to the next game.”
You raised your brows.
“Confident, are we?”
He shrugged, a smug smirk on his lips.
“I don’t think it’s totally inappropriate to be friends.” At your words, he slumped in his chair, hands going to cover his face.
“No.” He groaned, repeating the word like a mantra as you pumped the air with your fist.
“Three tickets to the next game in the bag.” You bragged.
“Honestly.” He whined, peeling his hands away. “Why are you so difficult?”
“You offered the terms.”
“Why am I so dumb?” He rephrased.
“Ah, I'm afraid only you can answer that one.”
“The brain cells I have left don’t have enough energy to come up with an answer to a question as philosophical as that one—yes, it was philosophical to me, okay?”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” You promised, putting your hands in the air in surrender.
“Just remember who’s going to give you those tickets, yeah?” He teased, sitting up.
“Abusing your power, nice move.”
“Oh…shut up.”
“Weak.” You coughed, trying to disguise the fact you said anything.
He looked straight at you, highly unimpressed by your tactics.
“Very original.” Was all he said.
“Is it supposed to be this easy?” You blurted out, spitting out the words before you could rethink the consequences of them being thrown into the abyss between you and Mason.
He knitted his brows together in thought.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but we were friends way before, it’s not hard to fall back into old habits. I think that’s why it’s so easy.”
#Mason mount#money mount#euros 2020#euros 2021#Chelsea fc#chelsea fc#chelsea#england football#euro#football#football player#mason mount onsehots#mason mount one shot#mason mount x reader#mason mount imagine#mason mount oneshot#mason mount imagines#footballer#footballer x reader#england fc#one shot#imagine#fluff#angst
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tease // colby brock
i’m baaaack!! thank you all for your patience during my writing break, i really appreciate every single one of you <3
this is smut so 18+.
requested: yes
summary: teasing colby in public doesn’t end well for you, or does it?
word count: 5k words.
warnings: swear words, slight exhibitionism in the beginning, daddy kink, use of a blindfold and handcuffs, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), use of a vibrator, edging, sexual intercourse, aftercare.
my writing
//
“y/n,” colby whispers, teeth gritted with annoyance. his voice is stern, eyes harsh as he glances over at you. you smile at him innocently, your hand making its way further up his leg so it’s resting on his thigh, dangerously close to the bulge that’s becoming too tight in his jeans. “behave.”
you have been dragging your hand up and down his thigh for the past ten minutes, teasing him as payback for not making you cum this morning. occasionally, you let your fingertips linger on his growing bulge, feeling colby tense before he shifts his hips to release some tension, whilst you bite your lip to hide the smirk that’s threatening to tug on the corner of your lips.
“i don’t know what you’re going on about, baby.” smiling sweetly up at him, before turning your attention to sam, whilst your fingertips draw patterns into colby’s jean covered thigh teasingly.
“i’m not going to tell you again.” he mutters, reaching down to grip your hand tightly to stop your movements, when your hand moves upwards to palm him over his jeans. a shaky breath is released through his nostrils before he swats your hand off him. “pack it in, now.”
a glint of mischief shimmers in your eyes as you look back up at him, a look he knows all too well when you want him to take you back home and fuck you. once again, you begin to softly glide your hand up his thigh again. however, your hand doesn’t even get halfway up his thigh before he is gripping it tightly in his and looking towards his friends again.
“sorry guys, y/n isn’t feeling too well. i’m gonna take her back to the house.” colby announces, linking your fingers with his as you take a nervous gulp. glancing at the group and you nod your head up and down with a small frown, agreeing with colby as the group offers you a sympathetic smile.
“feel better soon y/n, see you guys back at the house.” kat smiles, her hand reaching out to give your hand that colby isn’t gripping tightly, a gentle squeeze of sympathy.
colby helps you out of the booth, making you stand in front of him to help cover his evident bulge, and dragging you towards the car once you are out of sight of your friends. stopping by the car, he pins your body between his and the door of his red car, face close to yours as you smirk up at him.
“just know that you’re in for it when we get back.” he smirks when he notices your breathing become uneven and heavy, before nodding his head towards the car. “get in.”
the car ride back to the house was so silent, you could hear a pin drop. you keep your eyes locked onto the road ahead of you with your bottom lip tugged between your lip in anticipation as to what is going to happen. occasionally, you glance into colby’s direction but mentally cringe when you take in his expression.
his knuckles were white from holding onto the steering wheel too tight, you’re scared it’s going to snap at any moment. his face is expressionless, a cold and hard stare evident as he concentrates on the road, not once looking over towards you. you can literally see the steam coming out of his ears like a steam train, because he is so mad with you for teasing him in front of his friends. flicking your eyes down his body, you can’t stop the slight smirk from appearing onto your face when you see the ever so slight bulge sitting in his black jeans.
you’re definitely in for it when you arrive home, and you don’t know whether to panic at the thought of the punishment, or to enjoy it because secretly, teasing colby in public is one of your favourite things to do, especially because it ends with rough sex every time.
your heart skips a beat once you lock eyes with the gates to the house. your heart starts thumping a million miles per hour in your chest, when colby opens the gates with the key fob that’s attached to his car keys.
after parking the car, he turns the ignition off and unbuckles his seat belt, removing his car keys out of the ignition during the process. without laying his eyes on you, he stretches his hand towards you, silently getting you to take them out of his hand. gulping, you take the keys off him slowly, key rings clicking together as the cool metal rests on your palm.
“you’ve got five minutes to get upstairs, strip off and lay on the bed.” his eyes are focused on the brown door of the house, deep breaths are passing through his nostrils as he chews on his bottom lip, thinking about your punishment over and over in his head. “go.”
with a dramatic sigh and a roll of your eyes, you unbuckle your seatbelt stropily, letting the metal part of it collide with the door of colby’s car. with this, colby turns his head quickly and takes a look, eyes flicking between the seat belt and your pouty lips before tutting. reaching forward, he grabs your chin harshly with his thumb and pointer finger, forcing your head to turn to look at him, he looks at you with a disappointed and stern expression.
“if you keep carrying on acting like a child, you won’t cum at all today.” he spits, dropping his hand from your chin and reaching over you to open the car door wide. “now get out of the fucking car. don’t make me tell you again.”
//
your heart begins to thump against your ribcage when you hear colby’s boot clad shoes making their way up the stairs. after laying on the bed for what felt like eternity, the door creaks when it opens wide, colby’s deep and shallow breaths fill your eyes as you watch his every move from the bed, only making your heart rate pick up more in anticipation.
closing the door behind him and then locking it immediately, he turns around and let’s his eyes scan over your naked frame, a glint of lust washing over his pupils as his eyes linger on your breasts whilst chewing his bottom lip. a smirk is threatening to tug at the corner of your lips, loving the effect that you have over him, so you bite your own lip to stop the action from happening, although the man standing at the foot of the bed is quick to notice. he quickly walks towards the nightstand, and you notice him place two bottles of water onto it before walking back to the bottom of the bed again, crossing his arms over his chest once stopping.
“i don’t know what you find so amusing, princess.” he raises his eyebrows, eyes boaring into yours as yours flick from his face, to his evident bulge in his tight jeans, and back up to his face again. “you think it’s funny making daddy rock hard in front of my friends, huh?”
“no, daddy.” you shake your head slowly, voice quiet, almost scared of his reaction. you gulp hard as he moves swiftly to his wardrobe and grabs a large black bag and chucks it onto the bed, the bag landing next to you. your breathing increases, heavy breaths spilling past your nostrils as you stare at the bag, knowing exactly what is coming next.
your eyes never leave colby’s ring clad hands as they slowly drag the zipper, making the bag open. the clinking of metal chains pierce your ears as he pulls out four pairs of metal handcuffs, a blindfold and something else that you didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of, before he is zipping the leather bag up again and placing it onto the ground next to the bed.
“spread your legs wide.” he demands, hands opening all sets of handcuffs as you obey his orders, spreading your legs apart without any complaints, knowing full well that you’re in for a long ride ahead of you. “good girl.”
he moves to the bottom of the bed again, dragging the metal of the handcuffs along your legs slowly, glancing up at you to gage your reaction. the coolness of the chain causes you to gasp, hands gripping the mattress below you as he glides the metal chain towards your thighs and over your core teasingly, before dragging it back down to your feet again.
harshly, he grips your right ankle with his left hand as his right hand pushes the handcuff closed, before connecting it to the bed frame at the bottom of the bed. he tightens it, before repeating his actions to your left leg, until both of your legs are stuck in place and attached to the bed. looking down briefly, you can’t help but get turned on even more at the sight of your body being handcuffed to colby’s bed, knowing full well that he is loving every second of this.
“arms up,” he spits, his clothes covered body hovering over your naked frame as he clicks the last two pairs of handcuffs over your wrists, and to the bed frame, your body spread wide for him, making colby lick his lips in excitement. sliding his body off of yours, he stands up straight, eyes scanning your body once more before turning to look at you with a devilish smirk. “you look beautiful handcuffed to the bed angel, it’s just a shame that you’re not gonna cum for a while.”
he reaches beside him to pick up the black satin blindfold, and slips it over your head, covering your eyesight so you can’t see a single thing. the dirty thoughts and visions that cloud your brain make you whine softly and wetness to further flood your core, causing you to shift around the bed impatiently, desperate for the pent up tension over the past couple of hours to fade.
“gonna be a good girl for daddy?” he mocks, one hand caressing the skin of your thighs as the other picks up his favourite vibrator that he loves to punish you with. he walks slowly to the end of the bed, eyes flicking up to your face as you tug on your bottom lip and your chest heaves as you inhale and exhale shaky breaths.
“mhm.” you hum, eyes screwing shut even though he can’t see them, and focusing on calming your breathing so it isn’t clear what the effect of colby’s voice involuntarily does to your body.
“use your words.” he places his body onto the bottom of the bed, knees resting on the floor as his chest and stomach sit between your legs. he places the vibrator next to your body as his eyes take in your slickness that is pooling between your folds, begging to be licked up by colby’s tongue.
“yes, daddy.” you manage to say as his fingers trace over the insides of your thigh, brushing against your core and teasingly applying some pressure to clit, making you whimper out softly at the feeling of his middle finger pressing onto the button that causes your toes to curl. “i’ll be your good girl, daddy.”
“too bad you couldn’t be a good girl at lunch.” he mutters, his hot breath fanning across your core, resulting in you lifting your hips off the bed ever so slightly with a soft sigh.
“safe word?” he asks, looking up from between your legs, his eyes focus on your face and his cock hardens immediately in his boxers to see your head tipped back and your bottom lip in between your pearly white teeth.
“purple.” you breath out, thighs shaking in anticipation as he brushes over your core again with his palm.
“good girl.” he praises, removing his eyes from your face and back to your glistening core.
colby’s middle finger swipes through your folds unexpectedly, wetness collecting onto his tip as he rubs slow circles into your clit. whimpers immediately fall past your lips as he skilfully circles your clit, before dipping his fingers back down through your folds to gather more of your slickness and dragging it back up to your clit, playing with it again in the way that makes your back arch every time.
“you’re so fucking wet. does it turn you on teasing daddy in public? god, you’re a dirty girl aren’t you?” he teases, swirling your clit with his middle and ring fingers.
“feels so good daddy.” you groan, legs stuttering as the pleasure travels through your body and causing the metal to clink against the bed frame.
at your words, he stops his movement on your clit for a moment, eyes flicking up to see a frown plastered onto your lips, before opening your folds with his thumb and index finger, and licking a stripe from your entrance right up to your clit. his lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly onto it before pulling away and licking it in the way that causes you to cry out, hands tugging onto the chains desperately trying to grip his hair.
“fuck,” you moan loudly, eyes screwing shut as the pleasure of the flicking of his tongue rakes through you, causing your body to feel warm as sweat beads on your forehead. “shit, oh my god, fuck daddy.”
“you like it when daddy eats your pussy, baby?” he asks rhetorically, already knowing the answer as your head nods up and down frantically. his middle finger pushes through your entrance with ease, his finger pumps in and out of you quickly and the sounds of your slickness against his ring covered digit makes him groan deeply and you whimper pathetically.
his ring finger joins his middle finger, the slight stretch making your back arch off the bed again as his tongue continues to flick against your clit, sucking it occasionally as he curls his fingers inside you, his fingertips prodding the spongy wall that makes your breath hitches and your thighs shake with every touch.
“oh my god,” you whine, body shaking as he repeatedly rubs against your gspot and his tongue expertly focuses on your clit, licking it side to side before circling it in fast circles, loving the way your walls contract around his fingers. “fuck, i’m so close.”
after another couple of seconds colby pulls his mouth and fingers away from your body, fingers and chin glistening with your slickness and you moan out below him in frustration, body heaving with a thin layer of sweat as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“i was so close then, you’re so mean.” you whine, heart pounding in your chest and your core pulsates from the thought of nearly cumming all over colby’s fingers and tongue.
“i’m mean? oh baby girl, i’m just getting started.” he laughs humourlessly before returning to his previous position. his fingers slide through your folds, gathering up the wetness and circling your clit again.
loud gasps and whimpers release from your lips as his fingers return deep inside your core, fingertips curling again as he pounds his hand against your clit with every thrust of his wrist. colby groans and the feeling of your warm wetness coating his fingers, only causing you to clench around his digits and groan aloud, head tipping back as your mouth hands ajar. with a smirk, he picks up his pace, loving the way your body starts to shake again against his palm, signalling that you're close to release once again.
“fuck, fuck, fuck!” you moan repeatedly, body tingling as the fire in the pit of your stomach roars. chains thrashing against the headboard cloud the room before colby removes his hands again, earning yet another groan from you.
standing up quickly, colby works fast to tug his tshirt off his now slight sweaty body from punishing you. throwing it onto the ground next to him, he then works on unhooking his belt, the sound of his belt causing your heart rate to increase slightly until you hear it clink onto the floor. pulling his jeans down his legs, he sighs through his nostril at the feeling of his rock hard dick finally being free out of his tight black jeans, before moving back to his previous position.
he gives you a second to calm down again, slick covered fingertips dragging across your thighs as he leans down to connect his lips to the inside of your thighs, sucking dark red marks into them. after leaving various marks inside your right thigh, he reaches over to grab the black vibrator, teasing your entrance with it slowly before dragging it up through your folds and to your clit.
soft sights scatter past your lips as he circles the tip of the vibrator onto your clit before he clicks the button, the soft humming vibrations immediately tickling your clit, causing you to moan loudly and your back to come off the bed.
“shit,” panting breathlessly, tugging on the chains as he trails the vibrator through your slick folds, teasing your entrance with the tip before pushing it through easily with a click of the button, changing the patterns of the vibrations to a more intense one. “oh fuck!”
colby positions the vibrator so it’s resting against your pubic wall, the strong vibrations tickling your spongy wall, as colby uses his other hand to gently rub your clit. the added stimulation makes you cry out animalistically, your legs are begging to clamp shut from the immense pleasure that is flowing through you right now, but they’re unable to because of the handcuffs attached to your ankles and the bed.
“i’m so close, daddy. fuck don’t stop, please.” you beg, desperation lingering in your plea and colby is fully aware of this as he looks up to see your face twisting with pleasure.
“being such a good girl for me, angel.” he mummers, continuing to rub small circles into your clit, before starting to pump the black vibrator in and out of our leaking entrance, emitting a deep groan and a pant of ‘daddy’ to pass your red lips from biting them harshly.
stopping his movements on your clit and sitting up a little bit, he makes sure to push the vibe back and forth inside you whilst reaching up to grip the blindfold. pulling it off your head, he throws it behind him and presses his lips to yours immediately, muffling your moans and groans with his mouth.
pushing his tongue past your lips, you can’t help but whimper at the taste of yourself on his tongue and the feeling of the vibrator working it’s magic deep inside your walls.
pulling away your lips quickly, you look at him with desperation, feeling the knot in your stomach about to snap at any moment from the edging that colby has been doing for the past hour.
“i need to cum, please daddy.” you whimper, biting your lip hard to stop your moans from becoming too loud, but failing miserably as he diverts his gaze from your eyes to your core and clicks the button again, only increasing the speed of the vibrations once more. “holy shit! i need to cum so fucking bad.”
he nods in acknowledgment, watching you intensively as your body begins to tremble uncontrollably as he pumps the vibrator in and out quickly, metal clashing against the bed frame and loud moans fall freely off your tongue as your eyes begin to roll in the back of your head, the pleasure almost becoming unbearable.
“cum for me.” he grunts, his cock twitches in his boxers, begging to be released from them as he watches your body roll against the vibrator, helping you towards your release.
soon enough your body tenses, the knot snaps and your eyes clamp shut as your walls pulsate around the black vibrator, releasing your slickness all of it. animalistic moans roll of your tongue as he continues to ride out your high, swirling the tip of the vibrator over your clit, causing your breathing to hitch at the sensitivity. with a smirk, he switches the vibrator off and brings it up to your lips.
“open up, baby. see how good you taste.”
you oblige, parting your lips and sticking your tongue out for him as he rests the vibrator onto your tongue, groaning around it as you taste yourself and to tease colby, fully aware that his cock is probably aching to be touched. earning a shaky breath from colby, you can’t help but smile at him, showing him your innocence and getting a shake of his head as a response.
pulling the vibrator out of your mouth, he places it onto the bedside table and stands up next to the bed and tugs his boxers down his legs and tipping his head back with a tug of his lip at the feeling of his cock finally being free. he opens the draw to the bedside table and pulls out a condom, as he rolls it over his length, he inhales a deep breath when the condom engulfs his cock.
he reaches for the silver key that is sitting on the bedside table next to the vibrator, before moving to the bottom of the bed again. reaching for your right ankle, he slots the key inside the lock, twisting it and removing your ankle from the handcuff and letting it drop onto the soft mattress, before repeating the action to your left ankle.
climbing over you so his body is resting above yours, he hooks your legs so they’re resting around his waist before leaning down and pressing his lips with yours again. moaning into the kiss, colby can’t help but grind his length into your hips, the stimulation making you whimper against his lips and your arms thrash around to grab his shoulders as an attempt to remove the handcuffs from around your wrists.
“not yet baby girl, you’ve been a bad girl haven’t you?” he mocks, mouth lowering to your neck to press wet kisses into your sweet spot, causing your eyes to fall shut again and gentle moans escape your lips. “you ready for my cock? of course you are, you’re always ready for my cock aren’t you?”
gripping his length with his right hand, he swirls the tip of his cock around your clit before dragging it through your wetness and sinking into your entrance with a deep groan, loving the way your walls wrap around his cock deliciously.
“fuck your body was made me for me, shit.” he coos, flicking his eyes up to see your head tipped back against the pillow, and your mouth ajar with whimpers spilling through at the feeling of his cock finally filling you up.
quickly, he begins to rock his hips back and fourth, his pelvic bone hitting your clit harshly with every thrust and the sound skin slapping against each other crowd the large room, as well as colby’s and yours grunts and groans as he slams his hips into yours.
“holy fuck, daddy.” you sob, pleasure building up within your body quickly as he reaches behind you to lift one leg over his shoulder, the new position letting colby bury his cock even deeper inside you, making you see stars. “yes, yes, yes!”
colby grasps your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, before leaning down again and sloppily connecting his lips with yours, sharing open mouth kisses with each other before you push your tongue through his lips and collide your tongue with his, as he continues to rut into your entrance roughly.
pulling away from his lips to catch your breath, which is nearly impossible as every thrust of colby’s lips knocks the breath out of your lungs, your eyes roll back in your head as you feel the pressure building within your core again, causing your walls to flutter around colby’s length, earning a groan from him.
“fuck keep doing that.” he spits, hips keeping the same rhythm as he stares down at you, taking in your face. your lips are swollen from the kissing and lip biting, beads of sweat littered across your forehead and skin, and your hair is an absolute mess, but to colby you look so beautiful. “good girl. my good girl.”
“i’m gonna cum,” you clench around him again at his words, head spinning as the pressure inside you is begging to spill, body trembling against colby’s torso.
before the knot snaps, colby stops his movements and pulls out of you quickly and gets off the bed, earning a frustrated groan from you as you look to the side to see where he has wandered off to, only to be met with him walking back towards you with a silver key. your eyes immediately light up as he slots the key into the lock, twisting it and letting your arm fall out of it, repeatedly the action to the other handcuff. your hand wraps around your wrist, rubbing the now red skin before colby is trapping your body under his again.
wrapping your legs around his waist yet again, he wastes no time to sink his cock back deep inside of you, this time you circle his neck with your arms, pulling him towards you and connecting your lips with his with a moan as he rocks his hips back and forth quickly, determined to make you cum within a second.
the knot from five seconds earlier builds back up easily, hands gripping colby’s back tightly you’re certain it’s going to leave scratch marks all over it as he pounds into you deeply. you're pretty certain that you can feel him in your stomach, and his hand travels between your bodies, finger attaching to your clit and swirling soft circles into it.
“oh my god, i’m gonna cum.” you manage to choke out, head falling back one again against the soft pillow beneath you. colby takes this as an opportunity to attack your neck with kisses, he mutters the base of it with purple hickies, before swiping his tongue over the fresh mark. “shit, need to cum so bad!”
“so do i, right behind you.” he grunts, head falling to rest into the crook of your neck as your core pulsates harshly around him, notifying him that you’re going to release at any moment. “cum for me, baby girl. fuck, cum for me.”
“thank you, daddy.” you groan into his ear, fingernails digging into his broad back. his words were all you needed to clamp down onto his cock, knot snapping in your core and profanities to roll off your tongue as you cling onto him for dear life, your orgasm hitting you like a wave. your body tenses and untenses as he continues to snap his hips at the same pace into yours, helping you ride out your orgasm and bringing his to him.
panting loudly, your core pulsates around colbys cock, edging him to his own orgasm as his thrusts become sloppy, letting you both know that he’s not going to last much longer. within a second, his hips come to a stop, burying them into yours deeply with a strangled groan as he releases his load in white ribbons into the condom, his head resting on your shoulder as his orgasm washes over his body.
heavy pants cloud the room, your fingers thread through colby’s hair to help his breathing pattern return to normal, as his hands softly trace patterns into your thighs that are wrapped around his waist still. after a couple of moments he pulls away, lifting himself off and pulling his hips out of yours with a hiss from you both, before he throws the condom into the bin beside the bed.
reaching over to the bedside table, he grabs a bottle of water before returning to the bed and laying beside you. passing you the bottle, he studies your movements, your arms are shaking slightly, eyes droopy from exhaustion and sweat is covering your body. he watches you as you take a big gulp of the water, panting afterwards from the large sip.
“you okay, baby?” he asks, concern is written all over his face as he eyes you up.
“yeah, i’m okay.” nodding your head, your turn to look at him, taking another sip before returning the cap on top of the bottle and placing the water beside you.
“are you sure?” his eyebrows are furrowed, teeth chewing his bottom lip as he opens his arms wide for you to rest on top of his chest. it doesn’t take a second for you to crawl over to him, head resting on his slightly sticky chest from the built up sweat but you didn’t care.
“yes, positive.” you smile wide up at him, before yawning and catching the yawn with the back of your hand, causing the purple haired man to grin softly.
“we’ll get a shower then grab some food and clean up the room, but for now let’s rest.” wrapping his arms tighter around you, he cranes his neck down to slot his lips with yours gently, pressing a couple of kisses to your lips, then to your nose and forehead. “you did amazing by the way.”
“thank you.” you chuckle, letting your eyes gently close as the rhythm of colby’s heart beats in your ear. “i knew i would get you to fuck me today.”
“now now, don’t get cocky.” he grins, fingertips prodding your sides, emitting a laugh from you as your body wriggles against his.
“i love you.” you whisper softly once he stops his teasing. wrapping your arms around his waist tightly, you rest your leg on top of his, causing the man to hold your thigh whilst drawing soft patterns into your hot skin.
“i love you more.” he peppers your hairline with kisses, before tugging the blanket that you pushed to the side of the bed prior to getting on it, over your body and wrapping the fluffy blanket around you both. “now rest up, baby. you deserve it.”
request here
#colby brock#colby brock x reader#colby brock blurb#colby brock imagine#colby brock smut#colby smut#colby blurb#traphousedaily
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She was his best friend and they shared everything together already anyway. What difference would it make if it were a hat, shampoo, or the same bed sometimes? So what? That's what the Uni Daze were about, having fun, traditions, getting serious, new relationships, friendships, heart ache, break-ups, make ups, secrets, the occasional/casual bajingo here and there, and possibly, just maybe, finding the love of your life and hoping that it all works out.
Warnings: smut, slow burn, angst, mentions of abortion, mentions of verbal abuse
Harry Styles x OC (Face claim Zendaya)
Uni Daze Masterlist
Chapter 1 (Word Count 4k)
Harry
Water droplets cascaded down my neck before I grabbed a towel to throw over my head. That shower was definitely needed. My muscles would be sore from my workout this morning, but I enjoy the ache. As I headed towards my room to put on clothes I noticed that my roommates door was still closed and for Michelle this can only mean one thing.
I pulled up my trousers and pulled my t-shirt over my head before layering it with a plaid button up. If she doesn't wake up soon, I'll be forced to take measures into my own hands. I walked halfway down the hall and then stopped to pick up the beanie that I let Michelle borrow last night. The hat was carelessly tossed on the floor along with a t-shirt of hers and a pink-ish orange lace bra. This was just one of the many downsides of living with a woman. Even if she is your best mate, finding the occasional bras and panties mixed into your clothes on laundry day can put a damper on your chances of trying and talk to a girl if you don’t have a washer and drier in house, and lets not even mention those four to five days out of the month when a tampon box is left on the bathroom sink and you have to explain that to a date. Not thinking, I picked all of the items up before I dropped the shirt and bra on the ground, feeling somewhat awkward touching something that was so close in contact with Michelle's...intimate bits.
"Michelle?!" No answer…
"Mitchell?! Wake up you're gonna be late for our first class!”
I laughed to myself at her lack of response before I sauntered back down the hall to my room grabbing the Ultimate Alarm; a fog horn that Michelle, the lads, and I nabbed from a school footie game. We each have one and have all have organized to use it with each other when the drink has made us more sluggish than functional.
Not much has changed since the first day I met Michelle. She's the only one here that I've met who seems to have stayed the same throughout all the three years of university that I've known her....That can be looked at as both a good and a bad thing.
Shaking the foghorn with devilish delight and biting my cheeks so that I wouldn't blow my cover, my feet stopped in front of her door once again. I cracked the entrance slightly sticking my arm in the room and turning my head away to shield my ears as much as possible from the noise. As soon as I pressed the button to sound it off, I heard a loud thudding sound followed by cursing. If she wasn't up before, she's up now.
"WHAT THE FUCK, HAZLAND?!”
I ran back to my room to put the horn down and grab my bag. This is the first year that I haven't strained my back to pick it up. Fouth year with a lighter load but more studying than I did in all the other three years combined seems pretty backwards to me, but I won't complain.
"What time is it?”
"Half- Oh-“
Michelle emerged from her room looking worse for wear. Her hair was in a nest atop her head and she only wore a long sleeved burgundy t-shirt and a black pair of boy short knickers on her lithe, lanky frame. I swallowed deeply and turned my head away not expecting her to be so scantily clad. The colors contrasted with her warm honey/caramel skin tone and it was only then that I took in how much of her skin was actually showing. I've seen her naked before but it was an accident and brief. Very brief. I only saw her outlines really, nothing of real importance... not that I was trying to look or anything.
"Half past eight. Go put on trousers! I don't want to see your bajingo!”
Michelle primped her dry lips at me prior to moistening them with a swipe of her tongue, making sure to flip her middle finger up in my direction before she disappeared back into her room.
"Everyone wants to see my bajingo Harry and that's plenty of time for me to get ready. You didn't have to use the Ultimate Alarm. It's not like I was in a drug induced coma!”
"I called you twice but you didn't answer. I thought that-“
I trailed off my words as a gorgeous blonde walked out of Michelle's room. Her hair was tussled and she was scrambling to adjust her skirt as Michelle looked at me with a tightlipped grin, feeling out the room.Michelle walked her secret house guest to the door and gave her a lingering kiss that caused the girl to stand on tip toe before awkwardly waving a goodbye to her and shutting the door. I was left stunned.
"Pick your jaw up off the floor Styles!”
"That- that was a girl.”
“Yes."
"She was your friend?”
“No."
Michelle walked into the kitchen grabbing an orange juice carton out of the refrigerator. She took a sip straight from the jug causing me to grimace before she rolled her eyes at me and grabbed a red solo cup. I was only momentarily distracted before I continued on my previous trail of thought.
"But, you were...and she…"
"Yes Harry, spit it out come on. You're almost there. I know it. I can feel it”
"She was putting her clothes back on.”
Michelle nodded her head in agreement as she continued to guzzle the rest of our citrusy, pulp free juice. After she finished it, she tossed the empty plastic to me and then walked out of the kitchen. I was right by the bin but set the cup on the countertop as my brain continued to navigate through what I think I want to ask.
"You didn't have on many clothes…"
"No, Harry. Neither of us did last night.”
Michelle folded her arms while squinting at me. The hint she's dropped allows what comes out of my mouth next to be uninhibited and honestly sound a bit too over zealous about the idea.
"You had sex with her?”
Michelle nodded her head up and down grinning slightly. Almost a smug look on her face I would say. She hadn't been in a relationship in a while. The last one I remember was when she was with my best mate Louis. It's how I met her as a matter of fact. Michelle and Louis are virtually the same person. It's freaky sometimes. She could be a reincarnate of him as a girl. They were inseparable, but when it ended it ended badly. I'm still not clear on the reason why. Neither of them will talk about it, but I managed to stay neutral in the whole situation and still be able to carry on a friendship with both of them. I'm still good friends with Lou, but he doesn't come around as much since I moved in with Michelle. Me and her got on so well while her and Louis dated it was hard not to become friends with her as well. Louis moved on and moved in with his bird earlier this year and I haven't really seen Michelle with anyone...Until now.
"So-so, you're a lesbian then?”
"Yes Harry. I've 'switched teams' as they say.”
"Since when?” I was just so shocked.
"Since over the summer...Does it bother you?” Michelle looked down at the ground and scratched the back of her neck as if she were bracing herself if I said it did and to be honest I was slightly offended that she’d think that way of me.
“No… No, I just never saw you with anyone over the summer.”
I could hear a sigh of relief escape Michelle’s lips as she turned to leave the front door.
I could have sworn she only hung out with me and the lads when Louis wasn't around. She hung out with us so much and we'd gotten so comfortable around her that we actually started counting her as one of the guys and calling her 'Mitch' or 'Mitchell' instead of Michelle. She always pretends to get cross with us when we called her that, but she can never keep a straight face long enough for us to believe that she doesn't like it.
"That doesn't mean I wasn't with anyone Harrow." Michelle winked at me and went back into her room coming out ten minutes later in joggers, a t-shirt, and Nike trainers with no backpack, one pencil, and a pen. Very prepared.
"Told you thirty minutes was more than enough time. Come now, Hazland.”
"...That's what she said." I smiled proudly at my own joke while Michelle gave me an unwavering a stale face.
"If I can say anything about growth in these last 4 years of our friendship it would be that you have made the least of it. You are the worst.”
“The pot shouldn’t call the kettle names. I thought it was funny." I grinned at her irritation grabbing all of my things in preparation to start the final year.
"Of course you did. Usually when you think it's funny that means it's not.”
Michelle exited out leaving me to lock the door to our new off campus apartment but I wanted to know more.
I followed behind her and asked her all types of questions. You can't just spring on people that you've switched sides and not expect them to want to know all of the details. In all honesty it wasn't a big deal as long as she was happy. Perhaps I was just being nosy, but after usually seeing her with mainly men my underlying question to her was probably, "Why?"
"I wasn't having that much luck with guys, Haz. One night I went out for a drink and a girl approached me so I figured, why the hell not? What could it hurt, really? Nothing. I went for it, and I enjoyed myself.”
She didn't have a great track record with guys after her split with Lou. She was so unhappy at one point, but then again when you bring home assholes and expect them to turn into stand up gents tears are to be expected. They always looked like gutter grunge to me but at the moment that seemed to be her type, so I didn't say anything. I've actually spent a lot of nights with Michelle rubbing her back as she cried against my shoulder and handing her the odd Kleenex to substitute for my shirt. Now that I think about it, last summer I really didn't see her with any guys. I guess when I saw her with girls I always assumed they were just her friends.
"So...What's it like?”
"What's what like?”
"You know the, um, the switch...What's it like?" Michelle threw her head back and laughed as we reached the main building for our senior seminar class.
"You mean what's it like going from cock to fanny? Is that what you're asking me?" I raised my eyebrows at her bluntness and I could feel heat rise in my cheeks. There's no beating about the bush with Michelle, not anymore anyway.
"Pretty much, yeah. That's what I'm asking. I’m just being nosy. If it’s too much you don’t have to-“
"Honestly," Michelle shifted her eyes back and forth as if she was going to tell me the secret to life in her next sentence, "It's so much better. Guys have no clue what they're doing down there. It's so refreshing to have someone know exactly what it is that I want, when I want it, and how I want it without explaining myself like I'm a bloody rubix cube. Did you know that there are three holes down there?” She asked me sarcastically as if we weren’t both on track for Med school.
"I resent that! And no…no I didn't know that.” I replied to sarcasm with sarcasm, grinning to myself much like the purple devil emoji. I surely did know all the holes.
"Why is that, Hazland? The resentment issue?”
We took our seats in the half full lecture room at the back of the class as we normally do. Michelle, myself and the rest of the gang have started many an early weekend by sitting in the back of the class, signing the attendance sheet and then leaving when the professors back was turned. I don't think I'll do that this year though. I have too many important tests to take if I want to be a doctor. I mean to pass the UKCAT exam the first time.
"Because I'm not half bad at it. At least I don't think I am... Never got a complaint before and I don't intend to.”
Michelle laughed loudly as the professor walked in, drawing attention our way. I smiled and waved at the onlookers before Michelle chuckled again grabbing my hand to stop me as the professor started to speak.
"Just because you never got a complaint doesn't mean that it wasn't said, Harrow. Nine times out of ten, if you don’t hear a complaint it’s because she cares more about your ego than her orgasm...It’s a shame really.”
I primped my lips at her and we continued to whisper to each other back and forth while we took notes on what the professor wrote on the whiteboard during the lecture. There would be two major papers in this class. Thankfully for the twenty page essay that we'll be assigned to do later on in the quarter we can have a partner. Michelle quickly leaned her head on my shoulder choosing me to work with when the paper isn't even due until the last week of class. I of course accepted her. Not only is she my friend but she's one of those annoyingly clever people. I've honestly never seen Michelle open or purchase one required textbook in all of our three years knowing each other in our university careers, but every time marks are posted her marks are always first class honors.
By the end of class, I ended up giving Michelle a hefty amount of paper for notes in seminar and for the other classes she had throughout the rest of the day. It baffles me as to how she's this born genius, but the most unorganized person that I know at the same time. Her only response to my annoyance was, "At least I have writing utensils.”
"Was that girl this morning your girlfriend?”
"No. I'm an admitting fuckgirl. What’s the saying? If you can’t beat them join them. I refuse to be part of the played group any more. It's our last year after all. I figure it's time to up the ante. Let monogamy go.”
I laughed and shook my head before another question came up. It was always something I wanted to know about lesbians but was too embarrassed to ask. It's not like I have many lesbian friends who I could turn to and get the information that most want to know. I'm never that embarrassed around Michelle though.
"So, erm, um...who's more dominant, when you're...You know?”
Michelle rolled her eyes at the question and I began to feel like an ass.
"When we're scissoring?" She spoke loudly making my thought about embarrassment wrong.
“Chelle!"
Michelle snickered knowing that she's put a vivid image in my head of her and the mystery blonde. I shake the thought before I get too carried away. I'm not supposed to get aroused with the thought of my best friend and another girl.
"Whoever feels like it whenever they feel like it? It was always a competition with men isn't it?”
“I don’t think it’s so much a competition as it is that some women don't like being on top?” I spoke presenting the idea causing her to pop her lips in disagreement.
“It’s never asked though is it? Sounds like male assumption to me. When I'm with a girl it's just flat out pleasurable for the pair of us. It's not about dominance, Harry. It's about getting off. Scissoring isn't a thing though, by the by.”
I nodded my head up and down still in awe that she of all people had taken a liking to someone who has the same bits as she does. It didnt' bother me like she thought it did earlier and I hope I didn't give her that impression by my line of questioning. Honestly these were just things I always wanted to know. I'm actually more hurt that scissoring apparently isn't a thing...They make it look so pleasurable in porn...I've been bamboozled.
"That's enough questions about me for now. What's happened to you?”
"What do you mean?"
"Harry full offense, but you were a slut when I first met you. You've since depleted in your numbers dramatically, except I'm sure the use of your hand. There were tissues in your bin the other night when I was cleaning the apartment and you don't have a cold…"
"I have h-hay fever Michelle! Allergies kick up at random times... Don't clean my room, I'll do it! It's personal in there. I knew I couldn't find any of my shit for a reason. And hang on-" I knotted my eyebrows playfully at her earlier slut comment.
I admit that I got around, but I moved very slowly. I've only ever had sex with seven or maybe nine girls in my twenty-one years give or take. I don't really keep count. It's not like they were souvenirs or notches on my belt for me to keep track of. All of them were an experience and I'm pretty sure I could name them all if I had to.
The first time happened my last year in 6th form or high school you could say and I didn't even know Michelle then. I got teased for that a bit, but I wasn't in a rush. The maybe other seven or eight happened here at uni but it wasn't as frequent as Michelle makes it out to be. The first two were in my first year when I met Michelle, one of them ended up being my girlfriend over a span of Five months. After that, I only was only ever active with a few more spaced out over the course of two and a half years, and they were regulars. That's not that bad when you think about it, especially for a guy my age at university.
"You were Haz! You had a new girl every weekend.”
"I did not! They were the same few people. They just kind of, alternated? You just never paid them any attention so you thought they were different every time. You're giving me more credit than I deserve."
Michelle rolled her eyes and continued to tease me.
"Whatever. What's happened then?”
"I don't know what you mean. I got invested in my studies. I have to take the UKCAT this year.”
"When is the last time you fun bit wrestled, willy waggled, played 'hide the helmet', rolled in the hay as they say?" I scrunched my nose and then thought about it and then got frustrated that I had to actually think about it.
“Yet I’m the worst? Who’s this they you speak of?" I asked her, squinting my eyes and tilting my head to the side.
"Everyone says those things when talking about sex. The more mature ones do anyway. Stop dilly dallying and answer the question. When is the last time you put your 'p' in a ‘v'?"
"S-spring? Early spring? Early Spring terms I guess…"
I could feel my cheeks turn red as I answered her question and Michelle bit her cheeks as an odd snorting noise left her nose while she tried to hold in her laughter. It's not that funny.
"You haven't fucked since the spring?" I laughed more at myself than at the shocked look on her face and shook my head no.
"No, not actual Spring. Early spring terms, so February...My birthday.”
"Harry, we're at the end of August here! You might as well count yourself as celibate. Not that I can blame the girls for dodging you. You still call a vagina a bajingo.”
I chuckled before I spoke, "The word vagina is honestly just as bad as bajingo. And this is coming from someone who has over a hundred words and phrases for sex.”
"A hundred and counting, Harrow.”
I shrugged my shoulders and tried to make the red in my cheeks less noticeable by rubbing my hand over my face. Spring term is when I decided to get more focused. I threw myself into clubs and my books to try to get more into school and buckle down. I'm even president of our graduating class now, prepared to serve on the Alumni council after graduation and I for one am proud of myself for getting this far. The greater half of my first three years here at university was spent at frat parties and in my bed sleeping class time away. I barely know how I made it through this far with decent grades, but I'm grateful that I did. Failure isn't an option.
Michelle stood on tip toe, leaning her head on my shoulder all the while soothingly rubbing my back. When I turned my head to face her, she batted her long lashes at me and made her big brown eyes look like one of those odd cartoon characters whose eyes cover more than half of their face.
"It's okay, Harry.”
"What is?”
"That you haven't gotten any pussy in over six months." Michelle has officially taken a back seat and let Mitchell take the wheel. This is how she got the nickname in the first place.
"Sod off Mitch! It's not like it's a bad thing-“
"Like shit it isn’t."
"I'm busy anyway.”
"With your hand and those bin tissues." I nudged Michelle off my shoulder feigning to be fed up with her masturbation jokes.
"Well if you weren't in my room you wouldn't have seen them! Gosh, you do something one time and then that's what people automatically associate you with!”
Michelle lets out another awkward snort that causes both of us to laugh out loud as we walk through the halls preparing to go our separate ways for the rest of the day.
"That was actually kind of funny Harry. Your jokes are getting a bit better.”
"Yeah, I know. They're funny when they're at my expense.”
"Aw, Hazland. You poor, poor serial masturbator. I'll see you later, yeah?”
"Yeah," I grinned at her before I turned to leave.
"Wait, how much later?” Michelle walked back towards me with one eyebrow raised to the sky as I tried to quickly map out my schedule for the day in my head before spitting it out to her.
"Uh, I get done with classes at half five, then I have a class meeting at six, and then I work at the first year halls front desk from seven to eleven thirty tonight. So I'll probably get home around midnight."
I contently sighed and grinned at Michelle as a look of pure horror took place of her once relaxed features. Her eyes seemed to widen larger after every additional activity that I listed, but I truly enjoyed remaining busy. Michelle's face remained contorted with displeasure before she spoke.
"So you're still coming to the pub later with the lads right?”
"Uh-oh. Chelle I don't know. I kind of forgot all about that. I don't think I will though, it's Monday and-“
"Ah, ah, ah, I'm not taking no as an answer. You promised and it's welcome week anyway. The pub is gonna be live! Just swing by and have one drink.”
“Nahhh I think I’m gonna-”
"One drink.”
“Sit this one out.”
"One drink, Harrow. One. Come on its tradition. You can't just bum out on tradition. This is our last year." She held up her tiny pointer finger to emphasize her point before she spoke again, this time in a small whisper, “One."
“No."
“Please?"
“No."
“Please?” Her lips pouted and her eyes turned sad trying her hand at manipulation.
"No, Chelle. No. Stop looking at me that way...Oh! Gah! Fine. I'll head to the pub when I get off work. One drink. One.”
Michelle bounced on her feet and clapped her hands in excitement making me shake my head before I turned to leave. Before I could make a real step Michelle called my name again.
"Hey, do you think I could borrow a pen? I seemed to have dropped mine."
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harrystylesfanfic#harrystylessmut#harrystyleswriting#harry styles fic rec#harry styles x oc#harry styles x original character#harry styles au#harry styles fluff#harry styles recommendations#harry styles masterlist#harry styles imagine#harry styles drabble#woah woah woah I'm super nervous posting this here#I wrote this on Wattpad years ago and am just now fixing and editing it#long hair harry#short hair harry#friends to lovers
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Summer of Whump #27: Injured
Warnings: left to care for injuries alone, thoughts of death, torture, vomit, hallucinations, fever, hurt villain whumpee
Villain fumbled with his doorknob until it opened. He collapsed with it, using only his momentum to shut the door behind him. Immediately, he slumped against it as the world around him slowly started to fade to black.
When he regained consciousness a few moments later, he momentarily forgot where he was. The pain was so great that it blocked any thoughts from slipping into his mind. He mouth tasted like blood and when he licked his damp lips, he realize that they were covered in blood.
The memories flooded into his mind like a wave, fast and overwhelming. There was Supervillain and Hero and then... Villain choked back tears. Hero abandoned him... she...
Darkness threatened to overcome him again as his mind raced with thoughts. He blinked it away and allowed his gaze to drift down to his thigh. A dagger was in the side, pushed through all the way to the hilt. Villain, with shuddering breaths, grabbed onto it with sticky hands and pulled.
A white flash of pain exploded in front of hid eyes. He let go, his body going slack and his mind spiraling down through a tunnel of oblivion.
The last thing his clouded eyes saw before he blacked out again was new blood pouring out of his wound.
He sat like that for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he found himself face first into a cool, wooden floor and other times, his cheek was leaned against a cushioning substance. He just barely tried to wonder what was going on. It really didn't matter, and the agony made sure of that.
Once, he woke up enough to drag his broken body to a cupboard. He breifly considered how smart he was to keep his first aid box in a low one before pain consumed him once again. His shaking arms threatened to give out he half hoped that they did.
Villain collapsed to the ground, but didn't pass out. He weakly grabbed to the door of the precious cupboard and opened it. Quickly, he grabbed the kit and opened it.
And then he vomitted without warning, right onto his floor. It racked his broken ribs as they moved with the motion. He began to cough until he started spatting up blood.
His face sunk into the blood and puke, exhausted. He wanted so desperately for someone to find him and help him. He closed his eyes, swimming through his memories. He knew that no one would come, the one that would betrayed him, so he had prioritize injuries.
A boot clashed with his ribs, snapping and breaking them.
A spud bar hit his finger, severing it off.
Another boot hit his jaw. There was a crack right?
Hands grappled at his throat while others tied a heavy chain right above his hips.
He was dragged through barbed wire, glass, and nails.
Tears flowed freely from Villain's bloodshot eyes. The salt stung the open cuts on his cheeks. Sure he was a villain, but did he deserve this? Did he deserve to be tortured half to death and then have to lick his wounds by himself? His head lolled to the side. He didn't know what to do. In the back of his head, he was vaguely aware that shock and adrenaline was preventing the true onslaught of pain from attacking.
He groaned. He had to take care of himself before he was unable to. He opened the first aid box and grabbed guaze pads and other supplies. The dagger was the first to be removed and it would bleed, a lot.
He wrapped a towel into a roll and placed it in between his teeth. The fabric tasted funny from being mixed with all the ointments, but Villain could care less.
His hands then went to the hilt and he hesited. What if he lost consciousness again? He could wake up in complete agony and would die of infection.
Villain pushed those thoughts aside and wrapped his hands around the dagger. Before he pulled, he realized that he was using his hand with four fingers, yet he felt no pain. His heart started beating in anticipation.
Drawing in a deep breath, Villain pulled the dagger out.
Only it stopped half-way out. Villain took in shaky breaths and blinked away the black splotches in his vision. It was barbed.
"Mm," Villain groaned, laying his head back down. He swallowed the limited saliva he had. This was impossible.
More tears spilled. Villain spit out the towel. It fell out, but landed on his cheek, irritating it. He weakly raised his hand to brush it off, but it didn't work. He tried again. No luck. He tried again until frustration allowed him to kick out.
Pain erupted through his leg, centering on the dagger. Villain screamed, loud and laced with sobs.
"I-it hurts," he cried as if someone was with him, tending to him. "It hurts soo bad."
The adrenaline disappeared, leaving Villain beyond tired with a dagger half-stuck in his flesh. Hero would have someone to take care of her. Heck, she would be so pumped full of painkillers that she wouldn't feel a thing as she drifted in and out of lala land. And here Villain was, completely alone without even a simple, warm hug.
He allowed his eyes to slip shut, knowing that sleep could act like a painkiller. But it didn't come, pain kept him awake just like it brought unwanted unconsciousness.
His eyes danced back towards the dagger. Maybe his brain would shut down if he accomplished that one simple task.
Villain dug his fingers into the gnarled flesh, clenching his teeth in pain. He worked to dislodge the dagger until it broke free, clattering on the ground.
Villain sighed in relief, but was caught mid sigh when blood started pouring out the wound at a crazy fast speed. Villain lunged forward, grabbing the towel and earning a broken scream from his throat. He pressed the towel to his thigh, but his arms were not strong enough the staunch the flow.
"Hero," Villain cried. As weak as it was, it sounded booming to Villain's desperate ears. Unless, it was his foggy mind playing tricks on him. Making it seemed like he could call Hero and she would come running. Heck, would he even start hallucinating that she was indeed here?
Villain finally was able to stop the blood flow. His trembling hands hovered over the hydrogen peroxide, but he decided against it. Pouring that over the wound would make it hurt. And hurt was not on Villain's wishlist.
He instead reached for a gauze pad and gingerly laid it over the gaping injury. His shaking fingers applied medical tape over the pad.
When he was done, he closed his eyes. His head limply hung over his chest. His lips turned up in a slight smile as exhaustion pulled him under like anesthesia.
Villain came to only a few minutes later- maybe ten, but to him, he felt like hours. He so desperately wanted to sink back into sleep when he remembered what happened. His mouth was oddly dry had an unpleasant taste in it.
"Hero," he whispered, lifting his head up only for it to flop forward again.
The gauze pad was now stained with blood, but Villain had neither the energy or the will to take care of it. His whole body ached, especially at his jaw. He moved it, testing it, but it creaked and fired up in agony. Broken.
Villain closed his eyes again. He tried not to, but his thoughts drifted to the long list of priorities he came up with. His finger was long gone and he wouldn't be able to care for his jaw. The bruises on his hip bones would fade as would the surface cuts on his face.
He could wrap his ribs up, but he wouldn't be able to get his arms around to his back.
His back.
He knew that he had glass and nails stuck in it. He knew that it would get badly infected within a couple days.
If he lived that long.
Villain shut his eyes close momentarily. He would live. He wouldn't give Supervillain or Hero the satisfaction of killing him.
Fueled by motivation, Villain shot to his feet. He immediately regretted it, however, when the world tilted and collapse in on itself. He blinked back the dizziness, gripping the counter like his life depended on it. In a strange way, it did.
Villain pushed himself towards the bathroom, sometimes having to lean against walls when a sudden wave of wooziness threatened to make him crumple. But he went on like a determined father in a snowstorm, trying to get home to his freezing wife and kids with firewood.
Villain finally reached the bathroom, triumphant, but he instantly fell onto the ground and threw up again. On his way down, he smacked his head against the tile floor.
A loud sob escaped his throat as he realized his dire situation. The previous energy faded into frustration and anger, but mostly exhaustion and loneliness. He pictured the thought of an injured Hero lying in a hospital bed.
She wouldn't be covered in sweat and vomit.
She wouldn't be lying on her bathroom floor.
She would be cared for.
Villain buried his head into the crook of his elbow, wiping snot and tears on it as he dived back into sleep.
Villain woke up on a couch. He didn't recall dragging himself onto it, but one glanced at the blood smeared floor confirmed that he indeed did.
His head felt like a hammer was hitting it. He groaned and brought a hand to his forehead. Almost instantly, he pulled backwards shocked.
His forehead waa sweaty and burning.
Villain looked at his thigh and saw it festered and puffy. He knew that his back was no better.
And now he had a fever. Fabulous.
Within the next two days, Villain tried to tend to ongoing fever with little luck. He contemplated wasting the energy to drag himself to a phone and call 911, but decided against it.
He also started hallucinating.
Apparitions of Hero and Supervillain's face danced across his hazy vision. The floor around him also turned to lava. Between these realistic (according to Villain) and the burning pain of a fever, he was in a hole of misery.
Once he even woke up on the floor of the bathroom, leaning against the bath tub. Tylenol pills were strewn all over the floor in a sloppy attempt to take a few. A thermometer also made its home by Villain's feet. The number still read 104.
He shouldn't be alive.
It was a miracle, really, but part of him wanted to die and leave this mess.
"Hero," he would sometimes cry out. He wanted her- needed her. He hurt, oh so bad, and was scared and alone.
In his short spans of consciousness, he would take in his surroundings the same way each time. Look around, look at leg, and then give in again.
He remained in the bathroom, but was now collapsed on the floor, unable to do more than lift his finger.
Hero wondered what happened to Villain after beating him up. Many times, she wanted to go see, but she also feared her sister, Supervillain.
Not that Hero did not take any pleasure in injuring Villain; it was quite satisfying in an extent, but her sister went extreme when she did not allow Villain any care.
So what brought Hero to Villain's doorstep that evening? She didn't know. All she knew was that the second no one answered the door, she had this need to barge in and find Villain.
And find him she did.
Only it was not the sight she was hoping for.
Villain was passed out of the bathroom floor, shivering like a dog with hypothermia. He was covered in sweat, blood, and vomit. Wounds that covered his exposed back were deeply infected with pus.
Hero did not hesitate. She ran to Villain and scooped his figure into her arms, guilty and mortified. She allowed this to happen.
"Hey," Hero tapped Villain's cheek. "Wake ul for me, will you?"
No response.
"Villain?" Hero asked, starting to rock. Villain's eyes fluttered and he looked up at the hero in fear.
"Wha-wha," Villain tried to speak, but his heavy tongue made it difficult. He decided to just snuggle into Hero, happy to not be lonely.
"I'm so sorry," Hero reached forward and grabbed the thermometer. Villain opened his mouth willingly, but whimpered when Hero stuck the point under his tongue.
It beeped. 104.
Hero stood up with Villain still hanging limply in her arms. She would fix this.
She promised.
#summer of whump#prompt 27#villain whumpee#guilty hero#tw vomit#feverish whumpee#crying villain#all alone#reluctant caretaker#hero whumper#supervillain whumper#torture#writing#unconscious#hero x villain
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Writing Prompt AU: Childhood Best Friends to Lover
PART 3: Age 12
Percy waves until the car and truck disappear into the intersection. There’s no way that Luke can still see him and his friends, but the four of them continue waving until all that is left of him is their memories from the past couple of years. They all live within the same neighbourhood, so they’re heading the same way, but it’s quiet without Luke’s loud presence.
“I can’t believe he actually moved,” Annabeth says in class the next day when their group of five becomes a group of four.
“Me too,” Thalia echoes with a frown, her eyes are glassy and Annabeth wraps her arm around her comfortingly. Percy wants to reach out too, but Annabeth slightly shakes her head, telling him no and he backs down.
At this point, the two of them can communicate better with actions and their facial expressions than they can with words.
Percy doesn’t like seeing his friends sad, so he spends the day cracking jokes, and forcing a smile on his face as they play games in the playground and attempt to ignore the obvious space that Luke used to occupy.
“We can always visit him on special days,” Percy tries, as they all lay on the ground later at the park after school, staring up at the clouds. He’s wedged between Grover and Annabeth so he feels when Annabeth stiffens by his side.
“Connecticut is pretty far from New York Perce, you know our parents won’t let us visit him all the time.” She says. Percy sits up and sighs, resting his arms against his knees as he looks down at Annabeth who is still laying down.
“It doesn’t need to be all the time, it can just be some of the time. We don’t have to be so sad about it.”
“I’m not sad,” Thalia snaps and stands up abruptly, grabbing her bag from the tree where they’ve thrown all their stuff.
“Thalia,” he calls, but she ignores him and starts to walk to where they’ve stashed their bikes.
Thalia is breathing heavily and roughly handling her bike when Percy catches up to her. She shoulders her bag and sits down not looking at him as he stands in front of the bike to stop her from leaving.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says softly and places his hands on the handle of her bike to steady her when she tries to get away again.
“I’m not upset Percy. Just leave me alone.”
Despite this, Percy can see how her eyes have grown brighter, and her pale cheeks and nose are dusted with pink from rubbing them.
“Thalia-”
“No Percy. You don’t get it. He wasn’t your best friend, he was mine. You have Grover and Annabeth.”
She pushes his hands off the bike and turns it away from him, pedalling away like her life depends on it.
He stares off after her with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t like seeing his friends sad.
“Hey.”
Percy turns around and sees Annabeth giving him a small smile.
“Hey.”
“She’s not angry at you, I swear,” she says and tugs on his arm so that they can go back to where Grover.
As they’re about to lie down, he sits up, glancing at his watch.
“I should probably go too, my Mum said to come home early, I’ll see you at school?”
They both wave goodbye to him, and Percy holds out a fist for Grover to bump against. Moments later, Grover is grabbing his scooter and riding it to the exit.
Annabeth lays down and pulls him down with her so that they can look up at the clouds again.
Percy doesn’t answer, choosing instead to try and find shapes and patterns in the bright sky.
“That one looks like a trident,” he says pointing up. Annabeth follows his line of vision and nods when she sees it.
“Remember that one time we were in the school performance and you were” she starts.
“Poseidon? Yeah, that was cool.” Percy grins and closes his eyes remembering the night they performed. He hadn’t needed to do much, just sit on his blue throne and hold a trident while other students were famous greek heroes with actual lines. “Who were you again? Aphrodite?”
“Athena,” Annabeth corrects, “Goddess of Wisdom.”
“Because you’re so wise?” He says with a laugh.
“Why is that funny?” She asks, but her lips are tilted up in a half-smile.
“Aren’t wise people old?” He answers, holding back another laugh. Annabeth scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“Per-cyyyy.”
“I think Athena fits. You’re so wise, like if you were a superhero or something you’d be Wise Girl, and your superhero weapon would be like a pen.” The joke isn’t even that funny, but Percy is gasping for breath and rolling in the grass. Annabeth is staring at him like he’s grown three heads, but she’s biting down on her lip, holding back a laugh. He rolls onto his stomach so he can face her and starts playing with blades of grass, pulling them and throwing them at her.
“It’s not that funny.”
“It’s kinda funny, Wise Girl.” She finally gives in and smiles, but Percy pokes her leg, trying to get her to laugh.
“Shut up.”
“Nope.” He throws a handful of grass at her and giggles when she sputters, trying to get it out of her face and hair.
“You’re so dumb, Seaweed Brain.”
“Then we match. I’m dumb and you’re wise.” This time she lets out a small laugh and Percy finally lies back, satisfied.
They fall into a comfortable silence and Percy almost feels himself falling asleep when he feels Annabeth shift a bit closer to him, pressing their arms together. All his attention goes straight to her familiar warmth and he almost doesn’t catch her next words.
“Do you think Luke will forget about us?”
“W-What?”
“Luke. Do you think he’ll forget about us when he makes new friends at his school? He said he’s always been good at making friends. What if he forgets about us and never visits.”
Percy turns and looks Annabeth straight in the eye.
“I think we’re pretty unforgettable.”
Annabeth blinks, and then her cheeks slowly turn pink.
“Do you think that’s what Luke thinks?”
Percy swallows and slowly nods, realising that their faces are quite close.
“I think Luke would be dumb to forget us. We’re awesome friends, and even if he doesn’t visit. You don’t have to see people every day to be their friends. You don’t live with your cousin but he’s still one of your best friends, right?”
“Luke’s not dumb,” Annabeth says quickly, “But yeah you’re right. I only see Magnus a couple of times a year but it always feels like we never spent any time apart.”
“See, maybe I’m the wise one,” he says smugly. Annabeth rolls her eyes and elbows him in the side.
“Hey Annabeth, Thalia said something to me and I wanted to ask-”
“She was just a bit upset, don’t take what she says seriously. My Dad always says mean things when he’s upset, but he never means it, not truly.” Annabeth says a matter-of-factly.
“No it didn’t upset me, but she said that Luke wasn’t my best friend, that he was her best friend…”
“Well, she’s kinda right. Luke is mine and Thalia’s best friend.” Percy feels a weight drop into his stomach and has to sit up again to relieve some of the pressure. Annabeth mirrors his actions and casually ties up her hair.
“I thought I was your best friend.” He doesn’t try to hide the hurt in his voice, and Annabeth doesn’t even hear it.
“You are. So is Thalia and Luke.” She says it like it’s obvious but it’s news to Percy and he gives her a blank stare, trying to understand what she’s saying.
“What about Grover?”
“He’s more your best friend than he is mine.” She answers with a shrug.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.” The weight feels like it’s growing in size and it pins him to the ground, disabling all his efforts of moving.
“So you have three best friends?”
“Mhmm.”
“Well, who’s you’re number one best friend?” Percy is kind of scared of what her answer will be, but he needs to know. For some reason, he really needs to know.
“I can’t answer that. That’s not fair.” Annabeth says frowning and folds her arms across her chest.
“But you tell me everything.”
“Not this.” Then she mimes locking her lips and then throwing away the key, signalling that the conversation is over.
“Annabeth-”
“No, I’m not saying. Come on Percy, let’s go home, the sun is going to set soon. I don’t want you to get in trouble with Smelly Gabe.”
She pulls herself up and then grabs his outstretched hand, hauling him to his feet. He’s unsteady when he stands, still feeling the weight in his stomach like someone is pushing him into the ground.
Almost blindly, he follows Annabeth to where her bike is parked and grabs his skateboard and backpack.
She starts talking about something they learnt about in class but he’s only half-listening, still thinking about their conversation from the park.
“Percy?”
“Hmm oh sorry, what did you say?”
Annabeth lets out a huff and blows a piece of hair from her face.
“Don’t worry. Were you listening to anything I said, at all?”
Percy stutters over an answer.
“Something about architecture?”
“I talk about other things than architecture Percy. I was saying maybe we could do a group call with Luke this weekend. Do you think your Mum and Gabe would let you use the phone?”
He thinks about it for a moment, mentally counting how many extra chores he’d have to do so that Gabe would allow him an hour of phone time.
“I could figure it out.” He says after a moment of silence and ignores Annabeth’s worried look.
“If it’s too much don’t worry, we can-” She says in a hurry.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll talk to him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Her face breaks into a smile and she throws her arms around him for a hug before walking up the steps to her family’s apartment. She gives him a wave before closing the door behind her.
He lives a couple of minutes away from Annabeth, but he’s the furthest from everyone because they don’t live in the expensive part of the city. The beautiful brownstone apartments turn to crumbly apartments until Percy rolls to a stop in front of his crumbly apartment and winces as he picks up his skateboard.
Gabe isn’t home (thankfully), so he’s able to get the TV to himself for a few precious minutes before he hears the keys jingling in the door.
He leaps off the couch and hurries to clean the small mess he’s made and jumps into bed grabbing a comic book from the floor and opening it to a random page.
“Percy honey can you help me please?”
Percy’s chest lightens at the sound of his Mom’s voice and he races to the front door, smiling widely.
“Hey Mom, you’re home early.”
She smiles and nods, handing him a bag, and presses a kiss on top of his head.
“Yeah, my boss said he didn’t need me to stay back too late today. Wanna help me cook tonight? I’m making Gabe’s favourite.”
Percy scrunches his nose. They only make Gabe’s favourite when something important has happened.
“Yeah sure.” He says slowly. His Mom hears his uncertainty and leads them into the kitchen, beginning to unpack the groceries she’s bought.
“Nothing to worry about sweetie, I just need Gabe to be in a good mood tonight.”
Percy’s jaw tightens.
“Mom.”
“It’s nothing Percy. Don’t worry about me. Tell me about your day.”
He still has a sick sneaking suspicion that his Mom isn’t telling him the whole truth but he recounts her day. Every little detail, from the moment he skateboarded through the school gates, to the moment he said goodbye to Annabeth. His Mom is the easiest person in his life to talk to (Annabeth and Grover are equal seconds) and he feels lighter once he finishes.
They’re more than halfway done with dinner so Sally leans against the kitchen counter and eyes Percy who has set the table and is sitting down, fiddling with the cutlery, trying to keep his hands busy.
“Can you have multiple number one best friend’s Mom?” He asks, looking down at the fork he’s playing with.
“Of course, I think when you have a big heart it means that you have a lot of love to share, which means that you can care about as many people as you want, as much as you want.” Slowly she approaches him and takes the fork from his hand, setting it down.
“Who do you think is my number one best friend?” He asks.
“Well I can’t answer that question, Percy, that’s one for you.”
“What if I’m not my number one’s, number one?”
His Mom sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, before cupping his face.
“That doesn’t mean they love you any less Perce.” She answers, “But they are missing out.”
“I don’t think I’m Annabeth’s number one.” He finally says and frowns when he feels his stomach do an uncomfortable flip. “Does this mean I have to change my number one?”
Sally smiles sadly at him and gives him a squeeze.
“You can’t know for sure unless you ask. You can do whatever you want with your heart Percy, the best advice I can give you is that you trust it.”
PART 1
PART 2
#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#heroes of olympus#rick riordan#annabeth chase#percabeth#luke castellan#thalia grace#grover underwood#sally jackson#gabe ugliano#writing#writing prompt#alternate universe#childhood best friends to lovers#fanfic#fanfiction#one shot#series#mortal au#poseidon#athena
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365
Season Two Premier
Dean Winchester x Reader
Words: 2385
Masterlist
Summary: At peace with her family, Amara gives Dean a reunion he was never expecting. But Mary isn't the only one she brought back. Now two women must adjust to being in the land of the living, one having been gone for 33 years, and the other having spent the past 365 in hell.
Notes: I told you I had something planned! Let me know if you’ve missed this series and if you're happy to see more. Responses mean the world.
-
Amara looked at each picture curiously. She saw Dean as a young boy, smiling brightly in the arms of his mother. The woman that started it all. Her death put him on this course. This painful, dark journey. Amara set the picture aside, noticing something shine from the back of the drawer.
She took out a small tin box. Inside were more photographs. Amara examined one in particular. It was Dean leaning over the hood of his car. Around his waist were the arms of a laughing woman. He had a glint in his eyes that Amara hadn’t seen. It was then that she understood. Dean would never be with her. He could never join her in her new world. His heart was far, far away. Perhaps she could bring it back to him.
-
Mary couldn’t get her out of her head. That woman. Who was she? She had looked at her… like she knew her.
“You okay, mom?” Sam asked, noticing the far off look in her eyes. She had been acting strange, but that was, of course, understandable. She just came back from the dead, for Chuck’s sake. She gave her youngest a small smile.
“Yeah, I’m just daydreaming, I guess.” She glanced around the kitchen, noticing an absence. “Where’s Dean?”
“He’s probably going to spend the day in his room.” Sam sighed deeply. “Today is a sort of anniversary for him.”
“Anniversary? For what?” From the look on her son’s face, it couldn’t be good. Sam sat down and motioned for her to join him.
“A few years ago- three, to be exact- we lost someone. Dean lost someone.” He clasped his hands together on the table. The wound of losing one of his closest friends had healed some, but it still stung. Especially today. “He loved her. And she loved him. Maybe too much.” He shook his head. It felt like so long ago.
“Dean found someone?” Mary smiled slightly. She had hoped her boys had been loved by someone, since she wasn’t there. Sam nodded.
“Yeah, yeah he did.” He tried not to get choked up, but remembering still pained his heart. And for Dean… After losing Jessica, Sam wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. His brother had shouldered it for the past three years, accepting little to no help. He never even talked about her.
“What happened?” Mary asked softly. Sam opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t get the chance.
“She died.” Dean said, having appeared in the doorway without them noticing. He crossed the kitchen and poured himself some coffee before joining them at the table. “Three years ago today.”
Mary didn’t know what to say. She had more questions, but it didn’t seem like the time to ask them. Sam and Dean both looked… broken. All she could do was offer some kind of comfort. She put a hand on top of each of theirs.
“I’m sorry.”
Dean looked into her eyes and she looked into his. They weren’t the same eyes of her bright little boy. They held so much pain, so much loss. She had to tear her gaze away.
She had only been back for about a week and everything was so overwhelming. She should have been there for them. She should have made sure that they never had to feel this pain. She never wanted them to be hunters. She just wanted them to be boys.
Dean finished his coffee and retreated to his room. Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but he just sat in uncomfortable silence. Mary’s heart ached. She just wanted them to be boys.
-
He should be used to losing people by now. In three years, he should have gotten over it. Losing you. But even now, the image of your last smile as the hell hound tore away your flesh was burned into his brain. He would never forget. He opened the drawer of his desk and found the small tin box.
A quiet knock caught his attention and he turned to see his mother in his doorway. She gave him a small smile.
“Can I come in?” He nodded in reply and she sat on the edge of his bed. For a moment, she didn’t have the courage to say anything. How would he react? Would he get upset and make her leave? Or would he close up and not say a word? Maybe, hopefully, he would talk to her. He could make her forget how much she had missed. “Can you…” She paused, waiting for a sign to continue. Dean looked at her expectantly. “Can you tell me about her? I know you probably don’t want to talk about her, I just-”
“It’s okay.” He sighed, putting a hand on top of the box on the desk. “Sam’s always saying that if I talk about her, it keeps her alive in a weird, hippy sense of the word.” He shook his head to himself. Mary watched him carefully, making sure she didn’t push any boundaries.
“What was she like?” Dean thought for a moment.
“Stubborn.” He chuckled deeply. “If she thought she was right, you’d never get her to budge and she always thought she was right. God, the fights we used to get into…” He paused, recalling a few in particular. “She had a big heart and wasn’t afraid to show it. She was tough and smart and funny and beautiful. Best damn pool hustler I’ve ever seen. That’s actually how we met.”
Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand over his face, trying to hold back tears.
“How long were you together?” Mary wondered. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring off into memories.
“Four years.” He answered quietly. “She- uh- she was there for me when Sam…” This was more than he was ready to talk about with her. How was he supposed to tell his mother that her sons have been to hell? How did he tell her that Y/N was there because of him? He forced his shoulders back and sat up straighter. “Anyway, um, this-” He passed Mary the box of photos. “This is her.”
Mary opened the tin slowly, peering down at the photographs with a sad curiosity. As she looked through them, her expression changed. She selected one that gave her a clear view of the woman’s face. She was smiling, a beer in hand and a bright glint in her eyes. Dean was beside her, staring at the woman like she was the only thing in the world. Mary’s eyes widened and Dean noticed her body language shift.
“What is it?”
“Dean I…” Mary was hesitant, but she knew without a doubt that she was right. “I’ve seen her before.” Dean’s brows knitted together.
“What?”
“I know this girl.”
“Mom, that-” Dean sighed, “That isn’t possible. You died before Y/N was three.” Mary handed him the picture.
“I saw her, Dean.” She insisted.
The two stared at each other. Mother and son. Dean broke his gaze first.
“I think Sam needs help in the library.” He said, his voice becoming flat and emotionless. “Please go.”
“Dean-”
“Mom.” He stared at the wall, his command firm. “Please, just… I need some time alone.”
Mary didn’t say anything else. She put the pictures back in the box and tried to hand it back to him. When he didn’t make any move to take it, she set in on the desk and left.
Dean resisted the urge to throw the box across the room. The metal was already dented and battered from other fits throughout the years. Dean just kept his eyes trained on the ground, wrapping his head around his mother’s words. She was wrong. It couldn’t have been Y/N. It just couldn’t.
-
One Week Ago
“Mary?” You gasped, gaping at the woman across from you. Everything was dark, clouds of black surrounding you from every angle. Through the darkness, you could see a woman you only knew from pictures. A woman that had been dead for over 30 years, or at least she was when you were still on earth. You were surprised you still remembered.
“Who are you? Where am I?” She asked, eyes wide with uncertain panic. Before you could answer, you felt something pulling you further into the darkness, yanking Mary back in the other direction.
When you opened your eyes, you were staring at the sky. The real sky. The night sky stretched out, stars shining brightly down at you. So bright you had to shield your eyes. Your skin pricked with every movement. You were cold. You were naked and you were cold.
You stood slowly, your legs barely able to hold yourself up. The night air sent goosebumps up your bare arms and legs. The dead grass crunched under your feet and you took a deep breath.
“Very funny, Levina.” You called into the night. This wasn’t the first time the demon had tried to trick you, made you believe that you were free only to pull you back into your torment. “You must be running out of ideas.” You crossed your arms over your chest to try and stay warm. There was no answer. “Levina!”
“You aren’t in hell anymore.” A voice startled you. You whirled around to see a woman in a black dress looking at you curiously. “Surely, you can tell the difference.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” You took a defensive stance, backing away as she stepped forward.
“I’m the one that lifted you from your torment.” She said it like it was obvious. “You’re free now.”
“You think I’m going to fall for that again?” You scoffed. “You must be getting a little rusty, Lavina. Have to say, I like this face more than the old one.”
“My name is Amara. We have a friend in common.”
“Let me guess; Lucifer? Well tell the dark lord if he’s up for round two, I can handle-”
“Dean Winchester.” She interrupted, making you shut up. “He misses you. I want to give you back to him.”
“Why the hell should I believe you?” You growled. “Dean doesn’t even remember me.”
“You’re wrong.” She shook her head. This time, when she stepped towards you, you let her. “I can’t erase what they did to you in hell, but I can assure you that you are no longer in their grasp. Find Dean.” With that, she just vanished. Poof. Gone.
You didn’t have many options, so you just walked. You found a road and mindlessly walked beside it. Every step ached. You had numbed yourself for so long that every gust of wind felt like a thousand tiny needles stabbing your flesh. You weren’t sure if you were capable of feeling anything else. Only pain.
Headlights drew closer and closer, quickly joined by flashing blues and reds. You didn’t stop walking even when you heard the car door open and close.
“Ma’am are you alright?” The police officer’s voice cut through the night, but you barely heard it. Your ears just kept ringing with the sound of your own screams. You stopped and turned around. The woman was approaching you slowly with a look of sympathetic concern. Being naked and wide-eyed, it wasn’t hard to read her thoughts. But she had no idea the depth of violation you’d been through. You took a heaving breath.
“I need to find Dean Winchester.”
-
Now
“Dean!” Sam called, knocking on his older brother’s bedroom door. “Dean, we need to talk.”
“Sam, not now.” Dean groaned, opening the door just enough to give him a glare. “I really don’t want to talk or deal with any of your other hippy healing crap.”
“It’s Jody.” Sam pushed inside without giving him time to object. “She said she needs us in Sioux Falls right away.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, but she sounded pretty freaked. Apparently, she’s been trying to get a hold of us for a while, but things kept coming up or we weren’t answering.” Sam sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
“To be fair, our mom came back from the dead and you were being tortured by that British bitch.” Dean countered, feeling guilty for ignoring Jody’s calls. “What did you tell her?”
“That we’ll be there before morning.”
Dean nodded in agreement.
“I’ll pack a bag, you tell mom we’re leaving.”
“I think she should stay here.” Sam suggested, keeping his voice down like it was a secret. Dean gave him a strange look.
“What? Why?”
“She needs to adjust, Dean. Maybe giving her just a few days to herself here in the bunker will help her do that. Besides, we don’t know what’s going on and it could be dangerous and I…” He sighed. “I just don’t think she needs any more excitement right now.” Dean thought for a moment before he nodded.
“Alright, tell her that we’ll hopefully be back in a few days and that she can call us or Jody if she needs anything.”
By the time the two brothers got packed up and ready to go, a dark feeling had settled deep inside Dean’s chest. Something felt off. It sunk into his lungs and into throat, as if a shadow was trying to strangle him. When Sam climbed into the passenger seat, his brother looked white as a sheet.
“You okay?” Sam wondered, half tempted to ask if he should drive, but he didn’t want to get punched.
“Something about this feels wrong, Sam.” Dean muttered, shaking his head as he started the car.
“What, do you think it’s a trap?” It wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. With the British Men of Letters and Lucifer out there, it wouldn’t be that shocking that someone was out to get them. But Dean shook his head.
“I don’t know what it is, but with the buckets of crazy we’ve been through, I don’t think it’s good.” The two let that sink in, pulling out onto the road. Hoping to distract himself, Dean switched on the radio. Both brothers froze as the beginning words made Dean grip the steering wheel. Chuck sure had a cruel sense of humor on today of all days.
Sister Christian, oh the time has come…
-
General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks
Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy; @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone
The Deal Series: @writeroutoftime
#dean winchester x reader#the deal#supernatural series#supernatural imagines#mary winchester#lucifer#amara#sam winchester#dean winchester#jensen ackles#jared padelecki#castiel#season two baby
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The Dreams in Which I'm Dying
Well wtf, it's a new fandom for me. Unexpected! I started watching D/imension20 RPGs and fell in love with F/abian Seacaster and G/arthy O'Brien from F/antasy H/igh and P/irates of L/eviathan. This takes place 20 years after the events of the games.
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had.
~ Tears for Fears, Mad World
It begins with nightmares - dark, heavy things Fabian doesn’t remember on waking. At least, not the first few nights. He’s left with nothing more than vague shadows and a lingering sense of unease. Everything seems wrong - his apartment simultaneously too big and claustrophobically small. He’s suffused with restlessness. He knows something’s coming, like a squall brewing just beyond the horizon. He might not be able to see the gathering clouds, but feels the barometric pressure plummeting.
At first he attempts to dance out of the way - to dodge and evade - but the dread wraps around him like his own battle sheet, tangling him tight. He tries to ignore the tension singing along his shoulders, the constant twist in his gut. It’s nothing, he tells himself, less than nothing. There’s no time for it to be something. Rumor has it the ship carrying one of the last pirates of the Crimson Claw will reach the mouth of Leviathan in mere days. If he’s going to meet it, he needs to pull together a party. Barely enough time remains to cement plans once he knows the group’s strengths and weaknesses.
As he paces his living room, trying to outrun the apprehension, Fabian’s eye is caught by a piece of red string, like Riz always used in his conspiracy boards. In that instant he longs for them. The Bad Kids. No matter how many years passed since any of them were kids, it’s still at the heart of who they are. (Isn’t it?) They fit together in their roles. Like that movie Kristen made them all watch once - a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess and a criminal. The others had bickered good naturedly over roles that night - specifically who was the basket case. Kristen joked it was Gilear. Ragh said it was her. Fabian didn't need to argue because he knew the truth - Riz was the brain, Gorgug the athlete, Adaine the princess, Fig the criminal, Kristen the saint. Himself the basket case. Even in all the intervening years, he’s never found a group that connects as well as they had, before they all went their separate ways. Even if they hadn’t lost touch, none of the others adventure anymore. In their absence he needs to choose alternatives, like he always does, attempting to fill the holes they left behind - and failing.
He picks up his crystal, turning it over in his hands. The group chat is saved, they are all still members, but no one has used it in years. Maybe he’s wrong; maybe he needs to let them go.
He knows there’s no time for self-indulgence. But he still stalls, the trepidation casting a fog of doubt over every option. He cannot decide on even one person to trust. Perhaps this time he should go alone. He can defeat one single pirate himself. The rest - crew and spoils alike - is irrelevant. The Maelstrom’s Maw will likely bring in the boat and then he can attack. He rubs his forehead against a growing headache and puts the decision off again.
Two nights pass, with only the lightest veil of sleep and even that torn by disquiet. The intervening days feel equally foggy with a mix of exhaustion and dread. Fabian drags himself through the necessary tasks by his fingernails until he’s done everything he can without a crew. A crew on which he still has not managed to settle. In the midst of circling the problem for the five hundredth, or five thousandth, time his crystal flashes an alert. The ship’s been sighted just a few nautical miles off Harroway Bay and will reach Leviathan before dawn. He’s waited too long, he realizes. It will be a solo adventure, then. Nothing else for it.
Fabian knows, almost from the moment he engages, that he’s made a deep mistake attempting the attack this way. Though he comes upon the pirate in the dead of night, alone as planned, he hadn’t considered that the pirate’s shipmates might still be within earshot. His blade only crosses the pirate’s once before he hears heavy boots closing fast.
The pirate thrusts and he manages to parry, but only just. His body feels strange and disconnected, as though he’s a half-beat behind in the dance, perpetually off-step. The pirate presses his advantage; Fabian retreats. Suddenly there’s a flash of light on another drawn sword and several more pirates surround him. At his best he can handle eight, maybe ten. He is not at his best, and light from the streetlamp falls on fifteen.
The pirate grins. “Yer goin’ down, boy.”
“Not a boy anymore.” At least he’ll die in battle, and if he’s very lucky he’ll take this scourge to hell with him. Make his papa proud.
“That remains to be seen,” another says.
The battle is fierce. Swords clash, lunge and dodge, strike-parry-riposte, movements Fabian knows in his sleep, but something is wrong. His body won’t obey. His lungs ache and he can’t catch his breath. Sweat drips into his eye, burning. And then - an opening - the pirate attacking leaves his flank unguarded and Fabian darts in fast - too fast to pull back when he realizes it’s a feint.
I’m fucked, he has time to think, as the pirate whirls. A sharp blow cracks across his elbow, his fingers go numb and his sword falls, clattering to the cobblestone. One of the crew kicks the back of his knees and he stumbles forward and drops. He grabs for his sword, but just as his hand closes around it, the point of the pirate’s sword is at his throat. Should have known it would end this way. Alone. On Leviathan. Fitting for it to be here, tonight - on the anniversary. The way it should have ended if he hadn’t run like a coward, abandoning Alistair to Captain James. Fabian fumbles in his pocket for his crystal, wishing for just enough time to send a last message to the Bad Kids. “Do it,” he says from between gritted teeth.
The pirate barks a laugh, but shakes his head. “Ain’t worth the world o’ hurt that would bring down on me head, boy. Chungledown Bim’s a right devil and yer marked as his. Can’t let ya follow for another go at me, though this has been a delight.”
A brilliant flash of pain blinds him. The crystal slides through his fingers. He falls… and falls… and falls…
through ropes that burn his skin and do nothing to slow his speed and his body hits water that closes over his head like he’s been swallowed whole and still he falls through freezing darkness until the ocean parts and he falls through fire and the flames crackle and whisper - What will you tell the Captain when you meet him in Hell? Have you written your name on the face of the world, Fabian? No, you have written nothing. Nothing to be remembered by. Even your friends have forgotten you. How does it feel to be a failure of a pirate and a failure of a friend? the whisper turns to choking smoke and
Fabian coughs himself awake, lungs aching like he’s been breathing water and smoke, but he still lays where he’d fallen, in some Four Castles back alley. His body’s not been hijacked. Not dropped here by imps. He blinks up at the sky for a long moment, struggling to orient himself. The sky is heavy with clouds, hiding even a sliver of moon. Fat drops of rain pelt down, edged with ice. He blinks the water from his eye and pushes himself to his feet. Once again he staggers through the streets of Leviathan, shivering hard enough to rattle teeth. This time, however, there’s no Cathilda to wrap him in a blanket, no Hangvan to disappear into. No Kristen to slap sense back into him. He wraps his arms around himself, but the rain soaks his shirt and finds no warmth.
Those he passes take no notice of him, perhaps assuming he’s nothing more than another drunken pirate. Even so, he needs to find a place to lay low. Given enough time someone will roll him just to see if he has any coin. Or simply for the fun of it. He’s not even sure, at this moment, that he could defend himself against a single assailant. His head aches where the pirate hit him and his throat is unaccountably raw. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he sneezes. Once, twice, thrice, smothered in the sleeve of his shirt. He always sneezes in threes. Riz teased him mercilessly about it.
“If you’d just sneeze like a normal person, instead of those pinchy things, you’d be done in one, Fabiahn,” Riz would say, drawing his name out like his elvish grandfather did.
“It’s called being polite, The Ball,” he’d reply. “And what do you know about normal?”
“About as much as you.”
They’d laugh together and Fabian’s embarrassment would ease. He would give anything for Riz to be laughing with him now.
Suddenly a door slams open and a wash of warm yellow light spills over the ground in front of him. He glances up. Maybe Kristen sent Cassandra to watch over him, because his meandering path has brought him to the Gold Gardens. The exiting patron brushes past with a muttered curse, but Fabian barely notices. As the doors swing shut, Bob’s voice slips through, full of dream and promise. Fabian checks his pockets and breathes a sigh of relief at the comforting feel of coin.
He stands straighter, raises his chin, allowing the light to fall on his face, scars and eyepatch and all, as the Goliath guard regards him suspiciously. Though it has been some time since he’s been on Leviathan and longer since he’s sought refuge at the Gold Gardens, he trusts the reputation he’s built in the intervening years yet holds. “Good evening. I find myself in need of a room for the night,” he says. “I have payment.”
The other guard, a half-orc he vaguely recognizes from previous visits, turns to him. Her face betrays no reaction to his disheveled state. It’s likely that she’s seen worse. “Ah, Master Seacaster. Garthy O’Brien has made it known there is always room for you here. Please, enter.”
Fabian sketches a small bow. The doors swing wide and the heat that flows out and envelops him is nearly as heavenly as Bob’s voice. But the change in temperature makes his nose run. He sniffs, presses the back of his wrist against the tickling itch, but can’t stop the inevitable. He’s barely inside before he’s sneezing again and wishing for something other than his sleeve to cover with. “H’tchsh! Chh! H’tsh!” He hopes the music and general merriment of the patrons is enough to hide the slight sound, but of course he is noticed.
“Blessings, Fabian, darling. Are you ill?” Garthy touches his shoulder gently and before he can stop himself, Fabian flinches away. His skin feels too tight, even the light pressure too much sensation. They take a step back, one hand raised in a calming gesture.
“I beg your pardon, Garthy,” Fabian says, attempting his usual charming smile. He’s not sure he pulls it off, because a small frown of concern still lingers between their brows. Somehow the expression does nothing to mar their beauty; the proprietor of the Gold Gardens is exquisite as always, the few silver threads in their black dreads the only indicator of years passing. “I’m fine. Just a little chilled from the rain. And you, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes. Eye.” His mouth quirks. “Might there be a room for a traveler seeking shelter from the storm?”
Garthy considers him for a long moment, gaze intent. Fabian resists the urge to look away, to avoid scrutiny. It’ll only make them more suspicious. He concentrates on keeping his expression vaguely flirtatious, his stance loose and easy. At last Garthy gives the smallest nod, allowing him his ruse. “I have told you before, lovey, you are always welcome here. You and yours. Come.” They turn down a hallway and Fabian follows.
Bob’s voice, the rattle of dice, the din of too much conversation fade and Fabian releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The Bad Kids always stayed in a room just off the main parlor, right in the midst of the action. Fig and Gorgug would take over for the house band and practically blow the roof off. Kristen would try to outdrink that biggest pirate she could find, and usually ended up drunk-best-friends with everyone. If Tracker had to pull her out of a fight or two, well, that just kept things interesting. Ragh and Fabian would drink too much mead and take too much snuff and Ragh would challenge the wrong people to wrestling matches and Fabian would beat the wrong people at dice and sometimes fists would be thrown. Good naturedly, of course. Adaine would watch them all over the spine of a book from the Compass Points and shake her head. Sometimes she had to heal one or another of them, but she never seemed to mind. Riz would disappear into the crowd for indeterminate amounts of time, only to suddenly appear at their table with a sharp-toothed grin and clues to whatever mystery they were trying to solve that he’d gleaned from overheard conversations. Fig and Kristen, especially, never wanted the nights to end. Sometime around dawn, though, Kristen and Tracker would peel off, followed by Fig and Ayda. The rest of them shared a room, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug, and Ragh all sprawled on a huge bed while Adaine tranced on a chaise nearby. Somehow Fabian slept better those nights than before or since, even though the room was never peaceful, or silent. Ragh and Gorgug snored. Adaine muttered to herself in her trance. Riz, when he slept, was restless, taking up more room than a three and a half foot tall goblin should. When he didn’t, his pen would scratch across his notebook for hours. None of it ever bothered Fabian.
A door creaks open, startling Fabian out of his thoughts. The room Garthy offers is a small and simply furnished space, just a bed, desk, and fireplace. Fabian crosses the room to a large window and looks out over the edge of the city to the black ocean beyond. It’s still raining, drops pattering against the pane. He should say something to Garthy. Thank them for the room, make a joke about another Leviathan brawl gone badly. He can’t find the words. Any words.
“Would you like something to eat? Or perhaps a warm drink?” Garthy’s voice is quiet, as though they might be intruding.
“No, thank you,” he says. Kippers, Master Fabian? Cathilda’s voice in his head. I don’t deserve kippers. He didn’t. Doesn’t. Twenty men dead. Twenty innocent men. Worst of all, Alistair Ash. Still a child. Dead because he needed to prove that he was a true pirate, heir to his father’s fame. That he is worthy. Instead he left Alistair to the fate that should have been his. He rubs his hand over his eye as though he could rub away the ache. The failure.
Garthy whispers something Fabian doesn’t catch, and flames rise in the hearth, hot and bright, crackling cheerfully. “At least let me take your wet things,” they say. “You’re shaking.”
He hadn’t realized how cold he still feels, despite being out of the wind and rain, until Garthy points it out. He takes a breath to declare, again, that he’s fine, but a chill cascades over him, followed by several sneezes, instantly proving him wrong. “H’ngxt! Fuck. H’Ntch! Ngxt!” He straightens and Garthy offers a handkerchief. Abashed, he takes it, blows his nose. “Pardon me.” Before he can gather himself, he’s overtaken again. At least this time he has a handkerchief to mute the sound. The sneezes shiver through him hard enough to send drops of rain spattering from his hair.
“Bless you, darling.” Garthy draws him closer to the fire. With deft fingers they undress him, peeling sodden clothes from his body, then wrap him in a thick robe. He doesn’t resist, suddenly beyond exhausted. Everything feels like it’s happening at a distance. Or maybe through a pane of glass. “Come, have a lay down. Things’ll look better in the morning.”
Fabian nods, even though he’s certain things will look just the same. He barely slides between the sheets when his eye drifts closed. He feels the bed dip slightly as Garthy sits beside him and, seeking warmth, he curls close. They smell spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and sandalwood and orange blossoms. Garthy curves a hand over his forehead. It’s strangely comforting and he wants to bury his face in Garthy’s hair, but instead he drifts out and out and…
floats in a strange grey emptiness. He can only identify his surroundings by absence. No color. No sound. No touch. He thinks he lifts his hands, or tries to lift his hands, or what should be his hands, but there’s nothing. He tries to look down, what he might assume is down, only to find no body. Nothing. It’s like the Nightmare Forest, but worse because they defeated the Nightmare King. They defeated Kalina. Which means this must be real. This nought. Of course no one reaches out… you don’t exist.You never existed. You are not even memory. You are a nonentity. A nullity. He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no mouth, no vocal cords, no lungs, no breath. No words. No thoughts. Just deep, endless cold. Bone aching cold, if he had bones.
“...safe…You’re all right. Wake up, Fabian, love.” Garthy’s voice coalesces from the cold, at first sounding sharp as ice breaking. But they know his name, beckon him back into form by shaping the word. “Come on, darling. You’re dreaming.”
“Should’ve left me; felt better there. Nothing hurts when you don’t have a body,” he mumbles, and even though he has vocal cords again, he sounds nothing like himself. He clears his throat, sniffs.
Garthy laughs, low and kind. “Let me help you feel better, here in your body.” They cup his cheek gently, then urge him up and through a door to a bathing chamber.
A large bathtub stands in the center of the room, steam rising in soft curls. It is surrounded with dozens of candles and in their light Garthy glows, irises and tattoos molten gold. Fabian reaches for them, hesitantly. As if touching them might dim their shine. They smile tenderly, allowing him to trace the Zajiri script, the flowers and leaves with one tentative finger. He wonders what the writing might mean. Their skin is soft under Fabian’s own calloused hands. He longs for Garthy to wrap their arms around him, to hold him close until his shivering stops, until he’s finally warm. He doesn’t know how to ask.
Instead he moves back, putting a bit of distance between them. “I’m not w…” he starts to say, but an unexpected set of sneezes interrupts and he only just manages to pull the handkerchief from his robe pocket. “Ht’ngxt! Heh...ihh… Nxgt! H’tchh!”
“Not well?” Garthy suggests, steadying him. “Blessings.”
Heat rises in Fabian’s cheeks and he coughs a laugh. “That either. But no.” He gestures broadly, including the room, the bath, Garthy themself. “Not worth this.”
Garthy tilts their head with a puzzled frown. “Oh, lovey, of course you are.” They press one finger to Fabian’s lips before he can continue arguing. “Shh. It’s all right.” They take Fabian’s elbow, guiding him into the bath.
Fabian sinks into the heat with a deep sigh as his muscles begin to relax. He slides down, submerging himself completely in warm darkness. The water closes over his face; he rests his head on the bottom of the tub, and the only thing he hears is the thump of his own heart in his ears, still beating, beating, beating. At last his breath runs out and he surfaces with a gasp.
Gathy’s pulled a stool up beside the bath and as Fabian wipes water out of his eye, they wet a cloth and begin to wash his back, humming quietly. The soap smells of eucalyptus and peppermint, cool and clean. Fabian shivers once, and only slowly eases into the touch, closing his eye as Garthy washes his hair, gently working his fingers over his scalp. A memory rises, unbidden - himself, in the bath, he can’t be more than five and he’s sobbing. His papa is away, his mama asleep in her room even though it’s not even dark outside and he’s sick and scared. But then Cathilda’s there, as she always is, and she’s cleaning him up and humming a lullaby. Tears rise now, before he can stop them, dripping into the water.
“What’s distressing you, love?” Garthy asks.
It takes him several minutes to gather his thoughts; they feel ephemeral as clouds floating through his mind. “It’s been twenty years, Garthy. Shouldn’t it have faded?” He coughs, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I still see them, you know. My father’s warlocks.” He presses the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. Breathe, he tells himself.
Garthy hums a listening noise.
“I shouldn’t have gone alone that night. I just wanted a moment in Crow’s Keep - we’d gone there together, my papa and I. When I was little. It was the one time Mama got angry at him, for bringing me to Leviathan, when he wasn’t supposed to be interacting with pirates. But he’d taken me up to watch the sun rise. He said he’d bring me to the top of the world, that we could touch the clouds. If I was lucky, I might even bring some home in my pockets…
“He gave me cotton candy, told me it was one he’d harvested himself. I’d never imagined clouds tasted so sweet…” he licks his lips, remembering how the candy had melted on his tongue, just like a rain cloud.
“I thought, maybe… somehow… if I spoke to him from the top of the world, he might hear me.” Fabian laughs at himself, coughs on a sob but manages to swallow it back. “Of course, Papa wasn’t listening. He was busy taking over Hell and selling spells to pirates. Always on to a bigger adventure, even in death.
“When the warlocks came, I let myself get swept up. Figuratively, as well as literally. I told them about Papa. About what I’d done… and it wasn’t enough. I killed him and it wasn’t enough.” He takes a ragged breath and Garthy rubs his back in slow circles. “I thought we could take Captain James. I thought I could take Captain James. It would make up for… everything.” He sucks in another breath, on the edge of desperation. He can’t get enough air. When he blinks, he feels Whitclaw’s tentacles on his face, cold fingers gripping him tight, raw hatred pulsing in the air between them.
“It went so fast. So fast. If I didn’t run… if I didn’t… he would have killed me… with the others. I didn’t stop to think, I didn’t even grab Alistair and he was fighting for me. I abandoned him… and I didn’t die, but he did. Because I fucked up.” Fabian sits in silence for several minutes, jaw clenched, struggling to breathe and not cry.
“I thought the guilt would fade,” he finally says, voice rough and not much above a whisper. “I thought the good I’ve done since would make up for it. I thought the adventures I had with the Bad Kids would make up for it. But it hasn’t. It doesn’t. And they’re gone… I thought killing the last of Whitclaw’s men would be penance. But I fucked that up, too.”
The only sound for a long moment is the rain on the roof, thunder rolling in the distance. Then Fabian takes a breath like he’s about to dive into the ocean and turns to face Garthy. “Am I forgivable?”
“Oh my darling Fabian. Of course you are. You are already forgiven.” They lean forward and brush the lightest kiss across his lips. “Yes, dire mistakes were made. And you have repented of those mistakes, and made reparations. You did not follow in your father’s footsteps; you found your own way. You have made a good man of yourself. You help those who are in need. You do not take advantage of anyone. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. Tales of your deeds are not spoken of as widely as Captain Bill Seacaster, but I have heard them nonetheless. Be proud of who you have become, Fabian Aramais Seacaster. And you should know that Alistair Ash lives again.”
A warm breeze whirls through the room and the candles suddenly go out. It’s as though the light has been transmuted into a seed of hope in Fabian, gold as the irises of Garthy’s eyes. Back in bed, Fabian curls into Garthy and they wrap their arms around him, holding tight until his trembling passes.
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Of Ice and Blood
Part 4
Welcome back! Hope you enjoy✨
Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)
Warnings: Violence, cursing, shouting, and fighting. No blood mention. Just broken bones and stuff.
2.1k+ words [originally 1.6k but I revised it and added more details!]
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 5 Part 6
Sensing another one behind me, I went low and struck his leg with mine, using his fall to punch his chin with my right fist this time, being careful to use a controlled amount of force or else the nerve I hit will result to permanent brain injury and can be fatal.
I got up, swift in my actions as I saw the guy with a raised baseball bat heading towards me from my left flank, and the other one from the right, fast.
On reflex, I leaned back, the bat that was aimed at me hitting his comrade on the shoulder instead. Guy's lucky, actually. He would have suffered internal bleeding if it bashed the side of his skull.
Four down, two to go.
I took my stance once again to ready myself. This dude was a foot taller than me, with muscles packed with raw strength, but even so, pale in comparison to Tai'chi's p—
Stop thinking that! Focus!
"Smash her head Dan!" The man behind him yelled.
This 'Dan' went straight to me with his bat raised with intent once more.
Breathe in.
Everything slowed down. I let my heart rate decelerate, my hearing sharpened, my sense of smell heightening even further.
I closed my eyes, letting the rest of my senses take over. Years of practice, days of pain from training, each motion engraved to my entire body with purpose. To defend not only myself, but also those who are looked down upon, discriminated and stepped on like dirt. My parents had always taught me to defend myself. Me. Don't get me wrong, my parents are good people, albeit wary of the other races in our community. But the moment I left the roof of my home, I knew it was time for me to defend someone other than myself. I don't give a damn about where we come from or what kind of blood flows within our veins. I will protect those who need protecting, and set anyone straight and down to the ground when they deserve it.
Breathe out.
At the last few moments, with my eyes still shut, I changed my form. I followed his aura and pictured out the shape that was drawing up to land a serious blow to my head. Dan is solid and heavy, but everyone has at least one weakness. And this guy is not spared from that.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
I opened my right fist, right foot forward and relaxed my arms, my legs serving as a firm foundation for my upper body. With the bat inches away from me, I smoothly dodged to the side, using my palm to push away the hand holding the weapon and punched a vital pressure point right under his bicep.
I bent my legs even lower and struck the center of his ribs with my thumb, closing my hands as I jabbed his sciatic nerve on each side at the same time, both located in the middle line of the thigh between the groin and the knee. A solid blow to those nerve points will cause intense pain and shock to the person, along with a temporary immobility of the feet.
a/n: Self defense 101! Remember that dear readers♥
With the support of my left leg, I went behind the man, standing straight and proud. Calm, I opened my eyes when I heard his fall, staring right into the fearful ones of the moron that started all of this.
"Y-You- You killed them!"
Is he that dumb?
"Correction, I didn't. I knocked them unconscious is all. And the fellow that attacked me first? Well, he passed out from the pain of his now funny-looking arm." I stated flatly as I trudged to where he was standing.
"S-Stay away from me! Monster! Freak!" He stumbled, his ass on the ground and away from me until he felt a tree trunk on his back.
I scoffed and withdrew my knuckle dusters back under my baggy sleeve.
"You wanna know who the real monster is?" I stopped and held him in place with my scrutinizing gaze. He was trembling like a wimp at this point.
"It's you.
"You and your disgusting racist friends.
"You, along with all the people who view and treats anyone other than humankind as lowlifes and pests that are meant to be squished and eradicated from the society.
"No, it's you, and the ones who have the same mentality as you, who are monsters under the guise of a human."
I paused, not even blinking as I bore holes into his skull.
"I am human, down to every inch of my being. But unlike you, I respect and treat everyone, regardless of kind or gender, and to those who deserve it, fair and right."
Before I could continue, I scented new people coming into the scene. It was the teaching staff, along with the uni's guard.
Shocked of what they have seen, they turned towards me, angry, surprised, confused expressions on different faces.
"What have you done?!" A female, human instructor, looking to be around her late 20s shouted.
"Ma'am, if you would just let me explain—"
"You are hereby expelled from this institution, young lady!"
All the color of my skin left me as I heard the words I have dreaded even before I set foot in the campus grounds.
"Now let's not go straight to conclusions. We need to deal with this professionally AND properly Miss Holson. You are also not in authority to suspend this student." A heavily bearded dwarven professor, clad in a brown suit and Oxfords, told her off firmly.
"What are you saying Mr. Dulrik? Look at her! Look at this! She murdered students and oh my God, is that the dean's son?!"
For the love of— she blind? Why does everybody think I killed someone???
"Ma'am they are—" I was about to tell her but got cut off, again!
"Helpmehelpmehelpme!" He scrambled away from me and ran to the group of teachers and hugged the young instructor. "I don't know what came over her! She just attacked us out of nowhere!"
The audacity of this fucking bitch!
"Pardon me? Attacked you? YOU were the one who followed me out here! You and your" —I gestured to the bodies laying flat on the ground— " buddies over there!"
"She is lying! The orc was with her and and and—"
It dawned on me that I almost forgot about Tai'chi. My eyes widened, and I frantically scanned the area around for him. And there he was, standing by the oak tree, right where I told him not to move.
He seemed...irritated?
Oh no. At me?
"I have not moved an inch from where I am standing ever since I planted my feet here." He said with his deep baritone voice, turning to confront the staff. "What she's speaking is the truth. They were the ones who followed her here and attacked her, first."
"And how can we be sure you are telling the truth, orc?" Miss Holson replied spitefully.
Even the teacher, huh? Her odor smells like vomit. I mean, I knew she was...foul, but I thought it was because of the situation. Guess not.
Tai'chi did not respond. Instead, he moved to look at me in the eyes. His gaze, searching, but not in an awful way. Was he asking me what I'll do?
"How about we discuss this in the office, shall we?" An elderly professor spoke. She was wearing the university's formal teaching uniform together with black, flat, closed toe sandals. "And Miss Holson, please quiet down. As Mr. Dulrik said, we should not jump into baseless conclusions."
Miss Holson fumed and shut her mouth, holding the coward in her arms.
"Now then, Miss...?"
"Blackbell."
The woman paused. I caught a smell of surprise and... astonishment?
She cleared her throat "Well, then Miss Blackbell, please follow us to the Dean's office, along with your, companion."
Weird.
"Oh and Mr. Smith, kindly call for assistance and take the unconscious students to the infirmary to be treated and looked unto. Thank you." She told the guard. With that, she and the rest of the faculty started walking back.
I glanced at Tai'chi once more to find him, again, staring. I approached him warily, expecting him to be mad at me.
"Uh. Hi?"
I let out a long exhale when he replied, with a slight tug of his lips, his tusk jutting out. "Hi."
I fidgeted, trying to come up with words to explain myself.
"I uh, uhm. Are you mad?"
With his brow raised, "Why would I be?"
Yeah why would he be?
"I-I never told why I keep wearing my mask." I stuttered, "You see I—"
"You two! Start moving before I force you to." A teacher yelled at us from a distance.
"We'll talk later, Pearl. For now let's get this resolved first. I know for a fact that they won't expel you unless they ignore the ill intentions of the ones who attempted to harm you first. But better be safe than sorry, he was the dean's son afterall."
"Yeah... Thanks. We should.. go." I turned and started walking along his side.
******pov shift for a bit*******
Little did Pearl know, he was thinking about how...nice, yeah that's the word, definitely not sexy, you were when he witnessed your skills in combat. It awakened something in him that it took a lot of control not to get aroused there and then, which was the real reason why he stood there, unmoving from his place. Not once did he leave his eyes from you, almost jumping to help you when the guy with the baseball bat was closer than we would have liked. But oh no, he was not surprised, he was astonished and shookt , amazed when you pulled that last technique, sending the human plummeting to the ground almost soundlessly. And the way you stood right after, he knew he was smitten. That proud and intense aura you gave off was enough to make him bow down at your feet. He could feel it. He could smell it. That was his secret, he can scent people and catch any mood shift they make. Even though he told her that her eyes and brows gave it away, it was not entirely true as he could smell, literally, you and the changes on your scent.
Oh but little did he know you could to. Just not as observant as he is.
:>
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Wow— when I copy pasted the original thing from my notes to my drafts in Tumblr I was like "okay, so. I should read it AGAIN before I post it if I wanna avoid more unnoticed mistakes and keep editing it again and again even though I posted it already! " And I never though it would lead me to adding almost a half thousand words and a pov shift— which i found interesting and really nice! Should I do it more often? Like little inserts of what Tai'chi or another characters thoughts in second pov in between fics if necessary? It's just, nice, to put them in and write all out about what they were thinking outside of Pearl's pov! Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed reading❤
Tags: @kokokatsworld @crackinanutshell
#orc#orc x human#orc x reader#orc lover#orc boyfriend#exophilia#my writing#monster boyfriend#monster lover#female human#female oc#original work#athenawrites#fiction#terato#art#terato writing#monster x human#monster x reader#oc#orc x oc
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The One With Mrs. Bing Part Four (It’s All Alright)
Last Part (Part Three) Series Masterlist
It was the next day and it was into the early evening, but as you made your way from the store to the coffee house the city was already dark. When you walked into Central Perk you saw Monica and Phoebe talking about something while Rachel sat at the counter with a notepad and a pen. After you hung up your jacket by the door you noticed Joey and Ross sitting over on the couch. “Hey, Rach,” you greeted her as you walked over to the counter. “Hey, Y/N/N. How was work?” She asked as she got up from her stool and walked back around to get whatever you were about to order.
“It was okay, you know. As okay a job can be when you work with people all day everyday. But at least I’m surrounded by things that I love.” You answered as you received the drink that you ordered.
“Oh, believe me, I get it on the whole working with and for people, but as for the thing I love. You can only love coffee so much when you don’t get to drink it.” Rachel told you which made you smile for the first time in a while since the whole thing with Joey lying to you about Ross kissing your mom never left your mind. “Oh, Pheebs, you’re on.” Rachel told her as she led Phoebe over to the stage to introduce her.
“...Oh come on! Just try to not picture her pregnant that’s all.” Joey said to Ross as he held up a picture for him to look at. But considering that was what you heard when you walked in on the tail end of their conversation, they had you a little confused. You weren’t totally sure if you wanted to know what they were talking about, though.
“Central Perk is proud to present Miss Phoebe Buffay.” Rachel announced, as she left the stage Joey noticed that you had made it back from work and were actually sitting near him. Last night you had slept on the pull out bed, and whenever you actually talked to him you answered with a single word, or you told him that you didn’t know what you were feeling so you didn’t want to say anything yet. But to Joey, it was killing him to not have you talking back to him.
However, for Ross this was his first time seeing you since he told you what he did. “Hey, Y/N,” he cautiously greeted you with a shy smile on his face.
“Ross,” you neutrally greeted him. You had no expression on your face, so to Ross it was hard to tell what you were feeling.
“Oh so you are mad.” Ross mumbled to himself, but slightly hoping you would hear it.
“I’m getting over it.” You mumbled under your breath like he did, and a little smile came on your face when you made eye contact with him and he had the same smile on his face when he realized that the both of you were going to be just fine.
“Does that mean you aren’t mad at me anymore?” Joey asked, perking up in his seat just the smallest bit.
“I’m still kind of mad at you, now watch Phoebe.” You told him quickly before quickly looking away from him again.
“Hi, um I’d like to start with a song that’s about a man that I recently met, that has become very important to me.
“You don’t have to be awake to be my man. Long as you have brain waves I’ll be there to hold your hand. Though we just met the other day, there’s something I have got to say...Okay, thank you very much. I’m going to take a short break.” Phoebe abruptly stopped when she noticed Monica slowly inching her way to the store, and Phoebe in a rush to follow her knocked the microphone stand down to the ground as she rushed her way out the door to beat Monica. While your eyes were glued to the door wondering what happened, you saw your brother walk through the doors as he watched two of his friends race out of the building.
“What the hell was that?” He asked, looking at only you and Joey. But when Ross tried to answer, Chandler was having none of it. “I believe I was talking to Y/N and Joey. All right there, mother kisser?” Chandler brought up as his mad face came back. Joey couldn’t help but burst into laughter, repeating what Chandler had just said. While couldn’t control the slight cringe on your face for how cold Chandler was being to one of his friends. Ross glared to Joey who just kept laughing.
“I’ll shut up,” Joey told Ross. Immediately becoming serious.
“That’s probably for the best,” you joked but slightly jabbed. Sitting forward and lightly tapping him on his knee. As you looked at your boyfriend you just saw his serious face drop to slightly sad and a little hurt at what you said. But that was less of your worries right now when you saw Ross get up from the couch and walk over to Chandler to talk to him more.
“Chandler, can I just say something? I know you’re still mad at me, but I just want to say there were two people that night.” Ross spoke. “Okay? There were two sets of lips.” After he spoke that, you weren’t sure if it was going to help or not.
“Yes, well I expect this from her, okay? She’s always been a Freudian nightmare.” Now, you weren’t a huge fan of your mom either, but you couldn’t help but think that the way Chandler tried to defend the situation was a little harsh.
“ Well, if she always behaves like this why don’t you say something to her?” Ross couldn’t help but ask. That was always the difference between you and your brother; you never had any problems telling your parents what you and think and actually tried to have a conversation with them sometimes. Whereas, Chandler was concerned, he just always chose to see your parents as evil people. You would admit that they had screwed you and Chandler up quite a bit, but you would at least like to have them in your lives a little bit. It’s not like you had another set of parents waiting to welcome you with open arms.
“It’s complicated. It’s complex. It..Hey you kissed my mom!” Chandler yelled again when he was starting to get uncomfortable like he was getting backed into a wall. Which caused everyone in the coffee house to look over at the group of you.
“We’re rehearsing a Greek Play,” Ross brushed them off which made you roll your eyes.
“That’s very funny, are we done now?” Chandler asked as he tried to take a seat next to you.
“No. You’re not gonna talk to her? You’re not gonna tell her how you feel?” Ross asked him.
“That would be a no. Just because you played tonsil tennis with my mom doesn’t mean you know her. Trust me you can’t talk to her.” Chandler was just starting to grow tired and irritated from this conversation. He did not want to talk about his mom of all people.
“‘You’ can’t? Or you can’t?” Ross asked him while pointing his finger at Chandler. “Okay, that’s my finger.” Ross chuckled when Chandler grabbed his finger and squeezed it way too tight. “Okay, that’s my knee.” Ross sank to his knee when Chandler pushed his finger harder. “Still doing the play.” He told the onlookers again. When he started groaning when Chandler pressed again you couldn’t help but get to your feet and walk over to them. Chandler was taking this way too far.
“Chandler, knock it off.” You whispered loudly at him as you placed a hand on the arm that held Ross’s finger.
“Oh, so you’re okay with mom and him kissing now?” Chandler looked down at you.
“No, of course not. But you and I both know that it’s nothing new for her, and Ross is right maybe it’s time we both called her on it. On all of it.” You were a little scared to bring this up to him, but she wasn’t going to change unless the two of you told her.
“Oh come on, not you too. I thought you moved in with me to get away from her because you were on my side.” Chandler complained now turning his anger on you as he let go of Ross’s finger.
“Oh come on, Chandler. That’s not why and you know that.” You couldn’t believe how much of a baby he was being right now.
“You know what, whatever.” Chandler rolled his eyes, deciding that if none of you were going to see things his way, then he was just going to walk away. So that’s what he did, he just rolled his eyes and walked out of the coffee shop. Leaving you there with Ross and Joey just feeling frustrated. When were you the older sibling all of a sudden?
*******
It was a little bit later in the day and you were at the apartment with Chandler while your mom came to say goodbye before she left again. “Before I go downstairs I just wanted to drop off a few copies of my book for your friends. Anything either of you want from Lisbon?” Your mom asked the both of you before she said her final goodbyes to the both of you.
“No,no. Just knowing you’re going to be there is enough.” Chandler joked, which earned him a light hit in the arm from you.
“All right. Well, be good.” She said looking at the both of you. “And Y/N I know we left off on not the best terms, but I am so proud of you for how hard you’re working for everything.” You couldn’t really believe the words coming out of her mouth. You thought she had just wanted you out of the house, but maybe she just wanted you to find your own way. And little did your family knew, that Chandler was going to be so much help with that.
“Thanks, mom.” You smiled, feeling so touched. You didn’t know your mother could make you feel that way.
“I love you,” she said as she reached up to place a motherly kiss Chandler’s cheek, “and I love you.” She said again as she placed another kiss on your cheek. But it seemed that when your mom opened the door to leave, Chandler just couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You kissed my best Ross!” He yelled, but when he noticed you looking at him like he was crazy he realized the mistake he made. “Or something to that effect.” You nodded at him once he finally realized that what he said was weird.
“Okay,” your mom started as she closed the door again and made her way back into the living area where the two of you were. “Look, it was stupid.”
“Really stupid.” Chandler added.
“Really really stupid.” You couldn’t help but also add.
“Really stupid and I don’t even know how it happened.” Your mom said honestly to you both with a shrug. “I’m sorry, honey, and I promise it will never happen again. Are we all okay, now?”
“Yeah,” both you and Chandler said with a slight nod and a shrug. “No,” the both of you decided at the end.
You weren’t sure how long the three of you had been at it. But you and mom were finally able to talk about what happened and about you leaving and everything, which then caused Chandler to add to the fact to her that all of your lives she had never acted in a way an appropriate mom would. But finally, as the three of you walked to the door and all you wanted to do was find and talk to Joey. “You okay, kiddos?” Your mom asked when all of you were in the hallway, you smiled slightly over at Ross when you noticed him across the hall.
“I’m okay.” You told her with a small smile as she placed both of her hands on each side of your face and pecked you on the forehead.
“Yeah, I”m okay.” Chandler also smiled his answer down at her.
“Alright, be good.” She kissed his cheek again. “And watch out for your sister, alright?”
“Oh, I know. She’s just too wild.” Chandler joked with your mom as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you couldn’t help but smile mockingly.
“Fly safe.” You told her as Chandler and you started following your mom down the hall, but all of you stopped when you all saw Ross awkwardly standing in the hallway.
“Mrs. Bing.” Ross greeted her, not really looking her in the eye.
“Mr. Geller.” Your mom repeated before turning back to the two of you and winking to you for the progress that she was already making before she finally left.
“Have you seen Joey?” You asked Ross as he knocked on Monica’s door. You just wanted to see him after giving him the cold shoulder, that you think you have gotten over. Plus you wanted to leave Ross and Chandler alone after the hellish week they both had.
“Yeah, I think he’s downstairs somewhere.” Ross let you know. You smiled at him.
“Thanks, I’ll go find him.” You looked from Ross and to your big brother before you patted him on the back lightly and then made your way down the stairs to find Joey.
When you had found him, Joey was standing on the steps to the entrance of the apartment building. When Joey turned around to see who was walking out the door, he smiled when he saw it was you. You didn’t say anything right away, you just walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders and brought him into a hug. “Hi,” you said. Your voice muffled from hiding your face in his shoulder.
“Hey.” Joey smiled to himself as he rubbed your lower back. “So you talked to your mom? He felt you nod against his shoulder. “How’d it go?”
“Long.” You answered with a long sigh as you stepped back but when you felt Joey take both of your hand you smiled as you looked up into his eyes. “But I wanted to come find you and tell you that I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who lied to you,” Joey chuckled smiling down at you.
“I just felt bad for being mad at you, sometimes you’re too cute to be mad at. But sometimes I can’t help it. But if you lie to me again I will kill you.” You told him as you placed a kiss on his lips.
“I love you.” Joey told you before he kissed you again. If you didn’t know better, Joey would look like he was drunk based from the look he was giving you, but you knew that it was because he was beyond happy.
“I love you, too.” After kissing a little bit more. Joey had asked if you wanted to go to bed, and you couldn’t say no to that, so Joey opened the apartment building door for you and ushered you inside before grabbing your hand a quickly dragging you up the stairs.
#friends#friends rewrite#Joey Tribbiani#joey tribbiani x reader#reader#bing!reader#sister!bing#chandler bing#ross geller#rachel green#monica geller#phoebe buffay
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First Thing To Go - DAY 1
DAY 1
Around dinner time and with a complimentary drink in hand, you took the elevator to the top floor. The Oceanfront Suite at the Four Seasons Maui awaited you and Kendra- two full weeks of what was supposed to be romance and relaxation. Now it seemed you wouldn’t be experiencing either. You made it to the grand white double doors of the suite and let yourselves in.
The suite was enormous with a living and dining room, doors off to the side that led to a master bedroom with a canopied California king bed. The en suite had a jacuzzi with crisp, white his and her robes hanging beside it. Your mouth downturned and you quickly spun on your heel, eager to look at anything else.
“Holy shit,” Kendra said with a whistle. “You guys were really gonna ball out.”
“Were,” you muttered and tossed your bag aside.
“Sorry.” Her eyes were down before she turned to investigate the suite further. You shouldn’t have been so defensive, especially toward the one person who dropped everything to be there for you. But you couldn’t help the turning of the knife in your chest every time you were reminded of why you were originally supposed to be here.
The room was ridiculous. There was a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon waiting for you with a card from the hotel. You flipped it open and read the obnoxious calligraphy inside:
Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Langford! From, your friends at the Four Seasons
Great. You really should have seen it coming by now. The hotel was under the impression this was your honeymoon, after all.
“This balcony is sick!” You looked up and saw Kendra leaning on the glass wall, face turned up to the sun. You tossed the stupid card in the trash can on your way to join her. She was right- the view was absolutely breathtaking. There was pristine sand and cerulean ocean as far as the eye could see, the smell of salt and tropical flowers heavy in the air. You took a deep breath and stood next to Kendra.
“I’m sorry for being shitty to you,” you said softly.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it.” She nudged you with her shoulder. “But I hope you do realize I’m not going to let you mope while we’re somewhere this fucking beautiful.”
You laughed and nodded in silent acquiescence.
“Can I make a suggestion for our first order of business?” you asked with a playful turn of your lips. Kendra looked over with a raised eyebrow, urging you to go on. “I brought my medical card. Find a dispensary and order room service?”
“Ugh, so brilliant. Such a smart and thoughtful woman,” Kendra said, flashing you a devilish grin.
—-
It hadn’t taken much work to find a provisioning center near the hotel. You and Kendra made quick work of the trip and returned to the suite, ordering enough food to clean out the kitchen. The sun was long since down and you were laid out in the sun loungers on the balcony, pleasantly high with a belly full of food, just looking up at the sky with Kendra.
“It’s nice to see them for once,” you said.
“Hmm?”
“The stars. Don’t really get to see much of them back home. Only if you go out over the lake.”
“Yeah, it’s really relaxing,” she agreed before letting out a long yawn. “I’m sleepy. I’m gonna go lay down- you staying out here?”
“Just for a little bit longer.” Kendra looked at you as she stood up, biting her lip with uncertainty. “I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She laughed as she leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Just making sure. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night.” And with that, Kendra shut the balcony doors behind her, leaving you alone with the ocean breeze and half a blunt.
The world was quiet out here- nothing like the constant roar of the city. Lake View was a wonderful neighborhood and one you loved dearly. But there was something about only being able to listen to the breeze rustling palm leaves that put you at ease. You didn’t really consider yourself a beach kind of gal, but perhaps you could see yourself becoming one. After the last 72 or so hours, a little quiet felt pretty good. Serene, even. Maybe Kendra really was onto something when she begged you to come out here.
You lit the end and took another deep hit before closing your eyes and exhaling.
“Ah, one of my favorite smells.” Your eyes snapped open and you gasped, totally unaware that anyone else was anywhere near you. You clumsily tried to snuff out the blunt, knocking over the ashtray onto the marble floor with a loud crack. “Oh shit,” you coughed and looked around trying to find the voice that had just spoken.
“No need to stop on my accord.” The voice was deep and smooth, sultry even. There was a good chance you just made a total fool out of yourself while fumbling around in your inebriated state. You were still anxiously looking about when he added “On your left, darling.”
You spun and finally saw a feline smile on the face of a tall, undeniably gorgeous man standing on the balcony next to yours. He was tall and lean, all dark hair, beard, and eyes. Truthfully, he was textbook ‘your type’. But the minute that thought ran through your brain, you were already mentally berating yourself for even finding another person attractive just a day into what was supposed to be your honeymoon. He took a swig from a rocks glass and cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about the smell traveling,” you said sheepishly.
“Like I said, one of my favorite smells.” Like a good neighbor, you walked to the railing closest to him and offered out the blunt to him. “Sorry,” he said, raising a hand. Fuck, even his fingers were beautiful. “I’m down to only liquid vices these days, I’m afraid,” shaking around the ice in his glass for emphasis.
“Ok…” You weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but didn’t think it was appropriate to press a stranger for details.
“I’m Logan, nice to meet you,” he said and stuck out his hand far enough that you could just barely brush the tips of your fingers against his as you introduced yourself. It was a completely awkward gesture, which seemed to greatly amuse Logan.
“Likewise.” You put your feet back on solid ground and looked at Logan again.
“So, are you here in a suite by yourself or is there a mister or missus with you?”
“Real smooth,” you laughed.
“It’s just a question,” he said, tone laced with faux innocence.
You stopped short and considered dumping everything that happened on him right then. “I’m here with my best friend, actually,” you said tersely.
Logan narrowed his gaze as he looked you over. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I literally don’t know you, so yeah,” you laughed, trying hard to keep it casual.
“Maybe that’s true,” he shrugged, “But it’s written all over your face. It’s ok if you don’t want to tell me.” He took another drink. “I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
“Ok, lay it on me,” you said, almost baiting Logan, and leaned on the railing with your chin resting in your palm.
“I checked out of a rehab in Malibu last night. My shrink told me it’d be better for me if I slowly worked my way back into the real world and suggested I take a little to myself before getting back to work and my family. Life in general, I guess,” he shrugged.
You didn’t know the man, that was certain, but you didn’t expect him to say that. Or to be so honest. You were really starting to feel bad for getting high right next door to him. “Wow, I...I’m so sorry for smoking next to you.”
Logan just laughed and waved you off. “You have nothing to apologize for, darling. Besides, you literally didn’t know me, right?”
You rolled your eyes at him quoting your own words back at you. “Very funny.” You looked down for a minute before taking a long breath and exhaling. “And how’s the ‘time for yourself’ thing going? Is it scary,” you asked.
“So far, so good,” Logan said, clearly considering how it was actually going. “I’ve been clean for 94 days now, so my cravings aren’t as strong. I mean, I still want to use, don’t get me wrong. But it’s nowhere near as intense. And what’s not to like about being in paradise?” He was grinning, despite the weight of what he just told you. It was admirable, you thought.
“This was supposed to be my honeymoon,” you said abruptly. Why you decided to tell this stranger, you didn’t really know. But it felt like it would be ok to share it with Logan. Besides, you’d probably never see the dude again- who cares if he knew?
“Pardon me?”
“This,” you gestured broadly at your balcony and room, “I’m supposed to be enjoying my honeymoon right now. But as I already told you, I’m here with my best friend. Like, my actual best friend. Not the ‘oh I’m so glad I’m marrying my best friend’ best friend. And not a husband. Don’t have one of those.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said with a small frown.
“He packed up all his things, told me there was someone else, and left me two days before our wedding.” You let out a sad chuckle, using all your might to fight back the tears you knew wanted to form in your eyes. “So, yeah. Guess we’re both kind of bummers, huh?”
“For what it’s worth,” Logan started, leaning in closer over his ledge, “I think the guy’s a fucking douche bag for leaving you. I know we don’t know each other very well, but you seem delightful. Not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous.”
“You’re seriously going to hit on me when I just told you I was supposed to get married yesterday?” you scoffed.
“What am I supposed to say?” he asked, raising a perfect eyebrow and checking you out from head to toe. “If I see a beautiful woman, I think it’s my duty to share that with her.”
“You’re shameless,” you smiled and shook your head. It should have disgusted you. It should have turned you off and made you think Logan was a pig. But you couldn’t help but be just the smallest bit charmed. He was a flirt, and there was a little piece of you that was genuinely flattered.
“I’ve been called worse,” he laughed.
“Well, thanks, I guess,” you said before looking back out over the ocean, hoping to hide the heat that was rising in your cheeks.
“My pleasure,” Logan said with a smile. “So, the asshole left you high and dry and you went on your honeymoon with your best friend anyways?”
“To be fair, it was her idea.” You tugged at the ends of your hair, suddenly nervous that Logan would judge you.
“I like her style.” He finished off his drink. “I can’t imagine there’s anyone else who deserves to be stoned in Hawaii more than you,” Logan grinned.
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groaned. “So fucking embarrassing.”
“Nah. It’s cute. You’re cute.” His voice was low and gravely, but playful. You felt a stirring in your stomach and knew you had to cut the conversation short while you were still ahead.
“It’s late, I should probably go to bed before Kendra thinks I’ve done something stupid.” You meant for it to be a joke, but you realized you really didn’t want to worry her more than you knew she already did.
“Wouldn’t want that,” he nodded.
“It was nice talking to you. Thanks for letting me dump all my baggage on you,” you said, a tiny smile forming on your lips.
“Any time, darling.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” As you said it, you realized you really hoped you would.
“I sure hope so,” he said with a smirk.
“Goodnight, Logan.” You bit gently on your bottom lip and finally pushed away from the railing.
“Sweet dreams.”
You let yourself back inside and quickly got ready for bed. Talking to someone removed from the whole ordeal felt nice- someone who didn’t ask a million questions so you could just process what happened in its simplest terms. And Logan had proven to be thoughtful and a good listener. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Logan was ungodly hot. No, you scolded yourself. No thinking about Logan or anyone else like that for a long, long time. Once you’d crawled under the covers, you couldn’t stop the weight of sleep tugging at your eyelids, bringing with it dreams of a dark eyed prince.
TAGGED: @fific7 @abroadcastofthemind @suchatinyinfinity
#logan#logan delos#logan x reader#logan delos x reader#ben barnes#westworld#logan westworld#logan fanfic#logan delos fanfic#westworld fanfic#ben barnes character fic#fttg#masterlist
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A Cumbersome And Heavy Body
Chapter One: Tired Of This Body
Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn't going to go down without a fight. It's just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.
Word count: 7,883
Author’s Note: ugh... well, here it is. Don’t be afraid to send me hate mail or leave a comment. I love it when I make you guys sad (in a loving way of course) :)) good luck you little shits and may the odds be ever in your favor (FYI, they’re not)
Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)
I've grown tired of this body
Cumbersome and heavy
Tired of this body
Fall apart without me
“I understand you’re here with concerns of a mass you found—”
He was shaving. The mirror fogged from his shower and the room heavy with steam. Leisurely, he’d wasted time getting ready. That particular morning, he’d gotten up before his alarm and he was happy for the distraction of the near-boiling water pouring over his back while the cold tile bites into his shoulder. An easy stress-reliever before the day fully starts.
Dragging a cool rag over his face he’d caught sight of a slightly swollen place on his chest. He’d dropped the rag in the sink and gently probed the area. He’d expected the sting of a bruise, not a knot of hard lumps.
It wasn’t a bruise.
“I regret to inform you—”
He hadn’t even known there were lymph nodes in the chest.
“Can you take your shirt off for me, sir?”
There’s a whole staff of people fluttering and dodging his eyes. A blur of motion as they work around him. Of them all, Hotch has already developed a soft spot for. Dr. Fitz and the glasses that are too big for his face despite his attempts to make them fit his face. There are rubber bands wrapped around the earpieces to push them tighter around his head and a piece of tape holding one of the lenses in. It’s strangely endearing.
No matter how many times Hotch tells Dr. Fitz that Aaron works just fine, he still nervously throws in the courtesy. He’s just like Reid and it’s that thought that makes him both comfortable and so unbearably alone.
With a nod, Hotch tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. The cold air hits his bare chest and he holds his breath for a moment, shivering slightly before he takes control once again. Foyet’s scars are on broad display for the whole room but, to their credit, none of them blink. They’re not here to dissect the scars covering his body or take stock of the weight he’s put on.
He just goes where he’s pulled. If he flinches when they touch him, no one comments. It’s for the better, mostly.
“The tattoo is going to guide the external beam radiation at your tumor,” Dr. Fitz explains once again. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the little needle in his hands. “It’s just three dots.”
Hotch nods, his mouth a little too dry. This whole process a little too much. He nods his understanding, fists clenched at his side to force himself to show no outward reaction. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should those dots are going to be with him forever. His first and last tattoo.
Forcing a steadying breath, he glues his eyes to the ceiling. It stings but it’s not unbearable. The needle digs into his chest, pushing the ink in. It’s the second and third dot that get him. His skin is getting hot, sore enough to make him gunt as the last one is placed.
“Not nearly as fun as a normal tattoo,” one of the other doctor’s observes. Hotch, blinking back tears, looks over at his other doctor. A woman whom he’d never have figured the “tattoo” type. His brain is a little preoccupied, worn down. He’ll get over not profiling her very well, he just might not forgive himself for the slip-up.
Hotch just… grunts. Not a real answer but the easiest.
He’s offered a hand up but he doesn’t take it. Shoulders sore and arms weak, he pushes himself up. Leaning to the side when his head starts to pound, his mouth really, really dry.
“Alright—” a cold gloved finds his shoulder. “You’re just panicking,” he’s reassured. “You need to breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” The hand squeezes his shoulder but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. It feels like he’s going to pass out. But… he doesn’t. He breathes as instructed and slowly, the room calms back down.
As he peels his eyes open, chest tight and hands trembling, he finds the room still every bit as busy as it was before his little fit. The world really doesn’t stop.
“Are you sure—,” Dr. Fitz twists and worries his hands. Obviously, he’s worked himself up too. Probably blaming himself for Hotch’s reaction. He should have let him take a break or warned him a little better. “Most people find it helpful to have someone here,” Dr. Fitz observes. “Do you— Do you want to call someone?”
His eyes drop to the floor, his mind-- Haley. She would be here. Cracking jokes and poking at his side. Things used to be so much easier with her around. There was this magic about her, a drug her presence doped him up. She would light the room up and hold his hand. She’s not here, though. She’s dead and he’s having a hard time convincing himself this isn’t some sort of penance.
Snuffing out a light like her, it was bound to have its consequences.
They’ve marked him and with his advanced stage, he’s got an aggressive treatment plan, and the radiation starts tomorrow. So, no. No, he doesn't want to call anyone. He just wants to serve his time. Besides, who would he call?
JJ? With two children of her own and a painfully busy schedule.
Reid? His mother occupies his mind as is.
Morgan? He’s grappling with a relationship with Savannah, attempting to salvage all of the complex things life has thrown at him.
Dave? Hasn’t he already lost a child? The last thing he needs is to sit here for any given amount of time and watch this.
And he’d never, never put Garcia through this.
“No,” he rasps, laying back down. “I’m okay.”
He closes his eyes and when a single hot tear runs down his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it away. I’m okay.
I’m okay.
There aren't immediate side effects and he’s not sure if that’s a relief or worse. He’s anxious, nearly sick with nerves. Would it not be simpler to just get sick already? To throw up or get sore or just— anything.
The machine hurts his ears. Fifteen minutes of lying perfectly still gets hard after about two minutes. The whole process exacerbated by the way the low hum of the machine makes his head feel like someone’s digging at his skull with an icepick through his ear.
He’s assured he shouldn’t start feeling any symptoms for a few days. Likely not until the second week of treatments.
It takes five days for a stitch in his side to take his breath for a moment, doubling over as he struggles to breathe for a moment. Chest tight and head fogged. They just add another pill bottle to the other whole collection he’s accumulated on his nightstand.
It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on his chest. A hand gripping a fist full of his hair and dunking his head back under the water. Ties binding his wrist to the bed. A knife buried in his side.
It feels like the ground he’s standing on is rumbling, shifting beneath his feet and at any given moment it’s going to pitch him forward. A free fall and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to land on his feet.
He’s staring at the ceiling. Fists gripping the sheets as his stomach twists and churns. Swallowing around the uncomfortable burn in his throat, he turns his head to the side. Watching the movements just outside his bedroom window. Jack’s outside, kicking his soccer ball, and waiting for Daddy to come to join him. Hotch, will have to join him sooner rather than later. Even with the yard fenced in, anything could happen out there.
Funny. Just a few weeks ago, anything could have been blown under the rug with “at least it’s not cancer”. Now he’s plotting his will out in his head, making sure he covers every little thing. Who will lead the team? Where will Jack go? Can Jessica handle arrangements and should he start preparing the comfort letters now?
In the face of it all, he’d thought he could accept this. Life goes on. Things happen. He doesn’t want to die. All of those poems, the books, and the lies. “Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.” Well, that’s right shit, in his opinion. What comes next? Not light. Not hope. His body will succumb to cancer leaving behind the carnage of his actions.
Hodgkin's Lymphoma…
He’d known, in that morbid way his thoughts tend to twist, that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. That it would be silly for the doctor to smile, sympathetic to his plight, and advise him to talk to his therapist about this new progression of paranoia. For a pat on the back. Instead, he got the cold examination table under his back, and the nurse giving his trembling hand a squeeze as the needle had plunged into his chest.
It’s all been a haze since that phone call. Since the confirmation. Now he’s got more blood tests scheduled for Monday. That’s what his life is now. Radiation for fifteen minutes for four days a week. On the fifth day, he gets blood work drawn. They check for enzymes and cells. He doesn’t really care to understand.
He should. Don’t mistake the careless, numb ache thinking about all this gives him for complete inattention to detail. It’s just a little much for one person.
Hotch finds himself wondering what Reid would tell him about the whole process. Statics that would knock the wind from his lungs and odds that would make him feel just a little better. That he’s too old and too stressed out. That radiation aimed at his chest can harden his arteries and increase his already high chances of a heart attack. That he should have seen this coming-- his father died at 47. Lung cancer. A heart attack.
He should have seen it coming.
“Daddy?”
He has to lean into his nightstand as the ground warps beneath his feet. “I’m coming,” he manages, closing his eyes and blindly hoping that his door is shut and Jack can’t see him. He wishes he’d smoked more. Indulged in Dave’s cigars. Gone drinking with Derek. Danced like Penelope. Fuck, smiled more.
He didn’t even know there were lymph nodes in the chest. He’d gone to law school. Spent his early adulthood learning to read complex course material and how to cry softly in a room with another person less than five feet from him. Maybe he should have studied Biology… but then he’d just have to come to terms with the fact that this whole mess was bound to happen. Predisposed. Genetic and environmental.
His fault.
--------------------------------
Six in the morning is not a typical time to be fielding calls from concerned police officials. “He—Hello?” Which, now that phone is tucked under his chin, and the call answered, he realizes that he should have checked the caller ID. As stated, is it six in the morning and he doubts anyone too important is calling him at this hour.
Unless, of course, his luck has finally run out and yet another political disaster has occurred. Leaving him to clean the wreck.
The other end makes a strange noise before he’s greeted with, “--finally! I was almost worried you wouldn’t answer!”
Oh.
Emily.
“Morning,” he greets, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s a little too grumpy for this right now but she’s obviously called for a reason, her happiness seeping into tone, and he’s not going to purposely ruin that. How many hours ahead is London, again? Why is she awake?
“I was worried,” she admits. He can hear her working, the drag of her pen across paper, and the shift of the leather chair she’s sitting in. Even her keyboard clicking away as she multi-tasks. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”
Home. He smirks, she’s been overseas now for several years. Yet, she still refers to Virginia as home. The thought makes him shake his head. He’d never draw the conclusion out loud to her but he can imagine that little slip-up is one of the reasons that her on-again-off-again boyfriend Michael grows frustrated with her. It’s not her fault. It’s an understandable mistake but it certainly reflects a certain tone for her affections of London.
Her preferences.
“They’re fine,” he answers, evenly. “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” He pauses to splash water across his mouth, preparing to wash his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”
He places his phone on speaker and sets it on the shelf above his sink. Ducking his head, he listens to her while he washes his face. Going about the habitual process of shaving. A comforting thing he’s always done. He’s got no preference when it comes to facial hair. A beard is just as easy as a clean face. It’s about shaving. It’s soothing. It’s one of the few things that’s remained constant in his life.
She’s talking-- he thinks about how the weather in London has hit a point in the season that she doesn’t particularly like. Raining and cold. That she wants to come home but she isn’t sure she should. Will she really be able to tear herself away from the Virginia weather? From them?
He’s half-way done shaving when his eyes drift to his shirtless chest.
He wonders how many times he shaved, how many mornings did he wake up before he realized-- before he saw the tumor or the lump or mass or whatever the hell the medical term is. He lowers his head, sighing in defeat but mostly anger. How’d he let it get to this?
“Anyways,” she sighs. Sounding every bit as tired as he feels. “How is home? How are you?”
He looks at himself in the mirror. His head is absent of reason. No logic or forethought.
“I have cancer.”
--------------------------------
Everything about Aaron Hotchner is traditional and simplistic. It’s not a bad thing. In the years that she's known him, she’s grown fond of that. It makes him predictable and reliable. Something that happens infrequently in people the older that she gets. A part of her does feel wrong for clinging to that, to him, but she cherishes his friendship. Through the ups and downs.
Their means of communication are letters. Once a week she can expect to find two to three pages of neatly written updates on her family across the pond. He’ll ramble about anything in those letters and that’s what she enjoys about them the most. There is no hesitation to tell her what he thinks. In those letters, she can find Aaron. Incredible soft, thoughtful Aaron.
It’s been two weeks since he’s sent a letter. Not to sound clingy but she’s kind of hurt. More so, she’s nervous to find out what’s taking up so much of his time. He’s routine with his responses. Almost every Thursday night she can curl up with his newest letter and a glass of wine and read about the BAUs newest adventure. It’s always a bonus when throws in his subtle little “I” statements. I miss you’s come rare but when they do happen it’s nice.
Sighing, she caves. It’s Friday, she hasn’t heard from him in two weeks, and she misses him. By the time she has his contact picture pulled up and the ring tone dialing-- his goofy picture from his badge grinning at her-- she realizes that her eleven am is his six am. Just as she’s starting to think he won’t answer it goes through.
“H--Hello?” he sounds like shit. Over the course of the last year, she’s managed to forget what he sounds like. His voice is startlingly deep which does surprise her just a little.
“Finally!” she mumbles. “I was worried you wouldn’t answer!”
He yawns and it makes her smile. “Morning,” he grumbles and she can hear him scratching tiredly at his face. She feels guilty for waking him up for only a moment. That is until she remembers he gets up at six. So it’s likely she called right after his alarm clock went off.
Tucking her phone between chin and shoulder, she turns her computer on. Settling in behind her desk and getting to work. “I was worried,” she tells him. Not sure if she’s meaning to sound mad at him for not sending his “everyone’s alive and well” letter or mad that she doesn’t know how he is. He’s thrown her off her routine. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”
Her worry bleeds into the statement but he’s too tired to feed it or make fun of it.
She can hear him huff softly, an almost laugh.
“They’re fine,” he answers softly. His voice is drowsy, “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” She hears the tap run, he pauses, and she can hear him splashing water on his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”
She smirks, it was raspberry. Although, she doubts Garcia liked it as much as he says. She’s not a huge raspberry fan. Besides, Emily had sent that tea with one specific tea drinker in mind: him. The thing about Hotch is, he’s traditional, but he’s also complicated. That’s just Hotch for “I enjoyed the tea you sent”.
Really, she’d just wanted him to be introduced to more teas than his just his simple black tea. Be more creative. Have some fun.
“I’m glad Garcia liked the tea,” she says with a smirk. “She’s been texting me all week.” Pictures, texts, and a few Snapchat. Emily doesn’t entirely know how to use Snapchat yet but she’s getting the hang of it. “You guys being grounded is relaxing, I’m sure, but that woman’s got way too much time on her hands.” Emily shakes her head at the thought. Lovingly, of course.
“Anyways,” she runs a hand over her face and she lets out a sigh. “How is home? How are you?”
There’s a long pause on his end. All his busy movements coming to a halt. It makes her heart pick up its pace, her gut twisting. Suddenly, that knee-jerk thought, that stupid thought that something might be wrong feels true. She’s just about to say his name when his voice cuts through.
“I have cancer.”
Her first reaction is oh. At least she was right.
That is immediately followed by-- oh fuck.
“Are you…” she swallows thickly, work forgotten. “Have--” Where does she even begin?
He clears his throat, “Hodgkin's Lymphoma.” He answers without her actually having to ask. It feels to get it off his chest, literally. To tell someone. “I guess--” he makes a choked sound like the shock of this news is setting in again. “They have to put, uhm, ink to locate the right place. So, I… I have a tattoo of sorts now.”
She laughs a half-pained sound. “I’m sure Morgan doesn’t consider it to be a tattoo,” she manages around the tightness of her throat. She cringes at the thought, ink and a needle just digging into his flesh. Cancer invading his body.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does, she understands the silence.
“I haven’t told them.”
As much as she wants to be mad at him, she shouldn’t really expect anything different. He’s painfully shy and private. God knows if she hadn’t found him half-dead in the hospital after Foyet, he’d have gone as long as possible without telling them. He certainly wouldn’t have told them while still hospitalized.
It’s the same lack of forethought that goes through them, a moment of blindness. He’d felt the weight of restraints pulling his limbs down when the admissions had left his lips. She feels only conviction, “I’m coming home.”
It catches him entirely off guard.
She winces when he starts coughing. His first symptom since starting radiation. It’s a horrible sounding dry cough that makes her lungs ache just to hear.
The coughs fold him over, the force at which they leave his mouth is painful. What is it that makes coughing so painful? That’s never made much sense. It’s just air, right?
“Hotch?”
He rubs at his sternum, trying to externally soothe the muscles. “I’m okay,” he chokes. Shakily, his right-hand bears his weight as his left turns the faucet on. With his palm, he manages to sip a few mouthfuls of water. It just doesn’t stop the coughing. “I’m okay.”
She highly doubts that. There’s not a single thing about what she just heard that sounds “okay” by anyone standards-- certainly not his. “Are you going to work like this?” she asks. It’s hard to believe he’d allow himself to be seen in any state that isn’t tip-top shape. On that note, she also knows that way too good at putting on a show, and, for profilers, the team sucks at making that distinction.
The anger that evokes in him is undue. Admittedly, he overreacts. “I said I’m fine,” he barks. “I don’t need you checking in on me, Prentiss. I don’t need you here, too!” To watch. It’s bad enough, okay? That he’s going to have to tell his six-year-old son that he’s dying. Each morning a little more than the last and some days feel like he’s already half-lowered into the ground.
And the others. Reid and those sad eyes. The way Morgan won’t be able to look at him, just avert his gaze and storm out of the room. Dave’s crushing hug and JJ’s silent tears. Garcia… He can only imagine the raging in-betweens of what the news will do to her. Stress baking cookies he won’t be able to stomach. Knitting him hats, sweaters, and blankets with feverish vigor that he won’t be able to escape.
He could use one of Garcia’s love knitted blankets right about now.
Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he relaxes his tight grip on the sink. Knuckles paled and fingers aching.
“Sorry,” Emily finally manages after the long moments of silence.
Hotch hangs his head, biting his lip hard to stop the flow of emotions trying to work their way up. “No,” he rasps, thickly. He sniffles, scoffing when he rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist, finding tears. “That was… inexcusable. I’m so sorry,” he leans down, body in half as he rests his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink.
This doesn’t even feel like his body anymore.
“Aaron?”
There are tears streaming down his face, he’s too tired to fight them off. “Hmm?”
“I’ll see you soon.”
He hums in agreeance, unable to trust his voice.
“Take it easy, okay? I love you.”
The line dies before he can hasten out a reply.
--------------------------------
She’s been waiting on a reason to leave London for longer than she’s willing to admit.
Her dying friend proves to be reason enough.
Clyde has obvious mixed feelings but he can’t hold her back. He and Hotch had gotten set on the wrong foot. The rivalry between the two men is childish but endearing. Almost nothing has made her feel as loved as the proud smiles they both wear when she greets them. Clyde overwhelmingly pleased he’d won her back to London and Hotch smug she’ll travel hours to come to see him (she hadn’t done that for Clyde).
Almost nothing beats that.
“Emily!”
Her eyes are scanning the crowd before her, searching for her mismatched ragtag family. Sore thumbs, bobbing up and down in the crowd, they wave her to them. She notices he’s not there immediately.
“Princess,” Morgan sighs her name into her hair and she turns her face into his shoulder. Drawing in the strength she can feel wavering with a new wave of anxiety washing over her. It helps that they’re here. Derek’s arms wrapped around her after what feels like a lifetime away.
It’s only taken her three decades but she’s found her family and she’s not letting anything drag her away this time.
Garcia pushes at Morgan, causing a choked laugh out of them all. “Stop hogging all the Emily-lovings!”
Morgan smirks, trying to hide the relief swelling in his eyes like tears. He gets one more good look of her, eyes combing over her before parting with a sad smile. Relieved.
There’s a blur of motion. She’s pulled to each of them.
Garcia hugs like she’s trying to crush ribs and Emily lets her.
Hugging Dave brings tears to her eyes. Fuck, she’s missed them.
“Don’t make me chase you,” Emily threatens when she spots Reid near the edge. Pulling him close she rests her head against his shoulder, happy when he squeezes her back. “I’ve missed you, boy wonder.” Her genius. Just as scrawny as when she left him. She doesn’t want to do that again anytime soon.
Dave claps his hands together, grabbing one of the three bags she’d dropped. “Let’s get lunch, kiddos. We can talk about London.” He winks at Emily and she knows that this is going to spin into a conversation about potential love interests. She hasn’t had love on the brain in a while.
London… not everything she wishes it was. Cold and rainy. Relentlessly.
For the first month, she was over there, all she wanted was to come home. She just kept waiting for the rain to ease up. Then there should be that wet, hot humidity that clings to everything. She’d hated that before but now she’d just give anything to have it. For Reid to drag her out for coffee and the sun to bring out the chipper inflection in Garcia’s voice.
How the sun looked on Jack and Henry’s little head when she’d run around the park with them.
Fuck London, she’s just glad to be home.
“So,” she’s allowed them their fill of questions. Things about INTERPOL and if she’s still leaning heavily on take out food or if she’s managed even the faintest bit of finesse concerning cooking (she hasn’t). Leaning onto her elbows, she asks the question that’s been bugging her for hours. “Where’s Hotch?”
Dave leans back in his chair and JJ’s the first to crack. Of course, her poker face just isn’t that great. Her eyes move to Dave, concern written across her face. They might not know but it’s not that hard to figure out they know something isn’t right.
Reid shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes, and focus.
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Dave informs her. He settles back in his chair, arms crossing on his chest. “He’s…” he sighs tiredly. For a moment he just shakes his head. Rubbing a hand over the coarse hair on his face and then rubbing at his eyes. “He’s Aaron,” Dave mumbles. “Complicated and… reserved.” He looks at her now, zeroed in on just her. Just them.
Her heart races at just the thought of them knowing.
JJ clears her throat. She distracts her worry with rubbing her nail at the glass. “He says he’s at meetings,” she tells Emily. “Says--” she shakes her head, flustered. Upset. Pulling in a breath, she shakes softly as it comes in. “Every day, he sends me an update email. Just a list of things he expects to get done for the day or places he might be.” JJ tucks a strand of her hair back from her face. “Our jobs circle around each other, a lot. It makes my life easier if I can find him without running all over the place.”
Morgan turns his head, away from the conversation. Wishing to be uninvolved but unable to escape.
“He’s lying,” JJ concludes. She worries her lip with her teeth. “His lists are…” her eyebrows furrow as she struggles to say exactly what she means. “Last week,” she says with a nod, having come up with her perfect example. “He said he’d be in a meeting. Didn’t tell me where, he always tells me where.” Her eyes scan over the table, looking for more. “Something’s wrong and he won’t tell us.”
Morgan huffs, shifted now so that his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. His legs crossed, even. Distant. “I don’t see why we don’t just let him be.” His tone betrays what he’s really feeling. That anger and the vulnerability. His words are reflexive. He’s always pushed away when things get tough.
Emily wants to rise to his defense or to say anything but she can’t.
“Reid went into his office yesterday--”
Reid flinches. The memory or the feeling, he draws himself in. Shielding himself from whatever is being said.
Garcia looks down at her lap.
“He was asleep at his desk,” Dave finishes, despite seeing just how uncomfortable Garcia and Reid look. “Out like a-- Asleep like he hadn’t rested in a while. It took-- I had to shake him awake. He was warm to the touch and shaking.” Dave looks down to the table. “Shaking. He was weak and I’d known,” he looks up, frowning sadly. “I’d known something was wrong before but whatever is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”
The bottom of it… God, they’re going to be devastated.
Lunch brightens. It’s forced to when the conversation shifts to the children. To Henry starting fourth grade and Jack’s in middle school now. Since when did those babies grow up?
Sooner than maybe she’s ready for it, she has to leave them. She’s too tired, too jet-lagged.
And maybe… Maybe she’s ready to bother Hotch. To reacquaint herself with his grumpy, silent nature. Isn’t it silly to think she’d hated him once?
Now she knows where his house keys are hidden.
The key hits the lock and she realizes how this might not be as great of a plan as she had planned it to be. “Hotch,” she calls into the dark. She peaks around, hoping if he’s home he’s not on edge. She’s seen him hypervigilant, she knows this is an awful plan. Even calling ahead might not have been enough. So, it’s more than brave for her to just come barging in.
She puts her back near the coat rack, still hunched into herself in case he comes barreling around the corner. He doesn’t. “Aaron?” His car is out front, despite the darkness of the room suggesting the house is empty. The blinds are drawn shut, blocking all-natural light into the house. The air is cool. “Aaron if you’re here please, please don’t shoot me.”
Shutting the door behind her, she progresses into the living room. The creaking of floorboards draws her attention to the other side of the house and she spots him.
He comes around the corner of the hall, from the direction of his room. Tired eyes move up to find her, his lip quirks into half a smile. “Emily,” he greets under his breath. He’d heard the door open but the binds weighing his wrist and ankles to the bed had been too much for him to lift. Pained and slowed, he’d made his way to figure out who was home.
Certain it’s not Jack, he should have had a little more trepidation about coming out here to investigate.
She approaches him slowly, soaking in every line and angle of his body. The way he’s favoring his right side is a new thing but the crescent moons under his eyes are a comforting familiarity. Pulling in a breath, she drags her eyes all the way up to him. He’s lost some weight and it just makes his cheekbones that much more hauntingly sharp. It draws attention to the scars on his face, thin and aged.
With a smile, she shakes her head at him. “Just as ugly as when I left,” she informs him.
He smiles tiredly, sighing at her playful taunt. It makes the hug she pulls him into relieving. The aches and chills he’s felt all day lessen as she wraps her arms around him. Something about the way her hand cups the back of his neck while the other rubs his up along his spine.
She’s standing on the tips of her toes, stretching to get to him. He leans down into her, closing his eyes. She just holds him that much closer. Against her, she can feel the beating of his heart. The way his nerves had amped his heart rate up and now, as the beat slows, the way he calms under her touch.
“How are you?” she asks quietly. They pull apart and she feels the absence of his warmth immediately.
He pulls in a weak breath, one he lets out a strangled cough. Shakes his head and offers a shrug. “I’m okay,” he assures her.
She doesn’t fail to notice how his right hand shakily reaches out to steady him against the wall. They’ve never agreed on the definition of okay and, so, it’s not that surprising they wouldn’t now.
Burying a cough into the elbow of his arm, he starts to tremble. His breathing takes a heavy quality as he stands there. It takes only a moment for him to draw himself up to his full height, swallowing down against the pain and forcing his body to bend to his will. If she didn’t know better, nothing would look wrong at all.
“Can I get you anything,” he asks, clenching his teeth to keep steady despite how exhausted he feels. “How long are you staying?” He knows she won’t actually answer that first question, so he steps by her and lets her follow him into the kitchen. Hyper-aware of the way he moves his body. Trying to look normal instead of stiff.
She follows him, watching for clues in the slips of his armor. One of the many benefits of having known him so long and knowing him well is that he can’t get much past her. “I’m staying for as long as I’m welcome,” she replies. It’s better than the truth, that she’s staying until he’s better.
He appreciates her choice of wording even if the truth is still there underneath it all. Leaving him the burden of the situation, which is considerably worse.
He sticks with a simple hum of understanding, knowing she’ll understand it as such. “Staying where,” he asks. Suspecting he already knows the answer. “Here?” He fills two glasses with water, desperate to soothe his dry mouth. Turning to her, he offers the first glass.
She accepts the glass without comment. “I didn’t think about where,” she lies, smirking over the glass rim at him. He shakes his head but doesn't comment. “Here would be good though.” She looks up at him and he shakes his head with a smile. “It would!” she defends. “I know you miss me and I could help around with Jack. If you won’t admit to it, I know he will.” Her smile twists mischievously, “besides, he’s my favorite Hotchner and I’ll make time to spend with him regardless of where I stay.”
He shakes his head but he’s already formulating how to move the guest room around to accommodate her. There’s not much in there. A bed with some regular looking sheets and two or three boxes of random things.
Putting her glass down on the counter she sighs. “We don’t need to worry about that right now.” Nodding her head back towards the hall she says, “you look miserable. Go to bed.”
He realizes that while she was talking he’s slowly started leaning more and more on the counter. Accumulating a lean to ease the aches wracking his body. She’s right. He looks miserable because he is. He’s exhausted.
“Do you need to take any medication?”
He shakes his head, not letting it bother him when she tucks herself against his side. Allowing him to lean into her. He doesn't but the warmth her body brings is pleasant enough to keep him going.
He took everything he needed this morning. The medicine for the radiation rash he’s developed across his chest, the preventative pills for the fibrosis that might build in his lungs because of the radiation, and a whole other list of things he can’t really remember. He just has the bottles on his nightstand and knows that most require two dosages.
His bed is warm and soft, his eyes closing against his will. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t let her see him like this. This is his battle and he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with it. There’s a comfort in sharing, though. Rather it be the brush of her fingers on his forehead, pushing back his crazy or the kiss she presses to his temple before whispering “get some sleep, Hotch”.
And, honestly, he’s tired of being alone.
“Emily?”
She turns in the doorway.
“Thank you.”
Someone has to be here. She wants to be here. “You’d do the same for me.”
--------------------------------
Legs crossed, hair pulled into a half-assed knot atop her head she watches him curiously. He’s up an hour later than she’d expected. No coffee to go along with the egg he has for breakfast. Between them, they have an entire morning spent without nearly a word. Just a simple, “do you want an egg?”
He gets ready but not for work.
“What’re you doing?”
She gets ready too. For what, she’s not sure, but she’s interested none-the-less. Even if she thinks she knows the answer. It’s very interesting, she thinks, to step into the living room and find him staring dumbly back at her. No, not interesting. It’s fun.
Stepping around him, she pulls her coat off the rack. “Isn’t it obvious,” she asks, slipping her feet into the boots. “I’m coming with you.”
Flannel and jeans aren’t his typical go to but it’s a relaxed look. One she finds she doesn't hate.
He crosses his arms on his chest, eyebrows furrowed and a stern frown in place. Startlingly in control for a man she watched choke down half an egg before calling it quits. He hadn’t even had coffee. Now he shifts his weight, left to right. “Emily this isn’t--” he just stands with his mouth open. After a moment he shakes his head. “You don’t want to come.”
So it is treatment.
She pulls her jacket tight around her shoulders and without comment pulls his down too, offering it to him.
He takes it with a sigh, shaking his head, but pulling the sleeves over his flannel. With a sigh, he grabs his keys off the counter. He points a finger at her, looking every bit the father scolding a troublemaking child. “You’re not coming inside the hospital. It’ll be an hour. You’ll drive someplace else. I’ll text you when it’s done.”
She smirks, pleased she’s won this round. Placing two fingers to her temple, she gives him a mocking salute. “Aye-aye captain!” Today, she won’t push. He’s come this far, weeks into his therapy. If he needs some time, then he needs time. Just so long as he knows she’s here now.
Leaving him is harder than she anticipated.
She takes his seat, half-listening as he stands at the door.
“There an outlet about five minutes North,” he says. He watches her move the seat around. Trying to drag the seat closer to the steering wheel so she can actually reach the pedals. “It’ll give you something to do. There’s a bookshop up there too. I-- I take Jack there.” He runs a hand over his hair. “A coffee shop and a smoothie stand and--”
She catches sight of the grey through his hair. Looking away, she clenches her jaw. Worry the edge of the steering wheel. “Aaron,” she finally stops him. “I can take care of myself for an hour. I’m a big girl.”
He shakes his head, ducking to so she can’t see the blush creep up his cheek. “Right,” he manages. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
She nods, “an hour.” She waits until she can’t see him. Those doors closing behind him. Swallowing him whole. It’s just an hour.
She was gone for an entire year. More than that really. Years. What are years to a single hour?
The coffee shop is quant. She can imagine him here. Tucked away within the stacks of books. Reid would like it here. The covers are old but, she thinks with a smile, he’d find something, not to date. Seeking a classic and turning away when it’s not in its original translation. That’s where Garcia has always been his balance. She’d pull him from a rant and sit him down with a cup of tea.
How had Emily ever left them?
Her hands tremble as she runs a finger over those old book backs. Mostly, she wonders what Hotch must be thinking. Heaven or hell. If all the work they’ve put into this job will account for anything at all in the end.
If it’ll hurt.
Her phone goes off. Done. Simple enough.
“I brought you a smoothie!” She’s got his sunglasses on when she pulls up. Not even offering to get out of the driver’s side.
He’s hurting more than he cares to admit. Tired and the rash on his chest burns. Seeing her pull up, he’s glad she doesn’t do more than hook her finger into the sunglasses and peer over their edge at him. Climbing into the car he takes one look at the smoothie and shakes his head. It’s dark green and even if he were hungry he’s sure that isn’t very good. “No thank you,” he mumbles, leaning back into the seat. He tilts his head against the rest.
She’s not really in the mood for arguments. More so, he’s just gotten out of treatment and all he’s had is an egg. “You’ll drink it,” she informs him, putting the car in drive. “Maybe not now but eventually.”
He grunts. Doubt that. If he’s going to manage to stomach anything, it’s not going to be that. Besides, he’d got plans: take a nap. That slowly goes down the drain.
Emily turns up the radio, humming along to a song he doesn’t recognize.
Turning his head, he watches her drive. He hasn’t told her yet but he’s very thankful she’s come back. Even if he’s slightly tainted the return with… She’s here taking over his life. Worming her way into his spare bedroom. Force-feeding him weird green smoothies. He doubts she’ll stop there.
“Hotch?” He doesn’t wake up when she shuts the car off. From there on, she’s gentle. Careful as she extracts herself from the car. “Aaron,” she rubs his shoulder.
He pulls in a small breath, turning slowly to her. Half-lidded eyes find her, confused.
When they left the house he’d looked better. Better than now. Not so exhausted.
“You fell asleep,” she informs him, backing up as he sits up. He has to use the seat to get there but he makes it happen. She waits back for him, letting him take his time getting out of the car. All while holding that damn smoothie she’s convinced she’s going to make him drink.
He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his phone goes off in his pocket. She turns at the door, waiting. He motions her on with a wave, taking the call. “Agent Hotchner speaking.”
She stops for a moment to watch him pull in the whole persona. Not Aaron who just fell asleep in the car but Hotch the rock. It’s sad, really, how quickly the one consumes the other.
She’s reading on the couch when he comes in.
He doesn’t say anything as he slips past, going back towards his room. He comes right back out. The loosely buttoned flannel is forgotten, replaced by a suit across his thin shoulders. Once, those suits had pronounced the sharpness of his body. The way his shoulders sit strong and straight. Now, that jacket doesn’t even look like it belongs to him.
“Where are you going?”
He only glances at her, ducking his head back to the task at hand-- putting on shoes.
She gets up off the couch, flipping the book text down. “Aaron,” she comes around the side. “You can’t go out there.” To work. It’s not healthy to go out there. He had fallen asleep on the ride home, not even twenty minutes ago. He won’t manage out there.
He turns to her as she steps into the room, scowl in place and a look of indifference pulled between them. All the protection he can garner for himself. “It’s not up for debate,” he replies. As if this is out of his control. He just can’t help but think it would be easier this way. It would hurt less, dying out there. A coherent death. He’d feel it. Quick and overwhelming.
But coherent. He’d know.
Not in a hospital. More machine than man. Unable to speak or too weak to think.
It would be better to die a hero.
“Aaron,” she calls, he’s just walking away. “You’re being unreasonable.” She wants to scream. To shout at him or grab him the collar of that oversized dress shirt and shake him. Force him to realize that he’s being stupid. Does he think she’s stupid? They both know this is self-destruction. Skipping treatment. Going into the field. All for this stupid image that he’s convinced himself is necessary. For who? Huh?
It’s better to suffer around people you love than to have them bury you. The only burden is the weight of your casket across their shoulders.
He turns, teeth clenched. Jaw set. “Am I?” he asks. His face has darkened, his cheekbones drawing his cheeks in. “I’m going,” he informs her, “regardless of whatever it is you have to say.”
He won’t look at her. That’s how she knows that no matter how illogical he’s being, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Back turned to her, he stops for just a moment. He knows this isn’t what he should. That this is neither his best option nor the right choice. Still, he opens the door. Stepping out he turns his head, eyes cast to the side. “I--” he shakes his head, he doesn’t know.
Before he can shut the door she calls his name out, fear overriding the anger. “Aaron,” she clenches her fists at her side. “Please be safe.”
His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. Glancing at her, he nods his head. At least he has the decency not to lie to her. To pretend this is anything but foolish and a death wish. He shuts the door behind himself without another word.
Leaving her standing there.
Waiting.
She’ll still be waiting that night when Reid calls her. Incoherent.
“I-- I don’t know what’s wrong Emily! He won’t-- He’s bleeding and I--I… He said to call you.”
She shouldn’t have let him leave.
@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan
#tw cancer#haha assholes#I bet you thought I wouldn't hit you with a cliffhanger#emily is super involved in this chapter but the next chapter has lot more of the team in it#aaron hotchner hiding medical issues like he would#stubborn ass#you gotta love him tho#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#emily prentiss#derek morgan#david rossi#jennifer jareau#penelope garcia#spencer reid#bau
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˗ˏˋMary, Midari, and Runa with an s/o who is a ghostˎˊ˗
Pronouns: gender neutral; they/them
Warnings: cussing. mentions of death, murder, suicide and a g>n-
Note: request by @massivewolfpandaknight thank you so much i love writing for kakegurui especially these girls!! Also marys is longer then all the other ones sorry😔 i tried to have more fun with this request too so i hope its still good :(
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Mary Saotome
First off, you met because of Yumeko
She was dragging you all over the school and at one point it was pissing you off so much you just decided to work your ~ghostly~ magic and get out of her grip
As shes lecturing you on acting normal, you're just staring at her with a black expression
"I dont see the problem"
"The problem is that we dont want everyone knowing your DEAD" she says ending her sentence with a sinister smile
It lowkey creeped you out
So you let out a sigh and give her a, "fine but dont drag me around like you did at our old school"
You actually died at the old school you used to go but you didn't have to stick at the school, you could go where ever
There weren't any boundaries lets say
So when Yumeko moved schools she dragged you with her and here you were now, pretending like you were still alive and not dead at all~
While you both were in deep conversation Mary came barging in asking "who in the hell is this bitch"
Sighing at her rude attitude you flick her forehead, your cold finger almost giving her a brain freeze and she stood in shock for a second.
"Who do you think you are" she says crossing her arms
What were you supposed to say to that, "a ghost???"
You mimic her actions and words in a high pitch voice
Yeah your relationship didn't start on the right foot
But hey after that whole meeting, you and Mary spent quite a long time together
Even though you fought a few times since her ego was so massive at the start of your relationship
But after a while she started opening up to you more and being nicer
Even going as far to be more affectionate to you and Yumeko noticed fast
Seeing as you were, very, oblivious
And didn't think anybody wanted to date you because you're a ghost, you thought nothing over her new actions towards you
At one point Yumeko just grabs you, brings you into a room, and tells you the truth
"Mary likes you, are you stupid? Oblivious or something? Go get her"
And as soon as you were in the room, you were out
As you stumbled out the door, Yumeko walking out calmly after you, Mary finds you
She looks between you and Yumeko, rasing her brow
Before leaving Yumeko says "no, nothing happened" winking at Mary and running away
You're still lowkey shocked at what Yumeko said
If you were alive, you'd probobly be blushing right now
"Heyyy Mary"
"What was that all about?" She asks, her cheeks puffed up a tiny bit
"Oh, it was nothing we were just talking"
"Didn't seem like just talking.." She mutters under her breath but you caught it
"Are you jealous??" You snicker out, getting closer to Mary step by step
As you walk closer and closer you basically have her pinned to the wall, blushing she just looks away from you
You smirk and give her a cheek a peck
She looks back with a shocked look on her face before giving you a smirk too
"Idiot, you missed"
Y'all kiss after that-
Honestly, she really doesent care that you're, dead-
She really likes when you pat her head or scratch her scalp since your fingers are cold
Flicking her forehead actually became a habit too-
You also have scheduled gambles and she gets mad at you if you say no sometimes
Midari Ikishima
To be honest, at first you wanted nothing to do with Midari
But she just kept on talking to you and annoying you
And even though the memory is blurry and hazy somewhere in between begging you to gamble with her and her being by your side twenty four seven
You started to get less annoyed by her
In the midst of starting a friendship with that girl you told her you were actually
And when you saw that glint in her eyes you got w o r r i e d
She almost tried to commit not alive on the spot
You screamed
Your reflexes were good enough and you took the g>n out of her hands
You tried to push her away but she fell on top of you in the process
Knowing her you knew she was going to say something that will not do good for you
So you panic and accidently go through the floor
You can hear her hit the floor even through the thick floor, it made you laugh but you wont tell her that
When you go back into the room shes actually knocked out
Did she really hit the floor that hard-
Either way you grab her unconscious body and take care of her until shes back on her feet
For once in your (after) "life" you see Midari calm
It was a very weird sight
She made you gamble with her once too
Never again.
You somehow one and she got too excited waiting for whatever punishment was going to happen next, she was on top of you at one point
You've also caught her in...compromising positions and you've ran out of that situation as fast as you could
She dreams of the day she can actually get you alone without you running away
It happened once, and that was the day you guys actually got together
She cornered you and you forgot all about your ghostly abilities for once
She pushes up to you and puts her face right in front of your face
"Why do you panic so much"
..what in the hell-
Since she's only met with your silence and your eyes aren't even meeting hers she gets a little impatient
She bonks you on the head with her g>n, not very lightly may i add
And as you open your mouth to protest she takes this opportunity to kiss you. After all shes been crushing on you for so long, not like you noticed though
You thought she chased everyone around
Im not going to act like the kiss went too smoothly, your teeth crashed with hers before you pulled away to give her an actual kiss
You grab her chin and give her a proper kiss this time, her g>n making a soft thud when it fell on the ground but you didn't pay much mind to it
After that she tries to kiss you as much as possible, sometimes more then kissing even when there are people around
Shes like one of those kids you have to put the animal backpack leashes, yeah you always need to check up on her before she does a disaster
When you joke about it she doesn't take it as a joke
So next time you see her at school with a leash in her hands you run away immediately
Runa Yomozuki
You guys met when she caught you trying to watch a gambling fight and didn't recognize you as a student there.
You guys met eyes and you just sat there like, "...hi :D"
She immediately starts questioning you, lollipop still in her mouth and you could barely understand half of the words she was saying-
When she notices you don't even care and you're just staring at the candy in her mouth she sighs and grabs another lollipop from her pockets
She hears you softly mutter, "i haven't had these in ages", shes a little confused
You just look up innocently and say, "oh im dead", when she gives you a questioning gaze
You're surprised when she doesn't start doubting your words-
She just goes "oh, makes sense" and walks away
You just sit there like, ?????
Also you might not have any taste buds
But you're still addicted to those lollipops
Anyways after that you make it your goal to annoy her as much as possible
And you do
For a few months actually
She usually shuts you up with a lollipop sometimes you annoy her by making the lollipop pass right through you
At one point she takes on a different method to shut you up and kisses your cheek, you sat there for a second and malfunctioned
She giggles at your reaction and does it a lot more
Doesent matter how many times she does it, you never get used to it
Your relationship kind of just blossomed
You guys didn't even notice any of it until one day you were staring at each other and kissed and you both just went "okay well we're dating now"
Everyone else barely knew about you so when they see Rona and you just kissing they're so confused
Rona doesn't even explain and you don't bother too either
She finds it funny
She giggles a little when you give her kisses since your lips are just as cold as you are
She now has to get even more candy since you both are obsessed and you steal her candy from her too
You pay back in kisses though
She likes it that way😌
She also likes to join you in scaring the students of the school
You guys do it in various ways but there are some that you like more
For example, sometimes she starts talking to someone and youll randomly appear right behind her and somehow that scares some of the students to death
Another one of your favorites is hiding behind a corner together and just waiting for people nearby and then yelling in their faces
Usually she goes first and after the person has calmed down you chime in and yell in their face too
[1699 words; aug/10/2020]
#virtual luvr is typing#x reader#ghost reader#ghost s/o#kakegurui x male reader#kakegurui oneshot#kakegurui x reader#kakegurui imagines#kakegurui#kakegurui x female reader#kakegurui x gn reader#kakegurui x you#x gender neutral reader#male reader#female reader#gn reader#gender neutral reader#mary saotome x reader#mary saotome x male reader#mary saotome x gn reader#mary x reader#midari x reader#midari x female reader#midari x gn reader#runa x reader#runa x male reader#runa x female reader#runa x gn reader
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Happy 34th birthday, Twinyards
read on AO3
i
It is Aaron’s 14th birthday and he has just found out that he has a brother - a twin brother, an identical twin brother, who looks exactly like him and might just understand him, too. His mom didn’t do anything for his birthday - she hasn’t since he was little, or maybe those long-forgotten memories were really just dreams that have managed to worm their way so deep into his psyche that he’s accepted them as truth. The kids at school sang to him, which was fine, but Aaron can’t help but think maybe now it will be different. Maybe once he meets this brother of his, then they can celebrate their birthdays together. Maybe they can give each other presents, and eat cake, and blow out the candles using the combined forces of their breath. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
(Andrew spends this birthday choking down cake that Cas got him, trying to hide the fresh marks on his arm, and thinking about the best way to keep his mysterious brother as far away from him as possible)
((one month later, Aaron receives a letter in the mail. He couldn’t tell you everything it said - he just knows that all of these maybes have just been thrown into the middle of a busy highway to be crushed under uncaring tires.))
ii
Its Aaron’s 15th birthday and his mother has celebrated by beating the shit out of him and then throwing a random assortment of pills from the bottom of her purse in his direction as an apology, and Aaron cannot help but think that maybe it won’t have to be like this anymore. He thinks about what Andrew said (Andrew, who really does look just like him, and who seemed so angry about Tilda, and seemed to believe that Aaron didn’t deserve, that he deserved good things--) had said to him, thinks about how maybe when Andrew moves his mom will stop it, maybe it’ll be alright, maybe nothing will hurt anymore and everything will be okay and he’ll have a brother. It’ll be the two of them against the world, and Aaron may not know this other boy all that well, but he promised to protect him, so that must mean something, right? Even if before that he said he didn’t want anything to do with Aaron, he changed his mind, and thats what matters, right? Right? And so when Aaron blows out the birthday candles that he bought for himself at eh convenience store the night before, he wishes for his brother to come home soon, and for them to be a family like they were supposed to be. Like he deserves.
((Six months later, Tilda is dead and Aaron has stopped believing in family.))
iii
It is Andrews’s 16th birthday and he has not spoken more than two words to his brother for most of the year, but Nicky tries to force them to do something, to celebrate, to be normal teenagers for once. Andrew leaves halfway through the elaborate dinner that Nicky has prepared, and pretends not to see the sad look he aims at his retreating back. Pretends that he doesn’t care what Nicky thinks of him, what Aarons thinks of him. Pretends that he stopped caring about Cass, that actually he didn’t care about that, either. Pretends and pretends and pretends, and convinces everyone but himself.
((He’s not so great at lying to himself yet. He’ll get better with age.))
Late that night, after he’s heard everyone else going to bed, he sneaks downstairs and steals a slice of the double-chocolate cake that Nicky got them. There are already a couple of slices out from where Nicky and Aaron had some, so hopefully, this moment of weakness will go unnoticed.
(Aaron spends his 16th birthday sad and mourning, refusing to look his brother in the eye. When he blows out the birthday candles with no help from a magical brother, he wishes that he never met Andrew in the first place. Not that he believes in magic or wishes or anything good at all, anymore. He barely has a bite of his cake before leaving the table. He, too, pretends not to see Nicky’s teary eyes as he leaves him standing alone in the kitchen, the remnants of a wasted attempt at love scattered all around him)
((he, too, is not so great at lying to himself yet. He, too, will get better with age))
(Nevertheless, when he hears Andrew come downstairs in the dead of night, he creeps into the hallway to watch his petty theft)
((He never mentions it.))
iv
It is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he is so high off the ground that he never even realizes the date.
Or maybe he does and just forgets.
The meds are still new, and he’s not used to them yet. Not used to the loudness, and brightness, and plastered on a smile. His cheeks hurt all the time now - he is constantly working muscles that have not had much use, the last couple of years
(the last couple of lifetimes)
Needless to say, it is Andrew’s 17th birthday and he does not even realize it, and instead, he spends it in his room, his precious room that has a lock that works, coming apart at all his frying edges. Boys like him were never meant to grow old. Boys like him were never meant to last. And so he lays there and shakes uncontrollably, and laughs, too, tells himself this is fine, he’s fine it’s all fine and knows better than to believes it. Perhaps it is a mercy, that he eventually gets used to the meds.
Perhaps it is not.
(Aaron doesn’t celebrate his birthday, either. Instead, he picks up extra shifts at Edens and goes to bed early.
He cannot wait to leave this fucking house)
v
It is Aaron’s 18th birthday, meaning that he is a legal adult. He finds this funny. He has always been an adult; he was an adult when he was four and creeping across the house on silent feet to steal crackers from the pantry because mom forgot to feed him; he was an adult when he was 10 and forging his mothers signature on school papers, and making excuses for why she couldn’t come into parent-teacher conference night; he was an adult when he was sitting across from his reflection in a juvenile detention facility, and promised protection. One more birthday doesn’t mean shit.
(Andrew agrees. He, too, has been an adult for as long as he can remember.)
((Still, when Nicky slips cards under each of their doors wishing them a happy birthday and telling them he’s proud of them, and that he hopes that adulthood treats them right, well. If Aaron squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can to prevent the tears from escaping, and if Andrew tares it up into a million pieces because it almost makes him feel something, then no one needs to know))
vi
It is November 4th, and the newly-coined monsters are in Columbia, just like they are most weekends. They make the same stops as always, go to the same club, the same restaurant.
Never once is the word birthday mentioned.
vii
It is Andrew’s 20th birthday and he is about to make one of the worst mistakes of his life. For now, he sits against the windowsill, watching his smoke dissipate into the afternoon air, absently listening to the sounds of Nicky and Aaron’s video game wash over him. He’s grinning, as is usually is these days, and if he was capable of having a long-lasting coherent thought, he would want to carve that grin off his face.
Alas, he is not capable of long-lasting coherent thought. Oh well. Perhaps it’s for the best.
Renee got him a gift. Silly Renee. Always so nice, so kind, even to monsters like him. Hasn’t she learned better than that by now? It seems not.
When Nicky receives a phone call that leaves him in a panic, it is almost enough to garner Andrew’s attention.
Almost.
When he leaves the room in a rush only to come beach with Neil, the enigma, the hallucination, the rabbit, in tow behind him, Andrew actually does start to pay attention. Only a little though.
When Neil pulls him aside, and asks for the unimaginable, and then manages to make it seem like a good idea, well. Andrew’s interest has been peaked, and he agrees. Why not? It might be fun. Might be, might be, might be.
(It’s not. It’s not fun at all, and if nothing else then Andrew is finally allowed to leave that smile behind for good. Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Andrew, happy birthday to me!)
((Aaron spends his birthday playing video games and wondering why the new kid holds such sway over his brother. When he looks back on that day, he will not remember any of that. He will only remember that that was the day everything went wrong, and he was unable to fix it.))
viii
It is Andrew’s 21st birthday, and it might just be a good one. No alarm wakes him up in the morning, even though he’s sure he set it last night, meaning he gets to sleep in. When he wakes up it’s to Neil bustling about the dorm room, clearly searching for something.
“Practice?” Andrew asks and is told in no uncertain terms that they will be blowing it off for the day. Yes, today is shaping up to be a good one.
Instead, they go out driving, blazing down empty roads as fast as the mas will take them, eating up millage and gas money and caring at all. Neil rolls down the window and lets out victorious whoops into the still afternoon, the wind flushing his cheeks and tousling his hair. Andrew almost thinks something disgustingly sappy about that but is able to rain in his own brain just in time.
They got greasy diner food for lunch, and Andrew orders a massive ice cream Sunday that Neil doesn’t comment on. They go back to Fox Tower and lounge around their dorm, kissing and smoking and playing video games. They have pancakes for dinner, and Kevin doesn’t bother them once about going to tonight’s practice. Andrew goes to bed full and sated, and almost, almost, happy. It’s a good birthday.
((the next day at therapy, Aaron complains that he didn’t get to skip practice yesterday. Andrew shrugs and says that he should take notes for next year. It’s almost an invitation. Almost, but not quite.))
ix
It is Aarons’s 22nd birthday, and he takes a leaf out of Andrew’s book and skips practice. He and Katelyn drive into town, and walk up and down the streets, popping into stores at random and picking out delightfully ugly things for the other to buy. In one shop, Katelyn shows Aaron a shirt made from a disgusting green fabric with the gaudiest floral pattern he’s ever seen. In another, Aaron finds shimmering, sparkle filled pink and purple shoes with a six-inch heel. They both nearly get sick from laughing. That night, they go out to the fanciest restaurant they can afford and get wine drunk. Aaron tells Katelyn that he loves her, which is something that he’s told her a million times before, but that doesn’t stop it from mattering. This will always matter. She will always matter. He looks at her, just looks at her, and thinks about how lucky he is to have this. And he thinks about Andrew, just for a second, curses him for keeping her from Aaron. But then, for an even shorter second, the thought occurs to him. I hope he’s as happy right now with Neil as I am with her.
((Andrew may not show it the same way, but he is. He is.))
x
It is their 25 birthday now (which it longer than either of them thought they would live), and after years of therapy and working through their issues, Aaron has decided once again that he wants a brother. And so he books a flight to Boston, and buys a ticket to Andrews game, and watches his brother play exy on their birthday. Their birthday. Sometimes he still forgets that they are a “they” now. He'll still say my birthday, my mom, my cousin, my family. But it's not just his, and so he meets Andrew at the player’s exit after the game and forces him to go to dinner with him. And they spend their birthday together, just the two of them, for the first time since they were born. And its-
Well, it’s not bad. It's kind of nice, actually. Stilted, at first, and undoubtedly awkward, but.
But they’re still brothers, even after everything. They share family and history and most of their DNA, so it seems right that they also share a dinner. And they talk, about Andrew’s pro team and Aarons residency, and about halfway through Aaron realizes that even though he was the one who forced this, Andrew isn’t trying to stop it. He came with him to dinner, and he’s talked more in the last hour then Aaron thinks he ever has before, and Aaron realizes that he wants this too. Andrew wants a brother too. They part ways outside - Andrew doesn’t offer to drive him back to his hotel or to let him stay at his apartment, but that’s ok.
Because Andrew wants this too.
Andrew wants this too.
epilogue
It is the Minyard twins’ 34th birthday, and as has become a tradition they are each awoken by a phone call from Nicky. Aaron only grumbles for a moment before Katelyn is handing his phone to him and he’s picking up. Andrew takes longer, turning over and burying his face in Neil’s neck for a second or a minute or a year, before finally grabbing his phone. To be fair, it’s about 2 hours earlier for him than for his brother. When he was younger he would hang up, and Nicky would call back, and he’d hang up again, until around the third call when he would finally give in and answer and phone. He doesn’t hang up anymore. He supposes that he’s grown. It’s a facetime call, so he’s greeted with Nicky’s over-enthusiastic smile and Aarons bedhead that looks so much like his own. He props himself up on some pillows so that he’s nearly in a sitting position, and gives a halfhearted wave. Beside him, Neil stays lying down, curling himself into Andrew’s side. Andrew absently starts carding his fingers through his hair. Nicky starts to talk, telling them about the business, and the adoption process, and the cute thing that his and Erik’s dog did. King jumps up onto Andrew’s chest, and then there’s a lot of cooing over how cute she is. She starts to lick at Andrew’s temple, which makes everyone laugh and Andrew rolls his eyes. It’s ok. He doesn’t really mind. Aaron talks about the hospital, and then his toddler (who is really more of a kid now, she’s getting so big holy shit) bursts into the room, climbing up onto the bed. She says hi to her Uncle Andy (Neil taught her to say that when she was a baby, and it tuck. Again, Andrew doesn’t really mind) and Uncle Neil, and her cousins Nicky and Erik. they talk more, Andrew waking up and partaking in the conversion, occasionally mouthing things to Neil in Russian to make him laugh. He loves it when Neil laughs (he’s not so concerned with not thinking sappy things anymore).
It’s a good start to a good day. They order take out and eat it on the floor, just like they do every year. Neil gets him a cake, and he sings happy birthday, just like they do every year.
A plane ride away, Aaron and Katelyn hire a babysitter and go out to dinner, just like they do every year. Katelyn gets him a loudly collared tie, just like she does every year.
It’s a good day for both boys (who are now much closer to men), but more than that, it is a good day for both brothers. For that is undoubtedly what they are now. Brothers.
That night, they both get a text from Betsy. It says Happy birthday, my lovely boys. I hope this year treats you well.
And then it does.
It does.
thanks for reading! if you reblog i’ll love you forever :)
#everything i write is very andrew centric ig i have a brand#i just really love him and want him to be happy!#is that so wrong?#aftg#aftg fanfic#aftg fic#andrew minyard#aaron minyard#neil josten#katelyn#twinyards#andreil#tw self harm mention#tw drug abuse#tw abuse#tw neglect#its the twinyards yall what did you expect#tw medication#??#if there's anything else please please please let me know!#oh look i wrote a thing#my writing
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