#Not even sure this makes much sense but had to vent somewhere | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soaps-mohawk · 8 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

Summary: Things have gone wrong in your pack's absence. Can they make it back in time before irreparable damage is done? Can they fix the damage that's already been dealt?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 10,232...oops

Warnings: ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, ANGST, anxiety, fear, panic attacks, very descriptive scenes of panic and anxiety, very heavy emotionally in the beginning, major invasions of privacy, hurt/sort of comfort, very brief mention of violence and death, and most importantly: fluff

A/N: Yeah, so this one kind of got away from me. It's definitely one of my favorite chapters now, and it's definitely the longest so far. It's pretty heavy, so plan something fun afterwards because it will hurt. I tried to catch all the possible triggers, but of course, if I miss one let me know. I promise things will begin to take a turn for the happier after this, at least for a bit. Picks up pretty much right where chapter 17 left off.

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You’re shaking. Your breaths are coming in gasps as you stare at your open door. There’s no scent in the air, nothing that would give you a hint of who invaded your space, or if they’re still in there. You should leave, barricade yourself somewhere and call Dr. Keller, or even Kate.

What could they do, though? Your pack won’t be home until tomorrow at the earliest.

No one can help you.

You slowly push your door open, ready to run in case someone is hiding inside. You stand in the doorway, scanning the small space, but there’s no sign of anyone. There’s still no scent either, just your own mingled with the slight chemical burn of scent blockers. Your eyes scan the room, looking for anything that might be new, anything that might be missing, anything that might be slightly out of place.

The clothes on the floor are slightly rumpled, but you’re not sure if you did that in your haste to pull on shoes before you left, or if they’ve been that way since the knock sounded on your door. You lift your gaze to the ceiling, scanning it and that’s when you notice it. The cover over the vent is slightly out of place. You likely wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention, if you hadn’t looked.

The thought sends a chill running down your spine.

You keep your eyes on the vent as you grab your desk chair, kicking clothes out of the way as you move it under the vent. You stand on the chair, reaching for the vent, but it’s not quite enough. You shove the chair to the side, taking everything off your desk before you pull it under the vent. You climb up on shaky legs, your heart thudding in your chest as you remove the vent cover.

Nausea twists at your stomach as your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. There, strategically placed between two of the gaps in the vent cover, is a camera. It’s small, and would have been invisible just staring at the vent from below. You feel like you might be sick as you pull it free from the vent cover, staring down into the tiny lens.

How long has it been up there?

You drop the camera onto your desk, your fingers shaking and trembling as you feel along the edges of the vent, checking for anything else that might be hiding up there. You replace the cover after you find nothing, a sense of dread filling you.

Had the guys put it up so they could watch you, make sure that you’re safe? Had they put it up there before you arrived? You think about all the times you’ve changed in your room, your heat.

You climb down from the desk, tugging it further towards the center of the room before you climb back up, unscrewing the cover off the light. You check the bulb, looking for any cameras or recording devices. You screw the cover of the light back on after finding none, a quiet sob leaving your lips as you look around your room.

You close the door and lock it before you begin your search, checking every corner and piece of furniture for cameras or recording devices. You empty the dresser and closet, checking every drawer and corner for anything suspicious.

You pull recording devices from under your desk and the back of your nightstand, the adhesive still fresh enough they pop right off. A cold sweat has overtaken you as you find another recording device and another camera, adding them to the growing pile on your desk.

A quiet sob of fear leaves your lips as you check the bathroom, tearing your room apart to check every inch. You search up a tutorial on YouTube, using your phone to check for more possible cameras that you might have missed.

You stare down at the pile of cameras and recording devices on your desk. Someone entered your room and planted them while you were with General Shepherd. It had all been deliberate. Get you away from your room and distracted so they could enter and set up the devices. You wonder if it’s all part of some sick plan, some way to ensure things are going well with your pack. General Shepherd had been very interested in your mark, invading your space without a moment of hesitation to see it firsthand. You would have shown him, had he asked to see it. Instead he’d just done it himself, as if it was nothing.

Your hands are shaking as you find a ziploc bag in the mess you’ve made of your room, putting the cameras and recording devices into it. You drop it onto the floor before stepping on it, listening to the crack of metal and plastic and glass under your shoe. Tears slip down your cheeks as you pick up the bag of broken pieces, taking it to the bathroom. You hide it far in the back of the cupboard beneath the sink, piling things around it and on top of it to keep it hidden.

You stand in the doorway of the bathroom, your skin crawling as you stare at the mess. You don’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own space. The thought of someone breaching the sacred space, entering your room without a second thought to put up cameras makes your stomach churn.

Where will you go? You can’t just leave, find somewhere else to feel safe. What if they did the same to the guys’ rooms? There could have been an entire team of people that came in and put cameras up all over the barracks. A sob leaves your lips as you rush to the door, double checking it’s locked before you shove the dresser against it. You flip your desk up to cover the window as much as it can, just in case anyone tries to climb in.

You sink to the floor in the middle of the disaster that has become your room, sobbing quietly. You want your pack home, you want to feel safe again. You glance at your phone where it’s sitting on a pile of shirts, afraid to even touch it. That woman could have done anything to it while you were with General Shepherd. What if they’re trying to call you and they can’t reach you?

You should try to reach Dr. Keller, tell her what happened, get her to check if there’s anyone lurking around the barracks that shouldn’t be. What if they try to attack her, though? Can she defend herself? You don’t know if she can fight or not. What if she gets hurt because of you? She could ask someone else on base to look, but what if they were involved in it? What if it was someone already on base that had done it? The thought nearly makes you sick.

You’re scared to leave again. What if they’ve noticed you found the cameras and come back while you’re gone? What if they come back while you’re here?

The tears flow freely as you sob, too afraid to even move. You can feel it, the panic starting to bubble up again, the fear welling inside you. Your muscles begin to tense, shoulders pulling up near your ears as you try to defend yourself from this invisible threat. It’s an easy slope from fear to distress, and there’s no one to help you if you start distressing. You press your palms into your eyes, holding your breath to try and shock your body into something other than panic.

You bite back a startled scream as a knock sounds at the door, your heart rate spiking again.

“It’s just me,” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door. “Ready for dinner?”

You take a deep breath, staring at the dresser blocking your door. You’ll have to move it to get out, which she’ll likely notice. You could lie, you could lie easily, but you’re not sure you could keep it up right now. She’ll notice the tears, the obvious signs of panic and distress. She’ll want to know, and you can’t trust yourself not to spill everything.

You should tell her about what had happened, but you know she’ll be disappointed. She’ll think you were stupid for leaving, for not even sending her a text. She’ll tell John when he returns, too. He should know about it, but there’s no way a high ranking General could arrive on base without them knowing, especially one that’s their commander. Maybe it had all been a test. Maybe they do know about General Shepherd and just forgot to tell you this was going to happen.

Maybe Dr. Keller even knew about it, and didn’t say anything because she thought you knew too.

“I-I’m not hungry.” You say, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

There’s a pause outside the door for a moment, a beat of silence that’s too loud.

“Is everything alright?” She finally asks.

“Y-Yeah.” You say, clearing your throat. “Just...not really hungry right now.”

It’s silent again for a beat, making you hold your breath anxiously.

“Are you sure? I can come back later, or bring you dinner.” She says.

“I’m sure.” You swallow the tears welling in your eyes again. “I’ll grab a snack if I get hungry later.”

“Okay...” She says, and you can almost see the frown on her face. “Text or call if you need anything, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, your voice cracking a bit.

You regret it almost instantly, the urge to shove the dresser out of the way and fling the door open strong as you hear her receding steps down the hallway. You don’t want to be alone, but Dr. Keller can’t give you what you need. The tears start falling again, sliding down your cheeks as you flop onto your back, ignoring the way the edge of a book digs into your spine.

You just want your pack back. You want John to scoop you up into his arms and wrap you in his warmth and soothing scent. You want Kyle and Johnny to squish you between them, sandwich you so tightly you’re scared you might burst. You want Ghost to wrap himself around you and offer you a blanket of protection against anyone who would even dare cast a glance in your direction.

You just want to feel at home again.

You want to be safe again.

***

The emotional and physical exhaustion pushes you into the state between consciousness and sleep. You’ve moved to your bed, tucked under the covers and stuck between the wall and your giant bear, as if it could offer you some form of protection as you float between awareness and somewhere in the realm of sleep for a few hours.

You’re not sure what time it is, when the disruption comes. It takes you a moment to register why you’re awake. Some deep part of your brain is prickling, sending out warning signals to your body. Something’s happening, something’s wrong, something’s posing a threat.

You hold your breath in the silence of the barracks, listening to the slow, quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. For a moment you think you might be imagining them, that you’re still asleep and dreaming. Your fingers pinch at your skin, nails digging in to confirm that you are, in fact, awake. This is really happening.

Your heartbeat picks up, the bitter stench of fear that’s coated your room intensifying as the footsteps pause outside your door. You let out a quiet, shaky breath as you lay there, thinking up every time you checked the door in the last few hours to ensure it was locked and the dresser was still pushed in front of it.

You cover your mouth as the door handle wiggles, catching on the lock. The whimper of fear threatening to rise catches in your throat as you hold your breath, your body trembling under your blankets. You should reach for your phone, send a text to Kate, call Dr. Keller, do something. Yet, you’re frozen in fear as the handle continues to wiggle before stopping.

You don’t release a breath until the footsteps fade, a quiet whimper slipping from your lips. Someone just tried to get into your room.

You’re panicking, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you burrow under your covers, barricading yourself between the wall and your bear, hoping you’ll be invisible in case they come back, in case they force their way in. You can’t fight, not after the day you’ve had. The best you can hope for is that your scent is rank enough in the room it’ll deter whoever is trying to get in.

You need tomorrow to come, and fast.

***

Daylight doesn't bring any sense of comfort.

All it does is shed more light on the disaster your room has become, the physical representation of your internal thoughts and feelings. Your face feels puffy from crying, and there’s a bad taste in your mouth. You haven’t brushed your teeth since yesterday, nor have you showered, too scared to put yourself in such a vulnerable position.

You glance at your phone, checking for missed calls, but there’s none. Dr. Keller will be by soon to get you for breakfast, but you’re not sure you can stand going to the mess. The idea of leaving your room, leaving it empty so anyone could just walk in and bug it or touch your things or hide out so they can take revenge on you for finding and destroying their cameras and recording devices has you paralyzed.

That must have been what whoever entered the barracks last night had come to do. Maybe they thought you’d spend the night in one of the other rooms and they’d come to replace them. Or, maybe they wanted you to be in your room. Maybe that was the plan all along.

The thought sends a chill running down your spine.

You burrow back under your blankets, curling up against your giant teddy bear. You wish it was Price, that his arm would wrap around you and hold you close, keep you safe and protected in his arms. You’d take any of them right now, even Ghost. At least you know he’d protect you, especially if someone tried to enter the barracks without permission.

You’re still lying there when Dr. Keller arrives. You stare at the dresser still pushed against the door, keeping you from opening it. Not that you really want to. You can’t stop the anxiety from taking over, bringing forward the image of Dr. Keller held at gunpoint on the other side of the door, trying to trick you into opening it so whoever tried to get in last night can finally do what they came to do.

You know it’s a ridiculous thought. No one would be that stupid in broad daylight, and you doubt Dr. Keller would let something like that happen to her. She’d put up a fight, or at least you hope so.

You can’t move the dresser without her knowing you’d pushed it against the door, which will only prompt questions. Questions you don’t want to answer.

She calls your name through the door, concern lacing her voice. “Everything alright?”

No. You want to scream it, tears gathering in your eyes again. You want to push the dresser out of the way, throw open the door and confess everything that’s happened in the last few hours to her. You want to bring her into your space, keep her there until your pack returns so you can feel even just an ounce of safety.

But what if she gets mad?

Leaving yesterday was stupid. Going off with some unknown beta without telling anyone was the dumbest thing you’ve done since your arrival on base. She’ll be disappointed and she’ll tell your pack and they’ll be disappointed that you didn’t say anything to her about it. Even if they knew it happened, they’d still be disappointed that you didn’t think to even question it, that you didn’t think to let Dr. Keller know what was going on.

You made a stupid decision, and you won’t be able to take their disappointment and anger. Not after everything.

“Yeah.” You call out, your voice shaking. “I-I’m alright.”

You can tell she doesn’t believe you, even though you can’t see her. She probably has that look on her face she gets when she knows you’re not telling the whole truth. You take a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. You’re afraid it might give out after the stress of the last few days.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” She finally asks, likely giving up on trying to get any more details from you.

You’re not hungry, and you know going to the mess will not end well. The risk of distressing is high, and the thought that any one in the mess might have been the intruder last night nearly sends you over the edge. One wrong glance in your direction might cause you to do something reckless. “I’m not hungry.” You finally say, pulling the blankets tighter around you.

“Are you sure?” She asks. “Did you eat something last night?”

“Yeah.” You lie, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “I had some snacks.”

Her feet shuffle outside the door for a moment, and you can almost hear her sigh. “If you’re sure?”

“I-I’m sure.” You reply.

There’s a moment of silence before you get a response, your breath catching in your throat from the nerves. “Alright.” She finally says. “I got word that your pack will be landing in a couple of hours and we have permission to go out to the airfield and greet them. I’ll come back to get you when it’s time. If you need anything, call me.”

You listen to her footsteps recede down the hallway, tears burning your eyes. You hate lying. You feel bad for keeping the truth from her, but the shame of revealing what you did is too strong.

You hastily wipe your eyes, staring at the mess on your floor. You need to get your room back to at least its somewhat normal state, and you need to put yourself back to your normal state as well. If anyone gets any hint that something is wrong, you might crack, and you’re not sure you could handle the repercussions.

You start with the desk, flipping it back the way it’s supposed to be and positioning it as close to where it was as you can get. You collect the books and other little things that go on it, trying to arrange it as close to how it normally is. You know they’ll notice if any little thing is out of place, if anything looks suspicious. You can blame some of it on cleaning, if they ask. You did some deep cleaning while they were away. That’s one way of putting it.

You push the dresser back into place next, putting the drawers back in before starting on the clothes, putting everything back where it belongs. You make your bed last, the urge to nest gone completely. You’re shaking with exhaustion by the time you finish, tempted to crawl back into bed, but you know you can’t. Your pack is coming back, and you need everything to look like it’s fine still.

They’ll notice. They’ll see it, and they’ll ask, and you’ll have to spill everything and face the shame and anger from being so stupid.

Tears burn your eyes as you slip your desk chair under the door handle, making sure it’s secure before heading to the shower to get ready for your pack’s imminent return. You shower with the door open, getting done quickly to avoid being vulnerable for long. You try to make yourself look as decent as possible, ignoring the fact that there’s broken cameras and recording devices hidden under the sink. Eventually you’ll forget. Eventually it’ll fade from your mind and become nothing more than a forgotten nightmare.

One of many.

You toss your pajamas on the floor haphazardly, just to make things look more normal. You know if it’s too clean, that might raise some suspicions as well. You don’t want to give away that something happened, you don’t want to raise any suspicions. You just want things to go back to normal. You want your pack back, and you want to feel safe again.

At least, until they have to leave again.

You sink to the floor, leaning up against your bed as you wait for Dr. Keller to take you to greet your pack when they return.

***

Every minute seems to drag on infinitely as you stare across the tarmac. They’ll be landing any minute. Any minute now the nightmare will be over and you’ll get to see your pack again after days of being apart. Finally, maybe, you can begin to feel safe again.

You watch the plane as it comes in to land, your hands already trembling in anticipation. There’s a twisting in your stomach, you’re not sure if it’s worry or fear or excitement. They’re so close, so close you can almost smell them. Your omega is scratching at the back of your brain, your muscles twitching as the ramp begins to lower on the plane. You need to see them, you need to smell them, you need to ensure they’re alright.

You can’t stop yourself. As soon as their boots hit the tarmac, you’re running. You don’t care if you’re breaking rules, you don’t care if the other soldiers get worried, or see you as a possible threat, you need to be in your alpha’s arms again.

John grunts from the force of you hitting him, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You throw your arms around him, clinging to him as tight as you can. You’re whimpering, the quiet sounds dragging from your lips but you don’t care. You press your face into his chest, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and musk, the sharp metallic tang of gunpowder burning your nose. Yet, underneath it all, you can make out the earthy scent, the petrichor going straight to your brain.

His arms wrap tight around you, squishing you up against his chest. His vest digs into your skin, but you don’t care. You can’t feel much of anything but relief. His breath fans your forehead as he leans down, his hand cupping the back of your head. He shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Tears fill your eyes as you cling to him, fingers gripping his shirt tightly like you’re afraid he might disappear again. If it wasn’t for the pain in your chest, you might have thought this was all a dream, that they might disappear suddenly and you’ll wake up alone again.

“Easy.” John rumbles, gently stroking the back of your head.

You cling to him tighter as his hand gets close to your neck, the thought of General Shepherd’s hand being so close to your neck where he could scruff you so easily making your insides squirm.

He’s gone. He’s gone and your pack is here.

“You’re alright.” John tries to reassure you, squeezing his arms around your trembling form. “I’ve got you.”

You keep your face pressed against his chest, breathing him in, trying to get his scent to calm the raging storm within you. Your omega is still scratching at the back of your mind, a deep need to claw your way under John’s skin and into his body pushing at the front of your mind. You won’t be safe until you’ve been utterly consumed by him, until you’re safely tucked where no one can hurt you without going through him first.

“Alpha,” You whine quietly, nuzzling your face against his chest. His clothes are in the way, a barrier against what you need. To feel him, to smell him fully again.

“Easy.” He says, grabbing your hands as they shift towards the velcro straps of his tactical vest. “Let’s get back to the barracks first before we start that, sweetheart.”

You don’t want to go back to the barracks. It’s not safe anymore. What if there’s someone waiting there for you to return? What if they get hurt because you don’t tell them what happened? What if you get hurt and cause them pain?

“You’re alright.” John says, stroking the back of your head as he begins to ease your grip on him. “There’s a couple of muppets here who I think would like to greet you too.”

Right. You’re so caught up in your alpha, you forgot the rest of your pack. You slowly allow yourself to be peeled away from John, Kyle right there to let you cling to him.

And so you do.

Your grip around him is just as tight, ignoring the uncomfortable ridges of his own vest. He holds you just as tightly, projecting his scent just a bit to try and calm you. Someone presses against your back, arms wrapping around both you and Kyle. The scent of citrus lined with beta invades your nose, Johnny squishing you into a sandwich between them. Your eyes squeeze shut as citrus and salty sea air blend together, the beta’s scents reaching deep into your brain to try and ease some of the tension in your body.

They’re back. They’re safe. You’re safe.

Now you just have to convince yourself of that fact.

***

“How was she?” John asks as he approaches Dr. Keller.

“Held it together longer than I thought she would.” She says. “Things took a turn yesterday afternoon. Shut herself in her room and wouldn’t come out. I don’t think she’s eaten anything since lunch yesterday either.”

“We’ll get some food in her.” John says. “Thank you, for looking after her for us.”

“Well, it is partly my job.” Dr. Keller shrugs. “Always happy to do it.”

“Things will get easier, won’t they?” He asks.

“Eventually. She’ll learn what coping mechanisms help and she’ll adapt.”

“Hopefully at least one of us will be able to stay moving forward. I don’t like leaving her here alone.” He grimaces.

“Separation is hard no matter what, especially with limited contact, on all parties involved.” She gives him a look. “I think the best thing you can do right now is just be together as a pack. Let those bonds heal and let her do what she needs.”

“Thank you, doctor.” John says, shaking her hand.

“Call me, if you need anything, as usual.” Dr. Keller says, watching his retreating back before getting into her car to make the short drive back to the medical center.

John gets into the car waiting to take them back to the barracks, sitting next to Kyle who’s holding you straddling his lap, your face pressed into his neck. “That looks safe.” He remarks, even though they wouldn’t be going very fast, or very far.

“Couldn’t get her to let go.” Kyle says, tightening his hold around you as the car begins moving.

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” John says, rubbing your back gently.

You turn your face to look at him, your eyes red from the numerous tears you’ve already shed, and the ones still trailing down your face. The guilt nearly makes him sick as he stares at you, feeling the slight tremble still from where his hand rests against your back.

He’d never say it out loud, but he hates the fact they had to leave you, all four of them at once too. He’d fought, argued. He and Simon could have handled it on their own, even him and the two Sergeants would have been sufficient. Anything not to leave you by yourself during their first deployment.

Despite his attempts, General Shepherd had been insistent that all four of them were necessary for this particular task.

So, he had been forced to leave you behind on your own. It’s gone about as well as he expected, from the looks of it. He knew the separation would get to you eventually. The stress would grow to be too much. Every day he anticipated the news to come from Kate that you had distressed and your omega had taken over because he wasn’t there to help you.

Every day he waited for the news that they’d lost you because the brass that put this initiative into place couldn’t understand why taking them all at once was a bad idea.

Or maybe that was their plan all along.

He couldn’t stop the conspiratorial thoughts running through his head as their mission dragged on. What if they were doing this on purpose? It wouldn’t be that strange to push the boundaries of what could be tolerated for the purpose of testing just how effective the initiative really could be. But pushing it like that so soon? Sure, he could rationalize it was possible. War could break out at any moment, which would require most military members to leave, to be separated from their packs for months or even years. His own team could be called out at any time for months working to eliminate a target and stop war from breaking out.

Yet, he can’t help but feel there was something more, something deeper going on. What if they had called away for more nefarious reasons? What if getting you alone had been the reason behind General Shepherd’s insistence that all four of them were necessary for this particular task? He had refused to entertain those dark thoughts for too long, the fear of leaving you alone already itching in the back of his mind from the moment they boarded the plane to leave.

He hadn’t been able to hide his relief at hearing your voice on the phone. Though you had sounded upset, and rightfully so, his worries had been lessened in knowing you were alright. You would tell them if something had happened. He knows you wouldn’t keep something that serious a secret. If someone had hurt you, or had tried to hurt you, you would tell one of them.

Even though he trusts you, he does plan to speak to Dr. Keller more in depth later to ensure everything went as fine as she seemed to imply it did. Obviously their absence has been hard on you, but he needs to make sure you really will be alright, that you will be able to come back from the obvious distress this has caused you.

***

You finally release your constricting hold on Kyle as the car pulls up outside the barracks. Even with them back, it still doesn't feel like home anymore, not after such sacred space was invaded so easily, so nonchalantly. Kyle climbs out of the car, setting you on your feet on the ground. You look between him and John, realizing Ghost and Johnny are still in the car. Your stomach falls as you realize what they're about to say, tears gathering in your eyes again.

“We still have some things we need to do.” John says, reaching towards you.

You have the momentary urge to flinch from his touch, but you let his hand cup your cheek. “You're leaving me again.” You say, your voice breaking.

John almost looks guilty. He almost looks upset by your visible turmoil. His hand drops from your cheek to your back, turning you towards the barracks. Your stomach twists as he guides you inside, the fear of someone being inside spiking. You know you're safe with John, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but you'd have to play dumb if they did catch someone inside. You’d have to act like you didn’t know someone had entered before, like you had been unaware of anything going on. That might almost be worse than telling them the truth.

You inhale as he stops in front of your door, still closed from when you'd left with Dr. Keller. There's no chemical burn of scent blockers, just your scent in the air, and John's scent coming off him as he stands next to you.

“We won't be long. Maybe an hour at most, and we'll only be across base. We'll come back and we can get lunch before our afternoon meeting. Then we'll just have reports to do, and you can sit in my office while I work on those, okay?” He says.

Your brows pinch as you try to hold in your tears. You want to tell him, you want to reveal what happened, beg him not to leave you alone here again, but you can't. You can't face that shame, the disappointment you know he'll show on his face at the knowledge that you let that happen. You willingly left with a stranger without telling anyone. You let someone invade your pack's space so easily. They were gone for a week and you screwed everything up.

“Tomorrow we'll spend the day together. All of us. I promise.” He says wiping the tear that slides down your cheek.

Even though they're back, you still don't have them.

You inhale shakily before nodding. “Yeah. Fine.”

John's thumb brushes your cheek for a moment before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You watch his back retreat as he leaves the barracks, leaving you alone again. You think back to when they’d left you, watching his back as he boarded the plane to be taken from you. You stare at the door as the cars drive off, a cold chill running down your spine. What if General Shepherd is still here? What if they're going to meet with him? What if he tells them he met with you while they were gone and they had no idea?

Maybe you should have been honest with them from the start.

You stare at your closed door, your hands shaking. What if there's someone inside? What if someone is waiting to take their revenge for you destroying the cameras. What if they put new ones up?

You should have opened the door while Price was here so you could have at least screamed when someone would hear you. You back away from your door slowly, deciding to wait in the rec room. At least there you might have a chance. You could break a window and run, or at least have a higher chance of making it to a door.

Would anyone help you? Would anyone come if you screamed? What if they’re all in on it?

You're shaking as you sink onto the couch, sitting so you can see into the hallway. You want to see them coming so you can prepare yourself, or at least give yourself a chance to make an escape before it’s too late.

You run through all the things Ghost has taught you in your head as you sit and wait, the minutes dragging by painfully slow. You can feel every second, though that may just be the anxiety and fear pulsing within you. You wish you could sleep, you wish you could relax, you wish you could do anything to make the time go by faster, but yet you remain hypervigilant, staring so hard you flinch at every little shadow your brain convinces you is moving.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, tense and coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. It can’t be more than an hour as John promised, yet it feels like a lifetime before you hear movement.

You hold your breath as the barracks door opens, boots thudding with every footstep coming down the hall. You nearly whimper when a figure rounds the corner, before you let out a sigh of relief.

“Ready for lunch, kitten?” Johnny asks, standing in the doorway of the rec room.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your hands still clenched into fists. You're breathing hard, your entire body tense. You know you're reaching dangerous territory. Any more panic, you may start distressing. What a welcome home for them, coming back to a distressed omega. They're probably exhausted, and here you are making a scene.

Hands close around yours. Warm, calloused hands apply gentle pressure, slowly uncurling your fingers. Your hands are shaking, trembling just slightly.

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, kneeling in front of you. When he moved, you're not sure.

“I-I'm not...” You start, your voice shaking.

“Ye need tae eat.” He counters, as if he had read your mind, expected the answer.

He's right. You're beginning to feel it gnawing in your stomach, something deeper than the anxiety. With all the stressing you've been doing, you know you need to eat something. Being hungry is not helping that any, either.

“I don't want to go to the mess.” You say quickly, the words almost mushing together incoherently. “Too much.”

Johnny sits back, staring at you for a moment before nodding in understanding. “Alright. That's fair. I'll let the lads know.”

He stands up, leaving you alone in the rec room again. You listen to his footsteps fade, the door opening and closing for a moment. You hold your breath, practically on the edge of your seat. There's no reason they would make you go to the mess. You've eaten in the barracks many times before.

You blame your worry on your hunger. You know omegas don't do well when hungry. Omegas don't do well being uncomfortable in general.

Saying these last few days have been uncomfortable for you is a bit of an oversimplification.

Footsteps echo down the hallway, a familiar hulking figure approaching the rec room. You never thought there would come a time when you would feel relief upon seeing Ghost. Yet here you are, the tension easing from your shoulders as he steps into the rec room.

“They're grabbing us food.” He says, moving to sit in his usual spot in the chair facing the door. He sighs as he sinks into the cushions, and you can only imagine how tired he must be.

And here you are making things worse.

“You're stressed.” He says, staring at you. His eyes are still painted black beneath his mask, adding to the eerie vibe coming off of him. You're beginning to understand why they call him Ghost. “Stinking up the barracks.” He says, pulling out his phone.

“Oh.” You say quietly, sinking in on yourself as you sit there. “Sorry.”

You pick nervously at your sweatshirt as you wait for the others to return, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as they enter the rec room, food in hand.

Johnny sits you on his lap as you eat, making sure you get your fill, likely aware that you haven't eaten yet today thanks to Dr. Keller telling on you. It's quiet in the room as everyone eats, even the TV off. They all look tired and tense, and you can only imagine what happened during their time away. The things they did, the things they saw. You wonder how much blood is on their hands now, hands that have touched you, hands that are holding you.

They can just go off and kill people and come back and act like nothing has happened.

You could almost laugh at how psychotic it all sounds.

This is your life now. This is your new normal.

“We have a quick meeting. Shouldn't take too long.” John says as they stand, Johnny placing you gently on your feet.

You tug at your sweatshirt, avoiding his gaze. They're leaving you again. They won't be far this time, but still. You just want to curl up in bed with them and lay there until you feel safe again.

Tomorrow, John had said. Tomorrow they will be yours.

It might have been easier if you hadn't been told they were coming home until tomorrow.

***

You tense under the blanket as the door closes, quiet footsteps approaching your position on the couch. There's a quiet sigh as a figure drops to a knee in front of you, their figure visible as a shadow beneath the blanket.

“Can you breathe under there?”

You slowly lower the blanket just enough to peek over the top of it. John is kneeling next to the couch, his brows furrowed in a frown. You're in his office, having shut yourself in there while they went into the meeting. John had made you swear not to go snooping as he’d let you inside. You had promised, as you still feel no desire to dig through the likely classified files that were locked in the cabinets and on his computer. Instead you had parked yourself on his couch, burrowing under a blanket that smelled faintly of petrichor and tobacco smoke.

“There she is.” He says as you peek above the blanket, gently running a hand over the top of your head. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?”

“You left me.” You say quietly, trying not to burst into tears and confess everything.

“I know.” He says, wiping the tear that slides down your cheek. “But we came back, just like we promised.”

He is right in that regard, yet you can’t help the tears as they slide down your cheeks. The ache in your chest that had started to build over the last few days is still present despite their return. Everything is wrong. They feel too far away, too distant. Nothing is safe anymore, nothing is sacred, and they’re just acting like everything is back to normal.

“Would you like to kneel for me?” He asks, his thumb stroking your cheek.

You’re tempted to say no. For the first time you feel wary of your alpha. What kinds of things would you admit in your dazed state? If he questioned you, would you give him enough to put together that something had happened and you’ve been trying to hide it from him? Maybe it would help, though. It would at least ease some of the tension that’s built up. Maybe it could pull you back from the edge of distress you’ve been dangling over for almost two days. Maybe he’ll accidentally scruff you and you can forget the whole thing happened.

The dark thought sends a chill down your spine.

“Okay.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit.

John offers you a hand, helping you up off the couch. You don't want to let go of his hand, you don't want to be parted from him. The omega in the back of your mind is screaming at you to get close to him and stay there for the rest of time. If he leaves you again...you're not sure you can handle it.

He settles in his desk chair, getting everything he needs ready. He'll work on his reports while you kneel, a familiar position, a familiar situation. You've done this before several times. You're not sure why you're suddenly nervous.

You set the pillow down, dropping to your knees beside him. The chair creaks as he shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. You fight the urge to flinch, to move away as he gently strokes his hand over your hair. You've done this before, he's done this before. You're not sure why your heart is thudding in your chest.

His hand slowly moves lower, slipping closer and closer to your neck. You can't help it as your shoulders come up, preventing him from gripping the back of your neck. He moves his hand away as you get defensive, his chair turning slightly as he leans down.

“It's alright, sweetheart. It's just me.” He soothes you, his hand returning to the top of your head. “I know it's been a while, but I promise I remember what to do.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You gasp out, trying to relax. “I don't...I don't know...”

You do know. Your brain keeps flashing back to General Shepherd, his hand tugging down your collar, so close to your neck. How easily he could have scruffed you, if he'd wanted to. You would have known if he had, but he could have done anything to you during the time he had control.

“You're stressed, all worked up.” John says, still stroking the top of your head, trying to soothe you. “It's been a long week for all of us. It was a risk, sending all four of us at once. A stupid risk that shouldn't have been taken.”

You're pulled from your emotional state at the slight hint of anger in his voice. It hadn't taken you long to figure out they likely were all sent in order to get you alone. It would have been impossible to get you out of the barracks and put cameras up with even one of them here. Did he know about Shepherd's visit? Had he put two and two together and figured out they sent all four of them on purpose? You figured he'd be angrier if he knew about what you did, about what they did to you. He would be blazing a path straight to General Shepherd if your alpha knew he got so close to you, put you in that kind of situation.

At least, you hope he would. There’s still that fear in the back of your mind, that worry that it was all a test and you’ve failed. Would they send you back to the institute? Would they break the bonds and send you to a different pack? Would they send you out on your own, leaving you to fend for yourself until some other alpha crossed your path and decided you were worth it? Does he know you’re lying to him, hiding the truth of what happened while he was away? Is he waiting for you to confess, biding his time to see how long you try to hide it?

You want to tell him. You really do, but you can't bring yourself to get the words out. You can't bring yourself to confess here on your knees before your alpha. You feel guilty, like a sinner, yet the shame keeps the words trapped inside.

He continues to soothe you, sliding his hand further down until he reaches your neck. You force yourself to relax, knowing you need this. You need your alpha to take control. You need him to ease the heavy weight on your shoulders, even if he doesn't know what he's lifting.

You close your eyes as his fingers press into your neck, your brain quieting to a hum as you begin to slip into the back of your mind. You feel the rush of endorphins as your brain begins to calm itself, quieting the storm that's been raging for almost a week. You begin to go numb, relaxing into John's hold as he eases you into a quiet, meditative state. He begins to work on his reports as he holds you, your mind floating off somewhere else, somewhere safer where no one can break in and hurt you, somewhere where the barracks are still secure and safe and your pack never left.

Somewhere where there's no initiative, and your pack picked you because they wanted you, because you were a good omega who did as she was told and didn't make stupid mistakes that put everyone in danger.

The last of the tension leaves your body, your mind distant from the present moment. You're safe with your alpha. He'd never let anything happen to you. None of your pack would let anything happen to you.

The thought continues to repeat in your head like a mantra as you relax, held up by the strong pillar that is your alpha.

***

“Report's done, Captain.” Kyle says, placing the stack of papers on John's desk.

“Thanks.” John sighs, grabbing them.

Kyle turns to look at you, fast asleep on the couch. “You want me to take her?” He asks, the formality easing between them as they settle into being a pack and not a task force on duty anymore.

John stares at you, curled up on his lumpy old couch. It’s getting late, or at least it feels that way. You’ve been out, sleeping peacefully on his couch since he eased you out of your kneeling position. You’d clung to him tightly, and for a moment he’d considered holding you, letting you sit with him as you dozed, but he knows he can’t risk you seeing something you shouldn’t. So he’d eased you onto the couch, having to peel your hands away from his shirt. He’d nearly given up and let you keep hold of his shirt before you finally relaxed and released him.

“Would probably be more comfortable.” He rubs his eyes, feeling the call of sleep himself. He wonders how much you managed to sleep while they were gone. You look tired, though you’ve been looking tired since your heat ended. He needs to rest himself, but he wants to get these reports done so he can keep his promise for tomorrow. “I'll be in there soon.”

“Don't work too hard.” Kyle says, moving to lift you off the couch.

“No promises.”

Kyle shakes his head before scooping you up off the couch, blanket and all. You’re still sound asleep as he carries you, pausing in the hallway for a moment. He had just been instinctually going to his room, but would you be more comfortable in your own room? You probably have spent the last week shut inside your space. It might be nice to spend some time somewhere else.

He takes you into his room, laying you on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable. He needs to shower and throw his clothes in the wash, but he doesn’t want to leave you and risk you waking up without someone there. You’re sleeping deeply, though, not even stirring as he tucks the blanket up higher around you. He doesn't want to crawl into bed smelling like gunpowder and sweat. That might throw you off too.

He takes the risk, knowing he can do both tasks quickly. No more than twenty minutes to get himself clean and his dirty clothes in the wash, as he prays you stay asleep and won't start panicking if you wake in a strange place. He had sensed how close you had been to distress, how tense you had been when he held you in the car. It’s been a hard week for you, even harder than it had been for them.

He breathes out a quiet sigh of relief as he finds you still asleep when he returns to his room. You haven't moved at all, still tucked under the blanket from John's office. He gets himself changed and moisturized, rubbing some cream on the bruises that dot his skin. He's going to be sore tomorrow, they all will be, but he knows they won't be doing much. John had already told them tomorrow will be dedicated to spending time with you and helping you recover from the stress of them being gone. He’s silently glad for the break, knowing it could only be a few days before they get called out again.

John had also told him he’d be pushing harder for one of them to stay whenever he can. He’s not taking this risk again, not if it can be avoided.

Kyle’s pulling on his sweatpants when you inhale sharply. You're sitting up straight on his bed, eyes wide as you look around in fear. They’re hazy, confusion settling into your mind after going from John’s office to Kyle’s room after kneeling.

“Hey, hey. It's alright.” Kyle says, moving over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge so he’s in your line of sight. “You're just in my room.”

“Kyle?” You whisper, clarity returning to your gaze as you stare at him.

“I'm here.” He says. “Just went to take a shower and clean up.”

“Where's John?” You ask, tears gathering in your eyes.

“Still working on things.” He says, cupping your face. “He'll be in eventually.”

The tears fall from your eyes, sliding down your cheeks. They wet his thumbs as he strokes your skin, your body trembling slightly as you sniffle.

Something’s wrong. He's known it since you latched onto him on the tarmac. The way you'd held onto him like he might disappear, how you looked almost angry when John told you they still had things to do, the way your scent had filled the barracks, bitter with fear and stress.

Something’s up, something you're not letting them in on. But, to be fair, they had just left you for a week, up and abandoned you to go play heroes. He wouldn't blame you for not telling them anything. The bonds have weakened. He can feel it, beyond just his natural beta senses.

“What can I do?” He asks quietly, trying to project his scent a bit to help calm you. He doesn't want you distressing, not after holding it together for so long.

“I...I need...” You inhale shakily, still trembling in his hold. “I don't know.” You whine, the tears falling faster now.

He pulls you against his chest, holding you as you cry. He feels the tugging in his chest, sympathy for you and what you must be feeling, along with the guilt of knowing they caused this. They did this just with their absence.

An idea begins to form in his mind as he holds you, something his family used to do when he was younger.

He pulls away from you, standing up. “Come on. I have an idea.”

He strips the blankets from his bed before pulling the mattress off the frame. He drags it to the door and out into the hallway before heading down to John's room. You follow behind him, watching him as he opens the door to John’s room, dragging the mattress in and dropping it on the floor.

“Stay here.” He tells you, heading back out into the hallway.

“What're ye doin’?” Johnny asks, sticking his head out of his door.

“Grab your mattress and Simon and meet me in Price's room.” Kyle says as he heads down the hallway, ignoring Johnny's further questioning as he makes for John’s office.

He doesn't bother knocking, walking right in. John blinks at him from behind the desk, and for a moment Kyle wonders if he'd fallen asleep sitting up. It wouldn't be the first time.

“Come on.” Kyle says, moving to stand in front of his desk. “Finish those tomorrow.”

“They're important, I have to get them done asap.” John counters.

“Yeah, well I have something more important.” He leans forward at John's questioning stare. “Your omega needs you.”

John stares at his beta for a moment, and Kyle can see the gears turning in his head, the debate happening, the conflict in his mind. He so rarely sees his alpha, his captain so indecisive for so long. He's usually so quick to act, analyzing a situation and making a decision in mere seconds.

If only you knew the things you've done by simply existing in their lives.

John closes the file on his desk, slipping it into the drawer before locking it. Kyle fights the triumphant grin threatening to form on his face as John stands from his chair after shutting his computer off. Kyle makes his way back down the hallway, John following behind after locking his office door. Kyle stops at his room, grabbing his comforter before heading for John’s room.

Johnny had obviously gotten the idea of what Kyle had in mind, his mattress and John's laid out side by side so the three make one giant bed for them on the floor. He’s already laid out his own comforter and Simon’s, as well as John’s on the mattresses. They probably wouldn’t need blankets for long with their body heat, but the blend of scents will hopefully begin to ease the tempest raging in your mind.

You’ve parked yourself in the corner, watching it all happen. You seem so small, so lost, so out of place. It's not all that different from when you'd arrived in their lives. Has being gone for a week really reverted things so drastically for you? Has your stress broken the bonds so much that you feel like a stranger amongst them again?

Kyle steps over the mattresses, approaching you slowly. You look up from where you had been staring off into space, blinking up at him. Your eyes are still red and watery from crying, your arms clutching one of your stuffed bears against your chest. It’s the one John had scented for you, back when they were trying to get you to nest. He wonders if you’ve nested since they left, if that urge is still there, or if that too has faded.

Kyle doesn’t often feel angry at his job. Not anymore. He doesn’t often question it. It’s what he signed up for, and he does it because someone has to. He chose this life, so he does his best to be a good soldier, to follow orders. Yet, as he stares down at you, he can’t help but feel anger bristling in the back of his mind. He tries to blame it on his instincts, on the fact that a member of his pack is so upset, so distressed at something that’s happened, and he doesn't know what to do to help.

Yet he knows they were the cause of it, even if it wasn’t their choice directly. Something happened because of them. He tries to rationalize it. This is an experiment, a test to see how well packs will do with omegas, if it has any effect on how well they can do their jobs, if it makes them stronger, or if it weakens them. Those in charge had obviously put little regard in for how it would affect the omegas. They couldn’t have known how you would react, how badly all of them leaving would affect you. Or maybe they did know, and they simply didn’t care.. Perhaps you weren’t the focus of their study, but you were still a variable, you were still an important piece of this puzzle.

How can they be more effective if their omega is struggling because of their absence? How can they be expected to function like a team now knowing leaving behind their omega will only cause distress for all of them?

Kyle takes a deep breath, pushing back the anger and the emotions whirling in his own mind. He needs to focus on you right now, focus on helping you relax, helping you get back to where you were before they left you. He’s doing the best he can do right now for you, giving you what you need, even if you don’t realize it’s what you need yet.

He holds out his hand to you, staying still as you stare at it. It takes you a moment before you slowly begin to move, slipping one of your hands into his. He guides you to the mattress in the middle, Johnny’s mattress, easing you down to sit on it. You glance around as Johnny and John toss pillows onto the mattresses haphazardly, making sure everything is perfect. It’s not a pretty nest, he’d hardly call it a nest at all, but he knows nesting is not necessarily all about looks. It’s about feeling, and right now, he knows you need to feel safe and secure.

John quickly changes into more comfortable clothes as Kyle stretches out on the mattress, opening his arms to you. You curl up against his side, resting your cheek against his chest. You press your face into his skin, inhaling for a moment before you settle, slowly beginning to relax in his hold.

Simon enters the room as John settles on Kyle’s other side, closing the door behind him and locking it, securing the five of you inside. Johnny settles on the other side of you, pressing up close against your back. He pulls one of the comforters up around the three of you before he tosses an arm around you, resting his hand on Kyle’s stomach, sandwiching you between the two betas again.

Simon stands over the makeshift nest, staring down at the four of you. He’s obviously the most uncomfortable with the situation, and still a bit miffed from your lack of greeting on the tarmac. It was his own fault for being so closed off with you for so long. You had instinctively sought out the members of the pack you felt the most connected to, the most comfortable with in your time of such great stress.

“Aw come on, ye big bastard, get in the bed.” Soap says, snapping Simon out of his reverie.

Simon shuts the light off, bathing them in near darkness. You tense for a moment as the lights go off before you slowly relax again. Kyle listens to your breaths even out as Simon gets comfortable on the mattress behind Johnny, the four of them settling in around you.

It's already warm in the room but none of them would even think of complaining. They’re too focused on surrounding you with their scent and their protection, the very thing you need the most.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #poly task force 141 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #x reader #alpha/beta/omega #a/b/o #omegaverse

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lamiadrowned · 12 days ago

Text

*:･ﾟ✧ where everything is good act I

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

it’s finally here! this is only part one ;) for some background, ekko is the reader’s brother, it’s up to you whether that’s biological or not. i’m going to tag everyone who commented on the post i made about this. comment if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for the following chapters!

@darialikesgirls @t-wylia @kaorusssgf @brocoliisscared @bostkon @starkonaa @b3autyist3rror @njm63522 @mooooonnnzz @iluvcartmansfarts @ihatethis222 @cuti3pi5 @goby10 @ladysplained @vivispace @kissyslut @katethejinxwife @nanajustnana-a

you woke with a deafening ringing in your ears and a steadily growing ache behind your eyes.

did you ever even fall asleep? you can’t remember that, but oddly enough, the last thing you’re able to recall is the feeling of being stretched and across time itself.

that’s right. it’s all coming back to you now.

this headache began when you and ekko discovered that the firelight tree was being, for lack of a better word, altered by something. you quickly brought your findings to heimerdinger– a few leaves, discolored to a shade that resembled an oil spill, something that nature could not create on its own. the exiled professor then snuck you and your brother through a maze of vents into some lab, where you were promptly caught by his former pupil, jayce. not exactly a first impression to be proud of, but the four of you found the root cause somewhat quickly; a wild rune. something that jayce had described to you as best he could– something natural, and equally unpredictable.

so unpredictable, a simple touch of the brunette’s hand sent the four of you into a state of psychedelic frequencies and colors taking kaleidoscopic forms, colors you didn’t even know existed.

from the looks of it, you’re now in a perfectly normal bed in a perfectly normal room. is reality finally yours again?

as of right now, reality is the least of your concern; you aren’t sure whose room this is. you rub the sleep from your eyes and slowly sit up, still feeling dizzied and somewhat sore, as if you’d just gotten off a rollercoaster. without wasting a second, you do your best to focus your sight and examine your surroundings, which mostly include the paintings and drawings that line the walls. this delivers a sobering shock to your system.

a vast majority of them are jinx.

a much different version of her, you notice. her blue hair is much shorter, those signature braids nowhere to be found. she has a big smile on her face in each one of them. from what you can see, she looks… happy. clean, and pure. nothing like the jinx you know, but everything like the powder you grew up with. quite frankly, it scares the daylights out of you.

“what the fuck?” you whisper aloud.

then, you feel a movement. one that isn’t caused by you. you whip your head around to see that, shockingly, somebody had been laying in this bed right next to you. they seem to be sleeping, head and body totally covered by a plush comforter that’s clearly handmade. your eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of the situation before scaring yourself even further.

it’s most likely ekko. perhaps you’d both fainted after your encounter with the wild rune, and heimerdinger was kind enough to find somewhere comfortable for you to sleep.

but if so, what’s the big idea with the paintings? is it to mock you, to give you a glimpse of a perfect reality that’s just out of reach? feeling a rapid stream of anger replace the blood in your veins, you reach down to grab the comforter and rip it away from your brother to disrupt his slumber.

that anger turns to confusion in an instant.

it isn’t your brother.

it’s… well, you have no idea who that is.

it isn’t jinx. she looks like jinx, she even smells like jinx, but it isn’t her. it can’t be.

she looks all too peaceful, her head rested on the pillow with her big eyes shut, sleeping undisturbed in a state of pure tranquility. you lean forward to examine this woman more closely, to look for any defining characteristics that jinx has– all of which, you find in five seconds flat. the few freckles that line her nose, the small birthmark on her left shoulder, the slight gap between her two front teeth. the only thing she’s missing is her unnaturally long blue hair. it’s still blue, of course, but it’s cut to the length of her chin and there isn’t a braid in sight. you shake your head in disbelief. it’s the girl from the paintings.

just then, her eyes flutter open.

her silvery blue orbs are yet another reminder of how mutated this reality seems to be. they aren’t bright pink, implying that the familiar body lying next to you is not locked and loaded with shimmer and a constant drug-induced rage. the last time you saw her natural eye color was before she left you.

the girl’s eyes land on you and a small smile appears on her slightly chapped lips. “morning,” she mumbles. you would recognize that voice from anywhere.

there are only two feelings that fight for control over your next course of action– elation, and panic.

on one hand, everything you’ve ever wanted is right here with you. the love of your life without the pain that consumed her, a version of her that didn’t feel the need to abandon you for your own safety.

on the other hand, you’ve woken up in an illusive reality that you simply don’t belong in.

“no. no, this isn’t right,” you whisper, slightly moving back to create some distance between you and this girl. had ekko woken up in this world as well? what about jayce and heimerdinger? it would make more sense that this is all a really weird, really lucid dream, but you need to think realistically. nothing in your life has ever made much sense.

“hm?” she hums in confusion, blinking the sleep from her tired eyes.

there’s no way for you to explain your conundrum to her, so you don’t even attempt to. you just rush out of bed and head towards the door. “i need to… take a walk.”

“alright,” she rolls over, “i’m goin’ back to sleep, then.”

within the next few minutes, you find yourself walking into the only familiar place you can find– the last drop. the place you and ekko practically grew up, even though it’s nothing like you remember it.

everything is bright and clean, an eerily perfect adaptation of the place that was once so conventional to the standards of zaun. you don’t get much time to look around, though, as you feel an hand wrap around your wrist and pull you through the backdoor into an alleyway. you’re relieved to see that the culprit is your brother– also a version of him you’d never seen, but you could tell he was just as distressed as you. heimerdinger is there, too. he seems… well, he seems calm, which has always been his natural state.

“this is bad.” you place your hands on your head. “this is really fucking bad. how did we even–”

“there’s no need for the all the panic, i can assure you. i had a feeling you two would join me eventually.” heimerdinger says, but his attempt at soothing you only angers you more.

“eventually? how long have you been here?” you point an accusatory finger at him.

ekko takes a seat on the ground, propping himself up against the wall with a few deep breaths. he looks sick to his stomach. in any other circumstance, you’d rush to his aid, but you have much more pressing issues at hand. the professor nods in acknowledgment of your question. “one thousand, one hundred and twenty-eight days, six hours, and… twenty minutes.” he answers. “now, i’ll tell you what i told ekko here– we have been… how exactly did i put it?”

“scattered across time.” your brother mumbles while rubbing his eyes. “something about being dislodged from our proverbial reality.”

“that’s right!” heimerdinger snaps his fingers. “think of it as a parallel dimension; a showcase of what could have occurred, and what could have not occurred. a reality objectively opposed to the one that the three of us belong in.”

“and it’s because of the wild rune?” you wonder. heimerdinger nods affirmatively. “so, where’s jayce? if he’s here, too, he would be in piltover, right? we have to go find him.”

ekko and the professor share a knowing glance, before ekko looks up at you with a shrug. “apparently, the anomaly reacted differently to him. there’s a good chance he ended up somewhere else.”

“somewhere else, like a different reality? how many fucking realities can there be?!” you throw your hands up in frustration.

“the sheer amount of realities is beyond any of our comprehensions.” heimerdinger assures you, never one to be phased by the temper you get when you’re stressed. “i’d advise you not to rack your brain in attempt to understand it. in all my years, i have not yet come close to–”

“i woke up next to jinx.” you cut him off.

“what?” they both say, voices lapping over each other. ekko is the first to question you. “what do you mean?” he stands up and places his hands on his hips.

“i mean, i woke up in a bed, and jinx was asleep next to me, except it wasn’t really jinx. she was too… she was– fuck, i don’t know!” you huff.

“powder.” he says.

you tilt your head. he knows that name is forbidden around you. “what did you just say?”

“it wouldn’t be jinx. in this place, she’s gotta be powder.” he tells you. “listen, vander is alive here. silco? he’s alive. even… even benzo.” your eyes widen at this. “if they’re all still here in this reality, jinx would’ve never had any reason to become jinx like she did in ours.” he explains, watching the distant expression on your face morph into a scowl.

this flood of information hits you in the heart like a freight train. alive? how could any of these people be alive? you shake your head dismissively. “cut it the fuck out, ekko.”

“you’re not listening!” he raises his voice. “i know it’s a lot to take in, but you need to get it through your head that i’m in the exact same boat as you.”

though his outburst is unexpected, it’s certainly called for. you were so caught up in your own twisted feelings, you likely haven’t picked up much of the information you’ve been given these past few minutes. “okay. i’m sorry.” you sigh in surrender.

ekko takes a deep, grounding breath. only you could get him this riled up, but he knows better than to be upset with you. he’s still processing it all, too. “it’s fine. i get it, alright? this is just as confusing for me.”

“if i may,” heimerdinger takes a step toward the two of you, “i don’t mean to infringe on the ever-common rivalry between siblings, but ekko is right. benzo is here, y/n. vander, too. wouldn’t you like to see them?”

part of you almost wants to say no, but your mouth subconsciously moves quicker than your brain. “where are they?”

ekko leads you inside, muttering a quiet reminder to ‘keep it together’, though he knows he can’t fault you for the tears that collect in the brims of your eyes when they land on benzo– who just so happens to be sitting at the bar, chatting with vander. they both look so much different than you remember, but somehow the exact same. you immediately rush towards him, the only father figure you’ve ever known, and throw your arms around his broad shoulders.

he grunts in surprise, and you bury your face in his chest in attempt to hide your expression. “woah, seems like my crew of two’s come down with a case of the cuddlies today!” his boisterous voice fills your ears and it sends yet another wave of emotion through you. it’s been so long since you’d heard his voice, and not to mention, you’d almost had a nervous breakdown a few months ago when you realized you couldn’t exactly remember many of the traits that defined him– what he smelled like, the color of his eyes, how magical his presence was, always there to brighten up your day as a child.

regardless, you remind yourself to play it cool. it’s obvious that no one who belongs in this reality has any idea that you don’t. “what’s with the two of you today? buttering me up to ask a favor i’ll say no to?” he jokes.

“sorry, benzo,” you mumble, blinking the tears from your eyes before pulling away. “just had a bad dream last night.”

“you’re kidding! so did this fellow,” he pats ekko’s shoulder, then turns to vander. “sibling telepathy. it’s a thing, i’m telling ya.”

“hey, it’s not like you’re not getting any complaints from this big teddy bear.” vander chimes in, roughly patting benzo��s shoulder. “oh, y/n– any chance you’ve seen powder today? she told me she was spending the night with you.”

you clench your jaw. powder, that’s right. that would be her name here. “yeah. yeah, she did. i let her sleep in.” you confirm.

“ah, alright.” he nods with a chuckle. “i don’t mean to be nosy, but you know how i get.”

it’s refreshing to know that vander, despite all of the jarring differences in this timeline, is the same as he ever was. overprotective, and unwilling to admit it.

“now, it’s none of my business, but i’m holding out hope that the two of you got enough sleep. you too, ekko. we’re gonna need all the help we can get setting up tonight, right, vander?” benzo points at you, then ekko.

“uh, setting up for what, exactly?” ekko asks. the two of you share a confused glance.

benzo stares at him like he’s grown two heads. “oh, you know, just the party you two steel-handlers have been raving about the entire week! you kids find brand new ways to confuse me every day, i swear it.”

heimerdinger, clearly sensing your inability to play this off, decides to step in. “ah, yes. the ‘innovator’s competition’. i’m sure it will be a fantastic display of the capabilities of these young minds!” he beams.

“right.” you nod in false remembrance, willing ekko to do the same. “the innovator’s competition. i’m all ready. are you?” you look at your brother with a raised eyebrow.

he stalls for a moment, but continues to pick up the topic seamlessly. your conversational skills have never been half as good as his. “ready as i’ll ever be.” he barely musters a smile.

“there’s my girl!” vander suddenly cuts through the discussion, motioning toward the front door. you turn around to see the girl in question; powder.

her striking blue hair is up in two buns on her head, topped off with choppy bangs and a streak of pink. that reminds you– is violet here? you can imagine her with a matching blue streak of hair. “good morning, old man. and good morning to you, too.” powder wraps an arm around your shoulder, leaning in close to your ear. “so… you left me in a rush this morning to come kick it with the elders?” she teases, causing benzo and vander to jokingly grumble in disapproval. her other arm raises to wrap around your back, and she steps directly in front of you. she looks smitten.

ekko notices how tense you’ve become with her arrival, and he looks to heimerdinger, as if searching for permission to act– but the professor shakes his head. “you must not infringe on such a necessary process. you will both need to adjust one way or another, no matter how difficult the learning curve may be.” he whispers.

you take a quick glance to see that vander and benzo have become involved in their own conversation, then hesitantly look back at powder. “s-sorry,” you shake your head, “it was feeling stuffy in there, y’know?”

“could’ve opened a window.” she shrugs.

you scan her face, noting all the visible differences between this girl and the one you lost in your own reality. her cheeks are fuller. her skin is still pale, but not as ghastly, and there are much for freckles on her nose. she’s clearly getting more sunlight here. “you’re feeling clingy, huh?”

she takes your observation as nothing more than a tease, a quiet laugh erupting from her throat. “i mean, can you blame me? i like being with you. you know that.”

“yeah?” you wonder.

“yeah, smartass. speaking of which,” she finally takes a step back, “i was gonna go see vi. you wanna tag along?”

you blink. did violet move out? you have so many questions and you’re becoming anxious by the simple fact that you can’t ask them; the people here would likely think you’d gotten amnesia somehow. “yeah, i’ll come.” you tell her, then turn around to face ekko. “we’re gonna… go see vi. catch you later?”

he nods in recognition that he’d heard you, but he’s far too busy looking at benzo. watching him talk and laugh and sip his drink. you don’t miss the way heimerdinger’s eyebrows slightly raise, mouth opening as if he has something to tell you, but chooses to keep it to himself. you scrunch your nose at him. he just shakes his head. as helpful as he’s been in the time since you’ve met him, he also has his own special way of stressing you out– this time around, he’s clearly withholding information.

powder takes your hand in her own and leads you to her ‘room’, a place you’ve only been to a few times since she joined silco in your own reality. as expected, it’s totally different from the one you know, but you’re starting to get used to expecting the unexpected, so it isn’t much of a shock. it’s brighter, decorated with warmer colors that make it feel more like a living space rather than a dark, neon dungeon. does she share the space with violet? are they still as close as they once were?

“sorry it’s kind of a mess,” she motions with her head to a workbench which is piled with nuts, bolts, handheld tools, and crumpled blueprints. still an inventor, of course. you couldn’t see that changing in any reality. “i had so many ideas for the competition tonight, i can’t even remember what half of them were.”

you huff out a laugh. “it’s impressive, messy or not. where’s vi?”

she smiles, though she almost seems confused. “uh… in same place she always is, bonehead.”

you continue to follow behind her until you reach a curtained hideout, where you see multiple paintings of violet in which she can’t be more than fourteen years old. you stand and watch powder take a seat in front of the shrine, lighting a few sticks of incense with a quiet sigh.

it takes you longer than you’d rather admit to piece it all together.

she’s dead. how can she be dead?

feeling sick to your stomach, you hesitantly take a seat next to powder, who’s admiring the paintings before her. “i think a lot about what she would be like if she got to grow up.” she says.

you look over at her, feeling an immense type of sadness that you didn’t know a human could feel. you know the answer to that question. the least you could do is try to phrase it in a hypothetical way. “she would be so… strong. and brave. i don’t think her hair would change much, either.” you shrug. “i could see her getting a few piercings.”

“really?” powder raises an eyebrow. “what kind of piercings?”

“uh, you know… maybe her nose. some on her ears.” you shrug.

she nods, closing her eyes to visualize it in her head, then she laughs. “maybe. but she’d get into too many fights and probably get ‘em ripped out.”

you cringe and scrunch your nose at the thought. “yeah, probably.”

“i know vander misses her a lot. whenever he talks about her, he gets all emotional. it’s… weirdly heartwarming.” she says. “so, i try not to bring her up too often. but sometimes, he’ll come here with me to see her. every year on her birthday, too. like clockwork.”

“that’s sweet.” you reply. “he’s a family man to his core. always has been.”

powder nods in agreement with you. “he is.”

the two of you sit in comfortable silence for a bit, which gives you some time to look around. she’s even got a handmade doll of violet propped up on the table– eerily similar to the dolls she kept of mylo and claggor.

“what are you wearing to the party tonight?” she suddenly asks you.

you blink. “oh, um… i have no idea. i’m sure i’ll find something.” you answer, hoping this version of you has a somewhat good wardrobe, though you’re trying not to get your hopes up since you’re still in the sweatpants and tank top you woke up in. “what about you?”

“hm… i want to surprise you.” she grins.

you tilt your head. “is that code for ‘i also have no idea’?”

powder chuckles, gently hitting your arm with the back of her hand. “no! maybe! ugh, i don’t know. i want to make an entrance. show everyone i can clean up nice, y’know?“

“i get it.” you shrug. “no matter what you wear, i’m sure you’ll look good.”

“just good?” she questions in a tone that borders on flirtatious, causing you to clench your jaw a bit. it’s painfully familiar.

“great,” you correct yourself as smoothly as you can manage. “better than great.”

with an approving hum, she takes your hand into her own, maintaining an overwhelmingly intimate eye contact when she brings your hand to her mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. “that’s better.”

every muscle in your body tenses up at the display of affection. it’s certainly an odd situation, one that heimerdinger couldn’t have possibly briefed you for– how to act natural when you’re getting everything you’ve ever wanted in a timeline that you don’t belong in. you know that you and ekko’s top priority needs to be finding a way back to where you came from. you know you can’t stay here.

that doesn’t stop you from getting a bit choked up in the midst of considering it.

powder seems to notice the way your bottom lip wobbles, the way you can hardly even look at her. she slowly pulls away from you. “woah, what’s with all the gloom? was it something i said?” she asks, sounding genuinely worried.

you shake your head. “no! no, of course not, i just…” you trail off, then suddenly stand up. “i’m sorry. i have to go talk to ekko.”

powder furrows her eyebrows in confusion, but ultimately decides not to question you. “m’kay. see you tonight?”

“y-yeah,” you say with a slight shudder in your voice, turning your back to walk away so that she doesn’t spot the tears running down your cheeks. “see you tonight.”

#arcane #arcane x reader #jinx #arcane jinx #jinx x reader #arcane ekko #ekko #arcane heimerdinger #heimerdinger

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ashs-cardboard-box · 4 months ago

Text

An Odd Consolation

~ Sebastian Solace/GN!Reader

~ (Physical) Hurt/(Reluctant) Comfort

~ Platonic

~ 2.3k words

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How long has it been since you’ve gotten a first-aid kit? Five floors? Ten? You were starting to lose track. After an encounter with what felt like Jesus Christ himself punishing you for being an Expendable, your head felt all fuzzy and distracting. Though, realistically, it was Eyefestation paired with a bad crossing from the Good People and a sprinkle of face burns from a steaming pipe. Not fun!

Large gashes paint your chest, just from the claws of the Z-96. The skin on your face felt tight as a result of your painful first degree burns. The worst part about this program was the pain. Sure, you can die and respawn which was cool..you guessed.. but getting mowed down by an angler variant? Or getting electrocuted? Or the puddles of void mass crammed inside the lockers? Torn to shreds by wall dwellers? It all hurt terribly. Only to be cursed to wake up again, with Sebastian right in your face, and do it all over again– Unless you wish to be blown up, of course.

You weren’t even collecting data anymore. Your, now torn, jumpsuit had long been dried since the last flooded path you managed to stumble upon, which further supports your theory that whatever wet warmth is sticking the fabric to your skin, is the blood from your wounds. Clutching your chest in a self-hug of sorts to prevent any more blood from spilling out, albeit unsuccessfully, you force yourself to keep going.

Every time you stop for too long to catch your breath, the intercom chimes overhead, with the same staff voice telling you – threatening you – that you need to move forward, lest you want to be detonated where you stand. So, you push forward.

One wobbly step after the other into door, after door, after flooded hallway, after door. Only stopping to hide in a locker, hide from turrets, or to dive as quickly as you possibly can into another room to hide from any angler that even remotely sounds like Pandemonium.

You were tempted to just give up and open up your vulnerabilities to the next entity that wanted your head on a spike. That was your best option after all. A bit more pain to finally make it all go away for a while? Before you wake up again, that is. A new start..sounded frustrating, but so damn enticing.

However, you’re pulled from your thoughts when a vent is pushed open on its own. The metal grate clatters loudly against the concrete floor right at your feet, followed by a hushed “over here!”. You’d completely forgotten about Sebastian in your misery. The angler-mutant-thing that always managed to find where you died, bring you back to life, and borderline insult you for your performance. You weren’t sure if he was always watching you through the security cameras or if he was getting reports from the other monsters somehow, but you couldn’t care at the moment.

Stealing a quick glance around the dark room, spotting a few Squiddles lingering in the shadows, you’re focused on the two doors in the room, both key-card locked. The first, the navi-path interface sparked, despite the green numbers telling you “027”. You can already guess that Z-96 is behind it and Painter has infected the interface. The second door reads “049”, which makes much more sense to your pain-addled brain. You vaguely remember Sebastian giving a rough estimate to where his shop is located. Somewhere around fifty?

Dropping down onto your knees a bit too roughly, causing blunt pain to your kneecaps – hardly protected by the flimsy knee pads Urbanshade provided – you steal a cautious glance behind you for wall dwellers before crawling towards the vent. One arm supports most of the weight of your front half, as the other cradles your chest wounds. You feel like you can cry out of relief at the flicker of Sebastian’s lure, causing the room to illuminate.

“Welcome back, frien- eugh..” He starts. Comforting, you think sarcastically with a subtle roll of your eyes. Offering him a tightlipped smile as you stand up, gritting your teeth from the strain of your wounds as your muscles struggle to keep you upright. “What..happened to you?” Sebastian inquires, slightly judgemental, with a tilt of his head. His three eyes follow your each and every move. Watching as you silently shuffle across the small space, right towards his tail. Fully locked onto the medkit strapped to the appendage.

Stuffing your hand into the deep pockets of your jumpsuit and pulling out what little amount of data you have. A handful of USB sticks and some soggy files… equivalent to only ninety bucks. God damn it. Your lack of proper data hunting had come to bite you in the ass. With a sigh, you opt to just buy a battery with what little options you actually have. Your flashlight was running a bit low anyways.

Haphazardly tossing a few folders and USB sticks on the floor for Sebastian to pick up, you trudge up to the desk directly to the right of Sebastian. Several DNA casings rest atop it, illuminated by a small lamp, Several different colors for, what you can imagine are, all sorts of different species. The large document that you know belongs to Sebastian practically taunts you to read it, but you shift your gaze back to the batteries. Reaching forward to grab one with a bloodied hand, only to pause when a large, pointed claw pokes you in the shoulder nearly pushing you over. “Are you not gonna fix that?” Sebastian prompts as he tugs his four-clawed hand away from you, clasping it back over his left, watching silently as you fumble, catching yourself on the desk. He tuts at the bloody print left behind as you set your palms flat onto the dull-white surface. “Don’t have enough data..” You grumble tersely, shifting your feet better underneath yourself as your knees threaten to buckle. Snatching the battery off of the corner of the desk, you slip your hand into your pocket and fish out your flashlight. Flipping it over and trying to twist the bottom of it off, struggling only slightly with slippery hands but you manage, sliding the battery into its compartment and twisting the small cap back on. Sebastian is silent, for some reason. Usually, there was some smart ass comment about how he doesn’t give credit or insulting your lack of funds…but there’s nothing.

His eyes feel like they’re piercing into your soul as he stares down at you. You don’t pay attention to him. He’ll be there..just like always. Tucking your flashlight away, you grab the blue keycard off of the desk and turn back towards the vent with intent to leave Sebastian’s shop.

That was until you feel two large claws on your upper back as Sebastian grabs ahold of the slack of your torn jumpsuit. Picking you up by the fabric with a humiliating ease, as if you were a kitten being held up by its scruff.

“How stupid are you?” He scolds as he sets you down on his tail. Your boots almost slip against his scales, unused to the uneven surface beneath you, but Sebastian, with an annoyed sigh, grabs you as gently as he can muster, setting you on the ground again inside the inner curve of his tail to prevent your…idiotic…self from dying over some dumb mistake.

“It’s the least you could do..apart from not dying, that is.�� Sebastian mutters under his breath, chuckling at his own remark. Using his two left arms, he unfastens the first-aid kit from the straps around his tail, holding it in place. It’s too damn small in his claws, so he hands it off to you. Setting it, rather roughly, in your arms.

Stunned, you hesitate. What was he playing at? He would never give you free stuff. In fact, he would probably shoot you if you even asked. Staring down at the medical kit, jaw slightly agape. Sebastian huffs, plucking the kit from your hands again and flicking off the top with his...thumb? “You idiot…” He grumbles, dumping the contents onto his large palm, handing it down to you. The plastic lid and container tossed aside uselessly. A thick roll of gauze, bandages, skin tape, epinephrine, burn cream, antiseptic wipes..the usual insides. You raise your gaze up to meet Sebastian’s own, much more impatient one. Slowly reaching out and taking the gauze into your hands, grabbing a hold of the loose end and strapping it to your side, pinching it down beneath your fingers to your ribs. Pulling the roll back around your back, switching hands to get the other side, before completely around your chest. It fucking stings..bad. You can feel your blood trying to soak through the fibrous material, subsequently sticking it to your wound. But, you know it’s for the best. Trying to avoid Sebastian’s critical eye as you work, having to pause for a moment due to an ache in your bicep muscles from the repetitive motion. “Why are you helping me?” You question warily. Your voice causes Sebastian’s ear fins to flick every so slightly. Shrugging noncommittally, he sets down the extra materials on his tail in front of you, leaving it up for grabs as you need it.

“You needed it, didn’t you?” Sebastian scrutinized, inspecting the ring on his third hand, so he’s not creepily watching you bandage yourself. “That’s… not what I asked.” You huff, finally getting your chest tissue and ribs covered up. Looking up at Sebastian as he skims the small shop, like he hadn’t seen it before. Not-so-subtly moving his left hand down, using his claw to cut off the spare gauze attached to the roll, allowing you the proper amount you need.

“I know.” He states. “And I don’t care.” You hum suspiciously, but don’t push it. He was helping you out for free, why would you complain? Pinning down the loose gauze strand to your side once again, you use your free hand to finagle the edge of the skin tape, yanking it unceremoniously to grab a bit more slack you can actually use. Silently lifting it up by the edge, letting the roll freely dangle, wordlessly asking Sebastian to cut it as well.

Surprisingly, he complies. Swiping a claw against the tape, freeing it from the roll, causing it to hit the floor at your feet. Awkwardly adjusting the strap to prevent it from sticking to itself, you can pin down your gauze.

“Sit.” Sebastian demands, gingerly tugging on the back of your jumpsuit, causing you to lose balance and tumble backwards, landing right on your ass. It hurts a bit, but the pain quickly subsides. Your back pressed up against his firm tail, tilting your head back to be able to stare up at him. “What?” you question, only to be met with silence. He ignores you completely, but he doesn’t let you get up. Tucking his third hand up underneath your chin, keeping your head tilted up towards him. The coldness of his ring against your skin causes it to prickle with goosebumps, but you don’t mind much. Peering down at your half-burned face, his claw accidentally digs into a blister, causing you to hiss in pain. You didn’t really plan to do anything about the burn, just wanting your bleeding to stop, but Sebastian had other plans. “Sit.” He repeats firmly, as if you were going to get up and scurry off. His second left hand grabs ahold of the small tube of burn cream, puncturing it with ease before spreading a small amount on the length of his claw between the first knuckle and the second. Using the blunt side to massage the cream into your face, all while holding your jaw like an uncooperative pet.

Sitting still, you allow Sebastian to cover your burns. It’s an action neither of you are particularly used to, but neither try to jerk away from the other. With a sigh, you relax against him, closing your eyes. His skin isn’t particularly soft, feeling more like the grit of a cat’s tongue, but he seems to take more caution around it. Sebastian’s not exactly warm either, but he’s comfortable, at least. “Why’re you helpin’ me..?” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest to get a bit more cozy against the floor. You can feel your lower back tingling slightly as it begins to go numb, but shifting more will only cause more pain. “Because you lack the self-preservation skills to do it yourself.” Sebastian grunts, more focused on coating your face in petroleum jelly rather than his responses. Removing his hand from your face and draping it over you, making you feel incredibly small. His ear fins fluttering at the sound of an angler screeching as it rushes down the hall, searching for you. You hum monotonously in acknowledgement, subconsciously tensing at the sound, despite knowing it wouldn’t be able to reach you through the vent. “You’re not falling asleep on me. You still have things to do.” He states firmly, but he makes no actual effort to move you away from him. Pleased with the coverage on your face, Sebastian finally pulls his hand away, wiping the remaining residue on your jumpsuit. “‘m not.” You agree, but you know you’re probably lying.

You never really realize how exhausted you are until you’re on the verge of tears from pain alone and forced to keep moving. Kept on edge, stressed to the end of your wits. You knew you should get going. This was weird. Not to mention, Sebastian was usually an asshole..but you don’t move. Readjusting yourself underneath his large hand, acting as a blanket, you curl up into the curve of his tail, resting your head against it.

“Don’t let me get eaten..” You slur in your exhaustion, earning a small hum from Sebastian, not exactly giving you any sort of indication if he would or wouldn’t. Instead, he rests his thumb atop your head, moving it ever-so-slightly back and forth over your hair in a “petting” motion. He would probably charge you double next run, but as you began to fall asleep on him, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least you weren’t dead.

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Hi gang I'm back X3 (he says with the intention to disappear for another decade)

Random fic drop !! I have like. 82 rdr fics open rn </3 procrastination is my best friend

#pressure roblox #roblox pressure #sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace x gender neutral reader #sebastian solace x male reader

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hoe4hotchner · 3 months ago

Note

Omg can we get a part 2 of rodeo please? I can't do too much angst but it was so good

Rodeo - part 2 | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

CW: starts in 3. person pov and switches to 2. person pov half way through, emotional distress, guilt and regret, unhealthy relationship dynamics, emotional confrontation, mentions of past emotional manipulation.

WC: 2,1k

Here's part 1 of the fic

I really wanted to make this even more angsty than the last part and with no sense of comfort at all, cause I really wanted to be a giant asshole to Hotch for no reason. But..... I'm a little nice today, so I made an open ending with a teeny tiny piece of hope for you guys

The office felt different without her.

Hotch’s desk was covered with neatly stacked files, reports waiting to be signed off, and yet, none of it mattered. His eyes had skimmed the same paragraph in the report in front of him three times now, but the words didn’t sink in. His mind was somewhere else - always back to her. The gnawing ache in his chest that had been there since that night months ago hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had grown, spreading through him like a poison he couldn’t shake.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎.

It wasn’t just the space she used to occupy in the bullpen or the silence in the elevator where they used to stand shoulder to shoulder. It was deeper than that. The realization had crept up on him slowly at first - missing her laugh, the way she could sense his mood even when he didn’t speak, the small things she did that calmed him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. But now, it consumed him.

The truth was, he missed her in ways he wasn’t sure he could even admit to himself.

He remembered how she had looked at him that night, her eyes filled with frustration and pain as they stood across from each other in the bullpen, the echoes of their argument still fresh in his mind. “I want something more.” Her voice had been shaky but determined, a mix of vulnerability and strength that struck him like a punch to the gut.

And what had he done? He’d pushed her away. His fear of letting her get too close, of her seeing the parts of him he kept hidden from everyone, had made him say things he regretted. Words he could never take back. “I told you from the beginning what this was,” he had said, his voice cold, and detached. A lie to protect himself.

He had let her walk away, convinced that it was for the best. But now, as the months dragged on, he realized how mistaken he had been.

The space she left behind was unbearable.

She wasn’t in the BAU anymore. He’d heard she’d been reassigned to another department within the FBI- something quieter, more predictable. He told himself it was better this way. She deserved a life outside the chaos of his world. But even though she wasn’t far, it felt like she was unreachable. The thought of running into her in the hallways, of seeing her around the building, had terrified him. He didn’t know how he’d be able to look at her, look into her eyes, and not feel the significance of his own mistakes crushing him.

He missed everything about her.

He missed her smile. The way her eyes lit up when she was excited about something. The warmth she brought into every room she entered.

But it wasn’t just that.

She had been the best thing in his life. The one thing that made him feel something beyond the reality of his rigid day-to-day structure. He had been a fool to push her away, to pretend like he didn’t care. And now, the weight of his own stupidity was drowning him.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, the hum of the vents filling the otherwise quiet space. His mind replayed every moment of their time together, the stolen glances, the late nights, the spark between them, the sex that he had tried so hard to keep casual but had never been just that. It had always been more.

The truth was, he had been afraid.

Afraid of how much he needed her. Afraid of what it would mean to let her in, afraid that he would lose her to the job. But now, the fear felt insignificant compared to the hollow emptiness he felt without her.

He had to get her back.

The thought gnawed at him, day and night until it was all he could think about. He had rehearsed what he would say a thousand times in his head. But he could never bring himself to actually do it. Every time he thought about going to her, confronting her, something stopped him. The fear, the guilt, the uncertainty of whether she even wanted to see him again after the way he had treated her.

But tonight was different.

The late hour and the empty office only amplified the ache in his chest, and before he knew it, he was out of his chair, grabbing his coat, and heading for the door. His soul carried him toward her place before his mind could stop him. The drive felt longer than it should have, his heart racing with each mile that passed. What would he even say? How could he apologize for everything he had done?

He didn’t have an answer, but he knew he couldn’t keep living like this. He had to try.

The knock on your door sounded louder in the silence of the night, echoing through the quiet hallway. Hotch stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, throat dry as he waited. It had taken everything in him to get this far, to drive across the city, to stand in front of your door after months of silence. His hand shook slightly at his side, the importance of what he was about to do weighing down on him.

He wasn’t used to this. This vulnerability, this sense of desperation that had been festering ever since you walked out of his life. Hotch was always the calm and collected one. But here he was, outside your door, drenched in the cold sweat of regret and longing.

He knocked again, this time softer, more tentative, as if he was already bracing himself for the rejection he knew he deserved. His mind raced with what he would say, what words could possibly make up for the way he had hurt you.

The door creaked open, and there you were. For a moment, Hotch couldn’t breathe. You stood there, surprised, your eyes widening slightly as you took him in. He looked rough as if the months had worn him down. His suit was wrinkled, his hair slightly disheveled - things you would never have caught him dead in. He wasn’t the composed, stoic man you were used to seeing. This was a man on the edge.

You didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick with unspoken tension, the memories of the past months hanging heavily in the air.

“Can I come in?” His voice was barely above a whisper, strained as if the words physically hurt to say.

You hesitated, your hand still gripping the edge of the door. Your heart raced in your chest, the recollection of that last argument flashing in your mind. The way he had dismissed your feelings, the way he had left you broken and alone.

But there was something in his eyes - something so raw, something so vulnerable that made you step aside, giving him room to enter.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the two of you stood in the middle of your small apartment. Hotch took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he shoved them into his pockets, trying to steady himself.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see,” he started, his voice tight. “But I had to… I couldn’t keep going like this.”

You crossed your arms, trying to protect yourself from the wave of emotions crashing over you. “What do you want, Aaron?” Your voice was sharp, and defensive. You didn’t have the energy to let him in, not after everything.

He flinched at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I was wrong,” he said, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. “I was so wrong. About everything.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over your face. “You just figured that out now?”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded. “Yes. And I’m sorry. I was an asshole. I was too focused on my own issues, on the job, on… everything but you. And I didn’t realize what I was losing until it was too late.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Why now? Why come here after months? What’s changed?”

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and you saw the flicker of pain, of guilt that he had been carrying all this time. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you! I can’t go a day without regretting what I said, what I did! You were… you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I threw it away because I was scared of losing it.”

You shook your head, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill. “You hurt me, Aaron. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. Like I was just something convenient for you. Something you could just discard.”

“I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “And I hate myself for it. I hate that I made you feel that way because you’re not. You’re everything. You were everything to me, and I was too blind to see it.”

Your breath hitched as the emotions you had tried to bury for months came rushing back. The anger, the pain, the longing for something you thought you would never have. You turned to face away from him for a split second. “And what? You think you can just show up here, say sorry, and we’ll go back to how things were?”

He winced at your words, the truth of them stinging more than he’d expected. “No,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I don’t expect that. I don’t deserve that. But I need you to know… I need you to know that I want to change. That I miss you. That I’m not asking for anything other than a chance to make things right.”

The air in the room felt heavy, the tension between you and Hotch thick, almost suffocating. You stared at him, your heart torn between the hurt he had caused and the undeniable pull you still felt toward him.

“Why now?” you asked, your voice softer, more vulnerable. “Why couldn’t you've figured this out before?”

Hotch ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with regret. “Because I’m a coward,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to let anyone in because I was scared of what that would mean. But you… you broke through all of that, and I didn’t know how to handle it. So I pushed you away.”

You felt your throat tighten, the sincerity of his confession cutting through your defenses. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to push him away the way he had pushed you. But another part of you, the part that had loved him so deeply, wanted to pull him close, to forgive him, to believe that maybe he had changed.

“I’m not asking for everything to go back to how it was,” Hotch continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve lost your trust. But… just give me a chance. Let me prove that I’m not that man.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, torn between the pain of the past and the possibility of something new. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a desperation that you had never seen before, an almost heartbreaking vulnerability.

“I don’t know if I can do this again, Aaron,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can let myself get hurt like that again.”

Hotch nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know,” he said softly. “And I won’t push you. I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give. Just let me show you. Let me be there for you, the way I should have been from the beginning.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of the man who had hurt you, the man who had left you feeling broken and discarded. But all you saw was sincerity, regret, and a deep, aching desire to make things right.

Finally, you took a deep breath, your heart still heavy with everything that had happened. “Okay,” you said softly. “We can try. But it’s going to be on my terms, Aaron. Not yours.”

Relief washed over his face, and he nodded, his eyes softening. “Whatever you need,” he promised, his voice full of emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time in months, you felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other.

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last-dropsevi · 23 days ago

Text

Game over, Restart?

Summary: You have a decision to make (~1.9k words)

Pairing~ Gamer Sevika x fem reader

Warning: minute obsessive behaviors, normal sevika crime stuff. Masterlist

The apartment was dim, lit only by the flickering screen of your battered computer. The hum of your monitor filled the silence, punctuated occasionally by muffled sounds from the next room. Your father was yelling again—his voice slurred, anger spilling from him in waves that vibrated through the thin walls. You tried to ignore it, focus on anything else, but it was impossible not to feel the weight of it pressing on you.

Life in the Undercity had always been hard, but lately, it felt unbearable. Your father, once a pillar of strength, had crumbled under the addiction of shimmer, and you were left to pick up the pieces. Between balancing an insecure work and controlling his downward spiral, he had little room to breathe, let alone dream of something better. Gaming was your only escape and source of peace. It wasn't much—a battered headset and a secondhand PC—but it was enough to create a small oasis of calm amidst the turmoil. Logging into Call of Duty felt like entering another universe, one where the weight of the Undercity could not reach you. Tonight, the game loaded slowly, and the screen led you to a familiar lobby. The voice in your earpiece greeted you before you could even look at the team roster.

“Late again?” The voice was low and gravelly, tinged with playful tone. “Don’t tell me you were hiding from me.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Hiding? Please. I was doing you a favor, giving you time to mentally prepare for another loss.”

The voice chuckled, deep and throaty. “You talk big for someone I carried through our last match.”

“Carried? You died at least five times,” you shot back, already settling into the rhythm of your usual banter.

This was Sevika. Or at least that's what she named herself on the internet. You’ve been playing on a regular basis for months, and the two of you had formed an easy friendship that flowed over from the game into late-night talks. Her sharp wit and constant presence had become a lifeline for you, a link to something secure in a world that seemed to move beneath your feet at all times.

The matches started as nothing more than casual fun, a distraction from the chaos of your life. But as the weeks turned into months, your conversations began to drift beyond the confines of the game. Sevika had a way of asking questions that made you want to answer, even when you weren’t sure you should.

“What would you do,” she asked one night, “if you had enough money to get out of there?”

The question caught you off guard. “Out of where?”

“The Undercity. Zaun. All of it.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “I don’t know. I guess... I’d get a place. A real place. Somewhere quiet, where I wouldn’t have to worry about shimmer or my job or...” You trailed off, realizing how much you’d said. “What about you?”

Sevika’s laugh crackled through the headset. “That’s easy. I’d get a new rig. This setup’s been falling apart for years. Pretty sure it’s held together with duct tape and prayers.”

Her humour was dry, and her words filled with a sarcasm that seemed all too familiar. But there was something reassuring about it, too—a sense that she understood, even if she didn't say it out loud. Over time, your conversations deepened, becoming something closer to confessions. Sevika never pried, but her presence made it easy to talk, to let the words spill out when the weight of your day felt like too much to carry alone.

One night, after a particularly grueling shift at work, you found yourself venting without even meaning to. “It’s just... everything feels like it’s falling apart. My dad’s getting worse, work’s a nightmare, and I can’t... I can’t keep doing this.”

There was a pause on her end, the soft hum of static filling the silence before she spoke. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual. “Most people would’ve given up by now. But you’re still here, holding it together.”

“Barely,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair.

“Barely still counts,” she replied, her tone soft but firm. “And if you ever need someone to talk to... well, you’ve got me.”

For all the things you shared about your life, Sevika remained a mystery. She was guarded, her words carefully chosen, but every now and then, she’d let something slip—a glimpse of the woman behind the voice.

“You ever been in a fight?” you asked one night, after she’d saved you from yet another ambush in-game.

“Plenty,” she said, her tone light but edged with something darker.

“Like, real fights?”

“Real enough,” she said. “It’s kind of... part of the job.”

“What do you do, anyway?”

She hesitated, and for a moment, you thought she wouldn’t answer. “Security,” she said finally. “Let’s leave it at that.”

You didn’t press her, sensing that her answer was more complicated than she let on. But it only made you more curious, more drawn to the enigma that was Sevika.

It was eight months in when everything changed.

“Do you ever think about meeting up?” Sevika asked one night, her voice unusually hesitant.

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. “What, like in person?”

“Yeah,” she said, her tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of vulnerability. “I mean, we’ve been doing this for months now. Don’t you think it’s time?”

You paused, your thoughts whirling with potential outcomes and anxieties. You had never thought about meeting someone from a game, and the thought made your stomach turn. “I don’t know,” you said finally. “It’s... risky.”

“Come on,” Her voice grew softer as she pressed. "Don't you trust me?" You didn't know, even though you wanted to say yes. Although Sevika seemed trustworthy, you couldn't get rid of the voice in your head that kept reminding you of all possible dangers.

“Think about it,” she said when you didn’t respond. “I’ll be at a place called The Last Drop tomorrow night. If you want to meet, I’ll be there.”

The bar was darker and smokier than you’d imagined, the air heavy with the scent of alcohol and tension. You hesitated in the doorway, scanning the room for any sign of her.

And then you saw her. Her eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

She stood at the bar, her broad shoulders and imposing frame unmistakable. She was even taller than you’d imagined, her cybernetic arm gleaming under the dim lights. The sharp angles of her face were softened only slightly by the faint smile that tugged at her lips as she spotted you.

“You came,” she said, pushing off the bar and striding toward you.

Her voice was the same, but everything else was different. This wasn’t just Sevika, your gaming partner. This was Sevika, second-in-command to Silco.

For a moment, you were too stunned to speak. She was more than you’d imagined, both intimidating and disarmingly human.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up,” she admitted, her voice softer than you’d expected.

“Neither was I,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika smiled, a small, almost shy expression that seemed out of place on someone so commanding. But as the two of you talked, you saw glimpses of the woman you’d come to know—the sharp humor, the quiet strength, the rare moments of vulnerability.

And yet, beneath it all, there was a darkness you couldn’t ignore. Her world was dangerous, her life filled with risks you weren’t sure you were ready to take.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her eyes meeting yours. “This... my job, my life—it’s dangerous. I won’t lie about that. But I meant it when I said I wanted to meet you. I don’t... I don’t feel this way about people often.”

Her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I need to think about it,” you said finally, your voice trembling.

Sevika nodded, though the disappointment in her eyes was clear. “Take your time,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

As you left the bar that night, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Sevika was everything you’d feared and more than you’d hoped for. The question now was whether you were willing to take the risk to be with her—or if it was safer to let her go.

Masterlist

Yall I lost active sleep tryna do this one but ayeeeeeee we got it. I LEARNED HOW TO DO DIVIDERS now it’s just the inbox thang. But thanks for making it all the way down here get some sleep stay hydrated and keep loving Sevika. ⸂⸂⸜(രᴗര๑)⸝⸃⸃

#sevika x you #sevika x reader #jinx arcane #arcane season two #sevika #arcane #mommy milkers #big mama #gamer

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viiiiiiiiiin · 10 months ago

Note

Okay so can I request zero overhearing that his crushes favorite color is green (bonus it if they describe a shade that’s close to his hair )

50 Shades of Green: Zoro x Reader

Includes: Roronoa Zoro , GN Reader

A / N: I assumed you meant Zoro lol. This is such a cute idea for a scenario ! I Hope you enjoy <3. I hope this is up to your standards !! Feel free to tell me in my AMA if you want me to redo this <33

It was a bright day , a day of relaxation. Everyone on the Sunny took this opportunity to take a break and enjoy themselves. Rather it be playing tag on the deck , listening to Brook play some beautiful tunes , or even just reading / tending to the garden. Everyone was being themselves and having fun. It was quite the break from the massive battles they've had recently.

You sat next to Nami , who was tending to her tangerines. Behind you , Robin sat reading her book. You and Nami had been chatting happily for what felt like hours. Robin , though she was reading , listened and observed everything to two of you were saying. She was ever observant , even if she was on break.

"Hey , I'll be back. I'm gonna go see if Sanji would mind making me something to drink." You said , excusing yourself from the 2 women. They nodded and waved to you as your form retreated from their vision.

As you jumped down to the kitchen , you noticed the two who normally fight . . . Well , fighting. The blonde haired cook seemed to be enraged about something while the moss headed swordsman just sarcastically commented back and basically brushed off the cook's complaints.

That swordsman. The very one that lacks a sense of direction in a literal and figurative sense. You felt your heart flutter as your eyes trailed to him. You shook your head and brushed pass them to get into the kitchen.

Though you didn't know it , Zoro's eyes followed you as the door shut behind your body. You walked over to the fridge and stared at all of your selections. As you sighed and closed the fridge , the door to the kitchen reopened. You glanced over to see who was coming in and noticed the cook. Sanji had apparently stopped arguing with Zoro and came to attend to your needs.

"What would you like , Reader ?" He asked with a smile on his face. Even if it was near dinner time , it was clear he didn't mind tending to his crewmates' needs. You smiled back at him and leaned against the counter.

"Are you able to make a drink for me ? I'm not sure exactly what I want yet. Or maybe a snack , if that's not too much to ask for." You trailed off as your mind trailed back to its thoughts.

"Of course. How about a vol - au - vent ?" He asked as he he began to take out the pastry from a sealed container. "I made some earlier for Nami and Robin , but they told me they weren't hungry." He shrugged and placed it on the counter for you.

"Thank you , Sanji." You bowed your head lightly and took one of the treats from the tray. You resealed the container and walked out of the kitchen.

Somewhere in the time that you had been inside , your ship had landed on an island. You looked at the gorgeous tree filled island in awe. It was lush with fresh vegetation and had many beautiful flowers. You've seen many different islands in the New World , but this had to be one of the nicer ones.

"Alright. I want Chopper , Usopp , and . . sadly . . . Luffy . . To go into town. Robin , I'd like you to go with them. We need you 4 to pick up some herbs for me and Chopper. Sanji , I want you and Brook to go stock up on food supplies. And Franky , you go get materials to repair the ship and for whatever else." Nami directed , pointing those people in the directions they were supposed to go. As she spoke , the groups filed out so they could get their job done as quickly as possible. It was hard to tell if it was because they wanted to go back to the sea or if they didn't wanna see Nami angry. Most likely the latter , you thought.

"What about me and Zoro ?" You questioned as you took a final bite of the tasty hollow treat Sanji had made. "I want you 2 to watch the ship. I'm going onto the island to chart it." She responded , picking up some paper and pens. Before either of you could say anything , she walked off of the ship.

You stood there , staring at the place the ginger once was. You blinked and turned your attention to Zoro , who seemed to be in the same boat as you. You wouldn't admit it , but you were happy to be alone with him.

You stood there , collecting your thoughts. While you stood like a statue , the Swordsman went off to work out. You shook your head violently and whipped your head around to find him. There he was , in all his muscular glory , at the end of the ship with a comically large weight in his hands. He had his coat discarded and he was thrusting the weight forwards and back onto his shoulder in a slicing like motion.

You couldn't help but stare. Everything about how he just so calmly lifted what you assumed to be over 400ibs surprised you. Instead of staring , you decided to go into the crows nest to keep a lookout for any enemies or your crewmates.

---

A few hours had passed by without either of you speaking to one another. The ship was in a comfortable silence , engulfing the both of you as you did separate things. You were bored sitting by yourself , if you were being honest. You were often fidgety and lost in thought instead of looking out. Of course , observation haki helped out with sensing living things but you didn't use it often.

Just as you were about to take a nap , you noticed a bag bobbing around the Sunny. You narrowed your eyes to see who it was and didn't see anyone. That was until you saw Luffy and Robin. You assumed it was either Chopper or Usopp. You smiled softly and walked down from your previous place.

You watched as the lump ran up to you. "Reader ! I got you something ! I thought it was your favorite color." The little reindeer doctor said excitedly as he ran up to you. He handed you a bag that was pink. Not your favorite color , but you liked his thought.

"I appreciate your gesture , Chopper. My favorite color isn't pink , though." You responded , putting the bag on your right side. You could definitely put your weapons and stuff in it. "Oh ! What's your favorite color then ?" He tilted his head with an adorable look on his face.

"Green , actually. I'd say a minty - moss green ? It's just really nice , in my opinion." You explained with a smile on your [shape] face. You heard a noise of surprise behind you and you turned. You didn't expect to have your [color] colored eyes meet with one brown one. Your face lit up.

"Greenisaprettycolorididntmeanitlikethat !" You sputtered out , hiding your face from his confusing stare. You couldn't tell if he was mad at you , if you were being honest.

"Green is a nice color , isn't it ?" Zoro mocked , laughing heartily. You were EXTREMELY embarrassed. Though , you didn't notice the red on his cheeks as well.

Chopper and Usopp laughed at your misery. They were even on the floor , about dying at that point. "I just didn't expect you to be into that color of green." He shrugged and smiled smugly at you. He turned and walked away from the 3 of you , cheeks reddening further.

Though you didn't know it , your words stuck in his head. It repeated like a broken record. He didn't understand why , but he liked the thought of it. Maybe his feelings for you grew , but he didn't know that. Maybe he should talk to Robin or Chopper about it. For now , he would sit and think about you. Even at night.

#one piece #op #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #one piece x you #fluff #one piece strawhats #straw hat pirates #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #headcanon #scenarios #vixenwrites #pirate hunter zoro

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whorergal · 2 years ago

Text

SHE'S MINE (PART THREE)

summary: you and ethan form a plan but in order for it to work, you need to make it look believable…

warnings: scream vi spoilers, language (cussing), blood, gore. follows the plot loosely. happy ending, i promise.

pairings: ethan landry x fem!reader

authors note: here's the final part! i just wanted to say thank you for all the likes and reblogs!! it's honestly so sweet of everyone and it means a lot to me! i have a bunch of ideas for ethan so look out for more imagines and hopefully a masterlist for easier navigation (i'm still new to this lol) :-) i love u all so much

——————————————————————————————

To say that you were surprised when finding out about Ethan and his relation to Richie Kirsch would be an understatement. He had been someone that you had hated and even vented to Ethan about when you two first met. It just seemed very ironic. Although Ethan did love his brother, he knew the things he did weren't right once he realized how much shit he put you through.

The late night calls because of your nightmares, the flashbacks you would get whenever someone touched you too roughly, having to avoid the scars on your body because it brought you back to Woodsboro; it opened his eyes.

You weren't entirely shocked to find out Quinn was the other Ghostface that attacked you. She always had some unsaid vendetta against you and you realized now it was just because of your history. What did shock you was to find out Detective Bailey was the mastermind behind it all—not only that, but he was also Ethan and Quinn's father.

He showed up the moment you and Ethan met your friends outside their apartment. Mindy had stolen you from Ethan, leaving him alone with Chad, who was asking him questions to confirm his whereabouts. Luckily, you made sure to practice what to say with him on the train ride there. It seemed your excuses sufficed because Chad nodded, apologizing for thinking the worst.

While on your trip to the run-down theater, Chad had taken Mindy, thanking you for lifting her mood (you three had always been close since you were kids). You walked in the back alongside Ethan, holding his hand to calm your nerves which ended up in you receiving a look from Bailey. You don't think he knew you noticed but ever since you found out about him, you had been unintentionally tense around him.

The memorabilia that had been collected scared the hell out of you. It increased your worries despite knowing everything would end up being okay.

Tara seemed to notice how your breathing began to increase and stepped closer to you. "Hey, you okay?"

You looked at her, faking a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to get some air."

The group all watched you leave. Chad was going to follow after you but Tara stopped him when they saw that Ethan had already been on your trail. She smirked at him.

"You owe me five bucks," Tara informed him.

"Shut up," Chad replied, shaking his head.

No one found you two suspicious. If anything, your sudden relationship seemed to throw them off your tracks.

Everyone left the theater, finding you two on the steps, you tiredly laying in his arms. Tara smiled at you two, gesturing for you to follow. When you got up, Mindy reclaimed you as her own again, pulling you away from Ethan as she needed your comfort. You talked with her the whole walk to fill her mind with distractions.

They all needed somewhere to recoup and to come up with a reliable plan. You offered your apartment, knowing theirs was most likely still a crime scene. Yours hadn't been messed up in the sense that there was no broken doors and bloody messes all over the floor. Mindy actually agreed, saying she wanted to sit in Anika's room alone for a little bit.

"Don't mind the mess," you joked once entering. Your books were scattered about the place. "And the…blood," you muttered when you saw some it trailing where you had dragged yourself across the kitchen.

None of them cared much, getting right into what to do next. You ended up leaving to your room because your stitches were hurting like hell and you didn't want to cause any alarm to them about it.

You sat there, alone for a few minutes until you heard a quiet knock on the door. Honestly, you were expecting Tara, or maybe Chad because he kept eyeing you frequently, but Ethan peeked his head inside and you sighed of relief. He gave you his awkward smile and entered slowly, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" he asked, walking over to take a seat on your bed beside you.

You nodded, holding back a wince at the movement he caused which made you flex your muscles. "Yeah, yeah, I'm okay. Nothing I'm not used to."

"Your stitches," he realized aloud, leaning closer. "Shit, I forgot. Do they hurt?"

"Sort of," you responded, gripping your stomach as if it would make the pain go away.

"Is there anything I can do?" He looked at you softly, as if his eye contact could harm you.

You forced a smile. "Distract me, please."

"Well, I, uh," he stuttered. "I came up with a plan."

"A plan?" You questioned, confused.

"Yeah. I talked to my dad while at the theater and I found out the last steps he and Quinn will be taking," Ethan informed you which wasn't exactly the distraction you wanted but nevertheless, it was useful. "He doesn't know about you, or about us so I have him convinced that the reason I saved you was because I wanted to kill you myself."

You widened your eyes. "Oh."

"Obviously, I'm not going to—"

"I know, E."

He nodded before continuing. "Quinn's going to get Gale next. Then she'll be heading for us. I'm not too sure what she wants to do but I know it'll involve someone in the group in order to keep them all from going to the theater. My guess will be Mindy. When that happens, she'll go for you next so you have to stick with me."

"Go for me next?" you repeated for more clarification.

"I told my dad that I wanted you there for act three. Quinn will knock you out, take you to the theater, dress you up in a robe and frame you as a Ghostface." He paused, scanning your expressions. It wasn't a bad idea, actually, other than the fact that you'll be framed as a psychotic murderer.

"Okay, so I just have to pretend that I don't know?" you questioned, wanting to make sure.

"Yes, exactly," he answered. "They're under the impression that I'm going to kill you so they'll tell Sam and Tara you're the Ghostface to throw them off and when the reveals happen, you'll be given to me."

You nod slowly, taking a second to let all the information sink in before worrying aloud. "What if they don't? What if Quinn ends up hurting me again?"

"I won't let anything happen to you," he declared, grabbing your face in his hands. "She knows better now."

Your eyes softened as you nod again for the last time. Then you fell forward into his arms, just wanting to be held. He did as told, being careful with your injury, and just played with your hair which made you smile.

"You know, when I said distraction, that wasn't really what I meant," you mumbled into his chest.

He furrowed his brows. "What did you—" then he stopped himself when he realized. "Oh."

You laughed until it turned into a wince. He pulled you apart from him to make sure you were okay. You nodded silently, diving right back into his arms again. It gave you comfort.

You and Ethan stayed close to each other the entire time you were with the group. He didn't want you to be without him, afraid losing you for one second would mean he would lose you forever. His hand was interlocked with yours or settled on top of your thigh—whatever physical touch he could get from you. You even ended up falling asleep on his shoulder inside the van with Kirby, Chad and Mindy.

Then when you guys detected the call was coming from Gale's apartment, kudos to Quinn, that was where you all headed to next. It was where you learned that Gale had actually survived her fatal attack which you wanted to snicker at because Quinn failed again but you held it back to not look weird.

Sam had created a plan with Kirby and Bailey to head to the theater in order to lure Ghostface and lock him in. Apparently that was Bailey's idea which made sense seeing as he was one of the Ghostface's. So you all headed to the train station in order to get a lift to the rundown area.

Someone had ended up shoving you away from the group, elbowing you right in the stomach. You had to pause, grunting in pain until you looked up and couldn't find anyone. You forced yourself to suck up the pain and roughly shove everyone out of your way which helped you catch sight of Ethan's worried expression, searching the crowd presumably for you.

He found you almost immediately, adjusting his backpack and running straight to you.

"I'm sorry," he apologized when he got to you.

"It wasn't your fault," you reassured him.

You two finally reached the train right when it began to ride away from you. You groaned, knowing everyone had caught it together but then you saw Mindy ahead, doing the same thing as you.

"Mindy!" you hollered, causing her to turn and let out a sigh of relief to find out she wasn't alone.

"Thank god," she muttered. But then she saw Ethan and pulled you away from him protectively. "Get your Ghostface ass away from us, Ghostface."

Ethan gave her an offended look, watching as she created a safe distance from him. He kept looking at you two, making sure you were okay but Mindy would gesture for him to stop with arm movements. It caused him to roll his eyes.

When you entered the next train, you tried to convince Mindy to stick close to him in order to eliminate one of you from being attacked. She didn't listen but knew better than to force you to stay with her so she told you to "go to your boyfriend". You scoffed playfully at her childish behavior, finding her stubbornness amusing.

You had to squeeze through people to reach where he stood in the middle. When he saw you, his expression softened as he went forward to help you. Thankfully, there was a seat open right by where he stood so you sat there, mindlessly staring around as the train shook you.

The lights kept flickering and it gave you immense amount of anxiety. Ethan's eyes seemed to be fixed on Mindy, as if making sure she was okay as well. It must have meant Quinn was nearby seeing as she was targeting Mindy next.

Once the train finally came to a stop, Ethan turned to you and helped you up since your wounds were hurting more than usual. You instantly looked for Mindy but couldn't find her, sending you into a panic. You let go of Ethan, pushing people out of the way until you saw her lumped figure against the back of the train, a large stab wound in her gut.

Ethan and you both let out a jumble of curses while helping her up, leading her out of the train while calling for help.

You three were escorted to the nearest hospital where she went under immediate surgery and you even got yourself checked. Your stitches had reopened—which explained why they hurt so much—so they sewed them back together and even wrapped it up which made it feel a lot more secure.

The doctor released you, letting you return to where Mindy's room was. When you reached her floor, it was strangely quiet. Ethan had left you earlier, saying he needed to find Quinn, which you didn't pay much mind to as you assumed it was so he didn't look suspicious.

You scrolled through your phone, having not received any texts from Tara or the rest of the group that wasn't with you which made you nervous. They were probably busy setting up the theater but you couldn't help but assume the worst. In the midst of your distraction, you found yourself stepping into an unknown liquid which caused you to look from your phone to the floor.

It was blood.

Your mind immediately went to Mindy, but before you were able to worry about her, you were smacked across the head which sent you falling to the hard floor. Your vision started to become black when you swore you heard Ethan's voice.

"Ssh. It's okay, I got you."

- -

You awoke by the sound of excessive footsteps happening all around you. The bright lighting in the room caused your head to throb, making you squint your eyes until you felt well enough to open them all the way. You immediately recognized the room and knew you were inside the theater. You had no idea where Ethan was or what the hell was going on but you were positive that answer would come soon.

Slowly, you started to get up from your position, propping yourself up on your elbows. You looked around but your eyes couldn't help focusing on the black robe covering your entire body. Even though Ethan had informed you about this beforehand, you still felt yourself starting to panic.

What if he changed his mind? What if this was the plan all along; make you think he was on your side just to easily lure you into this trap. No, no, Ethan wouldn't do that.

"Look who's awake," the familiar voice that belonged to Detective Bailey spoke.

You searched around the room until his figure came into view, wearing an evil smirk. "What the hell is going on?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Actually you did. "You know the plan. You know why we're here; to stop Ghostface. It was pretty easy to convince Sam that Kirby was mentally unfit and had taken the mantle in her own hands for the best friend she lost…but she couldn't do it alone. That's where you come in."

"What are you talking about?" Your voice was groggy. Your mind was still fuzzy from the hit you received so his voice didn't really sound as close as it was to you. "Are you saying that Kirby's Ghostface?"

"Well, to Sam and Tara she'll be," he told you. Then he crouched to reach your level. "And you'll be to."

"What?"

"Kirby needed someone to do the dirty work for her while she couldn't." He shrugged, his voice becoming more and more angered as he continued talking. "Don't worry, you won't be the only one. My own accomplices will take the fall with you until the time is right. But we have to fuck with Sam somehow. We have to make her feel betrayal to throw us off her radar for the best reveal. Make her feel what she's made us feel for the past year."

"You're Ghostface?" you questioned. Your fogged up mind was really helping you play the part of confused.

He nodded. "And so are you."

You looked at him in disgust. "What the fuck?"

"It has to be this way, Y/N," he tutted in sarcastic sadness. It pissed you off. "You were the easiest pawn in this game. Your betrayal will weaken them the most. It's the perfect fucking idea!"

"Fuck you!" you yelled, kicking him straight in the face.

You were able to throw him back. Your uneasy state didn't help you much in your favor because as you lifted yourself up, your knees gave out. The mix of pain coming from your wounds plus your throbbing head made you nauseous that you didn't even completely register the feeling of Bailey gripping you by the hair until the cold touch of his gun was placed against your temple.

Unable to move in general, you froze.

"Unless you want your brains splattered across this wall, I'd suggest you follow my orders," he threatened. You winced at the rough shake he gave your head in order to emphasize his words. You immediately surrendered to which he noticed and nodded at. "Good."

He let go of your hair forcefully, it caused you to fall forward, catching yourself. You heard shuffling coming from behind you but when you turned to look, his back was the only thing you could make out. "What are you doing?"

"You need this to complete your costume," he responded, walking back over to you. He was enthusiastically holding a mask in the air. "This is Mickey Altieri's mask. I thought he would fit you well, you know, once I paint you to be this psycho who wanted to kill your friends for fun."

You glared at him. "They'll never believe you."

"Oh, I think they just might." He nodded, forcing the mask over your face which you tried to fight against. Then, there were gunshots heard which made you flinch and Bailey chuckle. "It's showtime."

He forced you on your feet by your robe, holding you tightly in his grip as he dragged you out of the room. You had no strength so he was basically holding your entire weight as you struggled to find balance. With your lack of stability, there wasn't much you could do and also because you felt his gun poking your back as if to keep you in your place.

"Get away from the girls!" Bailey announced his presence, pulling you along with him like a rag doll. "It's over, Kirby! I got you and your partner!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Kirby questioned in utter disbelief and you didn't blame her.

"Cut the bullshit!" Bailey hollered. "I saw this one helping you out to stage your attack!"

"What?!" Kirby's voice rose an octave.

"Who is this, Kirby? Huh?" he asked, referring to you as he shook you in his grip.

"I have no idea, okay?! It's not me!"

"Well, I'll just have to see for myself—" he was muttering to himself, using the hand that held his gun to rip the mask off your face. "Oh my god…"

"Y/N?" Sam looked at you in betrayal.

"What the fuck," Tara whispered, backing away from you.

"Stop! It's not me!" you yelled, squirming but he readjusted his grip. "It's not Kirby either! He's lying!"

"Y/N Y/L/N?" Bailey questioned. "How could you? Where the hell are the others?!"

"You're insane!" you yelled at him. You redirected your attention to them, finding it hard to breathe. "I'm not Ghostface! He is! He knocked me out and forced me into this costume! Please, you have to believe me!"

"Did you and Y/N kill Quinn?" Bailey asked in anger, his question targeted at Kirby. "Did you two kill my daughter?!" He shook you, looking at you when he finished his question.

"Jesus Christ!" Kirby let out.

"We didn't do anything!" you answered, feeling your voice beginning to give out. "You know that, you asshole!"

"Whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him! Y/N and I are innocent!" Kirby defended you both. "He's probably Ghostface."

"Why would he kill his own daughter?" Sam couldn't help but question, glancing back and forth between you and Kirby.

"Because he's a psycho!" you answered loudly.

"It doesn't make any sense—"

Kirby's voice overpowered Tara's concern as you saw her eyes go wide and gun straighten. "Behind you!"

You heard loud footsteps rushing toward you from behind but everything went silent the moment Bailey shot his gun, landing two bullets in Kirby's stomach. She fell to the ground, causing you to gasp. You let out another shriek when you felt a pair of strong arms grab you from behind, restricting you from movement as they dragged you along with them to stand beside Bailey.

It was Ethan.

"Great job," Bailey complimented. "Both of you."

"What the fuck?" Sam breathed out in confusion until she saw your frightened figure still being held. You saw guilt flash across her face for not trusting you.

"Let her go!" Tara screamed, heading for you but Sam had to hold her back.

It caused Bailey to chuckle. "Oh, you should've seen the look on your faces. To think your only friend would betray you but she's actually innocent; just ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Fuck you!" You let out.

Ethan covered your mouth with his gloved hand and you instinctively relaxed in his grip but forced yourself to fight him in order to make it look believable. You assumed he wanted to make sure your words wouldn't end up pissing Bailey off so he didn't do anything rash to you.

You were fading in and out of reality. You weren't paying attention until Bailey nudged Ethan to take off his mask.

He pulled it off with a smile on his face.

You looked up from where he had you, your mouth dropping into a fake gasp. "E-Ethan?"

"Hi, baby," he whispered in your ear. "Mindy was right. It was easy to juke the roommate lottery. I mean, all I had to do to meet you guys was to room with a conceited, condescending asshole, literally named Chad. Fuck, it felt good to kill him!" His tone made you flinch; he sounded really insane. Then he rose his mask in the air. "This was your grandmother's Sam; Nancy Loomis. Really runs in the fucking family, doesn't it? And speaking of family…my names not Ethan Landry. Isn't it, dad?"

Tara looked lost. "Dad?"

"Had to keep it secret. I mean, I had to get close to you guys somehow," Ethan stated, leaning his cheek to be against yours. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek which would've made you blush in any other circumstance. "Had to have Y/N for myself."

"You're psychotic," you told him.

Catching him off guard, you managed to shove his arms away from you. Tara and Sam were prepared to pull you away but he gathered you rather easily as you didn't make it much of a battle to. You just needed to look like you weren't comfortable with being in this position.

What startled you was the feeling of his blade being placed against your throat. "Not so fast," he whispered.

You gulped. Now you were really afraid.

"Let her go, you asshole!" Tara shouted.

Ethan pulled the knife away and rose it at her which absentmindedly made her flinch. "Oh, come on. Y/N doesn't mind this. Don't you, baby?"

"Fuck you," you breathed out.

"So vulgar that mouth of yours." His attention was purely on you as his knife was placed back against your throat.

Tara watched in disbelief, shaking her head.

"Ethan was the one who came up with this plan," Bailey said proudly, squeezing his son's shoulder. "He knew how easy it would be to make Y/N fall for him. It kept him from looking suspicious because nobody suspects the caring boyfriend."

They both began to chuckle together. You rolled your eyes at them. It caused Ethan to dig the knife deeper into your skin, on the verge of slicing you.

"Wait," Sam interrupted them. "If it's you two, then that just leaves…"

While they all gawked in betrayal at Quinn's reveal, Ethan leaned his lips close to your hair to cover his words. "You okay?"

You glanced at him and you could see the apologetic look in his eyes for the position he had you in. You nodded very slightly before trying to squirm out of his grip again.

"Hey, roomies. You didn't see that one coming, did you?"

"Yeah, because you died!"

"Kind of didn't." Quinn tilted her head. "I had to get off the suspect list. Stab Gale Weathers, stab Mindy in the train, take Y/N because Ethan couldn't do it himself!"

Ethan rolled his eyes.

"It's funny, isn't it," Quinn continued. "Poor Y/N. She was just trying to help her friends which only led her straight into the trap. Come on, how fucking stupid can you be?!"

"Let her go," Sam stated sternly. "She has nothing to do with this!"

"She has everything to do with this!" Quinn yelled back, walking over to where Ethan still held you. She traced the tip of her knife along your stomach which caused you to shiver as she pressed into your stitches. "She's a killer, just like you, Sam. That's why it'll be easy to frame you both."

"What?" Tara questioned.

"Oh." Quinn jumped from her spot. "You didn't really think we'd take the blame for it. It'll all fall onto Sam, the villain of Woodsboro. She couldn't get enough so she just had to go on another killing spree and she couldn't do it all alone! She needed someone to help her."

"Y/N's not a killer," Sam stated matter-of-factly, watching in disbelief. "Neither am I. We're not killers."

"Oh, shut up!" Quinn snapped.

Bailey walked forward, pulling out a mask from his jacket and raising it for her to see. "You're a killer just like your father."

"No, I'm not!" Sam yelled.

"Yes, you are, you motherfucker! You killed our brother!"

Tara furrowed her brows. "You said your brother died in a car accident?"

"No, no, no, you sweet dumb thing," Ethan jumped into the conversation. "He died in Woodsboro at the hands of your bitch sister with the help of Y/N, here."

Sam's face fell in realization. "You're Richie's family."

"Now she's finally getting it." Ethan smirked.

He gripped your robe, tugging you carelessly to follow him as he and Quinn ventured around the seats in order to get behind Sam and Tara, significantly trapping them. It caused the two to tense and you as well. You weren't sure what was going to happen next.

"Y/N didn't kill him," Sam declared in annoyance. "I'm the one who slit his throat; I'm the one who watched him bleed to death as he cried like a fucking baby."

"Shut your whore fucking mouth!" Quinn lashed out, walking forward to push Sam, catching her off guard.

"Hands off, Quinn!" Bailey demanded loudly which seemed to set his psychotic daughter in place. "Before we get into that, we have something else that needs to be done first." It seemed all their attention fell on you. "Ethan, why don't you go take care of Y/N. Plant her body just where we discussed."

"No!" Tara yelled, attempting to head toward you but was stopped by Quinn, who stepped in front of her with her knife.

Sam pushed Quinn, causing an uproar as they tried to fight her but Bailey put their actions to a pause by facing the gun to their faces. They both shuddered and stopped fighting, having to watch you be dragged away.

"Go, Ethan," Bailey instructed.

"No, no, no," you heard Tara cry out until he pushed you inside the room and the door was shut, silencing all sound.

"God," Ethan groaned, dropping the act, even dropping his knife in the process as he rushed towards you, grabbing your face in his hands as he checked for any injuries. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? They didn't touch you, right? I didn't mean anything I said; I promise. I hate this so much—"

"Ethan," you interrupted his rambling. "Hey, it's okay. I'm fine, I promise. I've been through worse."

Not wasting another second, he leaned down to pull you into a passionate kiss. Several emotions were coursing through you but once feeling his lips on yours, you felt yourself relax as if you two weren't on the verge of being potentially murdered by his fucked up family.

He couldn't pull away, afraid if he did, he would lose you so you had to be the one to do it—even if it hurt you to. "What's the next step?" you asked him.

"Faking your death," he told you casually. It almost made you want to laugh. "They're too indulged with Sam and Tara to pay attention to us. Besides, they can't hear much but I have to make this look quick."

You nodded, listening as he was about to get into what he wanted you to do next but the sound of footsteps caused you both to go rigid. When you looked past his shoulder, you felt relieved when you saw Kirby, miraculously still standing despite the amount of injuries she had endured, with her gun aimed at Ethan.

"Let her go," she instructed him.

"Kirby, wait," you interrupted, pushing him behind you so now her gun was facing you. "He's innocent."

"What? But I heard him. He killed Chad—"

"I didn't. I didn't hit any major arteries," Ethan defended himself.

"What are you talking about?" Kirby questioned.

"Ethan was Ghostface but he had to be in order to keep me safe so I offered to help him kill Bailey and Quinn for saving my life," you explained very vaguely, your words slurring together. "Please, you have to believe me. He would've done something to me by now if he wasn't."

Kirby took a second to process your words before she began to slowly drop her aim. "Okay. Okay, I believe you."

"Good," you thanked her, turning to Ethan. "What's next?"

"Down the hallway will lead you into the room where the back entrance is located. The plan for them is to make Sam understand what she's done before attempting to kill them both," he told you and Kirby, who had approached you two to watch your backs for any unwanted guests who would pop out. "Our backs will be facing you two and which gives you both the opportunity to get either of them because they won't see you coming."

"Okay." You nodded. "You got that, Kirby?"

"One step ahead of you," she responded.

"And this is for you." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large hunting knife. "For your protection."

You chuckled breathlessly, taking it from him as you looked up from the knife to him. "We got it from here," you assured him. "Go before they find you suspicious."

Ethan nodded, preparing to leave until he paused, leaning down to pull you back in for another kiss. You sighed into his lips, wanting nothing but to kiss him all day and not have to face the reality that lied outside the room.

"Wrap it up, lovebirds," Kirby said in impatience.

Ethan pulled away, his cheeks flushed red. "Be safe," he demanded more than said.

"You too," you told him, smiling.

He squeezed your hand, as if reassuring you, before he let you go and headed towards the door. He grabbed his knife, taking a second before finally leaving the room.

"Let's go, kid," Kirby demanded, already walking away which gave you no choice but to follow.

She took lead as she was the one with the gun, securing the place before gesturing for you to follow.

While stopped at a corner, her peeking past the wall to make sure it was clear, you couldn't help but question aloud to distract you from your thoughts. "How are you still alive?"

Kirby turned and gave you a look, as if saying 'right now really isn't the time'. You sucked in a breath and nodded, letting her go back to what she was doing.

When you both made it to the room Ethan was talking about, you found Chad propped up against a counter. He looked dazed, on the verge of passing out—or dying. You immediately ran to him, crouching to his level.

"Chad, hey? Can you hear me?" you asked stupidly, grabbing his face.

"…Y-Y/N?" His voice was quiet and weak.

"Yeah, it's me," you answered. "I need you to hold on just a little bit longer, okay? It's almost over with."

"I'm trying," he hissed through his teeth.

"Y/N, when should we make our move?" Kirby asked, making you look to see her peering through the window.

You rubbed Chad's arm reassuringly before getting up to look through the other one right beside her. You could see a video of Richie when he was younger playing on the projector, causing you to scoff.

Kirby glanced at you and back at the scene. "That's the fucker who got you guys last year, isn't it?"

You nodded, feeling angry. All the pent up emotions you forced yourself to swallow over the past year were resurfacing. "Let's get them now."

She nodded, opening the door very quietly. You put your finger to your lips, gesturing for her to stay silent as you crawled forward to the memorabilia. Kirby whispered a bundle of words but you didn't listen as you discreetly reached up at one of the cases, opening it and stealing the knife that was being displayed.

You had no idea who it belonged to previously but you needed to get it just in case Tara or Sam needed one.

When you crawled back to Kirby, she had a surprised mixed with disbelief look on her face. "What the hell?"

"I had to get one for Sam and Tara," you responded.

"Just get behind me," she instructed, which you followed because she was someone you didn't want to piss off.

Kirby took a moment of contemplation, preparing herself before she leaped out, shooting perfectly at Bailey. She had two shots in his stomach but was stopped from continuing as Quinn tackled her to the floor.

You jumped out from your spot, stabbing her straight in the back and throwing her off Kirby.

"Y/N?" Tara questioned, running toward you.

You gasped in surprise when you felt her body being thrown on you, her arms wrapping around your waist. You had pry her arms off of you. "Here, give this to Sam," you said, handing her the knife. "Kill that motherfucker."

"I thought Ethan killed you," she said sadly, tears in her eyes.

Before you could respond, you fell forward into Tara's arms as Quinn stabbed you in the middle of your back. She pulled it out and was prepared to land another one until Ethan shoved her back to the ground, keeping her in place by shoving his knife straight into her chest. At this, Tara looked extremely confused, helping you gain your balance.

You glanced behind your shoulder to see what she was looking at and groaned as you straightened your posture to help yourself stand. "He's on our side," you let out before you pushed her toward Sam. "Just go help Sam—hurry! I'll take care of Quinn."

Tara nodded, making sure you were okay before running back to where Sam was struggling to keep Bailey down.

You turned to help Kirby up from the floor. She dusted herself off and grabbed her gun. "Thanks."

Then you two hovered over Quinn, who was gasping for air as Ethan twisted the knife, causing her to gasp. He pulled it out, blood flying to coat his face as she winced loudly.

Kirby rose her gun, aiming it at her forehead but you stopped her before she could pull the trigger. "Wait."

"What?" Kirby asked, confused.

You didn't answer, leaning down instead to hover above her face as she struggled to move, let alone speak. Blood was spewing out of her mouth as she tried to say something, probably an insult of some kind.

You straddled her waist, gripping her hair as you brought her face close to yours. "Ready to die just like your brother?"

Quinn's eyes widened but she wasn't able to do much as your knife sliced her throat, causing blood to run out. You stood up, returning back to your spot between Ethan and Kirby, watching as she took her last breath. Her eyes fell motionless, staring at the ceiling.

You turned your head to look at Ethan. "You okay?"

Ethan glanced at you, nodding. "Yeah. She was always a terrible sister, anyway."

His response made you smile. Kirby watched the two of you with a smile of her own. "You two did good."

"So did you," you complimented.

She ruffled your hair, earning a smile from you.

A gunshot caused you three to jump, turning around, prepared to attack but became aware that it was from Sam. Tara had the knife in her hand, covered in Bailey's blood as Sam was the cause of the bullet between his eyes.

When you approached them, Sam flinched at the sound of footsteps and rose the gun.

"Hey, it's just us!" Kirby hollered.

Sam nodded until she furrowed her brows, turning her aim at Ethan. He widened his eyes in fear, raising his hands.

"No, wait!" you shouted, jumping in front of him like you had done with Kirby previously. "He's with us."

"What?" Sam questioned.

"It's true," Kirby confirmed, taking a spot next to you in order to shield him as well. "He was the one who told us what to do in order to save you guys."

"But your dad and sister—"

"Are insane," Ethan finished her sentence. "I wanted nothing to do with this. The only reason I helped was because they threatened to kill Y/N," he explained to them, making you reach to hold his hand to comfort him. "I'm sorry for what I've caused and not being able to stop them before we got to this point. I'm really sorry."

"Sorry won't bring back the people we lost," Sam told him.

"I know." He nodded sadly.

"Sam." Tara brought her hand up to force her sister's arm down, making her lower her aim. "He helped us and he saved Y/N. He could've just let us die."

"We don't have time for this," Kirby groaned in annoyance, sticking her gun back into her holster. "You have to get to Chad. I'll call for help."

"Chad?" Tara questioned.

Kirby nodded, leading her into the room where he was situated. She left you, Sam and Ethan alone for any further conversation that needed to be made as she went to go help Tara and call the police.

Sam sighed, dropping the gun. "I can't forgive you, Ethan but I'm sure as time goes by, I can find a way to. You mean a lot to Y/N and she means a lot to me. So, if she's able to trust you and then I am too," she told him, giving a brief smile until she turned serious. "But if you do anything to hurt her, I won't hesitate to—"

"Got it," he interrupted, nodding sternly.

"Good," Sam responded. "I'm glad you two are safe."

"I'm glad you are too," you told her sadly, walking forward to give her hug. "Don't believe anything they said, Sam. You aren't like your father."

"I know, Y/N/N," she whispered, caressing your head.

You heard soft chatter coming from outside the theater room, catching your attention. "It must be the police."

"Let's go," Sam told you both.

You nodded, letting her walk first as you grabbed Ethan's hand in yours. Before you two continued, you paused, turning to face him with a sad expression. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Ethan smiled, genuinely smiled, looking down from where you held his hand back into your eyes. "I will be because I got you and I couldn't be more thankful."

You grinned. As long as I got you.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #jack champion #scream imagine #scream vi imagine

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early2000smovieimagines · 2 months ago

Text

Meeting David Allen Griffin

(Not my gif) (Requested by anonymous)

(I'll try to get the dating portion of this finished in the near future. I felt like there was too much included in this scenario to put it all in one post anyway. Hope you enjoy!)

“Have you ever noticed that the older you get, the smaller you become?”

- You don’t know the exact moment you started to feel insignificant but it felt as though the minute you turned eighteen, it was magnified sevenfold. Once you got out of high school and you got your license and you started working, you started to realize just how anonymous the rest of the world really was.

- You could pass by hundreds of people a day, and yet, you wouldn’t be able to recall a single one of them off the top of your head. You could sit on a curb for hours and no one would even bother looking your way. If you started crying, no one would ask if you were okay. If you were visibly struggling, they’d look the other way. It all just felt so …lonely.

- Maybe that’s why you started your humble radio show. Maybe a part of you was yearning: yearning to reach out and brave that daunting gap between you and the rest of the fast paced society that was whirling around you. To speak to the people who looked a lot like yourself: like-minded individuals who just wanted to talk to someone who was willing to take the time out of their day to listen; to speak to someone who wanted to make a connection with them regardless of how fleeting that connection may prove to be.

- Anonymity provided the people who called into your show with a sense of protection. They quickly found themselves throwing their inhibitions to the wind, allowing themselves to speak freely and comfortably, to vent their frustrations. Most of them were lonely: happy to speak about anything at all. Some were opinionated and prideful: wanting to talk about their views and passionately debate any point that you brought up that they didn’t agree with. Others were desperate: seeking guidance from another faceless person who tried their best not to judge. You’re not entirely sure where David fell on that list, though perhaps it was somewhere in the middle.

- You worked your radio show late at night which meant that most people weren’t around to listen to it: if you were lucky, you’d get ten or so callers a night, and if you were really lucky, none of them would be perverts. Most of the time, you’d just play music for your listeners or ramble on about relevant facts or whatever else came to mind that could help you pass the time.

- David's calls were a welcome reprieve, a break from all of the prank callers and heavy breathers. You always knew what you were getting into whenever you heard his voice, knew it would never let you down. After a while, you’d begun looking forward to talking to him.

- He didn’t call regularly and the lengths of his conversations always varied; ranging from guest speaking for a couple of minutes to practically becoming a co-host, but you were always more than happy to talk to him. That was, until his calls started taking a darker turn....

“Have you ever thought about hurting someone.”

- The question had thrown you off, your eyes glancing towards the line that connected the two of you. “I think most people have,” You’d answered after a moment or two. “When someone wrongs us I think it’s sort of natural to get upset and want to get even.”

“No, no. Not when you’re wronged. I mean a total stranger. Someone you don’t even know.” Came his reply.

“I can’t say I have David. …Have you?” He didn’t speak for a moment, the silence feeling much more heavy than the ones you were used to. Finally, he let out an exhale and answered.

“All the time.” The way he said it made you shiver: the way his voice seemed to change, shift into something a little darker, something with more depth than you were capable of understanding.

“Why do you think that is?” You questioned earnestly, intrigued yet wary. David had never behaved like this before, and this slight crack in his facade had managed to fill you with morbid curiosity.

“I don’t know. It’s just always been there. Something in me just wants to do it,” He’d answered, pausing for a long moment before continuing. “What do you think about that?”

- The call ended soon after, and the next call you'd had with him made it seem as though things were back to normal, but after that, there was a noticeable shift in the way that David talked to you. He still spoke about music or the same types of things he’d always brought up, but amongst all of that were conversations about far more morbid topics.

- You wrote it off as an interest in psychology or forensics, sometimes an odd way of wording things while trying to have a deep conversation, but after a while, you couldn’t deny that there was something truly off about your anonymous friend.

- In a matter of months, he’d shifted from talking about bands to telling you about his violent thoughts: about how he’d stalked a woman, about her routine, about how he’d killed her, and about how it felt. You’d let him speak about it for a while, mainly out of morbid curiosity: unsure of whether he was reciting fact or fiction. You’d answered truthfully when he asked questions, you'd pried for more information, tried to pick apart whether he was being truthful or not.

- You went to the police once you were certain, telling them everything you knew, trying your best to recall all of the details he’d told you about himself; things you’d forgotten about as time went on. They’d chosen to tap your radio station, encouraging you to talk to him and try to get as much information out of him as you possibly could without being suspicious: a taxing request which involved listening to some gruesome details that you’d rather not have heard.

“You went to the police, they’re listening in now.” He stated with complete certainty one day. It wasn’t a question and you were sure there was no way of denying it.

“They have my lines tapped. They tried tracing your calls but they can’t link you to any one place,” You’d answered truthfully before hesitantly asking your next question. “Does that make you upset?”

- He took a long pause before he replied. “You’ll have to do more than that to upset me, y/n. You said it yourself: all they’re doing now is listening in like the rest of your audience. They might as well be sat in their cars.”

“I guess you're right. …Is there anything you want to say to them?”

“I don’t want to talk to them. I want to talk to you. I tried with them, but it didn't work: they didn’t get me like you do. You’re the one who understands me, who sees me. We used to have such great conversations. ...You talk differently now. I liked us better before they got to you.” Us. You weren’t sure how to feel about that one.

- Some days he’d make conversation like normal, tease the police with useless small talk, call just to check in and see how you were doing. Other days he’d spill clues: have the police rush to investigate, have them form a massive swat team just to find another cadaver and get no closer to finding him than they had before. Whenever they tried to talk to him themselves; trying to reason with him or angrily cursing at him in frustration, they’d be met with an empty line or a passive aggressive reminder that he called to talk to you, not them.

“Did you sleep well?” He’d asked one day, curious yet casual.

“I slept fine. Why?”

“No reason. …You just look a little tired lately.”

- The comment made your heart sink, body stiffening in your seat as your eyes shot over to the police man who was stationed in the room with you, finding his eyes already on you. You struggled to respond, your tongue feeling heavy and dry in your mouth as you tried to form words with it. "You've seen me.”

"I see you a lot." He answered, as if it was the easiest thing in the word to admit.

"When?"

"Whenever I can."

"Why?" You couldn't come up with anything else, floundering at this new piece of information.

"Because you're nice to look at." You faltered, unsure of what to say. He hung up after a moment of silence.

- Then came the call that changed everything....

"Hi, it's me." You nearly dropped the phone. Your home phone.

"How do you know my number?"

"I know a lot of things about you.” He answered casually, almost teasing, you could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah? So what's my roommate's name?" You wanted to call his bluff, wanted to deter him a little with the promise of someone else living in the same house as you— being there to protect you from him if it really came down to it.

“Oh come on, y/n. Really?” You didn’t like the amusement in his tone.

“What is it?” You insisted.

- He paused before speaking, a heavy beat of silence that felt far longer than it actually was. "You don't have one.”

"Why are you calling?" You attempted to steel yourself, trying to keep a level tone and calm your shaking hands.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"We spoke last night." You reminded as if he could have actually forgotten.

"I wanted to speak to you in private." He clarified and it made your chest tighten.

"Why?" You asked, though he ultimately ignored the question.

“You never told me you had a boyfriend. In all our times of talking, you never brought it up.” His voice was more serious now, taking on a sort of grave tone which was rare for him. No longer his chipper, sometimes taunting self.

“I didn’t?” You replied, trying your best to remain calm. Your question wasn’t too far off from what you were thinking: out of all the times you’d spoken; especially before he let his real self shine through, you would have imagined bringing up your significant other at least once.

“No,” He insisted, pausing before continuing. “I don’t really know what you see in him.”

- You’re not sure how to reply, and so you don't, waiting for him to continue, knowing he will. “What does he think of all this?”

“I think you already know.”

“You’re right. He doesn’t like it, though that's when he’s actually around to talk to you. He doesn’t make a lot of time for you, does he? I wonder why he even cares if you continue helping the police, continue talking to me, it’s not like he’s doing much to protect you anyway.”

“He’s a busy guy.” The words feel alien, strange on your tongue. The concept of verbally defending your boyfriend to a serial killer is almost comedic.

“So am I. I still make time for you.”

“Why do you?”

“I’ve told you before.”

“Tell me again.”

“Because we understand each other. Because you were the only person I had, and even while being in a relationship, I was the only person you had too.… Your boyfriend might as well have been a ghost: never there but never fully leaving. He's just a namesake, you’re better off without him. At least then you'll be fully free.”

- You didn't speak for a long moment, taking in his words. “Thank you.” You hesitantly responded.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for being there.” You don’t know why you said it.

“Break up with your boyfriend.” His voice was quiet but there was something deeply commanding in it, something your words seemed to have awakened. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“Break up with him.” He repeated after a moment of silence.

“I can't do that.”

"Yes you can, you can and you will. Break up with him or I'll get rid of him myself."

“I thought you didn't kill men.”

“I don't, but I'll do it for us. I'll do it just to make sure he's out of your life.”

“Why?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“I want you to say it.”

“Not yet,” He replied, pausing momentarily, hanging onto the silence that formed in both your voices absences, savoring the connection between the two of you. “Goodnight y/n.”

- You don’t tell the police he called. You don’t know why.

- It eats you up inside, and yet, you still can’t bring yourself to do it. You keep it to yourself and let it consume your thoughts, uncertainty riddling your mind. When he asks if you told anyone, you answer truthfully. When he asks if you will, you tell him you won’t. You don’t know why you do.

- He calls you at home in the early mornings. He tells you things he doesn’t say in front of the police: not things that would help them but nothing entirely innocent either. Most of the time he talks about you: about the way you look, about your day, about your connection and the things he likes about you. When he calls into the radio show, he acts as if the calls never take place, as if all the communication you have is inside that room and that you won’t be talking mere hours later while the officers are at the precinct without a clue.

- It becomes obvious that his fascination with you isn't entirely platonic, that he believes there's a deeper connection between the two of you that's brewing beneath the surface. He never outright tells you how he feels, never tells you that he loves you, but he gives you hints. When you break up with your boyfriend, tears falling from your eyes just as the phone begins to ring, he praises you and tells you that it’ll only bring you closer. He can't imagine the inner turmoil that those words bring to you.

"I want to meet you." You tell him one night. Decided.

“We already have.” He replies, referencing the times he's recalled seeing you in person, interacting with you without you even knowing.

“Not like that. I wanna see you. I wanna talk to you.” You insist.

“We’re talking now.”

“I wanna touch you.” The words come out of your mouth as if your voice doesn’t belong to you. It’s late at night, you're lonely, you don’t know why you say it.

- He’s silent for a long moment, and for some reason, you worry that you’ve scared him off, as if that's not something you should pray for and rejoice about.

“How?” He finally speaks and you know right then and there that those words were your golden ticket. His voice is deep with something and it sends a chill down your spine.

“I don’t know," You answer truthfully, faltering. "I just want to feel you, to make sure you’re real, to feel something solid, something that doesn’t disappear.”

“I want you to see me. I think about it all the time.” He comments, taking in your own vulnerable admission and giving one of his own. He trails off for a few moments before he finally speaks again, giving you an address and a time before he hangs up without another word.

- In a moment of clarity, you finally tell the police, feeling as though you’re going insane. You lie about everything else but you give them that, scared of being arrested for keeping away what they might consider crucial information.

- The police swarm the area but they never find him and you return home later that day, shivering with nerves and feeling as though you’re walking the plank; even as the officers with you insist that you’ll be fine and that they’ll be right outside your apartment in case anything were to happen to you.

- You almost expect it when you turn around at the sound of your bedroom door shutting, when you find him standing there, basked in the light of your apartment, far more handsome than you ever could have imagined. He stills under your gaze, shoulders squaring, standing tall as you take him in; seeming almost proud of himself. He doesn’t look particularly angry but his eyes bore into your own— as if he can read every thought you’ve ever had. It’s the most seen you’ve felt in a long time, as if you’re completely naked and vulnerable.

- When he walks closer, you’re certain he’s going to hurt you: that he’s going to kill you and instantly end whatever the two of you had after a taste of your betrayal. Instead, he grabs your face, shushing you as you try to explain why you did what you did, gazing into your eyes for a long moment, watching them shine with tears. All before he leans down and kisses you.

- You don’t know why you kiss back….

#david allen griffin imagine #david allen griffin imagines #david allen griffin headcanons #david allen griffin headcanon #the watcher 2000 #the watcher 2000 imagine #the watcher 2000 imagines #the watcher 2000 headcanons #the watcher 2000 headcanon #early 2000s movie headcanon #early 2000s movie headcanons #early 2000s movie imagines #early 2000s movie imagine

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 1 month ago

Note

If it's okay, can I request for a one-shot of the TFA X ROTTMNT crossover AU about Splinter and Megatron reuniting please?

Like at one point in the AU an ennemie common to both Autobots and Decepticons is making attacks to invade both factions and this result to the classic "Autobots/Decepticons alliance scenario" with the ROTTMNT gang(the turtles, Splinter, April and Draxum) being the neutral faction acting as mediators between the two factions.

This lead to Splinter and Megatron officially reuniting, everyone to find out that Splinter had made Megatron his sons's godfather, the Cybertronians, Megatron incluses, to finally learn what a godfather is(maybe they have a Cybertronian equivalent but is called differently) and everyone reacting to the revelation!

Getting autobots and decepticons work side by side was like pulling teeth. Even with the quintessons breathing down their collective necks, threatening to destroy them all, they couldn't let go of old grudges. Splinter supposed that was the downside of living as long as they did, it just made the past so hard to let go off. Why forgive and forget when you can spend millennia hating someone and still have majority of your life left?

He wasn't even trying to make them like each other. Splinter wasn't going to waste his time mending the damage caused by a million year old civil war, they did not have that much time, but was it really too much to ask for for these bots to at least pretend to act civil with each other? Five minutes without anyone bickering, that was all he asked for! But noooooo! The moment he looked away, the very second he relaxed and thought that maybe they could get somewhere and achieve something, they would start arguing about the smallest things!

"Don't touch me."

"Stay on your side of the room."

"Get your own fuel."

"Stop looking at me!"

"You're venting to loud!"

It made him want to throw himself into a smelter furnace, feet first. Seriously, it was like looking after a bunch of children! And Splinter would know, he had raised four of them all on his own! At least his kids had been easy enough to distract with movies and games. There was no distracting these gigantic toddlers from throwing their temper tantrums.

These babies also just happened to be giant alien robots with inbuilt weaponry.

Splinter supposed he was lucky, in a sense. Last time he had found himself in a cybertronian body, he had been all on his own. He had been forced to figure out most of that stuff on his own. Some stuff had been easy, like walking. Transforming for the first time had been weird. He had gotten stuck halfway and it had taken him two hours to get himself unstuck. At least this time, he had his family with him.

Yeah, sure, it certainly made him more anxious, as he now had to worry about their safety, but it brought him comfort to have them around, to hear them chatter and joke around like usual. It brought with it a sense of normalcy. It also helped that they also worked hard to keep the autobots and decepticons from killing one another. Hell, even Draxum was a massive help. The yokai-turned-cybertronian had this way of demanding respect from decepticons that they appeared familiar and receptive to.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Splinter envied them somewhat in that regard. His cybertronian form had changed, now matching his mutated body, and his short and stocky frame made it too easy for both sides to disregard him.

Splinter didn't exactly strike the intimidating figure he once had, with no one on Cybertron being able to recognize him and ouch, didn't that sting, knowing that he had lost even that, that in whatever body he found himself in, he was unrecognizable.

Whenever he introduced himself as Splinter, bots would roll their optics and scoff, finding it humorous that he had the same designation as the old legend. THAT Splinter had been tall, lean and exuded an aura of confidence. This version? He was a joke in comparison.

"So pathetic it was almost funny." That's what one bot had said, when they had thought he wouldn't hear them. Unable to disagree with them, Splinter hadn't said anything.

He had also yet to tell anyone in the family about his past experience on Cybertron. Partly because of embarrassment. Ok, mostly because of embarrassment. Embarrassment and shame. But he knew that they had all started to suspect something. Splinter hadn't been very careful, sometimes saying things that betrayed that he knew more about cybertronian culture than he should. A mistake on his part.

In fact, Splinter was pretty confident that Purple had already figured most of it out though. The boy had been so excited upon their shared transformations and done a deep dive into everything about Cybertron and its history. No doubt that he had found some mentions about this mysterious 'Splinter' that suddenly appeared and then went missing years ago. Probably noticed the similarities in appearance to how he had looked as Lou Jitsu. Really, Splinter shouldn't have used the same name. Another mistake on his part. Purple had been giving him these looks, observing his reactions to various places and bots and it all spoke to the fact that he was at least very suspicious that this 'Splinter' and his old man was the same person.

Still, he had yet to confront him about it so Splinter was not going to say anything unless prompted. Avoiding the problem until it was no longer possible, that was his style. Most likely, Purple would not say anything until he knew everything, the how and the why's and then he would reveal it all to his brothers with that overdramatic flair of his. Oh, Splinter just knew Purple was going to be so smug about it once he confirmed his suspicions. That boy loved being right. It was a trait he had surely inherited from his dear old father.

Splinter drummed his fingers against the flat surface of the table, anxious and impatient. He had been asked to serve as a mediator when the leaders of the two factions spoke and negotiated the continued ceasefire. Apparently, the threat of mutual annihilation was not enough to put their egos aside and they both needed some persuasion. Someone from the outside that could look them in the eyes and tell them they were acting like idiots. So of course Splinter had been chosen for this.

Frankly, he was nervous. He had heard lots about this "Megatron" and "Ultra Magnus". The way people spoke about it, it didn't really make him feel confident. From what he had gathered, they were both brilliant leaders. Intelligent. Charismatic. Stubborn. And apparently, they hated each other. The chance of them willingly agreeing to cooperating, even under the threat of the quintessons, were slim.

But Splinter had refused to let one of his sons handle this, nor April or even Draxum. In case anything happened, in case a fight broke out, he didn't want his family to get caught in the crossfire (and ugh, it hurt to think of Draxum as family).

So far, only Ultra Magnus had yet to show up. He had appeared precisely on time, not a minute earlier or later, had taken one look around the room for Megatron, grunted, and then taken a seat on the far end of the table. He had barely even acknowledged Splinter, choosing instead to go over the datapads he had brought with him. Which, alright, fine, Splinter could deal with that. Totally. No problem.

It was a problem. It took 10 minutes for Megatron to show up to the meeting. 10 long, awkward minutes of silence. Somehow, Ultra Magnus managed to feel oppressive and judgmental when he wasn't saying anything. It made Splinter shift in his seat, tap his fingers against the table with increasing fervor. After three minutes, he broke and tried to start a conversation with the Magnus. You know, to break the tension. He had started talking... only to be met with silence. Magnus hadn't even looked up from his datapads. The only reaction had been a slight twitch of his left optic. And now that he had started talking, Splinter just hadn't been able to stop. It was as if a flood had been unleashed.

So how about the weather? Did your fuel taste weird this morning or was it just mine? Must be hard running both an army and a planet. Are you a morning person or a night owl? I am more of a night person myself. Huh, they really should change that light. Is it hot in here or is it just me.

It was frankly a relief when Megatron arrived. Ten minutes late, sure, but at this point, Splinter wasn't going to complain. He was pretty sure that if he continued to talk for even a second more that he would accidentally spill the beans on everything. That's why, when the door hissed open, he looked up at the towering figure with a thankful gaze.

And, huh. Huh. Megatron certainly was all that the rumors had made him out to be. Tall, broad shoulders, intimidating. He carried himself like he owned the place. But there was something more. Something that made Splinter pause and zero in on the mech. There was something... familiar about him.

He didn't have the chance to think about it any further than that. The moment Megatron stepped into the room, Magnus' optics snapped up and bore into him with an intense glare. "You're late" the autobot leader noted with no small amount of disdain. Already off to a good start then, Splinter thought.

Megatron, unmoved by the Magnus' tone, merely shrugged as he took his own seat on the opposite end of the table. "Some of us have things to do, Ultra. Armies to command, societies to run. Things like that."

If Splinter had thought Megatron looked familiar, the voice had ten times the effect. In the back of his mind, a thought was forming. An idea. Things were connecting but he couldn't yet see the full picture.

Ultra Magnus scoffed. "Oh yes, your "army". Tell me, how many days since the last attempted coup? Let me guess, your second in command, again? He got the best of you once, I'm sure he's eager to repeat the experience."

"Starscream" Megatron said with a sneer, "is none of your concern. Besides, I wouldn't be so quick to judge. After all, didn't the head of your Intelligence Division turn out to be one of my agents?" His sneer turned into a wicked smirk. "How shameful, Ultra, to promote a spy to such a high rank. Is age finally catching up to you? Going senile, perhaps?"

Splinter could hear the way the datapad cracked in Magnus' servos. "If I remember correctly" he started, voice cold, "you are not that much younger than I am. Are you perhaps speaking from experience? Projecting, maybe?"

"Hah!" Megatron banged his fists on the table and barked out a mocking laugh. He leaned forward in his seat. "You amuse me, Ultra! Is this how you entertain your high command? No wonder they are so eager to work for you, with you in charge, every day is a circus!"

"Oh I'll show you something funny alright-"

Before the two leaders could lunge across the table to throttle one another, Splinter stood up in his chair. "Ok, that's enough!" He waved his hands around like he was fighting an invisible enemy. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, eh, pede, here. Why don't we start over? Like civilized people." When it didn't look like either Megatron or Ultra Magnus was going to reach for a weapon, Splinter sighed and sat down once more. "Ok. Ok, ok, ok." He massaged the space between his optics. "We are here for a reason. The quintessons. They want all of us gone. Autobots, decepticons, don't matter. That is bad. We don't want that. So, we collaborate."

Megatron crossed his arms in front of his chest and scoffed. "And why should we trust the autobots?" He glanced briefly at Magnus before looking back at Splinter, optics squinted. "The moment the quintessons are defeated, they will turn on us."

"I could say the same thing" Magnus interjected. "The decepticons have never been the picture of loyalty. Always so eager to turn on each other. How can we be so sure that you just won't turn your weapons on the autobots the moment you get the chance?"

Splinter saw the way Megatron's expression darkened and so he interjected before the warlord had a chance. "Because neither of you can do it on your own." The two leaders looked at him and Splinter knew he had their full attention. Ok, time to use that old charm of his. And maybe reuse a couple of old movie lines. "The quintessons have us outnumbered. They are not afraid to throw soldiers at us until they've broken us down. That's why, our retaliation has to be swift, decisive. And that that only be achieved by working together. Divided, you may be strong but together, you are unbeatable."

For the first time since Magnus entered the room, he looked at Splinter as if he was actually seeing him. Meanwhile, Megatron was giving him a weird look but eh, it didn't look as if Splinter's pep talk had driven him to consider murder so that was a plus his his book.

Ultra Magnus nodded. "Your words are logical and, I must admit, convincing. As much as I may dislike it, collaboration is needed to ensure victory."

"Nice!" Splinter pumped his fist. "Together, we will beat the quintessons and emerge victorious! The Hamatos will fight again!"

Megatron blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then he stood up with such force that his chair clattered to the floor. Ultra Magnus, triggered by the sudden reaction, similarly stood up, preparing himself for combat. But Megatron didn't attack. Instead he planted one hand on the table and pointed the other right at Splinter, optics wide with disbelief and mouth hanging open. It was an expression Splinter immediatel recognized. "SPLINTER!?"

Splinter pointed a finger right back at Megatron. "D-16!?"

Megatron's face split into a wide smile and he immediately swooped Splinter up in his arms. "Old friend! I never thought I would see you again! I searched for so long but never found a single sign of you so I thought- What happened? Where did you go? Why do you look like this?" He placed his old friend on the table so they could be of more of a similar height.

"I promise to explain everything, Dee," said Splinter, and he truly meant it. D-16 had been his best friend when he had arrived on Cybertron all those years ago and he had never quite forgiven himself for leaving without a word, even if he had no choice in the matter. "And I have so much to tell you! And people I want you to meet! My boys-"

Dee, well, Megatron, tilted his head to the side. "Your boys?"

Splinter puffed up his chest with pride. "Yes! You see, I have taken on the great challenge of fathering, eh, mentoring, four bots!" Megatron's face went a bit slack.

"You? A mentor? I mean, I know you trained Yoketron but that was-"

Waving away his concern and disbelief, Splinter continued. "Eh, that was long ago! This is different! These aren't just my students, they are my family, and you know how much family means to me, Dee." A light suddenly popped in his head. "That's right! My sons will finally get to meet their godfather!"

Megatron's optics sparkled. "Godfather? I know that term. Heard it on Earth." He smiled warmly. "I am honored, my friend, that you would give me that honor. I look forward to meeting your sons."

Splinter smiled. He had never thought he would get to meet Dee again, especially after learning that millions of years had passed since he had left Cybertron and that an entire civil war had happened. The chance of his kind, sweet friend had made it through... He hadn't dared hope. But apparently Dee had done quite well for himself! Leader of an entire army, now that was something. Splinter was quite sure that Dee had his own stories to tell.

The sound of something heavy being dropped on the ground made Splinter turn around, just to see Ultra Magnus standing there, on the other side of the table, his hammer on the floor and looking just like Orange when it was pizza night.

"You- How- Splinter- I don't-" the Magnus stuttered. His optics grew just a fraction wider. "YOU'RE SPLINTER!"

Huh, ok, so maybe Splinter had to explain things to more than just one bot.

#transformers imagine #transformers animated #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #splinter #ultra magnus #megatron #crossover #AU #tfa/rottmnt crossover au

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ctheathy · 1 year ago

Text

Nine w/ Unintelligent yet emotionally clever!Darling

Nine x Reader

General+Fluff Headcanons

Short Concept

Author’s note: hello, my sweeties~! Right off the bat, I want to insanely apologise for taking so long with any of the requests that just so happen to still be in my inventory, motivation has been appearing and dying out a lot lately and it affects the quality of my writing a lot unfortunately. I promise I shall finish them up eventually though<3<3

Literally thought of this dynamic one night and it cracked me up so much, I just had to make a post about it lmfao.

Nine/Reader [Romantic Tendencies]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Nine being a meanie •

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

You two would likely have quite the bumpy relationship right off the start of your meeting. We all know Nine is rather quick to rage himself and has his little frustration streak to deal with, which shall unfortunately be dumped on you for the time being when you two are in one another’s presence. The fact that you fail to understand basic logic drives him absolutely mad. Don’t get him wrong, he knows he’s on a higher level of intelligence when it comes to the average mobian, but even common sense didn’t seem to get to you. He’d stick around you on purpose just in favour of sassing you and making sure you don’t walk right into danger.

At first he’d always make it very clear to you that he strongly dislikes your lack of intelligence, much as a muffled groan could be heard fromout his side whenever you managed to let out yet another “...huh?” as a sentence on the complexer side found itself into the conversation; which to him, had been basic common sense. He believes you’re absolutely going to be the death of him. Sarcastic remarks are a must and he’s continuously throwing bold comments left and right. ‘Let natural selection take its course’ as he would always say on an average afternoon. Though something you are aware of however, is that he wouldn’t dare to even think of letting you get hurt in the slightest.

As much due to you still being a sweet and caring soul, he’s automatically still going to grow a soft spot for you through one way or another. It’s going to happen over time, but he just needs to grow accustomed to the fact you don’t understand things as easily. He would still let out a small sigh whenever something very logical isn’t understood by you, but this time he’d instead go out of his way to calmly explain the said misunderstanding for your sake. You have to start somewhere, right? And he wouldn’t want anybody but himself to take that position in your life either, not taking no as an answer for certain.

Though the sassy remarks and commentary shall genuinely die down after the realisation sets in that you’re actually trying when gathering the said information. It may be having trouble with memory cases, lacking knowledge on vocabulary, or something else entirely; but he tries his hardest to see things from your perspective, as he suddenly despises himself for the fact that he’s ridiculed you for it during past events. But as you still lack the average knowledge, it’s very much possible he would get ever more overprotective than he would before. Mainly due to him not trusting you to be able to protect yourself under these circumstances.

I would believe your emotional intelligence would come in the picture as soon as he tells you about his past trauma and current distrust with other beings. In all honesty, he just wanted to vent out his emotions a little. But it didn’t take long for him to realise that instead of giving him a confused stare, you went out of your way to comfort him to immense levels, even noticeably making rude remarks towards those who harassed him in the past. You’d explain your personal thinking on the situation and how he absolutely never deserved any of the torment he faced. Now it had been him who was currently giving you a visibly distraught expression, mainly as it actually caught him off guard by how well thought through your wording seemed to be on the spot. Were you even the same person? And this is what would only be the mere start of him completely opening up to you.

I believe this would be the one change that makes all the difference. You have the capability of understanding him and the things he went through. Instead of misinterpreting it, you almost seem to read him like an open book. Making it close to impossible for him to hide his current emotions to you. This new side of you makes him feel guilty in a way, as you’ve been mistaken as unintelligent and foolish by those around you for God knows how long. You weren’t dumb, you just held higher knowledge over the topics that were never spoken about. And to him, that just makes you extra special and mature in your own way

And those who continue to harass you for your quote on quote ‘dense’ demeanour? Well, let’s just say they’ll be the first to find out the actual damage a nine-tailed fox can provoke torwards those who encourage the more ... Hostile thinking in the back of his head. If anything, I can even see him getting defensive when the smallest and most innocent intended comments get thrown your way. I can literally smell Sonic’s harmless remark from a mile away and Nine’s already ready to kill the boy. He would truly put everything aside to ensure that you’re both safe and satisfied, even if this includes having to throw hands for the sake of your defense.

・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・

#sonic prime #miles nine prower #tails nine #nine x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic prime x reader #sonic prime nine #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #nine the fox #nine tails

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scaryscarecrows · 2 months ago

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Hallucinations

Jason never likes dealing with Crane, but he really didn’t appreciate the bastard slipping a needle into the soft spot in his armor. Either he got lucky or he knows way, way too much (probably the latter, because Scarecrow’s an observant bastard who’s been in the Bat-bullying business for too long), but it doesn’t matter which it was.

That wasn’t his worst trip. No self-harm. Seemingly no harm to others, not that it would have been a loss. Just. Just a final burning out of weakness. It was almost worth it.

Almost.

What he could have done without was waking up in a chair with hands on his wrists that, for a terrible moment, felt kind. But then he’d opened his eyes and Scarecrow had been looking back at him with those cold, calculating eyes and for a second he’d been Robin again, facing down a monster.

But only for a second. He’d come to his senses fast enough and sent Robin packing, shoved Crane off him and managed to stand up. He hadn’t fled, after. It had been an abrupt leaving, yes, because the conversation had been over, but he wasn’t fleeing.

Even if it looked like it. Appearances can be deceiving.

He’d been glad, though, to get back to base where it was safe and warm. Somewhere where he had control of the situation. He’s not entirely sure how he made it back, but it doesn’t matter now. If he’s quietly grateful to be surrounded by normal-enough people who probably aren’t going to drug him, well, that’s his business, isn’t it.

“--some of the guys broke into a vending machine and confirmed the soda in there is still fine,” Drouot’s saying tiredly. “I don’t know why they did that, but it wasn’t worth stopping them.”

“The soda,” Jason confirms. “The earthquake soda that’s been down here for a couple of years.”

“Yep.”

God. He goes to the trouble of assembling one of the finest armies in military history, and the idiots drink years-old soda that got buried in an earthquake.

Sometimes he wonders why he bothers.

He looks towards the ceiling, sighs, and looks back.

And nearly throws up.

Drouot, who was fine two seconds ago, is a lot less fine now. Half the skin on his face has been peeled off, revealing splintered bone underneath, and his body’s riddled with bullet holes. One arm is hanging on by mere sinews and the other’s outright gone.

“Deathstroke got a little too happy with a hand grenade,” he continues, the broken teeth clacking together. “So that was…not good.”

Jason can’t answer. Drouot shrugs, coughs, and spits out a gob of bloody maggots. Behind him, a swarm of roaches scurry up the wall and into the vent.

“Joker’s been sighted two blocks south, but Riley went after him, so I don’t think he’ll be a problem for long.”

No. No, no, no, Joker’s a Do Not Engage–

Joker’s been dead for a year.

–it’s not safe to handle him, none of them know what he’s capable of–

“And Frank’s just about got the drill done, he said to come down there when you got back–boss?”

Jason blinks. Pulls in a ragged gasp. And wishes he could rub his temples.

Drouot’s fine. No bullet wounds, no visible skull. No roaches behind him, either.

Joker’s dead, isn’t he?

“Where’s Dylan.”

“Running a training session over at the construction site.” Drouot sounds mildly concerned. “They left when you did.”

…

He remembers now. They’d split for one of the construction projects and he’d headed to Chinatown. Joker is still dead. No roaches. Drouot probably can’t shrug off a hand grenade, and certainly not with that kind of damage.

Motherfucking Crane.

“That’s right.” Thank God for the modulator. It hides the shake in his voice. “It’s been a long night.”

“Mm.” Drouot takes a drink from his water bottle. “You up to looking at the drill?”

On one hand, no. He wants to go to bed. On the other hand, he both needs to look at it and doubts he’ll sleep anyway.

“Yeah.”

It’s Scarecrow’s fault. He knows it is. But he has to check.

“Deathstroke didn’t drop by, did he?”

“No, should he have?”

Oh thank God.

“No. Just making sure.” He rolls his shoulders and inwardly winces at the crackle. “I don’t completely trust him.”

“Then why is he here?” Drouot complains. “He’s a dick!”

That he is, but Jason’s pretty sure Scarecrow’s a bigger one. Pretty sure.

“Contingency, Drouot. He’s a damn good contingency.”

“F’you say so, boss. But he’s still a dick.” Drouot frowns and squashes a scurrying cockroach under his boot. “I think we oughta spray again. These fuckers are everywhere.”

“Tomorrow.” Jason looks at the horde climbing the wall again and wonders if they’re real or not. “Tomorrow we’ll get on that.”

THE END

#fic #ailess whumptober #jason todd #antoine drouot #jason is still a little whee-oooo from his Fear Toxin Experience in the prequel comics #he needs a hug and a nap but he's getting neither right now

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zeondraws · 2 months ago

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It is 4AM in the morning, I should hit the bed asap. But I needed some time on my own tonight, because I've been supressing feelings way too much the past months. (Thought post about random thoughts, no clue if they make sense it's 5AM when I post this)

I found it really hard to talk to friends about my emotions as of recent. One reason might be, that I still suffer some pain I endured from the old work enviroment.

Somehow I often just want to be left alone, I feel very drained most of the time. But that often leads to a loop effect and I isolate myself further.

Like, at the old workplace I was expected to do something constantly, if I wasn't working on anything for over 3min I'd get scolded or yelled at. Or my coworker would become an adult baby and behave strangely. The other coworkers never saw anything wrong with him, so I was extremely afraid that everyone else had something against me. My old boss would side with him from time to time. The constant demand to stay productive was so draining.

In the end I got replaced, I mean I thankfully found a new job by then. But a new person came in, another inexperienced young person who seemed nice and all. Not sure how she is doing in that place, either she fits right in, or my coworker is making her endure the same pain, or he just overworks himself as he usually does. A person who had my job before I came, became extremely demotivated there and simply left to another workplace.

I try to explain this a bit to highlight some difficulties I am experiencing atm... I don't talk to family about my feelings that much. I tried but, they get easily offended if I vent too much. I have no called my dad back in a while, I already know when I call him back he will only be offended. Or maybe I am spiraling rn. My head makes things appear worse than they actually are.

You guys see how much stuff I have been doing on tumblr the past months or so. I don't remember how long it's been, but... I am still in this mindset of constantly working and staying productive. I rest when I can but I always get the feeling "I have to stay productive" and work on stuff, even when I am sick. In a way it helps to not fall into thoughht spirals, tho then I don't give myself enough space to rest.

I don't know what my end goal with this endless productivity is supposed to be, I want to be helpful in some way and feel like I belong somewhere. But even right now I feel like something is missing... I can't grasp this thought, I don't know what my end goal is. Been messing with fmodel so much to get the game work on this for datamining, I posted a thread on the fmodel server and they said the game is fully working with it. Which suprised me, that I was able to achieve that. Was I the first one to do so? I always thought there is someone better than me already. I often just think I will be some replaceable object, where someone else just takes my place. And this thought... spirals in a way- where I think very less of me. Stuff like I will be forgotten anyways or hmm someone better comes.

My family treated me like an object at times, not letting me decide what to do. Old coworker did the same and I am expected to just agree to everything they say. I tried extremely hard to fight back at the old workplace but I was always met with a wall.

Sometimes I would struggle venting to friends, because when I felt the lowest I get very clingy. I think when I saw Muir in game I noticed some similarity in him in me for example. Even tho I hate to admit that thought, but I have gotten way better at being less clingy. Maybe it's because I grew up a bit more. I definitely ain't the same like 4 years ago. But not to sidetrack too much... sometimes I would vent to friends and they'd bombard me with advice or, maybe some advice felt off for me. One friend once said that we're replaceable (job related) and that didn't sit right with me. Some of this advice would put me off so much that I would stop talking about my feelings with anyone, or just one small friendgroup. But I don't mention a lot there. I think... I think what I can see with myself is, I distance myself so much from everyone, I don't dm people to have a normal chat (I think I get very confused when I hear people dm each other all the time, what do people dm each other for...?I wouldn't know what to talk about), maybe I hang out on servers. I don't want to look at my main phone because suddenly so much makes me nervous again. I want to be alone the entire time and the meds stop some emotions from popping up.

So I have random outbursts where I would cry. and I really need to sit down after sleep and find a new group therapy.. today

I put ridiculous standards on myself sometimes, not wanting to appear weak and appear "professional". But my imagination of being professional is basically be emotionless and work without problems. Tho this doesn't make sense, perhaps I worry too much since I noticed some people really like what I do here. And I don't want to let people down in that regard. but I don't know how.

Earlier I was debating on wether it is strong if I show my weakness or if it's better to hide it. Tho hiding doesn't bring much for me, it's rather bad.

Yknow an earlier post where I mentioned I really like Roper? I get the feeling one of the reasons I find him interesting is, because the way he appears. He doesn't seem to show emotions that much, rather monotone and seems to be a hard working individual. Who sadly needs to do way more because Rennick makes things more difficult. Tho like, even if you see him in Marine Control later... he just suffers in silence. Ain't like Trots who went full bananas, or Muir feeling extremely anxious and all. Or Addair wanting to call his kids and Rennick just flat maniac. Roper just, sits there and tries to avoid saying much. Only thing he says is to keep Rennick away. Maybe the deleted soundfile of the scene says otherwise, but in my view it feels like idk he just ain't somebody who would talk about his feelings. Maybe Roper is some visual imagination of what I think a professional is, but I think he probably has different problems that could be way worse. Suppressing feelings is not good, I still have a lot to work on, on myself.

I am sadly getting too tired to continue this string of thoughts...I always feel very awkward posting my feelings on the web. I wouldn't know where else to thow them.

I will post something silly after sleep. I made some dumb screenshots ingame that literally made me giggle for half an hour ioudhwioeu. Okay, goodnight

#zeons thoughts #I feel so awkwarddddddddddddd

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ynhara · 1 month ago

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So I got some sad news today and I am kind of, you know dealing with it my own way but I dokt usually do this but I feel like I gotta vent it somewhere because I need to get it out yk, so feel free to ignore this.

There is not a worse feeling in the world than loving something and not being able to keep doing it. I think I mentioned a few times I do martial arts, been doing them for at least 10 years and it is helped me deal with my mental health so much that even if I am tired I just can't bring myself to drop it, I enjoy it, I have fun and from someome who comes from a... Bullying experience in the past is just something I never expected I would love so much.

Through the years I have been competing in this little championships my gym organized with other nearby gyms, and surprisingly I felt so comfy with it, fighting in front of a lot of people, mingling and making friends, it truly has been a very positive experience and I have even managed to win some medals! I loved to go against boys bc you know they get so cocky is pretty satisfying to make them eat the dust xD but even then we were all cool and shit so there was never any harm done, as the fight ended we were all friends and it was so fucking nice.

This summer in the last championship I participated I got injured, and after going to rehab and what not I got the bad news that the damage to the Achilles tendon (i hope the english name is the same cause im translating it literally) is irreparable, not even surgery guarantees it will heal so the doc told me it was better to not have surgery to avoid any further complication.

And honestly? Is not a big deal in the sense that I can pretty much keep doing my life normally, sure there is pain but I can handle it and stuff, is something I had months to get used to but it sucks because I had to step down from competitions. I went to the gym today in the morning for the first time since the injury and... Its hard to keep up with the rest because I am already feeling the pain from forcing myself to keep up.

Anyway idk if anybody will read this, idm if nobody does is just nobody really gets it yk? And i just had to... Let it out bc I was going insane.

#personal #will probs delete later

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demonvampire180writes · 21 days ago

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Gonna sad post/vent my woes/ pity party for one for just a second because I can't sleep and my brain is v loud. Under the read-more is just me being sad about my writing skill, or lack of, and using BT as my jumping point/example.

I've noticed that, with BuckTommy at least, the stories that get the most attention are ones rated GA, or rated E. Stories that are rated T or M seem to get a lot fewer hits.

But it also feels like it's just my stories that are getting passed over, and I dunno. I don't really know what the scale of RSD is, but I know that I suffer pretty badly from it. My self esteem relies so much on outsiders and outer praise. While I enjoy the process of writing, and I like what I write, if I don't feel like it gets enough attention, my motivation drops. Inevitably I begin to question my writing skills.

I know that I have great grammar, and I've always been a great speller, but with auto-check on both those things it hardly even matters in this day and age. I hardly have to think about stringing sentences together that make sense because that squiggly blue line will be there to tell me that there might be a better way of saying it.

Take for example my very first 911 fic that I ever wrote. I posted it not long after BT's hospital kiss. It was a 7.06 coda and boy oh boy did the kudo's start rolling in! I felt so proud that people were loving it. I'd never gotten that much attention on anything that quickly. But I started doing the math of kudo's to bookmark to hits ratios and came to the crushing reality that less than 13% of hits left kudos (obviously knowing that some of the hits were people coming back to read it again) and the bookmark rate was abysmal. I don't even want to consider the number of comments I receive.

But that didn't stop me and I started working on the next thing, and the next, and the next. It didn't take me long to realize that my stories really weren't getting much attention and I couldn't figure out why. My rated G stories definitely garner the most attention, and one of my rated E stories has done somewhat well, but the length of time it's been posted vs the amount of meaningful interactions it has, and not just clicks, seems pitiful. And now I've started to doubt myself.

Is my writing really that bad? Am I just as mid of a writer as I am a singer and martial artist and really, anything I try my hand at? Like in most cases, the story gets a fair few hits when it's first posted, but within a weeks time, I'm lucky to get one or two kudos on it. When I sort by number of kudos, the top stories will have hundreds, if not closer to a thousand, while I'm lucky to see over a hundred. (On my non angst stories. I know the 8.06 canon compliant stories aren't popular.) Don't even ask me about how few comments my works get.

Then I compare it to the date posted and my heart sinks. Sure, these folks have probably built up a following - especially those of you who write almost exclusively for one fandom - but they had to have started somewhere. I can't even get readers to follow me from one platform to another. Not only that but I don't even get enough eyes on me for people to be curious about me outside of the stories I post. (Which honestly I get, I don't pay all that much attention to posts about sending asks about personal life stuff.)

So, depending on how readers are filtering the stories, and how they're having them listed, my stories get buried in the deepest recesses of the archive. They never seem to hit that critical point of being in the top five pages of the big filters: bookmarks, kudos, and hits.

Why am I having the pity party of one? Because I wrote the first chapter of a story that I was really excited about, the initial thought post got quite a bit of attention, and I assumed people were interested. But the response has been... lackluster. Maybe I'm just posting when all of my fellow BT's are in dreamland coming up with their own story ideas, or maybe I overestimate the level of interest and people "heart" the post just to be nice. Even on Ao3 the response has been relatively low and I feel like this is a somewhat new fix-it fic idea. I haven't really seen people throwing the idea around. (You know, besides "crash that whatever!")

I love this idea, but I'm questioning if it's even worth writing at my skill level. I personally think it's such a cool idea, but if I can't execute it well then there's no point. Someone else with much more skill than me should take it from my hands before I soil it.

#bucktommy #tevan #kinley #pity party for one #pity party #writers woes #writing woes #writing is hard #writing things #writing problems

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 year ago

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter thirteen

well it's love, make it hurt series

thirteen: there's one thing I can do nothing about

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 2k

Summary: you grapple with the aftermath.

Warnings: creator chose not to use archive warnings, discussions of genocide, the purge of mandalore, descriptions of grief, survivor's guilt, suicidal ideations, vomit (no description, just mentioned), angst

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika

4 ABY - Spring

The hunter says something more, but you don’t hear it. You see his lips move under his greasy mustache, but you may as well be underwater.

You can breathe about as well, too.

Everything throbs. Your skin. The lights.

Your room is dark. You aren’t sure how you got there. You’re standing in the middle, datapad still clenched in both hands.

Something’s wrong.

You barely make it to the bin in time.

When you finally peel yourself off the floor, dried sweat like cement, it’s dark. Your vent is shut, and no moonlight creeps between the slats. You’re confused, for a moment, about why you’re there, until you vomit again and are grateful that your earlier self had the sense to stay put. You try to return the favor by lying back down.

You think you sleep. It’s a hazy thing, too close to waking to dream.

You’ll long for that soon. But for now, your brain seems content to shelter you while your body handles… whatever it’s handling.

Your head hurts more when you try to think about it, so you don’t, hopeful that the bug will pass and you’ll feel better soon.

When you wake, the room is bathed in the orange evening suns, sliding through the vent to cover you in bars, like a cell. You drag durasteel-heavy limbs until they’re somewhat where they should be and push to stand. Darkness swells, and you almost end up back on the ground.

Water, you think, desperate instincts clawing to the surface. You’ve survived twenty years on your own; your body isn’t about to let you die.

As you grab the canteen from your nightstand and drink, you backtrack that thought. It’s sitting wrong.

Oh, right. Twenty years alone, and another year with—with…

You don’t hear the glug of the water spilling from the canteen over the sound of your empty stomach trying valiantly to exit your body. You don't make it to the bin, that time.

It takes two more days for you to cry.

In one of the moments where you’re worn down, when the tears have eroded you and then shriveled away, you think I should have gone with him. Not to Taanab. You should have insisted on staying on the Crest.

It’s not delusions of heroism. It’s something much more alluring, something that threatens to eat you up and never let you go.

An idle thought that pulls you to shore. You wish it hadn’t, because you wouldn’t have had to suffer it. But somewhere in the back of your mind, something tells you that line of thought is disrespecting yourself, thereby disrespecting him.

To your fractured mind, weak with hunger and dehydration, reeling still from when you had broken it, it makes sense. The sincerity of it, beyond its original context, sits in your heart and urges it to keep beating.

It’s disrespectful, not because of who he was to you, but to his—to his memory.

The last bit takes you a while to swallow.

Food takes longer.

After a few more days, you run out of rations from your pack. Ones leftover from the Crest that you had stowed away for an emergency. There weren’t many, and you couldn’t get them down without water.

Eventually, you moved your camp to the fresher, where you could hit the cold faucet if you had the right angle and shove your canteen under the flow.

Made it easier when your scant meals came back up, too.

You knock on the wall until your neighbor Krista comes over, pissed. She actually physically recoils when she finds you in your blanket heap.

“Girl, what is wrong with you?”

“Sick,” you say. It’s not a lie. Not really. “Credits in the nightstand. Food please.”

She takes pity on you, and you can’t even be mad about it because you’re feeling pretty pathetic. She sticks her head back in after fetching the money.

“I’ll run out and grab you something, but, uh. It’s fucking disgusting out there.”

Kriff. You forgot you had gotten sick on the floor. But that’s as much energy as you can muster to care, so you rest your head on the cold metal wall and close your eyes.

Krista brings you a selection of bland foods and a tonic to help with the nausea. Then she says you’re on your own because there’s no way she’s coming back in here. “Don’t die, or whatever.”

It’s another week before you can leave the room. It’s not easier, exactly, each day. It’s more like your body gets its shit together so your brain can have a turn fucking up. You autopilot through showering, brushing your teeth, and cleaning the sick off every surface.

And you cry. A lot. Sometimes, it’s a catastrophic event where you can’t breathe, can’t stop the awful keening that rips your throat, can’t feel anything but agony. Sometimes, you’re the catastrophic event. You break things. You dig your nails into your skin and squeeze. You throw everything in the room against a wall.

Most of the time, though, it’s just a fact. You’re on Nevarro. You’re alive. There are tears in your eyes. It’s more of a state of being than a physical phenomenon.

In the weeks that come, you hate yourself for it. Falling apart because a man you had already left had died. It makes it easier to berate yourself into coldness. You like to lie to yourself and say you weren’t waiting for him, anyway. You were just saving credits to leave.

And you do.

The first time you leave the room is the last. You get it neat and clean and pack the few possessions that survived your wrath.

You go down to the cantina and are glad that no one you know is there. You approach the first hunter at the bar and ask if they have a ship.

When they say yes, you hand them a stack of credits and ask if it’s enough for passage.

When you leave, it’s been just over a month since you decided to stay.

4 ABY - Summer

“We’re running low on credits and supplies,” the Armorer says from the co-pilot seat. From your seat, Din thinks.

He nods. They had been hopping from port to port, just a few of them on the Crest. The others would lay low, ships parked in abandoned places, and wait while Din went into a town and bought only as much as he conspicuously could. Fuel was even harder to obtain.

“It would be more efficient and practical to find a permanent location,” she says. She pulled up the star map on his holoprojector. “Somewhere with a guild location. I assume you are prepared to return to work?”

“Yes,” he says, though he feels adrift among the stars. Mandalore and her people are gone, the remains scattered throughout the galaxy. As far as they know, they’re the largest group of survivors. Five on the Crest, including the Armorer and himself. And twelve ships, with ten Mandalorians each, trailing behind them. Half of them are younglings.

“Why do you have a hair pin?” Paz says. “Been bringing whores back?”

Din looks up sharply. He doesn’t answer right away, flipping through possible excuses. He seizes a distraction. “Open it.”

Paz flicks it open and recognizes the serrated edge, the sharpened tip.

“I worked with another hunter on a few bounties,” Din says, stomach churning but his voice steady. “Dropped her off at a port before I came home. Must have left it.”

He wants to snatch it from Paz’s hands so he can hide it away with the hints of you. He had pried open a panel in the bunk and stowed them away from the wandering eyes of his vod.

He would give them back to you when he got to Nevarro.

He had tried to leave a message, tried to let you know it would be longer, but he would still come back to you, but the protocol droid who took the comm said they wouldn’t hold a holo for anyone. He had some choice words in response, during which the line was cut.

Around his vod, he feels ill for thinking of you with the scale of all they had lost. But it didn’t extinguish your absence. It was just another piece of him missing. Maybe he’d feel less like a hollowed-out helmet piloting an empty suit of armor, as alive as a droid, if he had you to hold at night.

He’ll find it, whenever Paz gets bored and sets it down. It’s your last one, he’s sure it will be missed. He’s less sure he will be.

“Cantonica is too close,” the Armorer says, drawing his and Paz’s attention back. “Tatooine too risky.”

“What about Batuu?” Paz says.

“That could work,” the Armorer says. “The Empire isn’t likely to travel as far as wild space to find us.”

“It still has a fairly popular port,” Din says. He’s sweating, and his heart is ticking too fast. “I’ve never seen it myself.”

The Armorer hums and resumes studying the map.

“What about Nevarro?” she asks.

Din’s heart skips a beat. He swallows the bile before it climbs too far. “It’s mostly abandoned. Many hunters come and go from there, but beyond the main city, it’s mostly mountains and lava fields.”

“Caves surrounded by lava,” Paz says. “Could be defensible. Hard for the average trooper to reach.”

“Then we shall scout it out. Return to town to stock up for the others.”

“Yes, alor,” Din says, grateful for an excuse to depart immediately before their visors pick up his escalating vitals.

As soon as they land, he leaves the Armorer and Paz to scout under the guise of meeting with the guildmaster to see if there will be enough work.

When he slides into the booth across from Karga, he scans the cantina thrice over for a trace of you. He has to clench his fists to keep from seizing the man by his lapels and shaking him. But Karga doesn’t know who Din is, so he tries to do what he must for his people.

“I’m looking for work. Consistent work.”

“You’re in luck!” Karga grins. It’s off, like he’s hiding something. Or he’s just nervous, Din realizes, as Karga chuckles weakly.

The man leans in and says, in a low but not quiet voice, “I have to ask, are you a real Mandalorian?”

“Yes. How many bounties do you have?”

Karga leans back. Gestures to a droid for a drink. “Many. If you’re as good as they say, you’ll be swimming in credits.”

Din grinds his teeth. He doesn’t appreciate the way Karga seems to want to make a show of this.

“How many can I have right now?”

“Well, that depends. I’ll have to get you in the system and pull up your records.”

“I’m in your system. I’ve returned bounties here before.”

“Fantastic! Let me get one of my assistants to get you sorted.”

“No. You will do it.”

Karga raises an eyebrow. No one seems to notice the brief showdown, which he’s thankful for, as he caves to the Mandalorian quickly. He pulls out his datapad and pulls up the file.

Din is less of a patient man, now, but still, he waits. He waits until he has three bounty pucks in his hand and the promise of more if he’s quick about it.

“When I was here last, I was accompanied by another hunter. She stayed here to work with you. Where can I find her?”

“Who?” Karga asks.

Din gives him your name. Karga studies him carefully, sipping from his glass.

“There are a great many hunters who work with me. I can’t say I remember.” He hadn’t given the girl any thought since she took off, but he does remember being irritated that she disappeared without notice, leaving him with a vacant room to rent.

The Mandalorian rattles off your chain code. Karga raises an eyebrow. He had seen many hunter-hunter relationships turn violent, and besides, “It would be against the code for me to give you information about another member.”

When the Mandalorian snarls and stands, Karga’s two guards have their blasters aimed in a flash. For a moment, Greef thinks the hunter is about to cause a scene.

“I’ll tell you this, as a favor to a new friend. She wasn’t here long and didn’t say anything when she left.”

Din turns sharply and stomps out of the cantina.

Karga helps himself to a refill.

*title from "New American Classic" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #make it hurt verse

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