#AND i had a brain splitting headache two days ago

[apricusapollo]

I'm studying ancient greek and literature in university and now just spent a good half an hour at the eye doctor,,, what in henry winter reincarnation is this

[megalony]

You Called My Wife?

This is a new Jake Seresin imagine, my first request for Jake and I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Masterlist

Summary: The Dagger squad don't know much about Jake's personal life. And when he gets hurt during an exercise, they are surprised who comes to look after him.

Enjoy.

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Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulled out the pair of sunglasses he had been carrying around with him for the last few weeks. The sun here back at home was intense and he couldn't stand the migraines it gave him. Even when he was up in the air, he often had his sunglasses on. He didn't care about the way the glasses pinched his ears or gave him splitting pains in the sides of his neck.

If Bob could wear his prescription glasses to see, then Jake could wear his sunglasses to stop him squinting so much and relieve the headaches he got that were becoming chronic.

His hands fell to his hips once his visors were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked around.

It hadn't taken Jake nearly as long as he thought to complete his physical. They were doing physical assessments and training every other day to get them ready for their next assignment. They were going to be going against gravity, travelling up to G9 range and it would cause problems with breathing, taking in oxygen and could starve their brains for a few seconds, if not longer.

They all needed to be at their best physically and mentally to prepare for this and up to now, Jake was ready and rearing to go.

Today was training exercises on the ground rather than in the air. They were all doing different activities and now that Jake was rejoining the rest of the squad after his physical, he was supposed to be doing safety and maintenance checks.

He took a look around the open air field. Bradley was over to one side, looking like he was trying to do some physical exercises, but he kept stopping to quietly argue with Maverick who was following him around like a dark, looming shadow. Jake wasn't going to be going over there. He noticed Phoenix and Bob were at their aircraft in the middle of their maintenance. While Coyote was off to one side doing pushups; he had messed up somewhere if that was his punishment. And Jake had already passed Fanboy who was on his way for his own physical.

He busied himself finding one of the clipboards and he jogged over to his aircraft, smiling and patting his hand against the bulk like it was an old friend he was meeting up with.

He circled the aircraft like a vulture, checking the wings, the engines- which had had a run in with a flock of birds two days ago which Jake had been lucky hadn't completely ruined his left engine. He checked the wheels and made sure they were all clipped and chained down so the craft wasn't going anywhere without him.

Once all the outside checks were done, he climbed up the ladder and hopped inside.

It always felt weird to sit in the plane without his proper flight suit or his signature red helmet, but he wasn't going anywhere today. He was only turning the engine on to check everything was working and making sure he got all the right responses to show he would be ready for whatever training exercise he had to go out on next.

He slouched back in the seat, spreading his knees apart with the clipboard in front of him and the pen twisting between his fingers.

After ticking a few boxes, Jake tilted his head back and poised the pen behind his ear while his hand shifted to undo the first button on his uniform. He slid his hand beneath his shirt until his fingers found the familiar silver chain hanging around his neck.

He imbedded the ring into his palm that hung on the end of the chain, always tapping and jostling against his chest whenever he moved.

It felt safer to have his wedding ring on his chain rather than his finger. If he had any accidents and needed to be taken for a scan or for surgery, they would cut his ring off. Rings got in the way, jewellery got in the way and got lost but a chain around his neck was private and secure and more importantly, Jake had that ring as close to his heart as possible.

A soft look crossed his face as he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the ring that had created a halo indent in the centre of his hand.

"I'll be home soon." He murmured against the ring as a picture of (Y/n) flashed before his eyes.

The last deployment Jake had been on had almost killed him. Three and a half months away from home. Three and a half months where he couldn't see, touch or feel his wife in his arms or have her lips against his or her body pressed up against his own. All he got were a few brief phone calls or five minutes of faceTime every other day, if he wasn't being shipped straight out from dawn until dusk.

He was much happier here where he could spend each night in his own bed, safe in his home with his wife. He didn't have to sleep alone or feel like he was going insane from having absolutely no physical touch or contact with (Y/n). Never before had Jake thought or believed in having withdrawal symptoms for another human being until he got married and had to face the prospect of leaving (Y/n) behind.

When he was done with his checks, Jake heaved himself up to his feet and climbed down back to level ground again.

He waved his clipboard up and down in front of his face like a fan, relishing the slight breeze it created to his melting skin. If he were back home in this heat his shirt would already be off and he would be lounging around in a pair of shorts. Or be would be on the beach in this weather. Either of those thoughts sounded very appealing right now.

He stood still for a few moments, taking in his surroundings and wondering what the next task would be, but his mind kept wandering off to the girl waiting at home for him. Exactly where he wanted to be right now.

"Bob, are you almost done?" Phoenix tilted her head back with an exasperated sigh, one hand clamped around her hip as she the other held onto the ladder Bob was perched on top of.

He was filling up their aircraft with fuel, they had half a tank but it was better to be safe than sorry because they didn't know how long they would be out on their next flight exercise. The last thing they needed was to be marked down and sent to do two hundred push ups because they thought half a tank would be sufficient.

"Almost." His voice was as passive as ever while he swiped his arm across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Bob, come on we've got other stuff to do."

He didn't know what happened.

One moment Bob was pushing his glasses further up his nose, rolling his eyes at his impatient partner calling up the orders below him. But the next, a shockwave was rattling up the ladder he was perched on and set him off balance.

His hands scrambled to steady himself before he fell off and he subsequently dropped the fuel line that had been in his right hand just as he unclipped it from the air craft that was now fuelled up. Bob scrambled for balance, bashing his legs into the side of the plane and earning a cut down his left forearm that scraped along a jagged edge on the ladder.

But it was the fuel line he was concerned with. It wasn't like filling up a car at the fuel station. The air crafts were large with tanks high up at the back. They had to use large funnel lines that looked like double sized garden hoses with a large round metal clip on the end the size of Bob's hand. That metal created a sizzling sound that sliced through the air when he dropped it.

The line swooped through the air like a bird trying to land but Bob could of cried when he heard a sickening crunch below him. He didn't want to imagine what it collided with- who, it collided with. His eyes snapped closed and he clung to the ladder, trying to gain his balance back so he didn't fall and break an arm or a leg.

The resounding crack echoed around the base and shuddered through everyone within close range. It was a sound no one expected to echo through the open air like that, it travelled far and wide and had everyone coiling in on the spot.

The metal end of the fuel line pelted down, gaining strength and speed as it swung past the ladder, lifted slightly into the air and smacked straight into the right side of Jake's head. Upon impact, his sunglasses snapped and flung off his nose and took flight on a course of their own, six feet across the base.

An awful crack shuddered through Jake's ears and rattled through his head as his eyes automatically snapped closed and his shoulders hunched up. Both arms recoiled into his chest as his clipboard slipped through his fingers that twitched and spasmed, unsure what to do as his body seemed to shutdown and recalibrate all at once.

The force sent his head snapping backwards until his neck got whiplash and his body followed his head's sense of direction, thrusting backwards until he landed harshly on the concrete floor.

Shockwaves rattled through his body causing his legs to shake and spasm out against the floor as if he was kicking and throwing a tantrum and all the air left his lungs when his back hit the floor. It took a few seconds for his diaphragm to loosen and allow his lungs to take in a deep breath, but when he did, a choked moan escaped his lips.

It felt like he'd been shot in the head.

He could feel his pulse throbbing through his temple and circulating all around the circumference of his head like someone pelting round a relay race. He could feel his veins throbbing and the blood steadily trickling down the right side of his face. The feeling of blood oozing down the bridge of his nose and around his eye socket made his nose scrunch up in disgust.

His hands curled and twisted against his chest, desperate to move but the sudden onset of trembling in his bones made it impossible for Jake to coordinate his body properly.

The trembling continued even as Jake suddenly realised he couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't open his eyes. No sounds broke through the static barrier building up in his ears. He had no control over moving a single part of his body. It felt like his head had been severed from the rest of his body.

"Jesus Bob, what the Hell?!" Bradley spun on his heels and made into a sprint towards the three of them, Maverick hot on his heels.

The sight of Jake, laid out on his back, body overwrought with trembles and blood pooling steadily down one side of his face was a sickening sight none of them ever wanted to witness.

"I wasn't- didn't you see the ladder?" Bob hissed like a snake as he shakily slid down the ladder onto unsteady feet.

His hands began to rake up and down his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his trousers as his glasses started to fall down the bridge of his nose. He hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't just let go of the fuel line; Phoenix bashed into the ladder and knocked him off course. He would have fallen if he didn't scramble for his balance. It could just as easily have been Bob's head split open if he fell the other way or completely lost his footing on the ladder.

"I'm sorry-"

A groan spluttered past Jake's lips and stopped all their ramblings. He managed to curl his fingers around the middle of his shirt and he scrunched it up in his fists as tightly as possible. His legs continued to thrash against the floor but when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't seem to do it.

"Oh God." He tried his best to reach his hand up towards his head but he could barely lift either arm from trembling against his chest.

Without his glasses that had been broken and flung off somewhere on the base, the sun was beating down on him with unwavering strength. His right eye was blinking furiously to try and stop the blood from getting into his eyes that were rolling to the back of his head that was pounding like a drum.

"Everyone shut up." Maverick's voice snapped through the air like a whip and stopped all their ramblings at once.

He crouched down beside Jake with Bradley on his other side with Bob and Phoenix hovering anxiously in the background and Coyote running over at the sound of commotion.

The wound looked bad. Maverick tilted Jake's head back and tried to touch his hairline to get a proper look. A large slash line went from his hairline towards his eyebrow and the skin had been split apart so neatly it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife. Blood oozed out in every direction and splattered across Jake's temple and down his nose towards both his eyes like a jam donut had been tossed at his head.

He couldn't see his skull or any bone which was a good sign, but the blunt force could have been enough to crack his skull and give him a fracture. He most definitely had a concussion which meant he could have side effects.

He could start throwing up, he could black out or go fully unconscious, he could have a seizure if the impact was bad enough.

"Get him down to the medbay now." With a click of his hand over to the left, Coyote hurried forward and knelt down behind Jake while Bradley shuffled forward.

The pair of them carefully took one of Jake's arms each and looped them around the back of their necks.

"Alright, up. Let's get you up Hangman." Bradley looped his right arm around Jake's waist while his left hand gripped Jake's wrist. He held his breath and slowly pushed up onto his feet, slowly pulling Jake with him who looked very worse for wear.

Jake's head flopped forward as soon as he was sitting up. He groaned again, spluttering through a moan, spit forming on his lips and blood still trickling down his face. He could feel the shock setting in because even his neck was shaking now and once he was on his feet, his knees wavered and his legs felt oddly heavy and useless. He could barely stay upright and when his knees gave way, he slumped down like he was trying to sit on an imaginary chair.

His hands scrunched down around Coyote and Bradley's shoulders as each of them held his waist and kept him up on his feet.

Both Jake's feet bent awkwardly and the toes of his shoes scraped against the floor as the pair of them dragged him slowly towards the open hanger doors. He tried to move his legs and he did somewhat help them, but he relied on them to drag him along because he felt like collapsing to the floor and curling up into a ball.

He managed to find the will to open his eyes once they were inside, but the sight of the tiled floor disappearing and all the lines blurring before his eyes made his head swoon.

He found his eyes rolling around in his skull before he jolted forward with a croaky "Gonna puke."

True to his word, Jake tossed up his lunch the moment the boys paused in their quick shuffle towards the medbay. He felt a little better after that and he managed to lift his head once the three of them began their awkward tandem walk together.

By the time they were near the medic bay, Jake managed to place one foot in front of the other. He did an awkward walk and started to help them so they didn't have to heave him the whole way there.

"We've had an accident. The fuel line cracked Hangman straight in the temple and knocked him out. He threw up on the way down here." Bradley looked between the two medics idling around and waited for one of them to point towards the bed in the left corner of the large bunker space.

They trotted to the left and turned around, carefully easing Jake down until he was sat in the middle of the bed.

He felt more alive and a bit better once he was sat down. His head flopped back until the base of his head was touching the back of his shoulders and his shaking hands gripped the edge of the bed with intensity to keep himself sitting upright. It took all his effort to stop himself trembling and he tried to take deep breaths to ward off the sickness and the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him.

"Okay Seresin, let's take a look."

Coyote and Bradley backed up until they were stood to one side. Neither of them fancied going back outside to finish off their exercises when Jake didn't look in his best shape. They would rather wait here to make sure he was alright and then head back to the rest of the team and tell them how he was fairing up. It was clear that Jake would be going home early today, he was lucky not to have been killed with that force, there was no way he was carrying on with any work today after this.

Jake begrudgingly lifted his head when one of the doctors stood in front of him. He let the man hold his chin and tilt his head from side to side to assess the damage and when he shone a pen light across his eyes, Jake winced.

A frightful yelp left his lips when the man tried to touch the wound and he reeled back with a groan.

"Afraid I'm gonna need an X-ray before I can stitch it. I'll clean the wound and get you some painkillers first." They were lucky the wound was on his head as they had a small, portable X-ray scanner in the back room they could use just to double check they didn't have to send him to hospital for urgent treatment. But if it looked okay, he could get some pain relief, be stitched up and sent home for the day.

"Great." Jake winced, trying to form a lopsided smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

At least he would get to go home earlier than he thought.

***

"Hey," Bob groaned as sweat dripped off his body and onto a small puddle forming on the stone beneath him. His arms trembled as he tried to continue his push ups now that he was well into the hundreds. "Who's that?"

He nudged his nose against his shoulder to push the glasses further up his nose while he indicated his head to the left, signalling Phoenix's attention towards the person advancing across the base.

Maverick had told Bob and Phoenix to finish off Jake's safety checks, prep his fuel tank too and then do a set of two hundred push ups. They both knew they should have been more careful and they shouldn't have started squabbling like children when Jake was hauled off to the medic bay.

Phoenix lifted her head and glanced her eyes around, trying to find out who Bob was referring to. When her eyes set on a woman walking their way, her brows furrowed and she watched where she was walking.

She wasn't in uniform, whoever she was. She had on a baby blue tank top and a pair of denim shorts that stopped just before her knees. Her bag was hung on her shoulder, the strap clutched tightly in her hand and there was a nervous look plastered across her face.

The woman seemed to spare them a glance, noting that they were both sweating through their uniforms, before her eyes set on Maverick and she made a beeline for him.

"Mav, where is he?" (Y/n) bit her lower lip nervously when she reached Maverick who greeted her with a warm smile and a hand on her elbow.

"He's with a doctor, come with me."

(Y/n) nodded and let Maverick lead her inside the base. She couldn't quite believe how high up the ceilings were or how large the bay doors were, it was like everything was amplified as if giants worked and lived here. It felt strange to be walking round here with Maverick when Jake always said he would give her a tour round one day. Plans changed.

She had been expecting much worse when Maverick rang her and said Jake had had a 'minor accident' at the base, but knowing it was nothing to do with a crash or him being in a plane at all made (Y/n) feel better. It stopped her from having a breakdown or a panic attack as she drove down here, but she couldn't fathom what had happened. What kind of accident would her husband have when he was supposed to be safe here on the ground?

She glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the two others who had been doing press ups were now following after her and Maverick, presumably so they could see Jake too. They must be part of his team.

"What happened?"

"Phoenix and Bob, behind you," Maverick tossed a look over his shoulder and pointed his thumb in their direction. "Had a mishap when they fueled their plane. The pipeline dropped and caught Jake in the temple. I think he's got a mild concussion, but he'll be fine."

(Y/n) brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hearing her shoes clicking loudly against the tiled floor as she followed Maverick around three corners and down a long corridor until they were in front of a medical wing.

That didn't sound too bad. That wasn't nearly as bad as she had been expecting, but it still wasn't good.

Her husband shouldn't be getting into accidents like this at work. He shouldn't be getting smashed in the head with their equipment. He was a pilot, an aviator. He was training every day to be in top physical performance and here he was with a concussion because his team had clearly lacked concentration.

It took all the effort (Y/n) had not to run ahead once they walked into a large open unit almost the same size as the open field outside. There was only one patient in here and (Y/n) set her sights on him immediately.

Jake was sat on the side of a bed, his legs swinging back and forth like a child at a doctor's appointment. His hands were clutching either side of the bed, his lips were set in a firm line and he kept squinting and closing his eyes as a doctor was stood in front of him, cleaning his wound.

Once they were close enough, (Y/n) hurried past Maverick and dropped her bag down by the foot of the bed. She didn't want to get in the way when the doctor was clearly trying to assess Jake and sort him out, but the moment Jake glanced to the left, his eyes widened and he jerked out of the doctor's grip.

"Baby." The surprise was evident in his voice and he let go of the bed to reach an arm out in (Y/n)'s direction. As soon as he started curling his fingers in a grabbing motion, (Y/n) smiled and moved forward.

Jake immediately coiled his arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her closer until she had to plant her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His fingers squeezed her hip tightly and he kissed the top of her chest before he glanced over her shoulder towards Maverick.

"You called my wife?"

The shock was evident in Jake's voice, but it was the looks of the rest of the team that made him wince. He hadn't mentioned to any of them that he happened to be married, that knowledge was on a need to know basis and as his superior, Maverick was the only one who needed to know. For emergency situations like this if Jake ever got hurt or shot down or sent to hospital.

There was no way they could let him drive home and since he had been injured, Maverick knew it was best to call (Y/n) and let her know so she could come and pick him up.

"You got concussed and you won't be able to drive home. Yes, I called your missus. You're welcome."

Maverick placed his hand on his hip and tilted his head to one side. Once Jake was silenced with that one look, Maverick nodded to himself and turned to leave. He knew none of them would be doing any more exercises today and he was okay with that, they would call it a day and start again tomorrow.

"You're married?"

"You never mentioned you're married to such a stunning girl."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, figuring the man that said that must be Bradley, the one Jake said was close to Maverick. He had a raised brow and his lips quirked into a smile beneath his moustache while both arms folded tightly over his chest.

She could feel the glares Jake was sending towards Bradley, squinting and glaring over in his direction before he looked back up at his wife.

With a quiet groan, Jake moved his hands from (Y/n)'s hips so he could bind his arms tightly around her waist. His hands feathered up and down her back and he pushed forward until his lips attached to her exposed chest just beneath her collar bone.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why did you need to know?" He countered, smirking tiredly against (Y/n)'s chest and he twisted his head so the left side of his face could press down against her skin. His cheek nuzled into her chest and he looked over at the team, watching the blush that rose to Bob's face that tilted down to look at his shoes and the way Phoenix rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

He hadn't told them because it wasn't their business, they didn't need to know. He was in love, he was head over heels in love with his wife and in Jake's eyes, she was his little secret.

He didn't want the team teasing him or asking about her or trying to make jokes that he was tied down. He had dealt with that in the past with other people he worked with and he didn't like it. He smiled when people flirted with him in bars, but he kindly turned every one of them down and didn't let them get too close. (Y/n) was the reason why.

Sometimes it felt safer to keep (Y/n) as his little secret. What they did was dangerous, they had all lost friends in this job and it was hard to bring friends and family into this life. Jake didn't know if introducing (Y/n) to his team would be too much.

For him, it felt better to keep work and home life separate.

With a sigh, Jake lifted his cheek from (Y/n)'s chest, his lips forming a thin line as he stared up at her despite the headache that was swirling around behind his eyes. He scanned his eyes around the team who were all watching on eagerly like this was their favourite tv soap.

"Darlin', this is the dagger squad," Jake waved his hand around, muttering their call signs to which (Y/n) nodded earnestly. "Guys, this is my wife, (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you all, even under strange circumstances," (Y/n) quirked a brow when Bob tipped his head down with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Clearly he felt guilty for the accident and (Y/n) was sure she heard him mutter a soft 'sorry again' clearly directed towards Jake.

He wasn't going to hold a grudge. It had been an accident and a few stitches was much better than some of the injuries he'd gotten on this job. But he would be holding this over them in the future and he knew he had earned himself a few free beers down at the Hard Deck for this.

"How bad is it then?"

Jake felt shockwaves coursing through his blood when (Y/n)'s hands moved from his shoulders to gently cup his face in her hands.

He loved the feeling of her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones just beneath his eyes and the way her fingertips tapped behind the tip of his jaw near his ears. His lips curved into a smile, despite the aching in his temple that had gone down a little when he took the aspirin and painkillers he was given.

His eyes squinted up at his wife whose lips curved into a pouting smile while her head tilted to the side, inspecting the wound on his temple.

All the blood had been cleaned from Jake's face and neck and his head had been X-rayed and dabbed with anticeptic, all he needed now was stitches.

"What am I gonna do with you?" (Y/n) murmured softly while she tilted Jake's head down in her hands so she could pepper kisses against the middle of his temple which no doubt would be aching. She didn't want to touch or go too near the wound, she knew even a light touch was going to hurt and she didn't want to hurt him. But he leaned into her touch and groaned, tightening his arms around her waist while his hands slid further down her back.

"I can think of a few things."

"I don't think I wanna see that." Coyote ran a hand down his face and patted Bradley's chest before he began to walk. He would see what Maverick wanted them to do, whether they were all getting the afternoon off or just Jake. He murmured a soft "Nice to meet you, Mrs Seresin." And laid a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as he passed her.

"Yeah, us neither. Sorry again, Hangman, we'll owe you a few rounds when your back in action." Phoenix waved her hand towards Jake and dipped her head before she headed out with Bob following in her wake.

He uttered a soft "Nice to see you, sorry Hangman." before he followed Phoenix, silently praying they wouldn't have to finish the last twenty six push ups they had skipped when they followed Maverick and (Y/n) down here to the medic bay.

"Well, you look like your in good hands, so I'll catch up with you later. Maybe we'll see you soon, Mrs Hangman."

Once Bradley disappeared, (Y/n) managed to untangle herself from her husband's arms, causing him to grunt and pout dramatically. His hands reached out for her but she didn't move far. She stepped out from between his legs and moved to stand on his left side near the end of the bed he was perched on. Her arm looped around his back and her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze while she kissed the good side of his temple.

"When can I take him home?"

"I'll just do the stitches and then he's all yours."

Jake couldn't hide the grimace that flooded his face when he saw the needle and thread. He didn't like the inconvenience of stitches. His eyes briefly glanced up at (Y/n) before he shimmied round on the seat so his back was towards her. And he slowly reclined his head until the back of his head was settled down on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

He did his best to keep his head steady and his eyes fell closed when he saw an injection needle coming close. The numbing agent to make the stitches more bearable.

A low whistle passed his lips and when (Y/n)'s free hand curled over his thigh, Jake reached down and curled his hand over hers. He squeezed tight and tried to take slow, deep breaths when the needle finally started puncturing through his skin. It didn't exactly hurt, but he felt a sharp sting and each time the thread was pulled tight, Jake could feel his brow lifting as the skin was dragged back together.

Six stitches later and (Y/n) could barely feel her hand from how tightly Jake was squeezing it. She leaned her head down and kissed the top of his head, nudging her nose against his soft wavy hair as Jake finally opened his eyes.

"You're good to go with a mild concussion, Seresin. No flying for twenty-four hours, and if you go any higher than G7, I'll need to see you back here for a check over."

"Copy that."

"Thank you for patching him up."

When Jake hopped up from the bed, (Y/n) moved her arm lower to secure around his waist and she pressed a quick kiss to the side of his jaw which caused his lips to pull into a wide grin. He draped his arm over her shoulders, feeling much better than he did earlier.

The last thing he wanted to do was lean on (Y/n) and have her dragging him out of here like the guys had heaved him in earlier. He could walk on his own two feet again.

"That's going to leave a scar." (Y/n) murmured softly, reaching her left hand up to graze her fingers over his brow just beneath the row of navy blue stitches on his temple. It wasn't going to leave a dent or a prominent, deep line, but it would leave a faint streak of white like a dash of paint across his skin.

She pressed another kiss to Jake's jaw until he tilted his head down and captured her lips in a soft, burning kiss instead. "I know," He muttered softly against her lips, kissing her again and again as they walked as slow as possible out of the base.

"But I know you love my war wounds."

[ebonysplendor]

Prescription: LOVE (Demo) Review👨‍⚕️💊

TL;DR: I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor! How's my memory been? It's been fine. Wait, what? I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor! How's my memory been? It's been fine. Wait, what? I've got a head injury? I'm gonna need a doctor!

Game Link: https://livingslime.itch.io/prescriptionlove

Notable Features: Self-Insert, Yandere LI, gender neutral language, 2 endings Spiciness: 0/5 -- Don't get me wrong, it's not wholesome either, but this is the type of LI that'll make you say "But daddy, I love him!" even though something is clearly off. LI Red Flags: 2/5 -- Gaslighter, obsessive tendencies, overly "medicating" us DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. HE'S SO SWEET. I CAN FIX HIM.

Wanna know more? Well, let's get into it!

Okay, not gonna lie, this review is long overdue, because I played this like...maybe 3 or 4 days after the initial drop, and here I am, like, 3 weeks later lmao.

Um...okay, you know what? I'm-- I'm not gonna push myself to write an intro this time lol. I mean, since when is it ever good to push yourself? ...Sometimes, the answer is sometimes, but you should never push yourself too hard, ya know? ...I'm getting off track.

I guess I could start by saying how I found this game on a total accident, and holy shit, am I glad that I found this game regardless. It was damn good, and...honestly, a little unnerving at times. Like, I'll tell you more about it later, but let me tell you, one part in particular had me genuinely spooked.

Anyways, before I get too far into my yap session, I'm going to go ahead and tell you about the game -- with as little spoilers as possible, of course. I mean, how would you be motivated to play the game otherwise unless I leave just enough suspense and mystery? Exactly, so allow me a moment to set the scene, and let's get into it.

So, boom.

We wake up...somewhere.

No, like you don't get it. Logically, it's like, duh, hospital, but we have a whole ass IV in our arm, a splitting headache, and it's almost painfully obvious that our memory took a hit, because we don't remember damn near anything, you feel me? We have, what is essentially, a hole where our memories are supposed to be, and the memories that we do have are so fragmented that they doesn't make any sense. Like...what the hell happened, ya know?

At this point, we're making things worse, because we're trying to force ourselves to remember something -- anything -- and our brain is just like "Mmm...nah. How about we panic, though? Let's do that instead." So, we do. We start feeling really anxious because it's like, how do we go from remembering everything one moment, blink, and then just...virtually no memories at all? Like, nothing? Like, we can't even recognize what a hospital looks like or even is.

"Hey, hey, it's okay".

Huh?

Oh! Oh, hello~! Could this be our boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband~?

"I'm Dr. Anselm."

I mean...he didn't say that he wasn't our husband, ya know? :3 Okay, wait, wait, no, stop, don't distract me. Let me get back on track.

Anyways, this tall gentleman helped us regain control of our nerves and informed us that we were perfectly safe and were currently in a hospital. Dr. Anselm basically told us that he has been overseeing our care and that he was the one in charge of our surgery.

...Wait, our fucking what?!

Before we get too freaked out, though, he tells us that we had some kind of accident that involved blunt force to our head which naturally caused a traumatic brain injury. He then tells us that, when we were brought it by the paramedics, we were in need of an emergency operation in order for us to live. Oh, and we had been asleep for two days straight. Well damn...

Imagine not remembering what you even ate for breakfast yesterday -- well, two days ago -- and this random man who claims to be a doctor comes out of the woodwork and tells you that you had brain surgery. If I could just reiterate once more...what the hell happened?!

Even still, admittedly, Dr. Anselm is being super gentle about the whole thing, and it's bringing a good amount of comfort and security, like everything is going to end up okay; he's even going to let us call our family to let them know that we've pulled through and that we're safe...even though, it's a bit off that no one's visited to start with.

No matter though, because it's past curfew anyways, and Dr. Anselm is adamant that we should rest first and call tomorrow. Fair enough. Rest is a part of recovery after all, and we'd rather get our memories back sooner versus later, not to mention that we actually are a little tired. Lmao, now here's when the issues start coming in...

See, we managed to fall asleep, but then the creak of the door woke us up. Now, at first, we're like "Meh, probably the nurses checking in or whatever", but the issue is, remember when I was like we felt a sense of comfort and security from Dr. Anselm? Lmao, this shit was far from comfortable, let alone safe. So, we make the mistake of we look at the door, and in the gap --

Lmao nah, ain't no way. We're hallucinating.

BRO, AIN'T NO FUCKING WAaaaAAAaAaAaaAAaY. WE ARE NOT HALLUCINA-- DoCTOr ANSEeEEeEEEeeeELM!!!!

Bro, we hit that call button so fast, but that thing also ran off just as fast before Dr. Anselm came rushing in. So, naturally, now we look like we're experiencing the side effect of delulu, because we're trying to explain that we saw something that was clearly not there, but it's like...bro, no, we know what the fuck we saw! Like, dude, please do something!

As always, Dr. Anselm's being super sweet and promised that he'd look into it and get someone to check the security cameras. He encourages us to try to go back to sleep so we don't disrupt our recovery, and, oddly enough, we're able to, even after that.

The next morning, comes along, and Dr. Anselm let's us call our folks, like promised, but...no answer. Hurtful, but okay. Dr. Anselm, also like promised, tells us that they checked the security cameras, and there was no one watching us from the door. Great. So, now we're two for two in this bitch. Perfect.

Still, leave it to Dr. Anselm to help us feel better, though, so it doesn't weigh on us too much for too long. He really is our knight in shining...lab coat.

Even though, with all that medicine he's been giving us...

Not to mention, we had this vividly weird dream...

And, sometimes, there's these weird little flickers in his expression when we ask certain questions or say certain things...

Is Dr. Anselm really trying to help us? Or...

...is it benefitting him that we don't know what happened to us?

Then again...

Nah, that's kind've delulu to think. He's done nothing but try to prioritize our health and recovery. We're safe. We can trust him. It the doctor's orders, after all, and he'd know what's best for us.

4 words: I CAN FIX HIM.

No, no, no, no, no, hear me out! I can fix this one! Like, the red flags are there, but I can FIX him! Is he the one that caused us to have a traumatic brain injury? Maybe. Is he over-medicating us? Possibly. Am I gonna overlook all of that? Absolutely. I mean, who cares that I have an intense suspicion that we're not actually in a hospital and that we're just in a basement that's staged to look like a hospital. Who hasn't played doctor before? I ain't gonna fault this man for trying to heal his inner child and playing pretend. Like, honestly? Good for him.

Okay, but no, enough of that. This...was really good! It physically hurts me that this game is not done yet, but I am so excited that this game isn't done yet, because I am anticipating the hell out of what is next to come. The developer really has a strong foundation, and I can only imagine how they're going to build on it.

The pacing is a little slow, but it's not a bad slow! It's literally seeping us into the story, and I honestly feel like the pacing could not have been executed any better than it has been. This flowed exactly how I feel a demo or prologue or intro or whatever you wanna call it should. I just know that whenever there's an update, shit is going to start getting real, and I cannot wait for that!

Let's talk about the environment/atmosphere...ooh bitch. Let me just say this, I can watch all of the horror movies in the world and be totally fine. I can watch let's plays of horror games and read scary stories...but I cannot be in the situation myself. Haunted houses/trails? Playing horror games myself? Shit scares me out of my soul. That being said, that part where it was talking about being watched through the crack of the door? Chills. Fucking chills. I don't know what it was, because that's not anything revolutionary, especially in these yandere games, but for some reason, the way that the dev executed it just hit different. And the art! Like did you see the CG?! Lmao nah, nah, let me remind you. Actually, let me zoom in on it.

Like, what the fuck is thaaaaaaaaat?! (╥ᯅ╥)

I didn't mention this, because I was narrating/summarizing, but I had genuine fear tears when I read through it the first time, and it was somehow worse when I had to grab and attach the screenshots and type through that part. Like, I HATE shit like this, bro! Like, just make it obvious! Don't put faces and figures and shit like that in the darkness and barely out of view to the point where you can't see it unless you focus on it!

I was literally squinting my eyes and reading fast as shit because I wanted to read it, but I wanted to get through it and away from this scene, but I also wanted to prep myself for a possible jumpscare. Like, developer. De-ve-lo-per. Pop off. This part was so good, and I loved/hated every second.

I'm doing that yap thing that I do again, so I'm going to save you from the rest of my ramblings and start winding down. If you do not already have this downloaded and ready to play, you have got to do that expeditiously. I am telling you, I know I say this about a lot of these visual novels, but this is one that I absolutely cannot allow you to miss out on. This one is so good! Just don't get too invested, because it's just a demo. I suggest going to the game's page, putting your pride aside, and beg for an update as soon as possible -- respectfully, of course. It should be common sense, but don't harass the dev for an update ... but damn, do I hope they come through with an update soon. Very soon. Tomorrow actually...today.

Anyways, here's the link. Go download it, and tell the dev that your life is theirs, because I'm honestly contemplating starting a cult in their honour. I'll sacrifice the nearest weeb for two extra lines of reading material in this visual novel. I'm serious. I'm yapping again...

Okay, anyways! Ending it for realsies this time. Again, I highly recommend giving this game a playthrough. Here's the link to the game page and download...again. If you're able to donate to the cause, donate to the cause, as I'm sure the dev would seriously appreciate the monetary support. Oh! And just as a "pro"-but-not-really-tip: for right now, the choices are more of an "illusion of choice". The endings will be worded the same no matter what, so there's no extra dialogue or CGs, or secret options, or anything like that. It'll just be dialogue pertaining to that specific answer choice at that specific time, and then it's not brought up or mentioned again after it's done.

And...that's it! Lol I'm finally done yapping. Big preesh for getting this far! Please remember to drink water, don't be dumb, and hope to see you around~!

Prescription: LOVE (Demo)

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Things We Left Behind: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Dean's head starts filling with your memories, memories he doesn't want to relive twice. They're from your point of view, giving him a different side of the story.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

"You sent Sam a phantom text from his ex? Dick move, sir."

Where the hell am I? Wait, I know that voice. Charlie. Why is she here? I thought she was in  Oz playing hero with Dorothy.

"Yeah, not my finest hour."

I look to my left and see... myself? I'm dressed in armor that she pulled from her closet. Wait, I know exactly what this is. I remember Charlie was into LARPing a few years ago. It wasn't hard to track her down once we got ahold of that website with her picture plastered all over it.

"Right, well, are we ready to go?"

"Just a few more minutes. My back is killing me."

If I'm over there talking to Charlie, then why did I hear Y/N's voice? I look down and see two boobs and a very pregnant belly. Am I Y/N? What the hell is going on?

"Get up," I say and walk over to myself. 

This is fucking confusing as shit.

"Did you not hear me?" I hear myself say and look up at him.

"I hear you. Get up."

It's like I have no control over my body. I get up and Dean turns me around so that my back is facing him. It's easier to refer to him as Dean rather than myself if I'm Y/N in this situation. He pulls me in closer by my hips, and before I can question what he's doing, he gently lifts my pregnant belly from below. I gasp at the instant relief and lay my head on his shoulder.

"Please don't ever let go."

The weight of my belly isn't pulling on my back, so it feels amazing to not have to carry it. Dean stays like this for five minutes, and I nod to signal to him that I'm good to go. He kisses my cheek and gently lowers my belly.

"You need to do that more often," I chuckle.

Charlie gestures for us to follow her, and she leaves the tent first. Before Dean and I can follow her, I stop him.

"She may be the queen here, but you're my king... every day," I grin.

"And you're my queen."

Dean leans down and kisses me. Damn, this is so weird. Dean leaves the tent before I can, and I find myself staring at the flaps of the tent. Why do I dread walking through them? I take a deep breath and walk through the flaps only for the scene to change entirely. I'm no longer Y/N. Charlie and myself are gone. I'm not back at that LARPing camp. Instead, I'm in a dark room as myself kneeling on the ground. I'm covered in blood. Decimated bodies are all around me. 

Did I do this? Did I hurt all these people? A blade rests in my hand giving me my answer.

Dean gasps awake in a pile of his own sweat. He looks around the room in a panic, only to calm down when he sees it's his bedroom inside the Bunker. Damn, it was a dream. He sits up and looks at his arm where the Mark is. He hovers his fingers over it, scared to touch it. He's scared it might come alive and eat him whole as if it hadn't done it already.

His brain is throbbing inside his own head, causing a splitting headache to form. He understands why he had that dream of him and the bodies, but what the hell was the thing before that? Why did he have a dream of something that happened to you and him? Why was he in your body instead of his?

There is no way he is going to go back to sleep so he gets up and heads straight to the bathroom. He'll change his sheets later. There is some headache medicine in the bathroom that he takes before he leaves it and heads down to the library. He passes by the door that leads into the backyard and curiosity gets the better of him. The door has a huge glass window so he can see out of it. It helps when his kids are playing out there without someone watching them.

You're lying on the lounger by the pool getting a tan. He can only see the back of your head, but that image is enough to send him into another memory he didn't know he had.

Ah, jeez. We're back here again. What the hell is going on here? Why is it so fucking bright? I'm in my backyard. Damn, Y/N did a really good job at making this. I wasn't too keen on the idea at first, but she convinced me that this was the safest place for our kids to play. I'm lying on one of the loungers by the pool but when I look down, I see a bathing suit on a body that clearly isn't mind. Damn, I'm back in Y/N's body again.

Noah and Joanna are in the treehouse while Maryann is in a portable play area with side railings to prevent her from walking anywhere she wants. She's under the shade, she has lots of toys to play with, and she's content with keeping me company.

"Stop it! That's mine!" Joanna whines from above. I look at the treehouse to see if I can spot my kids. "Hey! Give it back!"

"Don't make me come up there!" I call out to them.

"Sorry," both of them say at the same time.

The door opens and I look back to see myself walking toward me. Great, this is just like last time. Do I always look so brooding? Don't I ever smile? He walks over to me and has that look I often give Y/N when I realize just how amazing she is and how beautiful she is.

"You know, even with three kids, you still look like a goddess."

Dean leans down and kisses me. It should be weird that I'm kissing myself but it doesn't. It feels strangely familiar.

Dean leans against the wall and presses his hands against his head. His headache is getting worse. He heads into the library and decides to relax by watching one of his favorite TV shows, The Three Stooges. Watching something like this is a good distraction from his problems, and Sam walks in with a plate of grilled cheese after three episodes to see Dean laughing.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, hey. Hang on. You gotta see—this is a classic," Dean giggles and shows him the screen.

"I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Better than ever."

Sam places the plate of food in front of Dean, and his mouth waters at the sight of it. He immediately grabs it, pulls it apart, and smiles at the cheese pull.

"Oh, hello, beautiful." He takes a bite and moans at the taste. "Oh, yeah. Mmm."

"Do you want some alone time with that thing?" Sam scoffs. Dean shakes his head with his mouth full. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, watch this."

Dean moves the laptop back so that Sam can enjoy the show as well. Dean's sleeve is rolled up but isn't far enough to expose the whole Mark on his arm. Sam's smile falters when he sees it. He hates seeing his brother in so much pain. The door to the backyard opens and you walk in from your time in the sun. Both men look up to greet you but both their jaws drop at the sight of you.

You're butt-ass naked and you're not exactly shy about it. Sam immediately looks away but you don't miss the slight blush on his face.

"Like you've never seen this before," you scoff.

"What the hell?" Dean gasps.

"What? I don't like tanning lines. See ya," you wink.

You turn and leave but Dean can't stop staring at your ass.

"Dude," Sam scoffs and hits his brother's arm.

"What? She's my wife." Dean bites his lower lip in thought. "How bad is it that I want to follow her right now."

"Don't."

Dean didn't have time to go back to watching his show because Cas called with an emergency regarding Claire. He can't trust you all alone in the Bunker so he's forced to take you with him. Cas sends the address of a restaurant but Dean doesn't question it as he hauls ass over there.

Dean is pissed when he finds out the real reason Cas called him.

"This is why you called us? This is your emergency?" Dean glares.

"Yes!"

"No, Cas! An emergency is a dead body, okay? Or a wigged-out angel. Or the Apocalypse, take three! Some chick bolting on you is not an emergency. That's every Friday night for Sam."

"Dude," Sam rolls his eyes.

"This isn't 'some chick', Dean. I'm responsible for her."

"Since when? You met her once how many years ago? She rolled you, and then she ran, okay? It's pretty clear that she doesn't want to play house."

"Cas, even if we do find Claire, what then?" Sam asks.

"I need to know that Claire is safe, and I need your help," Cas begs.

"That was a weak argument. You could have come up with something better than that," you scoff.

"Please?" Cas asks Sam and Dean, ignoring you.

"Fine," Sam sighs. "Why don't we ask around the group home?"

"You know what? We're going to stick here in case she circles back. You go ahead," Dean says.

"Thank you."

Sam leaves with Dean's car which means you're stranded here until he returns. You, Cas, and Dean go inside the restaurant and take a table somewhere in the back away from everyone else. You're not sure what to talk about or why you're here. Claire is an adult. She can make her own decisions. Just because Cas hijacked her father doesn't mean he gets to play father with her.

"Alright, so spill. What's with the family reunion?" Dean asks.

"I don't know. I've just been thinking about people. I've helped some but I've hurt some."

"So, you're having a midlife crisis?" you ask.

"Well, I'm extremely old. I think I'm entitled."

"Cas, listen to me. There's some stuff you just got to let go of. Okay? You've got to forget the people you let down and the ones you can't save. It's for your own good."

"Oh, like me?" you smirk.

"You're different. You're my wife."

"Yeah, to you."

Cas sees the emotion in Dean's eyes so he changes the topic to get you out of his mind.

"How are you, Dean?"

"Fine." Cas gives him a look. "I'm great!"

"No, you're not. He's lying," you say to Cas. "He's not fine. You know how I know?" You pull down your shirt from your shoulder to expose your Mark. It's puffy and slightly red around the edges. It's nothing like what it looked like when you first got it. It looks infected if you had to describe it. "My Mark looks like this. I can only assume yours looks like this, too."

"Yeah, well, I lost the black eyes, so that's a plus."

"Is the Mark still affecting you two?" Dean can't help but think of the dream he had where he was kneeling in front of all those bodies he killed. A film slides over his eyes as he thinks. "Dean?"

"Cas, I need you to promise me something."

"Of course."

"If I do go dark side, you got to take me out."

"What do you mean?"

"Knife me. Smite me. Throw me into the fucking sun, whatever."

"Can I do it?" you smirk. "Can I kill you?"

Dean looks at you and shakes his head before turning back to Cas.

"If she goes dark side, take her out, too."

"I like who I am. I like this Mark."

Cas looks a bit confused at his request. "But you have--"

"If you take me out, you take her out," Dean cuts him off. He knows he has your soul inside of him. If he dies, then you have no hope of reconnecting with his soul. If he becomes a demon again, then he'll twist your soul even more. "Don't let Sam get in the way because he'll try. I can't go down that road again, man. I can't be that thing again."

"No kidding," you scoff. "You were kind of a dick, but I'm not gonna lie. I prefer him to this sad sack of emotions."

Dean lowers his head as he tries not to cry. He knows you're only saying this because it hurts him. He tries so hard not to let your comments affect him because that's what you want. You want to pull these reactions out of him. It hurts him to see the woman he loves become this... monster he barely recognizes.

Another pounding headache forms inside his head as yet another memory comes forth. He's not even sure if this is memories or a dream. It sure as hell isn't his memories.

x

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[arabellavernierwrites]

quiet and gentle. s.r.

summary : after sustaining a significant injury at work , someone has to take care of spencer.

(can be read as romantic or platonic)

word count : 793

warnings : mentions of injury, mentions of gunshot wound (very small mention), act of taking medication, mention of headaches, mentions of pain

a/n : hello everyone ! i know it’s been a while since i have been here. my computer has been broken for a while, and i have been quite busy with courses. recently , i have been really in the mood to write, and wanted to make this for you. i miss you all dearly, and will have more coming soon ! love you all ! have an amazing, beautiful, wonderful day!

tap tap tap

“spencer? it’s time to take your meds,” you nearly whispered, slowly opening the door to your bedroom.

a week ago, spencer had been shot at work, and taken a hard fall due to the impact. he sustained a somewhat significant head injury in the process, and was currently staying with you while he recovered. the room had to stay dark at all times, he had to take his medicine twice a day, and he had to avoid any loud sounds, bright lights, or sudden movement. doctor’s orders.

the team he worked with in the fbi had been worried about him. you were the first person they called when he was in the hospital, and you agreed to care for him without a second thought.

so now, here he was, occupying your bed for the past week, as you took time off from work to make sure he was doing well.

“okay,” he whispered, the sheets ruffled slightly.

you tip-toed over to the side of your bed, his face hidden beneath a mound of blankets. holding a glass in one hand and an orange bottle of pills in the other, you sat down next to him. his breathing was soft from the pile of bedding.

even though he was recovering well, the past week had still been difficult for him. not being able to use his brain in a conventional way was proving to be harder than anticipated. he was always tired, suffering from mind-splitting headaches, and struggling with not feeling like himself. on top of that, he had a gunshot wound on his side that was taking its sweet time healing. thinking about what spencer had been dealing with the past week tied your stomach in a knot. his wound had to be redressed daily, which you found to be a tricky task in the dark. but aside from bringing him medication, water, and the occasional bowl of soup, there was nothing you could do to help him.

quiet and gentle, that was what he needed. that’s what he has always needed. and that is what you were for him. the past few days you had been handling him like a teacup, afraid that any movement could possibly shatter his fragile porcelain.

“how are you feeling?” you asked, dumping two pills into the palm of your hand.

“i’m tired,” he unraveled himself from his cozy mountain.

“i know,” you handed him his medicine, preparing him to take a sip of water.

“not my usual tired. i’m tired of lying in bed, i’m tired of everything being dark all day, and i’m tired of this headache,” he took a sip from the glass, “i want to feel better”.

he lay his head on the pillow, looking up at you. the slivers of moonlight peaking through your bedroom windows made him barely visible, but you reached out to touch his cheek.

“i’m sure you are, and i’m sure you do. i’ve been on the phone with the doctor every day, and he said you have been making great progress. you’ll return to being a functioning member of society before you know it. don’t rush it, take your time to rest,” your thumb caressed the hollow beneath his cheekbone.

“i’m not sure how,” he whispers, ashamed.

“not sure how to rest?” you could see the outline of his head shake no.

“it’s harder than people make it seem. may i?” you asked. he nodded.

you moved to the other side of the bed, pushing his blanket mound aside. you rested on your left, facing him. gently taking his shoulders, you leaned him towards you.

“this is okay?” you paused.

“yes,” he assured softly.

you took his left arm, draping it over your side, and moved his right arm underneath you. he didn’t have enough energy to feel tense about this in any way, he was putty beneath your hands as you repositioned him.

“if this hurts, please tell me,” you pulled him close, placing his head beneath your chin, “just close your eyes and breathe”.

he wrapped his arms around your back, sliding a leg between your knees. your fingers rubbed the valley that stretched below his shoulders, dancing up to softly run through his hair.

mere moments passed before you felt his body relax, his mind succumbing to a peaceful, painless sleep. you felt the gentle puff of his breath against your chest, smiling every time his figure rose and fell.

“thank you,” he groggily muttered, pulling himself closer.

“of course,” you kissed the top of his head as he returned to the land of dreams.

for the first time in nearly a week, spencer was actually getting good sleep. and for the first time in nearly a week, you were too.

[parkitaco]

super belated bday ficlet for @astrobei!! (+ my stonathan debut 👀)

Jonathan wakes up with a splitting headache.

This, unfortunately, is nothing new to him - he usually has a headache of some sort these days, as unrelenting stress and trauma will tend to do to a person. There's always something plaguing him. Most of it's his own fault, due to his general inability to let go of anything ever, but still. It's not a pleasant way to be.

He can hear clattering in the kitchen, presumably his mother getting a head start on the weekend's chores. It's still early, if the shaft of weak light streaming in through the gap in the curtains is any indication, and he'd sort of been looking forward to sleeping in as long as his anxious brain ever allows him to, but he's always been a light sleeper and he knows it's pointless to go back to bed now. He groans, sitting up and tossing his covers aside as he runs a hand through his hair.

Jonathan knows it's a little ridiculous, the way his brain works. Summer started two weeks ago, and his job is a decent one, even if the men at the Hawkins post make him want to tear his hair out for a myriad of reasons. The Mindflayer is gone. The gates are closed. Will is safe. Jonathan should not be this stressed.

And yet.

He gets dressed quickly, wincing when he catches sight of his eye bags in the mirror. He hasn't been sleeping well. He hasn't slept well since 1983, probably. Every time he closes his eyes he sees blood, grey skin stretching obscenely over gnarled muscles, gaping mouths with too many teeth to count. His brother's eyes, corrupted from their usual hazel to a dark, swirling, angry color as he strained against the rope tying him in place.

A red-hot poker, sizzling as it met flesh. Jonathan's pretty sure he's more traumatized from that than Will is. He's the one who had to stand by and watch, after all.

That's selfish, though, and Jonathan strives not to be selfish. It's hard to win, in a household with a harried, overworked parent and a younger sibling who seems to get cursed at every turn, but he tries to do as much as he can. It feels like he's doing everything, some days. There's never enough of him to go around.

"Morning, hon," his mother greets when he enters the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. "Did I wake you?"

"No," Jonathan lies easily, stepping around her to grab an apple off the counter. He leans against it, biting into the apple with a satisfying crunch that serves to jumpstart his overtired brain.

If his mother notices the lie, she doesn't mention it, simply humming a noise of assent as she scrubs at a plate in the sink. Jonathan had meant to do the dishes before going to bed last night, he realizes with a stab of guilt - they'd been piling up, neglected all week, and it had been bothering him, but then Will had asked him for assistance with the evidently very important matter of deciding what to draw for his friends' next DnD campaign, and he'd forgotten.

"I can help with those," Jonathan offers now, guilt twisting in his gut as his mother works at a grease stain, and she waves him off with one soapy hand, showering him with flecks of lemon-scented water.

"Don't worry about it, hon," she says, which is what she always says, and just like always Jonathan wonders how, exactly, he's meant to stop worrying about things. He's pretty sure that worrying is his sole purpose in life. "Doing anything fun today?"

Fun. Jonathan does have fun, sometimes, he supposes. He has fun with Will, though his brother has been more and more concerned with spending time with his friends lately, which is- fine, it's fine. Jonathan has friends of his own, sort of. It's a good thing, that Will's figuring out how to get back to normal.

Still, Jonathan feels a little lost sometimes, without his brother there to hover over. Like that one night, on Halloween last year, when he'd let Will go trick-or-treating without him, and he'd sat in the car for a solid ten minutes after, wondering what he was supposed to do with his evening.

That was the first and last party he'll ever be attending, thank you very much. He hadn't even lasted for fifteen minutes before something demanded his attention - Nancy Wheeler, in all her overwhelming, drunken glory, clinging to him all the way from the car to her room.

Jonathan tries not to think about the way that mess had begun. Him, watching a drink spill over Nancy's white blouse. Him, listening halfheartedly to raised voices from the hall, watching a bathroom door fly open and a boy come storming out, leaving the girl behind to stare moodily at herself in the mirror. Him, Jonathan Byers, following the boy instead of the girl, stepping out on the porch and murmuring a soft I'll take her home, don't worry.

That had been the same night Will's visions started in earnest, and Jonathan had been off at a party, caring for drunk girls and their jilted exes instead of his own family. He can't win. Ever. Everything he does is just a little wrong.

"Jonathan?"

Jonathan blinks, snapping himself back into reality and staring blankly at his mother, who's smirking from where she stands by the sink. "Huh?"

"I asked what you're doing today," she repeats, smiling, and he offers a smile that turns into a grimace halfway through.

"Don't know," he says tightly. "Is Will here?"

"No, he went to Mike's," Joyce answers, already back to the dishes, the water a gentle spray over her hands. "I have to go to the grocery store in a little while, and I have a couple other errands to run- oh, did you ever make it to the pharmacy, hon?"

Jonathan is ninety percent sure she never asked him to go to the pharmacy, but he figures he probably should have known to go anyway. They're low on ibuprofen, of which he is in need of constantly. "No, I'll go today."

His mother smiles absently over her shoulder at him. "Thanks, hon."

Jonathan nods, a little distracted by his mental checklist, which is constantly growing - pharmacy, library, laundry, an endless list of tasks that never really seem to disappear. God, he's tired. Maybe he should have tried to sleep in after all. "No problem," he says, and is only sort of lying, because the truth is that there are no problems, not really - other than the underlying ones, such as money being tight and everyone being traumatized, things are fine. There are, strictly speaking, no specific problems.

It never seems to feel that way, though.

His mother heads out after an hour or so, reminding him to eat breakfast and ruffling his hair on the way out the door. Jonathan spends a half hour making scrambled eggs (and then remaking them, after burning the first batch horrifically). He eats them slowly, one hand holding open the book he's been trying to read for the past three months, always ending up too distracted by the everything else around him to get more than a few pages in. He's never been much of a comic book person, but he gets why Will likes them - they're definitely far more digestible than anything he's ever tried to read. But Jonathan's a bit too serious of a person for stuff like that. Bright colors make his headaches worse.

It's almost ten by the time he starts getting ready to go to the pharmacy, book abandoned on the table and keys in his hand. Maybe he can go to the record store - he has some money, after getting his first paycheck from the Hawkins Post, but at least half of that is going to need to be used to cover their bills this month. Probably better to wait a few more weeks, until after rent is due and he can properly assess how much is left over.

He grimaces to himself and pulls the front door open in one fluid motion, shoving his wallet in his back pocket and flipping through his key ring for the right one - and almost crashes directly into Steve Harrington.

They both yelp and stumble backward, Steve looking sensibly chagrined as he drops his arm, which Jonathan now sees had been poised to knock. "I- sorry," Steve says, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "Sorry."

Jonathan stares at him for a beat, one hand still holding his keys a bit uselessly. Dimly, he wonders if there's a new supernatural horror come to haunt him - that seems the only logical reason why Steve Harrington would be at his house, on his own, at ten in the morning on a random Saturday in June. They don't do this. They're not- friends, they're probably something closer to enemies if he thinks about it. They don't show up at each other's houses unannounced except in dire circumstances.

But that one time, a snide voice in Jonathan's head pipes up, he did. Remember?

Jonathan banishes the thought, on account of the fact that a., Steve had come to apologize for literally beating him to a pulp, which does not connote friendship in any way shape or form, and b., they'd both nearly been eaten alive less than five minutes after. Not exactly a good track record.

Steve grimaces, and opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can Jonathan blurts; "What are you doing here?"

It comes out sounding a little ruder than he intended, as do most of the things he says, but to his immense relief, Steve seems more put at ease by it than anything. He laughs, a short, huffy sort of sound that's more endearing than it should be. "Um. I wanted to talk to you."

Jonathan and Steve are not friends. They do not talk. Is he having a stroke? "About what?"

Steve shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing away awkwardly. "Jesus, Jonathan, I don't know. I was just gonna see if you wanted to come for a drive or something." He glances back at him, sheepish, and he does an awkward sort of shrug-twitch thing with his shoulders, eyes falling to the keys in Jonathan's hand. "If you're busy, though-"

"No," Jonathan says before he's even aware of it, thinking of his mother asking if he was doing anything fun today and how spending time with Steve Harrington is probably not really all that fun, but is at the very least an interesting concept. Better than blowing money on records that should be going to his family. "I was just gonna- pharmacy," he says, gesturing vaguely. "My head, uh." He pauses. He doesn't usually tell people about his headaches. Or any other ailments, really. "Nevermind."

Steve squints at him, looking stuck between a laugh and a frown. "Okay. Is that a yes, then?"

The pharmacy can wait, probably. "Yeah, sure." He coughs. "Yes."

A blinding smile splits across Steve's face, a genuine one. He never used to smile that way, Jonathan remembers - two years ago, it was all closed-lips and wry smirks and raised eyebrows. Kind of insufferable, if you ask Jonathan, but then again, no one ever does ask Jonathan.

It's- nice, is the point. If you asked Jonathan, right this second, what he thought of Steve's smile, he'd say that.

"Where are we going?" he asks, trailing after Steve to the car parked haphazardly in his driveway and shoving his own car keys into his pocket.

"Just- for a drive, man, I don't know," Steve says, pausing with one hand resting on top of the open driver's side door and looking mildly exasperated. Now that he knows he has Jonathan's attention, he supposes, he's back to behaving like a prick.

(Not really. He's not much of a prick, anymore. Not that Jonathan would ever admit that aloud.)

Despite himself, Jonathan smiles a little as he climbs into the passenger seat. "Okay. Got it," he says, tinged with amusement and sarcasm, and Steve gives him a dirty look that doesn't reach his smiling eyes as he backs out of the driveway.

The radio is playing softly, some sort of Cyndi Lauper bullshit spilling from the dash as Steve drives. He's a good driver, Jonathan notices a little fondly, better than he would have expected, with the whole being-a-prick thing and all. He's careful. Like he cares about keeping Jonathan alive and well, which is- bare minimum, really, and it's probably just as much about his own self-preservation, but still. It's nice. Jonathan's always a little pleasantly surprised, where Steve's involved.

But he doesn't want to think about that for too long, so instead Jonathan rolls down his window, letting the cool early-summer air waft over him. "Any particular reason we're doing this?" he asks, just for the sake of distracting himself from his own thoughts.

Steve shoots him another look, though he looks distinctly more amused this time. "You ask a lot of questions," he says wryly, and Jonathan snorts, glancing back over at him. "Don't you ever just, like. Go with the flow?"

At this, Jonathan outright laughs, and surprises himself with it a little. "Go with the flow," he repeats, a little incredulously, and Steve's cheeks pinken a little as he pointedly looks back at the road. "I don't think I'm a very flowy sort of person."

"I'm getting that," Steve grumbles, and Jonathan laughs again. "I just meant - you're so tense. Like, I get stressed out just looking at you sometimes."

You look at me? Jonathan thinks, and then immediately banishes the thought because- no. He's not going to start asking questions like that. "Yeah, well, not all of us can be the perfect Steve Harrington," he says, and it comes out a little more biting than he intends. He winces, an apology on his lips, but it gets stuck in the back of his throat. Better to be a little mean than a little too incriminating. That's how they operate, him and Steve.

Steve coughs, halfway toward a laugh but falling short. "No," he agrees, and sounds like a person trying desperately not to sound as hurt as they feel. Jonathan bites back another apology. "Guess not."

Jonathan's never been good at letting things go. Desperate to fix it, fix them, fix everything, he corrects; "Well, I guess the kidnapping probably mars your record a little."

The statement works precisely how he expected it to - with a cough and a splutter and a reddening of tanned cheeks. "I am not- kidnapping you," Steve squeaks, and there's that laugh again, bubbling up from somewhere in Jonathan's ribcage that he wasn't previously aware of. Maybe that's where he's been keeping his serotonin all this time, locked away in his chest somewhere. "You said you wanted to come!"

"I said I would come," Jonathan corrects, "I didn't say I wanted to."

Steve scowls. "You did want to. You- you want to hang out with me so bad."

Jonathan's not so sure about that one, mostly on account of the fact that he hadn't really known that hanging out with Steve was an option until today, but now that he is, he can definitively say that- maybe, possibly, he likes it. A little. Maybe.

"Don't make me beat you up again," he says, for lack of a better response, and this time Steve laughs, loud and bright in the summer air, and the sound settles something in Jonathan's usually-nervous system. People don't usually laugh with him like this. It's a bit odd, realizing that he's- funny. Likeable, maybe, in the right set of eyes. Or maybe that's just the Steve Effect. He puts people at ease.

"You wanted to," Steve says again, a little more quietly, and Jonathan stays silent, an admission by omission.

They pull into an abandoned parking lot, somewhere on the outskirts of Hawkins where Jonathan's only been a handful of times. It's a decent spot, raised on a hill overlooking downtown, grass growing through he cracks in the pavement. Pretty, in the bleak small-town way that Hawkins typically offers.

He shoots Steve a questioning look, and Steve smiles as he kills the engine. "No one ever comes here," he says, which feels a little like a confession even though it's not, doesn't mean much of anything at all. "I mean- I do, but. I don't know. There's probably, like, better and quieter places to hang out farther out of town, but I get kind of- um." He flushes, running a hand through his hair. "It seems sort of depressing, you know? I like to be somewhere where I can be close to where people are without having to actually, you know- talk to them."

There's a beat of silence, the radio having gone silent the moment Steve shut the car off, and Jonathan allows himself a moment to examine him, a little, the twisted grimace of his lips, the flush steadily rising to his cheeks, the faraway look in his eyes. Steve is a little confounding, sometimes.

Then:

"Sorry, that sounded dumb."

Jonathan blinks, shaking his head on instinct. "No," he argues reflexively, but finds he means it when he adds, "I know what you mean." Under normal circumstances, maybe, he'd poke fun, ask why Steve has suddenly gone philosophical on him, but there's a weird energy in the car, something delicate and vulnerable that Jonathan isn't nearly cruel enough to break.

Steve meets his eyes earnestly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, which Jonathan is- not looking at, not even a little bit. "Yeah?"

Jonathan's mouth suddenly feels very dry. "Yeah," he confirms hoarsely, and then, because that's a little too raw even for him, "Yeah, it's- that's what photography is like, kind of. Using a camera to distance yourself while still, um. Still seeing people, as they are."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Maybe I should take up photography." He glances back out the window, lost in thought, and Jonathan, overcome with a strange kind of confidence, nudges his arm gently.

Steve turns back to him, frowning, and he tilts his head at the window. "It's boiling in here," Jonathan says, which is half-true. In truth, it feels a little too closed-off, like anything could happen here, anything could be said, and only the two of them would ever know it. It feels like if he's not careful, he might do something dangerous.

Luckily, Steve only nods, unstrapping his seatbelt and climbing out of the car after Jonathan, who clambers up onto the hood of the car with a considerable lack of grace.

"Scratch my car and you're dead to me, Byers," Steve says, but he doesn't sound like he means it even a little, especially when he hops up onto the hood seconds later, knee knocking against Jonathan's.

There's a few moments of silence, both of them staring quietly out at Hawkins spread below them, the breeze ruffling their hair. They make an odd pair, Jonathan knows - Steve, in all his letterman jacketed glory, and Jonathan with his old band t-shirt and eye bags and headache. But oddly, it works like this, in the silence and summer air, the two of them opposite ends of the same spectrum.

"I'm not perfect," Steve says after a moment, less like he's correcting Jonathan and more like he's speaking it into existence, like he's afraid to admit it. "Just- just so you know."

If this were any other day, Jonathan would laugh, make a joke, deflect. But today is different, so he just bobs his head once, a quiet acknowledgement. "I know."

Steve glances at him, brows drawn together in concentration. "No, I mean it," he says, "I'm not- I mess things up, all the time. I think I'm- I don't know. If you're not a very flowy person, then I think I'm too flowy, or something." He bites his lip, eyes raking over Jonathan with an intensity that leaves him feeling oddly exposed. "I wish I was more like you," Steve says, with a quiet reverence that makes something stutter in Jonathan's chest.

He shakes his head once, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "No you don't," he assures him, and Steve's frown deepens, "I'm exhausting."

"You're driven," Steve argues, looking almost offended on Jonathan's behalf. "Not the same."

"I'm a nervous wreck, Steve," Jonathan says with a laugh, but it falls flat. Too close to the truth. He swallows. "All the time."

Steve stares at him for another couple seconds, then releases a soft breath and turns back to stare out at their pathetic little town. "Maybe we should switch," he muses, voice low but sending sparks through Jonathan's nerves all the same, "or- meet halfway, or something."

A year and a half ago I was arrested for beating you up, Jonathan thinks and doesn't say, and now you want to meet me halfway.

They make an odd pair.

"I'd like that," he says, and Steve's gaze snaps back to him, something clicking into place in his expression.

"Yeah?" he asks again, and again looks hopeful and earnest and all of the emotions the old Steve would never have been caught dead exhibiting.

Jonathan's throat is so very dry. He nods. "Yeah."

The breeze ruffles through his hair, and a hand presses against the side of Jonathan's neck. Far in the distance, a bird squawks, and here on the hood of a car a boy meets Jonathan's eyes.

The car creaks beneath them, and Jonathan leans in.

Like everything else, kissing Steve is pleasantly surprising. He's gentle, more gentle than Jonathan might have expected given his reputation, and his lips are soft when they press against Jonathan's own. He tastes like soda and smells like detergent and is careful when he lays a hand over Jonathan's chest, right where his heart is throwing itself against his ribcage. Jonathan presses in closer without meaning to, hand grappling for purchase against the surface of the car before grabbing Steve's waist instead, pulling him closer with a gentle creaking of metal beneath them.

Steve hums, a soft, unintentional sound, and pulls back, the carefully blank look on his face not quite hiding the gleaming look in his eyes, fiery and terrified at once. He shivers once, Jonathan's thumb brushing gently over the cotton of his t-shirt, tucked under his jacket.

His hair is falling into his eyes. Jonathan brushes it away without thinking about it, and only pauses when Steve's breath catches somewhere in his ribcage. Jonathan offers a shaky smile and presses in again, lips connecting with Steve's softly and briefly before he pulls back for real.

"What," Steve says, and then pauses like he doesn't know where to begin.

Jonathan smirks. "Too many questions."

It takes a second, but Steve's face falls into a (feigned) scowl in one swift motion, much to Jonathan's delight. "Wh- I didn't even ask anything yet!"

"Good," Jonathan replies, smirking as he lays back against the windshield, "Don't."

"You're a prick," Steve says, and doesn't seem to mean it in the slightest when he follows suit, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.

Jonathan presses his leg against Steve's, enjoying the solid warmth of him next to him. "Right back at you." He closes his eyes, letting the summer sunlight wash over him, and Steve shifts beside him, leg pressing more insistently against his own.

Jonathan's head doesn't hurt at all anymore.

[lo-wrote]

Something for Your Mind Original fiction Note: This was originally background work for a story I had planned, but I reworked it into a piece of standalone short fiction. Edited for spelling/grammar/etc. but largely unchanged from when I wrote it ~3 years ago. Contains discussion of parental death, sleeping pill use.

She begged for dreamless sleep every night as she climbed into bed, pulling the sheets tightly around her. And most nights, after enough pills, she could achieve it.

But when the headaches from night after night of chemicals buzzing in her skull became too much, she was left to fend for herself in her dreams, victim to the bright swaths of color that painted her past. The flashes of brilliant light, the booms that made the ground crumble beneath the pink sneakers she wore that day—the ones her mother bought for her just the week before, with the orange laces she had begged for when she saw them in the shop window—and the alarms that rang and pierced her eardrums, making hot rivulets of blood trickle down the sides of her neck.

Suddenly, blurred movement, motions she couldn’t quite follow, as she was grabbed by from behind and hauled away from the building that disintegrated before her, her mother still trapped inside as she screamed until her lungs burned and her throat seized and her eyes ached from the streams of tears that streamed down her face.

Then blackness.

It was usually then that she’d awaken in her bed, soaking in a puddle of perspiration, panting and heaving, her mouth dry and her lips cracking at the corners as she tried to push away the thoughts that had forced her awake. Tonight was one of those nights when the headaches had become too much to bear and she forced herself to take a break—it had become increasingly difficult to even stand up, much less make any rational and timely decisions, which was a not-insignificant part of hurtling through space in a metal junk-heap the way she did.

When it got to the point that her hold on reality felt tenuous and she was near-convinced that her skull was going to split in two and her brains would spill out onto the floor, that is when she would lay off the pills for a while and suffer through a few nights being tortured by a couple decades of bad memories just to relieve the throbbing behind her eyes for a little while. She caught her breath and rolled over, fumbling for her glasses on the table next to her as her hands trembled, her fingers gripping the lenses and leaving smudged prints on the plastic that she hastily tried to wipe away with the hem of her tank top.

She laid down, flat on her back, and stared at the ceiling, the room dimly lit by the green glow of the clock on the nightstand. She laid one hand gently on her chest, feeling her heart race under her trembling palm, as she inhaled deeply through her nose, holding each breath to a count of ten, then exhaled through her mouth to the same count. On her next inhale, she tried to think of anything but the bright orange pain that forced her awake.

One…

She remembered the kitchen above the shop. It had a yellow tiled floor and the ugliest teal wallpaper she had ever seen.

Two…

Her mother swore up and down she was going to replace that wallpaper—that they’d go to the store and buy paint and do it together one weekend—but time slipped away and that peeling wallpaper, in all its gaudy glory, never came down.

Three…

She ran ahead of her mother up the narrow staircase to the apartment, giddy to have the responsibility of unlocking the door and being the first one inside. It felt like she won something just to be allowed to hold the shiny gold key, and she gripped it so tightly the tips of her fingers turned white.

Four…

Her mother seemed like the strongest woman in the world when she carried groceries up the stairs, always bragging that she never needed help, and she would never dare make more than one trip—she could get it all, she would boast, and tell her darling child that one day she would be strong enough to carry just as many bags of groceries, and maybe even more, all on her own, too.

Five…

While her mother put the groceries away, she rifled through the cupboards, tasked with finding the big soup pot, the one that she used to climb into as a toddler as she played hide-and-seek with her cousins. She dragged it out ceremoniously, knowing the bounty that awaited her whenever her mother asked her to retrieve it.

Six…

She sat on the counter, swinging her legs and crunching happily on a carrot, nibbling it down to the tickly green tops, as she watched her mother swiftly chop a mound of vibrant vegetables and plop them in the pot, hearing them clunk against the metal. Her mother hummed softly while she worked.

Seven…

No matter where she wandered off to in their home, the scent of the slow-cooking broth followed her from room to room. It felt like a lifetime until she heard a shout from the kitchen that dinner was finally ready, and she eagerly dropped her book and raced into the other room.

Eight…

She held her bowl aloft as high as she could, her mother gently reminding her to clutch it carefully, the bowl would get very hot, and not to spill or she’d hurt herself. She nodded fervently, concerned that perhaps her soup privileges would be revoked if she let so much as a droplet hit the floor.

Nine…

She cautiously placed the bowl on the table and climbed onto the chair, waiting for her mother to join her, and stared greedily at the basket in the middle of the table, full of warm rolls that were ready to be ripped apart and dunked into the broth.

Ten…

She smiled as her mother hugged her from behind and planted a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. She whined and begged her mother to sit down—the soup smelled so good, she was so hungry and couldn’t wait another moment to eat.

As she exhaled calmly, she could swear she smelled the garlicky broth and hear her mother’s voice calling her to come to dinner. As she opened her eyes to make sure she was still in her room, a small robot padded in, pausing just inside the doorway to press the light switch on the wall above it.

“I heard you making noise,” it asked softly. “Is everything okay?”

She sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, squinting at the sudden harsh overhead light, and looked over at the machine that stared at her from across the room. “Actually, can you get some clean sheets for me? And turn on the shower?”

“Ah. Another bad dream?”

She glanced down at the floor, once more thinking of soup and feeling the ghost of her mother’s kiss graze the top of her head. “Always.”

“What temperature would you like the water?”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I dunno. Hot enough to melt my flesh so all I got left is just the bones?”

“You know I cannot do that,” the robot chided.

“And you know I’m just kidding.”

“Of course I do, I am not ignorant,” it responded, sounding something adjacent to offended. “But I will continue to remind you that I will not injure you, or allow you to do something to injure yourself.”

She smiled. “I know you will, buddy. You’re very good to me.”

“You built me, why would I not be?” it called from the hallway as it scooted off to the bathroom to turn on the faucet.

She laid back down, the sheets clammy and clinging to her bare arms. She knew the nightmares came in bursts, and if she stayed up just a little bit longer, she may get a lucky roll of the dice and have less eventful sleep by the time she tried to rest again, and perhaps even be granted a pleasant dream. She often clenched her fists and gritted her teeth as she fell asleep, desperately trying to force her brain to show her a glimpse of her mother again—all she needed was to witness a flash of her smile, or to see the sun shining on her chestnut hair, or to hear her raspy laugh again, just one more time, even though she always knew that one more time was still never enough.

She wondered how many one more times she had left of the fading vision of her mother, when she heard the shower come to life and her tin companion cursed and grumbled.

“Hey,” she yelled, a grin slowly stretching across her lips, “did you get wet?”

“That is none of your concern, I am fine,” it responded.

“Okay, but did you—”

“Yes. And I did not care for it.”

“Who would let that happen? Who would build a robot that dislikes water so much?” she teased as she walked towards the door.

“I wonder,” it groused at it waddled back into Pepper’s room, a few errant water droplets running down the curves of its rounded face. “Who would build me and have the opportunity to make me into a perfect assistant or an expert pilot or an ideal killing machine and instead make me into...this.”

She smiled, leaning down to kiss the automaton on the top of its smooth head. “I made you exactly the type of person I wanted to have around.”

“I am not a person,” it responded flatly. “We have talked about this at length.”

“You’re self-aware, and that almost makes you a person, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I am still not a person.”

She frowned, flashing a pout at the petulant robot before her. “That makes me sad when you say that, though. You’re as much a person as anyone else.”

“Yes, well, I am still different from other beings.” Seeing the momentary hurt wash over her face, it continued, “but I am a person to you, and that is enough. Now go shower, I will take care of the sheets.”

“Are you sure?” she asked guiltily.

“Yes, you should try to sleep again soon,” it responded, setting an armful of linens at the foot of the bed. “We will be arriving at the depot in approximately ten hours, so you should be rested, and I should power down for a little myself.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll listen to you,” she said as she walked past it, patting it on the head as she left the room. “Just this once though.”

“I will take my wins where I can get them,” it yelled back, tossing a pile of damp sheets into the hall after her.

She leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes, letting the steam envelop her and the water crash over her body, hoping that the biting heat would distract her long enough to let the remaining scenes from her nightmare evaporate, until it was all a distant memory again, cloaked in the fog of time.

[silvfyre-writings]

My Head Hurts (BSD Fanfic)

I wanted to thank you all for reading this fic, even though I'm sure it's not my best one. I had an idea, wrote the first part, and then just kinda, idk, lost the bunnies. But I wanted some caring ADA towards Ranpo, so that's what I did. Besides, it's fanfiction, it's free, and it doesn't have to be great lol.

As long as I enjoy it, and you enjoy it, that's all the matters really.

Anyway, that's all I really want to say, so thank you all for reading, and I'll see you in the next fic!

Ranpo was twelve when he experienced his first migraine.

A headache so intense that he hadn’t been able to so much as open his eyes, let alone leave his bed that day. It felt like his neighbour had smashed their axe against his skull and then just left it there, that was how much it hurt. And on top of that, there was the nausea, and the exhaustion, and really, it just sucked. It was the worst thing he’d ever experienced in his life. The only good thing that had come from this headache—he hadn’t yet known what they were called—was that his mother had walked into his room, taken one look at him and then smothered him in love and attention. It’d made the headache much more bearable to know that someone was there, helping him to bear the burden.

And then his parents died.

And there was no one.

The second time Ranpo experienced a migraine—he now knew what they were, courtesy of his parents—he’d been at the police academy, in the middle of class, and the pain had been so intense that his brain had elected to just shut down rather than even try and deal with it, and he’s passed out. In the middle of class. That all his classmates witnessed. He awoke a few hours later in the infirmary, his head still trying to split itself open, and all he could do was stay still until the nurse noticed that he was awake; she forced him to take some pills that he somehow managed to swallow, nearly gagging as they slid down his throat. After that, he’d been left alone, in a room that wasn’t nearly dark enough, until the pills—painkillers he’d realized afterwards—kicked in and his head hurt a little less.

The third time was the worst time, at least, in his opinion, because he’d been on the streets when it’d hit, and there’d been nothing he could do but curl up in the darkest corner that he could find, and cry over how much it hurt. Because all he could really do was cry; sleep was impossible, it was too bright, too noisy, too painful, and there was no one around that he knew well enough to ask for help from. Sure, he could’ve used the last of the money he’d earnt from his last job to pay for a doctor’s visit, but it’d been four days since his last meal, so he’d gone without. Not that he could bring himself to even buy food, what with the way his stomach was rolling. And by the time the migraine had passed, it’d taken another day before he had the strength to drag himself out of his little corner and back into the world.

After that, whenever another migraine came along, unless he was throwing up or physically unable to see, he forced himself to keep going; they happened with enough frequency, that if he laid in the corner of some alleyway until they passed, he would’ve starved to death long ago. And while Ranpo was starting to think that it would simply be easier to just give up and die, he kept on going. It was hard at times, to keep working through the pain that threatened to bring him to his knees, yet he managed. Barely.

And yet, despite his determination, his life only continued to get worse.

Until Fukuzawa.

The first time he’d experienced a migraine under Fukuzawa’s care, had been two weeks into living with the man. For two weeks, Ranpo had kept his head down and stayed quiet; Fukuzawa had already done so much for him, giving him a place to live, a place to sleep, along with clothes and food, and he really didn’t want to lose that. So, he kept to himself and kept his head down to avoid invoking Fukuzawa’s wrath. But then, in the middle of the night, two weeks into this new living arrangement, he’d woken up to nausea so intense, that he was barely able to process the feeling, let alone the sensation of his skull being smashed between two buildings, before his dinner made its acquaintance with himself and his sheets.

And just because Ranpo’s luck couldn’t possibly get any worse, Fukuzawa woke up.

There was an apology spilling from his lips the moment his bedroom door cracked open, and tears in his eyes because he truly felt awful, because there was nothing fun about throwing up, especially over oneself, and not to mention, he’d woken Fukuzawa from his own sleep. Yet Fukuzawa hadn’t looked mad. In fact, he’d looked concerned, worried even, but that couldn’t be right. Because Fukuzawa was stoic and firm, and this was a new and familiar side to the man that Ranpo hadn’t witnessed before in the short time they’d known each other. And that scared him.

But it was also a lie, since he’d seen that same worry and concern back at the warehouse after he’d nearly died.

However, his head was hurting far too much to think much about it.

Ranpo watched with wide eyes as Fukuzawa took in the scene before him, although he had to close his eyes when the nausea decided to make a reappearance. A cruel thing for his body to do, really, when he’d already thrown up everything he’d eaten. He heard footsteps approach, barely audible to most, but like a timpani to him, and soon he was being lifted and carried. The next few moments blurred together, Ranpo drifting somewhere between conscious and not, but he did remember the distinct feeling of something cold dragging across his skin, bringing with it, utter relief.

Awareness returned to him when he was lifted again, and he blinked once, letting out a whimper when a harsh light assaulted him. The light vanished, but the pain had already increased, and he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He heard Fukuzawa say something, the words indistinguishable, but oh so gentle and soothing, and Ranpo cried just that little bit harder. Which only made his head pound that much harder.

He felt himself lowered back into bed—at some point, Fukuzawa must’ve changed the sheets, but he couldn’t remember his guardian leaving his side—and the actions were so soft and kind, that Ranpo couldn’t help but let out a sob when he was tucked in. It’d been so long since he’d last experienced such kindness, and it was just so, so overwhelming, especially in his current state where his senses and his emotions were heightened. Still, Fukuzawa said nothing, he just sat on the edge of his bed and wiped away the tears that fell with his sleeve until finally, he drifted off.

When he woke, an hour later, Fukuzawa was still there on the edge of the bed, and dozing himself, but now there was a glass of water, along with a couple of painkillers sitting on his bedside table that Ranpo didn’t hesitate to reach for. His head still felt like it was being stabbed—or being electrocuted, but the point was his head really fucking hurt, and he was honestly desperate for any kind of relief at this point. And while he normally struggled to swallow pills, this time he didn’t, taking them easily before he laid back down, his movements disturbing Fukuzawa from his rest.

“How do you feel?” Fukuzawa asked, voice muffled and quiet, yet still loud, in the sea of pain that was Ranpo’s head. A warm hand rested upon his forehead, the touch gentle and soothing, chasing away some of the tension in his body.

He blinked once, eyes heavy, and grunted, unable to do much more than that. He certainly didn’t feel great, and would very much rather be sleeping off this latest migraine of his, but here he was, awake and hurting, and also burdening someone else with his problems. “’m fine…” Ranpo mumbled. “Jus’ a headache…”

Fukuzawa hummed, and his hand fell away. “I’ll grab an ice pack for you. It might help.”

Ranpo liked to think he made some kind of noise in response to Fukuzawa’s statement, but he honestly couldn’t remember. One second, Fukuzawa was there and the next he was gone, only to return shortly after with an ice pack in hand that was quickly settled on his aching skull. The chill chased away the pain to bring him some relief, enough that he could close his eyes and finally drift back to sleep, and as the last of his consciousness faded, he wished to sleep through the rest of this migraine.

Apparently the gods had decided to be merciful for a change, because he did end up sleeping through the rest of the pain, waking up two days later with just a dull ache behind his eyes, to see Fukuzawa asleep on the spare futon next to his bed that the older man must’ve rolled out at some point while he’d been unaware of the world. Seeing Fukuzawa by his side like that, brought a warm feeling to his chest, and he closed his eyes again with the intention of getting some more rest; he managed to get another hour of rest before he woke and saw that Fukuzawa was also awake.

And that meant it was time for his least favourite pastime.

Talking.

If there was one thing Ranpo didn’t like doing, it was talking about himself. Sure, he didn’t mind bragging about his ability and powers of deduction to those that would listen, but there was a difference between talking about his ability, and talking about his migraines. Because his ability was a strength. It was something good that he could use to help other people. It was what made him, him. But the migraines he’d just one day started having? They weren’t good at all. How could they be, when all they did was stop him from functioning? How were migraines supposed to help the people that came to him? The answer was, they weren’t, which was why Ranpo still hadn’t said anything as he and Fukuzawa sat next to each other—well, Fukuzawa sat, Ranpo laid beside him with a cold towel covering his eyes to further dull the ache behind his eyes that continues to cling.

“You have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” Fukuzawa murmured, the quiet tone he took on at just the right volume to be comfortable instead of painful. “They’ll find out if there’s a reason behind your migraines—” Of course Fukuzawa had figured out that this wasn’t the first migraine he’d had. Nothing got past the man and his observation skills apparently. “—and treat them if there is.”

Ranpo grunted, almost certain that a doctor wouldn’t be able to help him. Because if a doctor was actually capable of curing these migraines, then surely his parents would’ve dragged him to the local village doctor to help him? They had loved him, they had cared for him, so why hadn’t they taken him to the doctor when he’d had that first migraine? Sure, it’d been the only one he’d had with them, but it’d been the most pain he’d ever been in his life, and they just… hadn’t taken him. Why? Why hadn’t they? Had they truly loved him? Or was he just imagining that love? It would make sense, it really would, looking back on it now, and he—

A hand threaded through his hair, dragging him away from his spiralling thoughts and bringing him back to the present. Fukuzawa’s voice worked further to ground him, and he rolled over to grab at Fukuzawa’s yukata, hiding his face against the man’s leg. The hand in his hair moved to readjust the cloth so it was covering his eyes. “Ranpo?”

He let out a whine this time. “Yeah?”

“You’ll be okay.”

“Really?” Ranpo asked, uncertain, because no one had ever tried to help him, so he couldn’t understand why Fukuzawa was so willing to do what everyone else had failed to do.

“Yes.” Fukuzawa’s hand returned to his hair, fingers moving through his hair. “You’ll be okay, because I promised to take care of you when I took you in, no matter what, and that includes helping you with this.”

“They’re just headaches…” Ranpo tried to argue, because the last thing he wanted to do was waste Fukuzawa’s time in something he’d managed to deal with for years. Sure, his migraines had increased in frequency over time, but he was still managing just fine. It was just that this one had caught him unaware.

Fukuzawa’s hand paused, and his voice softened even more than before. “You deserve to be free of pain, Ranpo, so please, trust that I’ll be able to help you get treatment for your migraines.”

Ranpo sighed and nodded, allowing himself to be lost in the comfort that Fukuzawa brought, placing his trust in a man that he’d only known for two weeks, trusting in Fukuzawa’s promise of getting him help, and trusting in the words you’ll be okay.

He clung to those words and trusted.

He only hoped that trusting wouldn’t fail him.

Something’s wrong.

The thought came to Fukuzawa unbiddenly, and was sudden enough that he paused mid stroke in the report he was signing. He tried to think back to everything that’d happened so far that day, yet there was nothing that came to mind. The day was as normal as a day at the Agency could be; he’d arrived after making sure that Ranpo was awake and out of bed—there’d been too many a time when he’d woken the boy up, only for him to go back to sleep the moment he left the room—to find Kunikida already there with Atsushi, the two of them working on a case together. Dazai was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t a surprise. Seldom was Dazai ever in the office early, much preferring to start late, and finish late, which coincidentally, worked quite well with Yosano’s schedule as well.

Tanizaki had asked for the day off, because he’d heard that Kenji and Kyouka hadn’t been to Cosmo World, and wanted to take them, and who was Fukuzawa to begrudge his younger staff members into acting their age for a change. It would do them some good, and would also promote closer bonds, all things Fukuzawa approved of his employee’s doing, and not just because it improved work ethic. He wasn’t so foolish as to think his employee’s were the kind of people that could keep going and going without the appropriate breaks. Many—if not all—of them were wounded souls that sometimes needed that little bit of extra care, quite often because they were so bad at taking care of themselves. But that was okay, because Fukuzawa was more than willing to be that support.

Ranpo always liked to tell him he’d turned soft in his old age.

Fukuzawa was inclined to agree, but now wasn’t the time to focus on that; there was still that intense feeling in his gut, telling him that something was wrong, or that something was about to go wrong if nothing had yet, and he could no longer ignore it. And since there was nothing in his office, that meant it had to be something within the main office.

Please let it be a broken window. Fukuzawa thought as he stood from his desk, walking around it towards the door. He was hoping for a broken window, but he knew deep down, that it wouldn’t be as simple as that; this feeling in his gut wouldn’t exist if the problem was just a broken window. Because between his employees and the mafia raids, the windows were broken more often than not, and really, if any of his employees decided to stop being detectives, they could probably open up a window repair business just from how often they’d had to repair the windows.

So yeah, a broken window was the best case scenario in Fukuzawa’s mind.

And he knew it wasn’t when he heard a timid knock, just as he was about to open the door. Fukuzawa shut his eyes for just a moment, and sighed, steeling himself for whatever problem he was about to encounter, before opening the door.

“Oh, um, President!” Atsushi blinked, surprised at how fast the door had been open. But the boy was quick to recover and stood up straight, restless, and fidgety as he always was. But Fukuzawa was a patient man, so he stood there, calm, as he waited for Atsushi to find his words, which thankfully didn’t take long at all. “Kunikida sent me to get you. Something’s wrong with Ranpo.”

Oh no, what’s happened this time? Fukuzawa closed his eyes, already running through every possible problem that could’ve happened with his ward. Which was a long list because Ranpo and trouble may as well have been the same word, what with how often he ended up in it. He let his mind return to that morning when he’d woken the detective; Ranpo hadn’t seemed off when he’d been woken up, only being a little more annoyed than he usually was if anything, and Ranpo hadn’t yet been summoned for a case that day. So whatever the problem was, it was a sudden one, and that was enough for him to step past Atsushi, worried. “What happened.”

Atsushi fell into step beside him. “I could hear his heart rate increasing, so I looked over and he looked to be in pain? I asked Ranpo if he was okay, but he didn’t answer me. But Kunikida looked up and told me to get you before rushing over.” Atsushi’s thought for a moment. “I think I heard him throwing up as I left, but I’m not sure.”

“He probably was.” Fukuzawa confirmed, knowing just from that brief explanation what was wrong. It’d been years since that time he’d woken up to the sound of Ranpo throwing up, two weeks after taking the kid in, suffering from a headache so strong, he’d barely been coherent as Fukuzawa had tried to figure out what was wrong and take care of him. And even after taking Ranpo to the doctor back then and getting him diagnosed with chronic migraines, and getting him the medicine that helped to reduce the frequency of them, the dreaded headaches still enjoyed making their appearance at the most inconvenient of times.

The last time had been before Atsushi had joined them; Ranpo had been summoned out by the police, only to fall ill upon arrival. Dazai had been with him at the time, to Fukuzawa’s relief, because Ranpo hadn’t even been able to stand from how much pain he’d been in.

“He suffers from migraines.” Fukuzawa explained, getting straight to the point because Atsushi wasn’t a child that needed coddling, and in the short time he’d been with the Agency, he’d become just as protective and caring as the rest of the members, fitting in well. “He’s had them for as long as I’ve known him, and he gets rather sick whenever they happen. Try to remain silent when we enter.”

“I understand.” Atsushi nodded, dashing ahead to open the door for Fukuzawa, and he gave the boy a nod as he stepped into the main office, taking care to be silent as he moved.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are off, but Fukuzawa has no trouble locating his ward, if only because Ranpo is currently on the floor, leaning against the side of his desk with Dazai beside him, Ranpo’s head on Dazai’s shoulder, eyes closed and body trembling. There’s a wastebasket being clutched tightly in Ranpo’s grips, and as Fukuzawa steps closer, Ranpo makes a noise that has Kunikida reaching over from Ranpo’s other side to gently guide his head back towards the basket.

The sound of Ranpo throwing up always had Fukuzawa’s heart clenching, and this time was no different as he came to kneel in front of his ward, one hand reaching out to touch his ankle so that Ranpo knew he was there. No words were spoken, in fear of aggravating Ranpo’s migraine, but the relief on Ranpo’s face told him that he knew Fukuzawa was there. Once Ranpo finished throwing up, his head returned to Dazai’s shoulder, one of his hands grabbing at Dazai’s own, his grip loosening on the basket; Kunikida quietly placed it to the side, just in case it was needed again.

“It was sudden.” Kunikida informed him, keeping his voice low. “One minute he was fine, the next he was ill.”

Fukuzawa nodded. That was how most of Ranpo’s migraines tended to go, arriving without any kind of prior warning, so he wasn’t surprised to hear that was what happened this time. “Has he taken any medication?”

“The pills came right back up, so Yosano’s preparing a shot for him instead.” Dazai said this time, squeezing Ranpo’s hand gently. Ranpo mumbled something unintelligible. As soon as he finished speaking, there were footsteps approaching, familiar steps that Fukuzawa had grown accustomed to after a decade of listening out for them, but this time without the distinct clicking of heels, no doubt to limit the amount of noise in the room.

Yosano’s smile was soft as Fukuzawa’s eyes met her own, but she was quick to focus her attention back on the task at hand and shooed Kunikida away so that she had the space to work. They all watched as she pushed Ranpo’s sleeve to his elbow and in the very same breathe, inject him with the painkillers that would hopefully work faster than Ranpo’s usual medications. Yosano sat back on her heels. “We can move him to the infirmary in a minute. I’ve got Atsushi blocking out as much light as possible.”

“We can’t send him home?” Kunikida asked, brow furrowed.

“Not when it’s this bad.” Yosano sighed with a shake of her head. “We need to give the painkillers time to kick in anyway, and besides, the rest will do him good.”

“I’ll watch over him, and take him home once he’s in less pain.” Fukuzawa said as Kunikida opened his mouth to say something. Already he was moving, nudging the others out of the way so that he could get a grip on Ranpo and lift him into his arms, going slow so as to not make the nausea worse. At first, he thought Ranpo might’ve been asleep, considering he didn’t make a noise as he was shifted, but as he shuffled his arms to get a better grip, Ranpo moved to bury his face into the crook of his neck, throwing an arm over his shoulder at the same time.

“I’ll come with you.” Yosano got to her feet and followed Fukuzawa to the infirmary, opening and shutting the door so that Fukuzawa didn’t have to try and juggle both Ranpo and the door handle. Together, they worked on getting Ranpo settled into one of the beds; Yosano grabbed an extra pillow and a few blankets whilst Fukuzawa worked on shedding Ranpo of his layers until he was left in just his shirt and pants. The entire time, Ranpo didn’t make a sound, even though it was obvious he was still conscious from the way that he tried to help. Tried being the key word. But soon enough, Ranpo was settled into the bed with an ice pack over his eyes, dozing now, and the scene was so reminiscent of that time when Ranpo was fourteen, that Fukuzawa felt as if he’d been thrown back in time.

Fukuzawa sat in the chair that’d been pulled over and glanced over at Yosano. “How bad was it?”

“It was bad.” Yosano sat in the chair beside him, drawing her knees up so that she could rest her head against his shoulder. Fukuzawa reached over with one hand and patted the top of her head a few times. “Certainly one of the worst ones I’ve seen him have. Have you seen worse?”

“Two weeks after I took him in.” Fukuzawa answered. He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. Yosano had been apart of their lives for a decade, and was plenty smart herself. She could put the pieces together without him having to say so.

“He’ll be okay.” It wasn’t a question, nor a statement, but more of a reassurance. Still, Fukuzawa nodded.

“He’ll be okay.”

And Ranpo would be, because this wasn’t the first migraine he’d ever had.

Nor would it be the last.

[karume-everything-else]

Flufftober 2023

Day 1: Waking up to broken wall of blankets [Reader x Qrow Branwen] {RWBY}

A pounding head was nothing new to Qrow, especially since he woke up to frequent hangovers. But having something warm and soft nestled in his arms was more than a little startling. Instead of freaking out however, Qrow just tried remembering what happened last night. This could be some poor chic he picked up while on mission after all.

She, or rather they, wouldn't know what's going on or why their companion was freaking out, right?

Before he could get his mind fully up and running, you woke up and violently shoved away. Knocking yourself clean off the bed and just about dragging Qrow with you. Though part of that was his fault for attempting to cling.

Peeking over the edge of the bed, "You okay there [Name]? I can't smell that bad..."

"We had a fail-safe for this bird brain!"

You were a little salty and aggressive due to being completely rejected by Qrow multiple times, though Ozpin seemed determined to keep the two of you together. It was becoming quite the cruel irony that Qrow of all people was trying to be lighthearted about the situation. Even if you were secretly thrilled to be tucked in his arms like that.

"Oh yeah, that massive wall of blankets you insisted on having." He scratched his chin, "Y'know, since it didn't work..."

"Don't, please." Qrow's eyes followed you around, confused as sin, "Don't get my hopes up like that. You know how I feel about you. And I know how you feel about me. So just don't try to 'fix' it like this. I'll only get hurt that way."

"Sorry." He muttered as you gathered your gear, "I just... I didn't... I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly."

Looking at the blanket fort around himself, Qrow realized he had broken through the wall. He had been the one seeking comfort and human warmth. He was the one wanting you closer. Not the other way around. He couldn't ignore it anymore, but he knew that saying so would hurt you.

He didn't want you getting hurt too. Not like this anyways.

.

"So you just didn't tell them?" Glenda frowned, "You do know Oz is trying to help you after what happened, right?"

Qrow didn't answer, growling softly from behind his flask. He didn't want help, he was a wreck. This wasn't something anyone could fix or make him any less of a failure than he is.

"You can't just ignore this forever. They genuinely-"

"They'll move on." Qrow snapped, "It's not like I wanted it to go that way! But I don't need them around alright."

The way Glenda's eyes flashed over Qrow's shoulder told him exactly what he didn't want to know. You had walked in, and only heard the last thing he just said. This was going to be a pain to deal with... especially on the next mission in a couple days.

.

Would Qrow ever get tired of waking up with a splitting, hangover headache? He knew he should, but for a few hours he could forget... everything.

Well, almost everything. The warm figure in his arms made him painfully aware of how lonely he truly felt.

How easy it would be to let you in his life permanently.

This time, you only groaned as you sat up. It was getting old, you would just have to tell Oz you couldn't work with Qrow like this anymore. No matter how well you two worked together in the field, your heart couldn't take this much longer.

"[Name], I'm sorry." You barely turned, apologies from Qrow weren't normal but you weren't in a good mood, "I keep drunkenly breaking through your blanket walls. It's just me being an a$$hole, ignoring my own feelings, and hurting you in the process."

You paused with the straps of your weapon holster, "Who are you and what have you done with Qrow Branwen?"

"It was what I was talking about with Glenda a few days ago." Qrow couldn't face you, instead just getting dressed, "I know you haven't said anything about what you heard, but I didn't... I wasn't trying to say it as bad as it sounded. It was more frustration at Oz. Assigning us like this all the time."

Going back to your gear, "You won't have to worry about that too much longer. I'm going to ask Oz to stop."

"That's not what I meant!"

"But you don't need anyone, right?"

Qrow slumped forward, "Maybe it's not about need, but I clearly want you around. I keep breaking through your blanket walls to cuddle you after all. So..."

"You never asked anyone out before, have you?" You couldn't help but smirk over this, "Or maybe you're just smoother when you're drunk."

He couldn't do more than stutter, this situation wasn't ideal but at least you didn't seem mad at him anymore. Though this would take some getting used to, that was certain.

[iamthecomet]

And hoot again :D

Yeah, you’re very right (both with so quickly depending on it being overwhelming and with it showing how much I needed it)

The trip to therapy went quite well! The bus wasn‘t overly full on both ways, so I could sit down which was really good. I‘m still nervous for the first time that I’ll sit down on the floor if all seats are taken (it would be safer and better for me, but before I was always too scared to do that. Now that I have a cane that makes it sort of visible that I have trouble walking/standing, I want to try to do it).

I have suspected that I have hypermobile joints for a while (the problem is that I’m not in enough pain to really struggle so much that it would really be worth seeing a doctor for, but I’ll mention it when I got my next appointment). Part of the problem is my bad memory, because due to that I honestly can‘t even remember if I’m in pain (I know stuff constantly and quickly starts hurting but that’s probably normal in most cases and I also have a really high pain tolerance).

My body can do things it‘s apparently not supposed to do though

But I feel it with the cane, cause my wrist always sort of wobbles cause it’s really not stable. So I tried applying tape today, but only went to the very near grocery store that takes like a minute to walk to. So I don’t really know how much it has helped yet regarding walking with the cane. I do feel more comfortable though, and I think it‘s also helping me with writing and drawing

(On the video I watched the guy explained what the hypermobile thing in that hand he was showing it on is exactly, what it would look like if it wasn‘t hypermobile and what the tape is gonna do. And my thumb has the exact position that is a result of the joint being hypermobile (so like my suspicion doesn’t seem to be too wrong)

Since noon I had a really really bad headache that felt like my skull was split open and my brain crushed. So really not nice. I took 1,5 ibuprofen and later one paracetamol but nothing helped.

Then I tested myself cause I remembered that the only time I had such a bad headache was when I had COVID and boom! Positive

So yeah. I‘ll stay in bed tomorrow (and my head hurts so fucking much. I hate it)

I‘ll send you pics when the order gets here if you want! :D

But two pairs of Doc Martens sounds very nice!

A really sweet and funny story:

A friend of mine asked me to explain Ghost (as in, explain everything).

Three days ago I sent a video of like a few clips of Jutty, one of which being this clip in which he is like “unfollowing is bullying“ and “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨“

And since then, we‘ve constantly been sending “wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨” back and forth (then we started to send the clip as a only one time viewable video so it wouldn’t be visible beforehand).

Today, I cut off the beginning of an edit and put that clip behind that to hide it and sent it to them. They have also hidden it in a poll on WhatsApp already

It turned into a game and we can‘t stop laughing about it because it‘s so fucking silly xD (it‘s practically like Rick-rolling)

wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨

(You just got wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨-ed. You‘re welcome xD)

~ @owlishanon

I'm glad it's still going well! It's good that it gives you so much peace of mind and that you feel confident doing what you need to do now without worrying that something awful is going to happen. But I'm so sorry that you have COVID! It's rotten. I hope you get lots of rest and your headache doesn't last too long. Sleep and drink lots of water! You can definitely send me pictures of the stuff you get when it comes in! I always love to see people's hauls! I am very excited about my docs. I paid $140 for both pairs, which is like half of one what one of them costs brand new. I feel VERY lucky about it. One pair is rusty orange suede, they're short boots. Great for every day. The other are standard black knee highs which have been my dream boots since, like, forever (I've owed many, many pairs of knee high lace-up boots, but none of them were Docs). The wHaT iF i WaS cOsMo 🧐🤨 thing has me giggling. Thank you for that. What a great joke to have with your friends, seriously. Fucking Jutty. He kills me in the best ways.

[smilesstardust]

Hailey woke up to a splitting headache and a pounding on the front door. She’d had a little too much wine the night before, and washed it down with a couple of glasses of whiskey as she had the day off and had intended to spend it in bed.

She swung her legs out of bed and grabbed the glass of water she was thankful she’d remembered to put on her nightstand, draining it in one go. She grabbed one of Jay’s hoodies off the chair and pulled it on as she walked towards the door, having slept wearing much less than she usually would have because of the early summer heat. She pulled down her sleep shorts that she was wearing underneath so that they were actually visible and it didn’t look like she was answering the door half naked.

"I’m coming!" She shouted as the knock came again, just as she moved the empty glasses and half drunk bottles over to the kitchen so the wouldn’t be the first thing whoever was at the door noticed. "Give me a minute." She muttered under her breath. She combed her fingers through her hair to make sure it wasn’t a tangled birds nest, and opened the door.

She didn’t know who she was expecting on the other side, but a young woman holding the hand of a little girl was not it. They didn’t look related, the woman’s tanned skin and dark hair a stark contrast to the the little girl’s freckles and light reddish brown hair. Hailey was sure she’d never seen the girl before, but there was something so familiar about the way she looked that she couldn’t quite place.

Nobody spoke for first few seconds, and the silence seemed to stretch out until was almost uncomfortable. "Uh, hi?" Hailey said after a moment, deciding to bite the bullet. The sooner whatever this was had been dealt with, the sooner she could go back to bed.

"Sorry, I think I must have the wrong address." The woman apologised. "I’m looking for Jay Halstead’s apartment."

"Uh, no, you’re in the right place." Hailey shook her head a little, trying not to show just how surprised she was by someone asking after Jay. "I’m Hailey. His wife." Hailey pretended not to see the woman glance towards her left hand, looking for the wedding ring that had been hidden away since she took it off a few weeks ago.

"Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise he was married." She looked fairly young, Hailey thought as she apologised again, maybe early to mid twenties at most. Even if there had been any resemblance between them, Hailey would have been surprised if she was old enough to be the girl’s mother. "Is he here? I’m sorry, I really need to speak to him and this is my last resort. I’ve been calling him but he didn’t answer any of them."

"Don’t worry, it’s nothing personal, he doesn’t answer mine either." She muttered to herself. "He’s on deployment in Bolivia, has been outside the wire for the last week and isn’t due to be reachable for another two days minimum." She explained.

"Oh." She sighed. "Crap."

"Anything I can help with?" Hailey asked. The woman must have been a CI of Jay’s. He’d only passed a few over to her when he left, and if he’d flipped her right before then Hailey definitely wouldn’t have known anything about her. She didn’t look like a CI, but that didn’t exactly discount her. There wasn’t a single other reason Hailey could think a random woman would be on her doorstep at quarter to eight in the morning asking to speak to her husband.

"Um, I suppose if you’re his wife?" She stammered, looking down at the little girl, who was looking up at Hailey with an expression she couldn’t quite read. "I’m from DCFS. The paperwork is pretty clear that in the event Ms Lindsay wasn’t able to care for her then Katherine here needs to go straight to Mr Halstead for him to take custody. I’ll have to check with my boss, but if you’re his wife I guess it’s the same thing."

It was like Hailey’s brain was buffering as she tried to process the information that had just been thrown at her. The fact she’d spent the previous night drinking to spend the day in bed recovering probably didn’t help. "I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to explain that. From the beginning."

"This is Katherine. Mr Halstead’s daughter." Hailey’s hangover could wait. She had more important things to deal with.

[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 200,

Morning thought: I wonder how they reckon the turn of the new year in this place?  As I recall, in my past world we counted it in early winter.  Sometime around now actually, given that the solstice was a couple of weeks ago.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure they even do distinctly mark the passage of years here.  They’re strangely averse to calendars here.  Part of the reason reorganizing the archive took so long.

Wait, but they still celebrate birthdays and refer to their ages by year.  Is this another “outsider auto translation” paradox?  This is going to bug me now until I ask someone about it, isn't it?

*******

No mists today, so no funeral.  In retrospect I probably should have gone outside to check on that before making my morning entry.

Anyway, back to yesterday’s exploration.

Once we’d confirmed that we could all hear the chanting I passed out the notebooks I’d taken from the archive.  The plan was for us all to try transcribing what we heard.  While the chanting did seem to be composed of multiple voices, as far as any of us could tell they all seemed to be speaking the same words in unison.  Thankfully the language of the Village uses a phonetic script, otherwise I’m not sure how we would have gone about writing down a bunch of unknown words.

First though, we took our time walking about the cathedral to see if we could identify a source for the chanting.  A task made confoundingly difficult by the apparent lack of direction to the sound, if indeed it truly even was a sound.  At any rate, covering our ears did nothing to make it quieter, yet talking loudly enough seemed to drown it out.  Almost like the ringing from a mild case of tinnitus; maddeningly loud when all else is quiet yet add in a little ambient noise and you practically forget it was ever there.

That all said the chanting did seem to get marginally louder the closer one got to the Reader statue.  Not that the statue was making the noise per say, for we could feel no vibration when pressing our hands to it and walking around it did nothing to the apparent directionality - or lack thereof - of the sound.  The best analogy I can think to give is one that I’m not sure if the Village’s language even has words for and I’m liable to give myself a headache if I try to think about or examine any of the individual words.  Said analogy being to compare the Reader statue to a wireless transmission antenna and our ears/brains/minds to receivers for the chanting.  The closer you get, the better the signal strength.

*******

Got curious and tried to really go back and examine those last two sentences I wrote a letter at a time then a word at a time.  It was… unpleasant.  Even more than I expected.  Headache, dizziness, nausea, the works.  Probably the worst reaction I’ve had to trying to bypass the auto translation.  Even worse than the first time I tried doing it before spending the weeks leading up to the rainy season practicing.  I wound up needing to take a break and lie down for a bit.

On the bright side, it makes for a decent topic transition as the only other time that came close to that was when I tried doing the phonetic transcriptions yesterday.  That made for an unexpected complication in our plans.  Not to mention that Maiko wasn’t yet quite proficient enough in writing to be able to keep up with the transcription as the words of the chant were being said.

Amending the plan, we decided that Cass, Lin, and Vernon would sit around the Reader while Maiko and I would keep walking around to see if there were any other loud spots or places where the chant seemed to change.

Maiko initially suggested that we split up to make the searching go faster, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere by myself on (probably) haunted ground.  

As we’d already noted in our initial sweep that the volume of the chanting swiftly dropped off as soon as we started to go down the stairs to the catacombs, we started by heading back out the door to case the surrounding area with its ruined foundations of side buildings.  That proved to be a less than fruitful endeavor.  The chanting - already quiet at that distance from the reader - cut off abruptly along with the chill as soon as we crossed the threshold, and nowhere amongst the wider ruins did it return.  We were just discussing the prospect of Maiko climbing to the lower terrace of the roof and checking to see if the voices could be heard from any of the broken windows when the rain that had been going all morning finally ceased.

Rejoining the others back inside the now quiet cathedral we compared notes over a lunch of what food we’d brought with us while we waited to see if the rain would return.  We confirmed that we were all hearing the same words, whatever they were, although there were - as expected - discrepancies in interpretations of pronunciations and how to best transliterate them.  And while there were gaps where someone’s focus would waver or their hand would cramp up resulting in missed words, having three sets of notes mostly patched those up.  Some words or phrases did seem to come up more than others, but during their time of transcription nothing ever seemed to loop.  Additionally, everyone that was in the cathedral at the time agreed that when the rain stopped, the voices cut off mid-sentence.

After an hour or so, the rain came back, harder this time.  The chanting seemed louder as well.

This time around Cass, Lin, and Vernon split up to different spots in the cathedral just in case there might be any variance in position beyond volume.  Meanwhile, Maiko and I returned to the catacomb.

We weren’t quite halfway down that spiraling staircase when I had another episode, flashing for a second - if even that long - to the other, capital-C Catacombs.  Thank goodness Maiko was there to catch me, or else I might have broken my neck tumbling down the stairs when my vision and awareness shifted.  What I saw in that moment  (or rather, heard) was the second most exciting thing of the day.

As ever in those nightmares, I was alone but I could still hear the chanting.  What’s more, I could understand it.  Unfortunately, it was too brief to make out more than a few words, taken mid-sentence, useless without context.

“-and then we will a-”

And then we will what?  Ascend?  Ask?  Answer? Aspirate?  As much as I’d like to think it’s that first one, there’s really no way of knowing for now.  I’ve never known it to rain on a mist night, and even if it did, it would hardly be safe to sleep down there with shades about.

Then again, for reasons I’ll get to shortly, perhaps not so unsafe as one might expect at first glance.

Once we finished our descent tumble-free it was obvious that the chanting was utterly absent here.  Maybe the rain had stopped already, but if that were the case, one of the others likely would have come down to let us know.  And so we began walking that pillared space once more, stopping and listening at intervals to see if the chanting returned as our location shifted.

Nothing.  Not even when standing directly under the Reader.

And then Maiko put a hand on one of the sarcophagi.  Gasped.  Told me to come over and do the same.

When I did so I could hear the chanting once more.  After a fashion.  Where the chanting heard above was comprised of many voices in unison, this was a singular speaker.  As I took my hand on and off the carved stone lid the voice started and stopped.  Or at least my ability to hear it did.  A quick test of Maiko keeping her hand on the sarcophagus and repeating the words as she heard them confirmed that the chant kept going without me listening and when I returned my hand I’d be hearing the same as Maiko.  Testing a few others, we confirmed that with each we heard a voice unique to that particular sarcophagus.

Maiko suggested that we check other sarcophagi to see if any of them were saying anything different from one another before we went back up to retrieve the others and have them record what they could hear down here.  It seemed a reasonable enough plan and I went along with it, thinking no more of it.  Nor did I object beyond a request to stay in eye and ear contact when Maiko said we ought to split up to check more at once.

I made the connection some time later when I heard a shout from the other end of the catacombs and realized I’d let Maiko out of my sight.  It wasn’t a loud shout.  The sort of noise you make when you want to scream in anger or frustration but are trying to stay quiet at the same time so it comes out more like a grunt.  Not loud enough to be heard by anyone upstairs.

I ran toward the noise, catching up just in time to see Maiko straining to dislodge the lid from a sarcophagus.  She ignored my cry as she lifted and pushed.  It was a strain even for her, but with a grinding of stone on stone she managed enough to peak in through a corner.  At times like that, I wonder if there’s something supernatural to her strength on top of her size and musculature.

Not that there was much time for such musings.  The deed was done, and by then I was close enough to peer around Maiko and take a look myself, curious despite all my protestations mere moments before.

Inside was a shade.

It was hard to get a good look at it through that aperture and their forms are indistinct by nature, so there was no way to tell if it had horns like Maiko or other features like Iole’s Ascended illustrations, but there was no mistaking what it was.  And just like a shade at morning’s first light, it melted and disappeared before our eyes.

A shade.

Lying in a box.

During the daytime.

And it dissipated when we opened the box.

Lining the interior of the sarcophagus on every surface I could see were carvings.  Inset into these carvings, filling them, were pieces of metal that brought to mind Priscilla’s map box and the machines in Melaina’s workshop, each perfectly shaped to fill their slot and flush with the surface.  Whether they were more examples of that ancient script or abstract geometric shapes I was too busy fighting down the warring reactions of panic and adrenaline to say with any certainty.

Maiko returned the lid to its original place without another word.

We stared at each other for a time.

Back to the stairs, still not a word.

No chanting from the box when I put my hand on it just before leaving.

Upstairs the others greeted us and asked if we found anything interesting down there given how long we’d been gone.

I told them that it was quiet down there, but if you put your hand on a sarcophagus you could hear chanting.  Just one voice, and a different voice per sarcophagus.

Neither of us mentioned opening one.

Cass of course literally jumped at the chance to head right down and try it out for herself.  Lin volunteered to stay up top and keep transcribing while Cass and Vernon went down and recorded what they heard there.  Maiko volunteered to escort them down and show them while I stayed to keep Lin company.

No one ever mentioned any kind of change or disruption that might have been connected to the release(?) of that shade.

We stayed in those grouping assignments until the rain stopped.  A second round of note comparisons indicated that, as best we could tell, the downstairs chanting was in sync with the upstairs.

Afterwards, we called it a day and headed back out, Maiko to the house and the rest of us to the Village in case the mists came the next morning and we were required for the funeral.  I’ve got hold of all three notebooks now.  Or rather, I did, but I’ve hidden them until I’m ready to go through them with Cass.  I worry this is the sort of answer-seeking that Theo wouldn’t take well to if he caught wind of it.

Speaking of Cass, I suppose I should mention that I’ve had her doing various bits of busywork around the archive today while I come up with excuses not to start going through the notes in detail yet.  Mostly I’m still trying to decide whether to tell her about Maiko opening that sarcophagus (“umbraphagus”?).  I’d hoped that writing down what happened would help get my thoughts in order for making a decision, but I’m not much further on that than when I started.

I’m still not sure why I didn’t tell the others about that, and it makes me sick keeping them in the dark like that.  And yet every time I start to I find myself either stopping or changing the subject.  The best words I can think to put to it is it feels like that Maiko and I crossed a line with our transgression, breaking too strong a taboo to even speak of the deed afterward.

First chance I get I should talk it over with Maiko.

Putting off thinking about a little while longer though, two hundred days.  That feels like another milestone.  I ought to say something retrospective here but I’m not sure what.  Some poetic comparison about the happenstance bookending of anticipating tomorrow’s funerary mist night compared to one hundred’s looking forward to a sunny day at the beach (and weird, revelatory conversation with Pat)?  Maybe a comparison of my experience of the island’s seasons?  How about this: a disclaimer to readers, whether future archivists, the future outsiders, or even my future self taking a stroll down memory lane.

If you haven’t figured out by now, I’m not a reliable narrator.  No one truly is, but I worry I may be worse than most in these journals of mine.  I simplify.  I streamline.  I’m far from objective in my descriptions.  I guess at people’s emotions because I’m bad at reading them and I probably make their personalities come across as flatter than they are because I record only my limited perspective and their relations to me.  I fill in blanks in my memory for the sake of narrative.  

The purpose of these journals from the beginning has been to help me make sense of myself and my circumstances, and this is how I do that.  Does that make me a bad archivist?  Perhaps, but I like to think it makes me human, and this was never for the official record anyway.

All of this, what has come before and what is yet to come, is not a record of events as they happened but as I experienced them.  We would all do well to remember the difference.

<==Previous          Next==>

[lizzie-boo]

Together We Can Do Anything

Steve Harrington x Munson!Reader 

Request: Heyyy! Could you do Eddie Munson x sister reader where she’s vecnas next victim? Maybe she’s dating Steve too please 

Requested by: Anon 

Words: 4,706

Summary: You’d been having headaches and nightmares for days, so when your boyfriend tells you those are signs of Vecna, an evil force preying on Hawkins residents, you chalk it up to coincidence. What happens when it turns out to be more than just a coincidence? And what exactly does this have to do with your brother hiding from the cops? 

A/N: The request asked for a sister reader but I never actually stated that it was a sister so it should be a gender-neutral story. I absolutely loved this request and I wrote way more for it than I thought I was going to. I definitely think that there is potential for a part 2 based off of what happens in Season 4 part 2 when that comes out. So if you would be interested in that let me know. Enjoy!

The headaches had started just over four days ago. At first, it had been a dull thump in the back of your head but as the days dragged on the pain increased. No matter how many aspirins you took, the pain never seemed to cease. It felt as if your skull was about to split from all the pressure building against it. The pain now resided not only in the back of your head but also behind your eyes and in your temples. It wasn’t even a match for the worst migraine you had ever experienced. The pain alone had you wondering just how much more of this you could take.

But no, the throbbing ache in your head wasn’t all of it. You had also been recently plagued by grueling nightmares. Your life had been filled with its fair share of trauma so far and the dreams you were having were a constant reminder. They were so vivid that it was as if they were happening all over again. As if you were there, right in the middle of it.

It was starting to drive you crazy, the pain and fear left you wanting to find some form of release. However, you knew there was nothing you could do that wouldn’t worry those closest to you. The last thing you wanted was to become a burden to those around you. Which is why you refused to tell your brother Eddie about what was happening when he would ask if you were alright.

It was the same reason that you had stopped spending the night at your boyfriend Steve’s house. The nightmares were your burden to carry and the last thing you wanted was to keep him up at night as well. Hence why you found yourself sitting in the living room of your uncle’s trailer trying to distract yourself so that you wouldn’t fall asleep. Because if you didn’t sleep then you couldn’t dream, and thus, you wouldn’t have nightmares. It seemed like a great idea to your sleep-addled brain.

You stared at the television screen as the movie credits began to roll. You weren’t sure what movie you had just watched, they had started to blur together after the second one of the night. The distraction had worked for a little but now it was becoming increasingly hard to fight off the tiredness. Your eyelids felt as if they were twice as heavy compared to the start of the night. Even your blinks seemed to last longer as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Glancing at the door to the trailer you wonder if Eddie had come home. You tried to sift through the cloudy memories of the night to figure it out but you couldn’t focus over the searing pain in your head. It was as if the headache and lack of sleep were making your thoughts foggy. The harder you tried to remember the more your head protested, the ache becoming too much to handle. Closing your eyes in a last-ditch effort to ease the pain you end up falling asleep. Letting the nightmares take hold, a whimper, then a scream escapes you as you relive the worst moments of your life.

Maybe if you had been less tired you would have realized that Eddie hadn’t come home yet. Or that you hadn’t actually seen him in over two days. Yet, you had been too focused on the searing pain that clouded your thoughts to piece together that last time you had talked to him. Maybe with a bit more sleep, you would have realized that you hadn’t talked to your boyfriend the past two days either. If only you had realized because maybe then you would’ve known what was happening to you.

When you woke up the next morning, the headache seemed to be worse than before. A feat that you didn’t think humanly possible. Downing a couple of aspirin you decided to call Steve to see if he was working at Family Video today. You had to return your movies anyway and knowing he would be there to greet you would be a welcome distraction.

Your body felt sluggish as you made your way over to the phone hanging on the wall. All of your muscles ached, longing for just a bit more sleep. Picking up the phone you dialed Steve’s number without missing a beat. The number ingrained in your memory from countless nights spent on the phone talking about anything and everything.

On the third ring, the line is finally picked up, “Harrington residence,” his mom answers.

“Hi Mrs. Harrington, is Steve home?” you ask, trying to sound as polite and cheery as you can.

“Sorry dear he’s not home right now, must’ve left early this morning.”

“Oh, okay, thanks.” The line goes dead before you can even say goodbye.

You roll your eyes, unable to contain your dislike of Steve’s mother. She had never liked you very much, often pointing out how Nancy was a much better match for Steve. Steve was always quick to reassure you that his parent’s opinions didn’t matter, especially since he wasn’t fond of them himself. Right now though you didn’t have time to dwell on your hatred of his parents because what she had told you seemed odd. Steve never left for work early, especially not hours early.

Your thoughts began to race and all you could think was maybe he hadn’t come home last night. Now jumping to conclusions you began to worry about who he might have been with last night. Who he would be replacing you with next. The spiraling thoughts seemed to be never-ending and it felt as if your head was spinning.

The sound of a car door slamming outside is enough to pull you from the torrent of thoughts. Peaking out the window you see your boyfriend’s car parked in front of Max’s house. Seeing him leaning against the hood of the car fills you with relief, at least you know where someone is. Yanking the door open you rush down the front steps and run across the street. Barreling into Steve you wrap your arms around his neck almost knocking him over in the process.

His arms wrap around your waist pulling you closer as he moves a hand to hold the back of your head. “What’s wrong baby? Did something happen?”

“No, I just called your house and your mom said you were already gone and I guess I just jumped to conclusions,” you mumble into his chest.

“You thought I was cheating on you?” He pulls you away from his chest just far enough to look into your eyes. “I would never, and I mean never cheat on you.”

He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before placing another on your lips. For the first time in days, you begin to feel normal, the aching in your body no longer at the forefront of your mind. Instead, you relish in the bliss that always comes when you’re with Steve.

The moment doesn’t last long though. Soon enough Max comes running from behind her house, eyes wide with unshed tears. She yells at everyone to get back into the car and no one even asks why. You follow suit, concerned with what’s happening.

“Was it Vecna?” Lucas asks.

Max nods slightly and everyone seems to tense. It’s as if the air within the car stands still. Unsure of what they are talking about you break the tense silence, “Who’s Vecna?”

“A monster that is trying to kill Max,” Dustin tells you.

Max turns to look out the window trying to ignore the conversation. Lucas watches her for a minute before turning to punch Dustin in the arm.

“Can someone please explain what’s happening?”

Adjusting his grip on the steering wheel Steve takes over. “So Eddie met up with Chrissy in the woods the other night but Vecna got her. So now the cops think that he killed her which Dustin knew wasn’t true so he came to get me and Robin-”

You cut him off, “My brother is wanted for murder?” Your voice comes out louder than it should in the small space but you can’t help it. How could you have missed this all happening? Your own brother was running from the cops and you had just thought he was asleep in his room.

“Yes, but let me finish.” He reaches for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Anyway, we tracked him down, got his side of the story, and well after a bit of investigating we found out that Vecna is behind the deaths of Fred and Chrissy. It started the same way for both of them, headaches, nightmares, nosebleeds, and then visions. So when we found that out Max told us she had all of those too, so now we need to protect her before Vecna gets to her.”

“Wait, who’s Fred?”

“He was Nancy’s friend,” Dustin tells you, pulling on the back of your seat so he can lean over your shoulder.

“So Nancy is helping with all of this too?” Your stomach twists and the doubt from earlier begins to creep back in. You know that what they had is long gone and that Steve only has feelings for you but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if maybe part of those feelings live on somewhere deep inside of him that even he doesn’t know about. That maybe one day the flame for her will reignite, filling him with a love for her that even you can’t extinguish.

“Yeah, her and Robin are sneaking into Pennhurst Asylum right now!” Dustin informs you, sounding a bit too excited about it for your liking.

“They’re trying to find anything that could help us figure out how to keep Max safe,” Lucas adds on.

“How long do you think she has?” you whisper to Steve, not wanting to upset the girl more.

“So far it seems like after the visions start it’s about a day, so she doesn’t have much longer,” he whispers back.

“Wait, the visions didn’t start at the same time as everything else?”

“They seem to start after everything else, right before he comes to collect his next victim.” Your stomach twists and you feel as if you’re going to be sick. It has to be a coincidence right? Headaches and nightmares are common, there was no way that you were on the list for some crazy interdimensional monster. Besides, you hadn’t had any weird visions or nosebleeds, so there was no reason to be scared. It was all just a major coincidence. At least that’s what you were going to tell yourself.

The car falls silent once more as Steve drives to the next destination on Max’s list. His thumb rubs against the back of your hand and you can’t tell if it’s him trying to calm you or calm himself. Staring out the window you contemplate whether or not you should tell your boyfriend about the similarities, just in case. It isn’t until the car jolts to a stop at the entrance to the cemetery that you decide it’s better to keep it to yourself. Steve already has enough to worry about with keeping Max and the rest of the kids safe, he doesn’t need your paranoia thrown in too.

It doesn’t take long for you to see Vecna in action. Watching Max’s body lift into the air has your heart beating faster than you ever thought possible. As her bag is dumped on the ground you grab her walkman. It feels oddly heavy in your hand and your fingers feel as if they can barely hold on. You fumble with the buttons, trying to open it in time for the boys to put the cassette tape in. Sliding your fingers over the buttons you search for the right one, feeling as if your hands are failing you. Finally, you press the button and it pops open, just in time for Lucas to shove the tape in.

The headphones are placed on her just before she floats out of reach and all you can do is stare helplessly hoping that it will work. Her hands twitch for a moment and it is enough for you to hold onto the hope that it will work. The commotion around you had turned to a faint buzzing that melded with the strong heartbeat echoing in your ears. It seemed as if the second ticked by in slow motion as you waited for any sign.

Then all at once, Max dropped down, Lucas pulling her to his chest. The sound of their voices finally reached you and it felt as if you could move again. As if your body was no longer stuck in quicksand. Dropping to your knees you inspected the girl in front of you, looking for any signs of injury. Once you determined she was safe you ushered the kids back to the car, not wanting to spend another second here.

As the car pulls away from the cemetery you lean your head against the cool glass looking out over the tombstones. That’s when you see it, looming in the distance between the two headstones you were all too familiar with, a grandfather clock. It takes a minute for the image to sink in and when it does you rub your eyes. With that everything goes back to normal outside but inside you are left with the lingering feeling of doubt.

It had to be the lack of sleep making you see things. At least that was what you were going to tell yourself because there was no way you were going to let yourself believe that you were next on the list of a crazed bloodthirsty monster. It was just the lack of sleep, after some rest, you would be back to normal. So you close your eyes, letting your head rest against the window as you fall asleep.  

It doesn’t take long for the nightmares to kick in full force. Once more you are plunged into your worst memory. Your cheeks feel wet from what you can only assume are tears and your throat is raw from your screams. Reliving the moment has you breaking down and feeling more vulnerable than ever before.

You let out a soft cry in your sleep and Steve quirks a brow in your direction before turning to look at the road once more. When you let out a whimper he checks the rear view mirror to find the equally concerned faces of the kids in the backseat. They all sit in silence unsure of if they should wake you. When a particularly rough scream escapes you all their hands shoot in your direction.

You jolt awake at the feeling of Dustin’s hands on your shoulders, Max’s on your arm, and Steve’s free hand holding your own. Blinking slowly you realize that the tears you shed in your dream were not at all fake. Brushing your cheeks with your free hand, you rid the trails lining your face.

You turn to look at Dustin, who was still holding tight to you. “Oops, sorry,” he tells you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you okay?” Lucas asks.

“Hmm, yeah. It was just a bad dream. Nothing major.”

“It wasn’t a Vecna dream was it?” the redhead asks.

You give her a soft smile before reaching back to grab her hand. “It was just a regular nightmare, no need to worry about me.”

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment before squeezing your hand. As if to say she is still worried but believes you.  “Just promise if you have any other symptoms you’ll tell us.”

“Of course, but let’s not worry about me, we need to focus on how to defeat this creep before he gets the chance to grab you again.”

The five of you rendezvous with Nancy and Robin at the Wheeler’s house. All pilling into the basement to decide on your next steps. You’re all sitting around the table arguing over what to do next when the radio beeps. All eyes turn, waiting for the message when Eddie’s voice comes through.

“Hey, so there’s a lot to explain but I’m by skull rock, please come find me soon. Over.” His voice sounds staticky over the receiver but you’ve never felt more relieved to hear your brother’s voice.

The full reality that he was on the run and wanted for murder hadn’t fully sunk in until just now when you finally heard the panic in his voice. Relief and dread had washed over you simultaneously and now they seemed to be battling it out. Trying to decide which way to sway your emotions. The mental back and forth is tiring and all you want is for all of this to be over. You want to go back to how life was before, before the pain, before the murders, before the constant concern for everyone who was important to you.

Finally, the relief is able to edge its way to victory when your eyes finally land on Eddie’s figure in the distance. You take off running, Dustin and Lucas close behind you. Wrapping your arms around your brother you try not to cry. After a minute you pull away just enough to land a solid punch on his shoulder.

He grabs his arm. “What was that for?” he asks.

“You scared the shit out of me, what did you go get yourself involved with?”

“How was I supposed to know that when I went to sell her some drugs she was gonna float and snap like a twig?” Eddie argues.

“You just should’ve.” Your hands land on your hips as you glare at him.

Finally reaching you Steve stops at your side letting his arm rest on your waist. He then reaches a hand out to Eddie and pulls him in for a half hug, trapping their arms between them. You take the opportunity of your brother’s close proximity to place another punch on his arm. His palm pushes into your forehead just enough so you stumble back a few steps but Steve tightens his hold to keep you upright.

“It’s gonna be fine, Henderson said they’ve been through this before,” Eddie reassures.

“Yeah babe, we’re gonna figure this out,” Steve tells you.

Laying your head on his shoulder you take a moment to just breathe. He places a kiss on your forehead and you can tell he is mentally preparing for the fight that is sure to go down soon. You can feel all of your muscles relax slightly as his warmth seeps in.

Gently you slide his arm off your waist, turning towards the trees behind you. Hesitantly you step towards the treeline. As you move closer you begin to make out a noise, with another step the noise becomes clear. A voice in the distance calls your name. Stepping over a small bush you make your way towards the voice, a voice that you now can distinguish as Mike Wheelers. He calls your name again causing you to speed up the pace.

He must have cut his trip to California short. This means that he is unaware of what is going on in Hawkins. He could be in danger you tell yourself as you break into a sprint.

As the words spring to mind, you hear the words you were dreading most. “Help!” he screams and you rush towards the sound of his voice. His cries for help draw nearer but you don’t slow down. Your lungs burn, struggling to fill with enough oxygen to keep up with your pace but you push on.

Your feet pound against the ground crushing sticks under your shoes as you go. Pushing a tree branch out of the way you make a sharp turn towards the direction of Mike’s voice. Dodging a tree you narrowly miss the roots sticking out. You push harder, using everything in you to run as fast as you can. The branches that you don’t move graze your arms and legs, littering your flesh with scrapes and cuts.

“Help.” He sounds pained you think to yourself as you grow closer to the young boy.

Making another sharp turn you continue in the direction of the voice, which now grows louder. Making your way around another tree you find a clearing and stop. His voice now sounds within reach as you make your way to the center. Turning to take in your surroundings you look for the familiar face.

Slowly the voice morphs from Mike’s familiar tone to the voice that you had only heard in your nightmares. Your blood runs cold as a large shape makes its way to the edge of the clearing. As it inches closer to the light you can feel the sharp pain in your head. As if your skull is being punctured by millions of tiny needles. Suddenly the fatigue hits you full force and you fall to your knees. No longer capable of holding your weight up. The grass is cold under your hands and for the first time, you notice the splotches of blood on the grass. Wiping under your nose confirms your suspicions, a nosebleed. The last symptom that you were missing. The one that allowed for you to hold out hope that maybe you weren’t being plagued by Vecna.

Finally stepping into the light you take in Vecna’s form. Leaning back to look up at the monster you can’t help but let the feeling of dread sink in. Your legs wobble and you fall back onto your butt, legs sliding out from under you on both sides. Vecna’s long strides close the gap between the two of you in seconds. You let the traces of adrenaline help to fuel you as you attempt to crawl backward. Anything to get away from him.

“Always such a burden, on your parents, your uncle, your brother, even your friends,” he taunts, poking at the sensitive subject.

“You never were the easy child,” your parents' voices echo. Both their voices begin to mix as they remind you of all the trouble you causes them when you were younger. Reminding you of how even now you’re causing Eddie and Uncle Wayne just as much trouble.

“No, stop!” you scream trying to drown out their voices.

Their taunts continue, growing louder with each one. All you want is to cover your ears and make it all go away. You wish you knew what to do to make it stop.

“You don’t mean it,” you scream at them as sobs rack your body.

Slowly Vecna reaches out for you and you feel a tendril begin to wrap around your throat. Then another round each leg and arm to hold you in place. You knew that on the outside you must have been floating like how you had found Max earlier.  However similar you were to Max at the moment there was one thing you weren’t sure of, if anyone would be able to find you in time to save you. You try your best to wiggle free from the grasp but you feel too weak. You felt completely tired as if at any moment you would pass out.

Then as if shining down on you like a beacon of hope, you heard it. It was a familiar tune but your brain couldn’t quite place it. Then as the verse began you knew it, a song that you often listened to when hanging out with the kids. They liked to play it often and while it wasn’t your go-to you had grown rather fond of it. The lyrics alone bring back plenty of good memories.

Turning your head to the left you could see a bright light and as your eyes adjusted you noticed your own body lifted into the air. It was eerily similar to the scene earlier in the cemetery except for this time you were an outsider looking in. You could see Steve and Eddie both helplessly grabbing at your hands, trying to pull you back down. Max was crouched near your feet, the walkman in her hand. Everyone surrounding you wore the same somber expression.

As you glanced out over the faces of your friends, the people you cared most for, the memories washed over you. It was like getting stuck in the rain on a warm summer’s day, unexpected but all-encompassing. It warmed you from the core out and you finally felt strong enough to fight back.

This time you were able to rip the tendrils off of you as if they were nothing. With your feet firmly planted back on the ground you ran towards the opening. Desperate to make your way back to the people you loved. You could hear Vecna scrambling behind you but you didn’t dare look back. You kept your eyes locked on Steve and Eddie telling yourself you would make it back to them again. You had to. You couldn’t leave them like this. So you ran harder than you thought possible. The sound of your feet hitting the ground mixes with the steady beats of your heart.

Arms outstretched you reached for the opening. Then all at once, it felt like you were falling. Your feet hit the ground first and as the rest of your body started to fall over seven sets of hands caught you.

Blinking to adjust to the bright light you take in the worried face of your brother. “Never, I mean never do that to me again,” he warns you before pulling you to his chest. “I don’t want to lose you too,” he whispers for only you to hear.

You throw your arms around him, not bothering to worry about the tears staining his dirty jacket. It takes you longer than you would like to admit to pull yourself together. Once you have calmed down enough you pull away from your brother. Steve gives you long enough to take a breath of fresh air before he has you wrapped in his arms.

He places chaste kisses across your face before capturing your lips in his which earns him a groan from everyone watching.

“You said earlier that it wasn’t Vecna, why did you lie to us? To me?” his voice cracks and you can feel the tears welling up once more.

“It started as just nightmares and a headache, I was hoping that it was just a coincidence. Besides I didn’t want to bother you with it in case it was nothing, you already had so much to deal with without my problems added on,” you tell him.

“You are never a bother and you’re never a burden.” He says it with such conviction you’re almost sure he knows what Vecna had told you earlier. You smile at him through the tears, feeling beyond grateful that he came into your life when he did.

Steve opens his mouth to continue talking when Max interrupts him. “You should have told us so we could’ve protected you.”

Pulling yourself away from Steve you move over to the red-haired girl kneeling in the grass. Sitting in front of her you grab her hands in yours. “I think we both learned a lot about ourselves in there with him. I think that we both know now how important it is to ask for help, which is why we’re in this together now.” You give her hands a squeeze and she surprises you by leaning in for a hug.

“Yeah, together we can stop this,” she tells you, a smile spreading across her face.

Standing up you pull her up with you, never letting her hand go. Steve then reaches for yours and Lucas for Max’s. Slowly everyone else stands with you reaching out for whoever’s hand is closest.

“We’re in this together,” Nancy confirms while grabbing Eddie and Steve’s hands, closing in the circle.

Standing there in the middle of the forest, holding hands, you feel confident in your ragtag group. If anyone is capable of defeating this monster and saving Hawkins it was going to be you guys. You were sure of it.

[niko-mesu-the-dragon-dog]

This oneshot has Spoilers from the new Amphibia episodes (The Core & The King)!!

Read at your own risk!! This shit angsty yo!

(now with Ao3 link under the cut)

This came from the panel when Darcy was rebooting that said "memory wipe". So, what if Marcy was still in her dream scape while all the memory ereasing happened :D! Also slightly inspired from this

---

Anyway, emotional hurt/no comfort✨

"WOOO YOU GO JOE DOG!" The trio cheered as Marcy spun around with a puppy in her hands.

Happy and joyful screams could be heard all the way down through their school hallway as the trio danced and simply enjoyed themselves under the colorful spotlights that Sasha managed to install with Marcy's help in the ceiling. Marcy was surprised that any teacher had caught them yet!

How long has it been since they hang out like this? Since the only thing they could do was laugh next to each other with no worries except for upcoming exams and homework? Marcy would say that it felt like ages ago, but she wasn't going to break the amazing atmosphere of tonight. Not as long as she gets to see her best friends dancing together, their happy faces being enough to lighten up Marcy's whole day in an instant. She knew that having these sorts of feelings towards her friends wasn't normal, but maybe tonight, just maybe, she can get that out of her chest. Or simply was the excitement of the moment that made her lose her self control, but she was right in front of her crushes since kindergarten. No backing down now.

She hugged Joe Dog tightly onto chest, ready to let out all her repressed feelings to the most important people in her young life. But the puppy had other idea in mind as it squirmed and jumped from Marcy's arms to the darkest side of the hallway. "W-wait Joe Dog come back! I need you as moral support please!" And she went to look for the puppy.

The hallway got darker and darker, feeling her head and brain throbbing with each step as she got closer to what seems to be a complete void. The lockers and tile floors were now covered in the blackest surface Marcy's ever seen. But Joe Dog ran through it and she already got attached to him, she couldn't lose him! "Joe? C-come here boy," She tried calling for him.

She hears a laugh, almost too similar to hers echo through the halls.

"Enjoying your false reality, Wit? Don't worry, it'll be over soon."

The headache came back but this time feeling like a migraine, like if a drill was directly piercing through her brain and mind. It was unbearable. It sent her down to her knees and made her cover her ears in a desperate way to make it stop. Just make it stop.

The pain stops, but something still rings in her ears. 

Static. All she could hear was static.

She stands up as fast as possible trying to go back where she and her best friends were having a good time minutes ago. The hallway feels endless and her legs and muscles begin to feel sore and feels her vision blurring out, but she has to get back to them. She needs to, and forces her wobbly legs to work until she spots the familiar colorful lights.

Putting her hands on her knees she tries to catch her breath from all the running, sweat already pouring down her neck and back but not only from exhaustion. "Guys! We have to get out of here! Th-there's something-"

"Woah there, relax Marce! We've got you, remember?"

The static was back, but it didn't come from her ears but from her friends. The noise became stronger while the other two got closer to her. Marcy refused to believe what was in front of her.

Or what wasn't.

Just as the static took over her friends' voices, it also took over their faces. She can no longer see the deep baby blue in the blonde's face, nor the cute and soft brown from the brunette. Each time they talked, trying to talk to her, all what Marcy could hear was static and white noise that came along with the horrible mind splitting headache. She gripped and tugged her hair to ground herself as she felt hot and painful tears run down her cheeks making her enter into a full panic attack by now, her chest quickly going up and down and lungs feeling filled with lava that didn't allow her to breathe enough air to keep her mind active. Everything was too much. The agony of the moment didn't let her see the rest of the hallway glitching and being covered by the void she saw back at the end of the hall.

She needed her real friends. She needed to call for them and come save her from this hell that was her own mind and body.

She opened her mouth ready to scream their names…

…

But nothing came out.

She didn't remember their names. She couldn't remember her best friends' names, or anything about them. Any memory of them being taken over by loud static and thick endless void. It hurt. Her chest and brain hurt so much, too much. The pain being enough to make her pass out right on the spot and.... And…

There's only white noise and black space in front of her now.

What... What was she doing? What was she trying to do... Who did she try to call for...?

"Ah, finally. Doesn't it feel nice to have more space in that little mind of yours?" The voice called again.

Yeah... 

It felt nice.

A mind with no thoughts nor memories. A mind with no worries.

She finally let her body and mind relax and float in the sea of void. There was no need to fight back at all. There was nothing to worry about and lets her eyes close, losing herself in the back of her mind.

[theunholygrails]

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Coach (1)

Fandom: Dylan O'Brien

Pairing: AU Dylan x Fem!Reader

Mini series summary: Being a newly single mom of two kids wasn't exactly easy. And love wasn't exactly part of your agenda. So, should you avoid lusting over your son's baseball coach? Absolutely. But with a man like Dylan, could you really resist? Probably not.

Warnings: nothing major yet, small sexual innuendo, mentions of cheating and divorce

WC: 1.9k

A/N: a yes, to those who have been following me for a while may recognize this title, it's my old Dylan AU fic. Yes I decided to continue it. Updates will come periodically, because I write spontaneously and I cant guarantee quick updates. But I do promise I wont wait a whole year to update. And since I did some slight updates in the first 2 parts I decided to archive the old ones and repost them again. So yeah, if you've read them before great, give it another read, my writing is much better now I promise and if you're new welcome, I hope you like this mini series.

(You are here, part 2, part 3)

Dylan stood by the side of the large field, near the home plate, occasionally yelling out suggestions and pointing out mistakes to the young boys. 

"Ezra! You have to watch the ball! C'mon! I know you can do better!" He called out to the blonde boy standing on the home plate with a bat in hand. Dylan then turned his attention to the dark haired boy with the baseball mitt and ball in hand.

"Roman! What's going on, buddy? You gotta focus, alright? You gotta work on that throw!" Dylan called out to the young boy, who half nodded and sighed heavily in response.

Not long after, Dylan signaled the young boys scattered throughout the large field to gather around. He spoke some encouraging words to the boys before allowing them to disperse and gather their equipment which meant practice was over.

Your son, however, stayed behind for a minute. There was an inaudible conversation happening between Dylan and your ten year-old, Roman. You watched from the bleachers as your son made some tired gestures at his coach followed by a small pat on the back from Dylan. You couldn't help but follow them with your eyes as they made their way to the bleachers, your eyes lingering a bit too long on the brown haired coach. An action that wasn't taken lightly by the female sitting beside you.

"You're staring at him again." Your best friend, Ezra's mother, Eliza -or just Liz, commented.

"I'm not." You muttered out quickly, tearing your eyes away from the handsome coach, your mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds. "I wasn't staring." You stated matter of factly and shrugged as you looked down at the small six year-old sitting on your lap, making sure she wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

"Really? The drool coming from your mouth says otherwise." Liz playfully ran her finger across your chin, pretending to wipe away at it. You slightly glared at her, an eye roll going her way.

"I'm not drooling. I wasn't even staring." You tried to defend yourself, making a small sassy gesture to her.

"Hey, I don't blame you. If I wasn't married," she took a pause as she eyed Dylan as he removed his baseball hat to run a hand through his messy chocolate locks, you couldn't help but stare as well. "I'd jump on his bones any day."

"Hey, there's young ears present." You said quietly to Liz as not to disturb the young girl in your arms.

Despite your attempt not to, you couldn't help but allow your eyes to fall once again on the field, following the handsome male that was the topic of your conversation. You had to hide the infatuated sigh that left your lips at the sight of your son's coach running around the field, talking to the kids and picking up equipment.

"Well he is handsome, I'll give him that.." You admitted quietly, "and he's really good with the kids."

Your friend smirked slightly at your words and wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"I bet that's not the only thing he's really good at." She eyed you suggestively and slightly nudged at you with her shoulder, "You should find out what other things he's good at."

Your mouth instantly fell open and your eyes widened at the insinuation.

"Eliza! Oh, my god. Don't say that." You slightly shook your head to brush off the embarrassment and hid your face on your hands to cover the crimson on your skin.

"Mommy you're warm!" Athena, your six year-old giggled as she grabbed your warm, sweaty hands. Even your daughter noticed the nervousness that crept up on you when it came to Dylan, even if it was just the topic of him. Truth was, you had been shamelessly crushing on your son's baseball coach ever since he joined the team a couple of months ago. 

Get it together, you should not be crushing on your son's baseball coach.

"I know baby, it's just hot out here." You tried to brush it off, but the knowing smirk on Liz's face wasn't exactly helping. "Thena, why don't you go get Roman and Ezra? They're over there." You pointed to the field where Roman and Ezra were talking —or more like just Ezra was, to the other kids on the team. She quickly nodded and bolted off the bleachers, somehow not tripping over the steps as she went down. You sighed heavily the moment the young girl was far enough and slightly turned your head in Liz's direction.

"You should totally ask him out." She said out of nowhere with a shrug and a smirk on her face. Your eyes widened for the hundredth time, and you instantly shook your head frantically, the idea alone giving you a headache.

"Ask Dylan out? No way. I.. No.. That's just.. No." Your cheeks slightly heat up at the preposition. But you quickly turned it down with a vigorous shake of your head, not even giving the idea a minute to sink into your brain. "No, he's Roman's coach. It's just wrong."

"Why? I mean, you're single, and as far as I know, he's very single. Soo," she dragged the 'o' as she wiggled her eyebrows and she nudged your shoulder, pushing you over a little in a high school girl manner, "Why not get ready to mingle with the hot coach?"

"First of all, I'm technically not single, not yet." You groaned with an eyeroll. As much as you and your husband —or ex-husband or whatever were no longer living together, the divorce process had been unnecessarily long and dreadful. So as much as you wanted to be legally single, you were still married to that piece of shit. 

"And second of all, if I were to date someone, which is a big if, I can't date Roman's coach out of all people. He already has enough as it is. It'll just confuse him and probably upset him more." You sighed heavily as you looked over to the side of the field, where all the boys were having a conversation about elementary boys' things. And there you saw your son, trying, and ultimately failing at joining said conversations. And with little Athena tugging at his side, all he got from the other kids was laughing and rejection.

Seeing your son's sad and hurt expression when the other boys laughed at him or even told him to go away broke your heart. You wanted him to be happy again. You wanted him to be the energetic and loving kid he was before your waste of a husband left. Ever since Ryan —your waste of a husband left, Roman hasn't been the same. 

For the past six or so months, he has been distant and seemingly unhappy. All he ever did was lock himself up in his room and play video games. He barely ever interacted with you and Athena anymore. He barely interacted with anyone, period. Once Ryan left, it was up to you to support your kids financially. Of course, their father still paid child support, but he sure as hell didn't pay your bills or everything you needed to spend on your children. Which meant you had to take him out of the fancy school he went to in order to still pay the monthly expenses of your home. And he just didn't quite fit in at school, especially now. 

So, you hoped that him joining the baseball team would change that, that it would help him open up again and that it would help him make new friends. But so far, it's worked just the opposite.

"So, I'm making dinner tonight. Do you want to come over with the kids and get drunk? Luke will watch over the kids." Liz spoke, interrupting your train of thought.

"That sounds a-mazing," you spoke in a song-like tune, a sigh of contentment leaving your lips. "But I can't. I told Roman I'd take him to that Italian place he likes."

"Tomorrow then. I'll have that Chardonnay you love so much waiting for you." She winked at you as you both stood up, ready to greet your children.

"Thank God for your alcohol stash." You joked, flinging your arms up in praise. 

You both laughed and smiled in your children's direction, but your smile dropped as your kids and Ezra approached you. Ezra was holding Athena's hand, while Roman walked behind them, with a certain heaviness on his step and an annoyed look on his face. And Athena had a small pout on her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Rome doesn't want to hold my hand!" Athena whined with a pout of her lower lip. She released Ezra's hand and exchanged it for your own. Ezra going to his own mom. While Roman simply stood there, with a hand stuffed into his pockets and the other messing with the strap of his bag, his gaze stuck on the ground.

"Roman, baby," you sighed softly, not wanting to give the poor kid a hard time. You understood he didn't exactly fit in, no matter how much he wanted to, and that upset him. You didn't want to add up to that. "Your sister just wanted you to hold her hand."

"She was embarrassing me.. I'm already the kid without a dad, I don't need to be the kid with an annoying  baby sister." He muttered, his gaze not once leaving the ground.

 His words were harsh, but lacked emotion. And it broke your heart. But as much as you wanted to tell him that it wasn't true, that he did have a dad, you'd be lying if you did. Ryan was already absent in your children's lives before the split, but at the same time he was there, and Roman felt as if he was. But now, his father really wasn't there, at all. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You sighed softly, gesturing your free hand out for him, "Roman, come here," a heavy sigh left the young boy's lips as he took a few steps closer, standing in front of you with his head hanging low and his eyes stuck to the ground. You used your hand to hold the side of his face, his eyes meeting with your own. "Baby, Thena just wanted to show you that she loves you. She didn't mean to embarrass you, right Thena?" You turned your attention to the small girl that hid behind your arm, her eyes glistening with tears.

The small girl sniffled and shook her head, "No.. I'm sorry Rome.. I won't do it ever again, I-I promise."

You exchanged looks between your children, your eyes finally landing on Roman as you waited for a response. You raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes speaking a silent 'and' to the boy. He eventually signed, almost too heavily, and nodded. 

"It's okay, I guess.. I don't really mind all that much." He half smiled, shrugging slightly.

Athena's expression quickly lightened, the small girl detached herself from your hand and hugged her older brother. And as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't mind the affection. He returned the hug and smiled, for a moment at least.

After a second or two, Roman slightly pushed Athena off him, signaling that that had been enough affection for a day. You breathed out softly, turning to look at Liz, who gave you a sympathetic smile in response. 

"Well my loves, off we go. Say goodbye to Auntie Liz and Ezra." Both your children did as you said. Athena hugging both of them, and Roman simply waving at them. Good enough.

And at last, you gave Liz a quick but tight hug, "I'll call you tomorrow." You said shortly before you grabbed a hold of your daughter's hand and your son's bag, and eventually parted ways.

Today was gonna be a long day.

《Here's an edited version of part 1. As always I hope y'all enjoyed it. I'm trying to get back into writing after a long year, hopefully this will help me get back on track. Let me know your thoughts. And let me know if you'd like to be added to my dylan/coach taglist which I do have》