#In any case; we still have quite the headache so I may take pain relief for it in a moment.

[sepiasys]

Having a headache is such a pain. Literally.

I am bothered by the fact that we are still awake. Why is this? What is keeping us from sleeping? I do not understand. Perhaps we sh- no. Okay.

This is still irritating. <-(is not 'irritated')

[thefanficmonster]

Caught Red-handed

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Struggling with migraines 

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having suffered from migraines all their life, Y/N knows better than to give them much attention or let them hinder their work too much. However, their boyfriend is a lot more worried than they are and has taken it as his personal duty to ease their pain as much as he possibly can. 

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to get to it, write and post it, but here it finally is and I hope you come across it and read it! I’ve never experienced migraines nor have I known someone who has so if I’ve misrepresented or written any misinformation, anyone who catches it, feel free to let me know either in the comments or in my inbox/messages! Love, Vy ❤

The first time I got a headache was in the middle of math class in eighth grade. I remember it so distinctly because I had never before experienced such sudden and such intense pain. I got to go home early that day and spent a good portion of the day trying to sleep it off but to no avail.

Since then I’ve grown used to having to deal with a pain so strong it renders me unable to function for a whole day about two times a month. Sometimes, I even try to be stubborn with it - I try to push through as much work as I can despite the migraine, but that never works out for a long time considering it ends up crippling me in the end. That’s never kept me from trying over and over again though!

Now, to contrast my nonchalance and even annoyance with these pesky attacks, is my boyfriend Corpse’s concern over them. I’ve tried explaining to him that I’ve grown used to them and that I try not to let them bother me and that he shouldn’t stress over them so much but I may as well be talking to a wall because all he has to do is see me squint my eyes or cringe and he enters concerned-mother mode. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it to no end, I just don’t want him worrying over something so small. Also, a minor convenience: if the migraine doesn’t hinder me from tending to my tasks, Corpse will. He’ll make sure I’m off the task I’m working and transported into bed in an instant.

That’s why I’m now clenching my jaw, struggling to maintain a poker face as I work on an important project I have to send to my boss by the start of next week. I’ve got plenty of time, but I like to stay on top of my work so it doesn’t pile on top of me, you know what I’m saying. Corpse is sitting on the couch next to me, casually glancing at me every now and then while remaining quiet as to not disturb me. So far so good, he hasn’t noticed anything and, if I didn’t know any better I would sigh in relief. There’s nothing to trigger the pain to arise any further - the lights are dim, I’m staying hydrated, and I downed two painkillers in the bathroom about an hour and a half ago - so I’m sure I’ll be in the clear at least until dinner.

“Wanna watch a movie when you’re done?“ Corpse asks, “Unless you’re tired or anything...“

I flash him a grateful smile, giving his knee a squeeze of reassurance, “I’d love to, babe. But I can’t promise that I won’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I know you’ve got a tendency of doing that.” Giving me a side-glance he adds, “It’s cute.”

I roll my eyes, already sensing a blush creeping up on my cheeks and neck which I hide by turning to face my laptop screen. One thing I can’t hide though is the wide grin that’s spread across my face as I mutter: “Shut up.”

Just then, a particularly sharp jolt of pain courses through my head, testing that ability to maintain a resting face. Thankfully, Corpse is turned in the opposite direction, searching for his phone, so I allow myself a brief cringe at the discomfort. 

Guess the painkillers are dying down on me, I think to myself, a second away from sighing exasperatedly at the thought that I have to down two more. It was wishful of me to think I could enjoy the luxury of a dull ache until dinner, now the migraine is straight up mocking me.

I quietly stand up from the couch and make my way to the bathroom so I can take another dose of aspirin because I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on my work for very long if it keeps hitting me with this intensity. Opening the door to the small cabinet above the sink, I automatically reach out for the bottle of pills but stop when I see a surprise.

Directly in front of the bottle stands a note written in, you guessed it, Corpse’s handwriting.

‘Already losing effect, huh? When are you thinking of coming clean?‘

Well shoot, am I that transparent?

I sheepishly exit the bathroom, walking back into the living room where Corpse greets me with the same stance as a parent greeting their kid who’s gotten home past curfew: legs crossed, arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow raised, the whole nine yards.

“Yeah, they’re already losing effect.“ I admit, a small apologetic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks burning with an embarrassed blush. “And I wasn’t gonna tell you at all.” I hurry to add: “Please don’t be mad though.“

Corpse shifts slightly, his gaze giving me a onceover as he contemplates how to pursue the case. I’ve already got several arguments/defenses ready - the perks of working for a lawyer - but I know he’ll dismiss all of them no matter how strong they might come off as in court. Bottom line: even statements that would fly in court can’t fly with Corpse sometimes. Especially when my health and well-being are the topic of observation.

“What have we said about lying?“ He finally asks, causing me to cringe and ball my fists in guilt.

However, I still have my arguments ready: “You never asked me so I never technically lied.” One might say I have quite the audacity to plead not guilty right now, even though I’ve been caught red-handed, but what can I say, I’m stubborn in nature. And Corpse knows this, he’s just testing me for his own amusement.

“Poor excuse, Y/N.“ He says with disapproval, shaking his head and fully embracing his disappointed parent persona. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. So, as punishment for hiding the truth from me, you are to ditch that project you’ve been bugging yourself over and come cuddle and watch a movie with me. Bonus points for you if you fall asleep.“

I needn’t be told twice - not only will it wipe that look off his features but it’ll also get earn me a movie night with the additional benefit of cuddling with my boyfriend? - how could I refuse?

I can’t help it, I just gotta push my luck here and poke the bear with a stick, “If the punishments are so sweet I might start being dishonest more often.“

Corpse rolls his eyes, scooting on the couch and tapping the space he’s freed up for me, “I said I was feeling generous, don’t bet on it happening often though.”

Alright, enough luck-pushing, I should be grateful for this generosity instead. I should be using it to the max.

So, what’s stopping you from doing just that?

Good question, brain, good question.

Head still pounding just not as intensely, I slip under the thin soft comforter to find myself not only wrapped in it but also in Corpse’s arm, his warm embrace bringing me instant comfort, walking me on the tight-rope of falling asleep right away.

“Sneaky bastard.“ I attempt to mutter, yawning halfway through. 

I feel his lips on the top of my head, placing a quick and gentle kiss in my hair before he says, “You’re welcome, babe.”

Count your lucky stars, Y/N. You’ve got one of the good ones.

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[90spumkin]

A Dash of Truth

Summary: Reader is a witch but doesn’t want everyone to know, especially Spencer.

A/N: This is a fantasy AU which is a new concept for me. I hope you all like it. Thank you @the-queen-of-moons​ for helping me! Also the amazing graphic is by @spencers-beanbag ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Witch! Reader

Warnings: swearing, details of spell casting, mentions of a case, reader is a little rude at times

Word Count: 1.9K

Paperwork days were most of the time quite except when Derek Morgan had worked for the BAU, there was never a moment of silence. Today however there was a different sound filling the office.

“I swear on everything good and cuddly, if this headache doesn’t go away, I may get one of you badass agents just to shoot me.”

I looked up from my work to make eye contact with my curly haired coworker, Spencer, across our desks. Then a groan brought our attention to the blonde walking towards her ‘bat cave’ holding her head. I looked back towards Spencer who only shrugged and returned to his files. I glanced back towards the way Penelope had gone and hoped she felt better soon.

It wasn’t long till my hopes were crushed. “I swear if I could name this headache, it would be called Luke Alvez.” This exclamation of pain brought out a “Hey!” from Luke himself and giggles from everyone else. Penelope just winced at the loud sounds, finished making her coffee, and made her way back into her office. I contemplated offering her help and sharing my secret before deciding helping a friend was more important.

When I reached the entrance to the dark corner of the building I gave the door a light knock, not wanting to cause Penelope anymore pain. A faint permission to enter was the only sign of life I was given. The room wasn’t filled with the normal luminous light of computer screens. Instead, the human embodiment of sunshine was submerged in darkness.

“Penelope? I brought something that may help?” I kept my voice slightly above a whisper. The poor women turned on her desk lamp and turned to look at me. “Hi buttercup, what do you have for me?” I smiled at her attempt to still be cheery even though she wasn’t feeling quite so cheery herself.

I laid a crystal and a vial on her desk and explained, “This is a clear quartz crystal it helps in healing and pain relief. I also brought you some peppermint oil, apply a small amount to your temples and it should help sooth the headache as well.”

“Oh honey, you are a life saver. I will definitely give this a go! Thank you!” Penelope gave my hand a squeeze and I bent down to give her a gentle hug and a soft kiss to her head. “I hope it helps.”

When I returned to my desk, I found Spencer there leaning against it, waiting for me. I blushed a little when he gave me a smile. I couldn’t help the fact his presence made the butterflies in my stomach erupt.

“Where did you disappear to?” Spencer questioned as I took my seat. I looked towards the way I had just come, “I tried to help Penelope with her headache. I was getting worried.” I looked back at Spencer who was staring at me with a small smile playing on his lips, “Y/n you’re ama- a good friend.” I could feel my blush deepening as I mumbled a “thank you”. With a nod, Spencer returned to his desk.

It wasn’t but a few hours before Penelope was returning the crystal and oil I had given her. She leaned against my desk and asked, “So spill. How’d you know that stuff would work?”” I couldn’t help but to look away from her piercing eyes shyly before replying, “I- I practice modern witchcraft, nothing extreme just charms, crystals, oils, excreta.” I looked back at her before adding, “I don’t really advertise it so please don’t say anything.”

Penelope smiled at me and grabbed my hand and gave it a light squeeze, “Oh honey, I won’t say a word, but only on one condition.” I gave her a questioning look in which she responded, “You have to teach me your witchy ways.”

Over the course of a few weeks Penelope and I had spent countless hours together after work and between cases. It was mostly nights filled with small castings and gossip. Penelope was a fast learner, so it left plenty of time for the two of us to talk and catch up.

On one particular night we were in the middle of brewing a few healing oils when my phone rung. It was Spencer. Penelope may not be a profiler, but anyone would notice the way my whole body froze up and a smile grew across my face. Penelope giggle and nudged my shoulder reminding me I actually have to answer the phone.

The phone call didn’t last long it was just Spencer letting me know I had left my jacket at my desk and that he put it in his to go bag for safe keeping. Of course, this only excited Penelope and she unleashes a sea of questions: “He totally likes you. Do you like him? Are you going to tell him? You should totally tell him.”

My response to her was simply, “I could never tell him. It would ruin everything.” My best friend gave me a pointed look as she said, “You have to be honest with him, you never know what magic could unfold between the two of you.” I couldn’t help but snort at her choice of words.

The same night as the random phone call from Spencer, there was a Phone call from JJ. We had a case. This case took almost a week to solve, and it was particularly hard. Our prime suspect was good with his words and was constantly trying to lead us in the wrong direction. Lucky for us we have a genius who’s good at solving riddles.

On the way home a thought kept running through my mind: What if I made an oil and cast a truth spell over it. I finally decided I was going to do it and started writing down what I would need: 4 ounces of grape seed or jojoba oil and one ounce of sandalwood oil.

I was missing an ingredient and couldn’t think of what it could be. That’s when someone to my right cleared their throat and said, “One ounce of pure vanilla extract.” When I looked up to see who helped me, I was met with a small smile and a wink from Emily.

As soon as the jet landed, I rushed home only slowing down to tell Spencer goodnight. Luckily, he didn’t ask why I was in a hurry, which I am grateful for.

Once I was home it didn’t take long for me to gather all my ingredients and begin my spell. While swirling the blended oils and extract gently in a clockwise motion I chanted, “Truth be told, no more lies. Now it’s time for honesty. Telling the truth will set you free.” I carefully poured the oil into a bottle, concentrating on not getting any on my skin which would activate it.

The next morning everything seemed fine until I got to work. It wasn’t strange of me to greet my coworkers in the mornings. What was strange was the thing I said after my greetings.

When I walked in I saw Tara first and my greeting to her went something a little like, “Good morning. You look tired.” Tara only laughed and responded with, “Well thanks y/n so do you.”

I was lucky that Tara didn’t take offense, but I didn’t mean to say that. I rushed to Penelope’s office and was blessed to fine Emily there as well. My intensions where to say, “Hi guys. I have a problem.” And then explain but what actually came out was, “Why is it always so fucking dark in here.”

Penelope and Emily both just looked at me and then giggled. Emily however seemed to know why I was saying these out of character things, “Y/n I think you may have gotten some of that truth serum on you.”

My response was, “Well shit.”, while Penelope’s was, “What truth serum? Emily how do you know the witchy ways? Wait you told her and not me?”

I took Penelope’s gasp for breath as a chance to explain what happened. This took a little longer than necessary because every time I would talk about one thing what I really thought would pour out like word vomit. Especially when I started explaining the whole situation with the suspect and why I wanted to do the spell.

When I finally stopped talking the door opened right on cue and Matt stuck his head in to let us know it was five minutes till briefing. He looked a little confused when a panicked looked crossed my face and I said, “Do you not know how to knock.” I instantly apologized and looked to Emily and Penelope for help.

Emily nicely dismissed Matt and turned to me, “We need you on this case since Rossi took personal time. The spell will most likely take 24 hours to run through your system. Until then we’re going to have to come up with a good excuse on why you’re being mean.”

Penelope chuckled when I started to pout, “This isn’t fair. Stupid Rossi, stupid psychopaths.” Emily shook her hand as she led me to what was going to be the longest day of my life.

I had never been more right in my life. The whole time we were on the case every thought that ran through my mind escaped through my lips. I was never one to challenge anything about a profile or standup to local cops who were being pigs. Until now. The team never really got upset just more concerned and any time anyone asked if I was okay my response was always, “No I’m a fucking idiot and can’t do anything right.” And would walk away.

It wasn’t until we had made it back to the BAU that Spencer asked what was going on. “Y/n what has gotten into you? You’ve been acting out of character all day.” It was like Spencer talking to me was all it took for every thought I had about him and my situation to come spilling out.

I told him about the suspect and the spell, I even went into detail about my lessons with Penelope which led to me confessing my feelings because of course I had to say something about that damn phone call. When I realized everything, I had said to him I practically started sprinting away from him, ignoring his calls for to wait.

It wasn’t long after I had gotten home that my phone started to ring. Penelope’s name lit up across the screen and when I answered she instantly began to interrogate me. When I didn’t instantly tell her what happened or what I was thinking, I knew the spell had worn off.

I sighed into the phone the same time there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peep hole and was met with the sight of curly brown hair. All I said to Penelope was “I have to call you back” and hung up while she was still asking questions a mile a minute.

When I opened the door I was greeted with a small smile. Instead of a proper greeting I asked, “Spencer, what are you doing here?” Spencer took a step closer as he said, “I don’t need a truth spell to tell you I love you too, y/n.”

*

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[bingoluka]

Need You

Summary: After a case gone wrong, and an injury left unattended, Loki realizes that even Gods need somebody.

Notes: Includes wound depiction and good ole' angst! Also a lil' Wowki but I'm a little bitch baby.

...

When he said it hurt like hell, it hurt like hell.

Each case tended to go wrong in its own unique and terrible way. Whether one of them leaves with a torn shirt and headache, or a deep gash and a broken spirit, one thing was certain; that Mobius and Loki looked out for each other.

Though, Loki would hardly admit he had grown quite fond of the man he called his partner.

Beyond that, he would hardly admit when he really, truly needed his help. He was independent, he knew this, and sometimes asking for the help or pity of another more than once seemed too much mental strain- for both him and whoever had the bad fortune of being alongside him. He hadn't realized the severity of the injury at the time, as a large piece of metal tore away at his abdomen while swimming from an impending tsunami. His magic had already begun to heal him, fixing the initial trauma while the freezing water numbed him.

He has assumed the blood in the water hadn't been his.

Now there he was, wandering aimlessly along the TVA corridors, wishing desperately he could lay his inhibitions to rest all the while sparing his friend the worry. Though, he knew it was unlikely.

The air felt cold against his skin, each step sending a fiery blast of pain across his stomach and up to his back. He grimaced. Pathetic, he thought to himself weakly. Who are you without your power?

"Loki? Loki!"

His voice sounded distant at first, so much he grew concerned he had never heard it at all. A sharp exhale left Loki's mouth as another pang sent shockwaves through his body.

"Oh no- oh no-!"

He stumbled, his legs crossing wildly over each other and he fell into the wall next to him. He began to sink to his knees, the pain becoming overpowering as he fought to stay present. How was it getting worse?

He realized then the wound no longer felt cold. It felt hot, burning as fresh blood spilled from the wound. Loki realized then how little healing had taken place.

"Loki? Hey, hey look at me."

Mobius's voice was soft, calming as it was fearful. Loki wanted to melt into the other, hide from the agony.

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped. "I thought it had healed- I thought- I thought it wasn't this bad-"

"Shh," he whispered, keeping a steady hand on Loki's back. "Loki, can you walk?"

Loki stopped for a moment, his eyes falling to the ground in shame. His breathing was already erratic, jumbling his thoughts and rationality to the point he wasn't sure of anything. He looked up at Mobius now, his eyes scanning his for a sign.

"Come on."

Loki hadn't realized how many people were there with them. Maybe it was adrenaline, or his partial loss of vision from the wound, either way, the voices began to filter in at that moment. Agents and hunters, some workers he had never seen all gathered around them. Mobius had taken one side, while a hunter had him on the other, leading him out of the hall when his body began to go limp. He fought against it, begging himself to stay upright just long enough to prove he was capable. But he wasn't, and they knew this. His knees buckled beneath him, sending both him and the other two staggering forward with an "oh-!"

He could feel them ease him to the ground, pain shooting through him again as he made contact with the floor- causing him to cry out.

"We need to address the wounds here," Mobius said, his voice sharp and heavy. "He's deteriorating, either we let him use magic or we heal him ourselves."

"We can't just let that happen, we have to be outside of the TVA," someone said. "We need to take him somewhere else."

As they spoke, others had taken to pressing against his wound to suppress the bleeding. At first, it was agony. But after a while, he felt a warmth come over his body, a peace he had never felt as the pain melted away. He knew it wasn't supposed to happen, Mobius frantically calling his name being a sure sign, but the relief was something he couldn't deny.

"Loki! Stay with us, come on-"

Before he slipped into sleep, the last thing he saw was Mobius over him, eyes wide and brimming with tears. God, he was tired. But he regretting falling asleep all the same.

...

"If I would've known he was hurt, I wouldn't have taken my eyes off him, what more is there to understand?"

Mobius looked at Renslayer for a moment. Defiance wasn't typically in his nature, though he'll admit his actions spoke otherwise. He was more a calm deviant, not driven by a harsh nature but rather a calm and collected one. She sighed, resting her pointer and thumb on the bridge of her nose.

"I know, I know. But we can't have events like that happen, Mobius. Half our team was distracted, imagine if the variant had struck then?"

"You know I respect you, Renslayer. I really do, I admire you and you know that. But this just seems wrong, he's still a person," Mobius said, frowning. "I know in the grander scheme of things we have a lot to worry about but I saw humanity out there. A collective force of good working toward an unspoken goal."

"Which is?"

"Making sure variant or not, we're taking care of each other."

...

Loki woke on the couch that night.

Wait, couch?

He had expected to still be on the floor. Though he knew Mobius would never, it wasn't out of the picture that another agent might let him stay on the ground. After all, they weren't too fond of him. He went to stretch, the sharp pains from his stomach stopping him in his tracks as he remembered why he was there.

The room was dark, dark enough that beyond his fixed point on the couch, Loki could hardly see a thing. A voice pierced the air, causing him to jump.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

As Loki realized who it was, he sank back into the couch.

"Fine," he mumbled. Mobius raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You didn't seem too fine back there when you were bleeding out in the halls of the TVA."

"Well, I was," Loki snapped, staring up at the ceiling. He realized how foolish he sounded, but at that point, he didn't care.

"Loki, what happened on that mission?" Mobius asked gently, ignoring the other's outburst. Loki sighed a bit, trying to shift his position.

"I didn't-" he cut himself off with a wince as he moved wrong, the pain burning at first, then turning into a dull ache. Mobius looked down at him worriedly.

"I didn't think it was that bad," he said hurriedly. "I was so cold from the water I didn't feel it. I just assumed the blood hadn't been mine."

It was grim. The idea of the blood in the water was so common for that moment, so anticipated that he had nearly bled out yet speculated it was from somebody else. It brought into focus the severity of even human apocalypses.

"But the blood," Mobius said, frowning. "I should have been able to see it on your shirt when we got back. I didn't see any."

"My magic had healed it for the most part," Loki said. "Just not enough. Once I returned it must've begun to reverse."

As Loki spoke, he noticed Mobius reaching for the hem of his shirt. He quickly blocked his hand with an offended "Hey." Mobius chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm just trying to see it, come on."

"You don't need to," Loki glared. But of course his efforts didn't deter Mobius, who kept his steady gaze.

"Loki," he said gently. "Come on, let me see."

Loki sighed, wordlessly lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the array of wounds, accented by the much larger wound that ran across the bottom of his abdomen. He heard Mobius's breath catch.

"Geez..." He murmured, gently brushing a finger across the uninjured skin, which even then was sore.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asked sadly. Loki cast his eyes to the side.

"An unspoken rule amongst warriors in Asgard was to each their own. It wasn't uncommon to receive wounds in battle, it was seen as noble to keep them to yourself."

"Well, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Mobius said with raised eyebrows. He added a hasty, "No offense."

"No, I agree. They were all morons," he said lightheartedly.

Mobius laughed now, bowing his head as he did so. Loki smiled a bit, still somewhat troubled by the pain but not enough to mention it.

"This is your apartment, then?" He said, trying to initiate conversation so Mobius wouldn't see as he began to sit up.

"Hey, not so fast," Mobius said, placing a hand on the small of Loki's back. "Your powers may be back, but you have a ways to go."

"I'm alright, really."

"I'm beginning to think that phrase holds less ethos each time I hear it."

Loki huffed, barely managing to sit all the way up. He looked around the room as his eyes adjusted. It was a small apartment, most of his items being placed in the living area. Books, dusty empty bottles, wooden furniture accented with water stains and loose change. The carpet was plush, he noticed, like something you would see from the nineties. It was all very cozy and welcoming.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, assuming that's what Loki had been looking at. "I didn't really have time to clean."

"Mess?" Loki frowned. "Mobius, you bring me into your home and you really assume I'm going to judge the state of it?"

"Well, to be fair, I don't get a lot of visitors," he smiled. "Now you need some rest, alright?"

If Loki had just an ounce more strength, he would've shot back some snarky response. This time, however, he found himself too tired to think of one, so instead, he flashed a quick smile.

"I'll be here if you need me."

If you need me.

Loki pondered on the words for a while. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the weariness finally catching up with him. Before he never would have admitted he need someone, much less someone with no relation to him. But in that darkened room he gathered he had a change of heart. As he felt himself slowly fading into the warm embrace of sleep, he felt a hand run across his head, gently brushing his unkempt hair back in a stroking motion. He wanted to open his eyes, to see Mobius, but he stayed still just long enough to hear the words,

"Glad you're alright, Lokes."

Before contently falling asleep.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin and Arthur bond like never before, and war preparations are being made

Morgana sees something... worrying

Part 3 of Merlin’s angry outburst.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4   Part 5

The next morning, everyone is up early. Merlin pays a quick trip to Gaius, to inform him of his and Arthur’s plan for that evening (earning a raised eyebrow and a concealed smirk) before meeting Morgana at the castle gates, and heading off.

Everyone is busy, and no one in the gang crosses paths for more than a few moments the whole day.

Merlin and Morgana spend almost the whole day at the Druid camp, learning what they can, and asking for healers. (Morgana gives her own raised eyebrow and smirk when Merlin requests the ingredients he’ll need to forge a mental link, but doesn’t say anything.)

Gaius is busy bustling around with the servants he was provided, instructing them on what herbs to collect, where they would be found, and how to harvest properly.

Leon has Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot, lead small groups of knights in opposite directions, tasked with heading to the outermost villages, and warning them of the potential danger. Leon himself and Percival stay behind, and continue to oversee training and organisation of extra patrols, and intelligence gathering.

Arthur has meetings throughout the day, mainly focused on the public announcement that would take place the next day, as well as letters to be sent to the lower town. News travelled fast in Camelot, but they wanted to make sure that everyone knew as soon as possible.

Gwen spent the day moving between the forgery, Arthur, and Gaius, making sure everyone had what they needed, and pointing out flaws or missed opportunities wherever she could.

The council may have hated her when Arthur was first crowned (”She’s just a serving girl, My Lord!”) but Arthur had shut that down quickly, and made sure everyone knew that Gwen was a trusted advisor, and was to be treated as such. And even if he hadn’t made that point, no one could deny that she was quick witted, and always made good suggestions.

The Gang gathers once again in the evening, dining together. A small hall off to the side of the throne room had become their sort of HQ, the place they congregated for meals and meetings for just the ten of them. There was only one door in, and they each had their own keys (the only ones made).

Each of them updates everyone on their progress, one by one.

Leon informs the group of when Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot are expected back (not for a while, it was a couple days ride to the furthest villages, and they had plenty of places to visit), and how the training is going.

Gaius happily reports that preparations for the infirmary were going quickly, even more so when he was joined by all the healers that M+M had brought back with them from the Druid camp.

Gwen tells that, whilst progress was slow at the moment, the forgery was expecting a large shipment of materials by the end of the week, and work would speed up drastically once it arrived.

Morgana reports that the Druids have only seen what she has, but they’ve promised to spread the word, and try to gather any extra information. They would be sending a few more healers once some more of the Clans had gathered together.

All in all, it’s been very successful. Despite the Kingdom only being one day into preparations for a full scale war, things are going smoothly, and none of them are feeling the pressure of panic in their skulls.

The meeting only lasts as long as dinner does, everyone still having important tasks to complete before it was time to sleep.

Other than Merlin and Arthur, Gaius is the last to leave the room, looking back and saying (with a raised eyebrow, of course):

“I’ve left everything you’ll need in The King’s chambers, do you wish for me to join you and oversee it, in case?”

Merlin replies first (not quite sure why he’s blushing):

“No, no it’s fine. Thank you Gaius. We can always send a guard for you if we need anything.” With that, Gaius heads off, and with a deep breath, Merlin stands, and gestures for Arthur to follow.

They make their way to Arthur’s chambers quickly, the silence just a little uncomfortable. Both of them wondering if they should ask the other if they’re sure one last time. Neither of them say anything.

They enter the rooms to see that Gaius has indeed placed everything neatly on the table, one of his old books lying open on a specific age, and two pain relief potions set to the side.

“Merlin are you-

“I’m fine with it, but are you-”

Both of them speak at the same time, before chuckling quietly and pausing. Merlin is the first to speak again:

“It’ll only take a few minutes to put everything together, but then there’s a spell to be said by both of us-”

Arthur widens his eyes in slight panic at that, but Merlin interrupts before he says anything:

“Don’t worry, you can just repeat after me. You’ll have to copy the symbol as well, I’ll need to paint something over your heart, and then you’ll have to paint the corresponding one over mine, you can copy from the book.”

Arthur takes a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves (it doesn’t work) before replying to a now busy Merlin:

“I’m not magic and I... what if I get it wrong?”

Merlin looks up from the table, and smiles gently before responding:

“Nothing. I mean we’ll probably still get a headache, but other than that... we’d just have to try again tomorrow. No big deal.” He shrugs before looking back down at everything on the table.

Arthur watches him with interest and sits on the opposite side of the table, trying to get a peak at the words or symbols in the book.

After a few minutes, Merlin has a sweet smelling paste in a bowl and two paintbrushes in his hand. He walks round the side of the table, pulling the book towards him, still open. He grabs a stool and stands it in front of him, where he puts the bowl and paintbrushes.

He gestures for Arthur to stand opposite him, and unlaces the loose tunic he’s wearing. He pulls it to the side, exposing the space on his chest over his heart, indicating for Arthur to do the same.

“Right. Our left hands go on the back of each others head,-”

(Arthur struggles not to swallow at that, and nods, pushing the blush down)

“-and they need to stay there the whole time. Our right hands need to be holding a paintbrush each. They need to be over the bowl, crossed over one another, yours on top. I’ll say the spell, bit by bit, you repeat after me. When we speak we need to look at each other. Once the vocal spell has been cast, it’ll get a little glowy in here, but just ignore it, alright? After that, I’ll touch my brush to the paste. You don’t need lots, and the symbol needs to be painted in one motion, so don’t panic if you run out, it doesn’t matter, just keep going. I’ll paint the symbol at the top of the page on your chest, you need to hold still though, keep your hand in place over the bowl. Once I’ve done, I hold my paintbrush over the top of yours, you lower yours into the bowl, and then paint the symbol at the bottom of the page, onto my chest. We don’t have to hold eye contact for that, so you can look down as much as you need to, to copy it right. After it’s done, both paintbrushes can be put down, and we touch foreheads over the bowl. That’ll be the spell done, and we can move back, the pain will only start after all that has been done, and it’ll only last a few minutes, before it begins to lessen. Gaius left us some pain relief. We can practice actually talking to each other later on. Understand all of that?”

Arthur thinks for a just a second, before nodding. He’s very much grateful for all his knight and noble training at this point, he has a good memory for detailed instructions, good enough that not even his nerves could make him forget what to do.

Merlin seems completely unfazed, I suppose because A) in the grand scheme of things, it’s a very simple spell, and B) he’s focussing more on the magical aspect than the fact that basically every step of this spell, was increasingly intimate.

Arthur tries to force his mind to do the same, as Merlin receives his nod. The Sorcerer picks up his paintbrush, and cups the back of Arthur’s head, nodding at Arthur to do the same.

Arthur follows his instructions to the letter. He concentrates so much on repeating exactly what Merlin said, and painting the symbol exactly like it was drawn in the book, that he doesn’t notice Merlin’s fond smile on him.

Arthur has always pursed his lips slightly when focusing, and it’s one of the many small mannerisms that Merlin struggles to look away from.

It comes time for them to touch foreheads, and Arthur takes a deep breath as he feels Merlin pull him forward (and he does the same to Merlin).

They hold eye contact, and Arthur has to hold in a gasp at the feel of Merlin’s magic flowing through him from the moment their heads meet. Merlin holds them there for a few seconds, before letting go and stepping back, Arthur following suit.

Within seconds, both of them are doubled over and groaning, hands clutching their heads as the feeling of warm, gentle magic is replaced by a splitting headache.

Like Merlin had said, it only lasted for a couple minutes at that high intensity, but it feels like forever.

At long last, the stabbing agony turns into a dull ache. Still in a great deal of pain, but not so much that they can’t open their eyes and head over to the table to down their pain relief potions.

At Arthur’s vague gesture, the both of them head over to the two armchairs in front of the fire, and they collapse in their respective seat, each holding their heads in their hands.

(Arthur had the second comfy chair moved to his chambers after a year or so of Merlin always sitting in his, when he first stated working for him. Merlin noticed, but never mentioned it, and the new chair, though it was never said out loud, became his.)

Arthur speaks (more like groans) after a few minutes:

“I thought those potions were supposed to help?”

“Well, it’s magical pain. Curing it isn’t an exact science. Plus the pain is sort of part of the spell, it’ll have mostly faded by the morning. I can always put together something stronger if it stops us from sleeping.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin for the first time as he begins to speak again:

“So... did it work? I feel a little odd but I don’t know if that’s the headache, or whatever happened when we touched heads, or what?”

Merlin looks up, and raises his eyebrow, before saying, wordlessly:

“Yeah. It worked.”

Arthur widens his eyes at that, before scrunching his face up (Merlin just about manages to not laugh at him) in concentration, and staring at Merlin intensely:

“Am I doing it? Merlin can you hear thiiiiiiiis? Merliiiiiii-”

Merlin laughs, before actually saying:

“Yes. Gods shut up Arthur, yes you’re doing it. It’s not exactly difficult.”

Arthur joins in his laughter:

“Sorry sorry, I just wanted to make sure. What now, is that?”

“I mean, yeah, we should probably-” he huffs slightly:

“We should probably practice. You need to get used to doing it over longer distances, and whilst we’re concentrating on other things, so you don’t get caught off guard. We can just keep each other updated across the day tomorrow, that should be plenty of time for you to get used to it.”

Arthur puts his “concentration face” on again as:

“Yes you’re probably right. Just don’t say anything stupid whilst I’m in a meeting, can’t be distracted by your idiocy.”

Merlin smirks slightly, but Arthur sits up straighter, and interrupts him before he can say anything:

“Can we do the same with images? Like could we show each other what we were seeing? I imagine that would come in very handy.”

Merlin furrows his eyebrows slightly:

“It’s headache inducing, and takes a lot more energy and concentration, but we could, if it was an emergency. I’ve never done it before. We’ll have to practice at some point, if we get a quiet day.”

Arthur nods in thought, and waves around the room, focussing on the window and the laid, but cold, fireplace:

“Could you...?”

Merlin nods his head, his eyes flashing gold as the curtains draw themselves and the fireplace bursts in to roaring flames.

“Thank you.” is spoken is Merlin’s head as Arthur once again puts his head in his hands, grumbling as he rubs his temples. The conversation had helped distract for a moment, but both of them still had terrible headaches.

“Something tells me it won’t take long, you’re already using it like it’s second nature. Though you’ll have to keep an eye on that, remember we have to actually speak out loud to other people, still.”

Arthur hums, but doesn’t look up. Merlin takes that as a cue to end the conversation, and uses magic to wave over the book he was currently reading.

The Sorcerer pulls his feet up on the chair (his chair), and settles in to read another chapter, opposite from the King, who stares into the fire, deep in thought.

Arthur doesn’t take anything that the war declaration said to heart, he knows he’s done right by his people, and on good days, he’s even proud of his accomplishments, as opposed to feeling like he’s still atoning for his father’s evils.

But still. The fact that someone was this opposed to Camelot’s new found prosperity was disturbing, not only politically, but personally. What of the people under this neighbour-tyrant’s rule? Are they suffering? They will surely feel the fallout of this war more than Camelot’s people.

Arthur was caught between guilts. It would be far too dangerous to offer refuge from this tyrant’s rule, it would undoubtedly be taken advantage of by spies and usurpers. But could he, in good conscience, leave those people to suffer under whoever would replace him? When Camelot inevitably prevailed?

These thoughts plague Arthur for a while, and he’s only broken from his spiralling worries when a thump to his side, has him look up rapidly.

He lets out a quiet chuckle as he realises Merlin has fallen asleep in the other armchair (in Merlin’s chair), the heavy book dropping to the floor.

Arthur gets up quietly, stretching his back, and noting that while his head still hurts, it isn’t nearly as painful as it used to be.

He wonders over to his bed, dragging two blankets back to the chairs by the fire.

One, he drapes over Merlin. 

Arthur stands over him, and gently strokes the hair back from his face, smiling fondly as his former-manservant shuffles slightly, leaning into his hand, and mumbles unintelligibly in his sleep.

The other, he wraps around himself before settling back into his own chair, resuming the contemplative staring into the fire. Though this time, he’s thinking on the gap between him and Merlin, and how small it had gotten over the years.

You’d think that such a train of thought would be focused on the big things: the battles, the near death experiences, the emotional speeches... the outburst in the woods. But no. They barely crossed his mind. Rather, Arthur was thinking on the small things: the small smile Merlin saved for hurt children when he called them brave, the fire in his eyes when he challenged an arsehole councilman, the pride on his face when Morgana succeeded in her lessons.

Knowing of Merlin’s magic had been an important stepping stone, but a stepping stone nonetheless. Since then, in the time that had passed, he had learnt all the seemingly unimportant things that made Merlin, Merlin.

His favourite colour was blue (blue like the sky and blue like Avalon and blue like the cover of his favourite book (blue like Arthur’s eyes, not that Arthur knew that)).

His favourite season was spring (spring with flowers and baby animals and the world breathing around you. Arthur could almost see Merlin vibrating in time with the world at spring, which didn’t surprise him, once he learnt how tied to nature his magic was).

His favourite holiday was Yuletide (Yuletide with family and dancing and singing and true freedom, all ending in a new beginning, the world getting to start again, in a small way).

His birthday was the first day of the new year (truly, a new year, and a new beginning).

His favourite food is blueberries (but really, he loves any sweet fruit. Never one for actual candy though, maybe he just wasn’t used to such luxuries. Arthur found himself wanting to provide Merlin with every luxury he could ever want).

His childhood was full of mischief and fear (running around pranking people with Will all day, and going home in the evening to find nightmares filled with red cloaks and smoke and a pyre just for him).

Arthur had spent the last nine months making sure that Merlin would never have such nightmares again.  He came damn close to changing the Pendragon colours when Merlin told him of the Red Cloak detail.

Before long Arthur also finds himself nodding his head, but moving to his bed means waking Merlin up and sending him away, and honestly? Arthur would happily wake up with a crick in his neck, if it meant he could fall asleep to the sounds of Merlin, gently snoring through the night.

With that final thought, he finally drifts to sleep in his armchair, warmed by the fire, and Merlin’s presence.

~

The next morning, King Arthur, flanked by his Court Sorcerer, his Court Seer, and his First Knight, announces to a large crowd the news of the impending war.

The people are worried, but he speaks to them honestly, and they respect that. Arthur tells them of the preparations being made: the outer villages already being warned, the partnership with the Druids, the preparations of both medical supplies and the tools of war.

As they thought, word spreads quickly. The city is bustling with people. No matter the war declaration, work still has to be done, but the air is abuzz with gossip and chatter. Arthur is thankful, for the lack of panic, and sends a grateful smile to Merlin when:

“You did good. They respect, and trust you. Be proud.” echoes in his head.

~

Time passes

After a week or so, the first refugees from the outer villages start arriving, and a few days later, Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot make it back, having delivered the notice to all of the outlying settlements.

Like Gwen had said, work in the forgery greatly sped up, and the armoury was being stocked up.

With the help of all the Druid Healers, Gaius’ preparation of the infirmary was going quickly, and he was pleased with the progress.

Morgana was seeing bits and pieces of what The Magicians (M+M and the Druids, named by Gwaine) interpreted to be the big battle, but weren’t seeing how it would start, or how it would end.

It took the people of Camelot (including Arthur) a while to get used to it, but Merlin also had Kilgharrah and Aithusa doing daily fly overs of the whole kingdom. 

Magic wasn’t illegal in the opposing kingdom, but was taken advantage of by the crown, and Merlin didn’t want to risk them sneaking up on Camelot somehow, without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Merlin did indeed check on the tunnels like he wanted. He made doubly sure that he knew where all the exits were, and the best ways to defend them. As far as he knew, no one outside the castle knew they were there, so they could be used as an emergency evacuation plan, hopefully with the opposition taking a while to catch on.

Though Arthur liked to remind Merlin that that sort of action probably wouldn’t be necessary. The fighting would hopefully take place no where near the actual city, and even if they did, Camelot was still stronger than their opponent.

Over this time, Merlin and Arthur continued to take advantage of their mental link. Unless in the presence of other people, they spoke almost exclusively in their heads.

Arthur’s poker face was getting much better as well. Merlin's constant snarky comments during council meetings was definitely the main source of practice.

It was during such a meeting, that Morgana burst in, and looked between Merlin and Arthur frantically, before saying:

“I’ve seen it. It’s coming!” Arthur reacts first, yelling at the council:

“Everyone out, right now!-”

He then turns his attention to one of the guards:

“Go fetch Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Lancelot. They should be on the training ground, hurry!” (luckily, this was a rare meeting that everyone else in The Gang was already attending)

With that the guard rushes out, and the remaining members of the council (Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Merlin, Leon, and now Morgana) rush to their side room.

As they enter, Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and he waves his hand, pushing the table and all but one of the chairs to the side of the room.

The last chair he moves to sit right in the middle, and Morgana quickly settles on it, closing her eyes.

A few minutes later, the knights come rushing in, Gwen murmuring quietly:

“Morgana has seen something, I think her and Merlin want to try and show us.”

Merlin nods to Leon, and he locks the door behind him.

The Sorcerer thrusts his arm towards the floor, and mutters a spell under his breath. His eyes flash gold, and soon enough, the room is filled with steam so thick, no one can see even a foot in front of them. They hear Merlin speak through the fog:

“Alright Morgana, just like we practiced. Focus on what you saw, and push it out of your mind, and onto the steam. Keep your breathing slow, and try to keep things chronological, clear your mind and think of nothing else.”

Morgana hums, and the group hear her take a deep breath (certainly calmed by the fact that Gwen and made her way to her, and had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, receiving a grateful smile from Merlin).

Within moments, everyone begins to see shapes moving in the fog, and hear sounds echoing around the room.

It takes a minute or two for things to come into focus, and the fog seems to sharpen. The Gang find themselves stood in the middle of a field, all in grey. Everything is slightly blurry, and if they squint, they can see the walls of the room around them through the illusion. Arthur speaks:

“This is where the battle happens?-” 

A nod from Morgana, who still sits in a chair with closed eyes, prompts Arthur to continue:

“Does anyone recognise it?” Gwaine speaks first, snapping himself out of the shock at what was happening:

“Yeah, I do. I rode through it on the way back from handing out the notices. It’s a huge meadow maybe a three days ride to the North?”

Before anyone can reply, figures, also in grey, start to fade in around them, the first to come into focus being Merlin, closely followed by Arthur stood next to him. The real Arthur stares, obviously slightly disconcerted:

“Ok... that’s a bit weird...”

The fog!M+A look serious, glancing at each other quickly and nodding, before walking in opposite directions.

Fog!Arthur fades, the scene following fog!Merlin as he stalks across the field, before stopping suddenly. He frowns slightly, before seeming to look straight at real!Merlin, and saying:

“I’m sorry. But it’s coming. I can’t stop it, I tried. This is the only way. Just... relax... it’ll hurt less. Four days.”

Real!Merlin frowns, but gasps and takes step back as fog!Merlin looks at him meaningfully, before taking a deep breath and turns away, continuing to walk.

The weather changes, beginning to rain, and if everyone wasn’t so preoccupied by what had just happened, they would’ve laughed at fog(future?)!Merlin going “Oh for fucks sake, why am I always right?” under his breath.

Suddenly, the scene changes entirely. 

On the floor lies a body, on his side, but face down, a sword through his back, poking out through his chest. Whoever it was had been attacked from behind. Rain still pours.

If anyone had looked up, they would’ve noticed the meadow completely free of other bodies. A battlefield that had apparently held only one fight.

The Gang jumps, as they hear a yell, and turn to see fog!Arthur race towards a figure no one had noticed.

Fog!Arthur cuts them down quickly, barely paying attention, before falling to his knees next to the body:

“No.... no no no, Come on Merls, don’t do this to me.”

Everyone apart from Merlin gasps at this, watching as fog!Arthur turns the body over.

A vacant fog!Merlin stares up at the sky, unmoving, eyes glassy, blood trickling from his mouth, as fog!Arthur continues to mutter to himself unintelligibly.

Before anyone can react, the scene fades again, completely this time.

The fog melts into the floor, the room around them revealed again, as Morgana slumps in her seat, breathing deeply.

No one looks away from the spot where Merlin’s body had been until Merlin interrupts the tense silence:

“That’s not... good.” He doesn’t look scared, despite finding out that he would apparently die at some point in the near future.

Everyone looks up at him in shock, tears in Arthur’s eyes, and fear and sadness in Morgana’s, but before anyone can say anything, he speaks again:

“There’s a storm brewing at the moment, it should start in about four days, that’ll be what he... what I meant earlier. No armies. That would explain why Morgana hasn’t seen the original Bloody Battle visions in a while... no battle? Hmm.” He seems to be muttering to himself, but looks up as Arthur grabs his shoulders:

“You won’t be going. You can stay back and help at the main infirmary.”

Everyone nods in agreement, but Morgana shakes her head, before saying (obviously tired):

“That’s not how it works. The more.... solid, my visions are, the more likely they are to happen. I’ve never had a vision that clear. And you heard what Merlin... or Future Merlin, said. This is happening.” She looks to Merlin with fear in her eyes:

“You’re going to die. In four days.”

The room once again looks to Merlin, all very confused at why he looks more thoughtful than anything. He shrugs off Arthur’s hands  and paces slightly. He let’s out a thoughtful hum before looking at Morgana:

“I don’t suppose you can remember anything about that sword? Did it seem strange to you or... just a sword?” At Morgana’s confused expression, he points absentmindedly to his own chest.

Arthur interrupts:

“What does that matter? It was a sword, Merlin, through your chest. I don’t care what either of you say. We’re keeping you away from that meadow. I’ll lock you up if I have to, you’re not going.”

Merlin looks at him apologetically:

“Of course it matters. Depending on whether whoever that sword belongs to has done anything funky to it or not, I’ll just wake up again-”

He waves his hand casually:

“-and besides. You have nothing here that I couldn’t break out of, Arthur.  There really are only one or two things that can tie me down properly, and I’m sure as shit not gonna tell you what they are now. Morgana? The sword?”

She looks shocked at his casual approach before replying:

“Uhh... it didn’t feel evil or anything. It just felt like a sword, but I wouldn’t bet on it. You’ve seen how my meditations have been going recently, not everything is in focus, I could have missed an enchantment easily. I would tell you not to risk it but.... I know you. And that vision was clear. Nothing is going to stop you from... that.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully, but Arthur seems to be getting more panicked, but before he can speak, Leon interrupts:

“Wait... backtrack a minute. What do you mean “wake up again”? Merlin there was a sword through your chest. That was very much a... killing, blow.”

Merlin sighs and looks around the room, finally seeming to notice how horrified everyone looked:

“You guys... remember that I’m immortal right? Unless someone stole one of my dragons without me realizing, and made another Excalibur type weapon, again, without me realising... then I should be fine.”

Arthur bursts, grabbing Merlin once again:

“Merlin that... that was not fine! The future me was freaking out, and you weren’t waking up! There has to be another way. I won’t risk it.”

Merlin ignores him, looking instead to Gwaine:

“You said it was a three days ride away? To the North?” Gwaine nods hesitantly, and Merlin looks towards Leon:

“Have the army gather outside the city gates, but tell them that they’re not going anywhere. It looks like me and Arthur are going to be able to sort this out without any... or... you know... without any permanent bloodshed. But they should be ready just in case. Morgana, take tonight to rest, and build your strength. You’re going to be staying here, the last line of defence, if it comes to it.-”

He’s interrupted by Elyan:

“NO. Look I saw it as well as anyone in this room. But we are not leaving you. We are a family, we hold Camelot in our hands, and we won’t leave you to do this alone. We’ll all be there. You want us to stand back and watch? Fine. But you and Arthur are not doing this without us. Not this time.”

Morgana forces herself to stand, with Gwen’s support. Everyone in the room gives a decisive nod as she speaks:

“He’s right. Nothing you can do, Lord Emrys, will stop us from following you to that meadow.” Merlin looks about to argue, but she narrows her eyes at him, and he deflates.

He looks around the room, at his family, and sees their faces. All set in stone. They had just seen his body, and they weren’t going to let him do it alone, not this time.

He nods slightly, pretending that his eyes aren’t filling with tears. He reaches up and squeezes Arthur’s hand, still on his shoulder, as he sadly smiles:

“...Ok. I... thank you. If we want to get there in time, we’ll need to leave today.” 

“We need them all distracted so we can slip away.” echoes through Merlin’s head, but before he can respond, Gwen speaks up, her voice strong and determined:

“I’ll go tell the stables to get our horses ready immediately, and grab some supplies from the kitchen. Everyone meet in the courtyard in half an hour.”

Percival:

“I’ll go to the stables, you head straight for the kitchens and I’ll meet you there after and help.” Gwen gives a firm nod, and the two of them leave. Gaius speaks up next:

“I’ll gather some medical supplies, and fetch some things from my chambers, and then let the infirmary staff know what’s going on.” and he leaves without waiting for a response. Morgana speaks up next:

“I’m going to grab a change of clothes for everyone. You (gesturing to Arthur) need to grab your armour.”

She looks to Elyan questioningly:

“Yeah I’ll help. I’ll grab spares for the knights, you grab something for yourself, Merlin, The King, and Gwen.” The two of them leave, exiting the room and heading in different directions.

Arthur speaks next, but directs it to Leon:

“Have the armies gather around the city, the bulk of the force on the North side. Tell them what’s happening. Hopefully we won’t need them but... if we fail, they need to be ready.”

Leon says nothing, but gives a firm nod, and marches out of the room, heading to ring the emergency bell at the training grounds.

“Well that wasn’t too difficult. What about these two?” Is what manifests in Merlin’s head this time, and he replies quickly:

“I don’t know, but quickly. If you take too long, they’ll know you’re just coming up with excuses to get rid of them.”

Arthur looks to Lancelot and Gwaine, but before he can say anything, Gwaine laughs and interrupts him:

“Absolutely not, princess. There’s nothing left to be done, you two just want to sneak off without anyone noticing, and we won’t let you.”

Arthur huffs at that, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him:

“I told you they wouldn’t fall for it.” Arthur gives his Sorcerer a withering glare:

“Shut up, Merlin.” Merlin just laughs in response, ignoring the confused looks on Gwaine and Lancelot’s faces.

Lancelot drops the look, and speaks:

“Ok I don’t know what that was, but Gwaine’s right. ALL of us, are going to your chambers so you can get your armour, and then ALL of us are heading down to the courtyard.”

Arthur huffs once again before marching from the room, his Sorcerer and two knights trailing closely behind him.

~

As agreed, 30 minutes later, all of them are gathered in the courtyard. Morgana and Elyan had packed each of the horses with spare clothes, and the food that Percival and Gwen had bought. 

It wasn’t much, but it would do them for the first night, they would definitely have to hunt whilst they travelled, but that’s not unfamiliar to them.

With one last look at each other, they ride out towards the Northern City Gates, Arthur leading the way. 

After Leon had informed the knights of what was going on, he had called an emergency council meeting, and informed them as well. They weren’t happy, but Leon put his “in-charge” voice on, and told them to deal with it.

They reached the gates, and Arthur nodded at a grave Gwaine to take the lead. Not a word has been spoken since they met up in the courtyard, and they ride out in silence. 

Merlin glances at Arthur next to him:

“Everything is going to be ok, Arthur.”

He gets no response.

I feel kinda bad leaving it there, but just like I thought it would, it was getting a tad too long. 

THIS IS COMPLETED!! Part 5 (final part) has been posted.

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know :)

[buckysgoldenheart]

Watching You

Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: Walter did not like to waste time on stupid things, and being asked by some young troublemaker to start following an ex-girlfriend around fell under that category. At least, it did, until he found out just who the ex-girlfriend was.

Words:  2334

Warnings: Cursing. Slight smut. Not Edited or anything of the sort, so expect little!

Note: This is just something I had saved that I thought I’d post while I finish up the Vampire Henry Series (Unexpectedly Bitten). I plan to post the rest of that fic all at once, most likely this weekend. As always, comments are appreciated :)

What a no-good loser. That’s what Walter thought the second Jimmy Masters walked through the front door of his office on a Saturday evening. He was a good six inches shorter than Walter, much scrawnier, ten years younger at least, and in desperate need of a haircut. He was the kind of kid Walter hated, the kind of kid that had probably seen the inside of a jailcell for a night or two for some stupid, petty crime, yet refused to learn his lesson.

Walter’s eyebrow arched in disinterest and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as a coworker led the kid inside.

“We think this falls in your area, Marshall.”

Walter had only nodded and told the boy to sit to explain his reason for interrupting the first moment of peace in the day.

“I got a friend who says detectives know how to follow people real well,” Jimmy said, his voice an aggravating tone that Walter already couldn’t stand.

Walter cleared his throat. “Your friend is rather astute.”

“What?”

The detective blew out a breath, exhausted after speaking with the kid for less than a minute. “Just tell me what you want.” And when Jimmy was done with his pitch, Walter said with a sigh, “You want me to follow a girl that clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

“No, man. She loves me. She does. She’s just confused right now, and I gotta make sure there’s no other guy, ya know? I don’t want her messing around. It’s disrespectful.”

Walter heaved out another long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “But she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

Jimmy shook his head, his shaggy, dusty-blond hair swaying vigorously with the motion. “That’s temporary.”

Snorting, Walter sat up in his chair. “Sure it is. Look, you think maybe she just isn’t interested anymore?”

“Hey, I’m not here for additional commentary. Can you help me or not?”

“From what you’ve said, she’s not breaking any laws, she’s not a danger to herself or others, so I have no reason to—”

“Please, man. Please,” Jimmy said, putting his palms together in lame prayer. Walter was sure this boy hadn’t prayed to anything in his entire life. “I’ll never step foot in here again if you help me out just this once.”

Walter eyed the kid, trying to weight the pros and cons of wasting his time on something so inane, but if it got the little, blond twit to go away, then he figured there were worse things. It had been a slow week as it was. He groaned and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Fine. What’s her name?”

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

“Walter,” You said, trying to hold back any emotion in your voice as you moved aside to let him pass the threshold into your small apartment. As habit had it, you were much happier to see him than you wished. Walter always had a way of lighting your every nerve on fire from just your bodies being in the same room. You couldn’t help wanting him, missing him, but you hid it well.

As he walked in, his body trailed the outside chill behind, sending a shiver down your spine. Then he pulled the beanie you’d bought him off his head and turned to face you. Though the irritated look on his face was not an uncommon one, you didn’t appreciate it directed at you.

You crossed your arms. “Well?” Walter hung around quite often until you had asked him to quit it, and though he didn’t usually listen to you--putting his own concerns above your wishes--you knew he held a respect for you that made him at least try to keep his distance. If he was stopping by now…well, it could only bring you trouble, but not seeing his face in so long had you more lenient.

“Why is some punk walking into my precinct and asking me to follow you?”

Your eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. How many punks could you possibly have hanging around?”

Being a decade older, Walter often made you laugh at his distaste for younger adults. You were the one exception, he’d always said, but all others were ‘punks.’ He feared the day Faye had to deal with boys your age, if she were ever so unlucky. “You met Jimmy?”

His fists kept clenching and unclenching, his shoulders somehow broadened, and the frown on his face made his eyebrows pinch and dip deep. “This idiot is really attached to you, Y/N.”

The more he spoke, the more you realized that ‘irritated’ may have been too sweet a word for what Walter really was. “He just doesn’t like his ego being bruised.”

Walter shrugged off his winter coat and tossed it on the couch as if it was still normal for him to do so, then ran a hand through the dark, messy curls you always loved. “Why the hell are you messing around with a--?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not messing around with him anymore.”

“Well, he seems to think it’s temporary.”

“It’s not.”

Crossing his arms, Walter shook his head like a disappointed parent would at their bratty, misbehaving child; the way you’d seen him look at Faye every time he found out she was spending too much time on social media. “Stay away from this guy, alright?”

“You would tell me to stay away from any guy,” You mumbled to yourself with a snort.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not give me attitude,” He snapped back. “You’re not being safe! If you were, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation!"

Instantly, your shoulders stooped and the same old headache began to form. “Not this again, Walt. According to you I’m never safe unless I’m in your line of sight.”

“Yes!” He yelled, stomping your way, stopping just short of ramming his body through yours. “Now if only you could stay in it!”

“You can’t have eyes on me all day every day.”

“The hell I can’t!”

“You promised, Walter.” You let out a small whine. “I told you it was too hard for me to keep seeing you around wherever I went, and you promised you would stop watching me.” You wished it didn’t have to be that way. You wished seeing his face didn’t bring on such a potent punch of pain, but it did. Every single day when you left your apartment, you saw him standing by his car, a coffee cup in hand, unashamedly watching you like some creep. Eventually, you stopped looking in the direction you knew he would be, hoping you may forget he was there at all, but you always felt his eyes on you; such a strong stare, he might as well have been touching you. But you couldn’t take it. Months of your every move being tracked by the man you loved but couldn’t have was taking its toll, and so you begged him to leave you alone, to give you some relief.

“I did stop, and what happened? Barely a month after I made that stupid promise, some dumb, obsessed kid comes asking me to stalk you.”

You leaned back against the wall, growing more exhausted by the minute. “Well, with all the past practice you’ve had watching my every move, I’d say he was rather smart to pick you of all people. Shitty coincidence that he would though, since now I’m getting lectured.”

“I am not lecturing you.”

“Fine, but whatever this is you’re doing here, you’re out of line. My business is not your business anymore. It hasn’t been your business for the last five months.”

“Your little boyfriend came to me,” He said, pointing a finger at his chest, “so yes, it is my bus--”

“It is not!” You bit back. “You could’ve turned him away. You could’ve told him not to follow me around unless he was itching to get a restraining order, but you didn’t, did you? You took this opportunity to check up on me. Again!”

He stepped back, looking as if you had slapped him. His aggressive, guarded barrier of emotions cracked, and you could see the vulnerability he hadn’t shown since your relationship ended.

“Walter” You sighed, “You’re the one who stepped back. You’re the one who said it would be best if we weren’t in a relationship. You said I was a distraction and—”

“I said you’d be at risk, not that you’re a distraction.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Damn it, Y/N, it does! I only did it because I love you!” He said without hesitation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know that!”

You blinked. “No, I did not know that! You seriously broke up with me because you love me? That’s ridiculous.”

“I broke up with you to keep you safe, but I clearly suffered for nothing seeing as you put yourself in unsafe situations even without my association.”

You wanted to believe him, so bad, but people don’t leave behind the ones they love. After all, you loved him and the thought of leaving him made you nauseous, even now. When you were together, he may have appeared in love, but after a year he still hadn’t told you and you knew you’d let yourself get a little too hopeful. If you were honest with yourself, him breaking up with you was not as much of a shock as it should’ve been. But as you looked at him now, you could see that he truly believed you already knew.

“It doesn’t make sense that you would do that,” You said. “People don’t just break up with someone they love.”

“Fuck, Y/N, did I ever seem unhappy with you? Did I ever come across like I didn’t want you every second of every day? My every other thought was of you,” He said loudly, like a rant, and you were having a hard time figuring out who he was mad at. “So don’t try to tell me how I felt, and feel now. I still love you and that’s not going to change, but I can’t have criminals, murderers even, coming after you because they are pissed at me for hunting them down or having a case against them. It would take nothing for the average officer or detective to figure out that you and I were together even if we were hiding it. How hard do you think it would be for some psychopath?”

You hadn’t realized a tear slipped down your cheek until you tasted it at the corner of your lips. It was salty but somehow bitter and left a thick burning path along your skin. You quickly wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me this months ago?”

“Because, stubborn as you are, you wouldn’t have listened. You would have told me it didn’t matter.” He fell backwards onto the couch, closing his eyes and letting out a groan. “I try to do the right thing. I try to protect you, thinking everything will be fine as long as no one can link you to me, but I can’t…stay away.” His eyes met yours. “And then you beg me to, and it’s excruciating to obey. When I was able to watch over you, it reminded me that I did the right thing. You were safe and I could constantly be reassured of that.”

You walked over to him, your heart thumping with every step, then sat on your knees in front of him, placing your hand atop his own resting on his thigh. His other hand reached for your face and his fingers softly grazed your cheek before they tucked some hair behind your ear. “Walt—”

“That kid…Jimmy,” Walter interrupted as he began tracing the back of your hand with his thumb. “He thinks you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not.”

“You swear?”

“Of course, Walt. I told you--”

“I know,” He said with a single nod of his head. “I know. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep now.”

You rested your cheek on the inner side of his knee and said, “You could sleep here.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bit your lip nervously. You couldn’t even dare to count how many times you’d had sex during the course of your relationship, but now, asking him not to leave made your pulse thrum in your ears.

He leaned forward and looked down at you. “Because I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then why would you bother trying,” You whispered without a second thought and slowly inched up on your knees so you could connect your lips with his.

It lasted only a second or two before he broke the kiss, grabbed you by the arm, and yanked you onto his lap. His grip at the back of your neck pulled your mouth to his as your hand slipped between your bodies and quickly started to undo his belt buckle.

“God, baby,” Walter groaned against your lips when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and released it from his jeans. He pulled the ratty, old t-shirt of his over your shoulders and softly settled his hands on your hips. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…missed these,” He said, placing a kiss on one bare breast, then the other. “I missed you, so much.” He placed his lips to the curve of your neck, then met your eyes. “I miss you every fucking day.”

You kissed his forehead, and his arms tightened around you as you lifted your hips and sank down onto him. “I missed you too, Walter,” You said, but the words melted somewhere within the mix of your moans and his groans.

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

Tags: @agniavateira​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway​ @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @meganwinchester1999​

[aperrywilliams]

Couvade  (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: The team having weeks full of work, traveling across the country. Tiredness is taking its toll on Reader and Spencer.

Word Count: 3747.

Warnings: References to headaches, stomachaches, and another “aches” as well. Couple discussions. Spencer losing his temper. Spencer and Reader clueless. But fluffy in the end.

A/N: Work has drained all my energy these last few weeks. Something from our favorite doctor to get me back.

——————–

In recent months the cases that were coming to the BAU were a true roller coaster in many ways: some simpler, others tremendously difficult and rough. Some local others far across the country.

With all this turmoil, there wasn't much time left for personal life. My advantage, if I had to compare myself to my colleagues, was that my boyfriend worked with me and at least we could see each other a few moments a day and spend some time together on the jet traveling from one place to another.

I think Spencer also saw it as an advantage, even though as the weeks went by following this same rhythm he was much more irritable and angry than usual. Not that Spencer is an irritable man by definition, quite the contrary, but the work’ stress was taking its toll on us and he was no exception.

One of the few mornings we were able to be quiet in the BAU offices, I approached his desk. It caught my attention that he had the palms of his hands covering his mouth.

“Spencer, ¿what’s wrong?”. Looking at him, I saw that he was paler than usual.

“Nothing , I'm fine. I just feel a little nauseous. Apparently the muffin for breakfast made my stomach funny”, he lamented.

“Baby , I'm sorry. I should have asked when it was made when I bought it,” I tried to apologize.

“It's not your fault. It may be that my stomach is more fussy than usual,” he said with a sigh. Sigh that was apparently interrupted by another nausea. In two seconds Spencer was on her feet running towards the bathroom.

Not that Spencer is a tremendously healthy person, but it was rare to see him sick, except for his headaches and his periods of insomnia, which we were both used to living with from time to time. But this was different. Spencer rarely caught a cold or had stomach problems, even given all the coffee and sugar she consumed daily.

In general, when men feel sick they are like children . And in Spencer Reid that was increased by three. Thus, throughout that day I was concerned with checking his condition, preparing herbal tea and doing everything possible to prevent him from drinking coffee. When we got to the apartment that we had shared for more than a year, I made sure to make soup for him and send him to bed early.

In the following days his stomach discomfort began to disappear. A relief, because my genius boyfriend was unbearable during all those days, so much that we argued about almost anything. I also felt irritable and overwhelmed by the amount of work we had, and besides having to take care of Spencer .

Another case, another trip. On the jet on the way to San Francisco, and after reviewing details of the case, I went to sit next to Spencer. I wanted to apologize for our last discussion that morning. When I got closer he was reading a book, but I knew he wasn't really reading since the pages weren't turning. I was sure he was attentive to how I approached his side.

“Spencer... baby...,” I said in the softest and most tender voice I could. I did not get an answer. “Spencer ... can you look at me please?”. The second call was less friendly. He raised his eyes to look at me.

“I'm looking at you (Y/N),” he replied with a bored expression that began to annoy me and even regret wanting to apologize.

“Thank you. Can you close your book too? I need to talk to you”. Not very enthusiastically he shut the book and put it to the side of the seat.

“Done. What do you want to talk about?”. Same look and same voice. I didn't want to be upset with him, but he was making it difficult for me. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I want to apologize for our discussion this morning. I know I said not very kind things to you. None of that was truth, you have to believe me. It's just that I also feel overwhelmed by everything and I understand that you are tired, but I am too and you know that I say things without thinking when I am like this…”. His gaze softened when he saw that I was genuine and tears even started to come out of me without my meaning to. He sighed and extended his arms for me to snuggle with him, which I did immediately burying my face into his chest.

“I must also apologize. I didn't react in the best way either. I yelled at you and that's not right. I also feel overwhelmed and tired, more than usual. Being sick last week didn't help me much either… ”. He hugged me tight so I felt his words were sincere.

“I'm sorry. I hope this job’s rhythm drops in the next few days, I don't want to live fighting with you”. I said giving him a soft kiss on his chin and drying my tears.

“I don’t want that either. In fact, I think we should take a few days off, just for us. At this point I am having a hard time separating work’s moments from our private’s moments,” he stated.

Spencer was right. What seemed to be positive also had its bad side: Which was the real boundary between the professional and the personal? We always tried our relationship wasn’t a problem for our job, but it was also important to do the reverse exercise: our job shouldn't be a problem for our relationship either.

All this time that we had been on this beat - more than 10 weeks and counting – we had no enough time to spend together like a real couple. The last time we had sex was before Spencer got sick and it was a quicky in my hotel room during a case in Denver. And before that, I don’t even remember well.

I hadn't felt very good either. Going from place to place around the country had me dizzy most of the time and with headaches for weeks. Of course, none of that managed to incapacitate me at work, so I didn’t take it seriously and didn’t tell anyone about it . I also had a few days with stomach pain and nausea, which I explained by the poor diet we were having between so much travel. After a few weeks I began to feel better from these discomforts, but irritability and tiredness continued.

I was still cuddling with Spencer when I felt him whine shifting for a more comfortable position into the seat.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?,” I asked lifting my head to look at him.

“Since yesterday I have a back pain that is killing me. (Y/N), I still have some years to go to turn 40 and I already feel like an old man!,” he complained.

“We haven't slept well either. Hotel beds are not the best. I have also had back pain some weeks ago. But I think I'm used to that and it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m complaining about my pain and you too haven't felt well lately. I'm failing miserable as a boyfriend”. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, hugging me tight again.

“I didn't want to worry you with those things. I know how you get when something happens to me, surely you would have insisted on me taking a leave. And it's not a big deal. The worst is the tiredness and the bad mood, besides that I feel that my body weighs on me. I gained weight grossly. I look awful,” I said, pouting.

“Of course you’re not. You look beautiful. Tired… but beautiful”. He took my chin and gave me a soft kiss on my lips.

“You say it just to not make me feel bad,” I replied when we pulled away.

“(Y/N), I mean it. You know I like everything about you,” Spencer replied as he stroked my back and rested his chin on my head. How I missed those moments with Spencer, even though I wish they weren't on the jet on their way to a case.

The San Francisco case was terrible. We were in the fifth day and couldn't identify the unsub yet. We were sleeping very little and badly. We couldn't even agree between ourselves on the profile, which triggered a heated discussion with Spencer while we were in the meeting room we had been assigned to work. The worst thing was having this argument in front of the whole team.

“You are not seeing the obvious (Y/N), it’s impossible this can be done by a single person. There aren't any hints of that in the evidence”. Spencer spat as he pointed to the board with the notes and photos we had.

“Are you saying I don't know how to do my job? I am seeing the same evidence as you, but you are so obsessed with your theory that you are not able to think of other possibilities”, I replied back.

“Obsessed? Oh no, no. The only one obsessed with a theory here is you. You have not put any evidence of what you are saying!”

“Don’t say that. Look at this board! What do all these photos tell you? Why couldn't it be a single person with a psychotic break? Can't you see the pattern? I began to despair and inadvertently tears I couldn’t control began to fall. That upset Spencer even more.

“Your crying isn’t going to convince me of this stupid theory (Y/N)!,” he shot almost making my heart shatter. Watching the exchange grow increasingly rough, Prentiss finally intervened.

“Reid! Enough!,” she said seeing how I couldn't control my tears and my hands started to shake. At the wake-up call, Spencer fell silent and realized my state. I started to feel dizzy. He tried to grab my arm and I avoided him.

“Don’t touch me!,” I yelled at him, as I headed straight to leave the room, but the dizziness intensified and I fell to the floor losing consciousness.

***

I managed to grab (Y/N)'s head before it hit the floor. At that moment I realized that I had lost my temper and had pushed (Y/N) to the limit. JJ immediately came over to help me. We checked the pulse and checked for any injuries. Meanwhile, Rossi went in search of the paramedics.

I felt a lump in my throat. Suddenly the nausea returned. I couldn't help myself and ran to the bathroom. I was cursing myself for not being able to control myself. My girlfriend had passed out because of me and I couldn't even be with her because I felt sick again.

When I came out of the bathroom I was intercepted by Emily in the hallway. She told me that (Y/N) had regained consciousness but they would take her to the hospital for a check-up anyway. I just wanted to go with her.

“JJ went with her and the paramedics. I'll let you go with her, but first tell me what's going on between you both. You two have been between fights and reconciliations for weeks. Your mood is a roller coaster, we no longer know what happens to you. I understand that we are all tired of this rhythm, but in you guys it seems like something unbearable! Are you okay? Can you tell me Spencer…”. Emily was right. We had weeks between discussions and mutual apologies. Now, I couldn't find a mildly convincing reason for the situation.

“I honestly don't know. I don't know what happens to us. Until a few weeks ago everything was fine and now… I don't know. I can't control myself. There are days when I feel tired, jaded. Others where everything seems normal. I have felt sick more often. I can't even stand myself sometimes,” I said scratching my head.

“Whatever it’s, I think you need to talk. This kind of outburst can't happen again, Spencer. Now go with her”

“Are you sure?... what about the case?...” I asked.

“Unbelievably, your argument gave us a clue. Rossi, Luke, and Tara are analyzing it now. So don't worry about the case, go. Talk to (Y/N)”. I nodded and ran to the hospital.

***

When I regained consciousness I was still in the meeting room, JJ was holding my head and a paramedic was checking my vitals. I felt embarrassed. I wanted to get up but JJ wouldn't let me. She told me that they would take me to the hospital to check me up even though I had already regained consciousness. I just shrugged. I didn’t know why so much commotion, for me it was just fatigue and the anger of the moment. Anger that still ran through my body, because I didn't even want to ask where Spencer was.

At the hospital a nurse came to my room and asked JJ leave the room for a moment. Then she took blood samples from me, measured my blood pressure, among other things. When she was doing that she asked me what happened. The nurse asked me too about my health in the previous weeks and I told her about my back pain, bloating, headaches, nausea and dizziness. She just nodded and told me that we should wait for the tests to rule out things and conclude if it was only fatigue and stress that triggered my fainting. Then she left the room and JJ came in again.

“What did she tell you?,” JJ asked me.

“Nothing yet. She took samples and said we have to wait,” I replied shrugging.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I guess it's stress. In the last two months we have not had a truce JJ, I don't know how you are still standing…,” I said with a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. We have had very intense weeks lately. But it looks like it hit you and Spencer a lot harder. Are you two okay?”. There was genuine concern in her voice, but honestly I didn't have an explanation beyond the obvious: stress.

“Yes , I guess. I mean, it's true that we've argued more often, but that doesn't change how I feel about Spencer. In the opposite. It's weird what I'm going to say, but I miss him. I mean, I miss our moments together without having to think about work or argue”. I hadn't realized that tears were already coming from my eyes. “Shit JJ, and now I'm crying and I don't know why… I should be mad! He yelled at me in front of everyone and called me stupid!”

“You need to talk about it, (Y/N). I'm sure he didn't mean it”

“He is an idiot, JJ. He is almost more insufferable than me…”. I crossed my arms over my chest frowning just thinking about what happened. And as if it were fate, at that precise moment Spencer Reid made his appearance in the hospital room.

***

I walked into the hospital room and saw (Y/N) on the bed with her arms crossed over her chest talking to JJ. They both looked at me standing in the doorway. I could see (Y/N)’s anger on her face. She had right, I wasn't going to blame her for that. I steeled myself and approached (Y/N). If I had to receive her anger, I was willing to accept it.

“How do you feel?,” I asked. I wanted to take her hand, but she quickly pushed it away.

“Fine”. She didn't even want to look at me. Her eyes fixed on her feet covered by the hospital bed’s sheets. At that moment JJ ​​got up from her chair heading to the door.

“I’ll be outside calling the team. I let you talk for a while”. On leaving JJ closed the door. (Y/N) still didn't look at me.

“(Y/N)… I’m so sorry. Baby, I'm really sorry. I lost control. I don’t know what happened to me. Nothing I said I meant it. (Y/N), you have to believe me, I don't want you to think I don't value your job. That’s not true, you are invaluable to the team. You are an excellent profiler…,” I was looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You yelled at me. You treated me lousy. I don't know what is wrong with you. If you're as overwhelmed as I am, that doesn't give you the right to do what you did either”. She looked up and I could see that she was hurt. That broke my heart.

“I know. I'm sorry. I don’t know what's happening to me these weeks. I would like to give you a better explanation, but I don't have one. I know it’s wrong and I promise I will do whatever it takes to make up to you. I love you, (Y/N). I can’t stand see you hurt because of me”. This time she reached for my hand and squeezed it hard.

“I should hate you Spencer Reid. But I can't…” (Y/N) said shaking her head and huffing. “I guess I must believe you this time. You are not forgiven yet, though,” she warned me. I kissed her hand nodding in agreement. At that moment the doctor entered the room, still checking a folder with many papers.

“Miss (Y/L/N), good afternoon, I’m Dr. Anna Ragger, how are you feeling?”

“Much better now, thank you doctor,” the doctor nodded looking at me. “He is Spencer Reid, my boyfriend,” (Y/N) hastened to explain.

“Ah. Nice to meet you. Well, I have the results from your blood tests.” I was standing next to (Y/N) without releasing her hand.

“Is there something I should be concerned about doctor?”, (Y/N) asked.

“It depends on what you consider to be a concern, but I would say no,” doctor replied with a shy smile on her face. I looked at (Y/N) who had the same confused face as me. Before the doctor could say anything else, I felt my stomach twist again. Dr. Ragger looked at me strangely.

“Is something wrong sir?,” she asked. When my nausea subsided, I was only able to speak.

“I'm fine. I've only been with some stomachaches for a few weeks…,” I mumbled.

“What else did you feel? Fatigue? Headaches? Body aches? Mood changes?,” Dr. Ragger asked. I looked at her in amazement. She had perfectly described my symptoms of the past weeks. (Y/N) was frowning trying to understand what was happening.

“Yeah… ehm… all of them. Well, we've had very difficult weeks at work,” I replied. The doctor tried to hide a smile.

“Have you heard of Couvade syndrome?,” I thought for a few seconds and yes, I knew what it was.

“Yeah. Couvade syndrome is something that happens to men when their partners are pregnant. It emulates the symptoms that women experience during the first trimester of pregnancy,” I explained. The doctor nodded, smiling. (Y/N) dropped her jaw. Dr. Ragger, seeing I had not thought enough about my own words, intervened again.

“That likely explains your symptoms...”

“You mean I have that syndrome? I don't think so, because for that to happen (Y/N) would have to be... oh!”. The realization hit me like a freight train. “Oh!”, I exclaimed and looked at (Y/N) and then turned my eyes again to the doctor. “(Y/N) is...?”

“That's right, Miss (Y/L/N) is pregnant. Congratulations!”.

“Oh my God, are you sure Dr. Ragger?,” (Y/N) asked almost jumping out of bed. I started to feel dizzy. Dr. Ragger noticed my reaction and helped me to sit in the chair where JJ was before leaving the room.

“Yes miss (Y/L/N), your symptoms are consistent with pregnancy, and the blood tests confirmed it. My guess is that you must be in your 10th week of pregnancy, which would explain why your boyfriend would be experiencing similar symptoms. It doesn't happen to all men, of course, but there is always a possibility,” she explained. A little less dizzy I got up from the chair and stand beside (Y/N) holding her hand, still paralyzed. She was astonished yet.

“Well. Now that we are clear about the reasons for your symptoms, you are ready to go home miss (Y/L/N). Talk to your obstetrician about the next steps. Congratulations again,” Dr. Ragger stated before leaving the room.

Once we stayed alone in the room, (Y/N) shook her head in disbelieve. Maybe my face still didn't reflect it, but inside I was burning with happiness. Admittedly, it wasn't something we would have planned, but I was ecstatic at the news. I noticed tears began to roll down (Y/N)'s cheeks. I panicked. Maybe she was not happy with the news.

“Baby, what is it?”

“Spencer... we hadn't planned this. We hadn't even talked about the possibility of having children. And now it's happening... I’m happy, but I don't know if you want this. I can't force you to be with me for that. If you're not comfortable with this, it’s okay, I'll understand... really,” (Y / N) began to cry. I took her cheeks with my hands.

“Hey, look at me. Everything is gonna be okay. We will be okay. I love you so much (Y/N), and that's reason enough for me wanting everything with you. I want to be with you, I want to have children with you. I want you to be my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make me the happiest man in the world, and that is why it hurts when I see you suffer for something I did. Please forgive me for these days that I have put you through...,” I said kissing her forehead. I could feel her body relaxed at my words. She took a deep breath.

“Only if you're willing to forgive me for what I'm going to put you through in the next few months... and the rest of your life, Dr. Reid,” (Y/N) said now with a small smile on her face.

“Fair is fair. I'll face it happily,” I replied laughing. I was so pleased seeing the woman who made me so happy every day smiling again.

“I love you Spencer,” she said in a whisper into my lips before kissing me.

“I love you… both,” I replied when we parted. Both smiling and happy for what the future held for us.

——————–

[soliverse]

sugar, sugar - z.cl

reader x chenle

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: a kiss in the cheek, cuss words, pessimism (I think that’s about it? Let me know if I missed something.

word count: 6.2k

part of the Candy Hearts Collab by @127-mile (click the link if you want to read the rest of the collab)

synopsis: Your whole life, especially working for your boss, is a living nightmare. That was until you got some sugar in your life.

inspiration:

Isn’t It Romantic (The film from Netflix by Rebel Wilson),

Sugar, Sugar by the Archies

networks

@nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape @kwritersworld @culture-cafe @neowritingsnet @neoswitchnet @czennienet

February 13,202x / 8:00 AM

It was a quiet and peaceful morning. Which is too bad since that’s not what you’re aiming for.

Your alarm should’ve sounded at 6:00AM. Instead, it woke you up an hour late despite how much fumbling and crying that you did make it work last night.

You have completely ditched breakfast, running as fast as you can to the bus stop that never comes and leave as scheduled.

Already half an hour late, you still sat down that bus seat, fidgeting as if not staying calm on your seat will make the bus ride shorter. Right now, the only thing that you’re still holding on to is that small, sliver of hope that you get there before your boss does.

After climbing down the vehicle, you ran like you’re in a marathon and looked for that one window that your coworker always leaves open whenever you’re late like today. You ungracefully climbed up the window of the storage room and met Jisung, who’s already getting himself ready before opening.

“Is he here yet?”

You whispered as you tried to dust your red shirt and smoothened out your wrinkled uniform. The goal is to make yourself look decent, an attempt that you barely managed to accomplish

“He just came in. Hurry up before he notices.”

You mouthed “Thanks” to Jisung before leaving the storage room and sneak into the main entrance to log yourself in for today.

Your eyes scanned the candy-themed decorations for any signs of life (or danger, in your boss’ case) but he is nowhere to be found. You walked casually towards the main entrance, breathing only a sigh of relief as soon as you get to the front door.

Finally feeling at ease, you pressed your thumb on the device that records your time and gave yourself a mental pat in the back for actually pulling it off. At least, before a hand pops out of nowhere and touched you by shoulder.

You yelped at the surprise appearance of your ever-so-stealthy boss right behind you.

“You’re late again.”

He was staring at you with those black intense eyes and his resting bitch face. His expression always made you worry because there’s no way to actually now if he’s mad or not. You kept your head down and tried to avoid as much eye contact as possible.

“Surprised? I saw your little stunt by the window. You know that it’s right in front of my office, right?”

He patted your shoulder before placing his hands back to his pockets.

“You also know that I’ll be deducting that on your payroll, right?”

“Yes sir.”

He didn’t even let you finish and just turned his back at you, walking towards his office.

“That reminds me. We should bolt that window down before someone else tries to sneak in and steal. Tell Jisung to work on that as soon as possible.”

As soon as he’s out the way, you rolled your eyes and went back to straightening the wrinkles off of your uniform.

“Tell Jisung to work on that as soon as possible.” You said, mimicking him made faces behind his back.

As if Jisung knows how to shut that window properly.

 After that delightful conversation, you helped Jisung in refilling the candy containers, tidied the shop by little bit, and breathe for one final time today before you opened the shop.

Some people may have imagined working on a candy store to be a dream. You get to bask in all of the aesthetics, you get to interact with children every day, and there’s that perk that you get to enjoy an unlimited supply of sweet treats during your shift.

Oh boy, some people couldn’t have been more wrong.

Your location is near an amusement park, which is already hectic as it is, but you also need to deal with stuff that all retail staff goes through.

If you were to make an entire list of the stressful situations that you have to deal with every single shift, it would take you all day.

There are children throwing temper tantrums because their parents refused to buy the candy that the wanted, entitled Karens demanding free candy because you made her baby cry, teenagers who thinks they’re so smart by stealing handful of candies from their containers while you’re distracted. It’s a mess.

And that’s beside your main source of stress. That one is sitting on his office at the back of the store, probably playing some game on his phone while you act as both staff and manager, is the best boss in the world, Mr. Zhong Chenle.

Note the sarcasm.

That guy deserves a whole separate list by himself.

///

So far, the first few hours of your shift went smoothly. There were a few customers here and there but nothing that you and Jisung can’t handle.

All is well. But if you’ve worked retail before, you would know that those words are cursed.

You’ve always had this thing where you’d get a stomachache whenever something bad is about to happen. Ever since that one nice lady earlier told you to keep the change with a very kind smile, your stomach has been grumbling like crazy.

You sneaked into the counter and sat there for a moment to rest. The pain is bearable, but it makes it very hard for you to breathe properly. After taking a few deep breaths, the pain subsided a little bit.

Until, someone wrapped their arms around you, startling you off the chair and had you freefalling straight into your butt.

“I’m not paying you to slack off Y/N. Do something. I don’t know… rearrange the Valentines display. Just don’t sit around while there’s so much stuff to do.”

He dusted his overprized outfit that probably cost more than your wage, even grabbing the hand sanitizer from his pocket, completely acting like you had a contagious virus that.

Fighting the urge to talk back, you just turned around and went back to work.

Someday, I’m going to punch that resting bitch face off his face.

Someday.

You went back and found Jisung painstakingly arranging the M&M piece by piece, arranged by color, size and filling.

The kid makes you worry sometimes.

He’s a good kid but sometimes he can be a bit… clueless?

You remembered the first time that your boss bought a cotton candy machine and asked you and Jisung to figure out how to operate it. He almost left work with nine fingers that day.

“Hey kid. Bossman wants us to change the Valentines display.” You explained as you walk over to the center of the room where the display case is placed.

“Not again. What does he want this time?”

“I don’t know. His only instruction is do something.”

He whined for a bit, but he followed your lead shortly after and started removing all of the candy jars on display one by one.

You started working on it as well, hoping that he (aka the owner) won’t notice that you just switched the glass containers of the candy displays with each other and then placed them back in their original place.

You realized that he probably didn’t know what the display looked like in the first place. It’s just more unnecessary work just to keep you moving.

To pass the boredom, you decided to dote on the kid that is busy making a bouquet of out of rose-shaped lollipops right beside you.

“Sooo…”

You said in a high-pitched voice and tried to lighten up the mood a little.

“Any plans for the V-day?”

He stops for a moment, bowing his head down while he tried to hide his shy smile.

“I’m taking this girl out bowling.”

You squealed and poked his side to tease him. He used to be a little highschool kid that you were told to keep an eye on just in case he accidentally kills himself. It was a headache at first, but he grew on you and now he feels like your honorary little brother.

“Awww. My Jisungie is grown up. It felt like it was just yesterday when I was to trying to teach you to tie your own shoelaces. And now, you’ve got a girlfriend”

“Uhm Y/N. That was yesterday.”

You were about to pinch his cheeks once again when Chenle squeezed himself in between you and Jisung.

“And now you’re flirting. Geez. Do I have to do everything around here?”

Why does this guy keep popping out of nowhere?

He stared you and Jisung down before he slithered back to his office once again. You just stood there in disbelief, shaking your head as you went back to work.

///

The end of the day went by smoothly, which made you worry even more. As you return some of the candy displays back to the stock room, you can’t help but think that today was just the calm before the storm.

Take last year’s Valentines for example.

The shop was stuffed with that a customer fainted because of suffocation. Jisung was bleeding because some guy punched him for flirting with his girlfriend (even though the poor kid is just being nice and gave her one of the extra candy flowers.)

And oh, no dates. While everyone is busy celebrating the love that they will share together you celebrated at the fact that the day is all over.

Ever since you’ve started working at that shop, you’ve never really tried to meet new people. You keep explaining that you’re tired all day. That your job is very demanding time-wise and physically. But in reality, no one just asked you out.

You could’ve quit, but who would take in a highschool graduate without work experience? You’ve barely saved up for a whole college semester, let alone the curriculum. There’s nothing to do besides suck it up.

It’s just one of those things that you stop celebrating as you get older.

Valentine’s day, your birthday, your birthday which is the same day as Valentine’s day.

Sighing, you picked up the stack of empty boxes that you needed to take outside for the garbage truck. Once again, Chenle pops out of nowhere, hitting some of the boxes that tumbled back on the floor. His are arms folded at his chest, sneering because of the mess that he created.

“Will you clean up this mess? It’s almost closing.”

You just pursed your lips, nodding as you stacked the boxes once again, trying very hard not to lose your composure.

“And will you please close the lights outside this time? I doubt that can pay for the damages if this shop burns down.”

Back turned against your employer, you picked up the boxes from the floor. You’re just glad that it is tall enough to cover most of your face. If someone could see your face right now, they would say that it is the face of someone that is about to murder somebody. Which is getting closer and closer to reality every single time Chenle opens his mouth.

Besides, you left one of the lights open one time. His petty ass just can’t seem to live it down.

“I’ll make sure to double check before leaving, sir.”

“Good. Make it quick.”

Holding out the boxes, you figured that he’d at least hold the door out for you. You had that one tiny glimmer of hope that he’s nice after all and you judged him too hastily.

Nope.

He slams the door right behind him and closed the lights from outside.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You slammed the boxes down to search for the lights and open the door for yourself.

Just one punch. I need just one punch and that’s it. He’s gonna get what’s coming to him.

Scrambling in the dark, you almost faceplanted as you tripped one of the boxes in your way. With your arms stretched out as you feel up your surroundings, it took you a few minutes before you’ve finally managed to open the switch and see the mass that you made while stumbling.

You just facepalmed and stood there for a while, reminding yourself to take deep breaths and calm yourself before you actually burn this place down.

One by one, you stacked the boxes once again in one corner, making sure secure them this time. Keeping the door open, you’ve successfully placed them inside the bins.

One box in particular fell down to the ground. You picked it up to stuff it back to the garbage can but the motion made a rattling noise.

I must’ve missed a piece.

You dusted off the nearby pavement and sat down so you can open the box.

Inside was a few bags of candy, adorned with the usual red and white swirls with the text “Sweet Escape” taking over most of the packaging.

This one must be new.

You stuffed the box back to the garbage can, looked around for signs of a snooping, grumpy adult and placed candy on one of your back pockets.

If your boss found out that you messed up the inventory again, he will not hesitate to fire you. You’re just gonna have to sneak it inside before he gets there tomorrow. Well, assuming that your alarm clock works this time.

///

“Mom, what’s for dinner?”

You closed the door behind you and took off your shoes as entered your living room.

Throwing your keys and jacket aside, you’ve just noticed that the lights are all off and the house is eerily quiet.

You grunted as your sore feet walked itself to the kitchen, only to find a single note on the counter.

Me and your sister went out to eat tonight. Just order something for dinner

Love Mom,

All you ever wanted that night that you just to a nice, warm dinner and go straight to the bed and shut yourself from the world.

Great. No breakfast and dinner.

Fuck my life.

You threw the note in the garbage bin and just stomped your way to your room. You felt like breaking down at that moment but you didn’t have the strength to make cry and make a fuss. Maybe you can just sleep all the frustrations off and feel a lot better tomorrow.

Maybe it doesn’t get much worse than this.

You scoffed.

Sike.

As if.

You slammed yourself to bed but soon realized that it wasn’t a very good idea.

You felt something in your pocket popped and it made a huge mess in your bed. You took it out of the pocket and realized that it was the bag of candy from earlier. The seams popped out and tore open from being squished by a tired, underpaid employee.

At this point, you just glared and cursed yourself once as you cleaned the candy off of your bed. Some of the candy is inside the box, so you cupped your hands and poured the remaining contents to your palms. It was filled with tiny colorful candy hearts, which looked appetizing despite the tiny bits of disfiguration and the fact that it was in your pockets the whole time.

Well, I guess this is dinner then.

You popped the candy in your mouth, letting it sit as it oozes a strong citrusy flavor. It had a texture similar to those fever tablets for kids. In fact, it tasted like medicine a bit, too.

The citrus taste kept on spreading in your mouth and your face now contorted to a grimace. It felt like all moisture is getting sucked out of your body.

They sell this to kids?

You ran to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water to water the taste down. It didn’t do anything, so, you kept on chugging more and more water until you’ve finished an entire gallon of liquids.

You sat down at the kitchen floor and breathe a sigh of relief. The taste finally left your tastebuds, but you can still feel your body feeling repulsed by the extreme sour sugary candies that you just consumed.

Drinking one more glass of water, you went back to your room and changed into your comfortable clothes, finally ready to leave this day behind.

Let’s just hope that those candy bits won’t get you sued tomorrow.

///

February 14,202x / 8:00 AM

The alarm started blaring off from its place, scaring you shitless and making you jump out of bed in panic.

 You could've have been happier and more annoyed at the same time.

You leaned against your bedroom wall, giving yourself a few minutes to calm yourself down before you decided to turn off the alarm.

Once your heartbeat has cooled down, you stepped back to the bedside table and pressed the alarm button to check the time.

8:00AM

"Dammit!”

Your heart started to race once again. This time, it’s the adrenaline rush that’s making you move faster than normal. You even contemplated about getting a shower. However, you're already screwed as it is, you're not going to work without breakfast and shower again.

You stepped back to your room, wrapped on a bathrobe and panting like you just ran a marathon. Digging into your own closet, you noticed that your uniform, a red polo shirt and matching star white pants, is missing from your closet.

"Mom! Have you seen my uniform?"

You shouted from your room but you heard no answer. It seems like they didn't stay the night either.

Great.

Seeing as how your day started, you've deemed the rest of the day unsalvageable and just grabbed the closest thing to red that you have on your closet, which is a red frilly blouse and a white paneled skirt that you've never worn before. It's right at the bottom of your closet, so you've figured you or your mother bought this before and just forgot all about it.

You also grabbed one of your newer shoes to match and bolted to the front door as fast as possible.

You locked the door behind you, only to be spooked as you turned around to see a car parked in your driveway.

It was one of those fancy ones too. The ones that have their doors open at the side like an alien spaceship.

You only know one person in the world that's flashu enough to ride one. And he's just came out of the car.

"Happy birthday! You're pretty early..."

Chenle smiled as jogs over to you, keys jingling on his fingers, and gave you a small peck on the cheek.

You stood there in your porch, frozen.

Zhong Chenle knows how to smile. And he knows about your birthday

"I was about to call you but I didn't want to wake you up. So, I came over instead. Did you eat your breakfast yet?"

You shook your head hesitantly, still unable to speak and process the situation.

"No good, young lady. Go back inside. We're not leaving with an empty stomach."

 ///

 Here's something that you never encounter every day. Your spawn-of-the-devil employer is making you pancakes in the kitchen. And you finally have fresh milk in your fridge.

What happened to the world while you were sleeping?

"I'm not a professional chef but at least it's edible."

He said as he placed a perfectly fine plate full of fluffy pancakes right in front of you. Is this him being cocky?

He sets the apron aside and sat down right in front you, grabbing a plate and a piece of pancake for himself.

"Go on... Tell me if it's good."

You hesitantly took a bite, and then chewed in silence as Chenle expectantly watched you from the side. You set the fork down, speechless.

They're as good on the inside as they looked on the outside.

 "You don't like it?"

He sounded upset. It wasn't like "I can't believe you forgot to do this thing that I told you" upset either. He looked at you with his puppy dog eyes and a bit of a pout.

You froze. What if all of this is trick? And this is just is way of firing you, like letting you down gently in case you formed a vendetta and burn the shop down in your anger.

Which, for the record, is partly true.

"Uhm. It's nice. It's very niceee"

In your panic, you might've overdone the compliment. It sounded like you're on gunpoint and you had to say it to live. Nevertheless, he still smiled to himself and took the compliment well, even pouring you another glass of milk so "it would go down better".

The interaction alone gave you the chills. It felt like you're walking on thin ice and the former Chenle will come out and bury you alive. But even that would've sound more real than what's about to happen next. 

Like the gentleman that he is, he opened the car door for you. You never even got the chance to question where the two of you are going. After sitting down, just when you're about you're about to ask, he held your hand and gave it a kiss.

"You buckled up?"

"Uhm. Yes..."

Still holding your hand, he pressed some buttons on the dashboard and then music started playing. You recognized that it was that song, Sugar Sugar by The Archies. It’s one of the songs that you ironically played in the candy shop. There was also Sugar by Maroon 5, Sugar by Florida.

Well, you get the point.

“Sugar Ah, honey, honey You are my candy girl And you got me wanting you…”

He proceeds to sing along to the song merrily as he backed up your driveway. Meanwhile you sat there quietly as you tried to assess your situation. 

Is this kidnapping? Would it be considered kidnapping if I willingly went inside the vehicle?

Once you’ve realized how ridiculous you sounded in your head, you relaxed for a bit and started humming along to the song. It was at this point that you realized that Chenle had a beautiful voice. The song didn’t have high notes, but it was hard to make your voice pop up with the middle register. It sounded stable, like he’s a recording artist.

The atmosphere at the shop would be much better if he sang like this all the time.

…which reminded you of something that Chenle might be neglecting to think.

Panic washed over you and soon, you can’t keep still and moved around your seat a lot.

“Are you comfortable?

He kept on glancing on your direction, keeping you in check for a few moments while he still kept an eye on the road,

“We can make a quick stop if you need something.”

Trying your best to keep yourself still, you finally sat down and placed both of your hands on your lap, like the kids at school when their parents ask them to behave.

“Where are we going again?”

The question finally popped out and you pursed your lips while trying to wait for the answer.

“I don’t know. It’s your day. We can go wherever you want to.”

“Oh.”

It’s not like him to be away from the shop at this time of the day, let alone the whole day. No matter how sucky he is, he did what is best for the shop. It was his baby.

And if the both of you aren’t going, then it only means one thing. His baby is screwed at the hands of someone.

"By the way, who's taking care of the candy shop?"

You tried to ask nonchalantly, but it only came out sounding more inconspicuous.

"Oh yeah. I left Jisung in charge."

He wistfully replied. Suddenly, you feel your head spinning from your seat from the sheer realization that he left the kid alone, in his shop, with no adult/proper supervision.

"You left Jisung alone... In charge... On Valentine's Day"

You turned your gaze away from him, trying to hide your internal panic. You'll be lucky if the guy made it alive until lunch by himself.

"Relax. He'll be fine. He's with the trainees. Figured it might teach them a thing or two in getting the actual job done."

“And with trainees too… oh my god.”

Great. More casualties.

“You don’t mind if we stopped by the shop first, do you?”

“Of course. You’re the boss.”

///

In a few minutes, he pulls over to the parking lot and you’re glad to see the shop in piece. On the outside at least.

You stepped inside the car and practically ran over to the inside of the shop, leaving Chenle behind.

“Welcome to Sweet Escape, how may I help you?”

Two unknown faces greeted you at the door. They must be the trainees that Chenle talked about earlier.

“Would you happen to know where Jisung is?”

They both nodded and pointed to the direction of the left side of the shop, which was supposed to be all the supplies were. Instead, there was Jisung on the register, which by the way looked different from what you can remember.

In fact, the whole shop looked nothing like it was yesterday. The colors seemed more vibrant and festive and the whole thing looked like a candy wonderland. To be honest, it reminded you of that one Katy Perry music video.

Jisung bowed at you formally and wore his usually customer service smile.

“Welcome to Sweet Escape, how may I—”

“How many fingers do you have now?”

You replayed the question in your head and it sounded just as crazy when it came out of your mouth. At this point, you decided to continue on with the question. For obvious safety reasons.

“Uh ma’am. What do you mean?”

“Hold your fingers up. How many do you have?”

He was hesitant to do as you say. Chenle just facepalmed and gestured him to do as you said, putting up all of his tall fingers in the air.

“Ten?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, almost rushing over to hug the confused Jisung when Chenle pulls you from behind.

“Please excuse her for the moment. She’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

He smiled and bowed to Jisung as an apology, another gesture that you haven’t seen him do before, pulling you outside the store to give you some air. Once you’ve reached the parking lot, he placed his hands on your shoulders to hold you still.

“Okay. Since when is hugging my staff became a thing?”

He stares you down with a genuine concerned look on his face.

He placed one of his hands on your forehead.

“It’s not like you’re sick either…”

Chenle sighs, finally releasing you from his grasp

“Tell me. What’s the problem?”

He sat you down at the pavement and gave you enough space to reflect on your actions.

You had the choice to say that you have absolutely no idea what’s happening to you right now, but you thought that he ought to know why you’re acting that way. Now, you just have to figure out how to explain it to him without sounding like a crazy person.

“I…”

You started slow, working your way into explaining that you woke up into this insane dream about how her boss is suddenly so nice to her that morning.

And then it hit you.

“I had a dream about you...”

Ideas started pouring down to your head, starting to piece together a story that actually made sense.

“And in that dream, you’re this mean guy that never cared about me and other people’s feelings. You just made everyone around you miserable. The dream felt so real so I’m very uncomfortable that you’re acting nice to me now.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded your head as an answer. Chenle pulls you over to a side hug, relief washing over him knowing that it wasn’t that bad as he made it up to be.

“I’m sorry if that mean version of me hurt you.”

He rested his head on your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“If I decided to be mean to you in a dream again, feel free to punch me or whatever. I promise to make up for all of it once you wake up.”

It was probably the nicest thing that anyone has said to you in a while. Even though it wasn’t actually him who’s hugging you and making you feel all warm inside, you’re not going to see your boss the same way again.

“You know what, why don’t we start now. There’s plenty of time today to make it up to you.”

He stood up from his seat and brushed himself, helping you do the same right after.

“Where does my y/n want to go right now?”

Your lips formed a mischievous smile.

You knew just where you wanted to go at that moment, but he’s probably not going to like it

///

“Would it hurt you to rest for one second?”

You’ve been running around the theme park for the whole day and Chenle just barely kept up to you and your antics. He gave you a small opportunity for a payback and you’re not going to let it slide. Even if it’s with nice Chenle.

You were about to run off again somewhere when he tugs you by the hem of your shirt.

“Y/N-ah, don’t you feel sick at all?”

Chenle’s eyes droop down as he tried to compose himself. As someone that doesn’t like heights and gets dizzy easily, it seems like he’s about to faint any minute now.

“But I want to ride the Ferris wheel.”

He went sheet white, if that is humanly possible. Chenle had barely enough time to recover from the roller coaster ride a few minutes ago and now you’re already on your way to hop in to another one.”

“Fine. We can rest. I don’t think my ears can handle any more of your screaming.”

You can hear Chenle complaining under his breath. The two of you went to the horror house a while ago and there was a high-pitched screaming the whole time. You’ve been teasing him with it ever since.

“I told you, that wasn’t me!”

“The only person inside is you and me. And I don’t remember screaming my own name for fifteen minutes.”

His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but he stopped midway and just took your hand to drag you at the nearest bench. He sat you down first before he took the seat right next to you, both palms on his face and trying to give himself a moment to breathe.

As much as you wished to torment that guy to death, he really looked sick to his stomach. He can barely lift his head up without taking deep breaths.

“You alright?”

You said as you patted his back gently, giving some time to relax and a moment to breathe.

“I’m fine. I did say that I’ll do anything for you today.”

He takes one last breathe before getting up the bench, only to lean on one side too much and almost toppling over.

“Yeah. I think were done for the day. You can barely stand up.”

You sat him back at the bench and caressed his back to get him to relax. Not even a minute after sitting back down, he did a thumbs up to let you know that he’s doing fine already.

“What time is it?”

“4:30. Why?”

He tried his best to stand up and keep himself still. This time, his attempt was successful.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“You can barely stand up. What makes you think that you can drive?”

“Just trust me.”

///

Sure enough, you both got to your house unscathed.

He told you to step out of the car, which you did, and he smoothly backed the car to your garage.

“How was that?”

He said smugly just as he came out of the car, keys jingling on his fingers once again. You can joke about his motion sickness but you can’t comment on his driving.

Chenle was then about to enter your house, but you stopped him just before he turned the doorknob.

“You know what, I had a lot of fun today. It’s probably the best birthday slash Valentine’s Day that I’ve had a whole life. I think you deserve this…”

You held up your fist into a ball and pretended to land a punch to his face. He winced, which gave you and opportunity to tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He stood there frozen for a few seconds, but it was replaced by a cheeky, boyish smile that he’s been hiding from you the whole time that you know him.

You twisted the doorknob and stepped inside your house first, when a popping sound greeted you from inside.

Turns out, those were party poppers.

“Surprise!”

Your whole family is there, alongside all of your friends from way back highschool.

“Sorry for missing you this morning sweetie, we needed some time for the party preparations. Chenle did a good job of distracting you the whole day.”

An arm wrapped itself on your shoulders and gave it a tight squeeze. It didn’t take long for you to find out who it was.

“She made me ride the roller coaster, twice.”

“Stop being a baby. I asked you the second time but you refused to come with me.”

Laughter fills the room and it went for the rest of the night. The celebration wasn’t fancy but it was enough for you to realize what life you’re missing in the real world. And as much you want to make it longer, sooner or later you’re going to have to come back to your old life.

That time was the next day.

///

February 14,202x again / 6:00 AM

The shrill sounds of the alarm clock woke you up, but you were smiling ear to ear. Something about your dream have placed you in a very good mood. Too bad you can’t remember the specific details. All you know is that there’s a car, the shop, the theme park… Zhong Chenle.

Why would it be a nice dream if your boss was in it?

Before you started conspiring some theories, you shook it off and started to get ready for today. To your surprise, the alarm woke you up on time. This means that you can take your sweet time in getting ready, possibly even make yourself an English breakfast for a change.

Your plans are foiled, however, when you realized that the kitchen wasn’t empty.

“Happy birthday…”

Your mom came from the living room to give you the tightest hug. She hasn’t hugged you like this for a long time, so you reciprocated and pulled her in a tighter embrace.

“I’m sorry that this is all we can afford for now…”

She sits you down the table and pushed the small bento cake right in front you. It is not bigger as your hands, but the pink icing and the decorations looked so delicate and beautiful.

“I promise to make you a better cake next year.”

“This is all I need Mom, thank you for doing this.”

///

Everything is going smoothly today. The bus is on time and the driver even gave you a small Valentine’s card as you went inside. For the first time in your life, you looked at the streets painted different shades of red and you’re perfectly fine with it.

You even got to work early. Doors are still shut down when you got there, so you decided to climb up the storage window so you don’t have to wait outside. As instructed, you finally locked it behind you and made it a point to be on time so you’ll never have to use it again.

You started with work right away, cleaning up as much as you can before everyone gets there. While you were mopping the main shop, you can hear keys jingling from outside, meaning that your boss already got there. The door swings forward and upon turning around, he opened the lights, only to see you standing in the middle of the shop.

He screamed at an ungodly pitch and almost fell down at his place.

“Oh, it’s just you. That wasn’t me, alright? ”

He dusted himself off tried his act together and be as cold as before, only to be embarrassed because you kept laughing at his face.

You tried to keep a straight face and bowed at him to excuse yourself. If your tardiness won’t get you fired today, it would probably be your excessive laughing.

“This is the horror house all over again.”

You swear that you heard him mumble something else, but you weren’t sure if you heard it right.

What are the odds that he dreamt about a horror house too, right?

Before you got the chance to go though, he said something that made your heart race for the rest of the day.

“You were there too, right? I just want you to know that that was really me.”

You turned around to see if he’s joking, but instead found a smiling Chenle at the other end of the shop.

“I actually liked you for a while now. So forgive me for always lashing out on you.”

He placed his hands on his pockets and walked slowly towards you, his head down while he tried to hide his shy smile.

“Happy birthday Y/N. I don’t mind repeating that day again... just don’t make me ride the roller coaster twice this time.”

///

[dwead-piwate-meggers]

Catching Colds and Feelings

A superhero catches a cold. A meddlesome brother attempts to play matchmaker. And Ellie Wiseman can’t resist a challenge.

Inspired by a number of @mindblindbard​‘s answers to reader questions and some in-game text.

Very Pre-Relationship F!Button/Grayson Black approx. wc: 1789 rating: t, for Gray’s language warnings: none

Read it on Ao3 or below

Chatper 2 (Chapter 1)

Grayson Black is not sick. He does not get sick. Sure, he may have had some chills this morning, but the air conditioning on the UCRT floor was probably just running high. And he may have a sniffle, but it’s the middle of summer! Isn’t that peak allergy season? He is absolutely fine, and if Nick hadn’t gotten it into his fat head to order him to go home, then he could still be at work doing his job. At least he managed to sneak some paperwork home with him. Nothing that would break regulations to have out of the office, obviously, it’s mostly expense reports and the like - things that need to get filed but usually end up on the back burner because they aren’t time sensitive - but something must have been wrong with the printer because the text is all blurry. It’s got nothing to do with the sharp pain in his temples. It’s definitely the printer.

He’s hunched over his coffee table (If he’s going to work at home, he can at least be comfortable, it has nothing to do with the way his whole body ached when he tried sitting at his desk. He probably needs a new chair.) doing his best to work out what he's supposed to be filling out on this line when his ringing phone nearly startles him out of his skin.

He checks the screen: Ellie. That’s… unusual. They text, (because they’re friends, and friends text each other), but outside of when they were trying to organize Nick’s surprise party, she’s never called. Especially not in the middle of a weekday. His stomach clenches, his mind jumping - is she ok? does she need help? - to worst case scenarios. He fumbles the phone, rights it, answers.

“Hello?” His throat stings a little when he speaks. That’s an allergy symptom, isn’t it?

“Hey,” she responds. She sounds calm, she’s ok. The tension in his stomach dissipates. “It’s Ellie. Can you open the door?”

Can you open the… It takes him a second longer than usual to understand what she means, his momentary panic over her well-being shading into confusion. What is she doing here? How would she even know he was home, unless…

He fucking didn’t...

“Did Nick send you?” he says, “I told him -” I’m fine, he tries to finish, before she cuts him off with some rather pointed words about not wanting to be a bother.

He doesn’t. Want to be a bother, that is. But she raises a fair point about already being here. It would be worse to just send her back home after she made the effort to come over, wouldn’t it?

Nick was probably counting on that when he asked her to check up on him. Arsehole. 

He heaves a sigh - getting up off the couch takes more effort than it should - and takes a quick look around the room to check that it’s tidy before he goes to the door. It is. Of course it is. And he rather doubts that she’d care if it wasn’t. But at this particular moment, it really feels like it matters.

Ellie’s standing in the hallway, phone still held to her ear. Her brown eyes - deep brown, the kind a man could get lost in - widen at the sight of him as he stands in the doorway. He says could. He means does. They’re dark, warm, flecked with black and framed by impossibly thick lashes and...

You’re gawking, Black. He gives himself a mental shake and looks down. And he notices the bags. That she’d lugged all the way here. For him. And that swooping in his gut is definitely not allergies. No, that’s guilt. (It is guilt. That’s all.)

“You didn’t have to -” he starts to say, but she cuts him off again with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s fine, Gray,” she says. “Now go sit down, you look like hell.”

Ouch.

He backs away from the entry to let her in, protesting, “It’s just a headache.” 

He’s fine. She can make her delivery like Nick asked her to and go. He’s sure she has better things to do. “It’ll pass.”

“Uh huh.” And he may not be an empath, but even he can feel the scepticism radiating off of her. “Have you taken your temperature?”

“I’m not sick.” He insists, around the scratching in his throat. And anyway, he doesn’t get sick, so naturally he doesn’t have anything to take his temperature with. “And I don’t have a thermometer.”

She doesn’t seem at all concerned by that, just reaches into one of her bags and tosses a small package his way. He catches it, and looks down. It’s a thermometer. Of course it is, because she’s smart enough - so damn smart, she’s going to be brilliant as an MIV -  to come prepared. He looks back at her, and she’s smiling. Beaming, really.

Her smile could light up a room. Is lighting up the room.

She’s also saying something. He blinks, managing to tune back in before he’s forced to admit that he hadn’t been listening, “...reading comes back normal, I’ll leave you alone.”

He’s not getting out of this. 

“Fine.”

She drags the bag into his (essentially pointless) kitchen, and he can hear her rustling around as he pops the thermometer in his mouth.

He waits.

It beeps.

He looks.

“Well?” she calls. 

“That can’t be right,” he mutters, more to himself than her. Because that temperature is a low grade fever. And he doesn’t get sick.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“One hundred and one.”

“How about that,” she says, mildly. 

Cheeky. He smiles to himself. Of course she is, she’s Nick’s sister. She’s Nick’s sister.

The smile falls away.

She’s also still rummaging around in his kitchen - he can hear the cabinets opening and closing as she looks for...whatever it is she’s looking for. He gets up to help, and ends up in the doorway just in time to see her trying to reach a mug with a spoon. Because there isn’t a problem she won’t face head on, won’t try to solve herself. She has her hand braced on the counter, pushing herself just a little higher as she stands on tiptoe. It’s causing her shirt to lift just a little, exposing just a sliver of her midriff. And it wouldn’t be that hard to help her, to stand behind her and pass that mug down, a hand on her waist…

He tears his eyes away, cheeks flaming in spite of his chills, and fixes them resolutely on the wall. So much so that he doesn’t notice that she’s standing in front of him with a laden tray until she tells him that he’s blocking the exit.

He follows her back to the living room, careful to look away when she sets the tray on the coffee table, just to be safe - she came here out of kindness, not to be ogled - although he catches her gesture for him to take a seat as she says, “Tea, soup, nap. Proven 100% effective most of the time.”  

“Really,” he says, sitting down (because it’s polite or because she asked or both) “this isn’t necessary -”

She cuts him off again, “You have a fever. Drink the tea. Eat the soup. And lie down. If you’re still awake after 15 minutes, I’ll back off and let you get back to work.’”

He opens his mouth, halfway to telling her that he isn’t sick. Closes it, because if that didn’t convince her before the thermometer reading, it’s not going to now. Opens it again, halfway to telling her he doesn’t mind the company. But he doesn’t want to monopolize her time. And he can’t think of how to frame it that doesn’t sound weird or creepy except it shouldn’t be either weird or creepy to ask your friend (because they’re friends) if they’d like to stay a little longer...

“I didn’t drug your food,” she says dryly.

“I didn’t think -” he didn’t even suspect that. She’d clearly misinterpreted his silence. But she doesn’t give him a chance to explain.

“Gray!”

“Right, sorry.” It’s probably for the best. He doesn't have the first idea as to how he would go about explaining it anyway.

She sits down at the opposite end of the couch, as far from him as she can get, (it aches, a little, to always be kept at a distance) and he recognizes the MIV study guide she pulls out of her backpack. He sneaks glances at her between mouthfuls of soup, studies the curve of her pursed lips, the way her brow furrows and smooths as she puzzles over the text. She’s quiet, still, in a way that Nick never is - goddamnit it, don’t think about Nick right now - and it’s...nice. Comfortable, to sit in silence with her. 

He doesn’t want to stop. 

And she’s absorbed in her studies. Would she notice if he just...eked his reports over?

“Hey!” She’s looking directly at him, pointing at the papers under his hand. Yes. Apparently she would notice. “We had a deal,” she reminds him.

He stares at her for a moment, mind racing (or rather, mind wading through knee deep mud thanks to the congestion) for any excuse to stay out here with her, before the look she’s giving him tells him that he’s not getting out of it. 

“Fifteen minutes,” he confirms.

“Mhm. Fifteen minutes.”

He sighs, makes his way to his bedroom and lays down on top of the covers. He isn’t going to fall asleep. He’ll just lie here for the requisite fifteen minutes, then he’ll go back into the living room, tell her it didn’t work, and she can… go…

It’s dark. In that hazy space between sleep and waking, he is aware - because his arm is draped over a body - that there’s someone (Ellie) in the bed with him. He gently tugs her closer, nestles back into his pillow for the split-second before his thinking brain kicks in. 

And his eyes fly open. 

He rockets to the edge of the bed, almost falling over the side, we shouldn’t, too close, don’t want to take advantage, doesn’t feel that way about me and…

And the lump he’d been holding doesn’t budge. 

Because bunched up comforters don’t move.

He rolls onto his back, and rubs a shaky hand over his face, the wave of panicked adrenaline receding as quickly as it had surged. “Fuck,” he breathes. 

Something else floods him in its place. Something that isn’t quite the ease that comes with relief. Something that feels a little more like a weight in his chest. Disappointment.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He has it so much worse than he thought.

[barcaavengers]

Decisions || Newt Imagine

Note: I hope the lovely nonnie is around who made this imagine request! I’m sorry for taking so long but it is finally here! Not sure if there will be another part, but most probably there will be. Leave any comments or suggestions, as well as feedback!

Tags: Tagging those who liked my posts and the request! 

@hxrryftdelrey​ @seaveynewt @mayakalo @loverofmazeandthrones​ @lovely-leigh​ @meadows-of-light​ @sleepysnapesnake​ @iwokeupinabadmood​ @enixgucci​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine. Credit to rightful owner

Your ears seem to have muted the sound of the helicopter because you have not heard anything until the boys started calling your name from far away. It takes you a couple of seconds, but your eyes open slowly, only to have Minho besides you screaming at Thomas to move while Frypan was calling your name and helping you up. You try to catch up quickly as Frypan pulls you to your feet, the guards rushing you in the midst of the wind from the helicopter lifting up the sand around you. Your eyes squint to prevent any particles to fly in, and you take a small look around you to see the surroundings. 

The guards were shooting at something, after bullets are fired you hear the loud screech, and you remember the sound from the video that played at the Wicked facility. A shiver goes down your spine at the memory, the bodies, the brief explanation Ava had given before killing herself… You get ushered into a facility, and it takes you a moment to fix your gaze on something until the doors close with a loud thud, reminding you of the Glade walls when they closed. Everyone was as perplexed as you were, looking around before you started being guided into the facility by a man called Janson. He promised safety and Wicked not finding you, and a sigh of relief rushes through you. 

The boy next to you seems to have noticed your tense demeanor, because he reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and providing a reassuring squeeze reminding you you were not alone. 

"You okay, love?" He asks quietly as he gives you a small tug to get you closer so he is able to talk in a low tone. 

"Yeah, the helicopter ride is wearing off" you admit to him. 

Janson continues to explain the facility, mentioning you will be fed and taken care of and nothing sounded better than that right now. You are taken to showers, away from the guys which made you somewhat uneasy. Being around them for so long for basically every hour has made you feel like a part of you was missing when you were apart, like in the Maze, even if Minho was right besides you. You have stayed quite a while in the shower, enjoying how the hot water washed away the dirt from the Glade and the stickiness of the sweat after running for your lives. The clothing provided was comfortable, and just right, not being able to feel the coldness of the air conditioning as much, but not feeling the hot temperature as well. You are provided with small meals, being told that you should all start with something light before going through stronger food, just to not throw it all. You are taken into rooms with beds to rest before they call you to run some tests to make sure you were all healthy. As soon as your head touches the fluffiness of the pillow your head rests on, you drift to sleep in just a matter of minutes, dozing off entirely. 

"You look sleepy" Newt teases as he walks beside you once you are being led to the labs. 

"The bed was so comfortable" you whine playfully. 

"So, you are saying I wasn't comfortable?" He jokes before pulling you close by the hand. "I feel like I slept like a baby, and how long was it? Three hours of sleep only?" He asks. "The difference of sleeping on those hammocks but at the Glade and a proper bed" he says. "Something that the bastards who put us in there didn't have the decency to provide."

"I had a comfortable bed" you point out with a soft grin most of the times you slept in Newt's arm, sound asleep as you enjoyed the warmth of his body on yours. 

"Good," he says. 

The group halts as they take in the labs. So many machines, needles, nurses, liquids, instruments... This facility had it all. Since there wasn't enough equipment to do the same test to everyone at once, they divided you into groups to run different tests, and you hated to be the one to get a feel of a needle first. You sat in a comfortable chair where a lady worked on you, Teresa a few feet away in a hospital bed. The nurse cleans the area before sticking the needle inside without a warning, "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She asks, and honestly it was going fine until you decided to look where the needle had poked through the skin and you started to see the blood rushing into the tube. 

"I-" you look away, the need to throw up present and you could feel what you ate last threatening to come up your throat, leaving a horrible taste in your mouth. 

The lady gives you a cotton ball with alcohol scent for you to smell on, saying that it should help with the dizziness you felt but it barely did a thing. "Still feeling lightheaded, sweetie?"

"Yeah...Like I want to throw up too" you say as you keep smelling on the cotton ball while she works with placing a round bandage over the poked skin. 

"Maybe blood makes you sick" she says. "It is normal on some people."

"I saw blood more often than I like to admit" you confess. "Human and animal…" you add. 

"Don't worry, every test we run in you will let us know if you are sick, but I don't think you are," she says and sits besides you. "I'll ask you a couple of questions to guide us better." The woman reaches for a pen and a wooden clipboard. "Y/N, right?"

"Yeah" you nod your head and relax your body. She asked about fever, coughs, body pains which you mention your legs, maybe a sign of being a runner, any broken bones or accidents you may have had in the Glade, and your job at the Glade. 

"Have you had sex?" Your eyes go too wide and your neck almost snaps as you look at her. The only time you have had that question asked was with Alby, and he was so smooth about it that it didn't sound like that question at first. He had sat down with you and Newt, both of you staring confused when he had asked if 'you have been together'. Alby was of the few people of the Glade who knew right away when you two got together. 

"Um…" 

"It's okay if you have. Nothing to be ashamed of" she gives you a reassuring smile. "This stays between us, nobody else knows."

"Uh…" you hesitate. "Yes." The nurse eyes you for a moment, nods her head and writes something down. 

"Recently? I'm sorry, I know it's personal but for our tests purposes we must know an estimate to determine a few things and scratch off others."

It makes sense…"Two? Maybe three weeks ago?" That's the last time you at least remembered that things were somewhat normal before everything started going wrong, Thomas and Teresa arrived, the walls stopped closing, Grievers came in...Now that you think of it, things got really bad really quick. 

"And this was the last time you had your period?" These questions were so bizarre. 

"Maybe a month or so" you say and they realize your answer, making your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Shouldn't you have gotten your period? Yoh shake it off cause you have never been the regular type, one time you had it the same month twice and it was a nightmare. 

"Alright" she writes something in her papers. "That should do it for now. You can go to your next test" she nods her head before standing up. Not even a few minutes after, they came to get you to continue. 

After many more needles, running, patches covering your body and head, you are led to some sort of cafeteria where there were many boys and girls like you, and it takes you a minute to get your eyes fixed on your group before walking to them. Frypan raises his head before waving at you, it causes the rest of your friends to look up and start moving on the table to make space for you, mostly to be side by side with Newt. 

"Hey, guys" you say, sticking one leg in first, then the other as you sit down. 

"Took them long enough to return you back to us," Minho says. "What special thing did they do to you?"

"Nothing, I think" you admit. "Just really personal questions" you say and look at Newt, his jaw was clenched. 

"What were they asking?" 

"Last time we…" you trail off and your eyes widen slightly for him to catch the hint. 

Minho is looking between the two of you intently. "I don't follow."

"Wait, last time we had…?" Newt asks, confusion taking over his features. 

"Yeah" you decide to ignore Minho and his question, he will figure it out eventually. "And last time I was on my period, which I get now, probably to know if it's normal or something" you shrug. "It's weird it hasn't happened for a while now."

"A month, right?" Newt knew because he would take care of you and pamper you with whatever you needed. You also had small pains and headaches during the first days and he would always be around in case you felt sick. 

"Wait, you know when her period is?" Thomas asks. 

"Man, that's weird," Frypan says. "but smart though, and cute."

"We can stop talking about periods now. Anyone wanna join me get some guys and see what their maze was like? See what we can find out about these people?" Minho asks. 

"I'm in," Winston says, Frypan and Thomas join and with Minho they leave for another table. 

"You alright?" Newt kisses your temple and offers you his bottle of water. "You look anxious."

"It's just this place...So many other kids, like us" you say. "They are all from different Mazes?"

"Looks so" Newt says, reaching for your hand and giving it a squeeze. "Want to see if they let us out of here to our beds?"

"I don't think they'll let you come along" you say with a grin. 

"Just pretend to be dizzy, maybe they will. At least to be with you for a few minutes with the lot of people around."

Surprisingly they let Newt take you to the dorm, being escorted of course. You ask for a few minutes with Newt and the guard nods his head before closing the door behind you two. Newt cups your cheek and kisses you, his eyes shut tightly as his lips press against yours while he holds his breath. "I was getting scared already" he admits against your lips. "When they didn't bring you in after us" he says. "Tommy and I were already planning to get you, and Teresa, but she hasn't come to join us yet. It's strange" he says and you both sit down on the bed. 

"I'm okay" you assure him. "They had me running, and ran a few tests on me. I hope everything is okay, though" you admit. If they were done with the guys quickly, why did it take so long with you? And where was Teresa?

"I'm sure it's alright. You are a tough one, luv" Newt says with a smile and you run your fingers through his hair. "You look nice all washed up" he steals a kiss from you and you giggle. 

"Not bad yourself" you tease. "I hope they later let us stay together...I don't think I'll be getting much sleep these first days."

"We will find a way, love. I'll sneak in somehow" and just in cue the guard calls on Newt. "I love you, I'll see you later, 'kay?" He gives you a short, passionate kiss before pulling away. 

"Love you too" you say as the guard shuts the door close after he walks out. You lay back on the bed and close your eyes. The bed was too comfortable and the pillow too fluffy to neglect getting sleep, so you try to ease your thoughts before falling into a deep slumber. 

The next day you are all in the cafeteria area again, your group now sat with other guys from other mazes, talking about them and how they got out. Newt asks them about what happened to the people inside the Glade which a boy answers that he didn't know. Your hand squeezes Newt's thigh letting him know you could read his mind, he was thinking about the others that were left there to their luck, the ones Gally convinced to stay because they would meet death upon leaving. Then they start calling people and another one of the boys explains that it is to be taken to a Haven, some sort of place away from everything and only a few are selected. The boys continue to talk so you look around, spotting a couple of girls on a bench, then a whole table of them, another one with only a boy around them. 

Second day you are taken again to the cafeteria, seems it was the only place you could all gather around. Everyone was eating their breakfast but you felt nauseous since you woke up, not having any appetite for anything in your tray. Thomas is saying something about a boy showing him a place through the air vents, but it was under strict access. "I need to know what's behind that door."

"You said you saw a body?" You ask him. 

"Not the body, but it had scanners, like showing heart rates and vitals and other things" Thomas says to you. "Aris says he thinks nobody really leaves this place…"

"There isn't an access through the air vents to that room?"

"No. He tried but it stopped right out of it...They have to be hiding something…" Thomas seemed so sure. Minho and Newt exchange glances.

"Y/N?" Janson approaches your table and everyone looks up at him quickly. "Please, come with me."

"Where is Teresa?" Thomas asks. 

"She is safe. We are only running a few tests on her."

"And why does Y/N have to go with you?" Newt asks, his hand reaching to hold onto yours. "You already called everyone for your little paradise place" you noticed that Thomas' words have put him uneasy. 

"We just need to run a few more tests on her," Janson offers a smirk. "She will be back in a couple of minutes, I promise" he says and one of the guards reaches for your arm which you tug away quickly. 

"I can stand on my own, thanks." Your body turns to Newt. "I'll be alright, okay?"

"I know…" he says and squeezes your hand before letting go. 

"More tests?" You ask the doctor who asked you to lay down on the table. 

"We found something," she says as she sits besides you. "I'll show you." She reaches to lift up your shirt and you pull it down quickly. "It's okay…" she says, you hesitate before letting go of the hem of your shirt. 

She places some kind of gel on your stomach, "What is that for? Is something wrong?" You start worrying, because if she was going to run tests on your stomach and your nauseous state in the morning, it had you wondering if your stomach was sick in a way you needed treatment. Maybe so long in the Glade...but you always ate. Your head was spinning with possible causes. 

"You'll see" she starts running an instrument along your belly, looking at a monitor as she does. You eye them both curiously as she seems to be looking for something. "Ah, there it is" she says with a smile. "See that small figure over there?" She asks and points at the monitor, your eyes squint at it. "That's your baby," she says, "congratulations."

The room starts spinning around you, eyes wide, your chest feeling tight all of a sudden, you find it hard to breathe. You take small breaths and let them go rather quickly. "I'm sorry," you take in some air. "My what?"

"You are pregnant" she repeats and the words take a while to process in your head, your lips agape in surprise. 

"I-" you trail off looking at the monitor. You were pregnant… You were expecting a baby. No. Newt and you were expecting a baby… Your baby. "I-" no words come out of your lips. You are speechless. 

"We wanted to let you know," she reaches for a napkin and hands it over to you to wipe out the gel from your stomach. "You can go back to your friends" she says, standing up and leaving the room. 

You return to the cafeteria, all the walk there thinking how to tell Newt, how would he react, what words to say? It wasn't like you were expecting the news, or like you knew what to say right now. You sit next to Newt, right in the corner of the bench, his arm goes around your shoulder and he eyes the guys when he notices your tense body. "Love? Are you alright? You look like you have seen a ghost. You look pale." He places a hand on your cheek. "Did they hurt you? If they hurt you I'll bloody-"

"A baby" you blurt out. Thomas turns his attention to you and Minho raises his eyebrows, Newt looks at you in confusion, Frypan joins the trio's expression as well.

"What? What baby?" Newt asks

"Ours" and you slowly turn to him. "Newt, I'm...we are having a baby."

"Oh shuck" Minho blurts out.

"How did you guys even made time to-" Frypan gets interrupted by Newt.

"What?!" Newt's eyes go wider. "Did they-"

"Yeah...A doctor showed me." Your hand goes to your belly, running your fingers on top of your shirt. "Newt...I- I don't know what to say or what to do" your vision starts getting blurry from the tears. 

"Hey, no, love. It's okay. It's okay" he coos as he pulls you to his chest and wraps his arms around you. "I don't know what to say either... Other than I'm happy in a way, we will have our own little lady or little boy running around in a couple of months...Our baby" his last words sound like he is repeating it for his own processing. "We are safe here…"

"We don't know that yet," Thomas steps in.

"I said, we are safe here" Newt says through his clenched jaw at his friend, and you couldn't see him but you knew he is getting a death glare from your boyfriend. "We will figure it out. We have time" he pulls you away and pecks your lips, his hand covering yours on your belly. "I didn't know it would be this fast, though."

"What? You thought the baby would wait in there to be cooked up after you two-"

"Minho!" You call and the boy grins.

"Congratulations, though," Frypan says. "The little one will have one hell of a story of how it got made." He and Minho high five and Newt pinches the bridge of his nose.

"All the bloody supportive things you can say and you shanks have to go through the last ones of the list" Newt complains and turns to you. "Babe, I-" you can see him struggling with words. "Are you okay with this? I mean, obviously maybe you are not because this is so unexpected and-"

"Newt," you call and meet his gaze, "I'm- I want this baby. I don't want it to grow up here though…"

"We will figure it out. If this place is true we should be all good, love." Thomas parts his lips to say something but Newt is quick to glare at him. 

Third day you are sitting in the cafeteria, Newt is already worrying about you when you don't come in quick wondering if something happened to you, like you fainted or the morning sickness was too much for you. "I don't like being away from you, now more than ever" he says and presses his lips against your temple. 

"I'm fine, okay?"

"If something we know from Y/N is that she can take care of herself" Winston says and you smile at him. You liked that he gave you a confidence boost and the most needed moments. 

"Have you seen Teresa?" Thomas asks and Minho rolls his eyes. 

"No, I haven't...I don't know where she is…"

"Aris and I will go into that room tonight, we just need a plan to get an access card there."

"Alright, listen up folks, we have the new list of those whose lives are about to begin" Janson says as he is handed a clipboard. He mentions a few names, ones who you take a moment to remember to not name your baby from how weird they were. "And Y/N." Your eyes go wide and the whole group in your table turns to you, Newt's eyes showing panic. 

"No, there must be a mistake. I just got here, I-" you trail off and a few guards come over to you and you stand up, chin up, defying them. 

"Don't you dare to touch her" Newt stands by your side quickly and places a hand in front of you. 

"You will deny her the chance to be away from this place? Of your baby growing somewhere else?" Janson asks as he approaches the group, Thomas, Frypan, Winston and Minho stand behind you. 

"Because it is our baby, I won't let you take her" Newt takes a step forward in front of you. 

"I won't go anywhere without them" you say to the guards.

"Unfortunately, this isn't a choice…" Janson says, a guard moves forward but he is quick to raise his hand. 

"You are threatening her right in front of us?" Thomas takes a step forward and a guard is quick to push him, but he continues to struggle, "Where is this place exactly, huh?!" After a few seconds, Frypan holds Thomas back and he stops struggling. 

"Let's not ruin the excitement for others, okay? Let's do this as amicably as possible." He says. "And I am sure you don't want to be taken in your sleep, leaving your friends wondering what happened to you." His tone was almost threatening. Why was he insisting so much in taking you when so many others were there before you. "I'm sure you'd like what's best for your baby, and this is it. So please…" Janson steps aside and you eye your friends, then your boyfriend. 

"I'll be fine, okay?" 

"Love, don't-" you press a kiss to his lips. "I'll come back to you" you whisper against his lips before pressing another kiss. 

"Be careful, love" Newt says as he watches you being escorted by the guards and Janson trailing not far behind. "So," Newt turns to Thomas. "What do you have of this bloody plan of yours? I need to know that she is not being taken into a strict access room where I won't see her…"

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Here’s a silly little thing I did on request for @crunadh for the prompt “Healing”. What if love has actually healing powers – or at least Geralt believes it does?

2.183 words, Rated T, read under the cut or on AO3

"Oh. Oh! Yeah, right there. Go ahead, uh... don't stop... a little harder..."

"You're embarrassing," Emhyr muttered, but he actually didn't stop. His hands vigorously kneaded Geralt's back, and the latter's muscles responded to it like butter to sunshine.

"The word you're looking for is enthusiastic," Geralt replied with a groan. "Who knew you were so good at it? You're a natural. Oh, yeah, right there!"

"We have servants for that sort of thing," Emhyr returned.

But he still didn't stop. His fingers squeezed with just the proper hardness to relieve all the tension his spouse had gotten after his training. The same had probably been right by stating that even a horse needed regular exercise and that he needed to resume it. The comparison seemed somehow indecent to Emhyr, but in the end, it was probably apt – a witcher without exercise was useless, and if he had to compare it to anything, it was perhaps to a well-trained soldier, whose skills would rust without regular training. Oh, all these comparisons were useless because in front of him on the bed, completely naked and with tangled hair, lay his husband, and he knew exactly what this sight did to him.

"That's right," smirked the latter now. "But you like it. You like it so much that you..."

He uttered the last words in Nilfgaardian, another thing he had begun to practice again lately. This earned him a hearty slap on the backside.

"Your pronunciation of arse leaves much to be desired."

"Maybe so, but you have healing hands," Geralt growled delightedly underneath him. "You will find..."

He suddenly fell silent. Emhyr, who had noticed that even Geralt's buttocks were tense and had begun to loosen them with a vigorous kneading, asked irritably, "What?"

Deft as a snake, Geralt wriggled around under Emhyr's dexterous hands, accidentally presenting a first success of the latter's efforts.

"You know," he said, unusually serious, "you actually have the ability to make me feel better when you touch me."

Emhyr snorted. If there was one thing Geralt was not, it was romantic; and he had not for a moment supposed that this desire for a post-exercise massage had any meaning other than a new form of foreplay that his witcher loved so passionately.

"It's true," Geralt protested, "healing hands."

"Oh, really?"

Emhyr thought this was nothing more than a strange but somehow cute form of dirty talking, and wordlessly he brushed off his dressing gown.

Geralt's eyes lit up on his reply, "Let me show you what these hands can heal."

                                                        -:¦:-

A few days later, their breakfast was graced by Ciri's presence, who was now back in the palace more often and had begun to take a renewed interest in her future duties. Her morning greeting faltered when she noticed Emhyr's left hand resting on one of Geralt's thighs.

"I beseech you, at breakfast? You can't keep pulling the young married couple card all the time."

Geralt merely grinned, but Emhyr, on whose stoic countenance her insolence bounced that morning, calmly brought the teacup to his mouth and took a sip before answering.

"The leg is aching," he simply replied, and Ciri's expression became compassionate.

The effects of multiple fractures and magical healing were more noticeable some days than others, she knew this, and so Ciri asked with interest, "And that helps?"

"Sometimes," Geralt said. Then he grinned again. "I've told your father before that he has healing hands, but he won't hear of it."

Ciri screwed up her face as if he had made a dirty joke, but then she suddenly mused, "You know, there might even be something to it. I once read about how lovers can actually develop healing abilities when they interact with each other."

"That's nonsense," said Triss, who had just entered the room.

"Well, in this case, I guess you can talk about relief as a priority, but what if there's something to it? Love can release endorphins..."

"Healing is due to the body's own substances, which can be triggered with magic, but certainly not by love," Triss said, and thereupon a somewhat heated discussion broke out between the two, which soon encompassed utterly different topics.

                                                   -:¦:-

The matter was forgotten for a while as everyday life had a grip on them, but like flashlights, it brought itself back to mind repeatedly. Such as when Emhyr – which, given his idiosyncrasy of often poring over papers in an uncomfortable pose until late at night occurred not so rarely – experienced a headache. Geralt, who had already tried in vain hours ago to lure him away from this work to get some rest, had put his hands on his husband's cramped shoulders, pressed a kiss on the back of his head, and looked over his shoulders.

"That can wait until tomorrow," he said firmly.

And Emhyr, quite contrary to his habits of not being distracted from a task, had actually put down the quill, laid back his head, and let his spouse handle his shoulders. Geralt had to think of the countless times Emhyr's presence, his touch, the mere feeling of his hands in his had given him a sense of relief.

"There is something to it after all," he said thoughtfully.

"Hmm?"

"Healing hands," Geralt replied, "What if that really works? On both sides?"

"Don't be silly. There's nothing healing about it. Your fingers just happen to rest on neuralgic points and cut off the pain supply, that's science, Geralt."

Despite the pretentious tone, Geralt had heard exactly the essential point from these words. He leaned over, nuzzled his cheek against Emhyr's, and whispered, "That means you don't have a headache anymore?"

Emhyr looked at him in surprise but had to silently admit that this was true. And he, too, remembered countless occasions when it had been this way – Geralt had a talent for making a difference with a single touch, and no doubt it was the same the other way around. It was intuitive, something neither of them had ever consciously thought about. The soothing effect of a hand, even fleetingly placed on tense muscles. Fingers intertwined, untangling strained thoughts. A firm stroke over the back after a nightmare. The gentle touch on temples that were taut from endless brooding. As Geralt had said: the ability to make the other person feel better just by touching them. He had to admit that there was indeed something curative about it.

                                                       -:¦:-

The implications of these findings, if taken seriously, were remarkable. They both mulled over these considerations without actually talking about it, and almost unconsciously, the mutual touching increased. If the reason they were doing each other well with this was their mutual affection, it only seemed to strengthen it. In other words, Geralt and Emhyr could not keep their hands off each other. As if to regularly reassure themselves that their touches had the desired effect, they touched each other more and more frequently. It was undoubtedly an exciting boost for their love life, which had never suffered from too little attention, but now reached unexpected new heights. It almost seemed as if they wanted to combine true love's kiss with true love's touch, but if they were enchanted, this spell could not be broken.

Although they had rarely hidden their affection, it seemed even more apparent now, and they were seen holding hands in the palace more often than before. It seemed to lift the general mood. As far as Emhyr was concerned, it would have been an exaggeration to say that he displayed certain contentment. But overall, everything seemed as bright and rosy as it should be for newlyweds.

Nevertheless, everyday difficulties had not disappeared, as became apparent one day when Ciri accompanied a limping and cursing Geralt to the infirmary set up by Triss. They had been hunting together – a concession they had both wrested from Emhyr, for Ciri, too, needed a balance to the duties she had, after all, voluntarily accepted. It quickly became clear that this balance could not be found in the ever languishing Movran Voorhis, which had led to some disagreements and the latter's near resignation. After those waters were smoothed, Emhyr had agreed, to the astonishment of both Ciri and Geralt, that she could occasionally accompany him when he took on a contract – nothing too dangerous, nonetheless.

This time, something had gone wrong, and it was only thanks to Ciri's quick intervention that Geralt escaped with a dislocated kneecap and a broken arm, while she herself only suffered a few scrapes. As always, Emhyr had been notified immediately, and he watched the treatment of his court sorceress with a wary eye, holding Geralt's hand.

Ciri, observing that Geralt apparently used the touch to nearly break his spouse's hand between a string of juicy curses, which the latter stoically accepted, said at one point in surprise, "Say, you two, you didn't really take that seriously, did you?"

"What?"

"Me, rambling on about the healing power of love the other day. I was just teasing you, but apparently, I started a little something..."

Triss, who had just conjured up a magical ointment for the re-set kneecap with flowing hand movements, looked up at Ciri and replied, "Well, I for one took it seriously."

As all eyes turned to her, the sorceress could not prevent a certain blush from shooting into her cheeks.

"What? It's not so far off, even though I was skeptical at first. So if you were just making it up, Ciri, you were amazingly clairvoyant. Love may release hormones that can relieve pain, among other things – so, for instance, with a touch."

To everyone's surprise, Geralt started laughing, and even Emhyr showed a slight smile.

"It's clear you were messing with us," Geralt said to Ciri. "However, I have to admit; there was something rather stimulating about the idea..."

"Oh please, don't elaborate," Ciri moaned with a disgusted expression. "If I had known that you would become the purest lovebirds after this…"

"I guess you fell into your own trap there, girl," Emhyr opined. "When apparently it can be scientifically proven that there is some truth to your love theory."

"I didn't say anything about it being scientific," Triss interjected. "There are only a few writings by physicians on this."

"Doctors aren't scientific enough for the sorceress, that's it," Geralt sneered but quickly regretted it when she turned to treat his arm.

"We can test out which one you prefer," she replied calmly. "Traditional splinting of the bone as done by barber-surgeons, often with little accuracy, wraps of dubious hygiene and at most weekly dressing changes, as recommended in the now obsolete but still used publication Osseous Therapeuticus. In the meantime, you can try a lot of loving affection; it allegedly promotes the healing process and, in some cases, shortens it. However, some report that the pain is a bit detrimental to libido. Or we might do it my way. That hurts, too, but instead of hoping for a dubious result for about two months, you can move your arm again without any problems in a week. I still recommend holding hands with the other arm, though. "

The others stared at her, speechless, until Geralt, feeling quite powerless at the moment, finally inquired, "You made that book up, didn't you?"

Emhyr, on the other hand, stated, "In this case, I trust entirely in the healing abilities of truly competent hands," which, of course, settled the matter.

                                                      -:¦:-

That evening, however, when they were alone, and it was up to him to take care of his spouse, which essentially consisted of making him comfortable, Geralt couldn't help but remark, "And I still think there's something to it."

"Well," Emyhr commented rather dryly, "it's obviously some dubious science, but this thing about releasing hormones..."

"Not that," Geralt interrupted him. "It's only logical; you can find some writings about it at Kaer Morhen, though these days they might not be considered particularly ethical. Still, I think the idea that true love can heal..."

"That wasn't what Ciri was implying," Emhyr interrupted him, frowning. "Hold on. You knew about this hormone thing and all that all along? But you tried to make me believe in the power of love?"

Geralt made a somewhat embarrassed impression. Emhyr raised his brows – which, depending on his mood, could mean anything from mockery to skepticism to blatant rejection. This time, however, it was something else.

"I would consider that a touch of romance; however, I suspect you had some baser instincts."

With one arm in a sling, Geralt's shrug turned out a bit awkward.

"Well, it worked," he returned. "You were very affectionate lately."

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard lately," Emhyr blurted. "You don't think there would have been any other way to achieve this.... aim?"

"Oh yes, certainly," Geralt admitted bluntly. "But it was more fun that way. And healing it was in any case."

"You're such an idiot," Emhyr muttered, shaking his head. "Why do you think it was healing?"

Geralt grinned, and Emhyr instantly regretted his question.

"Sexual healing."

[whatstheproblembaby]

Fic: Remember Me

Shelagh is a little confused when she wakes up at Nonnatus House, but everything will be all right when Patrick comes for her, won't it?

PG, ~2170 words, hurt/comfort out the ASS.

Read here on AO3!

She didn’t want to, but Shelagh eventually succumbed to the force of her waking mind. Rolling over, she stretched out an arm toward where Patrick should be, looking forward to a quick morning cuddle before they had to get up and tend to their children and patients.

Instead, her arm flopped over the edge of the bed, her fingers clipping the nightstand.

“Wha-” she grunted, vocal cords not quite awake yet. “Patrick?”

Shelagh blinked, and took in-

“Nonnatus?”

She sat up and fished her glasses off the nightstand, thinking that clearing her vision might also help clear her mind. She thought she had fallen asleep in her own bed last night, but she did have to stay over at Nonnatus sometimes if Patrick had a late, last minute call and couldn’t drive her home from the surgery. Perhaps she had just gotten mixed up.

Less explainable, though, was the resistance she met when she tried to slide her glasses over her ears.

“Who gave me a cap?” Shelagh asked as though someone was there to answer her. She patted her hands over her head, feeling the still-familiar white fabric in confusion, then looked down to take in the rest of her attire. “And a nightgown?”

She appreciated the kindness, since sleeping in either her day dress or her nurse’s uniform would have left her wrinkled and uncomfortable, but the fit of the pajamas was perplexing. The nightgown was visually identical to the ones the sisters wore, which made sense. They each had two, so any one of them could have lent her their spare. All of the sisters were slightly taller than she was, though - so how could she feel her feet poking past the hem to press against the sheets? The skirt wasn’t rucked up any higher than it should be.

Shelagh decided not to question it and turned on the lamp before standing up and padding over to the wardrobe. It would be too informal to take breakfast in her borrowed pajamas regardless of how they fit, not to mention the awkwardness she would feel at being garbed like a religious sister once more, even if no one else would think much of it.

“Most of them weren’t even here when I was Sister Bernadette,” she muttered. Shelagh didn’t make a regular habit of talking to herself aloud, but she suddenly wanted the comfort of an expected voice, even if it was just her own. “They wouldn’t know it was...inappropriate. Still, I’d rather be in my own dress and ready to get on with the day when Patrick arrives for me.”

She pulled open the wardrobe door and had to blink several times. In a daze, she shut the doors, counted to five silently, and reopened them.

The contents were the same.

“Habits?” Shelagh said, her accent thickening somewhat in shock. “Why ever-”

A light rap on her door interrupted her question. “Sister? Are you coming to Lauds?”

“I think you have the wrong room,” Shelagh said as she made her way over to let Sister Hilda in. “I’m always happy to attend Lauds with you, of course, but I’m no longer a religious sister. Oh, were you aware that I was once-”

“No longer?” Sister Hilda cut in, a bemused smile on her face. “Sister, are you feeling quite the thing?”

“I don’t understand why you keep calling me Sister. I renounced my vows ages ago.” Shelagh suddenly felt dizzy. Between the wardrobe full of someone else’s clothes and Sister Hilda’s insistence on using the wrong title...it was overwhelming so early in the morning.

Sister Hilda took Shelagh firmly by the upper arms and guided her so they were sitting side by side on the bed. “Sis- pardon.” She cleared her throat when Shelagh glared at her attempt to use the title yet again. “You are scaring me. Are you sure that headache you had at supper last night has gone away?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Shelagh said, agitated. “And I did not have a headache at supper last night, which I ate, by the way, with my own husband and children!”

“With your - that’s quite enough,” Sister Hilda said. She pushed herself forcefully off the bed before chivvying Shelagh just as emphatically back into lying down. “I’m calling Doctor. I don’t know if you’re feverish or somehow sustained a head injury after Compline, but you are not in your right mind, Sister Bernadette. You will stay here until the doctor can have a look at you. Sister Frances can lead Lauds.”

Shelagh wasn’t sure which part of that speech she wanted to rebut first, but she finally spluttered out “Wh-what about Sister Julienne?” just before Sister Hilda exited the room.

“Mother Julienne is visiting the Hope Clinic in South Africa, as you well know!” The door closed decisively behind Sister Hilda.

“Mother Julienne?” Shelagh echoed. “Oh, what in the world is going on?”

While she was of the mind to flout Sister Hilda’s orders on principle, Shelagh thought she may as well wait there. One way or another, she would get to see Patrick, and she couldn’t exactly wait in the entrance hall in her nightie.

“Wouldn’t that be a shock, though?” she said, a mischievous smile growing on her face as she imagined the look on Patrick’s. She chuckled softly as the door opened again.

“Well, I’m glad you’re laughing, Sister,” Patrick said as he bustled in with Sister Hilda hot on his heels. “One of us should be in a good mood this morning.”

“Oh, Patrick, not you, too!” Shelagh said, shaking her head at his incorrect title for her. “Did Sister Hilda not tell you it was me she’s worried about?”

“You see?” Sister Hilda said, gesturing at her. “Something’s wrong.”

“Clearly,” Patrick said. Shelagh frowned as he hooked his stethoscope over his neck and dug a thermometer out of his bag. “You were right to call me.”

“Really, Patrick, that’s enough,” Shelagh said, moving to swing herself out of bed. “The children will be late for school if we mess about with this sad attempt at a comedy show any longer.”

“Sister, it’s incredibly unprofessional for you to keep calling me by my first name,” Patrick said, catching Shelagh by the arm to keep her in place. As he popped the thermometer into her mouth, he sat next to her on the bed and continued, “And honestly, I was unaware you even knew my first name. Is it in Mother Julienne’s old files somewhere?”

Shelagh’s mouth gaped, the thermometer falling into her lap. “Wh - of course I know your first name. You’re my husband, in case you’ve forgotten!”

Sister Hilda stepped forward, aghast. “Sister! I realize you likely don’t know what you’re saying, but that is beyond the pale! Dr. Turner would never behave so inappropriately toward a woman of God.”

“It’s all right, Sister, I’m not offended,” Patrick said as he pressed a hand clinically to Shelagh’s forehead. She wanted to reach up and cling on, reassure herself, but the lack of affection in Patrick’s eyes stopped her cold. “She’s not feverish. You’re sure she didn’t hit her head yesterday?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Where are the children?” Shelagh interjected. She tried to keep the panic she was feeling out of her voice - Sister Hilda and Patrick didn’t need any more reasons to think she was mentally unwell. “May? Angela? Teddy? Did you leave them with Timothy?”

Patrick recoiled as though she had slapped him. It was Sister Hilda who responded, very softly.

“Dr. Turner’s son died of polio in 1958. You were still in the sanatorium, Sister - do you remember? I can ask Nurse Franklin for more details if it would help.”

“I...I….” The gravity of what Sister Hilda was saying struck her, and Shelagh couldn’t find words, couldn’t find air. She started crying, gentle tears quickly giving way to great, painful heaves that almost drowned out the sound of Patrick instructing Sister Hilda to call an ambulance and the Linchmere over her head. “No, please...Patrick! Don’t - I’m not-”

Her vision started fluttering, and everything went black.

__________________________

Patrick climbed the dark stairs slowly, exhausted after assisting with a long but ultimately rewarding delivery of a new mother of twins. He loosened his tie as he quietly entered his room, not wanting to wake-

“Shelagh!”

His wife was thrashing and sobbing on her side of the bed, her breath coming in frantic gasps between soft cries of “No - Patrick, no!”

“Shelagh, my love, I’m right here,” Patrick said, crossing the room in an instant to drop down beside her on the mattress and start rubbing her back. “I’m right here, wake up.”

“Patrick?” Shelagh’s fitful movements eased ever so slightly, her head tilting toward the sound of his voice.

“Open your eyes, darling, I’m here,” Patrick coaxed. He gently encouraged her to turn onto her other side, facing him, and as she rolled, her eyes opened.

The look of relief and fear that mingled on her face as she came back to consciousness caused him physical pain in his chest.

“Oh...oh, Patrick,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she sat up. “Tell me you know who I am.”

“What? Shelagh, you’re my wife, of course I know who you are,” he replied, confused.

She threw herself into his arms almost before he had finished his sentence. “Thank God. Thank God.”

Patrick reached out quickly to turn on the bedside lamp before settling against the headboard and pulling Shelagh firmly into his lap. He ran a hand up and down her back soothingly, waiting until her tears calmed enough that she should be able to speak.

“Tell me what happened.”

“It was - oh, it was the worst nightmare,” Shelagh said. She made to slide out of his lap, but he tightened his grip, only allowing her to shift so she was sitting sideways rather than facing him. He handed her the hankie from his trouser pocket so she could wipe her eyes as she continued, “I woke up and I was at Nonnatus House, which was just unusual, but then Sister Hilda started insisting that I was still a sister, and Sister Julienne was actually Mother Julienne and away in South Africa, and you...you….”

She broke off to blow her nose.

“You came to examine me after Sister Hilda called...and you didn’t believe me either. You were going to call the Linchmere. But even worse than that….our children. Timothy.”

“No one believed you about them, either,” Patrick guessed, pressing a kiss to the side of Shelagh’s head when her flinch informed him he was right. “But Tim?”

“In my dream, he didn’t survive polio. Oh, Patrick,” Shelagh sobbed out, tucking her head into the juncture of Patrick’s neck and shoulder.

“Shhh....shhhh, darling,” Patrick said. He removed her headscarf so he could stroke her hair, her back, as the collar of his shirt got progressively wetter. “It was terrible, but it was only a dream. Timothy and the little ones are here. I’m here, and I know you, and I love you.”

After a few long moments, he felt Shelagh’s cries ease, and the vise around his own heart loosened too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, emerging from his neck. “I don’t mean to carry on over a dream.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Patrick said fiercely. “Your emotions aren’t any less real because they came from a nightmare. What you can do for me, though, is get up and rinse your face. I’ll make everything comfortable for when you’re done.”

Shelagh looked a little reticent as she stood, but she did make her way to the lavatory to wash up. Patrick scrambled to get into his pajamas, turn down the bed, and get the pillows fluffed and rearranged before she returned.

“That does feel better,” she admitted as she reappeared. “Thank you, dearest.”

“All in a day’s work,” Patrick teased gently, lounging on his back. His smile grew as one bloomed hesitantly on her face. “Now come here.”

Shelagh snagged her headscarf from where he’d left it on her pillow and tied it on before crawling into bed and snuggling close. Patrick anchored one arm firmly around her back and brought the other up to stroke the arm she had draped over his chest.

“This is already better than how I fell asleep before,” Shelagh said, voice muzzy.

“As it should be.” Patrick tilted Shelagh’s head up just long enough to kiss her softly, smiling against her mouth at her sleepily inept attempts to kiss him back. “Rest, love. There will be no more nightmares tonight.”

Shelagh’s head fell lightly against his shoulder, and Patrick dipped his to rest it on her crown. He had relied on the sound of Shelagh’s heartbeat and the warmth of her body to sleep when his memories of Northfield and the war had overwhelmed him, and he could only hope the same would be true for her now.

In the morning, she informed him that it was.

[drumboydowoon]

Woof Woof | Stray Kids AU

Chapter Three / Return of the Memories and the Fellowship of Fear

Werewolf!Chan au

Warnings / language

Words / 5K+

Masterlist

------

The first thing you notice when your eyes flutter open suddenly, is the splitting pain pulsing in the back of your head. Then it shifts to the aches that run down your thighs to your calves. You groan at the throbbing pain and lay there for a moment, getting ready to sit up both physically and mentally. 

After you’ve prepared yourself to move, you sigh and try to sit up, however, you can’t. You suddenly felt the heavyweight wrapped around your torso. You pout in confusion, then look to see what’s responsible. The questions become endless once you see that it’s someone’s arm wrapped around you. You allow your eyes to trail up the arm all the way to the face that sleeps right behind you. 

Gasping, you lightly jump at the surprise of seeing Chan’s face right next to yours. You’re about ready to shove him away until you notice that his eyes are still closed and he’s letting out soft snores. It’s obvious that he’s still asleep… But why is he asleep next to you? That’s the big question of the hour. 

You purse your lips as you gently push his arm off of you. For a moment, he flinches and you cringe, thinking that you woke him up. Luckily for you, Chan’s still out cold. When you move next, you make sure you’re careful to not wake him. You quietly slip away from him and get up off the painfully hard ground. 

You brush yourself off and look around the room, which definitely wasn’t the bedroom that you were expecting (thank god). Instead, you find yourself in the basement of the boy’s home. More questions arise. 

It also happens that you aren’t alone in the basement. Besides Chan, Felix lays on the floor next to the stairs, curled up into a ball and fast asleep as well. Curious as to who else may be in there with you, you turn around and search the room. You find another sleeping body resting a few feet away. Gazing curiously at him, you finally recognize who it is. It’s neither Minho or Jisung that you suspected. It’s Hwang Hyunjin, someone you knew a lot about, but never spoken to.

Frowning, you wonder what he was doing here, or what any of you are doing down here in the basement. Blinking, you stare at all three of them in thought for a while. What did you do last night to end up here?

Then, like a dam breaking open, everything suddenly comes crashing back to you all at once. Everything from you arriving at Felix’s house, to Felix and co. trying to murder you, to Minho coming to your rescue and knocking Chan out with a rock because he was getting a little handsy. In an instant, your jaw drops wide open as you’re at a complete loss for words. 

Your body starts to shake as you slowly take a few steps back. Keeping your gaze locked both on Chan and Hyunjin, you fail to remember that he’s set up by the stairs. Taking another step backwards, your shoe collides with a body. Your entire being jumps in fear and you accidentally let a squeak escape you. 

Felix groans at the contact and moves his arm out to scratch his leg, where you just kicked him. “5 more minutes…” he grumbles, but his eyes remain closed, though. There’s a cute pout etched on his face as he settles back into his previous sleeping position. You sigh in relief and this time you’re careful watch where you’re going and maneuver around him. 

Once you step over him, you go up the first few steps very stealthy. After going around the corner and out of sight from them, caution goes out the window and you break into a sprint upstairs. It’s not until you're halfway up the stairs that you begin to feel a stinging sensation going across your waist to your stomach. It burns, so it makes you look down to see the issue. Your shirt is a little torn up and within those tears, you can see the angry red scratches covering your stomach. They don’t look too deep, but they sure hurt like hell. 

You don’t recall getting those marks last night. Then again, everything went by in a flash, so a few things are bound to be clouded from your memory. Besides the pain isn’t what is important at the moment. Right now you need to focus on getting away as far as possible from the sleeping maniacs before it’s too late. 

Waving it off for now, you continue your way upstairs and reach the door. You hurry to it and swing it open, not caring if you wake up the whole neighborhood at this point. Then you dart straight for the front door that stands not too far, yet still miles away at the same time. You can’t get out the door fast enough. 

Someone in the dining room is alerted by the noise. He stops what he’s doing and stares, “Y/n?” he questions as he watches you try to make a beeline out the door. 

Nearly tripping over yourself, you promptly look over to find Minho walking towards you with concern and confusion written all over him. Then his gaze wanders over to where your hand is moving towards the knob of the front door. Quickly, he rushes over and puts himself between yourself and the sweet smell of fresh air that he’s denying you.

“You can’t leave yet,” he says while slowly taking your wrist in his hand to move it away from the knob. 

Sorry, but did you hear correctly? “Why not?! Why are you standing around like everything is fine? Do you even remember what happened last night? We need to get out of here!” all the words come jumbling out of your mouth as fear and anxiety sit in your gut unpleasantly. Any moment something bad can happen, so why is Minho acting so strange?

After ranting, Minho simply places his hands on your shoulders, “Calm down. Sit,” he points towards the black dining room table in the next room over. 

Your jaw drops. It continues to hang open, even as he directs you towards a chair to sit down on. “Calm down?” you ask incredulously. 

“You want me to calm down after I saw Felix acting like a fucking… whatever that was!?” you repeat, “Not to mention the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is here too, for some reason, and he tried to eat me as a late night snack. But thank god Chan was there to save me, then act like a weirdo who creepily sniffs girls!” you exclaim, in complete disbelief at what Minho is telling you to do. Calming down is the last thing that’s on your mind. 

Finally a moment of realization hits you as Minho pushes you along. You stop in your tracks and refuse to move any further. Instead you turn to face Minho and jab a finger into his chest, “I bet you are in on this!” you accuse, “That explains why you’re so calm about all this,” you gasp at the sudden revelation you came up with out of nowhere. 

Minho stares down at you with a blank face, but it still holds some resemblance of emotion because it’s quite easy to tell he’s not pleased. You gulp at the daggering stare. “Sit. Down,” both words fall sharply off his tongue as his daggering gaze commands you to do as you're told. 

Though he is your friend, you sometimes forget how threatening Minho can be. Without thinking, your body has a mind of its own as it walks to one of the dining chairs and makes you sit on it. You could curse your mind and body for betraying you like that, but then again, you can’t blame them.

Sighing in relief, he follows after you and takes a seat across from you. He folds his hands on the table. You look to him expectantly, but he remains silent for a second, seemingly thinking before he speaks.

“I know you must be really confused and scared-”

“Terrified,” you correct. 

He gives you a look before continuing, “Yeah and that… It’s not really my place to tell you this,” he starts, “But at this point you deserve to know after all that shit you you went through…” he trails off, trying to find the best words to use to explain it all to you. It’s much more difficult than you think. 

As he thinks, someone walks into the room from the hall over, “Hey did you even start making breakfast yet? I’m starving,” Jisung asks sleepily. His eyes are half closed as he walks in. His face is covered in marks that are bruises forming. His lips have a cut near the corner and he looks exhausted. It’s like he hardly got any rest last night. But who could after a night like that? 

“Oh hey, Y/n,” he greets nonchalantly before looking to Minho for an answer. Then it comes to Jisung a moment later, “Wait, Y/n?!” he jumps when he realizes that you’re there, sitting peacefully at their table. 

He’s sure you would have ran for the hills by now. Thankfully that’s not the case, or that would have been really bad. He’s just surprised that’s all. He wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. Awkwardly, you smile back to the flustered boy. 

“I’m trying to explain everything to her right now,” Minho fills in for him. 

Jisung’s brows furrow as he objects, “What? The boys will be mad… Especially Hyunjin since he’ll find a way to blame all of this on me,” he frowns. 

Rolling his eyes, Minho argues, “Well I think she would rather hear the truth from the only two normal people here.” He scoffs. It shouldn’t be that hard to guess why it would be a good idea to have the other three try to explain it to you. 

“Okay, but it’s not really our place to expose a secret as big as this,” Jisung counterpoints, even though Minho literally already told you that. He’s unsure about making a decision like this. The two of them never really dealt with a problem like this.

Sighing, Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. You watch as they argue back and forth about whether it’s okay for them to tell you or not. Another headache forms in your already throbbing head. 

Being extremely tired, in pain, and pissed off wasn’t the greatest combination. Their voices faded into the background while you thought of everything at once. Flashes of memories from the previous night reminded you of how absolutely scared you were. You’ve never felt so… helpless before. 

For most of your life you’ve never had a reason to feel that scared. The most fear you felt was when you did something bad and you knew you were going to be yelled at for it, or knowing fully well that you did horrendously on a test that you did not study for whatsoever. But never because you had to worry for your own life.

What scares you the most is the feeling of not knowing, though. It isn’t the burning pain dancing all along your body. It’s the confusion that weighed you down the most. Did Felix always act like that? Why now of all times? Is this your fault? 

There’s so many questions bubbling in one mind. Eventually it comes bursting out. Sick of the two fighting over something so pointless, you raise your voice, “Well someone needs to tell me what the hell happened!”

At once, they’re mouths shut. They both stare at you, not expecting your sudden much needed outburst. They only blink at you as you huff out a heavy breath. 

Leaning over the table, you stare at the two. Barely above a whisper, your voice is still deep and dangerous in warning, “I don’t care whether or not it is your place to tell me. I’m telling you that you need to explain to me why my best friend, your weird roommate, and pretty boy, acted like a bunch of horror movie rejects.” There’s no room for debate in your tone. 

You’re so tired. Somehow you’ve become completely different from a few minutes ago. Before, you were frantic and desperate to leave as soon as possible, yet now you’re so done with everything. You’ve had time to process, only momentarily, but you had time. Now you need answers. 

“Y-yes ma’am,” Jisung stutters, it’s clear that he’s far more worried about you exploding at him now rather than having Hyunjin get mad later. Minho mumbles about how he can’t believe that’s all it took to shut him up. 

The older of the two then resumes his previous position of leaning closer to you with his hands folded. He licks his lips in preparation, “It might sound really ridiculous,” he warns, “But it’s not fiction, I promise. Sometimes there’s things-”

Rolling your eyes, you gesture for him to hurry, “There’s no need to sugarcoat it. Just tell me. Is it drugs? Some kind of hypnosis?” The list of assumptions and guesses could go on forever, but before you can question anymore, Minho opens his mouth. 

“It’s werewolves”

Blinking once, then twice, you have to think if you actually heard him right. Once again, he beats you to the point, “Felix, Chan, and Hyunjin are werewolves. Last night was a full moon, so they were way more out of control than usual.” Even after he repeats and clarifies his preceding statement, you’re still not sure if you’re hard of hearing. 

Looking away, Jisung stuffs his hands in his pockets while he kicks at the ground. The other waits for your response. The room is hushed as tension rises high. Such an… interesting explanation was bound to make some speechless. 

By what you understand, Felix, your loveable friend, who acts like a pesky mosquito because he just “feels like it”, is a werewolf. Someone you have known for a few years, somehow managed to hide the fact that they’re a werewolf as well. 

It starts off with a scoff. But soon that turns into quiet giggles. Minho and Jisung give each other a look. One holds annoyance while the other faces uncertainty. The giggling evolves into full blown hysterical laughter. Grabbing at your sides, you laugh harder and harder, even after the fact that both boys look at you like you’re a nutcase.

In your defense though, you can’t possibly believe they’re being truthful for one second. Like seriously? Werewolves? Out of all the things either one of them could choose to lie about, they chose werewolves. You do applaud them for using their amusing creativity. 

It felt like you went on for minutes before you finally began to calm down. After devolving into chokes of laughter, you wipe away the tears that were slipping from your eyes. You glance over to the two, who were not laughing along with you. 

You take a deep breath of air and chuckle midway through, “You are joking, right?” your eyes continue to flick between both of them, looking for any sign that this is some cruel prank.

Blankly, Minho shakes his head, “Nope”

Your jaw drops as you look to the other boy, “Jisung?” you question, hoping he will be kind enough to enlighten you. 

Jisung huffs. He looks conflicted, “Believe it or not, you’ll find out soon enough,” he ominously answers, making you rethink that it’s a joke. 

It’s impossible to believe them. And it’s impossible to think you would believe them. There’s no point in lying now. You’ve already seen enough, so why are they being so frustrating about this?

Minho squints his eyes to something past you. “Looks like soon, is now...” he mumbles quietly to himself. You can’t hear him, so you ask him to repeat himself. But instead he gives whatever he’s looking at a sheepish smile, “Good morning, boys,” he greets. 

All at once, you can feel your entire being freeze. It only takes a few words to figure out who he’s greeting. Three sets of groggy footsteps approach the room. It’s impossible to turn around. Rather than moving, your body sits straight up as you look to Minho with wide eyes. All the feelings from before you somewhat calmed down, come tumbling back into you full force. 

In the moment, both Minho and Jisung feel bad for you (one more than the other). Subtly, Minho unfolds his hands and carefully slides one across the table towards you. You look down at his snaking hand trying to offer its comfort. Instead, you return a frown. Somehow you were able to convey that it wasn’t the time and that you are mad at him now, because his hand retreats to his lap. 

In the corner of your vision, you can see the outline of someone walking into the kitchen and past the counter. Daringly, you decide to look in the direction of them. Felix ignores your presence all together and darts straight for the refrigerator. He opens the door to the freezer and sticks his head in. Sighing happily at the cool contact, Felix enjoys remaining peacefully oblivious to you sitting at their table. 

From behind you, a round of pained groans and groggy voices ring in your ears. Chan and Hyunjin follow shortly after, evidently muttering something to each other. The two of them step into the room and Hyunjin’s tired voice drowns out for some reason. Chan, like Felix, is unaware of you. Your head snaps away from Felix and opts to look down at your fidgeting hands sitting on the table. 

“Hey, what time is it?” Chan’s raspy voice asks. He stretches as he tries to wake up from his horrible night of sleeping on the concrete floor. 

Jisung holds a hand to his face and shakes his head in disappointment. On the other hand, Minho pointedly looks at Chan, hoping that he would see the elephant in the room. Lacking in the ability to understand, Chan cocks his head to the side. It takes a second to fully comprehend his surroundings. 

Getting annoyed, Hyunjin rolls his eyes and elbows the older in the side and points harshly to you, the first thing he noticed when he walked in. A chill goes through you as you feel the many stares on you. It takes another moment before he realizes that there’s someone else in the room rather than his roommates. He sees your sitting body at his table, back facing him and visibly tense.

The uneasiness seeped into him the moment he laid eyes on you. Memories from the night before were vastly blurry. He can hardly remember anything, but seeing the tears in your clothing and the way you kept your head down, he could use common sense and put two and two together. Guilt found a way to drop in the pit of his stomach since he can practically hear you shivering from here. 

He gulped as he waved for the one boy that remained ignorant, “Aye, Felix…” he trails off.

Felix sighs as he hears his name, “What…?” He doesn’t want to leave the refreshing cold air blasting his face. It felt too nice. All nice things come to an end, though, or at least when they’re ruined by Chan calling him again. 

Groaning, this time a little more irritated, Felix pulls away from the freezer to lazily glance at the man that’s making it hard for him to relax. Like a teenager, Felix shrugs in exasperation, “What?” he repeats with a bit more attitude. He could hear the cool air from the freezer calling his name to come back. 

Felix sees Hyunjin’s scowl first, then Chan’s eyes that keep flickering between him and somewhere else in the room. He follows his line of sight to the table. You can feel your heart pick up the second his gaze lands on you, even when you’re not looking at him. If you were watching, you would be able to see the way Felix’s eyes pop open like a cartoon. The color drains from his skin at the sight of you. 

He opens his mouth, stammering to say something, yet nothing comes out. Opting to say nothing at all, Felix makes the hasty decision to turn his back to you and stick his head back into the freezer. You sneak a peek to see his reaction, but are disappointed to see that he isn’t even looking at you anymore. God, how can something be so awkward and terrifying at the same time?

Chan shakes his head at the cowardice of his younger friend. It’s clear that he would have to take matters into his own hands. Putting on a very fake smile, he perks up, “Morning, Y/n! Weird seeing you here,” his voice is so cheery, you totally can’t tell it isn’t real at all. 

After he calls your name for the first time this morning, you can’t help but let your body go rigid. For a second, you look to Minho and Jisung for help. Luckily for you, they’re no help at all and only offer either a shrug or an expressionless face. Classic Minho and Jisung. You’re sure going to give them hell later. 

Shakily, you turn in your seat to face the boys, giving them a nervous smile that wasn’t meant to be a smile. Seeing them now makes you look at them differently. They don’t have their fangs or glowing eyes anymore. Instead, they looked like they always had. But that doesn’t mean you can’t stop seeing the horror that they were. 

Chan saw how hard you were trying to not to make a run for the door, and he couldn’t blame you. Even though he can’t recall much, he’s sure that nothing good happened. And he knows for a fact that he isn’t innocent either. 

“H-hey,” you curse yourself for faltering like that. 

Deciding to speak up at last, Hyunjin rolls his eyes, “It’s obvious she knows. Stop acting like she doesn’t,” he scoffs. He can’t be the only one with common sense. 

Chan’s shoulders drop as his fake happy act does as well, and is replaced by awkwardness and nerves. Before anyone can say anything else, Jisung pipes up quickly, “Minho is the one who told her!” he points an accusing finger towards the boy in question. Minho is just as quick to give him a sharp glare back.

Suddenly your expression of fear turns into one of doubt, “No, what Minho told me is that made up crap about you being werewolves. Please, like anyone expects me to believe that” You take a turn eyeing up all three of them, “Werewolves? More like a bunch of drugged up lunatics…” 

Knowing that the boys weren’t nearly as hostile and out of their mind as they were before, was relieving. You can be brave enough to talk to them, but you can’t be caught off guard yet.

For what felt like the hundredth time, the room became quiet. Hyunjin laughed in disbelief at your comment. You raise a brow at him, “Something funny?” you ask, but you snap to something more important, “What are you even doing here, Mr. Bigshot on Campus?” 

Jisung was amazed how fast your moods can change. One you’re scared for your life, then the next your insulting each and everyone of them. It’s a talent, really. Hyunjin didn’t bother to answer your question, instead he scowls at you. 

Quietly, Chan twiddles his thumbs together, “Well, Minho isn’t lying… We are werewolves,” he admits, looking you straight in the eyes afterward. As uncomfortable and tense he was for admitting such a big secret like that, he still wanted to be sincere. He needed you to know that he wasn’t lying. 

“This isn’t funny anymore…” you tell them with a frown, “If you can’t tell me the truth, then I’m leaving,” you get up from the chair and begin to move. You can’t deal with them. If they don’t want to tell you, then fine. They’ll just have to handle the aftermath of you ignoring them from now on.

Minho calls out to you, “Y/n-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you shut him up. He’s just as guilty as the rest of them.

Felix is frozen in place. He can’t face you, but hearing that you’re going to leave sends him into a panicked frenzy. You can’t leave, not when you still don’t believe them. If you leave, there’s a chance he could never see you again, and you’ll only know him as the monster that hurt you. Then again, if he does tell you, you might still look at him like that anyways. He can’t think straight. 

Without much thought, Felix stops you in your tracks, “Wait, Y/n” 

You face him, looking indifferent and ready to shut him up too. You don’t want to hear any more excuses. If you’re fortunate, you can leave this place in one piece and never talk to them again. 

Conflicted, Felix looks to his other lunatic buddies. Hyunjin can’t be bothered to care about the pleading look Felix shoots at him. At least Chan is more caring and gives him a small reassuring nod. 

At last Felix sighs and his shoulders drop in defeat. He never wanted to show you this side of him, but now he has no other choice. The only thing he says to you is, “I can prove it…” before his face completely morphs into something entirely different. Rather than seeing the freckled boy with chocolate eyes, who you care for too much, you see the same monster from last night that beat the shit out of Jisung and tried to do the same to you. 

At the sight of his transformation, you jump back, nearly knocking over the chair behind you. “Oh!” you would’ve fallen over if it weren’t for Minho’s quick thinking to jump from his own seat and keep you up right. He holds your arm, but lets go just as quickly after you’re stable.

The hurt Felix felt when he saw your expression is unmeasurable. But he understands that he had to do it. He understands why you’re scared. He’s had the same feeling long ago too. He raises his hand into view, showing off his sharply cut claws, “Do you believe us now?” he hesitantly asks. 

All eyes are on you once again, waiting for your response. Would you look at them differently, more than you already did? Would you expose their secrets? Would you run out of the house screaming “Wolf!”? Each one of them thought up a different scenario. 

They were all wrong, though. In fact, your mind can barely think of what to do. All your thoughts were strewn around in a fiery hellscape. There’s too much information to process. Although you already saw this, you can’t understand why you didn’t believe them before. In some twisted way, it made sense. But you didn’t want it to make sense. You wanted it to be normal and rational. Perhaps the drug use scenario would have been better than this. 

Your jaw slacked open, trying to form a proper sentence, but nothing seems to be coming out right. You stare down at your shoes for a moment, licking your lips in thought. Taking that moment to think your words through, you finally look up at them.

“Can I borrow your shower?” you ask, not noticing how your voice pitched up. 

Being dumbfounded, is saying the least. The boys wondered if they heard you correctly, but they know they did. Jisung is the first to speak up, “Y/n are you serious?! You just saw… that!” he throws his hands up, referring to Felix’s woofed out face, “And you want to wash your hair?!” 

You bit your lip as you realized that the request did sound a little ridiculous, but you needed to get to an escape. “I just need somewhere to think for a second,” you tell them, feeling shy all of a sudden. 

Some of them were still in disbelief, while others could understand. Nevertheless, Felix is kind enough to be one of the few who understand, so he gives you permission. In an instant, your feet are moving and you're going upstairs to lock yourself in the bathroom. Once you’re safely inside, you lean back against the door and sigh heavily. 

The only feeling in your mind that you can describe right now are three tiny words, “What the fuck”

You left in such a hurry that you couldn’t allow anyone else enough time to say anything. And you’re thankful for that. You don’t know what other kind of talking you can handle right now. 

You stood there for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath and calm yourself down. After you settle down, you push yourself off the door and go straight for the shower. However, passing by the mirror made you backtrack once you caught your reflection. 

“Wow I look like shit,” you mumble to yourself, observing your dirt covered face. Not only that, but your hair was sticking up in every direction, and frankly, you’re surprised Minho didn’t make fun of the new look. And worst of all, your clothes appear unrecoverable with all the grim and rips covering you. 

You run a hand through your mess of a hair and pout, deciding at last to start the shower. Once the water heat ups, you slip out of your nasty clothes and step into the hot inviting shower. You immediately put your head under the and relax under the warm water cascading down your body. Head empty, no thoughts. You only felt the comfort from the only normal thing you have had today. 

What did you exactly get yourself into? Is the last thing to pass through your mind before you succumb to the pleasures of taking a hot shower.

[delicrieux]

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta. 

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up. 

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?” 

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow. 

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

.

hope you liked it! xxx

.

[just-the-daydreamer]

Too much

By @just-the-daydreamer for @ferretshark 

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Characters: Peter Paker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, FRIDAY (Marvel), May Parker (mentioned)

Summary: 

“I-I think it’s a sensory overload. I don’t know what caused it. Everything is just, too much!” Peter managed to grit out, hands still locked in place over his ears. They weren’t really helping him filter out the sound, but it gave him something to focus on.

OR

Peter wakes up with a sensory overload and Tony is there to help him out.

Ao3 link (Doesn’t work yet)

Taglist:

@paradoxicalblueberry @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @aatticsaltt @marvel-us-world @tony-wheres-my-supersuit @sketchydragonscales @baloobird @a-l-ias @spideynamu @troubledpixel @irondad-is-cannon-bitch

Hi! I really hope you enjoy this!! I tried to keep the whump to a minimum and tried my best at Protective Tony! I hope you like it!

Peter’s head was pounding. He’d only woken up a few minutes ago but he was sure that it was not going to be a Good Day. The fabric of his shirt was rubbing against him in a way that seemed to burn and the blanket felt even worse. The only reason Peter even kept the blanket was to hide himself from the light. It was burning his retinas. 

His alarm clock suddenly went off and the shrill ringing was even more painful than the light. His hand shot out from under the blanket and switched it off before yanking his arm back underneath. He groaned quietly after remembering that he had a math test and he couldn’t skip school, even though his body was begging him to. 

Dragging his body out of bed was one of the most difficult experiences he had ever dealt with as Peter Parker. Usually, the painful stuff was left for Spiderman to deal with. Somehow, Peter managed to get ready for school, wearing the comfiest clothes he owned. 

Forcing his legs to move, Peter made his way to the kitchen to grab the lunch he had prepared yesterday evening. He snagged a few nutrition bars to eat along the way. They would, hopefully, keep his energy up until lunch. 

The commute to school was awful, being in a compact area pressed up against countless other people was nauseating. Peter stumbled out of the carriage and made his way to the gates, head still spinning from the journey. He staggered into his homeroom seat and as soon as his bag was off, he rested his head against the cool table for some relief. 

“Peter? Are you okay?” Ned leaned across his table to whisper his question in Peter’s ear. 

“I’m fine. Just a headache.” He replied, stringing the least amount of words together to suffice Ned’s worrying. 

“It doesn’t look like ‘just a headache’ to me. Should you even be at school?” Ned continued to press the issue, unaware of how Peter truly felt. 

Peter turned his head to whisper, eyes still closed, “I’m fine, Ned.” Before continuing to rest his head against the table. 

Ned backed off after that. It was a small mercy which Peter was grateful for. He just hoped that everyone else would leave him alone. 

-

The misshapen, paper ball hit its target once again. The target being the back of Peter’s head. It was really irritating him and he was already in a bad mood. It seemed his senses had become even more sensitive and now he couldn’t block out anything. The longer the day went, the worse he felt. It was a mistake coming into school but any more missed days and Peter would’ve faced disciplinary action. 

His original plan was just to keep his head down, hood up and try to focus on blocking everything out but that plan was soon scrapped after getting told to take his hood off. His new plan was to tough it out until after the maths test and go home, saying he was sick. Less than an hour in and Peter was just about ready to leap out of the window and go home anyway. 

Flash had been getting extremely on his nerves today and Peter didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He was really regretting not sleeping in now. 

As the lesson continued to drag on, Peter’s head began to hurt even more. The fluorescent lights were piercing his eyes, even when he had them closed. The thumping sound of his classmates’ heartbeats surrounded him and their droning chatter was vibrating in his ears. He could smell the wood shavings from someone’s pencil and the food in people’s bags, all mixing together to form a repulsive odour that only he could smell. His clothes brushed against his skin and its touch was the worst sensation he could have felt. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it might have been if he hadn’t chosen comfy clothes that morning but he didn’t really want to think about it. 

The bell rang and the sound of thousands of feet shuffling and stomping against the ground was all that Peter could hear. The ringing was still echoing through his eardrums and the noise of the people’s conversations and their shoes squeaking on the floor was too much. 

He wanted to tear his ears off, the world was so loud. His hands instinctively moved towards his ears, trying to block out as much noise as he could but the vibrations still made their way to his overwhelmed eardrums. It was so loud it felt like his brain was rattling in his skull. 

His fingers were still clamped over his ears when he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder. Judging from their grip, Peter assumed it was Ned. Peter opened his eyes, not even realising that he had closed them at any point, to find an empty and blindingly bright room and Ned behind him. 

“Okay, what’s going on, Peter? Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine.” Ned said with a firm tone. He removed his hand from Peter’s shoulder and crossed his arms, looking (rightfully) displeased. 

“I-I think it’s a sensory overload. I don’t know what caused it. Everything is just, too much!” Peter managed to grit out, hands still locked in place over his ears. They weren’t really helping him filter out the sound, but it gave him something to focus on. 

“Look, I think you should go see the nurse. Maybe she’ll let you go home or she might be nice and let you sleep it off. Either way, I really think that you shouldn’t be in school today.” Ned’s voice was softer this time, lower in volume. It wasn’t much but it gave him the slightest amount of relief. 

“Can’t go home. Got a maths test. May’s at work, too." 

"Oh my gosh, Peter! You can’t seriously believe that you’ll be able to take a maths test when you can’t even stand up right now and get a good score! You can retake the test another day - Mrs. Davis loves you anyway so just take the day off.” The teen softly exclaimed, astonished at the stupidity of his best friend. 

“I don’t wanna make a scene, Ned." 

"I think you already made a scene when the bell rang and you were still sitting here with your hands over your head. Plus, I’m already late to my next lesson so I might as well have a proper excuse.” And with that, Ned hauled Peter out of his seat, careful not to irritate him too much. He grabbed his friend’s bag and threw it over his shoulder before hovering around Peter in case his knees buckled. 

-

A painful couple of minutes later, the duo arrived outside the nurses office. Ned was already 10 minutes late so he just stayed with Peter and explained the situation to the nurse. He was already late, why not help his friend out while he’s there? 

Peter’s details were taken and May was called but the nurse was obviously disappointed that she didn’t pick up.

Even though they’d already said she was at work.

So, Peter’s second emergency contact was called and it went about as well as Ned would’ve imagined. 

“Hello? My name is Susan Lee and I’m calling on behalf of Peter Parker. Is this Mr. Stark?" 

"This is him, yes. Is Peter okay-" 

"He’s feeling a bit ill. He has a headache and he says he feels sick. His aunt didn’t pick up the phone so we had to call you. Is it alright for you to pick him up?" 

"I’ll be there soon, thanks for calling me.” The phone cut off with a beep and Miss Lee set the phone down softly on the desk. 

The nurse whirled around towards Ned and raised a shaky finger at his face. With wide eyes she questioned, “There is no way that was Tony Stark! How does” - she pointed her finger towards a pale and unresponsive Peter instead - “ that boy know Tony Stark?!”

Honestly, Ned was slightly impressed at how calm she had been while talking to a literal celebrity. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t unnerved by her accusing finger. He backed away from her slightly, shifting his gaze between her concentrated gaze and Peter, who was collapsed against a table by his chair. 

“He interns for Stark Industries! I think he’s Mr. Stark’s personal intern!" 

"There is no way Stark Industries hires high school interns!” She pressed, hand slowly sinking into her lap. 

“Don’t shoot the messenger! If you don’t believe me, why don’t you just wait and see? Mr. Stark said he’s coming to pick Peter up anyway so you’ll see him then!” Ned tried to placate her but he wasn’t sure if she would listen or not. It was quite intimidating to be honest, Miss Lee was always a nice nurse so this side of her was kind of terrifying.

Ned checked on Peter, saying his 'get wells’ and goodbyes one more time before turning to leave. He was late enough, and he didn’t need to be there for Mr. Stark’s arrival. 

-

Tony burst into the school with an air of calm disguising his worry. Peter was never one to just get a headache and go home, so either he was hiding an injury or something worse had happened. 

When he opened the door, the first thing he could see was a head of curly brown hair slumped against a small table adjacent to a row of chairs. His thinly veiled calmness almost shattered there and then but he managed to hold it together to turn to the nurse and sign some papers, muttering something about taking Peter home. 

Tony truly had no idea what he had said, he felt like he was in a haze, but whatever it was, it seemed to work and he gathered Peter’s things before turning to said teen. 

He crouched down in front of him and ran a calloused hand through the boy’s sweaty hair. 

Tapping the side of his face he whispered to the teenager. “Hey, Pete. A little birdie told me you weren’t feeling too hot today. You wanna get outta here?" 

A small nod was given in response and that was all that Tony needed to help Peter up and walk them out the school gates. 

-

The drive back was… painful to say the least. Tony tried to drive as fast as he could back to the Tower but Peter was in pain the entire time. It killed him to see the kid in so much pain but there was nothing he could do at that point. He’d already given Peter his sunglasses which seemed to help a little and the kid had already grabbed some soundproof headphones from his bag, but even then he could still hear sounds. 

The kid had also explained briefly that he was having a sensory overload, which was something that Tony could deal with. At the Tower.

On the road, however? Not so much. 

When they finally reached the elevator, FRIDAY took them straight up to Tony’s personal floor. 

As soon as the doors opened, Tony whispered, "Protocol Bedtime.” Immediately the lights went off and Tony guided a much more relaxed Peter towards his room, through muscle memory alone. 

He had Peter change out of his clothes and put on something softer to wear to sleep. He wasn’t really sure what to do to help Peter, but some rest seemed like a good idea. Hopefully, he’d be able to sneak away and build something to block out input. 

Forcing Peter to lie down, Tony closed the curtains in his room and sat down on the mattress next to where the young adolescent laid. 

“You feeling better, kiddo?” Tony whispered at what he hoped was a suitable volume. 

“Um, yeah. Yeah everything’s great.” Peter fidgeted under the covers. 

“You sure? Because if there’s anything I can do just say the word, it’ll be done.”

“Erm, yeah, there’s-there’s this one thing. It’s really embarrassing though and- actually it’s fine don’t worry about it.” Peter decided, pulling the covers over himself and looking away from Tony’s gaze. 

“Come on, kiddo. Spit it out. I want to help you. I bet it’s not even that embarrassing. What is it? You need the toilet but I tucked you in too well?” Tony replied with a small smile, hoping he could get Peter to talk. 

“Wi-will you stay?” Peter asked, tentatively, glancing back at Tony. 

The billionaire’s eyes softened as he glanced at the kid- his kid. He would do anything for this kid and his heart was bursting with so much love for him. He wouldn’t admit it though. He had a reputation to keep. 

“Of course I’ll stay. Scoot over would you?” Tony slipped his shoes off and sat under the covers with Peter who’d moved away from the centre of the mattress. 

Peter immediately moved closer to his mentor, until his head was against his hip. Peter rolled on his side to face Tony and he closed his eyes, taking relief in his father figure’s presence. Tony didn’t say anything, just placed his hands in Peter’s curls and began untangling the knots that had formed. He didn’t know if it would help Peter, but his blissful expression said everything. Tony stayed with him, carding his fingers through Peter’s soft hair, until he was sure that the teen had fallen asleep. Trying to be as silent as possible, Tony extracted himself from the bed and slipped his shoes on before exiting the room. 

He headed down to the lab and told FRIDAY to notify him when Peter woke up. He left a message for May, explaining what had happened and that Peter was okay. Then he got to work. 

-

“Boss, Peter has woken up.” FRIDAY helpfully informed him a few hours later.

“Thanks, FRI. I’ll be up there soon." 

Tony made his way up to his floor, some sleek earphones in hand. Opening the door softly, he poked his head through the door and looked to see a half asleep Peter sitting up, his hair wild and sticking out. A soft chuckle was heard from Tony as he opened the door completely and walked inside, heading towards the confused hero. 

"What’s happening?” Peter’s voice was scratchy and raw. 

“You had a sensory overload. You hungry?” Tony replied, setting the earphones down on Peter’s lap. 

“What’re these?” Peter asked, turning them over in his hands. 

“Earphones. Hopefully, they’ll block out the worst of the sounds when you’re in public. I made them small so you can wear them in class and still hear what’s going on without being overwhelmed.” Tony replied with a shrug. 

Suddenly, he had an armful of Peter who was holding on tightly to the billionaire. Tony smiled and after a few moments he returned the hug, gripping the kid just as tight. 

When they finally separated, Tony started to tame the boy’s hair, smoothing it down. “I asked you a question earlier. You hungry?” Tony said, his lips quirking up into a smile. 

“Starving. I was gonna go home at lunch after I had my math test but…” he trailed off, looking bashfully at his father figure. 

All Tony could do was laugh at his stupidity. His kid had no common sense. “What am I going to do with you, kiddo?" 

"Make me a grilled cheese sandwich?” Peter replied, voice hopeful. 

“Sure. Let’s go.” Tony snorted, pulling Peter up and leading him into the kitchen. The billionaire pulled him into a one-armed hug while they made their way into the kitchen. 

He couldn’t hide his grin when Peter leaned closer.

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 13: Moving in

And here's chapter 13 everyone! The climax for the arc is coming soon, so hold onto your Puppets everyone!

Although I may or may not put up Happy Times episode 3 first, depends on what I feel like writing these next two weeks. So, y'know, keep an eye out. :D

The next day started easily enough. Will and Stacy ate breakfast, and the set up the bedroom for Scout to stay in. Stacy saw no point in forcing the Puppet to hide in a bag all day again, when they could simply let her stay in the bedroom instead. She set up the laptop with Netflix, and made sure the Switch was all charged up for her to play on when she got bored of movies. She even asked what kind of snacks she'd want, though that didn't get a reply.

Still, they managed to get her settled in and locked the door just in time for Lisa and Mason to show up. Though Lisa was more than a little curious about it.

"So." The blonde started, quirking an eyebrow. "Why'd you lock the bedroom door?" Her tone was teasing, but Stacy felt a cold rush of fear from what she might think if she found Scout. Would Lisa run? Or would she be violent to Scout? Or worse, would she want to play dress up with her?

No. Under no circumstances should Lisa find out about the Puppet. Not yet, and not now.

"It's just a mess from last night, so we figured we'd be polite about it." Stacy told her, the lie she'd practiced coming easily. Will knew the story too, and had even checked it for holes.

"Oh, please, you two are as vanilla as fresh milk." Lisa countered, and Stacy panicked. The one thing they hadn't considered! "What are you hiding in there? A puppy? Or maybe a kitten?" She looked excited, and Stacy could feel a headache coming on.

"Nothing you need to see, Lisa." Will told her as he walked past. "Now, are you gonna help us out or not? I want to get this done today, so I don't have to pay extra for the truck."

"Fine, fine. But I am so gonna find out what you guys are hiding in there!" She promised. Stacy just scoffed as they followed Will outside.

"Good luck." Was all she said, even knowing Lisa would only take it as a challenge. She had faith, though, that her friend wouldn't be able to beat it.

Not that it stopped her from trying, of course. Lisa was nothing if not determined.

And so, in between carrying boxes into Will's house, the attempted to see what was in the bedroom. It started simple, with just trying to see through the keyhole or under the door. And then Mason caught her outside, trying to look in the window.

"Okay Lees, seriously?! Are you high? Because this seems like the kind of thing only High Lisa would do." He scolded as he dragged her back inside by the arm. Luckily Will and Stacy weren't nearby, or she'd be getting a double helping of Disappointed Glaring. No, they were getting ready to go buy everyone Subway, which was real nice of them if you asked Mason.

"Lil bit." She admitted. "But don't you wanna know what Mr. and Mrs. Vanilla think is kinky?" Mason just sighed, rubbing his eyes as she continued. "I'll bet they aren't, really. I think they adopted a pet! Which would be really weird for Stacy, since she doesn't like animals."

"You're such a fucking motormouth when you get high." He groaned before practically flinging her into the armchair in the living room. He grabbed his phone and put on a random YouTube video. "Watch that and try to sober up a bit, okay? And no more trying to look in their bedroom, you fucking weirdo."

"Yeah okay..." She mumbled, already entranced by the cat video. Mason smirked as he went back outside to see their friends off and double check the U haul for any forgotten boxes. He caught them just as they were getting into Will's car.

"We'll be back soon." Will said as Stacy climbed in the passenger seat. He himself was already in the driver's seat, food list clutched in one hand. "Stay out of our bedroom. And my basement."

"Will do boss!" Mason agreed, then watched them go. He checked the truck, finding no boxes. He closed the door, then went back inside to wait for Will and Stacy to return.

He went to the living room, only to find Lisa not where he left her. the only thing on the arm chair was his cell phone, neatly placed in the very center. He swore and picked it, shoving it in his pocket as he rushed to the bedroom door. She was there, of course, kneeling in front of it as she picked the lock. She looked up as he approached, looking quite cheery.

"Now's our chance!" She hissed excitedly as she worked the door. Mason grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away even as she kept working.

"Lees, no! You don't know what could be in there!" He insisted, but she pulled back. He didn't fight her too hard, not wanting to hurt her, but she was quite obviously out of her mind.

"C'mon Mason! Don't tell me you're not curious!" She grinned as she broke free, and finished unlocking the door. "Ooooh, what if it's that weird occult stuff they're into? That could be fun."

"No, it wouldn't!" Mason had seen things, back when Will had first started his hunting hobby. Things that still gave him nightmares sometimes. "We shouldn't open that door."

"Too late!" Lisa exclaimed gleefully, shoving it open and peering inside. Despite his protests, Mason did too, curious as to what exactly Will would allow to be kept in his bedroom.

'Maybe it is just a puppy or something. God I hope that's all it is.' He thought desperately, tensed to run at the first sign of trouble.

For a long moment, nothing happened. There was no movement, and the bedroom looked just like it always did, though with an open laptop and a Switch on the bed. Mason sighed in relief, and went to close the door.

"See? Nothing there except a computer and Nintendo. Now, let's close the door and lock up again before they get back and we get in trouble." He closed the door, completely missing the small figure that sneaked out as he did so.

"Pfft, lame." Lisa knelt down and began to try and re-lock the door. "I thought for sure there'd be a dildo or something on the floor, at the very least!"

"Yeah, well, there's not. So let's never mention this to anyone ever, okay?" Mason asked, turning and going into the kitchen, only to freeze at what he saw there.

"Ugh, fiiiine!" The blonde groaned as she finished up. She stood up, only to find her friend standing stock still in front of the kitchen counter. "Uh, Mason?" She joined him, only to stop and stare too.

"Nobody fucking move!" It was a small blue hand puppet with purple hair. It was pointing  a large kitchen cleaver straight at them, and glaring with angry yellow eyes. It looked mad, madder than Mason could remember any other doll looking.

And it was the cutest thing Lisa had ever seen.

"You're so adorable!" She squealed, making both puppet and Mason jump. The puppet readjusted it's grip, now pointing the knife at her while Mason stared at her with a dumbfounded expression.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" He yelled. "We're being mugged by a possessed puppet, and you think it's cute?! Lisa!"

"But look at it! It's got little mitten hands, and some of the most realistic hair I've ever seen! It's so cute!" She reached for it, only drawing back when it swung the knife wildly at her hands. "Aw, I can't believe Stacy never told me about you!"

"How fucking high are you?!" Mason asked at the same the Puppet yelled "Get the hell out of my house!"

A dull thump sounded behind them, and the two humans turned to see Will staring at the Puppet in shock, Subway bags on the floor around him. "She has a knife." He muttered, sounding just a little bit broken. "Why does she have a knife? I  hid all the knives."

Stacy came charging around him, more bags hanging from her arm. She went right pass Mason and Lisa, and grabbed the knife away from the Puppet. She set it down on the counter then grabbed the Puppet up and hugged her close, though she resisted.

"They broke into the bedroom!" She insisted, jabbing a mitten hand at the two. "They broke in! I didn't break out, I swear!" Her voice held a desperate edge to it, one that made Lisa feel bad for being curious at all. For one white hot second, she worried Stacy might be the type to punish the poor thing for this.

"Scout- Scout it's fine! I'm not mad." Stacy turned to glare at Lisa. "At you, anyways." She finished, a stern tone to her voice. Lisa knew immediately she had to try and defuse the situation.

"Aw, c'mon Stace! You can't fault me for thinking you guys were hiding something in there. And, I was right! You were hiding this adorable little thing! How could you do that to me Stacy?" She gave puppy dog eyes, but her friend just sighed.

"You're lucky I only have one hand, or I'd smack you." She deadpanned.

"Fair enough." The blonde grinned. "Let me make it up to you. I can make this little cutie some new shirts, so she's not wearing that filthy one all the time."

Stacy paused. She... didn't actually know if Scout could take off her shirt. She supposed she could always wear any new ones over it, but wasn't sure.

"I don't know..." Stacy said out loud. She looked over to where Mason was helping Will pick up their food, a quiet conversation passing between them. She wasn't too sure what they were talking about, but figured it had to be Scout.

"Aw, c'mon! It shouldn't be too hard. What is she, about American Girl doll size? I make clothes in that size all the time for my sisters."

"...I'll think about it." Stacy finally said, as Scout climbed up onto her shoulder, and to the top of her head. The Puppet pulled on her hair, but Stacy was able to keep herself from reacting to the pain. It wasn't that bad, compared to what she'd been through already. And she didn't want to remove the Puppet anyways, in case she went back to being a recluse.

Lisa helped get some plates set up and distribute the food, chattering all the while about all the clothes she was going to make for Scout. Shirts, hats, even tiny mittens for when it got cold out. Scout found it all very absurd, although Stacy seemed interested in it.

'I'm not going to need those things anyways. Why is Stacy even humoring her?' Scout watched as the Hosts all sat and started to eat, still perched on her Host's head. She desperately wanted to try what they were eating, but turned away when Stacy offered her some. 'You don't even want to stay. No point in trying it anyway. Besides, it's just dumb Host feed.'

After lunch Mason and Lisa left for home, with Mason promising not to let Lisa have anymore weed. Meanwhile Will went to return the big truck they'd used, leaving Stacy and Scout alone. The Puppet took the time to look around, noting how many boxes there were stacked against the walls. Some of them had writing on them, but many were blank. Stacy sighed as she took in all the blank ones, hand on her hip.

"Would it really kill him to label things for once." She muttered, then gave Scout a grim look. "He did this when he moved up here. Didn't write down what was in a single box, and then ended up buying a lot of stuff he didn't need to simply because he couldn't find it." She grabbed a small knife out of her pocket, opening it with some difficulty, then jabbed it into one of the unmarked boxes. "Let's see which one of these has my comics in it..."

Scout watched her open the box from the couch, listening to the noises of frustration when what the Host wanted wasn't there. She wasn't deterred, though, and quickly moved to the next unlabeled box after scrawling on the newly opened one with a smelly black marker. Each new box held either a groan of frustration, or a shout of excitement as Stacy searched through each one for what she needed.

"Y'know, this is almost like Christmas. Except, more annoying cause I'm trying to find my stuff, rather than getting new stuff." She said after a while of of box opening. She finished writing and turned to the Puppet, who was absorbed in one of the comics she'd found. Speaking of, we'll probably be going to my grandpa's cabin with my family for Christmas this year. I should probably figure out how to tell them about you."

"Why?" Scout asked. She didn't see a point to

"Well, you'd be coming with us, obviously." Stacy told her, and the Puppet felt herself freeze up at the implication. The Host didn't notice. "My brother, Danny, he's gonna love you!"

'No I'm not.' She thought sadly as the human rambled on about her brother. 'I'm not going anywhere else if I can help it.'

Her plan had been working, quite well actually. She'd felt tired, lethargic even. And each movement had felt more and more difficult as time passed, to the point where she'd been sure it was about to end any day.

And then Stacy's fucking friends had opened the fucking door, and Stacy had grabbed her. Now she felt stronger than ever, and her plan was ruined.

No, she realized suddenly, while Stacy continued talking about her parents, not entirely ruined. She remembered something Riley had told her, before she'd been stitched to her very first Host. The bond relied on physical contact, but also proximity. Her energy would drain faster if she was further away.

"Hey, Host." She piped up, interrupting the human, who turned to look at her with a confused(and slightly hurt, but Scout ignored that) expression.

"Hmm?" She tilted her head, still bent over a half opened box. When Scout didn't answer immediately she started to get worried and straightened up. "What? Is something wrong?"

For a moment, Scout didn't speak, staring down at the colorful pages spread out in front of her. She didn't want to do this, but wasn't any other choice. Not for her, anyways. Never for her.

'No turning back now. This Puppet's going down! Before anyone else gets hurt...'

"Do you think we could have a window open tonight?"