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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve.

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband.

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst.

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum.

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe.

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening.

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag.

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened.

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.”

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.”

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm.

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.”

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing.

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.”

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his.

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine.

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state.

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek.

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look.

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.”

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy.

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears.

Though, confusion takes president.

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air.

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear.

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something?

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed.

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door.

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose.

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?”

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here.

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.”

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor.

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly.

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues.

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth.

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.”

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn.

But he made his bed.

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.”

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance.

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned.

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.”

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily.

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage.

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files.

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs.

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.”

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters.

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright.

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan.

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force.

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger.

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?”

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds.

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…”

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it.

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals.

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had.

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked.

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered.

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work.

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox.

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen.

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood.

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.”

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough.

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex.

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.”

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.”

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks.

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet.

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.”

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm.

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?”

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper.

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate.

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete.

“Alex…” you whisper to no one.

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you.

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly.

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too.

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you?

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows.

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse.

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven.

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger.

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed.

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face.

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up?

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change.

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all.

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again.

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring.

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse.

Dead silence.

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—”

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear.

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen.

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass.

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens.

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest.

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.”

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony.

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor.

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you.

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again.

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!”

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.”

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained.

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him.

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed.

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired.

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate.

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now.

All that you needed was Alex. Your home.

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot.

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.”

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.”

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.”

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?”

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once.

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.”

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.”

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

NEW TAGLIST SIGN-UP: Here

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm

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blingblong55 · 5 months

Text

His pretty girl -Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

I looved ur makarov fic n im here to request smth else w him, there's barely anything w him its sad How would makarov treat his dear wife when she's sick? I'm kinda sick rn so.. : 3 ---- F!Reader, wife!reader, husband!Makarov, nothing but fluff ----

A/N: short but good…I hope…

Vladimir was gone for some weeks. He couldn't come in contact with you so when you didn't show up to greet him he was worried. The drive home was usually calm but this time, he rushed it. Avoided all cars and soon, ran inside. The image he saw before his eyes, oh did it melt him. You were curled on the couch. The blanket slowly falls off your body. Used tissues all over the coffee table and floor. The tea was cold and your soft breathing gave him even more reason to clean the area as quietly as possible. Your shared bedroom was cleaned, all dishes washed and then he carried you to bed. The medication you took to sleep was so strong you didn't know he even carried you to bed. That entire night, he checked your temperature, kissed your forehead and held you against his chest.

When you got sick, the first time, he panicked, called a doctor and yelled at him when he said that all you needed to do was drink tea and take it easy. Now, knowing his pretty little wife too well, he knows all he needs to do. 8 am, have breakfast ready, with tea on the side and orange juice just in case you want that one more and it must be room temperature, not cold. He must put on some video as you eat because you like to catch up on some show as you eat. You like wearing his shirts more because you swear it makes you feel better, which is bullshit because he knows you like to just have a reason to wear his clothes.

He must wash all dishes, not complain about being tired because how dare he. Makarov knows this well mainly because it worked the first 4 times and this time it is the same. After breakfast, washing dishes, he has to take you on a walk, the air, the way you smile, oh he knows the fresh air helps that stuff nose and he also gets even more private time with you.

Lunch for a day or two is chicken soup, his grandmothers since he knows you loved it any time you were sick. Kisses on your forehead all day is a must, you know that. If you groan and push him away, he gives you a little frown and moves closer. "You know kisses are a part of the remedy, my pretty girl." He grins when you give him your lazy smile. Your face is hot from both the fever and from his lips. Once he and you eat lunch, he cleans the home and don't you dare walk to the bedroom, he has made it clear he needs to clean and sanitise the bed.

If he has a meeting, he doesn't go to it, it's over the phone as he is in bed and has you cuddled to him. You can't argue against it. Your husband must give cuddles while on the phone. It's a rule at this point.

At night, he makes dinner, makes sure it all tastes wonderful and then feeds it to you since wrapping you in a burrito can't let your hands move. It's a funny but cute image. You, sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around you which makes you look like a cute little bug as your husband feeds you dinner. Oh, the frowns and pouts you give to his giggle and laughter won't help, he just adores you this way.

After dinner, more cuddles and kisses come by. He calls it 'kiss the sick away.' When you lean on him he knows this is to sleep but he can't allow over 3 naps per day when you're sick. So, he carries you to the bathroom. Gives you your medicine, and takes the blankets, clothes and anything in between off you. The bath was set to a very comfortable temperature.

He undresses too and once he has both of you in the bath, he kisses your shoulders. Your warm back on his chest as he cleans your body with so much gentleness it has you leaning on him and smiling. "That's what you needed huh, pretty girl," he kisses your wet shoulder again and wraps his arms around you. You kiss his bicep and he chuckles. "Don't start, my love," he whispers. The lights dimmed, him and you…this is the perfect way to get better. He hums a song, the same one he married you to and the same one he hums when he is far from home.

"I love you, pretty girl," he whispers and kisses the nape of your neck. "I love you more," you whisper back. "We both know who wins this, so do you want to start this game?" He kisses your neck again and chuckles. In moments like this, in which the world is kind and calm, he appreciates life like any normal person would. "You always win, i want to win this time." You pout and know damn well he can't say no to his pretty wife. "Fine, you win this time but we both know I have a long winning streak in this game." He grabs your hand and kisses it. In his head, he already won. And in this life, he truly did.

A/N: Makarov and Ghost are the kind of man to give me a Hozier song kind of vibe and that is what feeds my fluff brain

Tags:

@makarovsbbg @sans-chara @selarus @liyanahelena @hilmiponken @personwhosucksassatmath @undercover-smutlover @ontopofyourceiling @kielsegur @johfamm0 @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rivivienner @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @strangepuppynightmare

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ghouljams · 6 months

Note

im so curious.... what wouldve happened if bee knew those were königs bugs? like does he go full kidnapper? saying she just up and left to the people who ask, meanwhile shes barely waking up tied nice and comfortably secure to a bedpost in a somewhat familiar bedroom

im always down for some darker content<3

OK UH problem here is that Bee is insane and reads exclusively dark romance. I wanted this to be dark but she is so silly, and charming. König is charmed. That's why he kidnapped her. You know, once again you're not trapped with him, he's trapped with you. This isn't canon...

If you'd put the pieces together, if König had said something a little more suspicious, what other choice would he have had but to take you home? You try to ask him why he bugged your home, who he's working for, but he's fast and something sharp stings your neck.

You wake up in a room with bars on the windows and a nasty hangover. The sun is too bright through the gauzy curtains. You snuggle deeper under the heavy blankets, hug your arms tighter around your pillow and try to remember what you drank last night. Except you didn't drink anything you remember with a start. König hit you with something. You force your eyes open and sit up to take in the room. It's nice, cozy. Heavy blankets cover the bed, plush throws and old quilts. Thick carpets hide the wood floors you know flow throughout König's house. There's art on the walls, a bookshelf, an armchair.

This place is way nicer than the cells the leads in your favorite books get thrown into. You sniff, rub at your sleep laden eyes, as you take stock. This is just like when Rebessica got kidnapped by Dextros in "Kidnapped by a Crime Boss". You should probably be more panicked than you are, but the splitting headache makes it hard to think that far ahead. They never mention that part in the books.

You know if König wasn't a fed this might be hot. You always wondered what it would be like to be kidnapped by a guy who was so in love with you it bordered on obsession. You knew it was too good to be true, a handsome cowboy living next door to you, doting on you. You should have known he was a CIA plant. Weird they'd make him German, but you suppose it works for him. There's a button next to the bed, right next to the lamp. You hardly hesitate before pushing it.

König opens the door a second later, you wonder if he was waiting for you. "Can I have some asprin?" You ask, "And do we have time for coffee before you give me to the cops, or..." König blinks at you. You can see the gears turning behind his eyes grind to a halt.

"What? Why would the police be involved?" He makes no move to get you anything for the headache. Cruel and unusual punishment.

"You're a fed? I assume?" You pick at the bedspread, "Tellin' me you're retired, getting me to lower my guard, bugging my house, I thought you liked me."

"What?"

"And I want my phone call. I won't say a word without my lawyer present." You cross your arms over your chest to stare him down. König looks like he's completely lost.

"I am retired." He tells you, picking up at least part of your griping.

"You're holding me prisoner," You remind him, in case he forgot. His eyes dart away from you, glancing at the room before landing on you again.

"A very cute prisoner." He tries. You're not buying it. His expression changes, hardens into something cruel and unreadable. You shiver, some sick excitement dripping down your spine. "This is for your own good Schatz, it's dangerous for you to be on your own, and I couldn't have you trying to leave me after you found-"

"Oh I wouldn't leave you over that," You cut him off. König deflates a little, stalks into the room so you're forced to tip your head back to look at him. He looms over you, menacing.

"What?"

"Bugging me, you're not with any government or police force, right?" He nods slowly. "Then I don't see what the big deal is, I bugged you."

"You what?" The tone in König's voice is dangerous. You really don't thin he should be so upset about that, turnabout is fair play.

"Put a worm on your phone, keystroke tracking, location tracking, app usage, battery data-" König holds up a hand to stop you, taking a deep breath.

"Ok," He feels out the word, absorbing the new information. You take the moment to push the blankets back, he put you in pjs, they're cute. This should not strike you as romantically as it does. It's just like one of your books, awww. Your forum friends are going to freak over this. You watch König process, as much as you think this is kinda hot you really should feed your cat.

"Can I go home now, or do you want the worm off your phone?" You ask, as sweet as you can manage. König hums.

"You're not mad."

"You like me enough to kidnap me," You giggle, kicking your feet, "it's kind of cute." The look of horror on König's face is quick but noticeable. He pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh.

"We need to talk about the books you are reading meine Liebe," He shakes his head, "Ja, alright, run along home. I'll be by later to check on you."

"I know," You grin, "You have it on your calendar, including walk time."

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megalony · 4 months

Text

Give Me a Reason

This is an Evan Buckley imagine with deaf! reader, based on an anon request I got sent in. I hope you all like it, feedback is always greatly appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts

911 Masterlist

Summary: While Evan is at work and can't answer his phone, (Y/n) is home alone and suffers a miscarriage.

(Descriptions of miscarriage)

Enjoy.

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

Evan ran a hand through his hair, loosening up the curls flopping around his temple and pushing them back on his head into a more tamed fashion. He scratched his nails against his temple as he slowly climbed back up the stairs towards the bedroom.

He walked into the room and made his way over to the bed, a softness burning in his eyes and a tepid smile forming on his lips when he reached the bed.

He went down on his knees in front of the bed and leaned his elbow down onto the mattress while his hand moved out towards (Y/n). He was gentle when he delicately brushed his index finger against her temple and pushed a stray hair back behind her ear. His fingertips continued to graze against her temple and for a brief second, he pressed the back of his hand against her skin and his lips faded into a frown. She was flushed.

A small smile quirked his lips up from a frown when (Y/n)'s hand batted up and grabbed his to entwine their fingers together. She moved his hand down to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles that made fireworks explode through his blood and tingle up his arm.

He loved the way her lips moulded into a tired yet sickly sweet smile when her half-lidded eyes focused on him and she reeled his hand closer until he had no choice but to press his arm into her chest. She curled around his hand and arm like it was a comfort teddy and her nose brushed against his knuckles.

"Are you okay?" Evan kept his voice quiet as he moved to perch his chin on the end of the bed so they were level while his knees pressed into the bedframe to keep his balance and stop him falling backwards. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand when she nodded and tried to keep her eyes open so she could read his lips.

All (Y/n) wanted to do was stay bundled up under the covers and sleep the day away. And Evan wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed and stay with her. He wanted to stay home and look after her and make sure she was actually okay, but he needed to go to work. He was only on a short shift today, a small twelve hour shirt rather than a twenty four hour one or a double shift which always killed him off.

If (Y/n) was unable to get out of bed or if she was throwing up continuously, Evan would have taken the day off to be home with her.

He had been extremely close to calling in sick yesterday but (Y/n) seemed to be more alive and alert last night. And she certainly looked better this morning than she had yesterday. She hadn't been sick since late last night and all she wanted to do was sleep. A day in bed was going to do her good and hopefully when Evan came home tonight, she would be feeling a lot better.

Neither of them were quite sure whether (Y/n) had some kind of sickness bug or if she was just struggling with morning sickness at random times during the day for the last three days. But either way, Evan was glad she seemed to be feeling a bit more like herself this morning and seemed a lot calmer than yesterday.

He reached across for the sick bowl near the end of the bed and held it up to show her before he put it down on the floor by his feet, whispering a quiet "Just in case." He wanted her to have it close by on the chance she did feel sick and couldn't make it down stairs quick enough.

"Will you be alright if I go to work?"

A lopsided smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips when she finally let go of Evan's hand and shuffled her arm from beneath the covers so her hands were hanging on the edge of the bed. She didn't have the energy to sit up when she was still half asleep and wanted to stay that way.

Her hands lazily moved in front of her and pressed into her chest before she pressed her index finger and thumb together with her other fingers held up straight.

I'm okay.

She then pressed her finger into Evan's chest, pointed over his shoulder, then curled her hands into fists. She held her left fist out straight and moved her right fist up in a circle before bringing her hand down to rest on top of her other wrist.

You go to work.

There was no need for Evan to use a sick day and stay home with her when she was going to be asleep most of the day. She could feel it already, her headache was finally going away and her stomach had settled back down. All she needed was a day in bed to recover and she would be back up and moving about again tomorrow.

(Y/n) reached her hands up to cup Evan's jaw when he leaned over the bed and stole a kiss from her lips. She could taste his morning coffee on his tongue and feel his lips quirking into a grin against her when he slid his hand beneath the cover and pressed his palm against her stomach. His fingers glided over her stomach that was only the tiniest bit rounded since she was only four and a half months so far.

His touch made her shiver and his cold hand sent her stomach jumping which only made Evan grin against her lips and bite down on her bottom lip that he sucked between his teeth when he pulled back.

When he pulled back, Evan held out his left palm and brushed his fingers up and down his palm while he spoke. "Text me if you need me." He would do his best to keep his phone on him today when he could so if (Y/n) felt worse or she needed him, he could try and answer her.

(Y/n) nodded and held her hand out, curling her middle and ring finger against her palm and held her hand out before she pointed at Evan.

"I love you too," He muttered against her lips while he copied her sign, pecking her lips again and again before he finally managed to tear himself away from her.

He wasn't even at work yet and he was ready for his shift to end.

***

I don't feel well. What should I do? X

Reaching out, (Y/n) threw her phone down beside her on the bed before her hands reached out for the sick bowl that was resting at the foot of the bed. her hands curled around the plastic rim and she held it in her lap, pressing it into her stomach as if it might do something to ease her discomfort.

Her eyes snapped closed and her shoulders hunched inwards as she leaned down and threw up into the bowl, groaning and choking on each breath she tried to grasp.

(Y/n) didn't know what to do with herself. She had felt much better when Evan left for work but now, late into the afternoon, she didn't know what to do. Her stomach was burning and aching like she was being stabbed, her headache was back with a vengeance so rough she could barely see properly. And she didn't have the strength to get up from bed and move around like she thought she would.

(Y/n) never rang the doctors to make an appointment for obvious reasons. Evan always rang for her and she never went to an appointment without him, the staff didn't know sign language and it was tiring and uncomfortable to have to write everything down in a notepad. With Evan by her side, (Y/n) could sign and he would relay her responses.

She was so used to reading her husband's lips that trying to lip read strangers was off putting. She knew each movement of his lips and each smile and the way his nose crinkled when he talked. Evan was her rock, her comfort and her communicator. She needed him.

He wasn't answering and part of (Y/n) chided herself for being so selfish. He was at work. His job was important and it was a hectic, busy job to do. He couldn't check his phone every five minutes in case she messaged and she couldn't call him.

When her stomach twisted, a cry burned at the back of her throat and she moved to bowl so she could coil her knees up to her stomach and see if contorting into a compressed shape would help.

It didn't.

Her hand curled around her phone in such a tight grip it indented into her palm and made her bones ache.

(Y/n) shuffled off the side of the bed and flopped down onto the carpet on her knees, snuffling through each breath as she used the bed as leverage to push herself up. She needed to go and sit in the bathroom in case she started to throw up again. Maybe she could get a bath and see if that would make her feel any better until Evan could message her back with some advice. And she needed to be downstairs where the bathroom and kitchen were and where all the medicine was.

Humiliation tore through (Y/n)'s every fibre when she got to the stairs and slumped down on her bum to shuffle down. She was glad Evan wasn't home to see her doing this. Her hand slid down the handrail as she itched herself down the stairs, sliding down each step which bumped against her lower back and made her stomach jolt each time.

Tears drenched (Y/n)'s face as she finally reached the floor and flopped onto her knees, leaning her weight into the wall as she crawled around the corner into the bathroom. She needed to do something. Whenever she was this sick all she did was lay down on the sofa in agony until Evan came home and held her. She didn't tolerate pain well.

She had never been so relieved to see the toilet in her life. (Y/n) coiled her knees up to her stomach, flopped her arms around the rim of the toilet and slumped her head over the basin just in time to throw up. Again.

Reaching her arm out, (Y/n) swiped the back of her hand against her forehead, grimacing when she realised how badly she was beginning to sweat.

Surely this wasn't good.

Terror pulsed through (Y/n)'s blood when a sudden onset of trembling burst out in her body. She shook back and forth against the toilet, unable to stop or steady herself as if invisible hands were on her shoulders, shaking the life out of her. Her eyes widened and rapidly looked herself over but her lips parted and wobbled, letting out a cry when something awful twisted in her stomach.

Why did it feel like someone had stabbed her?

Blood.

Blood was starting to smear across her inner thighs and when (Y/n) gingerly lifted Evan's shirt that she was wearing, she could see the substance dotted on the floor beneath her. This didn't look good.

Her trembling fingers reached out for her phone and she swiped her eyes furiously to try and clear her vision that was obscured by tears.

Something's wrong, I need help. Don't know what to do.

What was she supposed to do?

If she tried to do the 911 text service like Maddie had showed her, strangers were going to turn up in her home and take her away. Then how would she get to Evan? How would he find her in time? There weren't many paramedics out there who knew sign language and (Y/n) was not exchanging written notes with a medic without her husband with her. She couldn't lip read in this state, her mind was too unfocused for that.

(Y/n) didn't want strangers grabbing at her and taking her out of her home where she felt safe.

All she wanted was Evan.

Her lips quivered when she pushed her forehead onto the toilet so she could shimmy out of her underwear that was coated in blood. She threw it across the other side of the bathroom and reached out to tug the towel off the back of the bathroom door.

Oh no. No, no no. She was losing the baby. What had she done to deserve this?

(Y/n) wasn't sure if she started to scream or if she simply parted her lips and gasped. Her eyes snapped closed but the tears drenched her face anyway and she could feel her eyes slowly starting to swell from the thousands of tears she was beginning to shed.

Her arms coiled into her waist with her hands gripping her inner thighs, her back curled over and her head stayed pushing down on the toilet seat to try and steady herself and stop herself from collapsing.

She wanted this baby. Seeing Evan's face when she told him she was pregnant had been the best moment of her life. Evan was so good with kids and when (Y/n) saw him with a friend's baby in his arms, she knew it was a sight she wanted to get used to.

So why was she losing their baby?

Reaching out, (Y/n) curled her hand into a fist and slammed her knuckles as hard as she could into the side of the bath next to her. She didn't feel any pain when her knuckles burst through the plastic rim, splintering into the plastic that turned jagged and cut apart the back of her hand.

What had she done? Why did she deserve this?

Finally pulling herself up into a hunched, crouching position, (Y/n) pushed herself backwards away from the toilet. She slumped onto her bum and moved the towel between her legs, trying in vain to clean up the small puddle of blood gathering between her legs on the floor and the life she'd just lost.

She didn't have the energy. She left the towel scrunched up in front of the toilet and crawled to the other side of the bathroom near the sink.

Ragged breaths ran away from her and her chest burned as she began to hyperventilate.

Her red, sticky palms smothered against her mouth and nose causing her shallow breaths to wheeze and snuffle between her clasped fingers. She could feel the blood on her hands transferring onto her lips and the metalic taste made her gag. Her elbows pinned into either side of her waist and she began slowly rocking back and forth, bashing her back and shoulders into the wall every now and then as if the sensation would somehow help to calm her down.

The burning sensation ignited up in her stomach again when she moved her right leg and stretched it out across the floor, whimpering at the ache it caused. She wiggled her toes and kicked her phone across the floor until it was beside her.

Baby something's happened. Please come home!

(Y/n) placed her phone down beside her and moved to rub her palms furiously up and down her exposed thighs, creating burnt red streaks up and down her flesh. She could feel the blood sticking between her thighs and making her legs itch with each cramp that burned through her abdomen and her body was still shaking, but not as horribly as she had a few minutes ago.

She felt like she was beginning to overheat, despite the bathroom being very cold and only wearing Evan's cotton shirt. If she blacked out now and went to sleep for a little while, it might be a blessing in disguise.

What was she going to do? What kind of conversation was she going to have with Evan when he eventually came home? How was she going to explain to him that she had lost their baby while he'd been out at work?

Her mind was conflicted; somehow relieved that Evan wasn't here to witness this. His boysterous, puppy dog personality wouldn't do well experiencing something traumatic like this. But (Y/n)'s heart was crying out for him. She wanted his arms around her, his lips on her skin and the vibration of his chest against her skin when he started to whisper something into her hair that she would never be able to hear. She wanted to be wrapped up in his comforting embrace and pretend that this was all just a nightmare.

Even though she knew he would be heartbroken, conflicted and desperate to help her, she wanted him here. She wanted the affection and comfort Evan would make her feel.

With a shaky breath, (Y/n) pushed herself forward until her knees were imbedded in her stomach to try and compress the cramps to dull them down. She couldn't stop the cry from bubbling past her lips when she tried to move her hands but they weren't under her control from how badly she was trembling again.

(Y/n) let all the energy dwindle away from her body and with her last bit of effort, she flopped onto the tiled floor on her side. Her knees coiled up to her aching stomach, her arms bound around her chest and her hands pinned below her collar bone. She tilted her head down to bury her nose in the hem of her shirt and took a deep breath, inhaling Evan's scent like it was smelling salts to make her feel better.

She didn't care how cold the floor felt against her burning skin or the light chill in the air creeping through from the apartment. Even the bright light shining down upon her didn't bother (Y/n) anymore. With her eyes closed and her face buried in her shirt, she let her mind wander and welcomed the darkness with open arms.

***

Unbridled panic burned through Evan's body like a wild fire spreading from his fingertips down to his toes. He slammed the front door closed and shrugged off his jacket, looking back down at his phone that he hadn't put down since he jumed out the jeep.

"Oh, baby where are you?" He muttered quietly to himself as he looked ahead into the kitchen before he jogged round to the living room.

Her texts had frightened him.

The team had come from a two and a half hour call out of a two mile car pile up on the motorway. But when they got back to the station and Evan went to check his phone, he almost had a heart attack. He had eight messages from (Y/n) and each one sounded more panicked than the first and the last message she sent him an hour earlier made his knees buckle.

Something had happened. But she didn't say what happened, if she was okay and if it was some sort of emergency or not. All sorts of scenarios ran through Evan's mind until he was shaking and at the point of throwing up. He tried messaging her back. He spammed his wife with messages but she didn't answer any of them.

Bobby had graciously let Evan come home just less than an hour early. He didn't get a shower and change like he planned to when they got back to the station. His shift had almost ended and when he saw her messages, he climbed in his jeep and sped home.

She wasn't in the kitchen and she wasn't in the living room.

Evan moved to the stairs, about to head up into the bedroom because that was the first place he thought she would be. By looking at her this morning, he doubted she would have left their bed today other than to use the bathroom and get something to eat. But he didn't get up two steps before something caught his eye and his head turned to the left.

The light was on in the bathroom.

His body pivoted round and and he backtracked towards the bathroom on his right. Out of habit, Evan rapped his knuckles on the door. He knew (Y/n) wouldn't hear, but it was ingraned in Evan's mind to knock before entering any room, especially the bathroom. After too many close encounters walking in on Maddie in the bathroom whilst growing up.

"Baby, you okay?" Evan moved his hand round the door before his body and pressed his index finger and thumb together to sign his question as he moved inside the room. "Oh God no!"

Evan couldn't breathe. His lungs shrivelled up in his chest, adrenaline burst through his stomach and flooded through his blood that tingled in his chest and left his hands numb and useless in front of him.

His feet tripped over a towel that was scrunched up on the floor, caked in blood that was long-dried and as dark as black paint peeling and crackling into pieces. Streaks of blood were smeared on the toilet seat and scratched across the floor in lines both big and small but he hated the sight he saw when he followed the blood markings.

(Y/n). His girl, his wife, curled up on her left side in a ball with her arms and knees cocooned to her stomach. But what caught his attention wasn't the way she was lightly shaking back and forth against the floor. It wasn't the slight movement of her hands scratching against her chest to show she was somewhat conscious.

It was the blood caked between her thighs and forming a puddle beneath her waist.

Evan crashed down on his knees in front of her and shrugged off his jacket, dumping it somewhere behind him on the floor before he reached his hands out for her. He cupped her delicate yet frozen face in his hands and forcefully pressed his thumbs in deep strokes beneath her eyes against her cheekbones to try and stimulate her. His fingers pressed into the side of her neck and he pushed down to feel her low pulse while his trembling hands tilted her head back and forth which helped to try and liven her up.

"Come on baby… look at me, sweet girl."

All Evan could see, hear and feel was panic. His blood pumping through his veins and pounding in his ears, panic personified. He could feel his pulse beating beneath his skin to the beat of panic and he could only see in tunnel vision, zooming in on his wife's face to check for any kind of reaction from her.

Evan did another sweep around the bathroom but his lips crinkled in distaste at what he was seeing. All he could focus on was the blood. Partially dried on the floor, caked, smeared and cracked around the toilet and dried into the towel that was crumpled and stiff like it had been frozen over with frost. He didn't like the look of the puddle forming between his wife's thighs. It was spreading out and if he moved forward an inch, his knees would smear into the sticky substance he had seen far too much of in his line of work.

He jolted forward in panic and breathed out in relief when he suddenly felt (Y/n)'s hand weakly bat around until her fingers curled over his wrist.

"There we go baby," He mumbled quietly, his lips twitching up when he saw her eyes moving behind her eyelids showing she was trying to bring herself back around.

Curling one hand around, Evan cupped the back of her neck and slid his right arm down to curve beneath her back. He held her against his chest and kissed the top of her head while he carefully reeled her up and let her weight fall into his chest. He held her against him and moved around until he was knelt behind her with his back wedged up against the wall so (Y/n) could slump back against his chest.

His right arm stayed wrapped around (Y/n)'s waist to stop her from sliding back down on the floor and his left arm curved around her chest. He cupped her face again and smoothed his thumb over her jaw while his head leaned against her cheek so he could peer over her shoulder and make sure she was coming back round.

He didn't like the groan that bubbled past her lips and when (Y/n) tried to tilt her head and hide her face in his neck, Evan clicked his tongue and pinched her chin. He moved her head back so she was still leaning on his shoulder but facing forwards. He had to have her eyes open and looking ahead so he could sign to her. Hiding in his neck wasn't going to help them communicate or do either of them any good.

Evan leaned forward a little more so he could look down at her and he moved his hand to gently lift her eyelid. Her pupils reacted to the light and began to constrict which was a good sign that she was still conscious.

He tapped his finger beneath her eye before holding his hand out and flicking his fingers against his thumb and spreading his hand open wide.

Eyes open.

His elbows imbedded into (Y/n)'s waist to keep her secured into his chest and he held his hands out in front of her. He pointed his index finger at himself, curled his hands into fists and placed one on top of the other, then pressed his fingertip into her chest as he spoke gently against her temple. "I got you."

Evan was more than relieved that (Y/n) seemed to come back around and she managed to move her hands and slump them against her chest. She curled her fingers and left her index fingers pointed out towards each other and moved her hands back and forth like repelling magnets.

Hurts.

"I know baby," Evan pointed at his chest then pressed his hand against his temple and moved his palm away.

He held his hands out and moved them sideways before turning them out and motioning forwards. He then held his left arm out and moved his right hand from his bicep down to his wrist.

Not for long.

Evan pressed his lips against (Y/n)'s temple and leaned forward to grab his phone that he had dropped when he went down on his knees beside her. He grabbed it and set it down against his thigh so he could dial for help. He knew why (Y/n) hadn't called for an ambulance already. He knew she wouldn't want to try and write things down and struggle to communicate with a stranger without him here, but it hurt that she had to wait for him.

If he had stayed home with her today she wouldn't of had to wait this long to get help. She wouldn't be in this much pain, bleeding out on the floor if he stayed home or if took his phone with him and checked his messages. He should have sent Maddie round to check on her.

He should have done something.

Just as he went to punch the numbers in, Evan tilted his head to the right and looked down at (Y/n) when she suddenly dug her nails into his wrist to get his attention.

"What, baby?" He squeezed her thigh and waited patiently for her to move and give him some indication of what she wanted.

But his heart shattered into a million tiny, splintering fragments all throughout his chest when (Y/n)'s trembling arms curved together and she motioned them from left to right. Baby. He tried to move his hand to repeat the sign for 'I know' but he didn't manage it when (Y/n) grabbed his wrist again and repeated the same sign. Baby. Her shaking hand then wafted out in front of her and she began to cry when she pointed out in front of them.

"Baby, I don't und-" Evan's shoulders slumped and his hand pinched into her thigh when it clicked.

He suddenly tugged (Y/n) higher between his legs and cupped her jaw in his hand, tilting her head to tuck her face back into the crook of his neck so he could smother his lips into her temple. He looked anywhere but towards the towel he realised she was pointing at. If he could, he would have shuffled further away and kicked the towel out of the room. He didn't want to touch that towel if their baby was in there.

"It's okay, shh it's okay." He smoothed his hand up and down her waist while his other hand picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He needed help. "Hen? Are you still at work?"

Evan didn't know what time Hen clocked off shift today, all he knew was that she had still been somewhere in the station when he left tonight. He didn't see the point in calling 911 and getting an ambulance from a different team out here when he could call his station instead. He wanted (Y/n) as comfortable as possible and she knew the team, she would be more at ease with them around her when they all knew a little bit of sign language.

He leaned his cheek on top of (Y/n)'s head and pressed his phone into his ear while he slowly started to rock from left the right. Cringing every few seconds when (Y/n) sniffed and whimpered into his neck. He could feel her tears soaking into his skin and her wet lips wobbling against his neck and it made his own eyes start watering.

"I need an ambulance- no, no it's not me… (Y/n)'s had a miscarriage and she's bleeding out. Please, please help me."

***

(Y/n) could feel a headache burning behind her eyes when she tried to open her eyes and take in her surroundings. The room was bright. It was so bright (Y/n) felt like she was laid in the centre of the sun, but it cast a lovely halo of snow white and glimmers of melted yellow around Evan when her eyes focused on him.

He was perched on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched forward, his head bent to the side and one of his hands was stretched out. (Y/n) realised he was threading his fingers through her hair, it was a touch she was used to so much she didn't realise he was still doing it now. He brushed her hair behind her ear and dragged his fingertips down the side of her face down to her jaw.

"How do you feel?"

(Y/n) pressed her middle finger to her temple and hovered her other hand over her stomach, moving both hands in circles.

Sick.

Her head was pounding like someone was hitting her with a hammer, her stomach was twisted up in knots from sickness and adrenaline and panic and she felt like she needed to sleep for years to recover from this.

Evan pointed at her while his lips curved into a sad smile and he shook his hands around his chest before pointing at himself. "You scared me."

When (Y/n) rubbed her fist over her chest in circles, Evan reached out and grabbed her hand. His smile faded and he shook his head. He didn't want her to apologise for anything. She hadn't done anything wrong and he wasn't trying to patronise her or make her feel bad.

Adrenaline flowed through (Y/n)'s stomach and made her throat tense and her hands started to shake. She could feel her eyes watering over as she gently slipped her hand from Evan's grip so she could point at her chest then press her fingers to her thumbs. She dropped her hands down and opened her palms before moving to cocoon her arms together and cradle them from side to side.

She hated the way Evan dropped his head down so his chin was pressed into his chest.

He moved his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose that was beginning to burn and he couldn't stop the tears from tracing down the sides of his nose as his shoulders started to quake.

'I lost the baby.'

Finally, Evan lifted his head and rubbed the base of his palms against his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to wipe his face clean and compose himself.

His shaking hands held out in front of him and shook from side to side. He pointed towards (Y/n), then straightened his fingers and pressed his fingertips against his chest just below his shoulder. He then turned his hand and pressed his pinky and the side of his hand down against his chest.

"It's not your fault."

When (Y/n) went to rub her clenched hand over her chest, she could see Evan's chest quake and his lip curled as he growled and shook his head at her. He clenched his hands down around her wrists and pulled her arms until her hands were pressed into his chest. If she was going to try and apologise he would hold her wrists so she couldn't sign anything. He wouldn't sit and watch her apologise for something she had no control over.

She took him by surprise when she shuffled forward, curled her legs beneath her and flopped forward. Her knees coiled into her stomach and her head and chest slumped down over Evan's lap with her face buried in his abdomen and her arms curled around his hips.

Evan wrapped his arms around her as best he could with the way she was laid and doubled over so his chest smothered her like a comforting blanket. His lips pressed into her hair and he closed his eyes, breathing in her scent as his fingertips started to trace up and down her back.

Evan wanted an explanation. He wanted someone to give him a reason for this, to tell him why this had happened to them, of all people. But he knew no one was going to be able to give him that answer, not now, probably not ever.

He was never going to get that image of (Y/n) out of his head. He was never going to enjoy going back to work and leaving her home alone whenever she was ill. If they ever got pregnant again, he was never going to feel safe leaving her for any reason.

What were they going to do now?

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #pregnant! reader #pregnancy #911 imagine #imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #evan buckley imagine

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busycloudy · 8 months

Text

It Wasn't Fate

Tw: Angsty, although it is my first time writing like this

Reader is MC and is gender neutral. Cater and reader are ex's

HEAVILY inspired by this song:

(Maybe listen to it while reading)

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It's now been 2 weeks since the two of you broke up. You stared at the ceiling thinking about it, the rain hitting the windows. You knew you should let it go, you knew that nothing could change what happened in the past, and you knew if you truly loved something you had to let it go. But, for some reason, you constantly thought about it. About everything you could've done better. Everything you did wrong. Constantly thinking the separation was your fault. You hated it so much. Grim and the Adeuce duo always tried to cheer you up, but even if you seemed happy again, there was something in your eyes. You didn't have the usual glint in your eyes. You wasn't yourself anymore.

Grim was bugging you about getting him some tuna so you got up from the couch and got a can of it. You opened the can and gave it to Grim, but then you heard a knock on the door. "Who could be out in this weather-" You opened the door and your eyes widened. At the door was Cater. He was sopping wet because of the rain. "Hey...Can I come in?" He asked. "Sure" You let him in and closed the door behind him. "Uh...Do you want anything? Tea or something?" You asked. He said he'd like some tea, and so you made him some. He mumbled a thanks and drank it. You looked at him, and you hated this. You hated how he came as soon as you were starting to get over it. You hated how heartbroken you felt. You hated all of this. "So, what are you doing here?" You put on a smile. "I was going to Heartslabyul, but then it started pouring, and this was the closest place." Cater said. "Would it be okay if I stayed for the night? It seems like the rain is just gonna get worse." He said. You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to tell him he can stay however long it takes to get his things and leave, but you didn't have the heart. "Sure" You smiled and got up to get a blanket and pillow so he can sleep on the couch. You came across something on the floor as you were getting the blankets. It was a phone case. The one Cater gave you when you two were together. It had the same pattern as Cater's did, except that it was your favorite color. You remembered when he gave it to you as a gift for tour 1st anniversary. The bright smile on his face. After the break up you immediately took it off your phone and threw it across the room. Sure, you might've overreacted, but could you really be blamed?

You eventually came back to him with the blankets and pillow. "Here you go" You gave him the items and took the tea cup to put it in the sink. It was still a bit if time before dark, so you stayed in the living room with him while scrolling on your phone. "Hey, MC, I just wanted to say thank you" He smiled at you. That smile reminded you of so much memories. When you two took a picture together. When you two went to a cafe together. When you two would goof off. You felt as if you were gonna cry. "It's no problem" You said with a tremble in your voice. You wished all your memories with him would go away. You wished this never happened. You knew in no universe would it have worked out with him. You couldn't be his friend nor lover. It wasn't fate that brought you two together like you used to say, no, you two met each other by pure coincidence.

#☁️cloudy writes #Angst #cater diamond #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #cater twisted wonderland

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sweatervest-obsessed · 5 months

Text

Violent Delights Have Violent Ends - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Serial killers, murders, blood, referencing to infidelity, descriptions of dead bodies, bugs

A/N: Enjoy part 2 babes!!!!

Part 1

The worst part about a crime scene was not seeing the dead bodies, it was smelling them as soon as you entered the house. However, seeing them was not exactly great either.

This would have been much better advice than Derek telling you seeing a dead body for the first time can be a bit freaky.

You don’t really know why you agreed to go to the crime scene, but God did you fucking regret it now. Your eyes were starting to water and your hands were ever so slightly shaking. It was clear to you that all the profilers around you knew what you felt. Even if you were hard to read, they would have known just by the way you stopped talking.

Hotch gently put his hand on your arm, causing you to jump slightly and give him a small smile. He led you both to the kitchen to sit down for a moment, giving you a moment away from the whole scene.

Looking at the pictures was so different than seeing it in person. Someone actually dipped their hand in the neck of someone else and wrote on the wall in their blood. And they were cold and calculated enough to put gloves on first so there was no DNA left behind. Fucking psychopath.

“Y/n?”

You looked up from your hands and let out a curt laugh when a tear fell down your cheek. “Shit. Sorry.” Quickly wiping it away, you looked back down at your hands. “Sorry, I just….”

“It’s a lot.”

“Why–why do you need me here Hotch.”

He nodded and looked back at the living room. “Because we have a feeling the way he’s positioning the bodies might help us figure something else out, and you are our resident expert.”

“Don’t let Reid hear you say that. He might just have an aneurysm.” You muttered, a small smile on your face.

It got Hotch to smile in response. “He knows that you know more about this than him. Don’t worry. Can you get back in there or would you like us to take pictures and send them to you?”

You shook your head and stood up. “I’m fine. Just an initial shock I guess. Thank you, Hotch.”

The two of you walked back into the living room, and you were still grateful that you decided to forgo lunch, not giving your stomach any ammo in case it decided to evacuate your body.

The scene was gruesome. The wife’s body was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace arms above her head as if she was lifting something. Her blonde hair had been stained red, almost purposefully with blood, and braided into two long braids that came down the front of her chest. The only indication of any blood on her body, besides the gaping wound on her neck, was that the palms of her hands were coated in now-dried blood.

“It’s um.” You closed your eyes for a second. “It’s John Singer Sargent.”

“The famous painter?” Spencer turned to look at you from across the room where he had been talking to Prentiss.

You nodded. “His, uh. Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, where she um, lifts the crown onto her head…It’s massive, like seven feet tall, four feet wide, at the Tate Britain in London.”

“What does this have to do with her.” Derek gestured to the corpse on the floor. Spencer, who noted that you really couldn’t take your eyes off of the body, pulled out his phone and quickly found the painting you were referencing.

“Oh wow,” Morgan muttered. “He even dressed her in the same shade of green…”

“It’s one of the most famous portrayals of Lady Macbeth out there. Her dress was decorated with….” Your eyes widened.

“With what.” Hotch walked over to you and looked between you and the body, and then over to Spencer. “What was her dress decorated with.”

Spencer quickly made his way over to you and kneeled next to the wife. “Oh my god.”

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Derek crossed his arms, unamused by the lack of information being spread around.

“Beetles. Ellen Terry’s dress was decorated with the wings of beetles.” You spoke up. _________________________________________________________

Spencer had volunteered to drive you back to the station so that you could look at the actual bodies of the previous victims to see if you could find more details that they had missed.

“This one, Spencer, she’s uh…” You bit your lip, looking at the first set of victims. “This was the Romeo and Juliet one right? Because she’s draped on top of him like every production and painting of Romeo and Juliet I’ve ever seen. If we have to go specifics then I would say probably “The Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets” by Leighton. And the um…” You placed that image down and hunted for another one.

“And this one is the Hamlet one since she’s positioned exactly like Ophelia in Sir John Everett Milais’ painting. The Pre-Raphelite one with all the flowers. Look at the sheet the unsub placed her on, it’s completely floral, and did the autopsy come back saying she had drowned, or was drowned and then resuscitated or something?”

Spencer nodded. He was honestly in awe of you. The way you reset your head when you left the crime scene. The urgency you had developed. The sheer breadth of knowledge you possessed just continued to make him fall head first for you. Not that he could ever do anything about it since you lived in London half of the time, and he was always traveling around the US with no sort of set schedule.

“And…uh, where is it.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The one with the, uh, um. What the fuck was that guy’s name?”

Spencer looked at you with a furrowed brow. “Are you talking about Caesar?”

“YES. God. I always forget his name. Portia. She swallowed hot coals to kill herself right? But in the picture…” You pulled the photo out of the depths of the pile. “There’s a wound on the wife’s leg. Her cause of death was bleeding out, right? With the way she’s draped on the bed, and her husband is in the other room, it’s not the show. I think it’s the baroque piece of Portia by, uh, um…oh shit what was her name….”

Watching you work literally made Spencer’s heart want to bleed. He would actually propose to you on the spot if it wasn’t an extremely insensitive time to do so, and also you weren’t even dating. It was baffling to him that he had only known you for three days.

“Elisabetta Sirani!” You pulled out your phone and looked up the picture, and lo and behold, it matched the body.

“I think that it’s an art student, or someone heavily involved in art. Some of these are famous paintings, sure, but others? There’s a history there Spence. I only know these paintings because of my Ph.D. Sirani is not as common an artist as she should be.”

He sputtered at the nickname but quickly recovered. “I’ll call Hotch and let him know.”

You smiled at him and he smiled right back at you.

There was too long of a pause. It shouldn’t have happened at all really. But the sheriff knocked on the door, misinterpreting the stare for something more aggressive. “I don’t mean to break up whatever yelling session is about to happen, but the autopsy report came back…those were real wings.”

You looked back over at Spencer. “Tell him to get the team back. You guys need to give the profile.” _____________________________________________________________

“I just don’t understand where someone even gets that many beetle wings. It’s not like you can order them online and have them shipped to your house.”

“That tells you how premeditated this was then.”

“Woman, where have you been all our lives.”

You laughed and Derek smiled over at you.

“No, seriously Y/n. I never thought Art history could be so…”

“Violent?” You guessed, smirking slightly and shaking her head. “There’s a painting I think yo should look up Derek. Well a few of them—Saturn Devouring His Son by Goya is a favorite of mine, and then Judith Beheading Holofernes by Virmiglio has a shit ton of blood in it…or if you want some heartbreak, I am personally fond of Caleron’s Broken Vows, or anything portraying the Kiss of Franchesca and Paulo.”

“I just don’t get how you can store all of this in your head.” Derek pulled up to the college campus and flashed his badge at the campus security, who let him through the gate.

“Well, I don’t know how to take apart a gun, and then put it back together, let alone fire it. We all have our different skills.”

This caused Derek to laugh. “Touche.”

The two of you pulled up to the building with the offices of the Art History faculty and looked around the campus. “This is a massive campus, Derek. I’m pretty sure they have an MA and a Ph.D. in Art History beyond undergrad…”

“Believe it or not, this is not our first murderous college student case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. It’s good to know the youth of America are doing alright.”

That caused Derek to crack a smile. “Well. Let’s go find this professor and see what we can find out.”

The trek across campus brought you back to your college days. It was kind of nice to see that kids still hung out on the lawns and with one another, not just staring at their phones and laptops all of the time.

The both of you made your way up to the stairs of this slightly blocky building. It felt a bit like a museum with the amount of artifacts that they kept on the first and second floors, but as you walked through the fifth floor offices, your face started to fall.

“Derek what was the name of the professor we were supposed to talk to?” You whispered, slowly moving to a stop.

He turned and looked at you. “uh…Doctor Kolek, why?”

You pointed to the door you stopped in front of.

It was slightly ajar and looked as if the lock had been busted. Morgan quickly, pulled out his gun and shoved you behind him, calling out the woman’s name as you both held your breath.

When there was no response, Derek slowly pushed the door open. Her office was a wreck, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Papers were scattered, there were frames on the floor, and a dent in the wall as if someone had tried to throw something at someone. You called out the woman’s name again, only to gasp. Derek turned and faced the same way you were looking.

Doctor Kolek was face down on the floor. There was no blood around her, and the room didn’t smell like death, so that was a good sign, but she was clearly unconscious. Derek quickly rolled her over and checked for her vitals.

“She’s still breathing. Call a medic.”

You scrambled to pull out your phone, dialing 911.

#x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #Spencer reid x y/n angst #Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader

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sjhhemmings · 5 months

Text

Surprise?

Connor Rhodes x fem!reader

a/n: continuing with my Connor kick. just something for the holiday spirit yk 😉. yay babies!!

warnings: fluffy, pregnancy, established relationship, swearing

“Baby? You okay?” Connor asks waking you up from your nap on your bathroom floor.

Shit. What time was it? No way Connor was already off his night shift.

“Hi! yes, i’m perfectly fine.” You say hastily and tired with an unconvincing smile. You were sick. You’ve been puking since early morning, unable to stay away from the toilet for 5 minutes. Ever since last night everything you ate came right back up. You were pretty sure you had food poisoning due to the take out Chinese you had, but you weren’t going to make any assumptions until you went to the clinic today.

“Okay…what are you doing then?” He asks with a furrowed brow now kneeling next to you brushing some hairs away from your face.

Sighing you decide to just tell him the truth. You hated telling Connor you were sick because he always treated you like you were one of his patients, but you couldn’t hide this from him.

“I’m sick.” You say starting to tear up. Why? You didn’t know, you just knew that you didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” He says now sitting and pulling you to lay in his chest. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks a little softer now.

“I-I just feel bad!” You say now sobbing into his chest making his heart hurt a little.

“Well, why?” He asks in the same soft tone brushing your hair with his hand. Completely confused also, you hated crying but you were now sobbing over being sick. Something must be wrong.

“B-because you just got off shift from the hospital, and last night I got take out Chinese that made me sick.” You manage to say through broken sobs which took him a few seconds to understand.

“You feel bad because I just got off work, and you had Chinese food last night?” He asks confused.

“Yes! But no!” Taking a deep breath you sit up to look Connor in the eye collecting your thoughts.

“I feel bad, because you just got off shift, and we might have to go back to the clinic because I’m pretty sure I have food poisoning from the food I had last night. I’ve just been so sick all morning.”

“Oh baby. Don’t feel bad, if you’re sick we can go to the clinic. It’s not like I’ll be working when I’m there. Here how about you take a shower, I’ll make you some toast and we can go to the doctor? Sound good?”

“Yes.” You say sniffling and standing up. Connor also stands giving you a hug and kiss on your forehead. You don’t know what you would do without him.

Once you got out of the shower you noticed you felt a lot better, but it’s better to go to the doctor and make sure everything is okay anyway.

You put on a pair of joggers and one of Connor’s sweatshirts that you basically drowned in but you couldn’t care less. Your whole body was achy, especially your boobs and you didn’t want a form fitting shirt.

“Ready to go?” Connor asks you once you’ve finished breakfast.

“Yeah, but I feel a lot better now. That shower really helped.” You say getting up from your spot and yawning.

“That’s good. Let’s just go to the clinic anyway and make sure everything is okay.”

Once you got to the hospital you immediately started to feel uneasy again. Your stomach really started fluttering and you didn’t know why. Probably just cramps signaling your period is on its way again. Great.

“Good news Y/N, you don’t have the flu or any other virus for that matter. Your blood also came back clean so It could just be a mild case of food poisoning or a 24 hour bug, either way you should be good to go. I also saw that you don’t have a flu shot on file for this year yet so would you want to get that out of the way while you’re here too?” Your doctor asks.

“Yes that’s fine.” You say earning a look from Connor. He’s always bugging you to stay up to date with those things.

“Okay, the nurse will be in shortly to administer the shot. Also do you want to start scheduling your O.B. appointments? I know it’s early but It’s better to be on the schedule with those things instead of coming around last minute.” She asks catching both you and Connor completely off guard.

“O.B. appointments?” You both say in unison.

“Yes. Do you have a preferred Obstetrician?” She asks only making you furrow your brow harder.

“Um, no? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You asked now earning a confused look from her.

“Well I suppose if you guys are planning on using a midwife that’s fine too, but it’s highly recommended that you go to monthly check-ups while you’re pregnant to ensure the baby’s safety. Connor your’re a doctor you should know this.” The doctor says chuckling slightly to herself, but her smile quickly fading when she realizes both of you guys still aren’t catching on.

“The baby…?” You mutter quietly to yourself afraid to look a Connor for his reaction, which is him just standing there white as a ghost.

“Y/n, you do know you’re pregnant right?” She finally asks now making you look at Connor,

“Pregnant?” You say finally looking at him.

Connor runs a hand through his hair as he finally takes a few steps to stand next to you.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks quietly grabbing your hand, then looking at the doctor.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks louder now, unsure if he believes it or not.

“Um, yes. You are. I’m surprised you guys don’t know, Y/N, by your blood work it shows you’re about 12-14 weeks along.” She says a little shocked.

This makes you look at Connor absolutely shocked. To which he is giving you the same face.

“I’ll give you guys some privacy, would you like me to order an ultrasound?” She asks getting no response until Connor finally tears his eyes away from you and nods almost frantically at her.

“Yes. Yes please.” He says as she shuts the door.

Slowly standing up, you walk away from Connor to stand in the middle room putting space between you guys before you turn to him again.

“A baby?” You ask still unsure on whether you believe it or not.

Of course you would want a child with him. You guys were married for Christ’s sake, but you just assumed it was never in the cards for you guys.

Connor closes the space between you guys, cupping your face his in his hands forcing you to look at him.

“What are you feeling right now?” He asks slightly teary eyed, completely unaware if you want this or not. He thought ever since you accepted it wasn’t going to happen, that you might not want this anymore. That you might not want this baby.

“I-I’m shocked.” You whisper feeling like you just got all the air knocked out of you.

“I’m scared.” You finally admit meeting his eyes again.

“Hey, there’s no reason to be scared. We’re in this together. Whatever you want to do, i’m there.” He says reassuringly.

“Do you think I don’t want this?” You ask slightly worried.

“I think we’re both in shock right now. I don’t know what to think…”He admits pursing his lips a little. “What do you want?” He finally asks a little bit afraid of the answer.

“I want a baby.” You finally admit chuckling a little bit. “I want a family. I want a family with you. I want to have mini you’s and me’s running around…I want this.” You say more confidently chuckling a little at Connor’s smile.

“We’re having a baby!” He says excitedly kissing you.

A little while later the doctor comes back with the ultrasound. Your eyes start to swell with tears as you actually heard the heartbeat. It all just became so much more real. You look over to Connor who is so happy. There is no other way to describe the sparkle in his eye. How in love with you he is, and how in love with this baby he already is. You squeeze his hand as you look over to the machine again when your face drops.

Maybe the downside of being a nurse is that you can read an ultrasound machine, because the second you see the picture of your baby you turn to look back at Connor who is making the same face.

“I know it’s a little early, but I can somewhat make out the gender. Would you guys like to know?” You doctor asks looking over at you.

“We know.” You say smiling a little at Connor whose face is almost unreadable.

Connor doesn’t miss a beat before he kisses you more passionately than he ever has before. There was fire behind his lips and that sparked something within you. It’s so real. God you guys are so in love. You cannot wait to bring a baby into this world with him. Giggling against his lips you pull away and rest your foreheads against each other.

You wipe a tear from his eye before you finally whisper, “Its a boy.”

#one chicago #chicago med x reader #connor rhodes one shot #connor rhodes chicago med #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes fanfic #connor rhodes #chicago med one shot #chicago med #chicago med fanfiction #pregnancy #it’s a boy #surprise #established relationship

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doctorreidswife · 6 months

Text

Anything for you - Aaron Hotchner

You put yourself in danger and Hotch gets worried.

word count: 1433

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

You and Spencer had been sent on a case together with Child Protection Services. They were stuck in a room with what felt like a cult, worshipping this man - Cyrus - a man who was married to a 15 year old girl. While you hadn't given away that you were FBI Agents, they somehow got the idea that one of you were. You and Spencer were separated from the rest of the cult and approached by Cyrus and another one of his men.

"Which one of you is the FBI agent?" He asked, his hand resting on his hip, fingers dancing over his gun. You froze, your stomach sinking. You had no idea what was about to happen and you were hoping Spencer would be able to talk you way out of this one and manage to get you out safely.

"Why do you think one of us is an FBI Agent?" You could see the dread in Spencer's eyes too, glancing back at you. You swallowed thickly as Cyrus opened his mouth again.

"God will forgive me for what I must do." He spoke before pulling out his gun and pointing it at Spencer's head. His friend cocked the rifle in his hands and pointed them at your head and for a brief moment you thought you were going to die then and there.

"I--i don't know what you're talking about." Spencer stuttered, shaking his head. Cyrus didn't like that and aggressively pointed the gun at him.

"One of you does. Who is it?" He pressed angrily. You could see the fear in Spencer's eyes; he didn't want anyone to hurt you, but you weren't about to let anyone hurt him.

"Me." You spoke up, your voice quiet. Cyrus turned his head to you slowly and you looked up at him, your eyes meeting briefly before you spoke more confidently. "It's me." Cyrus reached out and grabbed a fistful of you hair, dragged you to your feet and dragging you down the corridor. You let out a series of grunts, trying to fight against him, your heart pounding beneath your ribs. You knew what was about to come, but you couldn't let them hurt Spencer. He was like a brother to you. He dragged you into a room and slammed the door shut, throwing you on the floor before getting in you face, his breath wafting over your cheeks. You stared up at him, too afraid to say anything back to the man,

"I told you not to put me in this position!" He roared in your face, spit splattering on your skin. You flinched away from him, hoping and praying that Spencer and the rest of the team were figuring out a way to save you. He hit you harshly across the face, the slap so loud that your team - who were listening in on the conversation from the bugs they'd planted - could hear it clear as day.

Hotch balled his fists up in frustration, not being able to help, his eyes closed and hand pressing against his forehead, struggling to listen to you getting hurt. Derek winced, his eyes closed. He hated hearing you in pain. Cyrus' knee came in contact with your stomach and you grunted again, winded.

"We gotta go in there." Hotch said, taking his headphones off for a moment, his stomach turning. He hated the idea of you being in danger. He always did everything he could to ensure that you were safe and he hated the fact that he couldn't be there right now to stop the beating you were enduring from the sick man.

"We'd be risking the lives everyone in there." Rossi shook his head, listening with a deep breath. It was a struggle for everyone, nobody knowing what to do other than just stand and listen to you being hurt.

"Get up!" Cyrus dragged you up before immediately punching you with such force that you flew back into the mirror on the wall behind you, the glass shattering and cutting into your skin. Cyrus pressed you into the wall, blood dripping down your face from your nose as he spoke into your ear. "Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil." He grabbed the back of her shirt before throwing you into the opposing wall of the small room. Another grunt left your lips as you staggered to your feet, looking up at him with a burning hatred behind your eyes.

"I can take it." You spat out. He let out a low chuckle, cocking his head.

"Oh, you can take it?" He mocked, hitting you again. Rossi frowned, listening to your voice.

"Wait--wait. Listen to what she's saying." He said, the team frowning as you repeated yourself, louder.

"I can take it." You got to your feet.

"She's antagonizing him." Derek said, turning his head to look at Rossi. Rossi shook his head looking at Hotch.

"She's not talking to him." Hotch looked up, wiping his mouth. The worry was evident on his face.

"She's talking to us. She's telling us not to come in." He spoke, his mouth dry. He knew you were strong and you could persevere, but he really didn't want you to be hurt. You were his saving grace.

"Pride comes before the fall." He snarled, continuing to hit you. You didn't even get the chance to fight back, being thrown around. Your body hit the floor, trembling as you tried to hold yourself together. Cyrus stepped away, looking at your blood covered body. You didn't think you would be able to hold out this long. Derek threw his headphones off and Hotch looked to Rossi, visibly worried.

"Tie her up. Put her upstairs." Cyrus said, his friend moving towards your body to drag you upstairs. You just let the man manhandle you; if you fought with him you would end up worse than you already were.

*****

Due to the bug, you had managed to contact one of your teammates who told you when they were going to raid the place and put a stop to Cyrus at 3am. You hadn't figured out how to get out yet. You had spoken to Jessica's mom but she didn't seem to be on board and left you..... or at least you thought until she came into the room they were holding you in, talking to you in hushed whispers.

"You were right. They're setting the place to blow up. I told Jessie, Cyrus wanted her gather the women and children." She spoke, untying you. You rubbed your wrists, looking out the window, trying to spot anything before turning back to Jessies mom.

"Where is the man I came in with?" You ask. You needed to leave with Spencer. You couldn't lose your brother, not now, not here. She reached back and took your hand, her eyes gentle.

"He's in the chapel with Cyrus. It's 2:45 though. We gotta hurry." She said, tugging you with her.

********

You had successfully escaped the chapel in one piece along with the other members of the cult that was going on there before it had blown up. Your lungs filled with the smoke that was billowing around you. You could barely see what was in front of you, just being able to make out silhouettes of people moving around you. You felt dizzy, having being beaten and then escaping into smoke clouds. You stumbled down a couple stairs, head whipping around, trying to find Hotch. You needed him right now.

You stepped down the remainder of the steps, the smoke dissipating enough that you could decipher faces. You turned to the left and there stood Hotch. The look of worry on his face made you feel sick but before you could register what was going on, your feet were stumbling over to him. You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his neck.

"I've got you baby." He held you tight, one arm around your waist, the other tangling in your hair. "I've got you,,, and I ain't letting you go." You could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his anxiety skyrocketing.

"Please don't." You whispered. You looked up at him, hands shifting either side of his neck before moving forwards and pressing your lips again his. He held you face gently, guiding your face closer to his. He kissed you back, his moving slowly against yours as you cherished the moment. He was glad you weren't dead and you were glad to be back in his arms. He pulled away, leaning closer to you ear to whisper to you.

"Anything for you.. My love."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch imagine #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #bau #x read #no y/n #behavioural analysis unit

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 8 months

Text

fearless - d. wagner

a/n: i know wagner wednesday was yesterday, but fuck it. everyone can leave me alone I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!! notes/warnings: extremely suggestive relationship, no use of y/n, secret relationships, tooth rotting fluff at the end, childhood best friends to lovers, danny being jealous, cursing, like so many allusions to fucking, me writing this late at night, sam, josh and jake being extremely oblivious like just the epitome of "so close! that is a shape! <3" word count: 2.3k summary: daniel has been acting awfully weird lately. luckily, the kiszka brothers are on the case! pairing: danny wagner x gn! reader now playing: fearless (taylor's version) - taylor swift “run your hands through your hair/absentmindedly making me want you/and i don't know how it gets better than this/you take my hand and drag me head first, fearless"

Samuel Kiszka had met you way back in elementary school, back when you were kind of regarded as a freak. You were playing with a ladybug on the playground during recess, and he came over and asked what you were doing. When you explained, he became fascinated with the ladybug and declared you would be its parents. Then, a stray kickball had flew over, crushing your new baby bug. Some kid laughed at Sam when he started to cry, so you decided to punch that little fucker in the face.

You had been best friends ever since.

A year after that, he came to you and introduced you to a different kid he had met in his new class, the one right beside yours. His name was Daniel.

And since then, it’s always been the three of you, against everything.

You became awfully close with the Wagners and with the Kiszkas, going as far as to call them your family. You grew up in sort of a rough environment, but there was always a place for you on Daniel’s couch or Sammy’s floor.

You smoked your first blunt together, took your first shots together, and cried over breakups that didn’t even matter anymore.

You were a tech kid in high school with a certain knack for equipment and stage managing. Sam and Danny were just starting to get more serious about their music, so there was a time when you didn’t see each other that much. You were busy with whatever production your high school was putting on, and they had formed a band with Sam’s older brothers, Jake and Josh.

You knew it had been Jake’s dream for years, so besides their mother, you consider yourself the first Greta Van Fleet fan.

When their song, Highway Tune, went viral, you just knew it meant huge things for them. You could see it in Jake’s face, hear it in Josh’s voice. This was something bigger than any of you. So, you weren’t really shocked when they came to you and told you that they had a record deal and a few shows booked around the country.

You were only sad that you’d be stuck in Michigan while your best friends toured around the country, maybe even the world.

Then, Sammy told you a stipulation of their contract was that you would get to be on the set team, and with enough experience, you’d lead that team in all the equipment and stage management you could get your hands on.

And you jumped in with them, headfirst, fearless.

That was years ago, and you haven’t looked back since.

But then Sam started to notice something.

Daniel Wagner had been distracted. Never a good thing to be while on tour.

So, he came to you with the problem.

“I’m telling you, there is something up with Daniel!” He practically whined as you packed your bag to go to the next venue.

“Sammy, nothing is up with Daniel. There’s no way.”

“He doesn’t eat, he is always staring off into the distance, he’s always scribbling in his little notebook, he’s acting weird!”

“You guys are on tour, that’s stressful. Maybe he’s just like, at max stress.” You argue, checking that you have your lights and pyro cues for the next stop of the tour.

“Why aren’t you worried about this? You should be worried, he’s your best friend too!”

You stop what you’re doing and turn to face him.

“Maybe he’s fallen madly in love with someone.”

Sam actually laughs out loud at the thought.

“Good one!” He says with a goofy grin on his face. “We would know if he was in love, don’t you think?” He asks.

“Then I just don’t know, Sammy. Go argue with Jake and Josh about this, I have to go meet with the crew about the inventory for the road.” You say, and Sam just drops it to go do exactly that.

His brothers are on the tour bus when he gets there and luckily, Danny is running late. And he is sure to mention that.

“Seems like Daniel is late again... He’s been doing that a lot, huh?” He says, trying not to act too suspiciously.

Josh and Jake share this look, like they’re trying to figure out if Sam has a point or not. But Jake starts to really think about it, and you know what? Shockingly, their younger brother does in fact have a point.

“Now that you mention it, He is acting kind of weird.” He says softly, and Josh nods.

“I had to ask him for my earrings back the other day and when I got to his room, he looked like I caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. I thought he was in the middle of jerking off but now that I think about it, he’s been like that a lot. Always acting like a deer in the headlights.”

So, the whole situation perplexes them, but before they can say anything else on the matter, Danny strolls onto the tour bus.

“Good morning, boys! How are we today?” Now that they had all discussed it, any behavior from him would be suspicious.

“Fine. Why are you late, Dan?” Danny was immediately alarmed by this, since Sam never called him Dan. It was always Danny or Daniel.

“Uh, I just lost my shoes in the room, and they were under my bed. Sorry, I didn’t realize I was keeping you guys waiting.”

Josh, the only one able to play anything cool, just nods, “It’s alright, we weren’t waiting for long. We should probably discuss the setlist for tonight.” Jake hums but he can’t help but notice that Danny has these large black stud earrings in. And he’s sure he’s seen them before, but he can’t quite put his finger on were.

For now, he lets it go. But he keeps it in the back of his mind for later.

They stop at a rest stop that afternoon, along with most of the tech crew who travel in their own bus. You go to check in on your boys and buy Sam a snack as a peace offering for not believing him this morning.

But instead, you run into Josh, who decides to find the others with you. You get to talking but you feel him staring at your face, and you blush.

“What, do I have something on my face?” You ask bashfully.

“No,” he hums softly, tilting his head. “You just— Where’d you get that necklace?” He swears he’s seen it before but can’t put his finger on it.

Your hand goes up to fiddle with the necklace, almost nervously.

“It’s a gift from my sister, I wore it when we graduated, remember?” Josh does not remember.

For now, he lets it go. But he keeps it in the back of his mind for later.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Toots, Guess I forgot.” He links arms with you, “Let’s go find the guys, huh?” He smiles. Happy to drop the subject, you go with him willingly.

Sammy, Danny, and Jake are getting their snacks when something catches Danny’s eye, and he won’t stop staring, so Sam looks to see what he could be so bothered by. And all he sees is his older brother, linking arms with you.

He smacks Danny’s arm, whose head snaps to look at him.

“Just Josh, Dude. At Ease, Soldier.” He teases. But he can’t shake this feeling that Danny was bothered by it. But why would he be?

Nothing else weird happens throughout the day, and the show that night goes well. So well, in fact that they invite you to a local bar where they can grab a few drinks and decompress from the day. And that goes really well too, except when Sam sees you the next morning and hickeys cover your neck.

“Dude! What the fuck!?” He asks, investigating your neck further. You blush and shove him off gently.

“Relax, Sammy, I just—I hooked up with someone last night that I met at the bar, and they were kind of rough. No big deal, I’ll never see them again.” You say, with a casual shrug.

Something is off about your tone. But he says nothing.

For now, he lets it go. But he keeps it in the back of his mind for later.

And then, he notices these earrings you have in.

Large black diamond studs.

“Nice Earrings.” He comments casually. He swears he’s seen them before, but like, recently! It perplexes him a bit and it must show on his face, because you are quick to clear up any confusion.

“Oh, thanks! I wore them last night for the bar and I just forgot to take them out. They aren’t too casual, so I don’t wear them too often.”

And it makes enough sense. Why would you lie to him about something as stupid as that?

Then, when he sees Danny that night, he’s covered in hickeys.

And Sam thinks he might still be drunk or high, or both. Because what the fuck is going on?! You both were acting strange, and he’s noticing these little things, so he decides to confide in Josh and Jake again, who relay their findings, and they decide they must confront Danny together.

Danny is not too shocked when he goes to get undressed and get his makeup removed only to find the boys waiting for him there. It took him a while to get back to the dressing room.

“Oh, hey guys! Sorry, I didn’t realize you were waiting for me. I got caught up talking to one of the security guards and then I got lost, this venue is so damn confusing.” And then Sam knows he’s lying because if HE could figure out how to return to the dressing room, then Danny, who has an amazing sense of direction, definitely could!

“What’s going on with you, Man?” he asks as he begins to wipe the makeup off his face.

“What? Nothing is going on with me, dude, I told you I just got lost.”

“Bullshit,” Josh calls. “You’re distracted, always late, and have suspiciously good jewelry taste as of late!”

“Yeah! And it’s affecting other people too,” Jake recalls, “Even the tech crew has noticed it! Our stage manager, our best friend, is acting weird too, and I have a feeling it’s because of your shady actions!”

And that’s when it hits Sam.

The earrings.

The hickeys.

The necklace.

The lateness.

The god damn hickeys.

“Just be real with us, Danny—” Josh starts, before Sam stands up.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” He gasps.

And that stops everyone in their tracks. He says your name to Danny, and it immediately catches his attention.

“What about them?” He asks.

“Are you sleeping with them?” Sam asks.

“What?! Sammy, c’mon—”

“Daniel Wagner, are you fucking our stage manager?!”

There’s a pause.

“Sammy. You’re acting—”

“Answer the question.”

“No!” He sighs. “I think they are lovely, and I would love to, and I want to take them on dates and woo them, but I am not fucking our stage manager, Sam. You guys are being paranoid. And if you don’t mind I’d prefer they don’t know about the fact that I like them, okay?”

All the other boys nod. Of course, It makes perfect sense! You and Danny both like each other but you aren’t able to tell each other that because of your long-standing friendship, but you’re sharing jewelry as a way of subtly telling each other. And that explains why he was staring at you and Josh the other day! And the hickeys were from other people because you couldn’t have each other! Duh! Maybe he really did get lost going back to the dressing room.

The conversation quickly shifts and moves on from Danny’s confession, and everything is normal. They could help you realize that the feelings were reciprocated.

When Danny eventually makes it out of there, he makes his way back to his hotel room. But on his way up, he quickly checks to see if any of the boys are following him, before making a stop on the way.

The knock on your door doesn’t startle you, in fact, you were kind of ready for it. You had gotten back a little while ago and turned on the shower to let it heat up. When you answer it, you grin up at him and grab his arm, pulling him inside. He shuts the door behind himself, before his arms are around your waist, leaning in for a long kiss.

It’s full of this gentleness that he grants you because, well, he always greets you with one sweet, truly loving kiss.

When he pulls away, he grins back at you.

“Hi, sweets.” He hums.

“Hey, handsome.” You respond, “Did you put the boys to bed like I asked?” He laughs at your phrasing, leaning down to kiss your jaw. And then your neck. Again. And again. And one more time for good measure.

“Mhm. They asked me if we were together though.” He keeps kissing your neck.

“I figured as much; they’ve been acting weird.”

“They might think I have a crush on you, now.” He says between kisses.

“And what would give them that idea?” You ask.

“…The fact that I told them I had a crush on you.”

“Well, do you?”

“Mm... I dunno. Might have to kiss you a few more times before I decide for certain.” You grin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... Maybe a little more than kissing too...”

“Well, don’t let me stand in the way of your methods, Danny.”

He grins, and kisses you again, this time, deeper, with none of the gentleness of the initial kiss. But there’s a new feeling you get from him now. Hunger.

And you kiss back, as if you have something deeper than hunger. Starvation, maybe.

And you don’t think either of you will ever be satiated.

By the end of the night, he decides he most definitely has a crush on you.

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kiddbegins · 8 months

Text

Neighbors - Jay Halstead

Requested? Yes

Word count: 1,198

Warnings: nothing major, bug mention

A/n: Idk if you wanted them to get together in this but tada

Masterlist

[Can I request an image with Jay Halstead in which the reader and Jay don't get along very well since the disagreement they had at the hospital when they met because of a patient. And one night the reader comes across a FLYING cockroach in her apartment and starts screaming and Jay helps her get rid of the insect. ]

You didn’t hate Jay Halstead. No, he was just the annoying guy from two doors down that frequently got on your nerves. First off, you met in the Med ED when one of his friends got brought in. That first interaction alone was horrible.

He tries to tell you (a doctor) how you should take care of his friend (a police officer) and you guessed it, Jay was also a police officer. No medical training whatsoever. But he one upped you, went over your head and got his brother to take over the case.

That was just the beginning of it all. Ever since then it’s like he was always there to push buttons. He never took his laundry upstairs in a normal time. You’d go down to put a load in and his clothes would be in the washer.

You of course didn’t dare move them instead leaving a note on his door telling him to ‘finish your fucking laundry’ which sure he listened to, placing the same note back on your door with a thud as he carried his now dry basket of clothes into his apartment.

Not only that but he always, always, managed to park just a little over the line in the parking lot which at the right time made parking nearly impossible. And since it was assigned parking it wasn’t like you could just move somewhere else. Though you did get your karma a couple times.

Parking as close to his driver side door as possible so he’d have to do gymnastics to get in the vehicle. Always earned you a sharp glare when you passed in the hallway.

He was as fed up with it as you were but that didn’t stop him from parking like an asshole. Like tonight. When he parked slightly crooked over the line and you just so happened to be pulling in behind him.

With a bite of your tongue you did what you always did, pulled up nice and snug to his truck and got out, shooting him an innocently sweet smile as you locked the doors and headed inside.

If looks could kill you’d be dead on the ground right now but that didn’t matter. All you wanted to do was get inside, take a shower and go to bed.

The elevator upstairs was taking forever and by the time it was coming to the ground floor Jay had made his way inside and next to you.

The silence was full of tension as the doors opened, a young couple walking out with their dog, breezing past. Jay shockingly let you inside first, following and stepping to the side with the buttons and signaling to be brought up.

“Was that necessary?” His voice cut the silence as he kept his gaze on the numbers changing above the door.

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the opposite corner, “Don’t park like a dick and that wouldn’t happen,” you replied with a shrug, watching as he shook his head just slightly. The door opened seconds later and the two of you split towards your apartments.

His was just down from yours and completely bare compared to the floor mat outside of yours. The rainbow ‘welcome!’ Sign had seen better days but you didn’t mind its wear and tear as you went inside, shedding the outdoor layers the were a necessity in the cold of Chicago.

Your next stop was the bedroom for clothes and then the bathroom to shower. Which you basked in, the warmth of the water holding you in longer than you wanted it to.

As it grew slightly later you moved to the kitchen, deciding to make something small for dinner before something buzzed by your ear.

Absentmindedly you swatted it away, continuing on with the food making before whatever it was, landed on your arm, pulling a loud scream from your mouth, brushing it off quickly and pulling back against the wall.

Your eyes followed it around the room, the door to your apartment flying open, “Are you okay?” Jay nearly tripped coming inside, his eyes zooming around the entrance to your apartment.

The bug landed on the counter, a whine leaving your mouth before you looked up at the man that usually you’d hate seeing but right now we’re so thankful for. Shakily you pointed at the counter, “There’s a bug.”

Part of you was embarrassed but the way his shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the kitchen made you feel the slightest bit better. “Seriously? You screamed bloody murder over an insect?”

“First of all, it landed on my arm. Second of all, you’re the one that came barreling in over it.” You rolled your eyes, arms tightly wrapped around you. Bugs were the last thing you liked dealing with. You could do blood, pus, vomit. All the nasty doctor stuff.

But not bugs. “I thought you were hurt.” Jay sighed, looking around. “Where are your paper towels?” He asked, following the line of view where you pointed again.

With a sigh he ripped one off the roll, slowly going towards it. “Wait don’t kill it-“ Jay faced you.

“What?”

“He’s just a bug, he doesn’t deserve to be killed just because I hate him and want him gone.” You slightly stepped forward, reaching into the cupboard above the sink, trying so hard not to disturb the winged insect.

Jay raised his eyebrows, “So the bugs a he now?” He teased, watching as you grabbed a glass and handed it to him.

“Shut up, just, get him so you, I, we, whatever can get him the hell out of here.” You spoke quickly, Jay raising his hands up in defense before placing the glass over the bug.

He turned to you once more, “Now what? You have paper just lying around?” His words were sarcastic but in actuality you did.

You brushed past him, grabbing a page from the magazine you had on your living room table, ripping it out and handing it to him. “That work?”

Jay nodded faintly, “Yeah..” He took it, successfully trapping the bug in the cup as he lifted it. “I’ll let him out the window,” The man offered, walking to the living room where you pulled a window and its screen open for him.

Once it was gone you took the cup from him, a light smile on your face, “Uh, thank you.” You muttered, walking away quickly to the kitchen to wash it out. Whether it touched it or not that glass was tainted.

“Yeah, no problem. Hey, next time try not to scream like you’re getting killed unless you’re actually getting killed.”

“Oh yeah I’ll do my best.” You rolled your eyes once more, glancing over at him. “No promises though. I hate bugs,” You added, flipping the cup over to let it dry.

Jay nodded faintly, “Well, you know where I am if you need an exterminator.” You shot him a look, “Or remover.” He tagged on before giving you a soft smile, “I’ll see ya.”

With that he left and you couldn’t help but look at the door when he was gone. Maybe he wasn’t that horrible of a guy.

Wanna be on jays tag list? Join here.

Tags: @mrspeacem1nusone @everything-fandom

#jay halstead #jay halstead one shot #jay halstead fic #jay halstead writing #jay halstead fanfic #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead and reader #chicago pd #one Chicago #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic #chicago pd fanfiction #one Chicago fic #teddy writes #teddy writes jay halstead #teddy writes chicago pd #teddy writes one chicago

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storiesbyrhi · 5 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: A non-linear and incomplete series of vignettes. 3635 words.

I: Once upon a time

1986

Once upon a time, there lived a little witch. A very special kind of witch, in fact. Where her coven viewed the world in black and white, she not only saw shades of grey, but an entire rainbow of colours. Where her sisters saw an enemy, she saw an ally. Where the witches who walked the earth before her saw danger, she saw people in crisis.

Oh, yes, you are a very special kind of witch. The kind of witch to fight tooth and nail to heal a bat, save a town, and rip your memories from the locked away part of your mind straight back into consciousness.

When you were made whole again, you and Eddie slipped into a warm bubble of rosy oblivion. For hours, you didn’t talk, didn’t think, didn’t do much of anything except hold each other and press featherlight kisses to lifelines on palms and blue veins on wrists.

It would have been easy to waste days there. You could have withered away, happy at last. Alas, Eddie was far more attentive to your biology than you were, so you left the bed bubble and made your way back into the real world.

Here lies a non-linear and incomplete series of vignettes of that real world, once upon a time.

II: Did it foretell of fate?

1986

Eddie’s hair seemed to shimmer as you twirled a lock around your finger. “Your hair is more normal now, like, in the 80s, than it was when we met.”

He was upside down on the couch, legs running up the backrest, and head hanging off the seat. You were lying on the floor, face to face with him.

“Do you think it means something? Is it an omen? Did it foretell of fate?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. “You make fun, but I know you are totally in awe of witchcraft,”

“Being awesome doesn’t make you immune to my wit,”

“I think it’s cute that you think you’re witty,” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said be careful or I’ll turn you back into a bat,” you stated, loud and clear.

“You wish you were that powerful, but it takes at least three of you to do that.”

It made you think. As you sat up and peered off into the distance with glazed over eyes, Eddie huffed. You launched into action, pulling grimoires and moon dust, parchment and white baneberry out from boxes and bags.

To avoid being told to hush, Eddie left you to your work. He tried to distract himself with television. Then, with eavesdropping on Forest Hills. Eventually, his curiosity couldn’t be put aside.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen bench turned apothecary.

“I think I can do it,”

“Do what?”

Instead of an answer, Eddie got a sickly-sweet smile and a sly shrug. He knew what it meant instantly.

“I don’t want to be a bat!”

“Oh, but you were so cute,” you cooed.

He was nervous, despite having the upper hand. Witches may have found the cure to vampire death, but you didn’t keep the magic dust on you at all times. He could rip you apart before you had a chance to conjure witchfire. Still, he took a step away from you, trying to act casual.

“What are you actually doing?”

It was always fun to mess with him, you thought. But in this case, you were telling him the truth. “Seriously. I think I can turn you back into a bat. Not permanently. And not in the way the curse did. You’d still be you. You’d be in total control. It’s just… shapeshifting… really…”

Eddie thought on it for only a moment before deciding he still didn’t like it. “I don’t like it,”

“It could be useful,”

“It could go wrong,”

“Eddie, think about it.” You put the vial of bat claws down. “Sunlight didn’t burn you when you were a bat. That alone is enough reason to try.”

There was little function in it. Eddie didn’t see how being able to go out during the day as a bat would be any more advantageous than not going out at all. However, there was a sparkle in your eye he adored, and you had been right – he was entirely in awe of your magic.

“If it makes you happy, my little witch,” he resigned.

You beamed, wrapping yourself around him in the type of hug that made Eddie feel alive.

III: Glass houses

1986

“Too bad the library was destroyed. There so much I want to show and tell you about,”

“I have been watching the television while you sleep… I’m learning.”

You looked up at Eddie from where you were studying maps and ley lines. “Yeah? Equipped to walk out that door and be a twentieth century man?”

“Naturally. Watch.” Eddie stood from the couch and began to mime. He opened the door to an invisible refrigerator, pulling out a can. He cracked open the tab and chugged. He then pulled a face akin to disgust. “This New Coke is not as satisfying as the original!”

You burst into a fit of laughter, much to Eddie’s happiness. “Oh, shit, Eds. You might even be ready for the twenty-first century with that type of scathing satire.”

Eddie dropped back to the couch. “You may joke all you want, but I can hear what the humans out there are talking about,”

“And New Coke is what the residents of Forest Hills are concerned about? Not the huge craters running through the town center or the constant attacks from supernatural creatures?”

“They also spend a great deal of time talking about the Chernobyl disaster and how it never would have happened here in the U.S., and in the same breath lament the demise of the Space Shuttle Challenger as if it were not another manmade horror.”

You glance up at him again, his gaze is on the television screen. “We haven’t escaped that, you know…” Eddie looked to you, tilting his head. “The hypocrisy. The contradictions that are just so… human. Neither you nor I can look at the humans and judge them for being that. We aren’t better than them.”

There was a flicker of amusement on his face. The vampire in him disagreed. Eddie’s heart conceded, and at the very least he conceded that - “Those in glass houses,”

“Something like that,” you nodded. “What else have you learned about the world?”

“There was a war in Australia,”

“You mean the World Wars?”

“No. Although, I do know about those, and I’d like to hear more. But the one in Australia was human versus emu.” Eddie delivered it so casually that at first you thought he was trying another joke. When you didn’t reply, he looked to you. “Do you not know about the Great Emu War?”

IV: Without you, I’m nothing

1986

Eddie lounged on the floor, back to the couch and legs spread wide. You settled between them, letting him take you by the hips and pull you close enough that your spine was pressed to his chest. His hands found a resting place around your waist.

Candles lit and incense burning, you shuffled the tarot deck while speaking your intentions into the atmosphere. “I ask for guidance in making this decision. I need to confront my coven, but…” You paused, choking on a feeling. “But I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know what’s the smart thing to do.”

Laying out four cards in a row, you continued, “Option A is I go alone. Option B is Eddie comes with me.”

You felt Eddie’s hands move against you a little at the mention of his name. Turning to him you explain that the first two cards represent the pros and cons of option A, likewise the last two are the pros and cons of option B.

“And this one…” you said, placing a single card above the row of four. “…is the advice we seek.”

Eddie snaked his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. “Do we leave that to last?”

You nodded then took a deep breath in, holding it until you flipped the first card over. The Emperor sat on his throne, golden crown upon his head. “He represents structure and stability. He rules with force and strength, but is also a sign of protection. As a pro for me going alone, it’s signifying that the safety and stability of the coven won’t be jeopardised. I won’t be seen as a threat to anyone’s leadership or authority…”

“That seems to be a very valid point,”

“Yeah,” you agreed with Eddie as you turned the next card over. “Well fuck.”

Eddie picked the card up and studied it. “He looks… calm,”

“He is… He’s there by choice, or at least, by the choices he has made. He has a different perspective from his position but his future is short. This card represents surrender or sacrifice. Being a martyr. Sacrificing yourself for the greater good.”

Eddie put the card down then held you tighter. “Next one,”

“Next one is the pro of you coming with me.” A man wore a victory wreath and rode a white horse. “Six of Wands,”

“Is he a king?”

“No. But he has been successful in his adventure. His accomplishment is being celebrated by these people here,” you explained, pointing to the image. You consider the card. You don’t feel self-assured as it suggests, and cannot see a version of events that lead to public recognition, as it foretells. You move on.

You almost laughed when the Five of Wands was revealed. The people fought each other, sticks raised but no blows hitting, chaos ensuing.

“Violence?” Eddie guessed.

“No, pointless chaos. See how their weapons aren’t actually hitting each other? It symbolises a lack of purpose in the conflict. It represents how people come from different backgrounds or perspectives, or have different history, and that makes it hard to find common ground. It breeds tension and disagreement and conflict.”

There was a clear narrative forming, the cards guiding you in a way they never had before. You wondered if renegade fate had shared a helping hand yet again.

Hand hovering over the final card, the ultimate advice in the reading, you closed your eyes for a moment. Please, you thought, please.

“This one looks… important,” Eddie commented.

“Well, it’s one of the more detailed images,” you replied. A snake, a sphinx, Typhon and Anubis. An angel, eagle, a lion, and a bull. And at the center of all this rich symbolism was a wheel.

“Esoteric.”

You snorted, nodding. “Very. The Wheel of Fortune is so open to interpretation, but its core message is that life has a hum. It moves forward, in seasons or cycles. There is both good and bad. And there is little to do to stop any of this. Luck may play a part. As does our friend fate,”

“That does not seem helpful,”

“Not in terms of helping to make a decision between option A and B, but it does prophesise a turning point, so…” You shrugged, taking one last look at the hand before collecting the cards and shuffling them back into the deck.

Getting up, you walked around the space blowing out candles. Eddie watched you, recognising the expression on your face. He stood and opened his arms, inviting you to him. Like a moth to flame, you immediately stepped into his embrace.

“Have they told you a story?” he asked.

You looked up at him, surprised.

“You’ve told me before. About the cards. How not to read them in isolation. There is always a larger picture. A story.”

The feeling of regular forgetfulness was soured. It sent an icy chill of fear and grief through you. Every single thing you couldn’t recall would be scrutinised. Did I just forget that because I have lived hundreds of years? Or was that memory cut out of me?

“You’re coming with me,” you said definitively. “I’ll tell Kelsey I’m coming, but nobody else,”

“Okay,” Eddie whispered. He would have followed you anywhere.

Letting go of Eddie, breaking the hug, you looked at him. “This is dangerous. You understand that, right? You’ve never seen the real damage witches can do to vampires. Witchfire isn’t the worst thing they can yield anymore,”

“I know. But to… level with you…” Eddie was doing his best to pick up modern phrases and colloquialisms; it made you smile. “Without you, I’m nothing. If I die, so be it. I’d rather death than any sort of life separate to your.”

He pulled you back into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then a trail down the bridge of your nose, to your lips.

You kissed him back hard and felt yourself float as he picked you up and took you to the bedroom.

V: A benevolent spirit

1986

The intersection of science and magic is where you and Eddie often found yourself. A union between creatures who had never walked alongside each other often meant new discoveries in the natural and unnatural worlds. For example, a witch and a vampire walk into a graveyard…

“I recall you, on multiple occasions, dismissing superstition as myths,” Eddie tried to argue, pulling at the ill-fitting clothes he was wearing.

You had forbidden him from dressing in one of his new Walmart outfits, citing lore. “It is disrespectful to the dead,” you’d said, making him wear whatever was lying around the trailer. “Do you want to be haunted?” you asked him, now in the old cemetery out on the edge of Hawkins.

“Vampires can’t be haunted,”

“Are you sure?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Because that is a bad sign,” you noted, pointing at the wildflowers that were dying under Eddie’s bare feet. The rot was coming from him, drying out petals and killing the plants.

Eddie looked down, seemingly alarmed. Every step he took away from the decay only started a new outbreak. “Make it stop,” he demanded.

“I can’t,”

“But I’m not wearing new clothes!”

“No, but you did sit on the headstone when I told you not to. And refused to hold your breath when we came in. Actions have consequences,”

“I don’t have a breath! … This has never happened before,” he whined, speeding up to trail close behind you.

“You probably just never noticed before,”

“I would have,” Eddie said, but you both knew it to be a lie. Before you, Eddie wouldn’t have cared about graveyard etiquette. It was in a vampire’s nature to laugh at the laws of the here and the after. They existed somewhere between and beyond those states, cheating death and laughing in the face of life.

1836

The village had buried Faely at daybreak. She had died before her first birthday, born into the world with a sickness beyond the repair of witchcraft. Though, rules had been broken trying.

You held vigil that night, leaving an offering of rosemary at the cemetery gates, then sitting at the foot of Faely’s grave. Eddie had watched you, deciding if he should approach you or not.

“Here, where the dead rest, a witch will smell fresh roses when a benevolent spirit is near,” you spoke out loud. “But if it is something else, then the scent of death comes, as if none of these bodies were buried at all.”

Knowing you were speaking to him despite never turning around, Eddie moved. He knelt on the dirt next to you. “Something else being me?”

“Or anything malevolent,”

“I mean you no harm, little witch,” Eddie said quietly.

You looked over at him. You had yet to cross the line with him. No secrets or kisses yet shared. It would happen and you knew that, even then.

“I know.”

Eddie held out his hand.

The wildflowers already blooming around Faely’s grave were dying under Eddie’s presence. Yet, you let him entwine his fingers with yours and keep you company.

1986

Eddie watched you locate the oldest headstones in the cemetery as if you had some sort of innate homing device for them. You spoke to the dead and asked for permission to take some of their graves’ dirt with you. Small jars filled, you looked up at Eddie and smiled.

The lightning rolled in, splashing bright but silent bolts across the sky. You stood up, felt the lack of humidity in the air. No rain would fall. No storm would come.

“What is it?” Eddie asked, walking back through the grounds with his eyes firmly in the sky. “That’s not normal lightning,”

“No,”

“It’s happened before,” he remembered, the scene slowly losing its fogginess in his mind.

“Normally, I’d say twice is only a coincidence and three is a pattern, but… I guess this is what happens when we’re both here at the same time.”

When you passed back through the cemetery gates, you left rosemary. Sitting in the car, you looked up through the windshield to the dark and settled sky.

“I don’t think we should do this again,” you told Eddie. “I don’t want to know what the universe does if it thinks this is a pattern.”

He stifled a laugh but shut up quickly when you frowned at him.

“We have pushed our luck so much… Do you think fucking with it all is funny? Like being careless hasn’t ruined us before?”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s… Of all the things to break the world, it is simply a vampire and a witch being near dead bodies at the same moment in time? That’s what makes it mad?”

You started the car and pulled onto the road. “There is nothing simple about a vampire and a witch doing anything together. Being anywhere together. We need to be more careful.”

1836

As spectacular as it was to watch, and no matter how comforting having Eddie with you to hold vigil was, lightning without thunder felt wrong somehow.

When you returned to the village in the morning, the coven had assembled. The light in the sky had caused anxiety. “Something against the laws of nature has happened,” Gillian announced. Her expression wasn’t one of fear, but it wasn’t set in certainty or peace either. “We need to be more careful.”

VI: The mess of you

1986

It was strange how you could miss something you didn’t know you had and lost. You felt so homesick for Eddie, so touch starved, and empty that rediscovering sex with him was making you cry. The first few times, Eddie wiped away your tears. That was short-lived.

You were on your knees, bent forward with your face hidden in your folded arms. Eddie’s hips collided with you at a mercilessly slow pace, drawing out both pain and pleasure from your insides. With each thrust, your tears came faster and faster. He ran his hand down your spine, the pressure forcing you to arch, contorting your body more.

He folded over the top of you, mouth to your ear. “Why are you hiding from me?”

The only response you could give was a string of babbling sounds. It felt so good. He felt so good.

“I want to taste your tears,” he whispered. Eddie kissed at your neck, scratching his teeth along the surface of your skin. “I want to see you cry.”

In a blink, he had you flipped onto your back, legs wrapped around his waist. His hands were clamped around yours, pinning you down. You couldn’t hide. Couldn’t cover your mouth. Couldn’t maintain any poise, even if you had wanted to.

The wetter your face, the harder Eddie fucked you. It was something about the mess of you, the release, the vulnerability. He set a perfect pace and didn’t let it fall until you were growling like an animal and begging for softness. Then, he gave you softness.

VII: Slit the throat of fear

1986

“I’m so…” How to quantify your emotions… “I don’t know. I don’t think there are words to describe… this.” You racked your brain for the right sounds and syllables. “And, I don’t want to say it wrong. I don’t want to make all these feelings seem smaller because there aren’t big enough words, you know?”

Eddie knew. He was going through the same process, except there was no imperative for him to come to an eloquent conclusion. He didn’t need to explain to anyone else what was happening inside his mind.

You continued, “Part of me wishes it was just anger. If I was just pissed off beyond belief that would be easy to handle. They would understand that. But… It’s not that…”

“You are sad,” Eddie said softly.

Hearing him say it made it worse. Your face pinched into a deep frown and he took you in his arms again. “It’s all so sad… This is fucking miserable for everyone,” you agreed, mumbling into the crook of his neck. “It feels like someone died,”

“Grief,” Eddie stated. “You’re in mourning. And grief has many faces. Misery. Hopelessness. Anger.” He wasn’t especially wise, but now armed with his memories of his human life, he spoke from experience.

You sat up and let Eddie’s words seep into your own understanding of the situation. “It’s not just different faces… It’s… different shapes. I thought this once before but it makes more sense now. This feeling, this grief, it’s been shaped by what I know, the betrayal and the hurt and the… fuck… the paralysing fear of what I have to do now… It’s shaped and sharpened it into a blade.”

Eddie considers your metaphor. “Well then, my little witch, let us use your grief dagger to slit the throat of fear and bravely face your coven, and the world if we must."

End Note: This chapter took me so long to write. I just couldn’t figure out how I wanted it to go, so a huge thank you to @courtingchaos who workshopped some ideas with me, ultimately leading to the little change of pace structure. Also thank you to @jo-harrington, @munson-blurbs, @vintagehellfire, @rip-quizilla, @pastel-pillows, and @word-wytch for giving me historical, fluffy, and tarot ideas. And @vintagehellfire, for the graveyard scene.

Full disclosure, “slit the throat of fear and be brave” is a lyric from Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths. I had already written the grief as a knife metaphor, and when I listened to the song again it kind of just fit.

For those of you who celebrate during the holidays - I hope it is joyful. To those that cannot or do not - I hope you have a peaceful time. I appreciate you all so much and will be thinking of you and this safe place we have built together. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Witch!Reader

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carlsdarling · 9 months

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A fic where the reader and Carl are playing truth or dare and it gets more explicit the longer they play 🤭 you can say no

Truth or Dare

Carl and Y/N are bored and play truth or dare and it becomes juicy... Bit of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw

As was often the case, you and Carl hung out in his room, bored. As nice as it was to not have all the pre-apocalypse obligations (no one was bugging you anymore about applying to colleges and building your futures) all that free time brought other problems.

Specifically, a lot of boredom. Life within the walls of Alexandria was tranquil and mostly uneventful unless supply runs were coming up, walkers were scratching at the door, or Negan showed up.

"What should we do?" asked Carl languidly, setting aside the game controller. "I don't feel like gaming anymore." He yawned.

"How about Truth or Dare?" you suggested.

Carl shrugged his shoulders. "All right. I'll start. Whatcha gonna choose?"

"Dare," you replied.

"Okay. Massage my neck. I’m sore", Carl grinned and stretched out on the bed, invitingly. You sat down next to him and worked his tense muscles until he was relaxing and closed his eye. His skin felt warm under your fingers.

"That's enough," you then announced. "Your turn."

"Truth," Carl said wearily. He seemed to have appreciated your massage.

You regarded him mischievously. "How often do you masturbate?"

Carl turned bright red. "That's not fair," he protested.

"Yes, it is," you chuckled, "You had the choice."

Carl writhed in embarrassment, holding his hands to his face. "Uum... usually once a day?"

You squeaked with amusement. "Every day? Oh my God, Carl!" You bent over laughing.

"Enough of that," Carl tried to end the subject, clearing his throat. "Your turn." You could tell by Carl's face that you were now facing a similarly awkward question, so you decided to go with Dare. "Go find Eugene and ask him for condoms."

Your mouth was wide open. "You can't be serious," you grumbled, "Why Eugene of all people? And what would he think of me?"

Carl laughed gleefully. "Well, that's your problem. Come on, get out of here."

Sighing, you walked out. You found Eugene outside the church, chatting with Gabriel. "Eugene, can I talk to you alone for a minute?" you asked. He moved away with you a few steps. "I need condoms," you informed him in a straightforward manner. You wanted to get the task over with.

Eugene stared at you. "Condoms are used to perform activities of breeding without actually breeding," he then pontificated. "So do you want to engage in such activities?" He raised his eyebrows curiously.

"No, um... it's just that, I lost a bet," you mumbled.

Eugene looked like he didn't believe you. "Alright, well, I need to get some from storage," he then announced.

Mortified, you took the condoms from him a little later and returned to Carl, where you threw them on the floor in front of him. "That was mean," you fretted, "just you wait. I'm gonna get my revenge. Truth or Dare?"

Carl looked uncertain. "Umm... Truth," he chose, not wanting to be sent on an embarrassing mission, too.

"Have you ever tried putting on a condom?" He stared at you, disconcerted. "Yes or no, Carl?"

"Uum... yes," he then confessed. "Just to try it out to see if I could deal with it." He played with the blanket. Somehow you found the idea of Carl touching himself and experimenting with condoms sexy, and involuntarily you imagined him naked. "Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," you said.

"Have you ever had sex?"

You sighed in frustration. "Yes, once." It hadn't been particularly thrilling, but Carl looked impressed. "Okay, Carl, your turn."

"Dare."

"Put one of those condoms on right now."

"Uum... what?" he stammered. When you just looked at him, grinning, he picked up the condoms from the floor, placed them beside him, and fumbled hesitantly with the buttons on his jeans. Uncertainly, he then exposed himself, and you were amused to note that his cock was half-erect, sticking out from the tuft of dark pubic hair. "I've never been naked in front of anyone before," Carl murmured quietly and eyed you reluctantly.

You snickered and sat down next to him, and somehow the two of you ended up hugging and kissing, and your hand moved to Carl's lap. You began to gently stroke his cock, and it immediately became completely erected. It felt warm and hard at the same time, like steel covered in velvet. Carl moaned in delight. A little bit of moisture showed at his tip. "It's so good," he sighed, and lay backwards on the bed while you jerked him off. You enjoyed watching him having his pleasure. Carl squirmed under your caresses, moaning. He was so cute when he was aroused - his eye was closed, his face flushed, his mouth half open and his hair slightly messed up. You wondered if he looked the same when he was pleasuring himself. He moved his hips urgently, and more precum leaked out and poured over your hand. You bent down to kiss Carl. He put his arms around you, and his moans increased as he reached for your hand, closed it tighter around his cock, and showed you how he liked it best. "Faster," he whispered breathlessly. "Oh, please, Y/N, go faster." He whimpered and whined, clinging to you. "I'm cumming," he sighed then, only a split second later he shot his load.

Some of it had landed on your shirt. "Tzzzzzzz, Carl," you scolded him jokingly. "Look what you've done." He glanced at you from under half-closed eyelid, relaxed and happy. You lay down next to him to cuddle up with him.

"Truth or Dare?" he whispered, kissing you.

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes smut #carl fanfiction #carl grimes #carl grimes imagines

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takenbypeter · 11 months

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Heyo you already know it’s gonna be Peter Maximoff! Sooooo reader and Peter are a couple but sleep in separate dorms?rooms? idk what you would call it but they obvi live in Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Anyways, reader told Peter she was going to bed a little earlier just to tell him. He agrees without putting too much thought into it and continues on whatever he’s doing. Until he’s getting ready for bed and goes into his closet and notices….. one of his shirts are missing. He is speeding around looking for it even though he technically doesn’t need it at this millisecond, it’s just the thought of him not knowing where it is that’s bugging him. He cannot find it anywhere in his room. So he goes out….. assuming somebody is messing with him. Wakes up the guys who might’ve done it like Cyclops, Nightcrawler, even the Beast cuz he just “KNOWS”. Probably cuz Peter knows he’s a bit (a lot) of a butthead to them and maybe someday they’ll want some payback and today was the day. But all of them denied it and Peter is going absolutely insane. He now gets all the X-men in one room and THEY ARE NOT LEAVING UNTIL THIS CASE IS SOLVED (his band t-shirts are a priority). Somebody has to be lying and he brings in the big guns. He’s woken up Xavier. (yes he woke him up, put him in his wheelchair, and sped him into the room) He would’ve just asked Jean to read their minds but she might try to protect Cyclops or something. The arguing got louder since the X-men were all now stuck in a room, annoyed at Peter for waking them up, and still don’t really know what the heck is going on. Reader wakes up from the noise to see what all the bickering was about. There she opens the door all eyes on her staring right at the supposed “missing” shirt she was wearing. Heads turning back to Peter most (all) of them with angry faces and reader with a confused look. Peter sweetly walks to reader without an anger in sight. (he’s never angry at her and thinks she looks cute in the shirt) He comforts her as if nothing had happened and puts her back to sleep. The team’s jaws just drops in utter disbelief. A couple minutes later he comes back to the angry faces and awkwardly apologizes. As soon as he noticed he’s got no sympathy he speeds aways. Let’s just say there was a bit of a goose chase throughout the night until they tackled him down. This is just a silly and LONG request. Sorry :/

Too Cute To Blame

Peter Maximoff x reader

Words: 1561

Authors note: hey hey bestie 🌺 so glad to get a request from you, I loved this idea so funny 🤣thanks for the request and enjoy

It was another one of those nights in the X-mansion. No missions, no actual fighting, it was just a normal day filled with a number of training and lessons to practically bore your mind, but you knew they were important. At least it was over for the day.

You were currently in your boyfriend Peter’s room as you two typically were, if not your own. It was getting late and he was spread out on his mattress with his eyes shut and his hands folded together behind his head while he bobbed it to his music that played throughout the room.

You listened too, initially starting the night cuddled against him until you got slightly bored and opted to read in his desk chair.

But as you checked the clock that he had displayed underneath some papers you realized just how late it was and that's when you decided to call it quits for the night.

Packing up your things you got up and leaned over him, “I’m heading to my room, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say and with his eyes closed he puckered his lips and you bent down to meet them for a quick kiss. “Goodnight,” you said and he repeated.

As you stood back up you looked around making sure you weren’t forgetting anything and that’s when your eyes landed on one of his band shirts. It was in his clean clothing pile on the floor with other clothes and before you could give it another thought, you took it.

You didn’t think it was a big deal but apparently it was.

Peter stayed up for about two more hours before he decided to at least attempt at sleep. After getting up from his lazy position he zoomed on over to his pile that he just washed and searching through it he realized the shirt he was planning on wearing was gone.

He knew he washed it, he absolutely washed it…didn’t he? Great now he was questioning himself.

Instead of thinking about it too much he continued his search practically tearing apart his closet, and dirty laundry bin in search of the black graphic tee.

It wasn’t a big deal or anything, it’s not like this was going to bug him for the rest of his life.

…except it was.

As he searches and searches, double checking every nook and cranny he finally comes to the conclusion that it’s not in here.

As a new thought popped into his brain he squinted while tilting his head, someone took his shirt.

“No he wouldn’t,” he mumbled to himself before he thought about it some more and let out a weary, “he would.”

And that’s when he sped off.

He knew exactly where he was headed to first. Scott’s room.

When he got to the place that he barely stepped foot in, he quickly put on Scott’s glasses before hovering over the boy, “hey,” he gave Scott’s face a little slap causing Scott’s eyes to flicker. When that didn’t do the trick he slapped harder, “hey!” That one seemed to do something as the mutant woke up, “what the f—“

“I know you took it,” Peter accused not wasting a second.

Scott looked around the room, his eyes landing on the darkness from the window,”what time ‘s it?”

Peter turned Scott’s head back to him while Scott easily pushed it away, “give me back my shirt.”

Scott let out an angry sigh as he turned to his side and covered his head trying to block out the light, “I don’t have your dumb shirt.”

Peter leaned back, still suspicious, “I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care about you that much.” Peter lifted a brow at Scott’s words, that was true. Maybe it wasn’t him.

In the next second Scott’s light was off and Peter was gone for his next suspect.

Arriving in the blue mutant’s room he leaned over the boy deciding if he should slap him as he did Scott or choose a different approach this time. As he was distracted, he noticed Kurt’s eyes beginning to open and he took the opportunity, “where is it?” He demanded.

Kurt yelped not expecting this at all, but once his eyes fully opened he calmed down realizing what was going on.

“What’s happening?”

“Someone took my shirt. Was it you?”

“Do you really believe I was the one to take it?”

Hmm, sure Peter’s bugged the kid but honestly, the blue mutant had a point and off Peter went. He sped right by Jean Grey’s room knowing; one, she would either protect her dumb boyfriend, or two, she probably had no idea either way, so instead he headed for the labs that he knew Hank would probably be in.

“Hey!” Peter shouted so unexpectedly he caught Hank off guard as he practically dropped whatever science tube he had in his hands, “where’s my shirt?”

Hank gave him a blank stare behind his safety goggles, before responding, “do I look like I know?”

Peter pressed his lips together as his hands interlocked with his pointer fingers pressing against his own lips in thought while he practically scanned the beast, “you honestly look like you know…everything,” Peter said before once again taking off.

And like that he spent the night practically waking half of the mutants of the building up but still he got no answer, which is when he decided to get the big guns.

But not just that, no, he was going to publicly embarrass whoever took his shirt so they won’t ever do it again. Gearing his body up he grabbed the closest suspect dropping them off in the lounge area of the building. Then he filled the room, and one by one he brought in every single mutant he suspected until he got Charles, yes Charles out here.

“Oh great the psycho’s back,” mumbled Jubilee as Peter took his place in the middle, while Charles was just beginning to process everything.

“Peter, what is going on?” Charles asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” the gray haired boy pointed a finger practically scanning the room, “someone in here took something of mine, something very precious.”

“It’s just a shirt!” Shouted Scott.

“A Pink Floyd shirt, it's very important.”

“A shirt?” Charles squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers went to his forehead already getting a headache despite having been just woken up. “Do I have to watch you all like children?”

Peter winced suddenly feeling like this wasn’t the best idea.

“Just go to bed, we can figure it out tomorrow,” suggested Kurt.

“No, we're doing this tonight. No one is leaving till we figure this out.”

“Okay will whoever did it just confess I prefer not to use my powers on such mundane behavior,” Charles said, currently regretting his decision to bring kids together like this.

“It wasn’t me,” could be heard followed by a bunch of, “wasn’t me either,” which was then followed by “will someone just confess already?” Which was followed by a “Scott we know you did it just give it back,” causing Scott and Jean to defend him before turning the suspicion on someone else thus creating a full circle of mutants blaming mutants throughout the room.

As the arguments grew, so did the noise, awaking most other mutants who hadn’t been accused yet.

Including you.

You woke up from a deep sleep to sudden shouting and curious about the ruckus you put on some nearby pants as you entered the mutant filled room with your boyfriend standing in the middle of it all.

“What’s going on?” You questioned eyes squinting trying to adjust to the sudden bright light of the room.

Nearby young ones looked to you before looking down a little, and began nudging one another. As everyone was suddenly becoming aware of what you were wearing the room grew quieter and quieter but you, too tired to think, only kept your eyes on Peter who just realized you had entered the room.

It took only one second for Peter to glance down and easily spot the shirt he’s been desperately searching for. But instead of scolding you or accusing you like he did the others, he just runs to you immediately wrapping his arms around you while internally gushing about how cute you look in his old t-shirt.

“It’s nothing. Just an argument but it’s settled now.”

“Oh okay?” You said head still propped on his shoulder as he had his arms around you. Soon enough he removed his arms and just took your hand in his, “just go back to bed, everyone’s heading back anyway.”

“Okay?” You repeated not questioning the man's actions and everyone watched as he walked you out, leaving them there to question his sanity.

“So that’s it! We get yelled at, we suffer, but not—“

“Well you saw how cute Y/n looked,” Peter said interrupting Cyclops from the chair in the corner causing some to jump at his sudden appearance while most just glared. “Who could be mad at that face?…so uh…goodnight.”

And off he ran. Most went off to bed while others weren’t done with the whole situation.

“Oh he is so gonna get it," said Jubilee as she noticed Scott practically grinding his teeth in anger before he plus a few others tried to run after the speedy mutant.

#peter maximoff fanfiction #peter maximoff fanfic #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver fanfiction #quicksilver fanfic #quicksilver imagine #quicksilver x reader #xmen imagine #xmen fanfiction #xmen fanfic #xmen x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #request #requests

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 15 days

Text

Metal Moths: Bigby Wolf x Reader

Oh babe, I feel it. My messages are always open if you need to talk to someone, I'm always available to help out anyone I can.

Contains: Self-Depreciation, depressing thoughts

Something was off.

It didn’t hit him until he was gnawing on yet another cigarette bud that was burnt down to the filter did it suddenly click in his mind. It had been bugging him for the past few days but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t unpaid bills or reports he had neglected to file, nothing like that of the sort. It felt… social? That kind of thing always stumped Bigby as he wasn’t really the social type, always avoiding the Remembrance Day bullshit and shying away from whatever events King Cole puts on to raise even more money for Fabletown.

He dropped his pen when he suddenly realized what exactly was missing, back straightening up quickly, his knees smacking against his desk that was too big for his comically small office that almost caused the piles of papers and folders filled to the brim to scatter across the semi-clean floors.

When was the last time he saw you?

Regret pinched at a nerve between his shoulders as he tossed the cigarette bud into the nearby trash. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at his neck, leaning back in his chair as he ran through what he could in his mind of the past few days. He knows he saw you this week, that was for sure. He hadn’t seen much of you the past few days thanks to some fucked up case that practically pushed him down the rabbit hole, but he knew you had called the Business Office only for Bufkin to answer and take your message. You were asking for Bigby to come to your apartment, but he couldn’t make it.

He really wanted to. Honestly, he did. He would rather take the brunt of another silver bullet than do anything to hurt you, but unfortunately, this slipped through the cracks of his fingers like fine sand.

He stood up, wincing when a few folders slipped from their place on his desk and scattered the contents across the floor. He’d deal with it later.

He slipped out of his office door and trekked through the oddly empty halls. He strained his ears and sniffed at the stale air of the Woodlands, scoffing at the horrible air fresheners Snow had installed to raise the appeal of the damn place. It didn’t do much, the barely there floral scent did nothing to cover the decades of cigarettes, blood, sweat and tears these hallowed halls carried. It only distracted his nose from catching your scent to see if you were even home, the voice in the back of his head scolded him, asking him why he didn’t just call you from the old rotary he still had in his office.

But he caught your scent when he turned down the hall that contained your apartment.

Something was wrong.

Your scent wasn’t the usual ambrosia to his nose, the one thing he would always somehow find in the crowded city of Manhattan like a needle in a haystack. No. It wasn’t sweet like caramel or warm like coffee, but… dull? He didn’t know how to describe it, but he knew how it made him feel.

And he felt bad. He felt something bad looming over him and he felt something bad bubbling in the deepest pits of his guts.

He slowly approached your apartment and strained his ears. No sound came from inside, but he could hear the faintness of your heart beating away deep inside. It was slow, kept to an odd rhythm of neither rest nor active.

He knocked, knuckles lightly rapping at your chamber door. The key to your apartment was on his keyring, but he didn’t want to use it. He wanted you to get up, he wanted you to walk over to the door and open it, he wanted to see you upright and standing before his eyes to quell the worry that made the beast inside of him start to prickle with life. There was silence on the other end of the door yet again besides your heart beating, but it picked up upon him knocking. He even heard you take a quick breath in.

He knocked again, the worry about to bubble over into slight panic as he sniffed again. He couldn’t smell any blood whether it would be dry or fresh, but he could smell something else. Something salty. Were you crying?

He heard the sheets rustle, you had to have been tucked into your bed, curled in the sheets. His heart yearned for you to open the damn door so he can take care of you.

“(Y/n),” Bigby called. No answer. The silence was deafening to him as he heard his blood roaring through his ears. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention, he felt the beast clawing at his spine for control he would never relinquish. He knocked again, a little louder this time. “(Y/n), are you in there?”

He heard your feet meet the floor inside, the covers being thrown away from your person as the bed creaked under your shifting weight. He took a step away from the door, eyes pinned on the doorknob as he heard the wooden floorboards of your apartment creaking as you slowly padded over. Were you… stumbling? It sounded as though you were, steps uneven and a little heavy for your usual gait.

Ironically, he waited for you at the door like a dog.

And when you opened the door finally with a heavy click of the lock turning, Bigby felt the panic snuff out inside of him when he saw that you were actually standing before him.

You looked like you had been dragged through hell and then some. Dark circles around your eyes, your irises were barely focusing on him and your under eyes were so puffy from crying. How long have you been crying for? Your cheeks were tacky with dried tear tracks and your lips were a little swollen from worrying at them with your teeth, your bottom lip even had a split in it from where you bit a little too hard. You were wrapped up in clothes that needed a good wash, the collar of the baggy sweater you were wearing was soaked from you probably wiping your tears away not too long ago.

Seeing you like this made the knife twist even harder in his gut.

“Hey Bigby,” your voice was so soft and so hoarse, it almost didn’t belong to you.

Your words were trembling, vocal chords strained from crying for so long. How long had you been like this? How long had he failed to realize something was wrong?

“Can I… come in?” Bigby found himself hesitating.

He had to. If he didn’t he didn’t know what would’ve come out of his mouth, and he’s a walking trap for accidents to happen as a lot of people would put it.

It was your turn to hesitate. You glanced tiredly over your shoulder back into your pitch black apartment before stepping away, giving him just enough room to allow him to squeeze past you before you closed the door behind him.

“Mind the mess,” you murmured as you sank down onto your couch.

Your curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the evening sun and the rows of neon lights that were slowly turning on for the night. There was the scent of something stale and bitter lingering in the air, it had Bigby wincing just a bit. It wasn’t pungent like cigarettes or food left out a little too long, but it was something else he couldn’t quite place.

He eyed you warily, stepping close to you as you stared mindlessly at some little spot on your rug that overall needed to be vacuumed. Something was haunting your mind and Bigby would be damned if you kept suffering alone in silence. You never let him be affected by this kind of stuff since you both had started seeing each other, and he’d rather be shot up with silver than let you pull a Bigby move.

“(Y/n),” he crooned softly, “what happened?” You didn’t answer at first, you just sat on the edge of your couch with your head in your hands and rubbed at your exhausted face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come see-”

“It’s not your fault,” you pulled away to look up at him. “You’re the sheriff, you’re busy. I shouldn’t have been calling and bothering you, especially with that fucked up case that got slapped on your desk.”

“(Y/n), sweetheart, you’re not a bother to me.” He walked in front of you and crouched down, taking your soft hands in his calloused ones. He ran the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles and made direct eye contact with you. Fuck, seeing you like this, it really made him want to tell Snow and Cole to fuck off for a few days so he can stay here and help you. “You’re never a bother to me.”

“I just,” you hesitated as you pulled your hands away from his warm ones, “I feel like I’m… too much,” your gaze fell to your lap.

“Too much?”

Bigby placed one hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing little patterns at the bend. Your skin was a little cold, he could feel it through the heat that radiated off of him constantly.

“I just- I don’t know. I… I feel awful that I called and I’m sorry that I did. It’s not fair to you. I really didn’t help with that and you-”

“Let me stop you right there.” His voice never rose in volume, it never got harsh. It was deep and rumbling like rolling thunder in the distance. He squeezed your knee to get you to look back up into his big brown eyes. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you. I know I suck with words and all, but I really do care.” He could see your eyes getting all watery in the corners. “You’re never gonna be too much for me to love you.”

And with that, the tears finally shed as you collapsed into Bigby’s awaiting arms.

#the wolf among us #twau #bigby wolf #bigby x reader #bigby wolf x reader

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