#Nothing quite like a near death experience to bring out the feelings

[forsworned]

USE YOUR HEART ft. NEEDY!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Warning(s): Sexual Content, Grinding, AFAB!Reader, Mentions of Narcotics

Synopsis: Simon is high off of morphine and it reveals his true feelings for reader...

Author's note: Idk because @dmitriene told me to do it and i <3 her

"I don't wanna be alone."

His voice breaks as he reaches out to you. His usual stoic demeanor had completely diminished in your presence. For the first time, Simon was needy. You gaze down at his hand gently gripping your hand, "I need you." He says. Pleas even. Dark, stormy, and now conflicted eyes are peering up at you and he tugs you toward him. You didn't know how to react. Seeing Simon so injured and broken makes you feel some type of way. Somewhat wrong, but somehow...powerful?

"You need me?" You finally spoke up. His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

"Yes.” He croaks out.

The morphine that has been coursing in his system finally kicks in and you were experiencing the lowering inhibitions of Simon Riley, not Ghost.

The Simon Riley laying out on the infirmary bed before you at this moment was vulnerable, desperate, and reliant on your presence and aid--insistent even.

But naturally, you're hesitant. A situation like this is compromising and delicate. Given the nature of the circumstances and his stature, he is obviously still at an advantage, but it feels wrong to pounce at the opportunity. You don't want to feel like a predator skulking about as he studies you with reliant, onyx hues.

You look at the time on your watch.

12:38 AM

It was quite late, but the tugging of his hand over yours disrupts your train of thought.

"C'mere. I want you by my side." He susurrates and you're in a bit of a trance at the resonance of his soothing, sleepy tone. It's not its usual gruff and gravelly, but instead a lulling rasp that pulls you in.

"It's late, Lieutenant." You gently chide as you attempt to pry his fingers off your wrist, but he takes his free hand over your own and pulls you flush against him. Goddamn, he was strong. Even in his dazed and confused state, he is built like a fuckin' boulder.

But he's not listening to you as he fiddles with your fingers, tracing over the skin and where it creases and finely wrinkles. Over the nail bed, and the unfiled ridges, down to the chip that you earned from earlier when you reached for your gun in your holster too quickly. He's thumbing over the half-moon on your thumb and then the scar on the meat of your palm before he brings it to his masked lips as if to kiss it over the fabric.

A small, shuddering breath escapes you, and your eyes are glazing over before you swallow thickly. He cups your hand over his jaw and inhales sharply as he closes his eyes.

"Don't care." He replies, curling his bicep around your waist and secures you so have nowhere to go.

Your heart thuds at the contact and your cheeks are teeming with warmth. And suddenly it feels like the heat in there is turning to the max because you're sweating like a dog under his keen gaze and snug hold on you.

"Want you to stay." And it's as if he's speaking purely from the heart when he looks at you like that. You want nothing more but to crumble into his arms and cave into whatever feelings are lurking within you, but there's an urge to maintain your professionalism. And Simon senses that. He wants you to let go.

Why? He didn't know. Be it the drugs, the near-death experience, or the fact that you look utterly gorgeous under the strong moonlight or all of the above; he wants you with all his being.

His bandage-wrapped fingers loop around the bottom of his mask and he's lifting it up to expose just his lips as it scrunches up under his nose. Even if you have seen the sight a multitude of times over the years of knowing your Lieutenant, it is always as awestriking as it was the first time you saw it. His pretty rosy lips kiss at your wrist and you're stunned.

"Stay." He croaks out.

"And then what?"

You can't help yourself from asking such a silly question. You just need to feel needed by him because there is just something about the clinginess in his body language that pulls you in for more. If Simon is being honest right now, he's on cloud motherfucking nine. He's so high that everything feels like tunnel vision right now and you're the only damn thing he can focus on, not that he would want to focus on anything else.

So when he's telling you to stay, he damn well means it. But he also wants more. He's telling himself not to be too hasty, at least the logical part of him, though he is following his heart's desires. And his heart is conveying to him that he yearns for your closeness, for all your regard, and selfishly enough, your own heart.

At this point, all reasoning is being tossed out the window when he fixates on your trembling, shimmering eyes and your quivering glossed lips that are slightly chapped. But he's thinking to himself, one kiss. One kiss would fix that for you.

Simon is no longer struggling to sit up when he's tensing you closer to him feeling the sweat wetting the small of your back. His brows slightly raise and you feel your cheeks flush at his little observation, but he's not halting his motion to close the short distance between you two. He's bringing his hand over the nape of your neck, carding his scarred fingers through the tendrils of your hair and a soft sigh leaves your lips.

And the way you visibly relax draws out a small smile onto his lips as your foreheads collide. You don't even dare to open your eyes. You swallow thickly as you feel your breath become shallow and sharp. It fans against his lips and he's feels even more enticed to just kiss you.

"Dammit, [name]..." He finally breathes out. And you're eyes are on him and he can feel a thrill creep up his chine when he sees the flash of longing overcome your half lidded gaze.

And now you're yearning to bridge the distance, creeping closer to him, nudging your nose against his, and faintly brushing your lips over the stubble on his philtrum. You notice how his chest huffs out, stuttering as it leaves his lungs.

Long blonde lashes tickle at your own as your lips graze and you're heart is thumping out of your chest. You feel yourself holding back from your own hankerings but the moment that Simon brings his thumb to skim over your bottom lip, you feel the tension snap like a rubberband and you're crashing your lips against his. To hell with ethical conduct and decorum, you want nothing more than to satiate your thirst for him.

And with every kiss, you feel like your hunger is being appeased. The ferocity that grows in the depths of your groin is clawing out as you clamber on top of him and you're tuning out the noisy heartbeat monitor that's becoming rapid. And it cuts out, thanks to the swift movement of Simon pulling out the cord so he can nestle his hands under your shirt and slip his tongue between your open-mouth kisses.

He's losing himself in you and he doesn't care because the feeling of your nails digging into his abdomen is more than pleasant. As if the morphine wasn't dizzying enough, he was starting to feel like he was reaching some sort of seventh heaven. Especially when he hears the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he thumbs atop your hardened bud and gently tweaks it between his fingers.

The tent that's starting to feel like it's pitching between his legs is getting ground upon and he shudders at how fucking good it feels.

"Fuck." He murmurs as he lifts your shirt up to expose your breast to him and he's latching his lips to your sensitive nipple. It's a soft probing of his tongue against the erogenous zone and you're instantly arching your back and he grasps at your hips to abrade your clothed sex against him. And it feels so fucking good.

So, naturally, you're not stopping. And Simon can't help but become absorbed in your pleasure. Your milky moans are like music to his ears as he switches over to your other nipple. The friction builds in your lower belly as you get into a good rhythm and it becomes increasingly euphoric with every roll of your hips. And fuck, it's not even much but the way you are so touch-starved makes it all the better.

"Simon, I—hah—gonna—" You moan out, throwing your head back in ecstasy as his tongue swirls around your bud. He's already addicted to the way you're saying his name between your whimpers.

"Cum." He commands, as he clutches your hips to help achieve your oncoming orgasm. His sexy, raspy voice is enough to send you over the edge and a terrific gasp escapes you as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. Your breath is gone and you feel like your voice melts into a deep, hot sweetness that soothes your electrifying nerves.

There is a brief pause of silence as you catch your breath and the embarrassment skulks in and you don't want to withdraw from him. You only focus on his heartbeat which slows and his breath that levels. Your throat tightens as you shift awkwardly and his hand on your hip feels a little limp. You take another moment to memorize how he smelled to help you calm your nerves.

The aroma of his natural musk enmeshed with the faint scent of cypress digs into your brain as you try your hardest to engrave his essence before it slips away. With one more breath of courage, you withdraw from him to face the music but it seems he's fast asleep. His thumb is still hooked into the belt loop of your jeans, and you can't help but giggle at him.

A small sigh leaves your lips as you calm down from your climax and your shaky fingers, lower his mask back down so it's stretching over his neck. Maybe if you slip away right now he'll think that it was just a nice little wet dream...

But you feel his hand cling to you as you try make your sweet escape.

"Thought I told ya to stay." He mumbles under his breath while he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you and making certain you're not leaving his side anytime soon.

There's a feeling of assurance that fluxes over your edginess and you can finally breathe again. Simon's body feels weightless as he lays in this infirmary bed with your toasty form atop his. It feels heavenly to have your figure pressed against him and he hums in contentment. He's replaying the sound of your moans and the way your body writhed under his touch. And you're starting to feel the rigidity of his dirty thoughts against the zipper of your jeans.

"You sure?" You murmur back, feeling the warmth sidle back into your cheeks.

His grin grows under his mask and you can feel it against your forehead. Sleep overtakes him, but he gives you one last squeeze.

"'m sure."

[darthfighter]

the warmth

Chapter Four of Your Shadow Series

warnings: violence, death, pining, & a sprinkle of smut

summary: as you venture on your first mission with qimir, your feelings for him stand between you two and near death experiences cause tension between both of you

word count: 4.0k

authors note: thanks for all the support and feedback on this fic!! it really keeps me motivated :’) as promised.. this is build up for smut.. next chapter is posted right now as well

part three here !

Training with Qimir began to chip your vulnerability away like paint on a rusty ship.

Over time through the two weeks you had been training with him, you both grew closer. First he opened you up mentally by growing your thoughts to new mindsets, then he trained you combat wise. Growing physically closer to him. He’d often have a grip on your arm from blocking you. Maybe here and there he had been pressed up against your back as his arm wrapped around you when you let your guard down. Most of the time he would tackle you to the floor and look down to you below him. The action would only last mere seconds. Deep down, in your most non Jedi like feelings Qimir has been teaching you, you wanted the seconds to last longer.

This morning as you prepared for the training day ahead of you, Qimir stopped you.

“You’ve done enough. Today will be your first test, we’re heading to Jedha.”

Now you waited for the two of you to arrive on the big moon as you flew through hyperspace. You sat in the cockpit beside Qimir. The flashes of blue reflecting off of your complexion, Qimir gets to see your blue skin as he turns his pilot chair towards you to start conversation.

“It’s quite fitting for you to have a purple lightsaber.” You didn’t bring your lightsaber today. The decision of course made you protest on why you’d be on your first test with no lightsaber, but Qimir made a good point that an ex Jedi with a purple saber alongside a “Sith” with a red one would bring quite the attention. You didn’t disagree with that. So you joined today's mission saberless. “Most complicated Jedi have it.” Qimir finishes.

“You calling me complicated?”

Qimir raises his shoulders a few inches to shrug, and lightly brings his eyebrows up. “Why do you think I took you in? It’s one of the main reasons.”

You are comfortable with Qimir at this point. From the time spent together making his answer less of a threat and rather a compliment. With this comfortableness, you tease. “Is that the only reason you let me in?”

He stays silent.

You grew too comfortable, you thought. It makes your heart escalate at a higher speed and your body gets hot. Embarrassed.

He turns his chair back to the front to face the beams of light behind the windshield as you nervously fidget with your hands in your lap.

The jump out of hyperspace makes you shift into your seat making your back press up against the chair. When you look up, all you see is orange.

You smile to yourself. It resembles home.

–

Walking off the ramp, you felt pure adrenaline. Your boots imprinted themselves to the sand sinking you in just a tad. You remember as a kid, running as you played and feeling the sand below you slow you down.

Qimir stands beside you and doesn’t move. Neither does he say anything. The ramp closed from behind you both while you waited for him to take initiative. Nothing ever came.

You look towards him and see his lip twitch before he finally says something. “You are taking the lead today.” Your eyes grow wide while your heart falls onto the soft sand.

“What do you mean? I have no idea why we’re here?”

“Me neither.” You look towards Qimir’s expression. Amusement. That’s what his face said. His face held a smile growing his smile lines and his Adam's apple shifted as he held in his chuckle. He softly says your name and continues “All I know is you’re gonna use your instincts. Walk towards whatever calls to you. Follow whoever captivates you. Walk into wherever that pulls to you. Let the force do what it does best. Feel.”

Your eyes set on different parts of his expression, trying your best to read him. When you finally conclude he’s serious, you look ahead. You see the city of Jedha. You feel a sort of gravitational pull to it. Like being near a black hole, you sink into the abyss.

The abyss being The Holy City.

While walking towards the city, Qimir educates you a bit on where you are headed. How the city was known for its spirituality. Most come to this planet to find purpose, to find meaning. He explained how some believe that the Jedi and Jedha are intertwined. Roped together. Though you weren’t coming here to achieve the Jedi way.

The closer you got to the city, the more you tried to let yourself feel. Eventually as you made it to the crowded streets of Jedha, you became overwhelmed.

Jedha Pilgrims roamed almost every other corner, children running in groups, and droids left and right. You put one foot in front of the other and decided to stop. You close your eyes and you feel Qimir’s warmth beside you. Waiting for your next move.

The force tells you to take a right on the next alley way, and you do. Walking in that direction feels right, natural. Like you were supposed to come this way.

You continued this initiation repeatedly. Going left and right in different rotations.

Qimir stayed a ways behind you. Watching you, studying you. His hands were held behind his back as he walked behind you like your own personal shadow.

As you make your way through the busy streets of Jedha, you feel an instinct to stop. Your continuous pace ends. Then, a feeling flows through you like a gust of wind. You look towards the mental breeze which reveals a cantina. Music booms from the inside and all kinds of people and different species walk in and out of the entrance. The force is telling you to walk inside.

You look behind your shoulder to see Qimir’s eyes set on you with a piercing gaze. He’s focused on your actions and it makes you nervous. Especially intimidated. To make your feelings not get overwhelmed at his gaze, you look forwards again and start to walk inside.

Your pace walking inside feels choreographed. As you walk wherever the force is taking you, it buzzes your insides. Feeling like you're getting electrified from the inside out.

Something is burning as you walk in. Your eyes scan the dim cantina, and your mind wonders why you were called inside this place.

You decide to place your forearms on a high table as you inspect the room. Qimir joins you and stands beside you.

To your right you see people swarming a table as they play a game and bet on whatever amount of credits laid on the table. Directly across from you, you see a couple clearly on date. The man going on a tangent about Maker knows what as the girl sips her drink. Finally, to the left of you, you see four individuals with dark clothing. Something about their expression says they are here for something. The force feels dark as you look at them. Looking at them feels like it burns your eyes like you are looking directly into the suns.

“Can I get you two anything?” A waitress with a tray in her hands comes forward to you and Qimir. Before you get the chance to speak, he swipes the opportunity to respond out your mouth.

“Ah yes! Do you happen to have any drinks that are not too strong?” Qimir turns to you and puts his hand on your forearm. “Don’t want her taking care of me like the other day, right?”

You look back at Qimir and see a whole other person. A person you are not used to. It feels and looks like he is wearing a mask. Though, he resembles the person he pretended to be from when you first met him. He was playing his alias. You decide to play along.

“Yeah.. Don't want you getting sick like that again.”

“I understand, I’ll bring the best option for that.”

The waitress turns her back and heads to the bar.

Qimir shifts a bit closer to you, committing to the role. His hand still rests above your skin, and he brushes his thumb along your arm affectionately. As he does this, it begins to pull you out of the trance you have been keeping on the forefront of your mind.

“What’s calling you?” He asks, low, and in a different tone than what he was previously doing.

Your mind shifts out of your thoughts from his touch, and resumes onto the dark force ahead of you. You look over to the suspicious people without saying anything, making Qimir look that way. He hums from seeing what you are insinuating. He feels the heat off of them too.

“Here you go. Enjoy.” She brings a small glass of a drink. It’s blue and cold. She turns around and continues her job before you can thank her.

The two of you stand and resume to play your part and Qimir slowly drinks his beverage.

Eventually one of the suspicious men ahead of you walks into the back of the cantina. Going into a dark hall. Immediately Qimir gulps the drink down his throat and begins to hold his stomach while covering his hand over his mouth. He’s playing the part. He grabs ahold of your hand and takes you to the back where the man had gone. The waitress looks at you both and you apologetically give her a smile. Clearly meaning the drink wasn’t for him.

As you turn the corner Qimir shifts the way he had been holding himself. Before he was slouching and hiding behind his hair in his face, now he stood tall and confident.

His hand was still intertwined with your as you both ventured out in these halls, looking for the man. Your eyes pay attention to a bright light illuminating through a doorway. Qimir looks back at you, and you look at him. You finally let go of his hand and feel the warmth of him leave your skin, and start to walk towards the room.

As you turn the corner, you see the dark cloak of a man giving a bag of spice to a younger boy who has a worrisome expression painted on his face.

“Turn around, and mind your business.”

His words don't affect you. You continue to scan the younger boy. You feel the fear residing in him infect you. You feel a wave of protectiveness. It resembles the protectiveness you had for your brother.

You softly walk to him and the man shifts his body in anger.

“I suggest you leave.” He spits a threat into the air.

Your face grows soft to comfort the scared boy in front of you. You sense the uneasiness off of him, and decide to comfort him with the force by getting inside his head, and speaking. “Leave. And don’t come back.” The choice of words can seem threatening, but your soft tone makes it sound reassuring.

Without a second thought, the boy books it out of the room. The man yells “What about our deal!”

Now, the man looks at you with an angered gaze. “I don't know who you think you are.” His chest grows big in anger. He’s threatening you, and doubles it by pointing his blaster between your eyes.

The tension in the air grows thick. You’re defenseless. Though, Qimir stayed behind you.

You see the man's expression grow harsher and sharper. He’s about to pull the trigger, but before he does. His face grows red. At first you believe it's from his fiery anger, but you turn around to see Qimir holding out his hand. Force choking him. The more time passes, the more the man grows weak. He lets go of his blaster and it clashes with the floor. His breaths grow ragged and his hands reach towards his throat. His knees hit the floor, and he passes out. No longer breathing.

Your breath begins to quicken. The man is dead below you. Inches away from your shoes. You start to wonder how long it will be until his body will grow cold like your brother.

Qimir snaps you out of your wave of panic and grabs ahold of your hand, pulling you out of the room. Before you leave the room you pull yourself out of his grip and walk back towards the man, taking the blaster off the floor. You walk back to Qimir and let him take your hand again.

The both of you stomp down the hallway hand in hand. Eventually, the waitress who served you both comes around the corner in front of you with a worried expression “Are you feeling alright?”

Then, one of the other four men that were in the cantina previously shouted behind you. He aims his blaster at you both and fires. Before it can hit you, Qimir pulls you of the way with your hand and wraps his arms around you. However, the blaster hits the woman instead and she immediately falls to the floor.

Anger. Fire. Heat.

You feel strong. Powerful.

Anger bubbles itself in your chest and you want to avenge her.

Without a second thought, you raise your blaster and fire at the man. He falls to the floor.

“C’mon. We need to get out of here.” Qimir orders.

You start to walk towards the back of the hallways in the hopes to find an exit, rather than leaving through the front and creating countless witnesses.

As you turn a corner, another man attacks Qimir. Qimir immediately blocks it and lets go of your hand. You stand unmoving while Qimir blocks the other mans attacks. Even sometimes swiftly moving out the way with the force. While your eyes are set on Qimir a man comes up from behind you and wraps his arms around you. Sending you in a headlock. Your guard was down.

Next thing you know, bright red illuminates through the room. Shining against the walls. Qimir stabs the man with his saber. His eyes set on you, at first he has a worrisome expression painted on him, but then immediately turns into anger. He sees the man aiming his own blaster on your temple, with his finger on the trigger.

The man orders you to drop your blaster, and you do so.

“One move and I'll blow her head off.” The man orders.

Qimir stayed still as his saber rested in his hand, illuminating light and a vibrating sound echoing in the room.

It’s a standstill. Until Qimir swifts his hand with the force and it pushes the blaster out of the man's hand. Also with the force, Qimir yells at you in your head. “Duck!”

You pull your body down and feel the heat of the lightsaber sway above your head. Qimir had thrown his lightsaber to the man and it sliced his head off his neck. You hear the thud behind you, but don't dare to look.

Qimir lifts you from the floor and takes you out from the exit you've been meaning to come out of this whole time.

As you make it outside, the sky is orange. Orange from the suns setting as well as the insane amount of dust in the air.

A sandstorm was on the way.

“We need to make it to the ship before it gets worse.”

You nod your head in agreement. The two of you make it through the busy stress while being interlinked. As much as you enjoyed Qimir’s hand in yours, it made logical sense. With Qimir’s quick steps as well as making sure not to get lost, it was a good idea.

Eventually the two of you made it out of the city, now walking in a field of sand with mountain terrains around you. Qimir had landed his ship outside The Holy City to be smart and not bring attention to you both. This now backfired on you both meaning the walk to your ship was longer than you needed and the middle of a sandstorm.

The more you walked the more you shielded your eyes from the sand. Your mouth began to ingest the sand and would crack as you bit your teeth.

“Qimir! We won't make it!” You shouted through the sandy wind, “We need shelter!”

He doesn’t answer, and instead keeps walking.

The sand ends up getting so bad you can’t even open your eyes anymore. So you let Qimir take the lead. You trusted him with each step you took, following him while intertwined with his hand.

Eventually you feel the gust of wind grow weaker. Weaker until it is no more.

You open your eyes to see a dimly lit cave. There are remnants of a past campsite with sheets of cloth in different areas as a makeshift bed. Rocks in a circle for a campfire, though there was nothing to start one with, and empty bottles scattered around the cave. This was clearly a hangout spot.

You initiate letting go of his hand first as you wander around the cave, inspecting it. It may be empty, but not quiet. Wind howled towards the exit with a sheet of orange dust covering the distance beyond.

Looking back at Qimir, his stature is still. Broad.

“Let me guess, you used the force to find this place?” He doesn't answer you back. Instead he stays silent as he sits on one of the thin makeshift beds. His arms wrapped around his legs as they are bent, and his head bows, making his hair fall to his face.

He seems mad at you. Although you don’t know what for. So you speak your mind. “I did everything you asked me to.”

Silent.

You puff out air as frustration starts to take effect. You rest your hands on your hips. “If you're mad about the sandstorm it’s gonna go away eventually. We just have to wait-” Suddenly Qimir rises to his feet, fast.

“I'm not mad about the sandstorm.” He says, firmly, and showing hints of contrite. “You let your guard down.”

You look into his eyes and see he is serious. This makes you laugh lightly. Immediately he gets offended by this as you laugh in his face.

“You give me my first test with no weapon? And you expect it to go smoothly? I was almost considered useless compared to you! You have your saber Qimir.”

He raises his hand in the air to make his point, “The reason I didn't have you bring it is to not bring attention to yourself.”

“Then why do you get to bring yours?”

“Because I'm sure of myself! Once you are seen with me with your saber as well, you’ll become a target too. You need to decide if this is the life you wanna live.”

Your voice speaks in a pitch lower than before, “You could’ve just asked me if I wanted that.”

Silence fills the air. The way you look at him, answers that you want this life. You want to be alongside Qimir. You have never felt more yourself until you met him.

This seems to bring the tension down. You decide to sit down on a bed across from Qimir. He stays standing. He holds himself like he is impatient. Clearly something is on his mind.

“You could’ve died.” Qimir says, sternly. He sounds so serious your heart drops. He turns around to look towards the exit of the cave. Seeing dust brush past the exit. “I didn’t search for you for so long to lose you like that.” He mumbles. Though the wind made it difficult for you to hear. You only hear just a few words. The words being, search, long, and you.

Qimir doesn't turn around to continue the conversation, only keeps his back facing you. Silently. You lay down on the uncomfortable bed and turn away, facing the opposite way. The adrenaline from before started to take effect and make you tired. You felt your limbs melt into the floor and your brain grow quieter. You drift into sleep.

–

You open your eyes and it’s pitch black. Though it is so dark you can't tell if your eyes are closed or open, you still hear the wind howl in the distance. It hasn’t left. You frown your eyebrows as you can’t see around you, wondering where Qimir is. You can’t see anything, but you know you can if you want to.

Just as Qimir uses The Force as he can barely see through his helmet, you decide to focus exactly like that. You sit up and close your eyes. Reaching out to The Force. You focus on your breathing, making it steady and firm. You look out and feel. You feel warmth. Heat radiates to the right of you, as if a fire was lit right next to you. Your hand reaches out towards the flames, and you're met with Qimirs arm.

“What? What’s wrong?” He reacted, softly.

You shake your head side to side. “Nothing. Just didn’t know where you were.” Your hand leaves him and your skin feels warmed up as you take your hand away. You lay your back down onto the floor once again, and blink repeatedly and it looks like you aren’t even blinking from how dark it is.

Tension is in the air. So thick you could choke on the air. You swallow from nervousness and close your eyes in the hopes to fall back asleep.

After a couple of minutes of attempting to, you feel the fire grow closer. The flame starts to reach you, and you feel Qimir’s touch alongside your arm, caressing it.

Your breath hitches in your throat from the unexpected lingering touch. Qimir can’t hear how ragged your breathing became from the wind in the distance. Before he moves any more of his touch, he talks to you through the force.

“Do you feel the warmth too?” He finishes by saying your name.

You're speechless. You can't muster any words out of your mouth, let alone your brain. Although you don't want his touch to end, so you reciprocate it. Your hand on the arm he's touching reaches towards his chest. You rest it on his heart, feeling his heart bang against your palm.

He takes this as a yes to his question and positions himself in between you, and he does it so slowly. Your hands now plant themselves on his chest, and roam over his broad shoulders. His arms steady themselves beside each side of you. His thighs glue to yours and don't separate. Qimir lowers his chest until you can feel his face inches away from yours. He lingers his lips next to your ear instead of your lips, and speaks.

“When you think of desire, what do you feel?”

You sigh so loud next to him it moves his long hair next to his face. Your heart has never raced this hard in your life. You feel yourself shift below him, inpatient. Your hands that have rested on his shoulders now reach his chest, and you squeeze his shirt in your palms.

Even though your eyes remain open in the hopes to see Qimir, you never do, but you feel him move on top of you. He gets closer to you, instead of holding himself with his palms, he rests on his forearms.

Both of your chest heave next to each other in want. Resembling like you need to breathe each other in like air.

His right arm lifts, and you feel his warm touch rest on your cheek. He cups your cheek with his hand to finally know where your face is laid. He can navigate a bit better now in this pitch black abyss.

Qimir’s nose brushes yours, and you close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable kiss the two of you will share, but it never comes. He’s waiting. For you. He wants to know you want this. As it is considered to be an action Jedi forbid. Qimir doesn’t know how committed you really are.

You show him how much you want this by crashing your lips to his, feeling both of you kiss in sync. First, it's slow, and soft. But as more kisses were shared, the more hungry you both get.

chapter five here !

[privateanxieties]

to the shadows, we return

Summary: When Frank goes to the woods of Kentucky in search of Gunner Henderson, you come along for the ride. And when the man you're looking for shoots an arrow at him, well— it isn't Frank that gets hit. Feelings ensue in the aftermath.

Words: 4.4K

Pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader (no y/n); hurt/comfort, fluff, light angst, blood and injury, near death experiences, whumptober 2023

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You can tell the place is liable to be booby trapped all to hell before you've even gotten out of the van.

In a way, that's good. It means you're going to be of use and Frank didn't bring you here for nothing. In another, it's annoying, because you're going to be advancing at a snail's pace the whole way and the November sun is quick in its descent.

What you're here to provide is a one-woman navigation system, courtesy of your tactical training at Quantico. It's not that Frank didn't go through similar procedures; but he doesn't specialize in this type of operation, and he most definitely isn't used to extracting his way out of a predicament delicately. When it comes to these scenarios, he's the blunt object to your scalpel.

Gunner isn't someone you look forward to seeing again, but if you're to survive this whole ordeal, Frank needs to find answers. It sucks that this is what you're doing the first time you've left the bunker in weeks, but at this point you'll take a bear trap over listening to David Lieberman detailing any more Greek legends. Frank orders him to stay put— not that he'd have come with, anyway. Three's a crowd and all that. He seems content with his current level of involvement and you can't blame him for being reluctant to (very likely) get shot at. You're not very keen on it yourself, and knowing Gunner even as little as you do, it's something you worry about more than the traps themselves.

"Let's go before it gets any darker," you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. Frank nods, throwing another warning look at David.

The forest is barren this time of year, and an untrained eye might give into a false sense of security. Not a lot of places to hide traps, or at least not very well, a novice might think. Not the case. Gunner, from what you were able to intuit back in Kandahar, is the survivalist type. He's guaranteed to know his way around more than a few… creative snares.

It's not long into your trek inside the forest before you spot the black wire, but its placement is so obvious and exposed that it can't be more than an early-warning system for non-threats. No one looking for traps would trigger this one. It means you're getting close, but not quite close enough that you'd pose any real danger to his territory. Which means anything you encounter from now on will definitely try to take a finger with it. Though, if you're being honest— it's more like a limb or two.

Frank is quiet and cautious behind you, never closer than a three-step interval: the ideal distance for only one of you to get snared if you both happen upon a trap. It's a wonder he's letting you have the lead. If you've known Frank Castle to be anything, then that's a stubborn mule with absolutely no respect for safety. He'll take a bullet both out of stubbornness and sheer disregard for his life. He's old-fashioned like that. The fact that you're somewhat in charge in this particular instance means that he's laser-focused on getting to the bottom of Operation Cerberus. You know he wants the truth more than anything else. It's not just justice for what was done to his family, but for what he himself has done while on the covert task force.

Personally, your only goal is to avoid dying in the name of loose ends. It was somewhat of a miracle that you even survived the hit that made yours and Frank's paths cross again. Distantly, you think you can still feel the tingle in your knuckles from the right hook you served Carson Wolf. You appreciate Frank letting you have that after the fucker blew up your apartment.

Shaking off the chill of the biting November wind, you grit your teeth against the mounting stress of not having found any traps thus far. The place should be crawling with them, which means that if you don't see them, either you're not on the right path or Gunner's contraptions have been detected by others and swiftly removed. He could very well be dead out here and you'd have no idea. It's a grim thought; if that's the case, any information will have died with him.

"Over there," Frank calls in a hushed tone, stopping you in your tracks.

You follow his line of sight to a small shape in the middle distance, and even shielded by trees as it is, you can clearly distinguish the outline of a tiny cabin. Your first thought? You're uncomfortably close to it for no aggression to veer its head. You almost expect something to drop on both your heads from the clear skies, a cartoonish outcome if there ever was one. Before you can open your mouth and voice any of these concerns, however, Frank steps away from you.

"Hey—" you warn, tone sharp, but he only holds up a hand and motions for you to follow him.

You're forced to do so against your sharper instincts. Frank knows Gunner much better than you do. They were on the ground together in Afghanistan, while you did pre-mission recon under Cerberus. The only reason you ever talked to the guy was because you stuck your nose where it didn't belong. You looked for trouble and it found you, at the same time that you found unidentified crates of smuggled weapons, which was decidedly not how the military armed its personnel. Gunner was there. He'd already been onto something, and who knows what else he'd seen. Your piece of the puzzle might be nothing compared to his, and you desperately need it if you want your life back.

Frank, you've gathered, doesn't care much for his own. He moves through the woods carefully, though with an air of nonchalance that worries given the territory. Or maybe it's trust, you figure, because it doesn't take long for him to call out Gunner's name.

"Brother, I just wanna talk!"

The backpack is deposited on a pile of dry leaves, and you watch curiously as Frank also removes his weapon, placing it atop the bag. He motions for you to do the same, and the look you throw him is one of vehement defiance.

"No."

"He needs to see we don't want to hurt him," Frank argues.

"Then I'll wait over here," you return, a grim smile scrunching up your features.

It's not that you want to hurt Gunner, but you are not opposed to it whatsoever if that's the direction this will go.

"He'll think it's an ambush. C'mon, we—" he pauses, looking away and back at you with his mouth turned down. "We came this far. We need to talk to him. Leave the goddamn gun. He's got the advantage anyway," he pleads, though you sense an amount of command in that tone.

He's right that you're out here, exposed, while Gunner could shoot you both through the rickety door or one of the windows of the cabin. You're not comfortable being unarmed, though— you haven't been in years. Although, you suppose, some things are too great to get away from with just the use of a pistol. It sure as shit didn't help when you almost got blown all the way to hell four months ago. A deep sigh from Frank rattles your hesitation. The question in his eyes is tinged with desperation, and for a brief moment, he looks younger than you know he feels. He's not accustomed to asking people for anything, and the slightest doubt on the part of those he asks for help is enough to make him regret ever thinking of it in the first place.

You don't want him to doubt you. You also don't want to make him think you don't trust him, because you do. You woudn't have gotten this far with him and David if you didn't. Sure, you didn't seek them out; they found you and in the process saved your life. Back in the war, your unit relied on you before anyone else. The purpose of reconnaissance is simple: gather intel. Make sure that when you go in, you have a way out. You liked that job and you liked feeling unquestionably needed.

Despite recent revelations, the sting of what happened before you were abruptly sent home is still fresh somehow. It lingers on the surface of your days, waking or slumbering. For almost three years, you lived with the belief that you sent your unit into a death trap, and it took nearly dying for the record to be set straight. What happened in Kandahar, that last mission that killed more than half of the Cerberus unit— it wasn't on you. It wasn't on you, and yet guilt isn't easy to do away with.

It's the same kind of guilt you're witnessing in Frank right now, with his brows pulled so tight that a deep ridge has formed between them. He's restless and full of regret, and that's what makes your decision barrel into you. You simply don't want to add the fact of your company to that list for him. If you're going to be here, you might as well be the support he needs.

Nodding somewhat unconvincingly — because you're still dreading this — you copy his actions and discard your backpack and weapon next to his own, at once feeling more uneasy than you have in a long time. The gratitude you can sense in his relaxing posture is a little too much to bear, so you settle for diffusing the tension with a warning.

"If he shoots you, I will leave your ass here."

Frank bites back a reply you can guess almost word for word, but his face tells the story his lips won't: yeah, sure you will. It's comforting to know that he at least trusts you not to abandon him, at the same time that the thought feels heavy considering your history. You owe him in more than one regard, but that's not truly why you wouldn't leave him, even to save yourself. Frank is pretty much the only family you've got left. You didn't have many people in your life to begin with, and he's lost the most important ones to rogue government dealings. The only way you'll be removed from his side is if either he is dead or you are. It's funny, the way you grow attached to someone while living in a shithole bunker and hiding from men who want to kill you.

The sun inches lower as you approach the cabin, gaze firmly set on the windows. It's instinctive to watch them, though you aren't neglecting your surroundings either. Frank calls out towards the house again, taking cautious steps to close the distance. You follow in a mirror of your previous formation, no more than three steps behind him.

The place appears desolate, but the trail of smoke from a minuscule chimney is all the sign of life you need to confirm someone else's recent presence. You're now less than ten feet away from the door, and all of a sudden your muscles go stiff. You scan the trees around you for anything you might have missed, but they are free of threats and as barren as the furnishings you can glimpse inside the cabin when you turn to look over Frank's shoulder. The wet crunch of the leaves beneath your boots is dampened by Frank calling out again.

"C'mon Gunner, it's Frank!"

Once close enough, he takes a peek inside one of the smaller windows to the right, and you take your place at his side so that you both line the wall in the least vulnerable positions. Frank, however, is taking more chances than you think he ought to by looking so unabashedly through the windows on the left side.

"Gunner!"

"Hey—" you whisper, realizing immediately how stupid that is. It's not like you haven't announced your presence plenty. "Frank, get away from the goddamn windows."

"He's a good man. He's not going to shoot me. Right, Gunner?" he says in the same tone and volume, making you turn away so you can roll your eyes in privacy, knowing Frank has a bit of a sore spot for that. It's all you have time to do, anyway, because once you've widened your field of vision, you spot a shape that wasn't there just a minute ago.

It's funny how the body can respond to stimuli before the brain has even processed them, and it's even funnier how it chooses to do things without any input whatsoever from logic or reason. Self-preservation has no business here, is what your body seems to have decided is the working philosophy for today.

Consequently, you're pushing Frank down and out of the way before you even realize you've moved. The pain, for its part, is not without delay either. Your scream echoes through the woods and you register it as if it's not your own, but some distant sound — and then you're looking down at your shoulder and realizing exactly what hit you. It makes sense that it's a carbon arrow, you think, because anything else would've been snapped in two by the force of the compound bow now aimed at you both.

You cry out when Frank's arm winds around you and hauls you to your feet, dragging you behind the nearest wall and out of the line of fire, but not before another arrow embeds itself in the window frame next to his head. He sets you down with more care this time, and though you're a bit out of it, you don't miss the sheer emotion in his face. It goes hand in hand with the lightning-sharp pain filtering through your veins and making reason depart swiftly. It's why your fingers begin to grasp at the arrow's shaft, ready and willing to expel it from your body without hesitation. They're only stopped by Frank's own hand, gently but firmly guiding yours back down to rest on your stomach.

"Gunner, goddamn it—" Frank shouts, so close to you that you can feel the vibration of his rough tone. "You proud of yourself, huh? You just shot an unarmed woman!"

This time, the eye roll is in full view and you want him to see it.

And why is it that I'm unarmed, Frank?

You don't say that, though you want to. There's something in Frank's eyes that tells you his mental state right now is veering towards self-blame, and he's not the one responsible for this outcome. The guns, however— those are his fault.

You're both defenseless.

And just like that, you're suddenly scared. It doesn't creep up on you like usual, where you wait and wait until the signs are clear that the future will hold unpleasant things. This fear is cold and dense like the woods around you. The woods you might die in. A whimper flows past your lips as your eyes go wide.

Frank takes notice in an instant.

"Shh, hey— Look at me, right at me."

His palm has cupped the side of your face, warming it up against the surging chill of the forest and giving you something to fixate on to stave off the ensuing panic. It's too bad you close your eyes so you can fully focus on the texture of his skin, because the jolt that comes in response is none too gentle. Frank is shaking you awake.

"Hey! Don't you do that. You hear? Don't close your eyes. Keep 'em on me. Just focus on me, sweetheart."

You try for reassurance through touch, but this is a mistake, you soon realize. When your hand comes up to brush along Frank's cheek, it's with distant horror that you notice it's your right hand. You are moving your right hand, because that is the only one that you can move without blinding pain.

Which means the arrow has found a home in your left shoulder. Your left shoulder, not far above your heart.

"Frank—"

He can see you looking. He can probably see how terrified you've become.

And he, in turn, becomes terrifying.

The next time he calls out Gunner's name, you don't hear Frank Castle. You only witness his shadow being left behind as the Punisher comes forward. And then you get swallowed by your own shadows.

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It's a silly little dream— of that, you're certain. But it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the brush of the soft blanket under you or the gentle carding of fingers through your hair.

The warmth of the air borders on unpleasant, and you might be sweating a little more than you'd want in this scenario, but overall you wouldn't trade it for the world, being here with him. Calm. Unhurried. Ignorant of all discomfort, even as your arm has gone numb from lying on your side, gazing at the fire. Well, maybe occasionally at the fire. Mostly, you're just looking at him.

Tracing the contours of his face with your eyes and wishing your fingers could follow, you take everything in as a light euphoria settles over you. His skin is lit up by the wash of warmth from the fire, each imperfection softened— or perhaps that's your eyes' doing, wistfully hooded and completely unashamed in their observation. It feels like gazing upon him for the first and last time, like you're only truly seeing him now that he might disappear. There's a weight in your chest, neither pleasant nor concerning.

Then, his lips are on your cheek and reality slips away. You forget that this is just a dream the moment his mouth trails over your jaw and down the column of your neck, and your eyes fall blissfully closed. He's touching you everywhere, the reassuring press of his body to yours further melting every muscle and easing every current of something like pain travelling through your chest and down your arm. Absent any willpower, you lose grasp of words that aren't his name and thoughts not curved around this moment. You're as relaxed as you can be.

That's when the screaming begins.

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Curtis should really make some kind of declaration soon, or he's going to lose his goddamn mind.

He hasn't said anything the entire time he's been working and— Frank trusts him. He trusts Curt with his life. But it isn't his life on the line right now, and worst of all, it should've been. It should've been him taking that arrow to the chest and bearing it only an inch away from his heart. It should've been him, delirious with sepsis and burning from a killer fever. It always should've been just him in those woods. Only him.

It's his fault. It always is. People always die at his side or because of shit he's done. He always drags them to hell with him, and they never make the journey back together. Only he ever emerges from that blackened pit, crawling out on a bruised soul to fight another day, and the carnage left behind is made up of enemies and loved ones alike.

He's a fucking plague. He's—

"Frank. I need you to focus, brother."

His eyes are wide and gaze distant; he notices that immediately upon Curt's warning, but it's hard to bring his expression under control. It's equally hard to keep his eyes focused, because they will fix themselves upon the only thing in the room that matters and his thoughts will spiral soon thereafter.

Frank's never seen anyone look so frail. He's had comrades die out in the field. He's held onto Curt while the corpsman was in the worst pain of his life — his fucking fault, again — and he's witnessed the worst crimes of humanity against one another. He's perpetrated some of those crimes. Yet everything always happened in the blink of an eye. Everyone he's ever lost, he's lost quickly. In each of the worst moments he's ever lived through, there was none of this waiting, and the hands of the clock didn't spit and curse at him for daring to have hope.

She's been looking worse by the hour. Ever since Curt got here, the medic has had to restrain him from doing something stupid like calling an ambulance. It's a wonder Lieberman managed to make the tough decision and drive them all back here, instead of going to a hospital like Frank demanded. Threatened. Gently asked with his finger on the trigger.

But David was right— it would've been over for them all if they went to an ER. The people that want to kill them would encounter no problems taking out one of their targets while she's unconscious and defenseless in a hospital bed. Frank would be arrested, if not shot on sight. And David would soon follow after them both. So, they're here.

And Frank is still losing his mind as time drags forward and the blood keeps dripping. He keeps an eye on the line between her arm and Lieberman's, delivering the life-saving substance at a pace controlled by Curtis. David's a universal donor, a fact that almost makes Frank believe in some higher power. With odds this stacked against him, it's a miracle he gets this one kindness.

Don't let her die.

The thought startles him briefly, since he meant not to ask. The words manifested from seemingly nowhere, a little echo of them bouncing around his mind. Frank doesn't have any illusions of a higher power granting him leniency, even if one exited. If anything, his mere involvement here, the fact that he cares— might be enough to entice whoever's out there to just deal him another blow, no matter who gets swallowed up in the process.

Either God doesn't exist, or he does and is an asshole. No third way around it, in Frank's view.

An hour passes, then another. Lieberman is recovering on the cot at the edge of the bunker, now with almost a fifth less blood running through his veins. Frank says nothing about how if it was necessary, it could've been more than a fifth. Substantially more— all of it, even. He's not sure Curt would approve of this perspective… murdering a man with a family just so he doesn't lose his again. He'd do it. He would. He'd do anything, he decides on a quiet exhale.

When exactly his heart made the decision to latch on this tightly — both hands, it recalls — he isn't sure and he doesn't care. What's done is done, and boy was it done without his fucking approval. It terrifies more than comforts him, the fact that he is still able to feel like this after everything he's been through. It also frustrates him, despite his best efforts, because he can't seem to let it go. Part of him knows it's because he can't escape it or her, since they're in this together. There's nowhere for him to run, no place to crawl to and wait out these feelings; they're both stuck on the other side of lives they used to have, leaning on each other for support they never ever asked for.

And why in the goddamn hell did she—

A groan. Quiet, almost inaudible to anyone whose ears aren't listening for any sign of pain. His heart jumps, and he's on his feet in less than a second. On the other side of the room, Curt startles.

"Frank—"

He blinks down at her form, eyes flitting over the bandages and blood and fragile skin.

"Frank, come on—"

"Did you give her something?" he grunts, almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. It's rougher than even he is used to.

"What?" Curt asks, taking a few steps closer.

"For the pain. Did you give her anything for it?"

Curt's hesitation is all he needs to see red.

"Her body's working through a lot right now. Painkillers would get swallowed up by everything else running through her system, and we don't have morphine—"

Frank isn't too proud of the look he throws his friend.

"You should've told me. I would've gone—"

"I need you to calm down," Curtis tries, keeping calm for the both of them. Frank, however, isn't having it. He steps into the corpsman's space, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His voice bellows.

"And what does she need? Huh, Curt? If she needs drugs, you tell me. If she needs surgery, you tell me. If I have to take her to a real goddamn doctor, I'll do that! So what is it? What do I gotta do?!"

Frank's rage only ever takes on two forms: the destructive, when he's capable of leveling an entire enemy squadron by himself, and the stifling, when he feels as helpless as humanly possible and will try anything he can to take back control.

Curtis, for his part, doesn't give in to Frank's rage. He holds himself in that same dignified way, eyes too knowing and too kind for the words that were just thrown at him. He's seen Frank in worse states, but back then there was a war raging all around them. This bunker, though dark and decrepit and reeking of blood, is not a war zone; but Curt knows it makes little difference in his friend's mind. He understands. For hours now, Frank has been too close to reliving his worst fear, and his worst fear has always been losing those he loves. A sigh blows past Curt's lips, and then he takes a deep breath.

"Listen—"

"…s'ole."

Both their heads turn to look at the source of the faint sound, though only one of the men crosses the room in two seconds flat, argument completely forgotten. Frank leans over the makeshift bed, shoulders tense as she displays early signs of consciousness. It's like he's restless and rigid at the same time, his body a taut wire about to snap. Curt sighs again. Watching Frank like this isn't easy, but it's also not the worst thing in the world. If only it would get him to realize what everyone else is seeing, but Curt knows his friend is too stubborn for that.

"What is it?" Frank whispers, lightly caressing her cheek with a trembling finger.

Curt sees her lips move, but no sound comes out.

"C'mon sweetheart, what's wrong?"

It's almost sweet, in a way. If her state weren't so delicate, it would be almost endearing — the small touches, his protective stance over her form. The way Frank leans closer, making sure she doesn't have to strain in order to get her message across.

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"… Asshole."

It's only quiet for a moment.

And then David laughs until Curtis is sure he hears something pop in the man's neck.

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A/N: This was supposed to be a short and sweet oneshot. It was, of course, never going to be that. I felt bad abandoning it, though, so here you go. Not my best work, but I do love this idea. Let me know if you'd like an update from her perspective regarding what happens after! Thank you for reading and please know that I always love to read your comments.

[tobernaut]

Did you like the first chapter? I'm pretty intrigued so far, though I have to say Ratau's personality was quite surprising considering how he is in the game. I have a feeling that maybe he will be the one to betray the Lamb considering that change. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Spoilers for COTL comic chapter one below! I will be tagging "cotl comic spoilers" from now on. Please block this tag if you don't want to be spoiled!

Spoilers include plot/character talk and a singular image.

Did I like the first chapter???? Did I LIKE THE FIRST CHAPTER??? I've been going through it with a fine toothed comb and loving EVERY MINUTE OF IT!!!

Ahem.

So, I love this characterization of Ratau.

In the game we already saw hints that he maybe had a little bit of trouble letting go of the red crown. The fact he wears one made of paper is weird enough, but the fact he has the same paper crowns filling his house and on his shrine hints at this imo. I know game cannon ≠ comic cannon, but I had the idea Ratau may hold a little jealousy even before the comic because of this, so I was really excited to see the idea play out.

But if you look at it from his point of view, it kind of makes sense.

At least in the comic so far, it seems that Ratau is incredibly devoted to TOWW. He's offended that The Lamb is taking Narinder's mission so lightly, that they are seemingly attempting to ignore his orders in order to go on their own revenge quest.

This makes sense, because as a past vessel, Ratau is bound to know well the honor that that sort of job brings. Seemingly, he would be eager to take The Lamb's place, but knows he can not. He's managing someone doing his dream job, and they're just there for the paycheck. It's got to be infuriating!

Especially since he's seemingly older and wiser than the lamb (Though I don't think his or TOWW's use of the word "child" is literal. I think it's more in the same way The Mystic Seller calls The Lamb an infant god.) I can definitely see his frustration. I think that The Lamb is going to kind of "sober up" after Leshy's defeat and finally gain sight of the mission.

Speaking of The Lamb, I really like how they were characterized! A lot of us, including myself, were pretty sceptical of turning a silent protagonist into a fully fledged character, but in my opinion all is looking really very well so far!

I especially the love the sort of cognitive dissonance they have in the beginning. It sets them up to be this wimpy pushover. I know a lot of people may find it hard to believe that someone in those circumstances would be so calm, but as someone who's had a number of near death experiences I thought it was pretty realistic! A sort of humorous disassociation sprinkled with a confusing mix of denial and acceptance. (Though, please note it's been a few years since the last time I've nearly died. My data is a bit outdated.)

Regardless, I like how they are now. It makes a lot of sense, after all, to be a bit peeved at the circumstances. Their dialogue is super witty, though really sad if you think about it, and I have a feeling that when they stop focusing on revenge they're going to crash and feel a lot of things they've suppressed since their death.

But all in all I'm super excited to see where this little lamb goes!

Finally, can we get some Nana appreciation?? Sure she had a small role, but for a first non-game character, she made a really good first impression!

She seems fleshed out with her own little past, backstory, and personality. The traumatized sceptic in me is a bit worried she'll end up as a love interest, but I doubt it. If it does happen, I doubt it'll be in a typical way. This is a game where you're encouraged to marry with multiple people, after all. I don't think that's the case, though. I think I'm just used to old 80's comics where the first female introduced was the main love interest and nothing more 99.999% of the time.

Whatever is done with her, I'm eager for it. So far the writing seems really really good and she made a great first impression as a follower. She makes me EXCITED to see future follower interactions. If they're all written like her, then it's going to be a super enjoyable part of the comic. We love Nana here.

Finally I have some other random thoughts and things I noticed but can't really format in a way that works, so here's a bullet point list.

Apparently wool is very valuable. Now it's not said weather this is because of the lambs becoming less and less or if it was always valuable. Either way, it's and interesting little fact. I wonder if it'll be important later or if it's just trivia. I like to think things like that aren't added for no reason.

I like that they used the real term, 'Endling,' to describe the last of a soon to be extinct species. This knowledge, though, and the discussion with the cultist, implies this has happened many times before with other species. I wonder if they were always driven to extinction through genocide, or if natural factors ever play a role.

The Lamb was sold out for 30 gold coins. This is apparently a lot. It costs almost that much (converting coins to Dollars. Not perfect, I know.) to buy the ingredients for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich where I live in the US. Either there's not much inflation, or The Lamb was sold out for some PB and J.

I believe the thirty gold coins is a reference to the 30 silver coins Judas was given in exchange for selling out Jesus in Christian lore. If so, I like that detail! Very neat.

It's implied that the bishops are making life hell for EVERYONE while they drive off the lambs. This is interesting, and also a reflection of real life. Bonus points.

Does The Lamb really count as a non believer if they clearly believe in the bishops existence?? I mean they see them right there with no surprise.

Kallamar is shiny. Knew it. He also has tentacles.

It could just be the perspective, but Leshy seems taller than the other bishops.

BAAL AND AYM!

Let's all appreciate how well TOWW's chains and restraints were drawn. All those different perspectives must have been hell but it looks so good.

Chubby cheeks Narinder :)

Sharp teeth lamb! Possibly due to the crown??

So no head??

You. Me.

So no head?? x2

The lamb has guilt and second thoughts about the killing they must do to achieve their goals. Nice.

Cultist roles have hierarchy to them. Neat.

The Lamb's eyes water upon seeing light for the first time in who knows how long...sob.

Again, beautiful art.

There's lots of focus on The Lamb's fangs. Are they important or just stylistic, I wonder??

The crown seemingly has a mind of its own or is watching.

It's implied The Lamb has some sort of death powers already

So no head?? x3

CLAUNECK. MY BE FUCKING LOVED.

Needless to say I have so many THOUGHTS and can't wait for the next chapter. Happy reading, you guys!

[bumpkinspice0]

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: explicit (MINORS DNI!!!!!)

Word Count: 5285

Summary: There's a massive breach to Spider Tower, Miguel needs the help of the entire spiderverse to contain it.

Warnings:  Previous traumatic accident (Wound and pain from such but nothing too descriptive), I don't know how healing works it's the future shut up, angst, pining, protective!Miguel SMUT! Sexy shower time, fingering, praise kink, kinda body worship, Miguel takes GOOD care of you, don't look at me

A/N: Sorry this took longer to update than usual, life really started lifin' there. Also I didn't know how to write the shift in relationship dynamic good so you'll gotta deal with that too. ENJOY

Previous. Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

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Chapter 10

Let Me Take Care of You

You drift lazily on the waves of consciousness for what felt like hours, your eye’s only forming blurry images as you attempt to force yourself to wake up. The smell is the first thing you notice. Fresh, clean linens and something else you recognize but can’t put your finger on. It wasn’t quite sterile , like a hospital, but not completely welcoming like a home either. When you finally burst fully from the veil of sleep, it’s a room you’ve never seen before. Smooth and sleek futuristic architecture like the tower. All accented in crisp white and grays, almost no color— but it’s not a hospital room like you suspected. You’d been to the infirmary in the tower a handful of times, and this wasn’t it

It takes all your effort to simply turn your head to the side, and there on the nightstand is your answer. A framed photograph of Miguel and Gabe. They look younger than you know them. Maybe ten years ago. This was his room.

You were in Miguel's house.

You take another deep breath, bringing the sheets to your nose and finally recognize his scent amongst the clean white linens— like rich red wine. The smell of Miguel. 

Why on earth were you here? You move to roll out of the massive bed, but a sharp pain in your side stops you. And in your shoulder— and your head— pretty much all of you. 

You look down at your hands for the first time and see several bandages scattered up your arms. You had a particularly big one you recognized on your hand— you’d had an IV in at some point. Your clunky multiverse watch had been replaced with a day pass. Your suit had been replace with a cotton tee and shorts.

Ever so slowly you come up to a seated position. The worst pain was coming from your right side. You lift your plain gray cotton shirt to reveal more bandages wrapped around your abdomen and several ugly purple bruises peeking out from beneath. 

“What the hell happened?” you whisper to yourself.

“You got blown up,” a familiar cheeky voice informs you. Lyla materializes at the end of the bed. She’s not a small little hovering woman though. She’s a full-sized person. You never seen her appear larger than a soda can and now she looked like you could practically touch her. “Well, the nanotech took most of the blow. You’re lucky.”

“Nanotech? The suit?” You run your hand over your face, feeling a few other bandaids taped down. One on your eyebrow and another on the cheek. Was there any part of you that wasn’t hurt?

You squeeze your eye’s shut trying to recall anything. There was a fight— I big one. You were called into the tower. It was a blur but you know you made it out. You remember laughing with Jess and Gwen afterward. You’d won. You even found Miguel afterward and he told you to… ah, there it was. Some freak explosion from the rubble by his room. Wrong place at the wrong time. This was gonna be embarrassing to come back from.

Any normal person would be in shock right now. You hadn’t been a normal person for nearly a decade. If you had a dime for every near-death experience you’d had since starting this job, you’d be able to buy the entirety of New York City. This wasn’t your first time waking up bruised and battered and it certainly won’t be the last.  

All in all, not the worst you’d been banged up on the job, but still not great it landed you bedridden for god knows how long. You felt sluggish and tired but knew if you didn’t try to move around at least a little, you’d regret it later. Get the blood pumping, that always helped.

You’d really been in this situation too many times.

You slowly move the edge of the bed again. Lyla glitches in front of you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?” She places her hands on her hips. 

“To get some water. I’m thirsty,” You shakily stand and walk right through her pixelated form. Your legs might as well be jello but you make it work. 

“This is a fully automated house!” She forms back in front of you when you're just at the door, “I’ll get you the water.”

“I’m a big girl, I can get my own drink,” You sigh and walk/ limp through her again.

“Oh! You just wanna snoop!” she accuses.

Ah, she got you. Yeah, you wanted to move a little, yes, but this was a rare opportunity you weren’t going to pass up. You were in his house. His house! Alone!

“And so what if I do?”

She raises her hands in defeat. “Hey, I’m not stopping ya then.” 

You slide the foggy glass door out of the way and leave Miguel’s bedroom. You walk out onto a lofted balcony overlooking the rest of his home. It matched the bedroom with its sleek white glossy and gray tones— and it was massive. Twenty-foot ceilings, Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, overlooking the city. Wherever you were, you were very high up. A modest living room sat in the center with sleek charcoal furniture. The floors were a glossy deep black. The second-floor balcony lined the entirety of the living space, with several doors and hallways leading to other parts of the house along its path. You make your way across the second level and down the sleek glass stairs— gripping the railing for dear life. 

“How long was I out?” You ask Lyla, noticing the weakness in your legs again.

“Three days,” She answers, glitching to the bottom of the stairs. “You were in the infirmary until the swelling went down then the big guy brought you here.”

“What swelling?” You ask, almost afraid of the answer.

“In your brain. Minor. Should be fine now with all the drugs and advanced healing,” She says so nonchalantly it almost puts you at ease— almost.

Sounds like you had a concussion. Awesome. That explains the pulsing headache that was on the rise and your less-than-stellar vision. Your advanced healing can only do so much. You have brain fog to look forward to for the next 2 weeks. Even more awesome, “Might wanna take a week off after this.”

You made it to the bottom floor, spotting the kitchen underneath the stairs. It was sleek and clean like the rest of the house.

“Me? Take a week off? Nah, I’m unstoppable.” You joke as you round the kitchen island with the speed of a tortoise. A cabinet automatically opens for you, revealing the glasses. You grab one and fill it up at the sink. You chug the liquid down in a very unladylike way, immediately refilling the glass. Damn, you were actually extremely thirsty.

“Miggy’s gonna force you to take a month off with the way he’s been hovering over you.”

Your cheeks instantly heat up at her casual statement. She takes notice, a smirk pulling at her pixelated mouth. 

“Where is Miguel?” You ask sheepishly. 

“Called into the tower,” she casually glances down at her nails, “Had to go do something only he could do , I don’t know. He’s been at your bedside every day and night. He’s gonna be pissed when he gets back to see you finally awake when he wasn’t here. In fact, you should get back to bed.”

“How long ‘til he’s back?” You ask, completely disregarding her suggestion.

“No idea,” She shrugs, her expression still smug. She was having fun seeing your schoolgirl crush. Lyla knew everything from the beginning. She knew all the rules of the agreement too. Miguel brought you to his home. You’d slept in his bed. You’d stayed in this dimension well past the 48-hour limit. He was breaking rules for you— Miguel didn’t break rules.

You take your water and head to the massive windows. There was a large balcony just beyond the apartment. Lyla, seemingly reading your mind, opened the door for you— well not exactly a door. A rectangle of glass dissipates right next to you, leading outside. Guess they don’t do doors the same way in 2099. 

The air is fresher than you expected for a city balcony, you attribute it to being so high up. This view was easily head and shoulders above any of the surrounding buildings. It was cold and a little windy, but it felt nice on your arching, bedridden body. 

The view was spectacular. You’d been to Nueva York dozens of times before, technically, but you spent all your time in spider tower. You’d caught glimpses of the city, of course, but you never really took the time to appreciate it. 

New York in 2099. A futuristic version of your home. It looked nothing like your New York. Everything was so sleek and rounded— taller than your world's cities. There are a few things you can recognize from this height. The green of Central Park is still cut out in the center of the towering Skyscrapers. You’re in Manhattan, not far from the park. The rivers converging around the islands— okay maybe you only recognize a few things. The buildings and streets you know were likely engulfed amongst the behemoth futuristic towers that now make up this New York.

No, this wasn’t your New York. This was Nueva York, and it was incredible. 

“Lyla,” You ask and she automatically blips to your side, “Where are we? Like, where is his apartment?”

“You’re still in the tower,” She confirms, “The penthouse suite.”

She confirms your suspicions. You may not have seen much of the city, but you were certain Spider Tower was one of the tallest buildings in it.

Miguel lived and worked here. You wonder if he ever left the grounds in anything other than a portal. Did he have friends? Did he like to go out to dinner? What silly little life did he live outside of being Spider-Man? You suspect he doesn’t have one. You want to ask Lyla but you feel like you’ve already invaded enough of his personal life simply by being here. Then again… he apparently brought you here.

“Why am I here, Lyla?”

She raises her eyebrows over lidded, unamused eyes, “Do you really need an advanced AI to tell you that, girl?”

You don’t, but you also don’t want to dwell on the deeper implications of this unholy shit show. 

“What do you think of… this? Of us?”

“Try being a little less vague if you can.” The AI rolls her eyes. 

“Fair enough.” you mull over your next words, “But just… why would Miguel bring me here? He’s broken almost every rule.”

“Ya know, it amazes me how dense you humans can be,” She leans against the railing next to you, “Before you came along, Gabe and I were his only close friends. Though, I’m not sure I count.”

“You count.” You inform her immediately. 

“Well, thank you,” Some comical blush circles pop up on her face and disappear in an instant, “Miguel cares a lot, despite trying to make people think he’s made of stone. You’re the only other person that’s… been in his life this way. He looks out for his own. Something bad happened to you— and he got scared. And he took control like he always does. Humans aren't always rational. That’s something you all need to accept.”

For a programmed interface, she was a really good therapist. It was all things you already knew but just didn’t want to admit to. You were just human. Miguel cared. You both cared— and that made everything more complicated. 

“Was he really with me the whole time?” You ask Lyla, suddenly feeling like a tween gushing over a crush again.

She peeks her eyes over her obnoxious heart-shaped glasses and rolls her head to the side, “Why don’t you ask him yourself.” and in a flash, she’s gone.

As soon as she vanishes, you feel the spider-sense ring in your head, and butterflies instantly rise in your stomach. You turn around to see Miguel standing at the door, still in his spider suit with an almost heartbreaking look on his face.

“What are you doing out here?” it takes him only four long strides to stand at your side, “Lyla shouldn’t have let you out of bed.”

“To Lyla’s credit, she did try,” You smile at him. He doesn’t smile back, worry painted over his features.

“Stubborn woman.” He reaches out to you but quickly pauses his movements as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. “Please, come back inside. It’s freezing out here.”

You nod and head back towards the door. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how slow and awkward your walking is. He slowly walks at your side the whole time, hovering a hand behind you as if you’ll fall at any second. You catch a glimpse of your full body in the reflection of the windows and you can see why he’s so cautious around you. You looked like a minefield of bandages and bruises. It was jarring to see all at once. 

The door closes behind you with a sleek ring as the glass reforms in an instant. You’ll never get used to that. 

Miguel’s in front of you again, ghosting his hands over your body, “I can’t believe you’re up and walking. How are you feeling? How’s your vision? They stopped the internal bleeding right away but there still might be—”

He shuts up when he meets your eyes. His were wide but still soft somehow. Caring in a way you hadn’t seen before— deep, lustful red eyes.

“Hi,” you simply say.

“Hi,” he responds with the faintest of smiles. You’d seen his face flash through a series of emotions since he saw you, but he seems to have finally settled on relief. 

“I… Like your house.”

“Uh, Thanks,” He stands up straight again, scratching the back of his head, “Will you— I need to— Can you just sit in the living room for me?”

“Um, sure, yeah,” you make your way to the living room just in front of you, he hovers next to you the entire way. He helps you to a seated position on the couch. You swear he holds himself back from fluffing the pillows too. 

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect you to be–” He slowly sits down next to you, taking a deep breath. Shouldn’t you be the one freaking out? Today, apparently not,  “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” You say with slightly forced cheerfulness, “I mean… good considering…” you look down at the bandages scattering your body.

His gaze drops away from yours, “Yeah.”

You weren’t lying. Sure, you were achy and groggy with some bad scrapes and bruises, but overall… not bad. You’d likely experienced a critical accident just days ago. Even with advanced healing, you shouldn’t be as chipper as you are.

“I mean… how am I feeling this good ?” You ask, simultaneously questioning yourself and Miguel. “Lyla said it’s only been 3 days.”

“Four days now.” Miguel’s eyes shoot back to yours, “Partially because of your suit. The nanotech acted as a shield for the most part, preventing any burns and such. You’re also in the twenty-second century with access to the multiverse. We can heal anything.”

That’s… a fair point. Well, future medicine fucking rocked.

He scoots closer to you, reaching out his hand toward your wrist. He pauses, waiting for your permission and you simply place your arm in his hand. 

“For example. Here…” He gently runs his thumb along a faint silvery line on your forearm, “You had stitches. I removed them this morning. The rest of these,” He runs a thumb over one of your bandages, “Are cautionary until this evening.”

“That’s amazing,” You look down at your other arm with scattered marks and bandages. Just a matter of hours and you’d be back to normal—for the most part. Like nothing ever happened at all. 

“Still,” Miguel’s gaze drops again, “I don’t change the fact that you shouldn’t have been—”

“Don’t,” You cut him off, already knowing where this is going. “Shit happens. Shit always just happens with this job. I’m a big girl, I’ve been through this before. If you turn my freak accident into self-loathing man pain I’m gonna fucking kick your ass, O’Hara.”

You don’t want to focus on the gravity of it all. You don’t want some protective speech, you don’t want assurances that everything will be okay when you know it will be. His actions have spoken louder than his words ever could. You just… want him to stop looking at you like that— Like you’re helpless.

He says nothing. Shock briefly pulls at his stern features until he settles into a smile. You smile back. 

“You’re probably hungry.” He says. 

Right on cue, your stomach growls like a beast and you’re suddenly fully aware of the aching hollowness inside you. 

“Starving.”

____________

Thank god Thai food still tasted the same in the future. You made the request and Lyla had it delivered in less than thirty minutes. It was Miguel’s favorite place in the city, apparently. He had a favorite restaurant, just more proof to you that he wasn’t completely a workaholic robot. There was a regular human underneath that rugged persona, just like you’d always suspected. 

You heartily enjoy a red curry and a few dumplings, Miguel has some noodle dish he sets aside for later. 

As you finish your meal Miguel returns with a kit of medical supplies, graciously asking if he could check your progress. You agree, not turning away from your dinner for a second. He scans your body with a small tool you’d never seen before.  

“Inflammation down 20 percent, vitals normal, advanced healing progressing as expected,” Lyla’s ambient voice announces, “She’s doing great, despite not listening.”

“I’m a rebel, what can I say,” you chuckle lightly. The scan finishes and several small projections hover around Miguel. 

“Okay, yeah, this is all good. Really good,” He says, reading over the results. He’d changed out of his suit, opting for a loose pair of sweats and a shirt with a band you don’t recognize. Strangely enough, he looked more attractive in normal clothes than in a skintight suit. He was comfortable. He wasn’t Spider-Man or a leader he was just— Miguel. You liked just Miguel.

He rummages around back in the kit and pulls out a syringe with pale blue liquid. 

Oh hell no.

“What’s that?” You ask with apprehension. 

“Painkiller and something that’ll speed up your healing,” He scoots closer to you at the dinner table, “This is your last round of it.”

“I don’t think—”

He jabs it into your shoulder before you can properly protest. Despite the pain from the needle, you swear you can feel relief instantly once it’s injected. 

“Ouch.” You grumble, taking the last bite of your rich curry.

“Oh, do you need a lollipop?” he tuts, packing away the kit— infuriating man.

“No, but maybe something else to suck on,” You joke. His cheeks flush in an instant. Victory. “Actually what I’d like most is a shower,” you admit. 

After four days of stewing motionless in a bed, you can practically smell yourself— which means Miguel could definitely smell you. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re still a fainting risk and I don’t want to leave you—”

“Okay, then come with me.” You counter instantly. His protective nature is not going to keep you from a hot shower. And well… It felt nice to have him close. 

 He pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. His cheeks are still faintly red, “I mean, I guess I—”

“Great,” You stand and make your way to the stairs, “Let’s go.”

You pause at the foot of the stairs, remembering what a slow challenge they were earlier. Sure, you were feeling better than earlier— you’d had a meal and whatever was in that needle was fucking magic— but your legs still felt like compacted jelly.

Before you can take the first step you feel Miguel behind you, his hands caressing down the back of your legs and up your back. He gently scoops you into his arms with ease and strides up the steps without missing a beat. Your spider-sense sighs in gratitude.

“Sure. Let’s go.” He grins, glancing down at you. 

He walks you both back through his bedroom and into the master bath. A sleek glossy room that matched the rest of the penthouse, every inch of it covered in black marble. The massive shower was on your left and the counter with a ceiling-height mirror was to your right. He seats you on the counter next to the sink. The rainfall shower starts up behind him. 

“Okay, let’s get these off you,” he says as he kneels down and gently pulls off one of the bandages from your leg. The flesh underneath is practically healed. You start to remove the ones from your arms, grazing your fingers over the already faint pink marks underneath them. Some were faint scabs and cuts, others were almost entirely healed over. Just four days and this is what was left.

He stands, finished with your legs. He grabs the hem of your shirt and gingerly pulls it off of you. All that remained was the bandages wrapping your abdomen. He slowly starts to unroll them. You wince slightly. He pauses but you nod for him to continue. This was the worst area. The bruises you saw peaking out earlier were already fading away from their previous deep purple. A faint wound still remained on your left side, red tendrils from it reaching over your stomach. You notice small pricks lining the larger portions of the wound. You’d had stitches here too— and now it looked like it’d been healing for weeks.

You shake your head, not wanting to stare at the damage any longer. Later. You’d think about it all later. You had a beautiful man and a shower that were calling your name. 

You slide off the counter and pull at the hem of Miguel's shirt. He leans down and you pull it off his body, revealing that gorgeous toned torso. He runs his fingers along the elastic of your shorts and shimmies them off your hips. You do the same with his sweats. A silent ballet you both were deeply familiar with at this point. He cradles your hands as he guides you both backward into the waiting shower.

The steaming water feels like heaven as soon as it hits your body, the rainfall drenching you both in an instant. Your sore limbs instantly feel relief. Your buzzing mind was put at ease. All the anxieties of the day melted away and spiraled down the drain. 

You pause there, just letting the sensation consume you. Time slows down and the crackling sound of water hitting stone fades away. You feel like you can properly think for the first time since you woke up hours ago— and it all hits you at once. 

You fought. You almost died— and Miguel saved you. If he wasn’t right there when it happened, who knows what would have happened to you. You wouldn’t be here in his house, that’s for sure. He’d stayed by your side, he exhausted every resource to heal you. And he was still by your side right now. 

He looks out for his own. Something bad happened to you— and he got scared.

Lyla’s words from earlier echo in your head. He was scared to lose you. You were scared to ever lose him. Not just as a fellow spider but as… something more maybe. You’d felt the feelings pulling at you when you hunted him down in the multiverse those weeks ago. Terrified you’d find him injured or even dead. It was more than a spider-sense. More than this forced proximity you’d both had… well, it wasn’t so forced anymore, was it.

You feel your weakened legs start to wobble and Miguel's hands are instantly on you, pulling you close to him. 

“Easy, arañita,” he coos ever so softly.

You look up at him, watching the water cascade over his stern face. His fluffy hair was now drenched down over his forehead. Those crimson eyes filled with concern. 

You sigh and rest your head on his chest. “Thank you… for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” He runs a hand over your head and down your back. “Consider us even for saving me… if that helps.”

And there it is, the Miguel you knew. Trying to step away from the gravity of the situation. From feelings becoming too real. This was all supposed to be temporary after all, maybe you should take a page from his book.

Still, you were both here in each other's arms— and that meant something.

“ Déjame cuidarte .” He says just above a whisper. 

Miguel trails his hands down your arms, his touch somehow hotter than the water. You close your eyes at the combined sensation. You feel him reach overhead, grabbing something. His hands come back to you, now trailing through your hair. You feel a foamy lather as he does so and the faint smell of flowers hits your nose. 

Miguel was washing your hair. 

His fingers move slowly and with purpose as they crawl along your scalp. This wasn’t about getting you clean, this was about making you feel good. He was trying to comfort you. To make you forget about… well, everything. 

You melt into him, trailing your hands along his stomach. One of his hands trails down your back while the other works the shampoo through your hair. He holds you close. He takes care of you.

He leans your head to the side, the soap rinsing from your hair. He walks you both further into the stream of water and turns you around. Your back is flush with his torso as his hands ever so gently trail over your healing body. 

You feel suds foaming from his touch. When had he grabbed that soap? You decide you don’t really care. 

He leans down, lips caressing your temples. “Do you feel good, little spider?”

“Yes,” You sigh.

“Do you want to feel better?” you feel one of his hands trail down your stomach and gently ghost over your waiting cunt. A pulse of arousal surges through your whole body. 

“Please,” You moan, pulling his head further down. You lean back and pull him into a kiss. His fingers plunge down and run through your folds. You gasp for air at the sensation. 

His fingers come up and circle lazily around your clit, already wet and wanting for his touch. He holds you. He plays with you. 

Something’s missing this time. Something that was always there when you were both in the most intimate of positions— The spider-sense. You felt its presents, as you always did with Miguel, but you didn’t feel its pull. It’s seemingly innate nature to make you and Miguel go at each other like animals. 

He wasn’t doing any of this because he felt like he had to, he was doing this because wanted to. He wanted to make you feel good. He wanted to see you squirm and come undone by his hands. 

Later— Think about it later. Just enjoy this. Enjoy him. 

He slowly pushes his middle finger inside you. You grind yourself into his palm as he slowly works in and out of you. His free hand comes up to cradle your breasts. He backs you both into the closest wall, the water still cascading over you. His knee comes up between your legs, spreading you wider. 

“I’ve got you, arañita. Te tengo, está bien .” He moans against you. You're completely leaning against him as he holds you close. As he works you faster. 

You see a glimpse of the both of you in the mirror past the quickly fogging glass— it’s absolutely filthy and you love it. His massive hulking form curled around you wantonly. Your serine, blissed-out face. You adored this man.  

“I want you,” You moan, “W-want more.”

“No,” He says just a little too quickly, “Not yet.”

“Please.” You beg breathlessly. 

“Not yet, sweet girl,” He sighs, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Finish healing. Get better for me, then you can have whatever you want.”

You don’t entirely dislike the sound of that. You're suddenly aware of your aching body again after being so caught up in the moment. With how fast you were healing it wouldn’t be long at all. 

“P-promise?” you barely gasp out. 

“I promise.” He curls his finger inside you, grinding his palm against your clit. You gasp, arching further into his touch. “Good girl.”

He was playing you like a fiddle. Familiar with every part of you like the back of his hand. He holds you there against him for what felt like hours, slowly working you. Letting the pressure build and fade as he saw fit— making you feel good.

You eventually come with a shaky sigh, your mind completely melting away. He holds you up, letting the warm water wash over you a few minutes more. You were spent, you were tired. The shower stops. Miguel wraps you in a towel and carries you to the bed.

He sets you on the mattress and gently runs the towel over your body. He cradles your leg, kissing down the length of it as the towel wicks away the beads of moisture. He does the same with your other leg and your arms. He takes his time, giving attention to every part of you. You watch him as he does so, feeling your heart race faster with every gentle touch. 

He said he would take care of you. He said he wanted you to feel good. 

When he finishes you hold each other's gaze for a moment. Both still completely naked, you now dry and him still sopping wet. It was a little ridiculous, but you’d never felt more comfortable around someone in your life than with this lumbering man kneeling at your feet. 

He stands eventually, running the now useless towel over his damp hair. “I should—”

“Stay,” you reach out to him, grabbing his wrist. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

He pauses, looking down at you. You can’t help but feel so small and meek under his gaze. He’d just unspokenly catered to your every need and now you were begging him to sleep with you. Pathetic, maybe, but you don’t fucking care. You just didn’t want him to leave— and you don’t think he does either.

He closes his eyes with a small smile, “Alright. One moment, please.”

He disappears back into the bathroom to grab a fresh towel and comes back out dry with a pair of black briefs on. You curl under the crisp white covers as he rounds the other side of his massive bed. The lights dim as he crawls in next to you. You roll onto your side and he pulls you into him. You feel his steady breathing against your back and it sends a wave of comfort over the normally buzzing spider-sense. He was so close. You were in his bed— with him.

“Miguel—”

“Shhhh,” he hums, resting his chin just above your head, “Duerme querida.”

You close your mouth, opting just to enjoy the rare moment with him. The feel of his body completely engulfing yours. His thumb tenderly rubbing comforting circles against your stomach. His alluring, amazing scent. Everything— just everything about him right now. You commit it to memory and lock it away.

You were in deep shit.

__________

Déjame cuidarte: Let me take care of you Te tengo, está bien: I’ve got you, it’s okay. Duerme, querida: Sleep, my dear.

And of course, do correct me if any of this is wrong!

I could think of literally no other way to get our Arañita in his house other than some dramatic near death experience, okay

_________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3

[mastercherry]

Ghost x Soap prompt

Oh. Okay. I remember what I wanted to post on here earlier. You don't know this, but I totally had this idea earlier today and want to share it with the world but I got distracted and forgot all about it. But here I am.

Back at it again with a Call of Duty, Ghost and Soap fic prompt.

I don't have a lot of experience with the games. I just got my first one, MW3, like a month or 2 ago. I know a little bit of the storyline, and I've looked up a few canon things, but most of my experience is with fanfiction so far. I know there's some mixed feelings amongst the fandom as far as the fanfiction goes so I want to do my best to contribute in a positive way.

I encourage feedback and comments or additional ideas. Also, I'd love to join a Discord server about the different ships in the game so invite me if you'd like.

Without further delay, here's my COD Ghost x Soap prompt from earlier today:

You know the Underworld series? With the vampires and the werewolves? You know, specifically, Underworld: Rise of the Lycans?

*<*<*spoiler alert for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans to follow*>*>*

*<*<*spoiler alert for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans to follow*>*>*

*<*<*spoiler alert for Underworld: Rise of the Lycans to follow*>*>*

You know near the end when Lucian and Sonja are tied up, unable to reach each other as the sun rises? And it's stressful and painful but beautiful. And she looks up as the sun roof begins to open, but he's just begging her to look at him.

"Look at me, look at me. Keep your eyes on me."

And she takes strength from his gaze and she's able to face what happens next because he's there with her.

"I love you," he says.

"And I love you," she replies as the sun roof continues to open. She keeps her eyes on him until the end.

And he just screams in anguish and pain when she's gone. And the whole castle can hear him calling her name.

You know what I'm talking about?

Okay. So THAT idea but Ghost and Soap.

Hear me out. It's somewhat of a sci-fi/fantasy world. Ghost doesn't know what he is, not really. There are others like him, born from death, unkillable as far as he knows. Some sort of creature that humans start to call a Reaper. He's never really cared. And he's never really wanted to die.

Until he met Jonathan Riley.

And this was like maybe 2 or 3 hundred years ago. We're talking castles and horses and witch hunts. The supernatural world is unknown but humans are starting to learn. They're starting to see. They're calling anything non-human evil. It's bad. Werewolves, vampires, witches- all real. All in danger during these dark times.

And here he meets Jonathan Riley. Nothing special really. He's from a poor family, with several siblings, barely enough food to eat. He helps his dad in the stables, helps his mom in the kitchen. Keeps the little ones busy. Picks up odd jobs around the small village Simon only visits every other week. And really, he only does it to keep up the appearance of being a normal human.

It's one of these visits where he quite literally runs into Jonathan. And it's all history from there. Jonathan might not be anything special to the village, but he's everything to Simon. He's the world. Suddenly, life is full of color and wonder.

When a disease wreaks havoc on the village, killing almost everyone, it's only Simon and Jonathan who come out unscathed. Fingers to be pointed. Whispers start to poison what remaining ears are left to listen.

And so Simon and Jonathan are put to death for witchcraft. At least, Jonathan is. They try to break Simon down and all they learn is that he can take a beating and not break. They know he's something else. A demon maybe. And he gave the magic of witchcraft to Jonathan who will be burned at the stake.

And here's where we have the Underworld Rise of Lycans scene. Simon is beaten and broken, chained down as he's forced to watch the pyre burn down his whole world.

When he's eventually freed he brings death upon everyone who played a part in taking Jonathan's life. He becomes the demon that they feared.

He wastes away for a while after that, not caring about anything. Not eating or sleeping, just wandering. Watching the dull gray fog of time pass him by, wishing he could die and join his beloved Jonathan in the after life.

Eventually, the supernatural world is fully revealed. It takes a while for the two worlds to work hand in hand, but one day there's hardly anyone left who remembers the time when supernatural creatures had to hide. There's just Simon and the few others like him who can't seem to die.

He lived so long in the shadows as a ghost that he still, to this day, doesn't know how Price got a hold of him. How anyone got a hold of him. But they found him. Recruited him. And when they asked for his name?

Simon Riley.

It gives him a purpose again, being part of the 141. They call him Ghost. How right they were. He was just a shell. Nothing more than a directionless shade until Price came along.

And then, one day, the world bursts back into amazing wonderful color and warmth.

Enter in one John "Soap" MacTavish.

Long story short, Soap is the reincarnation of Jonathan Riley.

And they get to fall in love with each other all over again.

Sorry this is so long. It got away from me a little bit LOL

[writing-blog-iguess]

Omg i saw your post that your doing Ethan x reader or Aaron hotchner x reader! What if it’s combined? Reader (or oc whichever you prefer) is Ethan’s sister who got out of the IMF and now works for the bau and is dating hotch. One day Ethan shows up (as the dramatic person he is) and tells her he needs her help or both of them are gonna die. Idk something angsty and dramatic

Okay, I um kind of changed it a bit. I saw the words angsty and dramatic and an idea came to mind and I just rolled with it. I hope you don't mind. Also, very sorry for how long this took me, but I hope you like it.

Buckle up boys, it's a long one

---------

She left the IMF after a near death experience. Granted, that was an occupational hazard, and it wasn’t the first one she’s had. But something about this particular experience really rattled her.

Maybe it was disarming a nuclear bomb before it could go off, she wasn’t sure. She had thought her brother had the world ending missions, but she had her fair share of them too. Turned out it ran in the family.

After the debrief, she told Kittridge she was done. He tried to persuade her to become an instructor, even had Ethan try to convince her to stay with them. But the thought of teaching the next generation had her gut churning. So, she said no and left and hasn’t looked back since.

A few weeks after quitting, the director of the FBI tracked her down and offered her a job. Saying that her skill sets were perfect for the BAU. It started off rocky, as it usually does when starting a new job, and it didn’t help that the team had formed a family.

It was fine, they didn’t trust her much given that they knew next to nothing about her. Though there wasn’t a puzzle Garcia couldn’t solve, she seemed to be an exception. Whenever Garcia tried to find anything about her, nothing came up that pertained to her. Stating to the team that she was a ghost; she didn’t exist and what little she found was confidential.

Slowly, and one by one, she wormed her way into everyone’s hearts, and she stopped feeling like an outsider peering through the window.

She’s been with the BAU for five years, and dating the Unit Chief for three. It had been work cracking the hard shell of one Aaron Hotchner, but eventually she had. And along the way fell in love.  

He doesn’t know much about her past before the FBI. Well, he knows more than the rest of the team, but not much. He knows she worked for the government, doing covert assignments. What, she never said and hoped to keep it that way. He knows she has a brother who still worked there, but has never met him.

She doesn’t know how long she can hide that part of her life, but she hopes to keep it away from her current life as far as possible. God knows, Aaron doesn’t need to be pushed into the fray of her past. But she’s a Hunt, and if there’s one thing, she knows that the past will come to collect when you least expect it.

---

“Do you think we’ll get the weekend off?” Emily asked offhandedly as the three of them waited for the elevator. She snorted and shook her head, bringing her coffee cup up and took a sip.

“Doubt it,” she said, “every time we talk about the weekend and what plans we have, we usually get called in.”

“Yeah. But what if we didn’t talk about our plans?” JJ asked. The elevator dinged and the three of them stepped in, laughing.

“Sure, then maybe we’ll get it off. But knowing our luck we still get…” she trailed off as she turned around to see a familiar face through the building doors. And it seemed like time had stopped as she stared at him. He didn’t smile or wave, he just stood there, staring at her as if they were in a staring contest like they had as children.

“Hunt?” Emily called, waving her hand in front of Y/N. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she asked, and she blinked and he was gone. Maybe she had.

“Uh, yeah. I just,” she started and shot her hand forward, stopping the elevator doors from closing. She needed to make sure it was just that, just a ghost. “I forgot something in my car,” she lied though they didn’t buy it. “I’ll meet you up there.” Stepping off, she made her way towards the door, ignoring their calls of worry.

Pushing the door open, she turned her head around and hoped to see Ethan. But he was nowhere to be seen, and she briefly entertained the thought that she was just seeing things. She has been thinking about Ethan a lot lately, it could be her mind playing tricks. But there was a small part of her that knew what she saw was real. That Ethan might be in D.C, and he came to see her.

Grumbling about how stupid brother were under her breath, she walked across the street and hoped that there was something there that told her Ethan was there.

Just as she walked past a payphone, it started ringing. She watched it for a moment, waiting to see what would happen. And when someone went to answer it, it stopped ringing. Okay weird. When the person shrugged and walked away, it started ringing again. It was too much of a coincidence of seeing Ethan and having the phone ring.

“Dammit Ethan. Why couldn’t you make an appointment or something?” she mumbled to herself as she went to pick up the phone. “Hello.”

“In an hour, meet me where the mummies rest,” was all he said before hanging up. She blinked, staring at the receiver in her hand. What?

“What?” she muttered in disbelief. Somehow not surprised with the message. She hung up and glanced at her watch. She wasn’t going into work today, that she was sure of. Sighing, she fished out her phone and dialed.

“Hotchner,” he answered after the third ring. She didn’t answer right away, still in thought of what exactly she was going to tell him. She must have been quiet for a bit too long. She heard rustling and imagined Aaron moving some papers around before checking to see if the call was still connected.

“Honey? Are you okay?” Aaron asked softly, as if he was afraid to spook her. It brought a smile to her face at how fast he can go from Work Hotch to Home Hotch. She sniffled and turned to look up at the building, eyes on the floor she thought his office was. “Sweetheart?”

“Sorry. I-I don’t think I’ll make it to work today,” she finally answered.

“You haven’t gotten sick, have you?” Aaron asked, and wrinkled his forehead in worry was clear in her mind. As if he was standing in front of her. “You were fine this morning.”

“No, not sick,” she confirmed. Scratching her cheek, she debated telling him the whole truth. She decided on half the truth then. “Do you remember my brother?” she waited for his hum of acknowledgement before continuing. “Well, he’s in town.” Okay, she wasn’t sure if he was or not, but it’s something he didn’t need to know.”

“Everything okay?” Aaron asked, she bit her lip, shrugging helplessly, forgetting he couldn’t see her.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen or talked to him in five years,” she sighed out, “it could be nothing but it could be-”

“Something,” Aaron finished the thought for her. And knowing her brother the way she does, it was something. But she wasn’t ready to tell him that, not yet at least. “Go. Take as much time as you need. I think you have saved up vacation days you still need to use.”

“Is this Aaron talking or Hotch?” she couldn’t help but tease. Aaron huffed out a laugh, bringing out a smile from her.

“A little bit of both I suppose,” he answered, “still, take a few days if it’s important. If it’s not, still take them and spend time with your brother. Family is important.” He means it, she knows. Especially after what he went through with Haley. And she takes his words to heart. “Tell me how it goes, okay?”

“I will, thanks Aaron,” she whispered, rubbing her nose. “But are you sure you can handle the workload without me?”

“We handled them before you, I’m sure we’ll manage,” he teased, lifting up her spirits a little. You heard a knock and some mumbling before Aaron came back on the phone. “I have to go; a new case just came up. Stay safe. I love you.”

“You stay safe too, and I love you too.” With that you hung up.

Where the mummies rest. Why’d he have to be so damn cryptic, she’ll never know. If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t know what he was talking about. But since it was her that picked up the phone, and with her love of puzzles and riddles, she knew the answer.

She had an hour to meet him, an hour to prepare for whatever storm Ethan brought with him. Instead of going home or to the car, she turned and started walking towards the Smithsonian. She had hoped the walk would help clear her mind.

But by the time she stood in front of the building, she was in a bundle of nerves. Which was ridiculous, Ethan’s her brother. A brother who you haven’t seen nor talked to since she left the agency.

Feeling a little silly, she shook her head and walked inside. She bypassed all the other exhibits and went straight to ancient Egypt. Once she walked into the room, she slowly made her way around it. Picking up a pamphlet, making it look like she was there for the exhibit and not waiting for someone.

Though she didn’t have to wait long before her older brother stood beside her. She paid him no mind, and kept her focus on the vase she was currently studying.

“You look good,” Ethan finally said after a few moments of silence. She hummed and stole a glance in his direction.

“Could say the same about you,” you shot back, eyes returning to the pamphlet in her hands. “How’d you even find me anyways. Not that I was hiding or anything,” she added as an afterthought.

“You’re my younger sister, of course I’m going to keep tabs on you,” he answered. Furrowing her eyebrows in thought. If that were true, he could have made contact sooner. Right?

“No, you had Benji track me down,” you countered and she didn’t miss the smile that came after. “He’s here, isn’t he?” she asked, looking around. When she couldn’t find the familiar blond, her next target was a security camera. Finding one, she narrowed her eyes as if he was there.

“He says hi, by the way,” Ethan said, finally turning to you.” And that they keep track of everyone who’s ever worked for them. Even after they leave.” Of course, they do. Why that surprised her, she had no idea.

Turning back to Ethan with a huff, her hands crumpled the pamphlet as her grip tightened around it. “Well tell Kittridge I’m not coming back. And getting you to ask me doesn’t change my answer. It’s not like we’ve talked recently,” she said quietly, hurt creeping into her voice.

“I know and I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. Shaking his head, he reached out and took her by the arm, guiding the two of them somewhere more private. “Now’s not the time to catch up. I’ve come to ask for help.”

“No,” she said, shaking off his hand. She turned around to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I said I was done and I mean it. Tell Kittridge to leave me alone.”

Frustration crossed his features and he took a deep breath before talking. “Kittridge doesn’t know I’m here, he didn’t send me. I’m the one who needs your help,” he said, “she’s back and she’s gunning for you.”

“I don’t-I don’t know who you're talking about Ethan,” she finally answered. Ethan groaned and she stepped back a little at the look he was giving her.

“One of your first missions was to stop a trafficking ring,” he reminded, hoping it’ll jog her memory. She hummed and let her eyes wander around the room as well as her mind. 

As they do, her eyes settle on a person, and something not right clicks in her brain as she continues to stare. And it’s not the ‘it’s rude to stare’ her mom would tell her growing up. No, it’s something else that she can’t put a finger on.

The woman she’s staring at gives Y/N a familiar smile and wave when it clicks.

“No.”

“She’s coming for you and everything that you love.” She faintly heard Ethan say, but all her attention was on the woman across the room. She watched with mild horror as she wiggled a picture back and forth. She may be too far away to see the picture clearly, but she could faintly see the outline of the people in it and it made her heart drop to her stomach.

Pushing the pamphlet into Ethans chest and made her way towards the woman, ignoring her brother’s surprised grunt. The woman turned and made her way out of the room, dropping the picture as she went.

Y/N ignored the picture and kept walking, following the blond. “Sorry, excuse me, pardon me,” she went on as she gently pushed her way through the crowds. She quickened her pace as she kept going, ignoring everyone but the person she was following.

Once she entered the main lobby, she began to run until he pushed her way out the doors. Running down the steps, she looked around and cursed when she couldn’t find her.

“Y/N!” Ethan yelled just as her phone ran. Getting it out of her pocket, she answered.

“Hunt.”

“Long time no see,” the voice said, laughing. Y/n’s grip on her phone tightened at the sound of her voice. It may have been years since she put that person away, but she could never get rid of the voice from her nightmares.

“Whatever game you're playing Lily, it ends,” she hissed, turning around hoping she could find Lily. 

“No game,” Lily said, voice suddenly serious, “you ruined my life, Y/N. It’s only fair I ruin yours.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know,” Lily answered, “I mean who gets to find the love of their life? I’m sure Aaron and I have lots to talk about.”

“You stay away from him. Your fight is with me, not him.”

“You brought him the day you met him,” she hissed. “Whatever happens to him will fall on your hands, not mine. See you soon, Y/N.”

She made a noise in frustration as the call disconnected. Ethan grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. He had questions, they were just going to have to wait until later.

“What’s going on?” Ethan asked, Y/N made a face and just as she went to answer, her phone rang. Looking down, Derek’s name flashed and she quickly answered.

“Hey, is Aaron with you?” she asked before he could say anything.

“No. That’s what I’m calling about,” Derek answered, and she could hear the worry in his voice. “We think he’s missing.”

There were a few things she could have said, she could tell him the truth that she knew who had him, or she could lie and act surprised. But there was someone she was thinking about at that moment. “What about Jack? Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek said and she sighed in relief that he was safe. “Rossi went to pick him up once we realized Hotch was gone. Wanna talk to him?”

“If he wants too,” she answered and waited as the phone moved and Jack’s voice filtered through. She smiled and turned slightly from Ethan at his curious look he sent her. “Hey, Jack. How’s it going?”

“Good! Uncle David came and got me and brought me to dad’s work. They said he was busy, as Spencer and Penelope are helping me with my homework,” he answered, “after Penelope said she had some games I could play.”

“That sounds fun,” she said, and couldn’t help the smile Jack brought her. “Make sure they feed you too. I don’t think I’ll come and get you today, sweetie.”

 There was a moment of silence before Jack voiced the question she was hoping to avoid. “Dad’s missing, isn’t he?” Sighing, she rubbed her forehead as she thought of the best way to answer it. “Can you tell me? No one wants to tell me the truth, but I can take it. I know that they’ll find him and bring him back safely. I just want someone to tell me what’s happening.”

She took a moment to breathe before answering Jack. He was right, he deserved the truth no matter what was happening. “Yeah, your dad’s missing. We’re not sure who or what happened but we’re going to fight him.”

“I know,” he said and she felt the weight of trust Jack was giving her. And she made a promise to do whatever it took to find him. Even if it meant going against everyone. “Uncle Derek wants to talk to you. Be safe, okay?”

“I will. I love you,” she said before the phone shuffled back to Derek.

“It’s all hands-on deck, Hunt. We need you back here.”

“I know, but I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Derek asked, and she could tell he was getting frustrated with her and her non-answers.

“Trust me okay, I just can’t.” There was silence on both ends, and she could hear the fluttering of people running back and forth behind Derek. She wondered if he was in his office or out in the conference room.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” Derek questioned once he put the pieces together. You didn’t answer, but that was an answer of itself. “Oh man, you do. Then you need to come back to the office, if you know who has hotch. Fill us in.”

“I can’t Derek. Just trust me, okay? I have to go after her, just me. I won’t let you handle my mess.”

“Well, you should,” he grumbled, “we’re family and we help each other no matter what.”

“I know,” she whispered, taking a deep breath she let it out slowly. “But what I’m going to do, it goes against the FBI. Hell, it goes against everything we stand for. And I’m not going to risk your jobs over something I'm doing. You guys had your fair share of that, I’m not adding more to it.”

“You know we don’t care about that.”

“I know, but please Derek. Let me do this my way,” she begged and started counting. It helped with her nervousness, and she only hoped they would understand. Derek huffed and grumbled something before he answered.

“Okay, fine. Do it your way, but we’re not going to stop searching for him our way.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“But the minute you’re in trouble, call me. And we’ll be there to help.”

“Thanks Derek,” she said, smiling slightly. He grunted and wished her good luck before hanging up.

Tapping her phone against her fingers, she lets her eyes unfocus as she thought. There are many places Lily can go too, but it all depends on who she's still in contact with. She wouldn’t stay in the states long, preferring the warmth over the chilly air of Washington. She always did favour Dubai. Preferred being there and let her lackies do most of the heavy lifting. But she isn’t that stupid to go to places Y/N knows she might go. Maybe somewhere new? Maybe pull one over on her and stay Stateside, just somewhere now here. Maybe…

“You gonna explain what that’s all about?” Ethan asked, making her jump at the sudden sound that was in her ear. She blinked, forgetting that he was there and waiting for her to be done. “You got lost in your head again. Things never change.” He laughed as she turned to him and punched him in the arm.

“Like you’re one to talk,” she said and looked around. “Do you have a rendezvous point?” she asked, Ethan nodded and started walking. She quickly followed in silence, wanting to wait until they weren’t out in the open to talk.

As she walked, she turned off her phone, took out her SIM card and broke her phone. She didn’t want to, there were too many photos she cherished. But she was thankful she backed it up the night before, old habits die hard and she’s glad that was one of them she hasn’t broken.

“Why did you do that?” Ethan asked once they neared a shady looking motel. She raised an eyebrow at the state of it, but didn’t say anything about it.

“I have a friend I work with who’s really good with computers,” she answered, stepping through the door once he opened the door to the room he was staying in. “So much so, she could give Luther a run for his money.”

“Now I don’t know about that,” a deep voice called from somewhere in the room. She turned and looked towards-

“Luther!” she happily called, making her way towards him and gave him a hug. “Oh, it’s good to see you!”

“I just wish it was under better circumstances,” Luther said, patting her back as he pulled away.

“Me too,” she said, going and giving Benji a hug. “But we’re here now and we have to go forward.”

“Right. So now what?” Benji asked.

“Go through the museum’s security systems and comb through it until we find her,” she answered and frowned at the looks they were giving her. “What?”

“We did that and we seemed to have disappeared.”

“Okay,” she hummed, scratching her nose in thought. “So, we look through a different angle. Can you hack into the FBI security feeds?”

“Do ducks quack?” Luther asked as he went to work. In no time, they were watching the FBI offices. She instructed him what offices and the time she had in mind.

She watched as Aaron stepped out of his office with Garcia. They moved towards the conference room and stayed for a few minutes before everyone left the room. As Aaron made his way towards his office, he answered his phone. He paused on his walk, and she could see the worry lines wrinkling around his eyes.

She bit his lip and ignored her brother's stare as she continued watching. A second later, Aaron was rushing out of the office. “Luther?”

“Already on it,” he said, pressing a few buttons. She watched as Luther scanned through the security feeds until she spotted Aaron in the lobby. She watched as two men came up to him, whispering something to him before leaving the building.  

“There,” she pointed out, stopping Luther.

“Who’s he with?” Benji asked, and all she could do was shrug.

“I don’t know, but whoever they are really got to him,” she mumbled, though she already knew the answer to that. She’s just thankful the team got to Jack before Lily could.

“Who is he?” Ethan asked, taking the picture from his pocket and holding it in front of her. “Who are they to you? And why did Lily go after him?”

“It’s like you said, Ethan. She’s coming after everyone that I love,” she answered, taking the photo from him. She stared at it with a soft smile. It was a picture she had taken on one of their days off. Jack had wanted to bake cookies with the two of them, and they couldn’t say no.

They had spent the day baking cookies, at one point Jack and Aaron had gotten into a flour fight. Along with the two of them, the kitchen was full of flour, and Y/N had snapped the photo of the two of them laughing.

“His name is Aaron Hotchner and the boy is Jack, his son. They’re my boys,” she continued when someone cleared their throat. 

“Jack’s your son?” Benji asked, leaning over to see the picture. “Looks more like his dad than you.”

“No, he’s from a previous marriage. But I think of him as my own,” she answered, tracing the photo with her thumb. “And the only reason Aaron would be so frantic is if Jack’s in trouble. He’s safe,” she quickly added at the worried looks they were giving her. Afraid of bringing a child into this. “I don’t know who, but Lily found out about them.”

“So, you're married?”

“No, just dating. But we’ve been together for a couple of years,” she answered with a slight smile. “They’re my world and I would do anything to protect them.”

“Then let’s find them.”

With the photo safely tucked away in her pocket, they set to work. 

Within a few hours the group of agents narrowed it down to four places she could be.

“Now what?”

“We split up,” she suggested, and Ethan immediately shook his head at the thought.

“No, no way am I letting you go off by yourself,” Ethan said, turning towards her. “She’s after you, Y/N. This is what she wants.”

“Maybe not,” she countered, crossing her arms, and giving her brother a challenging look. “No listen,” she continued, raising a hand up to stop him from saying something, “she has a one-track mind, and that’s to hurt me. And to her, she took the only one she thinks can hurt me. Granted, she was almost right, but I digress. With Aaron, she won’t come after me. Now she’s waiting.”

“For who?” Luther asked the question everyone was thinking.

“Me. She’s waiting for the fight to come to her. And I plan to bring it.”

“What if you're wrong? What if this is a ploy to get you alone?”

“Then I’m wrong,” she said with a shrug. “I’m willing to take the chance.” She stared at Ethan, ignoring the other two in the room as they continued their tense staring contest. “I can hold my own, you know that, Ethan. If I’m the first to find her, I’ll back off and call for backup.”

“You’ll wait until I get there?” Ethan asked, she nodded.

“Yes.”

--

Twenty hours later, Y/N found herself wandering around the city of Dubai. It had been a struggle to convince Ethan that she was fine taking Dubia, but she managed. She didn’t think Lily would be here anyway, it’d be the first place they would look, and Lily knew that.

After putting out feelers around the city, she made her way back to her hotel. She was tired from traveling and knew she needed to rest before she could continue her search.

Taking out her burner with the intention of calling Derek to check in, but changed her mind. She didn’t have the energy to explain why she was in Dubai nor the story of her past. Instead, she called Benji.

“Nothing to report here,” he answered when she asked for an update. “My contacts haven’t heard anything. And what Luther said, he hasn’t had any luck either.”

“What about Ethan?” she asked, trying not to sound frustrated. Judging by Benji’s voice, she wasn’t successful.

“Don’t know, haven’t heard anything from him yet. I’m meeting up with Luther and from there we’ll meet Ethan. How about you?”

“I spread the word now I’m just waiting,” she sighed out, throwing a smile to the hotel concierge as she walked past them to the elevator. “I’ll let you know if I’ve found anything.”

“Alright. Good luck.”

Dropping the phone on the bed, she soon followed and closed her eyes. Waiting had never been her strong suit, but for Aaron, she’s willing to try. Besides, finding Lily here was a long shot, so the chances of her here were slim.

A few hours later, Y/N wore up with a start. Groaning when it registered that her phone woke her up, she rolled over and reached for it.

“Hello?” she answered groggily.

“She’s here,” the person on the phone said. Y/N shot up, fully awake.

“Where?”

“In the desert. Apparently, while she was away, she had it built. Don’t know why or how she got the funds for it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, waving away the questions. It wasn’t her biggest worry anyway. “What kind of building?”

“A factor type, I think,” he answered, “though there hasn’t been much work coming out of it. As far as I can tell, it was abandoned once they finished building. I sent the blueprints and everything to ya.”

“You’re the best, Lance. I owe you one.”

Lance snorted at that. “I think you owe me more than one, Hunt. Good luck, kid.”

She stared at the phone in thought. She could go now and take Lily down, save Aaron. But that was a big risk she wasn’t sure she wanted to take. Sighing, she dialed Ethan’s number.

“Found her,” she said as soon as he picked up.

“You wait, you hear me,” Ethan warned. She rolled her eyes as she leaned over to grab her laptop.

“That’s what I’m doing,” she said, going through the email Lance sent her.

“Good. We’ll be there in four hours. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“How can I? You do all the stupid things first.”

By the time they arrived, she was prepared. “Looks like you're ready for war,” Benji noted when he entered her hotel room. She sent him a flat look.

“I had nothing to do but prepare for four hours. Of course, I’m ready.”

“You know where she is?” Luther asked, setting his bags down. Y/N turned her computer around so they had a better view.

“Know where she is, I know the layout of the building and I can guess where she’s keeping him.”

“And you didn’t go there by yourself?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow as a challenge. She crossed her arms and shook her head.

“Scouts honour,” she said, raising her right hand. “But I do have a van and everything ready once you’re all caught up.”

“Surprised you're not rushing us out the door.”

“I won’t risk Aaron’s life because I’m impatient.”

 They spent an hour or two planning and memorizing the layout of the building. The plan was that Benji and Luther would stay in the van, directing them as needed. While Ethan and Y/N went inside to look for Aaron and Lily.

When they were all set, they left.

“Alright, looks like she set up security cameras around the building,” Luther noted as he parked in front of the building.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Benji voiced.

“It was never on our side,” Y/N said, checking her gun.

“Is that really necessary?”

“I’m an FBI agent, Benji. I won't go anywhere without it.”

“Noted.”

--

She ran through the building with Ethan, following Benji’s instructions. She turned when he said to turn, sometimes having to double back when there was no way around it. And eventually, she found the room where Lily was holding Aaron.

“Aaron!” she shouted, skidding into the room just in time to see Lily slip through the room. “Go, I have Aaron,” she said to Ethan, paying attention to him, assessing him.

“Are you sure?” Ethan asked, she nodded and Ethan left the two of them alone.

Y/N slowly approached Aaron, noticing that he was unconscious. She looked him over and sighed in relief when she couldn’t see any physical wounds on him. 

She turned to the bomb that was snug around his neck. Taking a deep breath, she leaned over to study it better. 

“Okay,” she whispered to no one in particular, “okay I can do this.”

Y/n’s earpiece crackled to life and she heard Benji ask, “Do what?” She debated whether to tell him or not. “Do what, Y/N?” He asked again.

“There’s a bomb,” she said, wincing when Benji yelled in her ear. “I can’t exactly move him. It looks like it’ll go off if he moves.”

“Pressure activation?” Luthor asked. She hummed, and leaned closer to get a better look.

“It looks like a twitch could set this thing off,” she confirmed, “damn she’s gotten better at this. Gotta hand it to her.”

“How about we don’t,” Benji mumbled, “how’s your boyfriend?”

“Sleeping for now. But I don’t know how long he’ll be out,” she said, leaning closer. “It also looks like it's radio controlled. And from what I can see around the room, it’s not here.”

“What about the bomb itself?”

She laid on her stomach to get a better look. “No timer, that’s good. And it looks like she made sure she was the only one who controls whether it goes off or not.”

“Oh, that’s good then?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “Like I said, if he moves it goes off.”

“So, then it’s just a really bad game of Russian Roulette,” Benji voiced what she was thinking.

“Looks like it,” she said. And just then, Aaron stirred from his sleep. She cupped his cheeks, and helped him move slowly. “Hey, I know you’re a little groggy but I need you to stay still.”

“Y/N?” Aaron asked, blinking slowly. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked instead of answering.

“Um,” he started, furrowing his brows in thought. “I got a call about Jack…Jack,” he said and started to shift. “Jack’s in trouble. We gotta...we have to…”

“Hey, hey Aaron. Jack’s safe,” she soothed, smoothing his cheeks with her thumbs. “Jack’s safe and is waiting for you to come home. But before we can do that, you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

He studied her before he answered, and she could see the shift in his eyes as he focused on her. “Okay. What do we have?”

“Okay, okay. Currently, you're tied up in a chair with a bomb strapped around your neck,” she answered, ignoring Benji saying that Ethan caught up to Lily.

“And you can’t disarm it?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t. If I try, it’ll go off. It also goes off if you move as well. So, you need to stay still, okay? It's radio controlled, so we’re waiting for my brother to handle that.”

“You never mentioned that!” Benji shouted in her ear. “Next time say something about it going off if you tried taking it off. Spending all this time searching for a way to disarm it, when there’s nothing we can do.”

“Benji, shut up,” Y/N hissed, “how’s it going Ethan?”

“Working on it,” he grunted and you figured he was in a fight.

 “You’re not alone?” Aaron asked, though it sounded more of a statement.

“No. I’m with people I used to work with. Your team is still in DC looking for you.”

“We’re not in Washington.”

“We’re not Stateside anymore,” she answered and elaborated when he stared at her in confusion. “Dubai. A day or so ago, after your phone call they knocked you out and brought you here.”

“And who are they?”

“Someone from my past,” she said, “I’ll tell you about it once we’re safe. Promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said and before either of them could say another word, they heard a clicking sound coming from the collar.

“Ethan.”

“Working on it.”

“Work faster.”

“You need to leave,” Aaron said, drawing her attention back to him. Her grip tightened slightly on his face, and she shook her head.

“I will do no such thing, Aaron. I’m staying here with you.”

“I’m ordering you to go,” he said in the voice he uses when they’re out on a case, and he’s barking orders at everyone.

Normally you would listen to him and go, but this isn’t a normal situation. “Respectfully, I’m going to have to disobey.”

“I love you,” he whispered, not wanting to fight with you anymore.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, leaning her forehead against his, and waited.

They didn’t have to wait long before they heard a hissing sound. Y/N held her breath, trying not to be too hopeful.

“You’re in the clear, take it off,” Ethan said after a moment.

“Thank fuck,” she whispered, shoulders sagging as she went to remove it. Once it was off, she gently tossed it to the sighed and hugged Aaron.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Aaron whispered in her hair, hugging her just as tight.

“And I will,” she replied. “What about Lily?” she spoke into her ear piece.

“She won’t be a problem anymore,” Ethan replied, and she could hear footsteps coming towards them. “Come on, let's go.”

After leaving the building, and they were at a safe distance, Ethan detonated the bomb. Once they reached the city, they called it in and went to get Aaron checked out.

While he was busy with doctors, Y/N stepped out and arranged a ride home. “Ready to go home?” she asked once Aaron was in the clear.

“Ready.”

--

The plane was silent after she told Aaron everything about her past, after answering all of his questions. There were snores to be heard from behind her, and if she really listened, she could hear Aaron breath as he processed everything.

But her attention was looking out the window, waiting. For what? She didn’t know, but she hoped Aaron wouldn’t dismiss her.

“Jack?” Aaron asked, breaking the silence.

“Morgan had said Rossi took him out of school when they found out you were missing,” she answered without turning towards him. “I’m assuming he’s still with him now.”

“You don’t know?” Aaron asked, surprised. She shook her head and sighed.

“I cut off communications with them when I found out who was involved,” she said, “it was my mess and I didn’t want them to get in trouble.”

“They wouldn’t have minded,” he said softly. She blew out a breath and slowly nodded.

Silence fell again, and she fought the urge to shake her friends awake at the noise they’re making.

“I need time to process everything,” Aaron broke the silence again. She turned towards him, searching his face to see if there was an underlying message. There wasn’t, but she knew he could always change his meaning.

“Okay,” she agreed, slumping into her chair, “but I’m taking some vacation days for the next week or so.”

“You don’t have-”

“I do,” she interrupted him. “It’ll be easier for the both of us. Please, let me do this.”

Aaron nodded and leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes he let himself relax. “Okay. Okay,” he whispered.

She studied him as she thought. This was one of the possibilities of Aaron finding out. Would she have preferred him accepting her and continuing their lives as normal? Yes. But just having a conversation without the yelling and fighting was more than she could have asked for.

And on some level, Aaron had accepted her for who she is and was as a person. He just didn’t want that person to be in Jack’s life, which is fair. Being an IMF agent might be a bit different then being FBI. It wasn’t a huge difference, but still. Jack can’t lose another parent and Aaron was only protecting his son.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and ignored everyone for the rest of the flight.

Once the plane landed, Y/N watched Aaron get in a taxi and drove off. She felt Ethan move to stand beside her, arm wrapped around her shoulders in a hug. 

“Need a place to stay?” Ethan asked and she side eyed him, confused.

“Don’t you live in LA?” she asked, he shrugged as he sent her a smile.

“So? You’re on vacation and I have a spare bedroom with your name on it,” he answered. She turned to study him for a minute before sighing.

“Yeah, what the hell,” she said after a minute. “Might be good for me.”

She hoped it would, hope that this isn’t the end with her and Aaron. But only time will tell.

[elf-osamu]

“YOUR LAST MEMORY OF ME”

[ masterlist ] [ reblogs are very appreciated ]

angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, romantic relationship, jing yuan x gn!reader

warning(s) : major character death, the concept of death is discussed, implied reference for the high cloud quintet lore !!!!, blood, injuries, depictions of violence !!!!

word count : 2517 words

“i think i got too many memories getting in the way of me; you only get what you grieve; the only thing that’s ever stopping me is me; i testify if i die in my sleep, then know that my life was a killer dream; and all my childhood heroes have fallen off or died” — song: stay frosty royal milk tea by fall out boy

a/n: i’ve almost cried while writing this. as a jing yuan lover, i’m terribly sorry (it will happen again).

to be part of a long life species isn’t as easy as mortals make it to be. since their lives are nothing but a fleeting moment which will be soon forgotten, they tend to hope for a longer time to accomplish their goals, rushing every task to meet the temporary relief that it brings — a sweet feeling which one could indulge themself in, but only for a brief moment. as a consequence of this, they’re quite envious of those who don’t have to worry about such matters: those people can enjoy life to the fullest and simultaneously take things at a slow pace, savoring each second of their existence without being overwhelmed by their imminent end; new experiences are always near the corner of their days, quietly waiting for the perfect time to appear and give opportunities of every kind; the weight of death isn’t a matter to reflect upon, since it’s something far too distant to be frightened by it.

a smile was something that jing yuan hardly got to see on that face he had profoundly grown fond of — yours. one could have defined it as an almost imperceptible change, but the way your lips slightly curved in response of his affirmations hadn’t ever escaped his attentive eyes. his life had been consistent for many years, still as a lake in a flawlessly sunny day, with his usual duties and habits which never seemed to change despite the passage of time. however now he had gotten used to your presence and he could have never substituted it. those lips he loved to touch with his, those hands he relished with his when he was looking for reassurance, those eyes he would have treasured with his life if they had been gems — you. jing yuan would have never gotten tired of you.

this is what short life species harshly tell themselves and others — they can’t but concentrate on what they don’t possess, on what their hands will never reach, on what they will never be able to accomplish. nevertheless, said behavior is rather commonly found in the majority of human beings with no distinctions made; envy is a comprehensibile emotion, but when used inappropriately it can develop in resentment. the inherent desire of attaining what we’ve wished for isn’t possible at all times — but we continue on our path forward, often stumbling along the way when it gets too difficult to move on.

the general’s soul wasn’t unblemished as many thought: you had gotten the chance to meet that part of him he tried to hide under a seemingly exemplery mask of polite yet playful remarks. you had tended to his injuries, taking care of his body while he narrated the story of some of his scars; you had listened to his usually unspoken worries, when the role he had to play for the majority of his life momentarily ended and he finally showed you that he was just a human being like any other — someone who had done both outstanding and terrible things. “i… i apologize for not being the hero you’ve heard of”, he had muttered the rare times he had allowed himself to cry; it had been too long ago since the last time he had opened up to someone in such a vulnerable way.

long life species know this too well: between the scars of their past and the hopes for their future, it isn’t rare to find people who are lost in their journey, surrounded by painful memories and feelings of desperation. to forget what one’s forced to remember can make themself cling to the old days and refuse to give a glance to the other side.

you were aware of jing yuan’s foibles and past mistakes — how could you have not? — but those things had never stopped you from loving him. as you were there to accept him for who he was, you could proudly say he did the same for you; patience and consideration were only a few of his characteristics, but they were greatly helpful when you were going through difficult times. jing yuan wouldn’t have ever judged your fears and thoughts: he would have sat next to you, grounding your mind from the stress that life could give you, and reminded you of his unfeigned adoration towards your being. you both had found comfort and solace with each other.

the general of the cloud knights of the xianzhou luofu, jing yuan, had lived for too many centuries to be truly able to count them. he was acclaimed by many people and frowned upon by others — but nobody could have never doubt his dexterity and strength when it came to swordsmanship: his exceptional abilities had been of considerable effectiveness in battles and, simultaneously, his carefulness and diplomacy couldn’t be disregarded in the slightest, since they kept the law and order in his nation.

death passively follows its natural course when the right time is known — it’s a neutral state which can’t be converted by the human mind, something… irreversible; many have tried to change this fact and many have failed. each stage of life is meaningful, thus to accept what’s going to happen someday is the wisest and least painful choice, though it has to be recognized how it can still be a tough journey. his loved companions, his long-lasting enemies, everybody he knew… he had lost them, either because of demise or a change of paths.

during his life, jing yuan had collided with friends, foes and even with himself — bonds were broken, rancour was deepened, distress was reinforced: all the experiences and emotions he had been carrying in his heart for centuries seemed to be never-ending. he did his best to hide his damaged self through loads of work and too many hours of sleep; after all he was one of the arbiter-generals — if he couldn’t do his job, who could have?

he was a symbol of hope: he was someone to use as a role model and as a pillar for anyone who was in need of support and protection — failure had never been an option for those of such great importance.

he just had to resist a little longer… then everything else would have ended and peace would have prospered, as it always did.

clashes of swords and polearms reverberated through the battlefield, they were the only sounds which could be heard alongside the warriors’ screams. destruction and ruination harshly painted the surroundings, scarring the ground where nature once flourished, while combatants fell and took their last breath.

an invasion of that magnitude hadn’t been on the xianzhou luofu for quite some time and nobody had been prepared for it; unexpected encounters were the most dangerous and tiring ones.

you were a brave and capable soldier — your technique wasn’t flawless, but your determination made up for the few careless mistakes you committed while fighting; jing yuan was aware of that, but his chest still hurt whenever he knew you were battling against his enemies. as much as he believed you could successfully take care of your well-being in dire situations, he had to fight the urge to be near you when you risked your life; said feeling was reciprocated though, since the general had caught a glimpse of your figure finishing off an enemy who had tried to attack him behind his back while he was busy with three other opponents. you had flashed a smile at your lover before going into battle again.

it was a tough confront between distinct factions, but hope had come to the surface again once you had taken a glance at how many enemies were still standing: only a few were alive and their counterattacks were growing more haphazard by the second — they hadn’t expected to fall behind in battle. the rush of adrenaline you felt before accompanied your weapon through taking the life of your opponents without backing away.

jing yuan had just fought against a few people when he saw a group of his opposite faction go near you; they were too many to be dealt at the same time, too many even for someone as experienced as him — so he couldn’t let them lift a finger on your body, it was a risk too huge to be taken so carelessly.

he rapidly moved to get to your side — you were rather distant from him but, if he had screamed, you would have been distracted and you would have gotten severe injuries… or even worse. his mind was spiralling while the general was trying to calm himself down and choose the best option available to keep yourself safe but, when he saw a spear coming too near your figure, his body moved on its own: he rushed towards you and, without giving you the time to react, he took what once was your place.

time seemed to stop for a moment as he tasted the flavour of pain that came from the deep skin tear on his chest: gushes of blood brutally tinted his armor and all of a sudden his face lost the color it had just a moment before.

you couldn’t feel anything at first, your brain had registered only a part of what had occurred. then, however, you realized what you had witnessed when you watched jing yuan’s body fall on the ground.

everything had happened in a few seconds, but it felt like an unceasing event: something atrocious was taking place, something you just wished to ignore and forget… but you couldn’t allow yourself to do that.

therefore, a wave of rage hit you: you didn’t waste time to slaughter the ones who attacked the man you loved; when anyone tried to come near you, your blade was swift enough to promptly eliminate them and destroy anything that crossed its path, wounding whoever couldn’t understand the weight of the situation. it had been a while since you felt an emotion in such an intense and uncontrolled way, you looked feverish from how much strength you were using.

anger’s origin was different for everyone — yours was because of despondency.

you were moving too fast to process what was happening: the only clear thing your blurry vision could notice was the carmine blood that colored the soil and people’s armors, especially your own. you couldn’t feel the pain derived from your injuries, your clouded mind wasn’t able to process your physical state.

wrath was embracing you in its strong grip, the one thing that heartened you when you would have preferred to hide away in your own solitude.

as the only opponents left decided to retreat from the battle, you tossed your weapon to the side and fell on your knees; you were exhausted from your sudden outburst, your limbs were becoming numb and your head was spinning.

the familiar sound of your name, however, kept you grounded, making you look at the white-haired man who was laying down on the turf.

sweat and blood littered his scarred skin, a look you had gotten to know through the years you had spent with him. but this time was like no other.

you immediately sat by his side and forced yourself to act like you had everything under control, while trying to disregard the spear that had pierced his body: your hands slightly pressed near the major wound on his chest, clinging to the last hope of keeping more blood from coming out.

“my time… has come, then?” he murmured, his lips were moving slowly, too slowly, though his voice was calm as the usual; you would have said he wasn’t feeling much pain, if you didn’t know him that well.

a grin was plastered on his face and it only made you sadder to see him keep his mask even on that unpleasant occasion.

“don’t you dare say that, jing yuan. there’s still time, we can make someone look for a doctor, we… you can resist for a few minutes until then!”, you sounded — you were — desperate. “everything is going to work out in the end, isn’t it?”.

you were trying your best to pay no attention to your thoughts: there was no doubt that his injury was fatal, he already had lost too much blood to return back to his usual life and be saved. you would have switched places in a heartbeat if you were given the opportunity to do so, you would have given anything to keep him alive; jing yuan had understood it since the first day your love for him had been known.

his eyes were fixated on your face, as if they were trying to soothe your distressed mind. with the last remaining ounce of strength, he rested one of his hands on yours and deepened his smile.

he called out your name again. “do you know how much i care about you?”.

if the situation were different, you would have punched him; tears began to fall down on your cheeks; you would have liked to scream and say he wouldn’t have died in that way, but you managed to make your lips curve into a faux grin; if you had to smile, you would have done it for him.

“yes, love. i do know it all too well”, you whispered, your gaze was focused only on his face and the flutter of his eyelashes.

jing yuan slowly nodded and mumbled “good”: his heart could have ultimately rested now that he had your confirmation.

he looked at the gray sky, silently saying his goodbyes to the world around him. “if there’s anything beyond this life… i hope i’ll get the chance to… to meet my friends… and lost companions there…”. you felt his fingers caress yours in a reassuring manner, a habit of his the general of the luofu couldn’t abandon even in death. “perhaps we are going… to talk again”.

you inclined your head, there was nothing else you could do.

his deep voice, the white cascade of his long hair, those golden eyes that held many memories, the strategies he followed while playing chess, his comforting laugh, every characteristic of his — you would have never forgotten any of them.

“i feel… so light…” he muttered as he closed his eyes, inhaling air for the last time.

an uncontrollable sob broke out from your throat as you bended over and hugged his cold body close to your chest, your forehead was against his.

pain had been a part of jing yuan’s life since he was a child and it ushered him also to his demise, as a loyal intimate who had never left his side.

you held back your tears when a question made its way into your head: would he have found solace now that everything was over? you shivered and hoped he could finally rest, but your heart wouldn’t have been the same ever again.

the peace you had found within his presence had mercilessly been broken and nothing could have ever repaired it.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

[ tag list — @bladesmuse ]

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Assault, violence, drunkenness , alcohol usage, near death experience

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: IT'S ✨HAPPENING ✨ Also, we get some more info on Merit! (Also yeah not all of her memory sequences are necessarily in order btw, but this memory sequences in particular establishes the time period that Merit is from, and will help bring into focus who killed her)

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 7:

Modus Operandi

The weather outside was terrible. It was ice cold, sleet beginning to rain down on the streets outside.

On one hand, you were thankful for having no work, but on the other, you were going out of your mind with boredom.

And your research all turned up dead ends.

Either this woman in your dreams was fake, or nobody knew she existed. Either way, you were left with a perplexing and frustrating mystery.

You were still losing your sleep, of course. You never had the same dream more than two or three times. Sometimes they would be clear, other times more abstract.

Merit was smart, that much you knew. She was devout, went to the temples every other day. She craved social interaction, and missed her parents and little brother dearly. Whoever her mysterious lover was, she was obviously head over heels for him. Her thoughts never strayed far from him, save for when she thought about her closest friend, her cousin’s wife, Annipe.

Researching *her* name brought up just as few results. Other than her name possibly meaning something along the lines of “daughter of the Nile”, you had nothing.

You wanted to rip your hair out. It. Was. Maddening.

Especially because, dreaming of such a happy, lovesick woman had you almost… envious. Melancholy, even. It had you missing something you never had. Something you, yourself haven’t attained just yet.

It really, really sucked.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

You decided to say fuck it and head to the local hole-in-the-wall bar. You had enough spare cash this time around to afford a few cheap drinks.

You had done your makeup and worn one of the few nice outfits you owned, so maybe somebody would buy you a drink or two. You didn’t usually rely on others for such a thing; and the idea left a sour taste in your mouth because you almost felt like you were manipulating somebody, but god, after the past few weeks you’ve had? You really needed the buzz.

Perhaps the buzz of alcohol tickling your system would ease your dreams and let you slip into blissful dreamlessness.

Or, possibly, make them worse…

But it was too late to back down now. You pulled on your coziest jacket to prepare yourself for the cold outside.

You gathered your things and packed your purse lightly, carrying only your credit card, ID, metro card (just in case), and keys to your apartment (and of course your taser and pepper spray).

As you reached your door, you looked over at the statue that you covered. It still lay on your tiny altar, unworshipped and solitary.

You heave a sigh and quickly walk over to it, tugging the towel off and tossing it onto your bed, before turning to leave once again.

As you closed and locked your door behind you, the eyes on the statue glowed faintly in the blackness of your apartment.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

The bar was sort of fun, a few guys bought you a round, and you had to turn down the next one because you didn’t want to get drunk. When they insisted that they could drive you home if you got drunk, you decided to call it quits, feeling the energy of the bar shift. Even the poor little bartender shot you a fearful look on your behalf, slipping a note beneath your receipt asking if she should call the police for you.

You declined, of course, that would only cause problems you didn’t feel like dealing with.

But unfortunately for you, your disinterest in the men didn’t deter them from following you.

Naturally. You decided to put effort into your appearance, finally started to feel better despite the chaos in your personal life, and now… this.

You were face-to-face with two of the three guys who had been hanging off of you the majority of the night. They were drunk, judging by how their movements swayed, their speech slurred and how red in the face they were.

But still, you were smaller than them, and outnumbered. And you had no idea where the third guy was. Perhaps he was waiting around the corner with a car? Perhaps he was waiting for his friends to drag you back to it and toss you in the back seat for them to use for their own amusement?

You tried to focus on the now and not the maybes of what could occur.

“Look… just leave me alone.” You say, your foot skidding slightly in the dirty snow that had been half-assedly shoveled to the edges of the alleyway. “I don’t want any trouble, so if you could just leave me alone…”

“Pfsh.” One of the men sneered, looking at his buddy with a drunken curl to his lips. Ugh, you could smell the cheap tequila from four feet away.

“Lookit this bitch. Uses us for our money and don’ think she owes us nothin’!”

“You offered t’ pay for my round. I accepted. Nothin’ more.” You say, swallowing hard. You could feel the warmth buzzing through your system. Maybe if you were sober, you could stand a decent chance, but half-drunk and outnumbered? Yeah, you were fucked.

You blink to try and clear your head of the alcohol, but naturally that didn’t help and only made your soft vertigo worse. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to open them again, knowing you’d feel a sudden head rush and probably stumble over. Fuck, why did you have to be mostly sober for this?

“You rollin’ your eyes at m’ friend? Eh, bitch?” The other drunkard said, moving closer to you.

“You ignorin’ my boy?” The other sneered again.

You were about to start lamenting your life choices; you were going to start wondering why you didn’t listen to your mother when she told you moving to the city was a mistake, that you’d wind up in this situation.

The old, narcissistic bitch was right. Again. You already had a string of these incidents notched onto your belt as it is.

Right as you started to feel the air warm as a body closed in on you, there was a whoosh! of cold air and in a moment, the warmth was yanked away and scufflign could be heard.

“What the f–” One of them shouted.

“You motherfucker! Who th’ fuck d’you think you are?!” His buddy hissed.

You could hear the sound of a switchblade being opened, and finally you decided you must open your eyes.

And when you did… to say you were in awe was an understatement.

In front of you was a man completely in white. His back was to you now as he shielded your body from your drunken assailants. You could see around his bulky mass that his white, spiked knuckles were already spattered red at the tips, and one of the men was sporting what looked to be a broken cheekbone.

The heat this man radiated was insane, it was like standing next to the freaking sun. His cloak fluttered in the wind and his body stiffened as he looked over his shoulder at you.

That’s when you saw the moon on his forehead, the bits of gold decorating what was otherwise a complete lack of color, the low orange streetlights glinting off of them.

Was it your imagination, or did the designs look familiar? Why did they look–

“Stay behind me.” He said, his voice hard and tight, leaving absolutely no room for disobedience.

So, you dumbly nod, transfixed by the chaos that unfolded in front of you.

The man fought in a way that was worthy of only the best choreographed martial arts movies. He flowed like water, parting and moving away from their blows before they had a chance to realize their attacks didn’t connect. In their drunken hazes, they were no match for this man, it’s like he knew every single perceivable parry to their attacks, he fought like it was some sort of well-rehearsed dance and he was acting it out in front of your eyes.

He dropped down until he was almost flat on his back, bracing himself with his palms on the dirty ground, and kicked up, right into the first guy’s gut, knocking him back and knocking the air out of his lungs.

The other guy thought he had an opening but your savior proved his drunken theory wrong; when the man ran at him, he spun on his feet and clotheslined him, finally rendering him unconscious as his head hit the pavement.

The other man was currently pitched over, vomiting and dry-heaving when he emptied his stomach of contents from the blow the mysterious hero inflicted upon him.

The man who was currently beating their asses however wasn’t even breathing heavy, he was still composed and imposing as an angry panther. You could see the muscles flex and taut as he moved, waiting, watching to see if the man was going to attack again.

You watched as he tumbled over, falling almost face-first into his own vomit, and it takes massive amounts of self-control on your part to avoid throwing up, yourself.

It was a long, tense silence until your rescuer turned around to face you, the eyes of his mask narrowed dangerously as he assessed you.

“Are you injured?” He asked, the creases in his mask smoothing out as his expression softened.

Your brain finally kicks on with enough of a brain cell to get you to respond to his question. “N-no.”

“Good.” He grabs your arm in a firm, yet gentle grip. “I will take you home and make sure you’re safe.”

“Wh–wait!” You squeak as he hoists you up into his arms, carrying you bridal-style for a moment.

“Hold on.”

“What–”

The moment he leapt into the sky, you felt like your stomach was left there in the alley alongside your would-be attackers.

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You had no idea how he knew where you lived, or which apartment building was even yours, but he knew. Somehow, he knew. You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.

He set you back down on wobbly feet, the ice on the rooftop partially melted due to the salt the owner laid down, leaving a squishy slush as more sleet and snow fell. You stumbled back away from him, the alcohol in your system still thrumming through you as you looked up at this imposing figure.

“How did you…” You breathe, your breath leaving you in a cloud of fog.

“I protect the travelers of the night. I serve justice. It’s come to my attention that you have suffered greatly.” He says simply. You couldn’t be sure, but you were positive you’d heard his voice somewhere before. But without the ability to see his face, you weren’t sure…

Even in the haze of your buzz, you recognized what he said. The travelers of the night… Like what Khonshu supposedly watched over.

No way was this guy saying he was…

“Who–”

He put up his hand to silence you politely. “You may call me Hunter’s Moon. But I should suggest not going out so late in the future, unless it is important. I may not be able to protect you if this happens again.”

Okay, now that rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps it was the alcohol still coursing through your system, perhaps it was the audacity of this “Hunter’s Moon” that irked you, but regardless… you were pissed.

“Excuse me?” You snap, looking up at him, nostrils flaring. “Who th’ hell do you think you are? Just because I’m a woman I shouldn’t go out at night? I shouldn’t drink at all? It’s not my fault cops don’t patrol around here like I fuckin’ beg them to! The fuck you think I am? Some stupid waif from some kinda… fuckin’... book? That I need some kinda white night to save my fuckin’ ass?”

The man merely tilts his head and looks down at you. If he is offended by your rebuke or outburst, you can’t tell at all. It merely feels like he’s studying you, as if you were a butterfly beneath a magnifying glass. If anything, you got the feeling this man was amused.

You wave your arms as you pace in front of him. “Yeah! Yeah, fuck off! You don’t know anythin’!”

The short chuckle that escapes him enrages you more.

“I am merely saying, that if you are not careful this may happen again. I’m not insinuating anything. Merely that you be safer. You cannot predict how others will act if you’re vulnerable in any way they can perceive.

You deflated a bit at that, you rage subsiding a tad. “...Oh.”

“Now, I recommend you go back to your apartment, drink plenty of water, and eat something. It will lessen the risk fo a hangover.” He tells you.

“I ain’t drunk! I’m jus’ buzzed!” You say to him as he turns away from you.

“At any rate, it’s better to be smart. I will no doubt see you again, my lady.”

“Wait, why–”

When he leapt off your roof and disappeared into the cityscape beyond, you were left whirling. And with a very very bad dizzy spell that was quickly taking over you.

You weren’t even sure if you were able to catch yourself in time before you hit the slush.

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You awoke with a start as someone placed their hand on you. It was your cousin’s wife, Annipe, her child strapped to her back via the sling made of the softest linen, her precious baby sleeping soundly against her.

“Merit? You were dozing again.” She says to you, her stenciled brows raised highly in concern.

You looked down at Annipe’s hand on your forearm; her skin was much darker than yours, a gorgeous shade if you were being honest. It always made her makeup and clothing stand out that much more, and turned heads when she entered rooms. Some compared her beauty to Nefertiti, and you could see why, from the few interactions you’d had with the royal family. Next to them, you could almost see their beauty as if it were crafted by expert hands, like those who designed the finest tombs.

You blink and shake your head, your jewelry clinking as you did. “Ah, no, Annipe. I’m merely thinking.”

“Is it about your lover?” She asked, a coy smile on her lush and full lips. Oh, how she loved to tease you over this subject…

“I suppose…” You snort, twirling the stem of the lotus in your fingers as you inhaled its fragrance, stepping down into the water.

The two of you were currently wading in one of the large man-made ponds that were built into the major estates. The small basins connected out into the Nile itself and thus the water was fed, fish came and went, and you even saw a crocodile in one, visiting another’s home.

Right now, you were in your own, the home you shared with your cousin and his family.

“Then what is bothering you?” Annipe asked, walking down the alabaster stairs, wading to stand waist-deep in the water with you, uncaring of the water soaking through your linen gowns.

“You know you can tell me.” She replied softly.

“I’m… worried.” You sigh heavily, tossing the flower into the water, watching as the gentle current carries it away from you. “I’ve heard things. Whispers about what is occuring with the royal family. About the Pharaoh.”

Annipe looked around, suddenly seeming very concerned over this news.

Her daughter babbles innocently in her sleep.

“What do you mean?” She asked conspiratorially.

“I’ve heard that he acts strangely.” You say. “He spends hours out of his time professing his love to the sun, thanking Aten for all that is given. That he intends to abolish our religions, and move us all somewhere that “Aten has willed”.”

Annipe gasps, her hand over her mouth. With the amount of time they spent in court, she had noticed that Akhenaten (his name since changed since he ascended the throne as Amenhotep, named for one of his distinguished predecessors) acted strangely. He was increasingly paranoid at times, seemingly jumping at things that weren’t there, speaking to himself in a hushed, angered tone…

Even Nefertiti was concerned for her husband, but she did not dare voice it aloud, for fear of how he may act if she speaks her concerns.

But…

“Where did you learn this?” She asked.

“...One of the priests at the temple.” You mutter. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

“Ah.” Annipe sighs softly. She decides to lift the weight of the subject, instead shifting the topic to something more cheerful. “I was going to go for a walk in the market. Would you like to come? Perhaps we can find a gift for your mysterious suitor? You know my husband is so curious about him, you know. If he exists.” She giggles.

You can’t help but smile. Annipe’s humor always put you at ease. It was why you two made such good friends, you balanced each other perfectly, like even weights on scales.

“Annipe?” You murmur, looking up at the small fluffy clouds that wafted about in the sky above.

“Yes?” She asked as she slowly climbed out of the water, the lower half of her gown clinging to her figure thanks to the water that had soaked through. The coolness of the drying fabric provided a soothing feeling amidst the heat of the summer sun.

You smile mischievously at her over your shoulder. “I’m in love with a god.”

“Hah!” She laughs, waving her hand dismissively. “Come, come, cousin. Let us go. Maybe we can find something for your “godly" lover at the market, hmm?”

You laugh with her and shake your head, turning to walk up the steps after her.

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You weren’t sure what happened. One minute you were walking, following Annipe away from the pond, the next…

Your foot hung over the open air at the edge of your building. You felt your heart leap into your throat and strangle you as you looked down at the streets below. Had you moved another inch forward…

You shake away the thought, and it’s only after you do that that you realize someone was holding onto you by the collar of your jacket.

“Ungrateful mortal.” A deep voice snaps at you. “I offer blessings and protection, and you shun my worship? After one prayer?”

You’re yanked from the edge of the roof and you land, your butt flat into the slushy snow on the roof, the sudden chill making you yelp and helping sober you up quickly.

You open your eyes and see a pair of feet. You slowly trail your gaze upwards, your eyes climbing the lithe figure that stood over you, fist clenched tightly over the staff in his hand.

And atop his shoulders was something that chilled you more than the ice soaking through your pants.

A skull. Not human, but it looked to be that of a bird. Whatever it was, the flesh had long since dried and flaked away, thin ethereal wisps dangling from the base and hanging into the blackened chasm that emptied into his torso.

You immediately began to scramble backwards, your fingers numb as they dug into the snow and ice, your boots slipping with soft squeaks as you did.

“Who the fu–”

“Unbelievable.” The thing scoffs down at you, taking heavy steps, his staff stamping down with each footstep, the snow and ice seeming to melt away thanks to the heat his body emanated. Just like your mysterious hero, from earlier. Hunter’s Moon.

Wait, did he say something about prayers? The only thing you prayed to at all recently was…

You swallowed hard as he leaned down, peering into you with sightless sockets.

“One so gifted, yet so reckless. You would be a good priestess, were you not so careless.” He continues, “Were you to master your skills...”

You feel even more scrutinized than when that Hunter guy looked at you. You felt positively tiny next to this being. And it wasn’t just due to the fact that he was pushing nine-something feet tall.

“Who are you?” You breathe out, your eyes unblinking, unable to tear your gaze away from the otherworldly being in front of you.

“You don’t know?” He grumbled, shaking his head, his beak almost scraping the front of your jacket from where he was stooped to your level.

“I am Khonshu. And I grow weary of your games, mortal.”

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Chapter 8: Coming Soon

[hopeful-puffin]

Rereading ... Again.

Somebody should seriously take this app away from me. I told myself I wasn't gonna start reading again until I got my physical copy. But, here I am, and I'm making it the few people who see this their problem too. It's just two, so hopefully I can avoid the image limit for once. (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

These are just little observations I've made and I want to talk about them. Because this ship is so precious it needs more love.

First one is pretty obvious, but it's hitting me a little differently this time. It's right after the barracuda assault and Siren is still reeling from his near-death experience. In his own words, everyone is suffering and in pain, but he feels all they care about is how he, the "good for nothing" prince, is doing. He lies despite the clear discomfort, claiming he's fine repeatedly.

There are more images, but I'm focusing on these since they show Siren’s face. He's tired. He's detached. He doesn't want to be here. But he is. Because he needs to check on Skiff.

Skiff, the one with a permanent scar from protecting Siren. He feels guilty seeing scars kn anyone, but this one is clearly so much worse for Siren. Everyone else he hardly looks at. Skiff, by contrast, he gives pause. He looks horrified. Despite feeling like he owes Skiff, Siren still acts like he's fine.

He's hiding. He's deflecting. He's not talking directly about how he's fairing.

Siren doesn't quite do this again with Silver, though it's arguably because she never asks the prince how he's doing. She knows. Silver knows Siren feels guilty about scars. So what does she do instead? She teases the hell out of him, that's what! Silver gets Siren to smile, to laugh a little, to feel more at ease. She acts about what happened but doesn't push for details. She lightens the mood by being silly and playfully prideful.

She comforts Siren in a different way, giving him the space to drop his princely persona and perceived duties. And it works, getting Siren to finally reveal some his true inner turmoil before they depart. And I think is so crucial for the conversation to come.

Silver does, however, still view the prince similarly to their fellow sharks, reminding Siren that their future still hangs from his shoulders.

This is not being brought up to undermine her coming comments before Siren departs, but to reinforce his perceived role amongst his people. He's their savior so to speak. A role he neither wants nor asked for. One he's trying to take seriously but thinks he's failing at achieving because he refuses to murder the imprisoned Beacon.

Which brings us right where this whole thing actually started for me; Siren’s conversation with Kappa. I actually put my phone down and chewed on this for about 1 hour before deciding to make another ranting post.

So here we go, let's bring in Kappa.

Kappa knows something is wrong but gives Siren a safe space to think. When he inevitably asks if his friend is okay, Siren explodes.

I think he needed this. Bad.

Kappa is not affected by the curse. Kappa’s future is dependent upon Siren, but not because of an obligation or even Kappa asking him to. Siren chose to spare Kappa, arguably the first major decision he's ever made in his life. But that's not the point I'm trying to make here.

What I'm getting at is that Siren feels safe enough around Kapp, a guy he's only known for about 2 weeks. Safe enough to scream his honest frustrations in front of. I don't even know if Siren is aware he has a crush on Kappa by this point, but it's entirely possible given his flustered reactions to Silver's earlier teasing. But this, right here, shows just how far Siren has come to like and perhaps even rely on Kappa.

And Kappa, being the little sweetheart is he, doesn't correct Siren. You can tell he's uneasy, but he lets Siren freely get this off of his chest, going so far as to reveal a part of himself he's hidden from the world in turn. An absolutely amazing parallel for what is to come at the end of season 3, by the way.

Speaking of season 3, there's another cute little reference that struck me during episode 18. That of the jellyfish analogy. Siren calls himself one, in reference to how he feels decorative even in times of need. Kappa roles with that to try and comfort Siren.

I'm sure we've all made the hilarious comparison to this:

Kappa, you sly cutie. I see what you did there.

Anyway, back on point. Season 3. Kappa stated in the above panel that, "They're really calming," and, "It's nice to see them when things get scary." If we keep the literal meaning going, what with Siren referring to himself as a jellyfish, Kappa is saying these things about Siren (to his face no less). And, ya know, Kappa calling jellyfish mindless goo.

By this point, I'm fairly certain Kappa is aware of his crush on Siren, making this all the more meaningful in my mind. Whether Siren catches that or not I'm not debating here.

What I am debating is that this does come up again in season 3.

That feeling of safety is important in a partner. That feeling of reliability is important in a partner. That feeling of trust is important in a partner.

Siren is Kappa’s jellyfish. If you're not here for that level of implied corn, why are you reading my rants

Looks like I've almost hit the image limit again, folks! OTL

I was gonna go into Kappa summoning Siren at the season 3 finale, of wanting that feeling of safety in his hour of need. Of Kappa’s regret at having pushed Siren away, pushed away that feeling of protection and calm he so desperately needed. But I'm nearly out of image slots, so I'm gonna leave it at this for now. I'll make a second post later if anyone seems interested. An excuse to talk about this ship is always welcome!

Tumblr lost this entire post when I tried to put it up, so I'm sorry if it seems disjointed at points. I had to retype/re-upload while feeling a bit irked by this site. Hope it all still comes across okay though!

Edit: I feel like there's an analogy in there somewhere about Siren being Kappa’s jellyfish being akin to Siren being Kappa’s light on account of them being the primary light source in the shark castle. Similar to how the Beacon is the light for the entire ocean and such. Or that Kappa himself is a literal light in the dark for Siren that I alluded to in a previous post. But my brain is dead, so I'll chew on it more later.

[tmnt-crossover-polls]

DOOM round 1 part 2

Rotten reflections summary : when strange movement in a pharmacy catch's Casey's eye one night, no one could have known the stress, panic and confusion the next few months would bring a turtle not in their right mind ends up in an unknown place with even more unknown threats lurking around every corner, with a hurt little one there's nothing he can do but what his mind screams. 

When the world crumbles summary : Two months after the death of their master and the defeat of the Super Shredder, the 2012 turtles get news of another Kraang Invasion. So the turtles make a plan to storm Dimension X and take Kraang Prine down once and for all. However instead of ending up in Dimension X, the turtles end up in a much more neon, colorful dimension with no way to get back home and a full scale invasion on the horizon. Luckily they soon meet their much more colorful counterparts, who will help then get back home. Hopefully.

Atomic pets summary : after the events in the first episode mikey discovers a tiny reptile near the explosion, feeling bad and not wanting to leave it behind he decides to keep it, not realizing it was one of Draxum’s latest experiments. Hijinks ensue with the tiny reptile slow becoming not so tiny and harder to hide from his family, Mikey must learn to keep his atomic breathing giant reptile pet a secret from the rest of his family before they find out.

Not turtles forever 2 or is it summary : Taking place after the events in Turtles Forever and the Rise Movie, 03 Donatello wanted to make another Universal Transporter in order to discover different turtleverses, but something glitched with the machine, and the turtles from Universe 2018 ended up being thrown into Universe 2003 like a bunch of turtle rag dolls! All the turtles are a bit taken aback by their counterparts. The 03 turtles can't believe how strong and powerful the 2018 turtles are, and the 2018 Turtles are shocked at how distant the 03 turtles are from one another. After quite a few emotional talks, a battle or 2, and a plan to get 03 Usagi and Leonardo together, all the turtles soon start to rely on one another, and become about as close as one big mutated family could be! Only problem is, while attempting to get their turtles back, the Hamato clan in Universe 2018 might have ended up doing more harm then good while trying to locate Leo using his broken Odachi.

Lair meshing summary : After Draxum accidentally messes around with some of Splinter’s mystic artifacts, he accidentally merges the Rise Turtles’ reality with the 2012 reality. Now the two families are struggling to get along with versions of themself who understand them better than anyone else does. Leo causes problems on purpose, Donnie commits crimes, Michelangelo learns to cook and Mikey just wants his family to start getting along

Many names of hamato Leonardo summary : Leonardo believed that he was walking to his death when he tossed Casey into that portal. But someone else had something to say about that. A dimension away, a young Donatello wanders out of the lair when he should be taking a nap with his brothers. Never in a million years could he imagine exactly what his little adventure would lead him to. Or, future Rise Leo ends up in the 2003 universe, with no memory of arriving and no way home.

Once a hamato always a hamato summary : Leo gets trapped in the prison dimension only to get sent to the undertale multiverse a little while later. Leo gets changed into Error, the forced god of destruction. Years later he finds a way home! Now he has to get reacquainted with his family while as figuring out how to get his new friends to his world... And, figure out if the reason he was able to in the first place was due to some nefarious plot...

@nicoforlifetrue

@tmnt-obsessed-ace

@wandering-ghost

@lionalovit @poems-art-darkness-n-more

@just-a-lil-turtle-with-knives

@easterartist

[lucygxybaird]

one true time - billinea

love was when i loved you, one true time i hold to. in my life, we'll always go on. near, far, wherever you are, i believe that the heart does go on. once more, you open the door, and you're here in my heart and my heart will go on and on. you're here, there's nothing i fear. (my heart will go on - celine dion) Billy walks into the room where Pat Garret is waiting for him, one last time. Dulcinea went just ahead of him (very sorry about this :))

tw: major character death, gunshots, suicide (indirectly??)

He can’t make sense of what he’s seeing, at first. 

The door is open a just a little, revealing a ribbon of the room in the dim light thrown by the flickering flames in the fireplace — the mantlepiece, barely distinguishable from the darkness; the hearth itself, its intricate carvings invisible now; the flickering fire, almost down to embers. A sliver of carpet. He stops understanding things around then. His eyes are taking it in, but the sight won’t turn into anything that he can wrap his mind around. 

It’s for the best, he thinks. And he knows it won’t last long. Already he can feel the horror opening up a chasm inside him, a black, roaring emptiness that will take over everything he is. His breath is coming fast and shallow, as if it’s trying to use itself up, so he can just collapse to the ground and cease to exist. Hurry up, he tells his laboring lungs. Hurry up, hurry up and quit, hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. 

Her hand. 

Her hand, falling in the gap between door and doorframe. Her hand, fingers curled in silent supplication. Her hand, with its stained palm, the color on her skin almost pitch black in the gloom. Almost.

He can see well enough to know what it is. And he can see well enough to know that she’s completely still. A statue carved from his own grief. He wants to fall to his knees and crawl to her, take her bloodied hand, press it to his lips. His cheek. Leaving marks on his skin like lashes under a whip. He deserves it, this branding. He deserves worse.

God, he brought her to this. 

Does going back in time erase everything? Would he remember, even if she forgot? If he could return to that night, the night they met, and stop himself from calling out to her — would he lose her eyes meeting his for the first time? Lose the smile creeping into her voice when she said he could see her again? Lose the way his heart pounded as he watched her walk away? 

Maybe he wouldn’t go back that far. (He has to keep thinking about this, because he can’t think about what he’s looking at right now; or he’ll start screaming and he’ll never stop.) Maybe he would let them ride out together, that day he promised nothing would happen to her. He could stop at their first kiss, couldn’t he? Let himself have that one thing. 

He’d pressed a kiss to her lower lip, as if he couldn’t bring himself to stop tasting her. She was smiling. 

He can hear people in the room beyond, hissing at each other like a pair of snakes. He thinks of the serpent in Eden, offering Eve the apple. Her teeth had broken into the thin skin of the fruit, and unleashed sin. He’s always thought it was pretty ridiculous that it’s a woman who brought destruction into the world. 

In his experience, nobody knows how to ruin something beautiful quite like a man. Look at his father, dragging his mother from their home in New York, only to die curled up like a useless animal. (He can’t remember the last time he thought about his father, let alone with such venom; but this, too, is better than thinking about her hand on the floor.) Look at him. His presence in her life has been nothing but damnation from the start.

It should be his damnation, not hers. Not hers. 

Not her.

Not her, not her, not her. Please, anyone but her. 

If they come out here, they’ll kill him. His only fear is that they won’t do it right now. They’ll make him wait — the journey back into town, being bundled into a jail cell, sitting through a sham of a trial. The noose will slip around his neck and he’ll just be praying for it to tighten already. Better for it to happen in an instant. A bullet to the heart. 

It’s more than what he deserves, of course. But hasn’t he already proven that he’s a selfish man? There had never been a doubt that she was far above him, beyond him, as beautiful — more so — as the moon and just as out of reach. But he’d wanted her, so he’d pursued her, anyway. 

And he can’t go back. He can’t fix it. 

He swears he hears her father’s voice in his ear, risen from the grave to lay blame at the feet of the person who deserves it the most. You killed her, del Toboso says. You killed her. You monster, you beast, you foolish boy. She had everything before you came into her life. She had her family. She had her future. She would be better off if she had never met you. 

She would, specifically, be alive if she had never met him.

(How long has he been standing here? He doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. Time is for the living, and whether his death is moments away or days, it’s just a matter of perspective. His heart is still beating, but he knows he is dead in the ways that matter.)

Not only had he brought her into this life, he’d brought her here. 

He should have left her with Manuela and the baby — he���d wanted to — but she had insisted. This new hideout was one of her family houses, after all; who knew the hiding spots, the ways in and out, the roads to and from the house, better than she did? He could have figured all of that out himself. But she’d looked at him with those pleading dark eyes, and he hadn’t been strong enough to resist her. Not with her hands clutching at his shirt, begging with her gaze. With her words, falling from her lips onto his own as she reached up to hold his face. 

“I do not want to be so far away from you. I would be sick waiting for news, I couldn’t bear it. Please, Billy…take me with you.”

There’s a footstep from inside the room. Another. Another. Spaced out, like a predator about to pounce. He wonders if they can see him. (He doesn’t care, really, but it’s a thought. If they can see him, is it well enough to see his face? Or is he just a lean shadow, looking like the ghost he is?)

The door jostles open a little further as someone kneels down next to her. 

He can see her shoulder now. Her chin, the line of her jaw. A bit of her cheek. Had it just been last night that he kissed that cheek? They had fallen asleep in the big bed upstairs, the one that floated like a jewel of damask curtains and dark, gleaming mahogany bedposts. The bedroom itself had taken up nearly the whole third floor, a chamber that probably could have fit the whole Antrim house inside it.

“Holy shit,” he’d said. “There are wagons smaller than this bed.”

“Don’t worry, lindo. It works just the same as a small bed.”

And then she’d grinned at him, taking him by the hand and leading him toward it. “Let me show you.”

They made love like they always did, as if they had all the time in the world, passion caged in caresses that stretched moments into years, kisses planted anywhere and everywhere they could reach. He only moved faster, harder, when she told him to — whether with her back arched, legs tightening around his waist, or by her feverish voice in his ear. 

“Billy, please…”

He knew she was getting close when she kept saying his name over and over again, the rhythm disjointed by desperation, but sweeter than any melody in the world for all that. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her mouth at his ear. Crying out until her voice peaked, broke, ebbing away into soft sighs and trembling breaths. 

Breaths.

She’s not breathing. 

Not breathing, not moving. Of course, he’d known that, but to see more of her makes it harder for him to push that reality away. He feels like Atlas, bearing the weight of the world, except he can already feel it crushing him. 

From inside the room, he hears a man say: “Dulcinea?” 

It’s Pat Garrett. He doesn’t need to see him to know that. He recognizes his voice. 

He can smell gunpowder now. 

There is a thunderclap in his head, driving out all thought, all sense of himself. He wants to scream and kick the door open, howling like a demon clawing his way out of hell. He wants to shout at Pat for daring to say her name. 

Why didn’t he change her name when he had the chance? They’d always wanted to get married. Maybe he didn’t feel worthy, as an outlaw. Maybe a part of him had never doubted it would end this way, except he’d expected to be the one to go. A piece of paper signed by a judge doesn’t change the fact that he was hers, and she was his. 

But still. 

He would have liked to call her his wife, if just once. Even if nobody else heard but her.

Was leaving a grieving lover behind better than leaving a widow? For her, it would be, at least. She wouldn’t be saddled with the name of a criminal. Besides, Dulcinea Bonney just doesn’t sound as good as her maiden name.

(It doesn’t matter. He knows that. But if he thinks about why it doesn’t matter, he’ll—)

“Who’s there?”

The door opens all the way. Pat stands in the doorway, his body outlined in dancing gold. Billy takes a step toward him.

“Quien es?” he responds. “Quien es?”

He wants his last words to be in Spanish. Her language. Maybe she can hear him where she is, falling with the tongue she knew first on his lips. It’s like a last kiss. 

Billy lunges forward, like he’s going to attack Pat, but he doesn’t care about laying a hand on him. The time for fighting is over. No, he just wants to be in the same room. He wants to fall next to her. If he times it right—

“Quien es?” It sounds like he’s begging. Maybe he is. He just wants it to be over.

He doesn’t look down. If he looks at her, fully, really looks at her, his courage will fail him. There will be too much guilt for him to be brave.

He sees Pat reach for his hip, and even though he can barely see the pistol in the dark, he almost smiles as the barrel gleams in the dim light. It’s a promise of relief. Just a few minutes more. 

“Who are you?” Pat says. “Tell me your name and put your hands up, or I’ll—”

From the corner of his eye, Billy can see her sleeve. He lunges forward again. 

A bang. Smoke. A flash of light. 

He doesn’t see the bullet, but when it hits him in the chest, he’s grateful for it, anyway. Billy takes a small step backward, another, and lets himself fall. He doesn’t feel the impact when he lands on the floor. He turns his head. He timed it perfectly. There she is, right next to him.

His hand brushes hers. Her fingertips are icy, but he reaches for them, anyway. 

Can she feel his warmth in the next life? 

(Is there a next life?)

There’s pain, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s like the sun baking his skin on a hot summer day — a byproduct of being alive. It will only last a little while longer, he’s sure. In the meantime, there’s her face. 

He won’t look at anything else. He doesn’t want to know where she was hit. 

(In the heart? Like him?)

Her face. 

It looks like she’s sleeping. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted. 

(Did she try to say his name? To warn him? To say goodbye? Just to say it, once more?)

His fingers tighten on hers. 

(Don’t leave me. I’m coming.)

He closes his eyes, too. 

Maybe it’s a dream, what happens next. Maybe there really is a life after this one, and somehow, he’s managed to find himself on the right side of the pearly gates. The last of him supposes that it could be both. There’s really no saying if one cancels out the other, or if they’re one and the same. 

There are rolling hills, so green that it makes his throat ache with how beautiful it is. The grass waves in the gentlest breeze he has ever felt, soft and warm. He sees a house. He doesn’t walk toward it, but finds himself inside, as if he’s just pushed the door open. 

They smile at him, all of them. 

His mother. His father. Joe. Tunstall. Charlie. Tom. 

And then, he sees her. 

Dulcinea takes his hand. “It’s alright now,” she says. 

Billy rests his forehead against hers, clasping her hand. He doesn’t say anything in response, but he doesn’t need to. 

It’s alright now. 

[lunaetics]

roll the stone away | pack

the timing worked out: dean, sam, jo, and lux⎯who'd tagged along for your protection, whatever that meant⎯arrived at ajani's home and stepped out of the car, just as the group of salem refugees arrived.

dean didn't know much about the group. frankly, the only people he really knew anything about were sam and jo. but lo had informed them all that her friends, alphas like her, would be meeting them soon, seeking asylum and help that only eshe could provide right now. dean hadn't pried for details⎯they'd all had such a long day already and all he wanted was for it to come to an end⎯but watching the group climb out of their mini-bus, he thought he understood.

the exhaustion of the group was palpable. shadows hung over their faces and there was a stiffness to the way they move. none of them looked bruised or particularly ruffled, like there'd been a battle, just⎯⎯exhausted. as if they'd been through just as much as everyone else here, if not significantly more. and there was something about the way they hesitated to step too far away from each other, thoughtlessly shuffling into a clustered formation as they stepped out of their vehicle, that was familiar to dean.

he'd never done it with a group quite that large, but⎯⎯with sam, yeah. he recognized what it looked like to have been dragged to the pits of hell with someone and feel like the world would end if he ever parted from that person again.

peculiar enough, the last person out of the bus was asleep; she was pulled out of the car gently, cradled in someone's arms. her head lulled against their shoulder, and dean momentarily thought that it was kind of them to allow her to sleep.

then he saw⎯⎯the way their eyes shuttered away from her, as if she were a painful sight. the careful way she was held. the pallor of her skin. the way she wasn't even breathing.

oh.

finally, dean looked away.

"oh, good timing," lux said, running her eyes over the group. unlike the people she'd driven with, she wasn't human; she could pick up all of the distinct scents in the group, as well as the lack of a heartbeat in one of them. her eyes flicked down to the sleeping witch, then back up to the others. "come on, i'll bring you inside. don't worry," she added, seeing the way one witch's eyes darted frantically around, "you're safe here. whoever you're running from, they can't get you in this city⎯⎯certainly not here."

mae drew her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to believe that. rose and the twins had said the same thing. mae wanted to believe it. but it was hard to believe anything when her entire belief system had been upended just twenty-four hours ago. still, she fashioned a smile for the blonde and nodded. "right. yeah, of course."

lux tried to return her smile. she wasn't the best welcoming committee; she was not soft and endearing like julia. but ajani would want her to be kind, and she owed him everything. so she smiled, then turned to lead everyone into ajani's fortress of a home. some of the witches looked around in awe as they ventured through the house to find the others, and lux said nothing about it. spirits knew she'd done the same thing many times over the years.

soon enough, they reached the room where everyone was gathered. uche was seated between her sisters, hand wrapped around eshe's while her head rested against ife's chest. lux couldn't blame them for the way they banded together. near death experiences were scary for anyone; she couldn't imagine what that did to someone who'd been invincible since near the beginning of time.

upon entering the room, ethan couldn't even find it in himself to recognize all of the threats gathered around them. his eyes immediately found the familiar sight of home. "lo," he exhaled, breaking away from the witches to cross the room over to her. he wrapped his arms around her and felt something settle in his chest at finally being with her again. separating had been the right thing; that didn't mean he didn't miss her terribly. "hey. you okay?" he pulled back from the hug to look her in the eyes. "have you been alright?"

bellamy, on the other hand, did not look at lo first. instead, her eyes landed on julia. she was an odd sight, considering bellamy was certain deucalion had killed her some years ago. then again, she seemed to have a knack for beating death. there were scars wrapped around her throat, jagged claws marks that undoubtedly came from deucalion's attack, but that seemed to be the extent of her trauma. she didn't look at the alphas with any sort of recognition, and it made bellamy question just what price she'd paid for her survival.

"thank you for having us," harry said, while the alphas reunited, his voice quieter than usual. everything felt... odd. in a new city, with a bunch of new people, and piper still dead. if the last thing wasn't true, then piper would be speaking right now; she'd know how to be a good ambassador for their coven, how to show that they come with earnest intentions. but she was⎯asleep, still, so someone had to say something. "we're sorry for the sudden intrusion."

[quinloki]

I had a thought about your host club au but like

All the hosts that are trained well/play well with others and an event for more experienced clients and they just throw all the names in a box and you gotta pick 2 and that’s your partners for the night

Get some variety and some situations that normally might not happen 👀👀

Okay also on Kid&Marco… I get the feeling that Kid would THINK he’s in control but he’s really not at all Marco’s sly so I just get those vibes idk I haven’t been able to think about it too too much but 👀👀

Kazieai.

I was going to spare you. I was. I was going to just sit here with my debauched thoughts and spare you.

But now you're feeding me.

I love that event idea, I'm putting it on my list. Cause that's brilliant and boy is that just a lot of possibilities. I could even use a literal randomizer and challenge myself as much as anything else XD

But Kid and Marco and the Reader.

Kid and Marco are both open and flexible and experienced. Marco has *more* experience sure, but Kid's not really that far behind. I honestly don't know if Kid would think he was in charge - he'd act like it, he'd move and command like he was, but I think he's worked for long enough in the Club to understand Marco.

There's things that let you know they're hunting you, and there's things that ambush you without warning. Some things present themselves as harmless and coil poisoned claws around your throat with the kindest smile.

And then there are things that let you walk into their fingers on strings you neither see nor feel. When they hunt you, you thank them for the privilege of death at their hands, so sweet a mercy it is.

Eustass Kid might revel in playing with his food, but Marco will have you saying thank you before you pass out - and Kid is well aware of the difference between them.

Not that he backs down from the proverbial challenge, but if you can keep your wits about you, it is an extra treat to watch the red head slowly fall apart under the guidance of the blonde. They're the same height (or close enough) and about the same build (Host Club AU Eustass Kid has not lost an arm or hulked out like Canon AU Kid), though Kid is certainly a little wider than Marco.

Lithe applies to the elder, Kid's just a liiiiiittle too thicc for that word.

But there's nothing quite like sitting in Marco's lap with Kid between your legs, his hands and lips switching between you and Marco, bringing you both pleasure in near equal measure as Marco lavishes attention on your neck and chest.

the fact that their similar heights means they can hoist you up, standing on either side of you, filling you up to near bursting at the same time. Hot hands on your thighs and chest, keeping you steady as they piston opposite one another, never losing a beat even as you twitch and cry in pleasure.

The aftercare is top notch, probably the highest rated in the club because Kid and Marco are both top rated in providing it. When he's paired up with Marco, Kid can be extra aggressive, since the phoenix can soothe the deeper bruises and bites marks easier than most.

[tinyvoicejill]

For the prompt thing I don’t think this is very vague but superpowers? (I’m back in a supercorp era I fear)

(I am too babe there’s no shame… unfortunately this is not like Supercorp at all lmao. Also some content warnings on this one for descriptions of drowning/death experiences and some general body unpleasantness?)

----

Talk of the people with gifts resembles that of boogeymen or ghosts. They’re not real things, just threats you tell your children to keep them in bed.

“Stay asleep,” they warn with a jovial tone too light for terrified children to identify. “Lest the monsters get you.”

Children grow up and stop believing in the monsters, at least in their minds. But their hearts and bodies never forget, not fully, and so when they do in fact encounter something - someone - who their minds know should not exist, they’re left with a confusing, skin crawling sensation they can never quite explain. They hate and they fear, but they don’t know why.

That’s how it’s always felt to Carson, at least.

Like they didn’t really understand where their intense dislike for her came from, just that they all feel it. It’d been like that with her mother too, growing up. People feared her, and they feared Carson along with her. Her dad had helped temper the hatred some - the gifted are always easier to tolerate around others. Like a lion in a zoo - you can sense the power they hold, but you feel protected from them. It’s when you’re caught alone with one that the primordial parts of your brain really sense the danger.

Nothing is scarier than being alone with another person: for them first, and then for Carson as a result. The safest she can be is invisible. Carson tries to stay lost in crowds or completely alone whenever possible, though crowds bring their own dangers as well. After all, the more people there are the greater the chances some future atrocity is lurking ahead for one of them. And whatever horrors lay ahead for these strangers Carson will know. Will feel. 

That is her gift and curse: foresight. She feels it beneath her skin like a slithering vine whenever she’s near one of them. It whispers warnings in her bones, and its whispers grow louder the nearer they are to her or to their fate. For as long as she’s been able to tell, Carson has always known when bad things were about to happen to others. Their future anger, their terror, their demises - all of it calls out to her before they’re realized. Sometimes days ahead, sometimes hours. Sometimes seconds. She’d cry into the night as a child, pillow wrapped tight around her head, and beg her mother to make it stop. Beg her to take away the gift.

“The gift is not a part of you, my love. It is you. You can’t stop it. I’m so sorry.”

Her mother carried so much guilt for her gift, for creating her at all. Carson always figured that’s why she left them. The guilt was too much. Carson was too much. Something her mother never told her, perhaps never even realized, was that there was something Carson could do to end the devastating grief of the gift.

She could stop the bad thing from happening.

She realized as a teenager when she felt the impending assault of a classmate. When the pain felt too large to ignore and she followed its guiding pull behind the school moments before the attack. When she was able to hit the man before he could harm. Her classmate had hugged her, thanked her, and all the pain she’d felt for hours vanished. That’s when she knew the gift wasn’t a punishment. It’s a responsibility.

She’d become a small-time hero of sorts, though few knew to what degree. People in town seem to loathe her less, even if they still fear her. Their hatred is mediated by her helpfulness. Preventing horrors before they can occur does not gain the same attention as intervening during a crime can. Most of the work she does to protect people prevents them from ever even knowing they were in danger at all. It makes the pain lessen inside of her, though, and that’s enough. 

Her life is small but manageable, and her heroic interventions dull the ache to a background buzz. Living in a small town keeps things easier, too: the one time she’s visited a big city she nearly fainted in the streets under the pressing pain of the thousands of lives around her just waiting to suffer or end. Lake Valley is easier, the suffering fewer and farther between. Life is tolerable. Sometimes even pleasant, if she’s lucky. She can handle it.

Then one day she wakes in the middle of the night and it’s like her soul is ripping from her body, gripping hard at her bones in its effort to stay. Her body breaks out into hives, she finds herself retching fruitlessly into the toilet. Every breath she takes feels damp, her lungs sloshing and stuttering around water that isn’t there. She’s drowning. The terror of it nearly consumes her - her fingertips feel raw like she’s been clawing at the walls to escape, her head aches like she’s bashed it against something hard. She’s felt people die before, hundreds of times, but she’s never felt it like this. Her gift screams within her body so loudly her jaw aches: Run. Go now. Find her. Save her. 

Her feet are moving before her brain even tells them to do so, taking her into the kitchen until she has a knife in her hand. She didn’t mean to grab it, yet she knows she needs it. Out of her house she runs, racing down the country dirt road that takes her from her isolated cottage to the rest of town. The gift guides her till she’s on the paved road and racing across it, down the grassy hill until she sees it, there, sticking out of the water: the tail end of a compact car, its headlights shining up as it sinks.

Hurry. Save her now.

Carson splashes into the water, passively aware of the jagged rocks tearing at her skin - she hadn’t put shoes on, hadn’t had time - but all she can focus on is her grip on the door handle of the front seat. She tugs and it opens easily. The unconscious woman’s hand is still tangled around the handle on her side. She’d tried to open it, it seems, but couldn’t against the water’s pressure. The car is filled with water now, though, and the pressure is gone. If it were not for the pulsating panic exploding through Carson at the sight of her, she’d think the woman was already dead. Carson reaches around her and tugs at the seatbelt only to find it unyielding. Knife knife knife, the gift chants, and she slashes at the belt with frantic jagged swipes. Carson cuts the woman free and lets the knife fall with the sinking car. She focuses her hands on pulling her body out and away. Nausea roils in her as she drags her to shore, wave after wave of flickering pain as the woman gradually dies in her arms. Another car has pulled up she can see on the road. The taillights sinking deeper into the lake must have caught their eye, and Carson prays they are calling an ambulance now but she can’t stop to ask, not while she feels the woman die, and so instead she lays her on the grass and she presses on her chest and she breathes into her mouth and she feels a deep gnawing emptiness settling into her bones as the woman fades, and a death has never felt like this before. She’s never felt this emptiness before. And then the woman gasps out a mouthful of water and a euphoria Carson has never known floods her body. She rolls the woman onto her side as she throws up water and nearly collapses under the feel of it. Carson presses her head to the woman’s shoulder and cries. What devastation she’d felt this whole time has been flipped on its head with a rush of endorphins so powerful she trembles. Carson’s never felt joy before, not like this, not with someone else. The ambulance arrives soon after that. EMTs come to load the woman onto a stretcher and Carson stiltedly tells them what she knows. They’re not surprised to see her. Carson is often there at scenes like this, pulling people from the brink of death. They look at her like she’s something to be feared, to be respected, and all Carson can see is the woman she’s saved. She’s beautiful, Carson realizes, especially now that color is returning to her skin. Her red hair lays tangled and plastered against her face and around her oxygen mask, and all Carson wants is to brush it aside. 

“We’ll take it from here, Miss Shaw,” the EMT says nervously as they begin to wheel her away, and every step they take from her pulls the ache back into her. It’s only when they’ve gotten a ways away that Carson realizes how the last few minutes of contact have felt for her. How the moment the woman came back to life, the pain of her gift went away. That’s never happened before. And now she feels that distance like a wound, and the panic sets in with it. “Wait!” she calls out as they load her onto the ambulance. “I’m coming with you.” They seem hesitant to let her but she doesn’t give them a chance, instead climbing aboard like she belongs there. Like she belongs with the woman. On instinct, she grabs the woman’s hand. Instantly the panic lessens, the pain. The world fades into just this moment, just the soft beat of a heart that had moments before been still.

“Do you know this woman?” they ask as they wrap her in a shock blanket. She’s soaked and shivering, though she hardly feels it.  Yes, the gift aches within her. Yes yes yes.

“Not yet,” she says. “But I will.”

[softboiledteacozy]

Resounding of Silence - an aehei horror fic

Leaving you all with a fic I have lost all interest in because of Reasons, but which was still developed enough to make me at least want to share it with you all. Inspired by the recent retro style mystery horror game Bloomtown, this was a Genshin AU where Aether and Lumine spend a creepy summer in their grandfather's remote mountain village in Japan. Here, they befriend Yoimiya, Heizou, Heizou's canonically unnamed friend, Kazuha, and the Kamisato siblings, and they spend a summer looking into a rare occurrence in the woods. Years later, Aether comes back to town, remembering little about the experience, and as he settles down to spend another summer here, mostly alone, he starts to recall bad things that happened that ended in the death of one of the kids, and with dread he realizes that whatever happened back then still haunts him to this day.

Behind the cut is chapter one.

Chapter 1 - Nothing but ivy

The pines in the mountains of Japan filter the sunlight here in ways Aether has never seen anywhere else. The dappled light of the woods takes him for a moment back to his childhood - summers spent running with Lumine through the cedars that grew near their home, through forests that gently sloped into the beach, the gritty pine needle-covered floor giving way to soft sand.

And yet, despite their deceptive similarities upon first impression, it is the air that really feels different. Their childhood home had been heavy with the tang of salt, the murmur of the waves echoing through the thin trunks, the soft susurrations interspersed with their footsteps as they weaved through the trees, laughing, play-fighting with sticks turned swords.

Here, the air is heavy, almost pensive. There is distant birdsong - the sound foreign to Aether's West Coast ears - and a light, thin mountain breeze which brings with it the sharp, fresh scent of pine. Here, it feels as if he's walked into a cathedral of green, submerged in amber light. Aether feels as though time might congeal here, fossilizing everything found within. For a moment, he feels the urge to turn around and leave. But where would he go, trapped alone halfway across the world?

"Aether!" A voice breaks through the silence in a sharp burst, and the moment of oppression is gone, just like that.

"Ms Yoimiya," Aether hums, turning to face the girl running down the trail to meet him. His Japanese feels heavy on the tongue, unpracticed, but he knows it'll pick up the pace fast. "It's been a while."

"Ages!" Yoimiya agrees. She stops short of hugging him, but the way she jumps in place tells Aether his old friend is happy to see him too. "When did your hair get so long?"

Aether runs a hand through his bangs, thinking back for a moment. Behind him, a long braid swings to and fro, as if showing off. "Uh, around high school, I think? It's been pretty long since college, and I think Lumine just kept cutting hers shorter the longer mine got."

"So... she's bald now?" Yoimiya asks in mock horror.

This makes Aether snort. "No, no, nothing quite so drastic. She stopped after an uh... interesting attempt at a bob."

"You can't just say that and not show pictures, Aether!! You're killing me." Yoimiya actually reaches out and starts gently shaking Aether now, prior inhibitions be damned. Still, it's anything but annoying, and Aether good naturedly sways along as he fishes for his phone in his pocket.

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of blackmail mat- er, photographic evidence. Ah- I think I ran out of battery on the way over from Tokyo, but I promise to show you later."

"Is that why you weren't answering your texts? I was worried you didn't have a data plan for Japan yet."

"International traveler plan," Aether flashes his sleek phone at her. "Too bad this is also currently a useless hunk of junk until I-- ah, shit." He stares at the phone as it slips from his hands and falls squarely onto a thick root, the corner colliding and instantly cracking the screen in the process. "...So much for that."

Yoimiya brings both hands to her mouth with a gasp, staring at the scene of the crime with eyes wide. "Oh Aether, I am so sorry. I hope it still works at least."

Aether gingerly picks up the broken remains of the phone and grimaces as he inspects the damage. "I'll honestly be surprised if it even turns on at this rate. I don't suppose there's a repair shop in town?"

With a grimace, Yoimiya shakes her head. "We'd have to take the bus back to the town where you got off at the train station down at the very base of the mountain. Unfortunately, we kind of are in the middle of nowhere up here." She sighs, letting the bad news settle before adding, "Though that has its perks too, you know? You have got to see the stars at night. It'll take your breath away."

Tearing his gaze away from the broken phone, Aether manages an actual smile at that last comment, mostly happy to see that Yoimiya remembers his love of the night sky all these years later. "I'm sure it will."

Yoimiya nods down the path, where the trees seem to thin out and give way to an open area. "Come on. I'll treat you to some ramen, and you'll feel right as rain. Race you!"

She quickly sets off down the path without another word, and Aether can't help but follow at the same pace lest he lose his way. They sprint down the stone path out of the woods, and something in Aether, a deep, base instinct coiled in his gut, is glad they're finally leaving it behind.

* * *

The town has not changed much in the 15 or so years since Aether had first (and last) stepped foot inside. Back then, he and his sister had been sent for the summer to their estranged grandfather's house, where their mother hoped they'd reconnect not only with the old man who knew them only through letters and pictures, but also to their ancestral heritage, as she'd called it. That summer, he and Lumine had followed the old man around town like a pair of golden ducklings, learning how to cultivate his garden and helping him around the small local clinic he managed before they were even allowed to explore town.

At first, Aether and Lumine had seen the trip as a cruel ploy to keep them away from their friends for a whole summer, and a whole ocean away, too! They'd been separated from their home turf, and they were convinced they'd wither like uprooted plants in the secluded mountain village, armed with nothing more than their basic Japanese and each other.

And yet, much to their shared surprise, they'd instead found a new love out on the road - the new sights, the buildings, the food, the people. Everything they saw on their journey brought new wonders each day, and it made them hunger for more.

After that first taste of exploration, of freedom, they'd felt as though they'd been let loose on the world, and they'd never looked back, taking a leap into the unknown to eat the world with nothing but the other's company as a constant. They'd relied on the connections they formed along the way, friendships which seemed to open paths to even more new experiences.

And yet, they hadn't come back to this first stop since. Tokyo, yes, and several other Japanese landmarks, but the quiet mountains of their mother's childhood had remained untouched, unspoken of, and neither of them could really tell what kept them away all these years.

Their grandfather had passed away some years ago, leaving the clinic to an apprentice who had quietly kept it running. Until this year.

A month ago, Lumine and Aether had received an email from Yoimiya - with whom they'd kept constant digital correspondence ever since they'd met that summer - urging them to come back after the doctor staying at their grandfather's old clinic had suddenly packed his bags and left without a word.

They'd decided this was as good a chance as any to inspect the property, and to reconnect with their old friend after years of only exchanging emails and the occasional actual, physical letter.

'We'll make the most of it,' Yoimiya had suggested. 'Come stay for the summer, if you've got the time, so you can enjoy the local late summer festival. It'll be like an extended slumber party!'

Aether had jumped at the opportunity, having just come back from a work trip to Maldives, but Lumine, off in the verdant jungles of South America with a group of recent friends who needed her expertise in picketing, had taken a raincheck, promising to catch up with them once she was done. The festival didn't start until August, after all, and their grandfather's old house probably shouldn't be kept waiting.

"Aether, I'm literally chained to a tree right now," had been Lumine's exact words. Aether had asked for a branch as a souvenir, and Lumine had snorted and hung up on him.

* * *

"It's too bad Lumi couldn't travel with you," Yoimiya sighs. She slides a hearty bowl of ramen Aether's way, and Aether's stomach growls heartily in response.

"I'm used to traveling alone," Aether lies smoothly. The truth is, he misses his sister terribly, especially on milestone journeys like this. It's not so much that they don't travel alone, it's that they know when not to. So yes, maybe Aether is a little sore about it, but he's not about to sour his enjoyment of this trip just because Lumine isn't here to see it with him from the start. He wonders if this makes him less important than a single tree in the whole Amazon. Surely he's more unique than a tree in a forest? He decides to just let this go for now, knowing that way lies madness.

As he takes his chopsticks and cradles the bowl of ramen closer to him still, seeking its warmth even in the warm July day, he finally manages a nonchalant shrug. "Anyway, she'll be here before long. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Other than breaking your phone, you mean?" Yoimiya reminds him with a small laugh. She quickly clamps her mouth as she realizes what she's just said. "Ooh, sorry, sorry, it's too soon to be making jokes, isn't it? Well, if you need to make a call, you can use the landline at my place. Much more reliable than a cellphone up here anyway."

"I was more worried about not being able to take pictures, actually."

"Oh in that case, I might be able to help you! There's a second hand store on main street. I wouldn't put it past them to carry a few old cameras."

"Oh? Analog stuff, huh?" Aether hums.

"Most likely, yeah," Yoimiya agrees with a smile. "I'll lead you there after you settle in, if you like. We made sure your grandpa's house was nice and clean for you and Lumi to use. Honestly though, the guy who was renting it kept it very tidy."

"What was his name again?"

Yoimiya hesitates, tapping her chin a few times. "You know what? For the life of me, I can't remember. I know every single person in this town by name, but this guy... Well, he was a bit of a recluse. Or, well, not quite a recluse. He did keep the clinic running. He was just not a very chatty person, you know?

"We're pretty certain he was some sort of ascetic. Even grew his own food in the garden! Now I'm kind of regretting not getting to know him better before he left."

Aether laughs. "He sounds like the kind of person my grandfather would have left his house to, all right. From what we know about him, he was always very... particular about who he let inside, ever since my mother was little."

"My dad told me much the same thing," Yoimiya agrees with a nod. "I guess he wanted to make sure his place was kept in good shape because it was used as a clinic. Don't want anyone breaking any important vials."

"Probably," Aether chuckles, remembering the earful he and Lumine had gotten once after they accidentally broke a whole batch of some weird green powder. "How's your father doing these days?"

"Getting on in years, but I think he's enjoying retirement. I'm pretty much in charge of the family business these days, but my dad does still enjoy helping me design fireworks for the bigger festivals. And even though he's pretty deaf now, he still loves sitting down to watch the shows up close. "Actually, you'll get to see my work in just a few weeks!" Yoimiya claps once, grinning at Aether with a sparkle in her eye that matches the fireworks Aether remembers seeing light up the night sky 15 years ago. "Ah! I'm so happy you're back for the whole summer! We're going to have an incredible time, Aether."

Aether raises his glass, a matching beer with Yoimiya, and they drink to that. "I'm sure it'll be a blast," he says smoothly, which makes Yoimiya giggle.

"I should make you pay for the meal just because of that pun."

"Now, now, little Yoimiya. It doesn't do to treat guests like that," a distinguished voice cuts their banter short. "This dish is on the house, courtesy of the owner."

Aether turns to find himself face to face with a tall woman in a cook's apron. She wears a kerchief wrapped around her head, light pink dyed hair sticking out in small tufts behind the cloth. The aforementioned owner of this restaurant, Aether surmises, judging from the way she handles herself (and from the fact that her apron bears the logo of the restaurant - a kitsune lounging inside an udon bowl, wearing a block of tofu like a towel over its head).

She looks vaguely familiar, too, though she's definitely too young to have been managing the restaurant the last time Aether was here. Perhaps he met her mother when he was little?

"Ms. Yae!" Yoimiya gasps. "Please, I will happily pay for the meals. I was just teasing my friend here, since he just got here today and-"

"Ah, ah, ah," the woman says, holding up a finger. "I'll have none of that. Young Aether here knows better than to reject a gift freely given, I presume?"

'How does she know my name?' Aether can't help but wonder. All he can do is nod politely as the light shock passes.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Ms Yae hums, leaning closer to Aether as if to sniff him out. "Oh dear, you do still speak Japanese, don't you? You used to be so fluent when you and your sister were little."

This at least confirms his suspicion, though Aether for the life of him can't place this woman. "Y-yes, ma'am, I do. Thank you kindly for the meal."

She nods her head in acknowledgement before glancing Yoimiya's way with a smug smile, as though saying, 'Well, there you go.'

"You come back soon, you hear?" She offers Aether one last teasing smile before turning to leave. Aether raises his hand to wave goodbye, but the mysterious woman is already gone, presumably behind the curtain leading to the kitchen.

"Well aren't you the popular guy," Yoimiya giggles. "I don't think Lady Yae has ever offered anyone a free meal before. Ever!"

"Really? Maybe she just wants to lure the tourist in with some tasty bait," Aether grins, though something about the whole exchange unnerved him.

"Well? Did it work?"

Aether looks down at his empty bowl and nods. "I'll say. If my sisters were here, they'd both have asked for seconds, but I think I'll just have to come back later. I'm stuffed."

"Ready to go back then?"

Aether thinks of the old house, of dark rooms and a small garden, of winding wooden staircases, of their mother's old cozy room, of disjointed flashes of memory which for some reason refuse to connect into a whole picture, and he nods. "Let's go."

* * *

A clinic, Aether reasons as he pauses at a landing, should not be this far uphill. Especially not when the steps are small and made of moss-covered stone and built right into the mountain. He's supposed to be fit, damn it, so why is he getting winded? Especially when Yoimiya is already waiting for him at the very top of the steep stairs, looking as fresh as a summer breeze.

"Sorry, this is a shortcut I tend to take whenever I have to head out this way," she apologizes with a small bow as he finally reaches her. "You can also head over to the temple from here, though you have to go through that patch of woods over there before even reaching the first torii."

Aether stops at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the railing, and he follows the path with his gaze, squinting at the dense woodland that obscures any glimpses of the temple. Was this place always this overgrown, this dark?

"It's just down this street now, come on! Your grandpa had a nice yellow bicycle, if I remember correctly. I bet you can use that to move around town easier, especially if you'd rather stick to the main road."

"At least it's all downhill from here," Aether sighs, glancing down the slope to the town below. The view is nice, at least, with the small town nestled amidst the pines as if someone had carved a spot for it among the trees and dropped it whole to take root.

"It is, though the festival grounds are higher up still, on temple grounds. I hope you brought your hiking boots." Yoimiya gestures for him to follow, and they make their way down the road.

"Yeah, they're in the bag. Thanks for the suggestion." Aether honestly regretted his earlier choice of white tennis shoes. They'd been great for the plane and the road over, but not so much for uneven paths through the woods, especially considering he'd ended up having to walk a lot longer since the bus stop that reached all the way up to town didn't exist anymore. Lumine would have chided him over it, but Aether wasn't about to sacrifice a good fit even when common sense told him he knew better.

"Here we go, number 28-09," Yoimiya announced almost reverently. "Niwa-san's house."

"This hasn't really been my grandfather's house for years now," Aether grimaces.

But Yoimiya shakes her head adamantly. "Even his apprentice referred to it as Niwa's clinic. You have to remember, Aether, things don't really change in small towns like this."

Aether is quiet for a moment as he mulls over Yoimiya's words. How much has changed since the last time? How much has remained the same? It is a little shocking how little of that summer seems to have stayed in Aether's memories, beyond that urge to keep on moving which had stayed with him and his sister ever since. Did Lumine remember more? Was it just his own memory which was proving faulty? Aether has the urge to call Lumine and ask her, but he realizes with a start that he doesn't have the number to reach her anymore. It hadn't even been her own number he'd called last, since she had left her phone behind to help her remain anonymous in the protest. So much for that twin connection...

Aether. Aether...

"Aetheeeer," Yoimiya's voice breaks through his thoughts once again. This time, she's dangling a keyring in front of his face, perhaps hoping this will catch his attention.

Aether blinks and grabs hold of the keys without a second thought. Aside from the house keys, there's a purple cat charm hanging from the ring too. The work of his grandfather's tenant, he assumes, since the old man had never struck him as the type of person who enjoyed superfluous details like this.

"You okay?" Yoimiya asks him, softly resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Aether mumbles. "Just tired from the trip, I guess."

"I'll give you some space now, so you can have a look through the house and get some rest. We stocked the fridge and pantry with a few days' worth of food, but if you need anything, there's a market on main street. Big blue roof, can't miss it. And there's a konbini just two blocks away, too."

She starts looking through her bag then, until she pulls out a small notebook and a pen. As she leafs through it to find a blank page, Aether catches glimpses of what he assumes are firework designs, with a lot of technical scribbles hastily jotted down. Once she finds a blank page, Yoimiya draws a crude map of the town, marking the clinic, the shrine, the shortcut, the restaurants and shops, as well as her own house. Once she's done, she rips it out and hands it to Aether.

"Since you don't have your fancy GPS handy right now. Thankfully the town is small enough for pen and paper. Feel free to add anything else you find useful! That second hand shop should be right over here, by the library."

After carefully pocketing the map, Aether nods. "Thanks Yoimiya, for everything, really. You've given me a warmer welcome than I ever would've expected, so I'm grateful for that. I'll see you around tomorrow?"

Yoimiya beams at him and nods. "If you need anything, you know where to find me. I'll tell everyone you're here so tomorrow you can meet up with the others. They'll be so happy to see you again!" Without waiting for a response, Yoimiya waves at him and sets off, pausing only to point out where the old yellow bike is parked.

Aether stands there in the middle of the street for a while, staring at the road blankly.

'Others...?'