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corvidcrybaby · 2 years ago

Note

You reblogged smut prompts and tell me if I'm wrong but this one might fit zemicard:

"quit talking shit and put your mouth to good use instead."

it does and i'm choosing to take this as an actual smutty prompt, thanks, hee hee hee this was a fun little exercise - stream of consciousness, minimal editing, etc

(Alucard/OC, CW: hypnosis, breathplay, humiliation, the works)

"Quit talking shit before I think of a better use for your mouth."

The words whalloped Zemira over the back of the skull like a rusty crowbar. With a fierce curl of her lip, she cocked her head over her shoulders, angling her gaze towards her mission partner and current... Fling? Friend with benefits? Boyfriend? Alucard.

Zemira felt something clawing at her shin, and without even looking, leveled her SPAS-15 at the temple of the desiccated zombie grasping for her with a feeble grip missing several fingers, and blew its dome out in bloody chunks without even looking.

"Hell of a place for dirty talk, Vlad," Zemira snickered, choosing to zap him back as usual.

Alucard, for his part, was lounging in a leather armchair. Paying no mind to the bombed-out husk of what might once have been a sickeningly sappy forest cottage. Now, it was the site of a necrotic bloodbath of comical proportions. A few dozen Ghouls reduced to flesh paste later, and the resident vampire king had gotten so bored so quickly he decided to sit his smug ass down and watch Zemira finish the job.

To the surprise of no one, they got into a snark-fueled argument over who boasted the higher kill count for the evening. The petty debate grew heated with haste, and so did its participants. One thing led to another, and next thing they knew, insults were flying. They began in earnest - teasing and playful, or what passed for such things from a pair of gun-obsessed dervishes such as these two.

Zemira's jab that doomed her was telling Alucard that his Casull must have been compensating for something, despite knowing better - intimately.

Now, although Alucard was still smiling at her, legs crossed and drumming the fingers of his free hand on the arm of his chair, smoke still burbled from Casull's mouth, which he held pointing skyward beside his head. This, and the hellish gleam behind those bioluminescent eyes of his.

Zemi ought to know better than to test him fresh off the midnight kill, really, but.

Don't tell a damn soul she said this, but she thought he was wicked hot when he was mad. And when he swore? Unf. He did that so rarely, it was such a treat.

"As if you'd complain," Alucard said, a dangerous faux-naif lilt to his voice which warned Zemira in no uncertain terms that if she acted the brat any further, there would be dire consequences.

Zemira turned to face him head on, feeding a fresh magazine into her shotgun, a crazed glint to her eyes. "Shove it, Vlad. Ain't like we're done, anyway, come on now. After all," she said, grinning wider than advisable for her safety, spitting onto the ground between words, "I still see one big killcount still staring me dead in the face."

Alucard's good humor vanished without a trace. He raised a hand and curled his fingers towards himself, bared his fangs at her, and boomed out a command. "Enough. You. Here. Now."

Zemira's eyes blew out as his bored a violent hole into her skull, and her vision flickered crimson. All her limbs went slack, suddenly far too heavy, her jaw hung agape. With hooded lids, her eyes remained laser-focused on his, as though that point in space were anchoring her to reality. SPAS-15 slid from her shoulder and clattered to the floor, forgotten as his mother left him behind.

Her boots carried her of their own volition. Closer and closer to Alucard. A distant alarm in the deep recesses of her brain went unheeded. Warm fuzz blanketed her mind and swaddled her in pleasant tingles.

Before she knew it, a huge, masculine hand was fisted in her thick mane of hair, and she was kneeling before him. Delicious vertigo wracked her body from head to toe. The fog cleared enough to hear Alucard's arrogant laughter shaking through him. At her.

Defiant retorts tried to form on her tongue, but putting sentences together felt like forcing the wrong ends of magnets together. Not when she was settled between his legs like this, her hands resting atop his thighs. Not when his other hand snaked around her pretty neck and squeezed, a touch too hard, and a gasp caught in her throat. Her dog-tags jingled in the air from the jolt.

"Oh? Is something the matter, Specialist Corporal?" Alucard sneered, his lips pulling back to brandish his maw of conical fangs. "Come on, I could have sworn you were saying something. You're normally such a little spitfire."

Zemira squeezed her thighs together. Shame and anger wracked her in tandem with relief and desire. The fucking nerve. The unmitigated, accursed nerve of this man - and the fact that she came back for more, every G-ddamn time. There was something wrong with her, she swore, but fuck, the sex was too damn good. Her eyes squeezed shut to weather the onslaught.

The hand in her hair yanked her head back. "Look at me," Alucard commanded, claws scraping her scalp. The absence of open aggression in his tone was only further warning.

Zemira nodded, bleary, meeting her commander's eyes, mouth spread in an 'O.' Alucard's choking hand slid up to squish her cheeks together as his nose brushed hers. "Good girl," he cooed. Zemira bit back a truly embarrassing sound, but only just. The noises he wrenched from her never failed to mortify her.

But then a drunken trance overtook her as his lips closed around hers and his tongue, rife with that aphrodisiac in his saliva, was atop hers. There were gratuitous wet sounds as she sucked on his tongue, and he rattled with a hungry growl, sending heat to pool in her belly. With a desperate scramble from Zemira, his slacks came undone, and his cock was free in the air - twitching and huge. As if she needed any reminder what this beautiful sonofabitch knocking her down off her high horse did to him as much as her.

Her lips closed around the head without any further hesitation, and Alucard leaned back with an appreciative rumble. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear carnage got her in a frisky mood almost as much as it did for him. Albeit, a far more submissive mood. As her head began to obediently bob, the hand grasping her hair tightened. Though she could not see it, his sneer hadn't abated.

"There, you see?" Alucard jeered, not without warmth. "You always see us jump through no end of pointless hoops before we reach this point of the night."

Zemira didn't respond, just hollowed her cheeks and sucked him extra-hard. If that was her idea of payback, it was counterproductive, because it just made him rumble in appreciation. Pleasure shot straight to Zemira's clit, because fuck, the sounds this guy made, the reverberating boom of his baritone, it turned her brain to mush every G-dforsaken time.

Her tongue swirled in circles around the head of his cock, and Alucard bucked his hips, the muscles of his legs flexing as he did. That only seemed to encourage her. Alucard was not particularly broad, but the sheer height deficit between Zemira's five-foot-seven and his own six-foot-six made him large enough by comparison.

Zemira's breathing picked up, as did his own movements. Alucard bit down on his tongue and suppressed the monstrous urge to throw her against the nearest wall and either flay her into ribbons, or rut into her until she wished he'd done the latter instead. That didn't stop him from digging his nails into her skin, holding her head there, and slamming his cock down to the base. Zemira gagged and released an indignant groan that sounded akin to an attempt to scold him for his overzealous behavior.

"Quiet, you little harlot," Alucard sighed. He tapped the top of her skull with a claw, harder than usual, and she stiffened. "One more insipid quail, and I'll have to edge you for the next hour. Two, if necessary. You would be wise not to test me tonight."

Zemira felt her skin crawl at the salacious threat, a cold sweat breaking out from head to toe, and yet still she couldn't decide if she should take him up on that.

Bit of a fucking problem trying to do that with her mouth full, though.

#sorryyyyyyyy had 2 end on cliffhanger or i'd be here for too long #this was rly fun tho #hellsing oc #hellsing fanfiction #alucard x oc #alucard #hellsing #ask box #ask game

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rustedhearts · 2 years ago

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trouble (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: the morning after a fight brings comfort and longing to you and steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1989) ✶ main masterlist

tags: angry!steve again :); violence; verbal argument; angst; hurt/comfort; I did not edit this so ignore any mistakes.

hawkins, indiana. september 1990.

The dawn was quiet. Soft: a blended stroke of amber through pale blue across the sky. The interruption of tree limbs came with bright yellow leaves, changed by the cool breeze and autumnal warning. Somewhere beyond the glass you peered through, a crow cawed. In the parking lot below, a car engine shuddered alive.

The dawn was quiet, but the dusk was deafening.

The hiss and click of Steve’s lighter caused you to turn your head. And there he was: rolling into a seated position on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress with shifted weight. In the swirl of blended lights, his bare back still held the tint of a late summer bronze. Speckled with beauty spots and the indigo, spiderwebbed haloes of burst blood vessels. Bruises from fights he never lost, but fights you wished he wouldn’t pick. The familiar haze of cigarette smoke settled into the room, paired with the potent tobacco sent you’d come to know all too well.

“What do you expect of me, huh? I’m not some fuckin’ punk, Libby, I won’t put up with that shit.”

“I’m not asking you to! But you didn’t need to do that—you don’t need to fight everyone!”

Steve’s shoulders hunched with exhaustion, hands slow to pull the cigarette away. A steady plume of smoke exhumed from his lips toward the bedroom door. His sheets were soft around your body, recently washed this past weekend. You’d spent those two days tangled together in the confines of this tiny apartment, enraptured with each other. The past few months felt like a lifetime. You latched onto each other like magnets, and now you couldn’t let go.

Not even when he broke your heart.

“Jesus, you need to stop pretending you’re such a fuckin' saint.

“You need to stop acting like I’m the bad guy for calling you out.”

Steve’s legs swished over the sheets, cotton rustling with the strained shift of his body in an attempt to straighten his posture. The flex of muscles came with a visible wince, a quiet hiss he hoped you were too unconscious to hear. Even with your alertness unbeknownst to him, he did his best to hide his sounds. Always the tough guy, always the man. He could never be soft, never gentle or real. Pain was weakness.

His hand came to cradle the welt festering on his ribs, but it twitched away to rub his eyes. You knew a migraine must’ve been collecting behind them and pounding in his head. He took another drag of his Marlboro and sighed it out.

“Because it’s me, right? I’m the bad guy? If you’re so embarrassed to be with me, why are you?”

“I’m not embarrassed to be with you, Steve. God, don’t you know how much I care about you?”

“Don’t you see that’s what this is all about? I mean—fuck’s sake, never-mind.”

Gently stirring, you turned onto your side away from the window, toward Steve. His profile appeared when he moved his head an inch; the bridge of his nose swollen and pink. His lashes fluttered in acknowledgement for your consciousness. His cheeks hollowed around the cigarette again, and the smoke streamed out of his nose. You tucked your hand beneath your cheek and watched him quietly.

Neither speaking a word, but both waiting.

“No, talk to me. Say what you actually fucking mean for once, please! But don’t you dare say you did this for me.”

“Then who the fuck do you think I did it for? All I want is to protect you. It’s—“

“All you do is fight! You can protect me without being so violent.”

“That’s who I am, honey. If you don’t like it, then fucking leave.”

You knew somewhere in the parking lot lied the contents of your purse, burst open by the impact of it hitting Steve’s back in a moment of blind rage when he just wouldn’t listen. Steve only ever saw things his way. He couldn’t understand that maybe you just wanted him to be okay. Maybe you just didn’t want to see him lose himself to the rush of another beating, or more blood and bruises and broken bones.

The coolness blowing outside settled into the room, seeping through the windows and cracks. You slid a little closer to the warmth of his body. Reaching out, letting your finger skate down his spine. His skin was soft, sprinkled with dark hair. His breathing stopped for just a minute at the delicacy of your touch.

“So that’s it? You’d rather throw this away than actually hear what I’m saying; than actually talk to me? Sometimes I wonder if you really wanna be with me, Steve, or if I’m just a pastime until your career takes off.”

“Are you—Jesus, it’s like you’re fuckin' blind. Don’t you see? Don’t you see that—“

“What? What? All I see is you getting into fights!”

“For you! I’m fighting for you, for fuck’s sake! To know you’re okay, to know you’re safe, to know you’re mine.”

Before Steve, you’d never known violence like this. You’ve been audience to few fights in your life, most childish and broken apart by school faculty. Boys rumbled behind the football field, shoved each other into lockers on the way back from gym. Once, a girl slapped another girl for stealing her boyfriend, but by the next week they were over it. It wasn’t until Steve came into your life that you knew how badly someone could bleed; how heavy hits could feel from the sidelines. How loud an uppercut was. How bad a rib could bruise, how much a nose could gush. How easily skin ripped apart.

Bottles shattered on the sidewalk, bar stools splintered by the weight of a grown man’s body. The gurgle of liquor spilling over the floor. The sputter of a mouth against a windpipe being squeezed. What it sounded like for someone to lose their two front teeth in the time it took to blink.

“This is the only way I know how to tell you how much I—that I—that I want—“

“Why can’t you say it, Steve? Hmm? Just look at me and say it.”

You could still see his face, eye swollen by a tattooed fist from the corner of the bar twenty minutes prior. Eyes welling, cheeks flushed pink, hands still balled together at his sides, black cotton tee soaked in beer and sweat. The night was cool and dark and everything blurred around Steve.

Even with your heart still racing from the fight he started, it wept only for Steve. It ached for him entirely.

“Don’t you know, angel?”

Pressing up on your palm, you closed the gap between your bodies on the bed. The sheets went with you, twisting around your thighs and waist as you pressed against his back. The smooth firmness of it was a welcome feeling. The warmth eased the stiffness in your limbs, arms circling around his middle to rid of any distance. Cheek against his shoulder, lip buried in his flesh, inhaling the musk of his bareness.

Steve sighed another stuttered breath.

“Know what, Steve?”

“That you’re mine. It’s me and you, and that’s how I want it to always be. Do you…don’t you want that?”

With the cigarette dangling from the corner of his lip, Steve slid his hand over your yours against his chest. Grateful for your touch, delighted by your smell. He let his head press back against your shoulder, and his eyes sink shut. He breathed in the sweetness of your recent slumber. He felt the warmth of your thighs, squeezing around his hips. Your lips left the softest wet ring on his skin, cooled by the breeze.

“I’m scared.”

You nuzzled your nose against his shoulder, exhaling a deep breath into his skin. You never wanted to be further from him than this, and you could’ve stayed there forever. Listening to each other’s heartbeats, containing each other’s bodies.

“Scared o’ what, baby? Don’t be scared.”

The crow cawed again. Another engine grumbled and faded into its morning route. A door slammed down the hall. The acidic stench of someone’s coffee seeped through the wall. Marlboro smoke tickled your nose, settled into your hair. His hand was rough around yours, skin callused and tough.

“M’ scared I’ll lose you. Trouble follows you wherever you go, and I…I’m worried it’ll get the best of you.”

His thumb rubbed gentle, mindless shapes into the back of your hand. You brought your chin to rest on his back, nose brushing the dark hair at the nape of his neck. It smelled like sweat, pillow-case-laundry-soap, and Steve.

And Steve always smelled like blood.

"You won't. You won't, baby—c'mon, don't cry."

Cigarette perched between his lips, held steady by that strong jaw, Steve raised a hand and searched behind him. His fingers grazed your hair, sweeping in a downward motion to stroke the back of your head and hold you close. He cupped your skull, pressed until your forehead met his own. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and inhaled.

He never wanted to forget this feeling.

You drove home in silence last night. The rumble of his Harley deafening, your grip around his torso tight and unrelenting. The argument found second life in the complex parking lot, where more than one neighbor threatened to call the cops if you didn't keep it down. Steve directed the screaming toward them. You just wanted him to talk to you, to listen to you; to stop letting his fists do all the explaining.

Steve was quick to knock someone out for wolf-whistling, swift to blacken eyes for glancing your way too long—but when it came to telling you how he truly felt, he shut down. When it came to reassuring your worries, he became a stoic statue.

You crawled into bed heavy with exhaustion, peeled free of clothes and begrudgingly covered in your favorite of Steve's t-shirts: big, crisp white cotton, patterned with his favorite football team. It smelled like his cologne and a cigarette smoked on the balcony.

Turned separate ways, staring at opposite spaces of darkness, feeling anger and regret fizzle in your chests.

"I hate fighting with you."

"Me, too."

But something curdled around that raging, guilty fizzle. Something tender and achey, weepy like an open wound pulsing life. Something sweet and sweeping. Something unlike either of you had ever felt before.

Something like...love.

"We don't have t' fight."

Love bruised. Love sliced. Love terrified the pair of you equally; chilled you right down to the bone.

One of you terrified to love something so gentle and beautiful, so bright and wonderful.

The other terrified to love something so cruel, so boorish and cold.

"Yes we do."

Lifting your chin, you tipped your head aside to get a peek at Steve's face. Blank, but peaceful, he fell still with steady breath. You ran the side of your finger down his cheek gently, stroking the skin where stubble collected. His eyes peeped open, lashes brushing his brows where they furrowed contemplatively.

He gave you a moment to continue your stroking ministrations before turning his head aside. You passed him a lazy smile, noses brushing. His hand traveled to your thigh, rubbing the pudgy flesh appreciatively. You squeezed around him a little tighter. He inched his head a little closer. His breath tickled your lips. His cigarette was the size of a half-bitten stick of gum in his other hand. The ashes collected on the shag carpet, a few decades old. At this proximity, you could see all the different flecks of colors in his eyes.

There was nothing scary about him, or that weepy feeling in your chest.

"Eggs or pancakes?" you asked.

Steve inhaled, bringing the butt of the cigarette to his mouth for one last drag. It burned against your mouth. "Pancakes."

He smoked his second cigarette at the table, tapping his ashes into a porcelain mug and watching you flip pancakes in his shirt with a silent brood. He took his stack of pancakes with a kiss, deep and tender and full of tongue. He tugged you into his lap and fed you bites off his fork.

He spent the afternoon alternating his hand and head between your legs.

And when the sun went down, he took you to the Harley with his arm around your waist. He collected your strewn items from the asphalt and shoved them back into your purse, leaving the broken zipper open with a promise to replace. You swung your leg over the Harley seat and wound your arms around his waist.

You waited for the next moment he'd turn his words into fists.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #joe keery #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #boxer!steve #steve harrington fic #joe keery fanfiction #joe keery fic

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stupidstupidratcreatures · 2 years ago

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jadis (+misc) thoughts

so there's a bunch of stuff i liked about. all that and a little bit that i didn't that's just been sticking with the comic since i started it

i did really really like how like... nuanced jadis was presented as. like all of the demiurges have a thing of "this person was made into what they are by their circumstances, they wanted on the winning team and not the losing one" (except for mammon LOL but he kinda had the same thing just in the reverse order) which i have continued to really like. but especially for jadis where like she's a victim ("" etc ymmv) of circumstance but also did have the agency to make one single choice, which was to immediately bite off more than she could chew and then be shocked into submission for all of it. i know abaddon had a whole thing about people trying to read into it as much as they could to make jadis a liar and how much she isn't that and like i don't think she is but i also don't think she's supposed to be this objective thing. like the specific word he used there was "reasonable". also re:that a little tom for the love of god can you turn off comments on your website they annoy me personally and also you it seems like

anyway so jadis got overwhelmed by knowing everything at once, we saw that happen to allison. like once that happens to you it's really hard to think about anything else. i think she just feels trapped by the whole thing, like she could (shulk voice) change the future by doing something else instead of what she's been predicted to do but the difference would be so small in The Scheme Of Things as to be meaningless. and yk like she does kinda do that, she spends weeks trying to get allison to just eat some food, which my next point: the three and a half years allison spent with jadis are presented as necessary recuperation instead of a waste of time. i really like that. like obviously she would've just died on the moon of rayuba if jadis hadn't offered her help but even beyond that the first panel after the six (billion. lol) month timeskip is her sitting outside, in clothes, not emaciated, eating and reading books. like that's really cool! she can do that again! and then the like zaid thing. which. man. first of all im just glad zaid and allison like actually were able to talk second of all he seems like a cool and nice dude. anyway like. zaid is obviously the reason allison leaves but like it's also just. jadis never had that. jadis can't have that. the only people that jadis is connected to are people who worship her for living in a hospital/being frozen in ice so like no help there like jadis is actually just fucking stuck there. forever. unless The Gang decides and is able to break her out. which i can dream both because i think it'd be cute and because it would be an actual cool writing move but like this will not be a thing that happens

anyway because of that i thought the thing where jadis introduced herself as the prescient one with the story about allison sitting next to that kid at lunch because she was the only one who wasn't weird about her and making her laugh before she died and then the. jadis saying goodbye to allison and thanking her for her presence as she says she's stupid for trying and she isn't coming with her. man can we get jadis a hug. for the love of god. like she's trying to help where she can and she's had way too much shit and she gave allison something physical to remember cio by even though shes being weird about it and. cries 10 million forever

also the way prosthetics were treated on the like 3 most recent pages felt really tasteless for reasons i don't feel like explaining but for reasons i think are probably pretty understandable. i really don't like the sff thing of prosthetics being treated as manifestations of like spiritual sickness (when they arent like symbolically evil etc etc) and like. for the arc that made me want to actually pick this back up because abaddon was talking about how trope-break-y it was etc etc like that's just really lame. letdown of the century, please be ableist in new and interesting ways next time. that said the "even if i'm in hell, nobody gets to tell me i can't enjoy myself" page is so fucking good. simply love to see it. cant wait for the page after that to be allison giving jadis a huge hug and bringing her with her and zaid

also, white chain alive! but we knew that already like she JUST got her human body. yes abaddon jokes a lot about doing character designs that he renders unusable by killing them on the next page but like cmon. we knew this. they didn't show a body

i'm going to bed now so the last thing i'll say rn is i'm still really fucking annoyed about allison only ever. i don't wanna say "feeling the bare minimum of emotion as required by the plot" because she feels very strongly about a lot of things but like you get what i mean. like a lot of the k6bd characters i get the sense of like, this is an interesting character. i want to know more about them and would be invested and entertained by a story different from the main one that focuses on them. like i don't get that with allison like she's being really depressed because the author wanted to write about depression now. like which is true of every character of course but. you know what like i played about 200 hours of a jrpg that i thought i would like way more than i did and that i tried to like way more that i did and like i'm so so so so so fucking sick of Main Characters who have zero like definable personality other than "i'm here to move the plot forward! i'm here for the audience to have a perspective imposed on them!" and like the evil mode thing doesn't even work there either because the jrpg guy had one of those too and his evil mode was still really dull but also actually a little bit interesting! like please for the love of god i need a character that justifies themself as a main character with something more than "audience perspective" like FUCK

#op #WARNING: BARELY-EDITED STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS #k6bd spoilers #but you already knew that #im going to bed for real gn

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shelbgrey · 2 years ago

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Hi! Don't know if you're taking requests but I read your Greys fic 'that's why i don't go to the gym' and was thinking of a sibling!Reader or spouse!Reader getting admitted for some sort of brain injury/ car crash and Derek finding out as he is their doctor.

If you're not taking request, feel free to ignore this! Have a great day!

Hope you like it. Thanks for the request buddie😊

The Ballad of jayne(Derek Shepherd)

Paring: Derek Shepherd x Wife!Reader

Summary: after an argument Derek's wife gets in a car crash due to a storm and drunk driver. Derek doesn't know he's her doctor till last minute.

Warnings: blood, language, car crashes. Not edited.

Greys MasterList

“She was always something special

Diamond shining bright in the rain

Everybody dreams of angels

No one would ever know

How much I love you so”

Looking back now you can't even remember what started the argument. All you could remember it involved the treatment of a patient. That didn't really matter now, during your break you clocked out and decided to drive home.

It was poring down rain, but that wasn't unusual in Seattle I'm used to driving in the rain but as drove down the street I felt uneasy. I didn't know if was the feeling of something bad was gonna happen or the pure anger and remorse of the things me and derek said to each other. We're not the type of couple to fight very often, but tonight was one of those nights.

My thoughts was suddenly interrupted by the brightness of a Stranger's headlights swerving left and right behind me. The lights danced behind me like crazy and shined in my review mirror. The car picked up speed making my stomach turn. I looked both ways and sped up into another laine.

“come, on” I whimpered as the car slid back my direction. I sped up a bit as horns honked at the car I was fighting to avoid. Suddenly the tiers screeched and slid it the side. I gasped as stomped on the brakes. The car flew forward and slid left right into my car.

My heart stopped as I felt my car fly and did a flip into a ditch on the side of the road. I gasped in pain then it all went black as my car landed upside down.

--------(3rd pov)--------

Ambulance sirens filled the area and cops flew to the seen. Y/n was in between concessions and could barely hold onto the seat of the car that was upside down. Tears and blood streamed down her face as her right leg and head throbbed.

“help me” she whimpered.

A young paramedic quickly ran to the car and knelt down to look in the window. “h-hay... Everything is gonna be okay”

“I want Derek” y/n cried out losing consciousness. Her mind went to Derek afraid of there last encounter would be a fight.

“where's Derek?” the paramedic reminded calm and gave her a reassuring smile. “well, we will take you to him, is he your husband?” he asked. She cried and nodded as the pain rised. The paramedic nodded “okay, but first we have to get you out" he carefully opened the driver side door.

“do you trust me?” y/n nodded as the tears got heavier. He smiled. "good.. I'm Tom" he quickly stood up and shouted for the other paramedics and a strecher.

“I'm gonna die” y/n cried. Tom shook his head. “no one is dying”

Y/n nodded still not fully convinced. As the sounds of equipment and metal being cut around her she thought realized how scared she was of dying. Her and her friends family had too many close calls. What if this was the end. She's was afraid of dying, afraid if anyone would care, afraid of leaving Derek and their twins behind.

I'm sorry Derek

It went black again as the firefighters successfully cut the car door off and the paramedics pulled her out to quickly stop the bleeding.

--------(Derek's pov)--------

“Hey, this is y/n I'm probably in surgery or sleeping.. Leave a message and I'll get back to you”

I sighed as I got her voice mail once again. She wasn't answering her phone or pages, which was unusual. My chest tightened as I walked around her usual spots in the hospital and found nothing. On top of that no one has seen her since the hour before our argument.

Damn, I had no right to blow up on her. It was stupid. I deserve her silent treatment of whatever this was but now it was scaring the shit of me. I tried her cell once more but I got her voice mail again.

I shuttered as millions of sanaros(mostly negative) play in my head as I roamed the halls. I retraced mysteps until I came a crossed Meredith. Those two being sisters in all have been glued to the hip since intern year. If anyone knew anything it'll be her.

“Hey, Mer have you seeing your Sister?” Meredith looked up from her chart and gave me a concerned look at.

“I figured she'd be with you?” I shook my head with regret. If I didn't yell at her she'd be here I thought.

“maybe she's getting the twins” Mer suggests. I shook my head no. I had already checked there. Before she could suggest anything else Meredith's pager went off. She looked down and saw it was a 911

“crap, I got to go” she padded my shoulder and ran off. I sighed and went to the ER with a sliver of hope she was down there with April or Owen.

As I stepped out of the elevator I saw Amelia and a few others race with a strecher that was caring what looked like a car crash victim. I walked over and saw my sister Calling For a head CT for the male victim. She looked up and saw me.

“there's another one” she said pointing to the left. I looked over and saw the group was shouting and frantically moving around the blood soaked victim. I quickly put on some gloves and raced over were Richard and Meredith was.

“What do we got” I asked. Merdith stopped and looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. My eyes then looked to Owen who was stopping the bleeding with the same look on his face.

When I got closer my life crumbled to the ground. It was y/n. The woman who always had my back and the person I considered my partner in crime was laying on the stretcher.

Everything thing felt numb and the sounds were muffled as I pushed koracick out of the way. My body ran on audio pilot as I checked her eyes and head.

“Derek” Richard exlamims but I ignored him.

“Derek!” he snapped. I looked back at him with hate. “Derek we got it... Step away” he continued.

Koracick tried to get back in but I snapped. “you toach her, it'll be the last thing you'll ever do” he put his hands up in defense and backed up. Him and y/n were friends but I couldn't stand the guy. And if anyone was gonna even get near her brain it's gonna be me...No matter how much it hurt.

I looked around and snapped again. “What are you all standing around for!? She's needs a CT scan, now!” I got ahold of the strecher and raced down the hallway with Meredith and Bailey on my tail.

The tension highlighted as I scrubbed my hands in the sink. I felt the tears prick my eyes as the realization seemed to fall on me like a tone of bricks. I gripped the sink as the the thoughts of fixing the brain bleed ran through my head.

“Derek... If you don't want-” Owen said coming in but I slammed the faucet handle shutting the water off. “don't do anything stupid to her leg” I snapped and walked into the OR.

I sighed and stood next to her holding her hand as she went under anastasia. I gave it one last squeeze as moved up to her head. “it's a beautiful day to save lives” I mumbled.

"oh shit.. Mer's up there" Mark whispered he once noticed she was up in the gallery. He just looked up for a second and he wished he didn't. The realization That he was operating on his best friends wife, practically sister-in-law finally hit. "this is fucked up... This wasn't supposed to happen" he whispered as he watched Bailey dug into her chest.

“shut up Mark” Derek mumbled as he stared into the one Brian he never imagined he would touch or even see.

--------(3rd pov)--------

As the heart monitor beeped Derek silently watched her. “come on baby” he mumbled as he gently held her hand.

“I'm so sorry, come back to me” he mumbled as he held her cold hand his lips and kissed it gently.

She slightly shifted at his touch and her eyes fluttered open. He quickly shot up from his seat next to her and clicked on his flashlight checking her eyes. To his releaf everything was good.

“hay y/n.. Can you say something?” he asked softly. She let out a shaky breath and turned her head towards him. “ouch” she reached up to rub her forehead and to her surprise she felt bandges.

“what happened?” she asked.

“you were in an accident” tears pricked her eyes as flashes of the insadent replayed in her head. “it hurts” she cried. Derek took her hand and sat on her bed.

“your okay now... Your safe” he whispered. Tears pricked his eyes as he moved closer and rested his forehead gently on hers as relief washed over him.

“I'm so sorry... I thought I lost you and-” he started to ramble but her stopped once y/n's hands moved to the sides of his face cradling his face.

“shh.. It's okay, we're okay” she whispered as she wiped away his tears. “I had to operate on you and it was awful” he mumbled.

“it's okay now” she said as she slowly moved to the side and padded the empty area. Derek carefully climbed in the bed avoiding touching any tender spots on her body.

“just hold me please” she asked softly. Derek wrapped his arms around her gently as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I love you” he mumbled and leaned down softly kissing her.

“I love you too” she mumbled as she drift off to sleep. Derek on the other hand just watched her like a hawk. He wasn't gonna risk any post-surgery problems or risk losing her again. The anxiety kept him awake but in the end he knew she was okay. They were both okay and that all that mattered.

#Derek shepherd x reader #derek shepherd imagines #greys anatomy #derek shepherd #greys anatomy imagines #greys #Patrick Dempsey #Meredith Grey #mark sloan x reader #mark sloan imagines

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shubblelive · 2 years ago

Text

— SOURCE MATERIAL

summary : tommy’s plan to get you and wilbur back together doesn’t work. fortunately, you don’t need it. a quiet christmas party, joni mitchell and a little bit of alcohol works just fine.

genre : fluff with some angst peppered here and there

warnings : mentions of a breakup, alcohol/drinking (one mention of being drunk in the past, no one’s drunk in the fic), swearing, very minor panic attack, tommy being a little shithead

pairing : cc!wilbur x ex girlfriend!reader

pronouns : she/her

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, cc!tommyinnit (tommy and will are the only creators with dialogue),cc!phil + kristin (mentioned), cc!ranboo (mentioned), cc!tubbo (mentioned), cc!james marriott (mentioned), cc!aimsey (mentioned)

word count : 4.3k

note : christmas fic christmas fic christmas fic!!! december is one of my favourite times of the year and suddenly i am so inspired like i haven’t written anything in ages but december rolls around and boom here’s a 4k wilbur fic. thank you to carrie for letting me yell at her about this fic.

it wasn’t unusual for tommy to call you and ask for a ride home. he would catch an uber somewhere and sometimes he’d go to book one home and the nearest car would be over an hour away, so if his parents were busy he turned to the next best thing; his siblings.

the internet was well aware of the younger boy’s habit of adopting older creators as family members. phil and kristin were his parents, and you and wilbur were his older siblings, and you were more than happy to give him lifts whenever you were free.

“can you come pick me up?”

“hello to you too, tommy.” you had just ended your stream, and were processing the footage for editing to go on your youtube channel. “where are you?”

“i’m about twenty minutes from your place, i can text you the address.” tommy answered. “please?”

you were already putting on your coat. “alright, send me the address, i’ll be there soon.”

“you’re a life-saver, atom,” tommy said. you huffed at the nickname, given to you because “you barely matter” as tom had joked one afternoon a few months ago. before you could respond, he had hung up.

“shithead,” you pocketed your phone and bent down to tie your laces. your phone vibrated in your pocket, probably tommy with the address. you pulled it out one handed as you tightened your shoes. without looking, you copied the address into google maps and pressed enter, putting it on your dashboard mount.

it should have clicked when you passed the dive bar you used to frequent. it should have clicked when you passed the corner shop. it should have clicked when you passed the ginger stray you used to pet on your walk to the corner shop. perhaps you were in denial, but you didn’t register where you were until you were parked in front of the building.

you were nervous when you’d first moved in there. you had lived in the same shitty flat since uni, and when wilbur had tentatively asked you to to move in with him you had your doubts. not because you didn’t love will, no that was the least of your issues. you just didn’t want to step on his toes, it was his place after all. you were hesitant to bring your things in, feeling guilty when wilbur’s novels were moved to make room for your plants, when he had to install another rack to hold all your shoes, when you had come home from the bakery and found wilbur had swapped out his sheets for a set of yours. but over time, wilbur had eased you into it, and soon it was just as much your place as it was his.

now it was just his again. it hadn’t been yours for nearly a year, and yet when you pulled into the strip of parking you had to consciously go to the ‘guests’ section. you took your phone off the dock, your knee jumping up and down as you called tommy. he didn’t answer. you texted him. and again. then you called a second time, leaving him a desperate voicemail. fifteen minutes went by and tommy hadn’t even read any of your texts, so you huffed, realising that you were going to have to physically go and retrieve tommy.

you dug out your key card from the depths of your purse, praying that wilbur didn’t block your card. the light turned green and you breathed a sigh of relief, pushing the door open. in an attempt to make it take longer, hoping and praying that tommy would reply before you reached the third floor. you reached the top of the stairs and sighed, counting to three in your head before knocking. “tom? it’s me!�� you knocked again, not wanting mr adams next door to hear your voice and come out to talk to you. he was a nice older man, but you didn’t want to be in this building for a second longer than you had to. “tommy?” you inhaled. “will?”

you heard a muffled voice, and the door swung open in front of you. “tom.” you breathed another sigh of relief. “great. let’s go, i have a video to edit.”

“wait, i have to grab my stuff.” tommy said, and then he was off, and you were alone.

the first thing that struck you was how the place looked. it was exactly the same as when you had been there. you turned around to the end table behind the door. a few unopened letters, a small wooden bowl, and a small plant. the bowl had been your idea, weeks of wilbur coming to you with “darling, do you know where my keys are?” before you caved and bought it for him. lo and behold, his keyes were nestled inside, spotify code keychain that you had also bought him sitting face up. the plant was new, and you ran a finger over the leaf.

on the couch there was a grey woollen blanket thrown over the back, also yours. though, technically he had bought it. you were the only one who used it, complaining about the cold. as lovely as you thought will’s flat was the heating barely worked. will radiated warmth, both physically and emotionally.

the entire flat still contained your presence. any random person wouldn’t be able to tell that you hadn’t lived there since you and wilbur broke up.

“hey.”

you spun around, wilbur smiling sheepishly. “sorry, sorry. would it be awfully cliche if I said I didn’t mean to startle you?”

you laughed breathily. “yes. but it’s okay.”

he nodded, guilty smile still pinched across his face. “tommy’s just grabbing his shit. you know that kid, fucking menace.”

if tommy noticed how awkward it was, he didn’t say anything. you and wilbur both brightened visibly when he came through the door. watching wilbur hug tom goodbye, squeezing his shoulder gently, it hits you suddenly that you haven’t seen wilbur in nearly seven months.

you’re quiet as you drop tommy off, and he wants to apologise. wants to say sorry for making you pick him up and not telling you his phone was on the verge of dying. he wants to say he’s sorry for all those times you cancelled streams, claiming you “weren’t feeling well” when he knew you were upset about wilbur.

but tommy also saw all those times wilbur was curled up in that grey blanket you left behind. buying plants to fill in the gaps of things you took and to give him a purpose, something that depended on him. he saw the way wilbur’s eyes brightened when he heard your voice, his shoulder’s slumping before the door shut when you left.

how one time he’d had stood in front of a drunk wilbur, tear tracks running down his face and had to wrestle will’s phone off him to stop him from calling you.

tommy didn’t know what had happened between you two; you were adults, he was only seventeen at the time. it felt naive of him to think you two belonged together, but he couldn’t help it.

“thanks for driving me.” he said earnestly as he stepped out of the car. you nodded and gave him a pained smile. “i love you.”

it wasn’t a normal occurrence, saying things like that, but you softened. “i love you.” tommy brightened seeing your more genuine expression, but he could still see that your interaction with wilbur had left you upset.

you collapsed back onto your sofa once you were home, not in the mood to edit your video anymore.

wilbur always worked too much. it was something his viewers loved; how dedicated he was to them. but they didn’t see the sleepless nights, when you would wake up to wilbur typing frantically in his notes app, a muffled “go back to sleep, darling” when he noticed you were awake.

but then it turned to missing entire nights of sleep, coming back from streaming to find wilbur passed out on the couch, shoes still on from last night. sometimes he would talk to you about it, laying on your chest as you ran your fingers through his hair and whispering about how he didn’t want to let anyone down.

you soothed him as best as you could, but you knew that the dark circles and the endless cups of coffee would only get worse. he didn’t have the time or energy to take care of himself, let alone you. not that you needed him to take care of you, but the two of you lived together and you probably talked to the fedex person more than you did your boyfriend.

you’d only been split for eight months, but you’d been missing him for far longer.

you were putting up christmas decorations when tommy called next. stringing lights across the shelves in your office, only bothered to decorate the one room. it wasn’t like you’d be doing anything anyway. “yeah, tom?” your phone was wedged between your shoulder and ear as you tried to detangle the lights.

“hey, me and will were streaming together and i have to get home like, now but my dad isn’t available until three,” tommy explained, and you winced at the sound of wilbur’s name. “i totally get it if you can’t, but-“

“i’ll be there, but i’m going to mcdonald’s on the way back and you are paying.” tommy laughed and you had to move the phone away from your ear, giving up on the lights for the time being. “will still has the same office right?”

“yeah you can get there alright?” he asked. “you don’t need the address?” you assured him you’d be fine, and he paused guiltily. “we may also be locked in. the door broke again.”

“jesus,” you shook your head. “yeah, alright i’ll come let you out. dickhead,” you smiled at his noise of indignation before hanging up.

this time it was worse. the last time you’d been planning on avoiding wilbur until about five minutes before you saw him. this time you had the whole drive over to think about what it would be like. his hair was longer, you’d noticed when you first saw him. you always loved it when his hair was longer but it got in his face too much and he hated the feeling.

you’d cut his hair for him once. wilbur sitting on a chair in the kitchen of your flat (this was before you’d moved in together) while you sat on the bench behind him, swinging your legs ever so slightly as he gazed adoringly up at you.

“let me take a picture,” you’d giggled, turning to grab your phone. “you look so cute.”

“no,” he’d whined. “darling,” he’d still smiled when you prompted, and you looked softly at your screen, completely enamoured. “do not post that anywhere, can’t have anyone knowing that i simp for you.”

“dork,” you had put your phone down and ruffled his hair, some loose hairs falling out from where you’d cut.

you pulled your car up to the pavement and went up to wilbur’s office. it was a fairly small building, and you managed to get there without anyone asking any questions.

you reached the office and peered inside. it was dark. you opened the door and stuck your head in, but there was no one inside. “hey!” tommy said much too loudly, him and wilbur coming around the corner. your eyes flicked between the two of them, narrowing slightly.

“i thought you said the door was locked?” you asked uncertainly.

“it’s not,” tommy said simply, and he reached a hand out and shoved you through the open door, shutting it behind you. “but it will be.”

“what the fuck?” you banged on the window.

tom pushed wilbur over, but the older man just looked at him incredulously. “have you lost your mind?”

“please?” tommy asked, gesturing to where you were glaring at him.

“no!” wilbur said, hitting tommy’s arm off his shoulder. “you’re a dickhead. now let her out.”

“fine.” tommy’s shoulders slumped and he moved out of the way. wilbur rolled his eyes at tommy, saying he’d do it and then making will. his hand wrapped around the doorknob and he was halfway through an apology to you when tommy’s hand collided with his back.

wilbur stumbled toward and you both watched in horror as tommy shut the door, triumphantly locking it with a click.

“tommy you fucker!” wilbur yelled.

“now, i may have been lying about needing a lift and being locked in the office, but i wasn’t lying about needing to go home.”

“thomas if you leave i’m gonna delete your channel!” tommy actually looked nervous at wilbur’s threat. “open the door.”

tommy sighed again, finally giving up. he jiggled the doorknob and his eyes widened. “okay i would let you out but i may have broken the door.”

he backed away, both you and will yelling at him.

you turned so your back was against the door, sitting down with your knees up to your chest. will came to sit next to you. “are you okay?”

“i just don’t like knowing there’s no way out of a room.” you said quietly. “i don’t like being trapped.”

“i know,” he said softly. “is there anything i can do besides breaking a window?”

you exhaled, smiling weakly. “can you just talk to me?” you fiddled nervously, suddenly worried about what he would think.

“of course i can.” without realising, wilbur had reached out and was dragging his thumb gently over the back of your hand. “you know that step down the street from ou-my flat? the one that you always used to trip on? they fixed it.” you didn’t seem to notice his mistake, so he kept going. “and there’s a new bar a few miles away and we’ve been trying to get them to let us play there, so we might have a new gig bar soon.”

your breathing was more even now, and he squeezed your hand gently. you squeezed back and he smiled.

you could vaguely hear tommy saying he was going to get maintenance, and wilbur shuffled. “i’m gonna see if i can jimmy it with a card. could you grab one for me please?”

you reached over to will’s desk and grabbed a random card out of his wallet. you went to hand it to him but before he could grab it you took a closer look. “you kept this?”

over a year ago as a joke you’d bought him one of those simp cards from the arthur meme, and it had your name written underneath it. “you’re only allowed to simp for me,” you’d say as you gave it to him, making him crack up.

“yeah,” wilbur admitted, his cheeks turning warm. “guess i forgot it was there.”

he shoved it into the lock and wiggled it around until he heard a click and the door swung open. “here.” he tried to give it back to you, but you shook your head.

“you can keep it, or throw it out. whatever you want. it’s yours,” you babbled, not meeting his eyes.

wilbur wasn’t sure what came over him in the next ten seconds, but before he could stop himself he blurted out “does this mean i’m still allowed to love you?”

your gaze shot up and your eyes met wilbur’s, warm and brown, filled with uncertainty. eventually, you nodded. “always.”

wilbur wasn’t sure if that was if that was an invitation, but before he could stop himself he was wrapping his arms around you. you burrowed into his chest, breathing deeply. “did tommy really parent-trap us?”

“well,” you replied shyly. “don’t they get back together in the parent trap? not exactly accurate to the source material.”

“well we all know how important it is,” wilbur said quietly, eyes flicking down for just an instant.

“very important,” he could feel your breath on his face.

“it’s a christmas miracle!”

“it’s gonna be if i don’t kill him,” wilbur muttered, teeth gritted as you pulled apart to find tommy. he was holding a stick, and seemed to register your confusion.

“couldn’t find maintenance, so i went outside and found this.” he said proudly. “i was helping.”

“yeah actually,” will said genuinely, holding his hand out. “give us a look.” tommy handed the stick to wilbur and was promptly hit in the face with it. “that’s for locking us in there, bastard.”

“ow.” tommy picked the stick off the ground and chucked it at wilbur, but it just bounced off the door behind him. “okay fine. i’m sorry.”

“you better be,” you stepped towards him and he flinched, clearly sure you were going to attack him like wilbur had. “come on, let’s go.”

as tommy said goodbye to wilbur, the two of you made eye contact over tom’s shoulder. he smiled at you, and you smiled back. he raised his eyebrows slightly, grin overtaking his face. you nodded almost imperceptibly. he’d call you.

he didn’t.

it had been two weeks since you’d last spoken, and he never called you. you didn’t want to admit that it hurt you. you had spent eight months trying to get over wilbur, all that progress destroyed in an instant.

you’d never deleted his contact, not even when you first broke up. you hovered over it debating on whether to call him, before exiting out and closing your phone.

your phone stayed dark for approximately one second before it was lighting up again. you answered, “yeah, tommy?”

“so, atom, me and a few others were thinking of having a little christmas get together on the 23rd? would you want to come?” he rushed out, wanting to get the words out before you said anything.

you considered it for a second. your parents would be going on holiday. they invited you, but you always wanted to spend your christmas with wilbur. this year, you’d declined again, without really knowing the reason. it’s not like you had other plans.

“yeah, alright,” you said, and you heard tom let out a triumphant breath on the other side. “who’s coming?”

“you, phil and kristin, tubbo, james, ranboo, maybe aimsey, a few other people maybe…” he trailed off, and you frowned.

“wilbur?” you asked.

“yeah.” tommy admitted. “but there will be enough people that you can be a coward and not talk to him.”

“tommy,” you said, voice low. “don’t.”

“okay, i’m sorry. please come?”

it’s not like you had anything better to do. “i’ll be there, tommy. don’t worry.”

the things you would do for that fucker. he could never know. god knows his head was big enough without you telling him that.

while you were quietly dreading it, tommy seemed almost giddy with excitement. so you forced a smile and acted happy about it, even after tommy abandoned you within thirty seconds of you arriving.

you managed to strike up a conversation with ranboo, though, grateful that you knew everyone. you’d isolated yourself quite a bit after the breakup, worried that your friends would rather be friends with will.

your worries were shattered when you were engulfed in a hug from him. they seemed really interested in your upcoming projects and you asked about his with equal fervour.

the night was going much better than you’d expected, and it was winding down when wilbur finally approached you. joni mitchell singing through the speakers about her lover making her weak in the knees, sipping on a drink with your head resting on top of aimsey’s.

“hey,” he was quiet, words slurred more from being tired than drunk. “can we talk?”

you looked down at aimsey, who was immersed in conversation with james and tommy, so you slid off the counter and followed him down the hall. tommy’s flat was small, so the two of you found a quiet corner. your shoulder was pressed into the wall, looking at him over the rim of your glass as he fiddled with his glasses. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

“it’s fine.” you said stiffly.

“no, it’s not.” he pressed. “i fucked up. not just when i didn’t call. i fucked up when we were still together.”

“will,” you tried. “it’s okay. it’s the past.”

“but you’re not.” he said. “you’re not the past, not my past. at least, i don’t want you to be.” he took a shuddering breath. “i was so worried about letting people down that i fucked up, and i ruined us.”

“you didn’t ruin anything.” it came out breathy, just above a whisper and you gave him a watery smile. “definitely not us.”

you didn’t know why you were getting so emotional, maybe it was how cold and dreary it had been, maybe it was exhaustion or the alcohol. or maybe it was because wilbur had taken your hands in his and pressed them to his lips.

“i’m so sorry, darling,” he murmured against your fingers, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “so so sorry.”

“it’s not your fault, will.” you said. “i could have done something.”

he opened his eyes and met yours, shining as you tried to fight back tears. “i’m so hard to handle, and i’m selfish and i’m sad,” he sang along to joni mitchell softly, pulling you forward to wrap your arms around him. he smelled like cinnamon, and he let you cry for as long as you needed.

you pulled away softly, looking at him as your hand ghosted over his jaw. “you didn’t lose me, will.”

“you’re saying you think you’re the best baby i ever had?” he asked, eyes shining, and you pushed him away.

you giggled. “how presumptuous of me.”

“you would be correct though,” he admitted, coming to pull you close again, swaying on the spot. he leant forward and pressed his lips to yours, you threading your hands into his hair.

“you have got to let me cut this,” you mumbled, and wilbur laughed against your mouth. he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, and took a shaky breath.

“i miss you.” he said. “i stopped working so much, i’ve been taking care of myself more. let me love you again?”

his voice wobbled, clearly so sure that you would reject him. he had hurt you, he knew that. will let his thumbs stroke up and down your arms and you got goosebumps even through your jumper. “you do have a permit, don’t you?”

he laughed, relief thick in his voice. “of course, darling. have my card in my wallet.”

“then i guess that’s okay.” you said, as if it didn’t matter to you all that much. “as long as you let me love you.”

“you can do whatever you want,” wilbur kissed you again. “as long as it’s with me.”

#wilbur #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbursoot #wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot fic #🐈 wilby #mcyt wilbur #wilbur mcyt #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x you #wilbur soot x fem!reader #wilbur soot x reader

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padme-parker · 4 years ago

Text

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 6

summary: given some time alone to think, the pieces begin to fall into place. you go to confront the darkling be he avoids you at any given cost, until one night you go into the one room you were never granted permission to enter.

warnings: cursing, talks about violence/torture and death, alcoholism

A/N: the truth finally comes out. This is all over the place bc I was trying to rush getting it out. 5.9k+ words and 12 pages later, here we are. not proofread, will comeback later to edit.

ANA KUYA’S voice echoed in the back of your mind as you laid on your cot, calling out for Mal and Alina as they ran away from her. It was the day Grisha came to the orphanage to find out if one of their own had been whisked away into a place like this. You examined the walls, cracks running up and down them. The windows barely opened, and when they did, they let out horrible screeches. Water leaked from the bathrooms, the annoying drip a constant on your mind.

Maybe you should’ve gotten up from your bed and got tested by a Grisha. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to stay in such a run down orphanage. The Duke was rarely here, so no one really cared about his orphanage no matter how infamous he was. But being Grisha meant leaving Mal and Alina behind, something you couldn’t do because they had become your only family. Besides, Grisha don’t get sick, therefore you weren’t a Grisha.

You could never be a Grisha.

AS you phased into consciousness, you could hear someone muttering something in the background. Your hands were so cold, you reached out for something- anything that could give you warmth. You tried to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, nothing seemed to work. The person rushed to your side, clutching both of your hands in one as the other stroked your cheek.

“Go back to sleep.” He said, brushing your hair back. Closing your eyes, he assumed you had fallen asleep already. He resumed his mumbling, the words slowly becoming coherent as fell back asleep.

“It’s...too...soon..”

THE painful pounding of your heart had subsided as the Grisha left. Mal walked into the room followed by Alina, who was sporting a new wound on her palm that Ana Kuya had scolded her for.

“Come on, get up!” Mal urged, knowing from the look on your face that the pain had already left you.

“Where are we going?” You said eagerly, scooting to the front edge of your bed to lace up your boots.

“To the meadow.” That was all you needed to hear before running out the bedroom door. Mal and Alina’s footsteps padding behind. The three of you started a mildly competitive game of tag, the other two making sure you didn’t exert yourself.

In that moment, you were who you were supposed to be. Three children lying on the field, making stupid promises to each other.

“We can’t hide forever, but we can run.”

THIS time when you find yourself in a field, there’s a man laying next to you. It was the same man from your dream, shoulder length hair and clean shaven face.

“Aleksander?” He lets out a hm, awaiting your question. “Where am I?”

“What do you mean, my darling?” Aleksander- General Kirigan- or whoever the hell he was turned to look at you, laying one of his arms upon your stomach. His hand keeping a firm grip on your waist. From your peripheral view you could see him studying you.

He started with your eyes, taking in their color and your long lashes. He moved from the curve of your nose until he got to your soft, plump lips. You stared at the sky, afraid of what you would see, who you would recognize if you turned to face him.

“We’re at our meadow.”

WHEN you finally regain consciousness, you find yourself alone in a nearly dark room. Only one lantern had been lit up. It was just before dawn, you could see the sun beginning to peek out. Someone had changed you into a nightgown, you didn’t know who it was. Perhaps it was Alina or maybe the Darkling, maybe neither. Either way, you were thankful they decided to change you out of the robe you had fainted in.

With great struggle, you propped yourself up, your elbows taking the brunt of your weight. You crawled to the foot of your bed to put on your night slippers. The rug under your bed only went so far before it hit the cold floor. You slowly made your way to the desk, sitting yourself in front of the mirror.

The magic Genya had performed on you days ago had worn out by now. How long were you out for? The dark circles under your eyes had returned, seemingly worse. Your skin, although already dull, became more dull and pale. Whatever shine you originally had was gone. Your eyes look sunken in. While your hair was frail and also lost the shine that Genya gave it.

“Saints..” You whispered to yourself as you raked a hand through your hair. You were basically a dead person walking. You considered fetching a servant to bring you Genya, but decided against it. Throwing on a robe, you silently made your way to the war room, hoping to find the Darkling there. When you entered it remained empty, along with the bed he usually slept in. You walked the halls looking for one of his oprichniki, yet they weren’t around either.

There was no use in barging into his bedroom when it seemed like he was gone. Plus you didn’t want to invade his privacy knowing that he could have you killed for going into his room without permission if someone had seen you. You spotted one of the palace guards, walking up to him as you placed your hands into the pockets of your robe.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know where the General is?” You asked, staring into the guards eyes.

“He left a week ago, accompanied by his personal guards.” Was all he said, not disclosing why he had left. A week? Had you really been unconscious for a week? This usually never happened to you, not like this.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“In a couple of days.” He said, not giving you an exact day. You quickly thanked him before making your way back to your room to change for the day. The dull ache of your heart was finally leaving, allowing for you to feel more like yourself. You were able to spot the sun in the sky as you finished changing. You thought about basking in its light when your stomach growled loudly.

I suppose I should eat, you thought. It’d been nearly a week since you were able to feed yourself, your last meal being breakfast. You could remember someone feeding you periodically throughout the week, now knowing the Darkling had left, it was most likely Alina. You rang for a servant, asking to be brought breakfast when she arrived. Surveying the room, you decided that the Darkling wouldn’t mind if you did a little retouching.

You moved the table towards the window, wanting to eat in the sunlight without having the harsh winter winds freeze you. Opening the curtain allowed for more sunlight to stream through, a grunt of triumph leaving your lips as you looked at your new setup.

The squeaky wheel of the servant’s cart alerted you of her presence, rushing to open the door before she could knock. You took the tray from her hands, closing the door with your foot as you skipped towards the table, eager to get some food in your system.

The food they had given you was practically the same, sweet pea porridge, a tall glass of water, and a bowl of grapes. It wasn’t your favorite, but you ate it anyway. Savouring the familiar crunch and sweetness of the grapes. Sitting in the sun had left you feeling giddy and warm, excited for summer when you would be able to go out whenever you could and feel the sun on your skin.

It was the same warmth you felt whenever the Darkling touched you, even when you saw him in your dreams, there had always been a lingering sense of familiarness-- and affection. You saw the look in his eyes just seconds before you passed out, the shock as you said his name, the concern visible in his eyebrows. Him whispering, stay with me, please. It was all foreign to you. In fact, his behaviour was strange to you.

You’ve always heard of the Darkling being cold, menacing, someone you had to fear. There were stories of him ruthlessly slaughtering the Drüskelle, using the Cut to separate multiple heads from bodies in a matter of seconds. Yet he welcomed you into his home without a second thought. He fed you, gave you clothing and a place to sleep, even gave you a tour of the Little Palace himself. You were sure he had never given someone the treatment that he had given you, so what made you so different? What made you so special to him?

You didn’t miss the look he gave you when you first entered the war room, recognition and longing bright in his eyes. He tried to hide the emotion, but you were able to catch it before he returned to his dark and empty gaze. It would explain the memories, but only fueled your confusion and curiosity more. Had you shared a past life with him? If so, why were you back? How were you back? Getting lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the person knocking until they opened the door and announced themselves.

The familiar red hue of his kefta brought you comfort. You were too trusting lately, you’d only met Fedyor a week ago. Just the sight of his kefta had calmed something down in you. This palace was changing you, bringing out something from within you that never existed. Being this trusting on the fields would get you killed.

“Good morning, Fedyor. What brings you here?” You greeted him. This time you already had your boots laced up, the tray in your hands ready to be disposed of on the table by the door. “Going to escort me to combat training?”

“Actually, the General forbade you from stepping foot on training grounds again.” You let out a loud gasp as you whipped towards him. Thinking there was something wrong, Fedyor stepped forward, reaching his arms out to steady you just in case anything happened. In your anger, you slapped his hands away.

“Oh just you wait until he gets back,” You seethed, “Who does he think he is? Taking away my combat training privileges?”

“He’s the General, he can do that.” Fedyor responded, a small smile on his face.

“So what am I supposed to do then?”

“Well, you could still go to the library.” No, you didn’t want to risk running into the Apparat again. “Watch the Grisha train.” He offered a meek smile. “Walk the grounds.” Perhaps you could go on a horse ride later, but right now there was one thing on your mind.

“Is Alina training right now?” The heartrender gave you a nod, “I guess we’ll be going to her room then. She has something I want to borrow.” With the flick of your hand, the two of you were on your way.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer then that’s okay.” Fedyor squints his eyes at you, before motioning to continue. “Has the Darkling ever taken up any lovers?” The question makes Fedyor stop in his tracks, a baffled look on his features.

“Well..I..” He struggled with his words, not knowing if he wanted to tell you. What would the General do to him if he told you? It was common knowledge that General Kirigan had been alive for a couple centuries now, he thought everyone knew of his endeavours. “The General has been around for many years, so naturally he has...had sex before.” The mention of it made Fedyor blush. “But he’s never settled down with someone. The closest I ever saw was with Alina.” This didn’t surprise you, Alina herself had told you about what had almost happened between the two.

“In the tent, when he tested her to see if she was Grisha, I saw something in his eyes. It was admiration, but there was also a defeated look in his eyes. As if he had given up on something because he found Alina. Reasonably, it could’ve been relief, since we had finally found the sun summoner.” Fedyor pauses, thinking wisely about the next words he spoke. “Alina and the General were growing close. Everyone saw the look they gave each other the night of the fete. But any public traces of their affection for each other had disappeared that night. The two are only seen interacting when he visits her for a gradual check-in.”

“And he’s never spoken of any other lovers?”

“Not consciously, no. On the very rare chance where we ride in the same carriage, sometimes when he falls asleep he’ll whisper about a woman. Moya dorogaya, he’d call her. That’s all I know.”

Moya dorogaya, my darling. It was the same name the Darkling had called you in your dream.

“May I ask you a question?” He inquired, you nodded your head, allowing him to proceed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

A smile so bright that could light up the room came to your face, “My friends down near the south Ravka border. A pair of siblings that taught me to fight before they defected from the First Army.” You confessed. “One of them also introduced me to my love of epic poetry.”

When Alina’s door came to view, you didn’t bother knocking as she had already left. After fetching what you needed, you quickly exited her room.

“I haven’t seen them since they left.” You rubbed the birthmark at your throat. Besides Mal and Alina, the siblings were also the closest thing you had to family. They considered you as their sister, even begging that you left with them. But you told them your place was here in Ravka, with Mal and Alina.

“I’m sure you’ll see them soon. Once Alina and the General get rid of the fold, we will have access to our docks again.” He said, trying to comfort you.

“I hope so.” The rest of the walk was filled with comfortable silence as you fiddled with the edges of the red book. As you neared your door, Fedyor stopped, telling you he would be just outside if you needed anything. Without wasting another second, you ran to the chair in front of the window.

The Istorii Sankt’ya glistened in the sunlight. Something about it had been calling out to you, urging you to read it and find out more. You flipped through all of the pages of the saints until you found the one that had been calling out to you.

Sankt Ilya in chains. Ilya Morozova. Morozova’s herd.

“One day. When the war is over and the shadow fold is gone, you will bear my name. You will become Mrs. Morozova. I swear it.”

The voice of the Darkling rang clear in your head. The memory made your heart come to a stop as you struggled to find a possible explanation for his words. The only conclusion you could inevitably come to was that you were the sole lover that Fedyor had been talking about.

As the sun began to set, you looked at the drawing once more. The stag, sea whip, and firebird all depicted. You called out for Fedyor, asking him to come into your room.

“Can you bring me dinner for two?” You politely asked.

“Sure, were you planning on eating it yourself or shall I fetch someone while I’m at it?”

“No. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk while we eat dinner.” His face paled as the words left your mouth.

“Oh...okay.” Was all he said before he scurried off to get the food. You tucked the Istorii Sankt’ya under a pile of paper in your desk to hide it. While you waited for Fedyor to return, you lit up some candles and lanterns now that the sun was going down. It was no fun eating in the dark.

Well, sometimes it was. You thought back to the orphanage. Night where you, Alina and Mal would sneak out of bed to have a piece of bread. The bread was never enough, but the excitement had always spurred the three of you on enough to make it a nightly routine until Ana Kuya eventually caught on.

When Fedyor returned, he rolled the cart over to where you had been seated. He placed a golden tray in front of you and another for himself right across from you. He also brought a big pitcher of Kvas for you to share.

Lifting the cover from your plate, you found yourself staring at some sort of meat pie with a side of root vegetable soup. Fedyor had the same meal but had pickled herrings instead of soup.

“Ugh, I don’t know how you eat that stuff.” You said with disgust. “I’m glad you guys don’t force me to eat that.” Although it was common peasant food, it never appealed to you. It was something you’d always hated.

“The kitchen staff have a strict list of foods you like and dislike.” That made your head snap up to meet his, who made the list? You had a scheming suspicion that it wasn’t Alina, leaving you with one suspect.

“Tell me, Fedyor, do you know what the General plans on using Morozova’s Stag for?” You inquired, feigning curiosity. You saw his hesitation, clearly uncertain if he could trust you. “I was, after all, one of the last trackers to spot it.” You reminded

“The stag is rumored to be an amplifier created by Morozova himself. Whoever wears it would hold the greatest power known to mankind. One that could rival the General’s.” He said, taking a bite of his meal before continuing, “He plans on giving it to Alina in order to get rid of the shadow fold. She’s strong, but not strong enough to get rid of it on her own.”

“What about you, do you believe they will be able to banish the fold together?” There had been a swirl of doubt pooling in you. The shadow fold was the one thing that had kept Grisha safe from the rest of the world. With the permafrost in the North and the mountains in the South, Ravka had practically been perfectly disconnected. Yet the Drüskelle and Shu still managed to slaughter Ravkans and Grisha alike.

“Yes, I do. It’s something very important to the General. That the sun summoner reversed what his ancestor, the Black Heretic, had created.” He explained.

“Right, we’ll then what happens after? It’s been so long since West Ravka has been able to connect to East Ravka. Who’s to say that they don’t want to create a monarchy of their own?” Fedyor paused at your words, he hadn’t thought much about what the West Ravkans wanted. He only knew how much his people longed to be free of the shadow fold.

“One step at a time.” He ensured, not sure if he believed the words he just said. He didn’t know what would happen if West Ravka decided to break off and become their own sovereign state. Whatever trade and weapons they had obtained came through the trading ports of the docks in West Ravka. Without it they’d have nothing. They would be nothing.

You finished the rest of your meal, occasionally talking about your time being stationed in the South while he talked about his Grisha adventures. When it came to an end, you helped him clean up and wished him a good night as he rolled the cart away. The pitcher of Kvas laid untouched, your fingers twitched at the thought of having a drink. You stared at it as Fedyor rolled it away, your throat begging for something to drink. Instead of giving into your urges, you chug whatever leftover water you had laying around.

As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help the strong feeling of loneliness overcome you. You tried to push those feelings away when you jumped into bed, not wanting to have a miserable dream.

WHEN you wake, you find yourself in the deadly permafrost of the Fjerda-Ravka border in nothing more than your lace nightgown. The snow under your feet melted as you walked around, searching for another sign of human life. You didn’t feel the familiar nip of the cold at your fingertips or toes. It was that same warmth you felt with the Darkling.

You caught sight of your own breath as you whipped your head around, the snow catching in your hair. As you stumbled into a tree, you felt the recognizable carving, stating that you were now in Fjerdan territory. Your feet had walked on their own accord, not knowing where you were going until you stumbled into a clearing. The same clearing where Dubrov and Mikhael had died, slaughtered brutally by the Fjerdans. The clearing where you had killed two of their own without a second thought.

The clearing where you had finally found the stag.

The very same stag that had now stood in front of you.

You inched closer to it with careful and calculated steps. It didn’t back away as you approached. It showed no signs of aggression as you laid one of your hands upon its antlers, your other going to stoke its fur.

It was giving you that same look it gave you when you first encountered it with Mal.

Mercy. Respect. Most of all, understanding.

IT had been two days since you dreamt of the stag. You hadn’t dreamt of it since then, in fact, you hadn’t been dreaming of much since you saw the stag in your dreams. You thought about bringing it up to Alina during breakfast, but decided against it, the conversation somehow drifting towards the General.

“I was giving him a report of my progress last night-”

“Last night?” You interrupted, “As in a couple of hours ago?” She nods, confused by your behavior. “When did he get back?”

“The night you woke up.” She replied, as if you had been informed already. No one told you he had returned, you hadn’t even seen him once. Fedyor didn’t even tell you of his return during dinner. With a huff, you got out your chair, moving towards the door before asking Alina one last question.

“When did you mention me to the General?” She gives you another confused look, not knowing what you were talking about. That was the only answer you needed as you made your way to the war room.

He knew you. Even before he discovered Alina and took her to the Little Palace, he knew you first. Your thoughts ran around rampant and unprovoked, trying to come up with a viable explanation as you stomped towards his hall. Before you could even reach the doors of the war room, you were stopped by his oprichniki.

“The General wishes to be alone right now.” She said, hold up a hand to stop you.

“Tell him that I want to speak with him.” You replied, she looked you up and down. You wore no kefta or guards uniform. You were merely just a First Army soldier in her eyes.

“I doubt he would want to talk to someone like you.” Great, you were dealing with a Grisha Oprichniki with a horrible superiority complex. With a scoff, you turned away and walked to your room. Holding back every urge in your body to punch her.

WHEN night came, you found yourself struggling to get some sleep. After your encounter with that rude oprichniki, you tried your best to at least get a glimpse of the Darkling. You tried walking in the gardens in hopes to see him, no luck. You walked past the singular window of the war room, only to find the view obscured by the curtains. You paced the halls as subtly as you could, waiting for him to exit the war room. But he didn’t leave. Not once, so you just gave up and decided to try again the next day.

The black silk of your slip on did little to soothe the irritation you felt. In fact, it seemed to irritate you more as it slipped around even at your smallest movements. With a sigh, you got up from the bed and walked towards the dresser with the intention of changing into something that would provide better comfort.

You ran your hands through all the different laces and fabrics of the nightgowns until it landed on the gold kefta. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. You took it off it’s hanger, before walking towards the mirror. You examined it closely. The fabric itself had shimmers of gold, the black thread similar to any other kefta. As you surveyed the back of it, you noticed the handiwork of a fabrikator. Someone had tried to mend the rips of the kefta, but they were still visible up close.

The kefta had fit like a glove when you put it on. It gave you a sense of belonging. That maybe as an orphan you had finally found a home. You ogled at yourself in the mirror, the golden fabric had practically made you glow. You placed your hands into the pockets, surprised to feel something in one of them.

Grasping the object, you pulled it out. It was a letter. Covered in blood, dirtied and ripped at the corners, but still a letter nonetheless. You contemplated reading it, making the motion to put it back into the pocket before a thought crossed your mind. It wasn’t like anyone was going to find out.

You opened the letter and began to read it:

Dear Aleksander,

My darling, I don’t know why the universe has continued to bring us together. But I am thankful that they’ve given us a chance to be together once more. I have loved you for all of my lifetimes, and nothing could change that.

At least, that’s what I thought. But you’re no longer the Aleksander I once knew. Something dark has taken over you, your lust for power consuming you. I don’t know who you are anymore.

That’s why I’m doing what’s necessary, you’ve been in power for too long. It’s time for you to stop. It’s time for Ravka to be whole once more.

I’m sorry. I hope with whatever love you have left in your heart for me, that you could forgive me.

Eternally yours,

Y/N

You froze as you saw your name signed at the bottom of the letter. Lifetimes? As in more than one? This could wait no longer. Shoving the letter into your pocket, you threw open your door. The halls were empty, his oprichniki were either on a break or a shift change. Either way, you didn’t care.

You barged into the war room, expecting him to be hunched over a pile of maps, but he wasn’t. The next place you looked was his sleeping quarters that had connected to the war room. This bed was empty too, the sheets still cold. You knew of one last place he could be, and didn’t care about the risks.

You walked towards his door, each step filled with the burning curiosity you felt. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you didn’t expect it to turn. You would’ve assumed he kept the door to this bedroom always locked. But then again you were the only person who would dare enter his room without permission. After entering his room, you shut the door. Not wanting to raise suspicion to anyone who might’ve walked the halls perchance.

You paid no mind to the layout and decorations of his room as you fervently searched for him, only to come up empty handed again. Where could he possibly be? Perhaps he went for a midnight stroll. Or possibly he left the Little Palace again. But before deciding on going back to your room, you were adamant on searching the entire ground for him.

As you made your way back towards the door, your eyes briefly flashed to the portrait above it. You were frozen in your tracks as you did a double take. There in the painting was you, depicted in the gold kefta you had put on mere minutes ago. Behind you was the General, who had one hand clasped around your waist, the other resting on your shoulder. The two of you smiling brightly, it had practically been one of the only other times you’d seen him smile.

The letter in your pocket felt like it weighed a ton, your mouth going dry. In your panicked state of mind, you didn’t notice the shadows jumping up and down the walls.

“My darling.” You never heard him creeping up on you until he started talking into your ear, his whisper making you involuntarily shiver. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him.

Turning around, you didn’t expect to find his hair dripping wet, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to look at anything but him.

“Don’t call me that.” You spat out, he reached one of his hands out to touch the kefta you had put on. His touch lingered from the black stitching to the collar of the Grisha jacket, his fingers ghosting over your neck. “I’m going to ask you one more time, have we met before?”

The General saw no use in keeping the secret from you any longer; you had worn the kefta he’d made for you centuries ago, most likely read the letter in its pocket, and now you had just seen the portrait he’d hung up of the two of you. It was evidently clear that you knew something was going on.

“What do you remember?” He deflected, not answering your question.

Flashes came to your mind, ones you had dreamt, others were new.

“I remember...my death. The night those soldiers shoved a knife in me.” You confessed. You also saw other things. Horseback riding in the woods. Long nights in bed spent talking about the future. Him training you, teaching you how to wield a sword. The birthmark at your ribcage, the one on your neck, and the long ones on your back. They had all been scars. Marking all the deaths from your previous lives.

Three scars, three separate lifetimes with him. You reached up to touch the scar on your neck, “They..I-”

“This one, the Fjerdans gave you this one. We were hunting for the stag when we had gotten ambushed. They killed you for the sole purpose to see me in pain. I begged them to take me too, but they found too much joy in my grief. The Drüskelle held me on the ground, my hands spread apart, as I watched you bleed out.” You can see the tears form in his eyes as he recalls the events of that night. He walks around you, tracing the rips of the kefta. The rips had consequently been placed exactly where the scars on your back were. You could tell by the familiar pattern he traced, a once soothing action that now caused you great anguish. “The Fjerdans also gave you these ones. They tortured you for days on end. When I finally found you, it was too late. There was no healer that had the power to help you. All I could do was hold you as a heartrender calmed you, minimizing your pain.”

“I can’t remember that, why can’t I remember that?” You panicked, to which the Darkling turned you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs rubbed your face in a reassuring manner.

“It’s not often that you fully remember what happens to you. It’s your brain's way of protecting you so you don’t get overwhelmed.” Well you certainly felt overwhelmed now. It was all too much to take in at once.

“The shadow fold..” You hesitated, removing yourself from his grasp. “Was that because of me?”

“Yes,” he confessed, “I created it after you first died. A way to protect all Grisha. I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand. But it was one less threat we had to worry about.”

“I don’t understand. Why me? Why is it always me? Why do I always come back to you?”

“There’s a reason why the universe has continued to bring us back together, my darling. My other half. My life.” He walks up to you, grasping your face in his hands. His touch was different this time, it was cold yet welcoming. It felt familiar. The shadows engulfed the room as you felt a power rush over you. His eyes darted towards your lips, hesitating before leaning in. You close your eyes as you feel that familiar warmth consume you. His kiss is soft, gentle, yet you could tell he was holding back from ravaging you.

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You kept your eyes closed, lost in the memories.

“Open your eyes.” He whispered. When you had closed them, the whole room had been taken by his shadows, leaving the two of you in darkness. But as he stood in front of you, his hands on your cheeks, the whole room had been illuminated. “My sun summoner, I have loved you all of my life. For all of your lifetimes.”

“Maybe one too many.” What else was there to say? You always knew, somewhere deep down inside of you, that there was something special different about you. You didn’t know it until now, until you were reunited with your other half. “But I thought Grisha couldn’t get sick.”

The smile falls from his face, “I believe..that this could possibly be our last lifetime together.” He disclosed. “Neither heartrender nor healer could explain what was happening to you. I think it might be the consequence of avoiding eternal death for so long.” He joked, his eyes meeting yours.

“I thought your last life had been our final one together. I waited hundreds of years for your return. When I had caught wind of a sun summoner being found, I thought it was you. When it wasn’t I felt as if my heart had shattered all over again. That you would never return to me again.” The Darkling squinted as the light around you grew brighter. His touch was making you unstable.

“But Alina-”

“Can’t know. No one can. I can’t risk your life again. Not anymore.” He replied, “Especially when this could be our last time together.”

You struggled to find a name to call him, the General felt too formal, and to you it seemed too early to call him by his given name.

“Aleksander, my darling. Call me by my name.” He said, withdrawing his hand from you and letting the shadows shrink back to the ground.

All your life, you had subconsciously fought the Grisha within you. You had always been Grisha. Using the powers you had been born with had given you back your strength, albeit not all of it. You enjoyed- reveled the rush it gave you.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

Mizpah tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester @runawayolives @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae @batgal96 @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer @kaqua @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa @marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020 @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard@thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld @p3nny4urth0ught5 @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme @itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000 @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff @hollandsweetie @yungkvte @evyiione @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23 @athenamikaelson @mellifluous-cosmos @mylittlecrazyworldofinterest @iiclarixa @lcandothisallday @agent-jbarnes

Mizpah taglist is CLOSED for now!

S.a.B. forever tags: @deceivedeer

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #ben barnes

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Injured Part 2

@canigetanamenforbritney here you go!

Part 1

Warnings: hospital setting, refusal of medical attention, pet names, surgery, negative discussions of someone, stitches, descriptions of medical care, painful wound tending, exhaustion, begging, mean caretakers

*not edited*

"He needs surgery."

"Yeah, yeah I get that. That's not the problem. The problem is, you won't perform it."

"We aren't about to waste supplies on a villain, Hero."

Villain fumbled with consciousness- played with, frolicked with it- until it because a drifting manner. Awake here and there, hearing bits and pieces of conversation. Then the blissful euphoria of sleep. Those moments of painfree unconsciousness were what he longed for, craved.

He didn't understand his situation. He knew that there were people around him, but they didn't seem to be doing much. Only periodically pinching his elbow, leaving him floating in serene waves.

Was this what care felt like? It didn't seem like much, maybe Villain just had an active imagination- dreaming about endless words of compassion, a light touch to his cheek... maybe those sensations were just fantasies.

The people... they seemed to speak above Villain in rumbling tunes. Never aimed at him and even in his foggy state he knew that they were strictly clinical.

It was, to say the least, disappointing.

Very disappointing.

Maybe he did just expect too much.

《~~》

Hero paced around the hospital bed as the nurses argued amongst themselves. Villain was stable, but not faraway from slipping. Why did she have to do this to him? A dagger in his side, concussion, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder... the injuries went on above this.

And then the fact that he was doomed to actually take care of himself in this state? The very idea that Hero expected him to jump back on his feet- it was disgusting.

How could she be a hero when she allowed someone to suffer?

She saw the trails of blood, the discarded bandages, the opened cupboards. He struggled. Struggle to stay alive.

"We could get fired if we operate on him. Honestly, just hand him over to the center."

"What is wrong with you!" Hero exclaimed when she heard that utterance. "A life for a job."

"You beat him up," that same nurse pointed out, crossing her arms. "Stop your hypocrisy, you are not better than us."

"Yeah if it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be here," another chimed in.

"Shut up! Shut up! All of you, shut up!" Hero growled. "I will pay for the surgery and take full responsibility. If he doesn't die, he will be permanently disabled."

"We know."

"Yeah I know you know," Hero said, huffing and giving an awkward smile. "You know and yet you still don't do anything about it. What kind of sick doctor are you?"

"One that follows the law."

Hero was silent and thrusted her hands through her blonde hair.

"It's nothing against Villain-"

"Yes it is!" Hero roared and flung herself next to Villain's side. His eyes were halfway open. Hero sighed, "Should I give him another dose?"

"No," the head nurse said. "Let him wake up."

Hero waited and waited, foot tapping and teeth clenching in anger, as Villain became more and more accustomed to his surroundings.

"H-hero?" He croaked, nervous fear evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Mm care... caring f-for for me?"

"Trying to."

Villain groaned and threw his head back suddenly, pain gripping every one of his features. Tears formed in his eyes and as sudden as the outburst happened, he stilled and collapsed back onto the bed.

《~~》

Everything hurt.

The drugs must've worn off, inviting the pain to eat him whole. Villain groaned and tossed his head about, punching the mattress with clenched fists even though that hurt and...

Villain cried out. Even Hero stepped away from that primitive noise.

Why was he is pain? Why did he have to go through this?

Because I am a villain, he answered himself. Stupid stupid stupid! He shouldn't have delved into the evil side of the world, should've applied for the College of Heroics or be a normal civilian or anything other than villainy.

He cried, his chest shuddering. Small squeaks escaped his mouth. Even the boisterous nurses ceased their banter, looking in pity at the sobbing human on the hospital bed.

"We'll operate, but we won't give him anesthesia," the head nurse conceded.

《~~》

That was good.

Not ideal, but good.

Hero helped slide on a blue hair net over Villain's head. Wild eyes darted around, creasing at the edges every once in a while, as the pain flared up in many places all at once. His breathing hitched as well.

"What are they doing to me?" Villain wheezed, fingers tapping. Anticipation etched at his body.

"You'll be fine," the hero soothed, rubbing her fingers together. After the surgery...

"Cuff him," one of the nurses ordered, wrapping Villain's wrists and ankles with soft, padded bracelets of leather. He stiffened before instinctual motions kicked in and he struggled.

"Don't. Don't do that," Villain pleaded as he watched the nurses inhibit his only chance to fight and to escape. He gulped, pressing his head back into the hospital bed like his pain was forgotten. But the irregular heartbeat on the monitor betrayed his real sensations and emotions- pain and fear.

Hero frowned at the distressed face before looking up at the nurses.

"Should've we give him something? Like a muscle relaxant? Make the procedure easier?" Hero asked, but immediately wished she hadn't for the villain's face contorted into an expression of pure terror at the mention of "procedure".

"Maybe," one of the young nurses whispered, but the head nurse brushed the idea off with a firm "no".

"Let's begin," that same nurse said and approached the writhing villain. "Begin incision on his right side where we assumed a piece of residual metal is from the dagger."

"Let's not do this," Villain begged, pulling madly against the restraints, but the nurses did not pay attention.

Just as the sliver of metal was about to protrude into Villain's skin, Hero spoke up,

"Where is the doctor? You know, the one who actually does surgeries."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you weren't trained for this."

"So?"

Hero was silent, but her gaping mouth spoke loads for her.

"Hero," the head nurse chuckled. "This is a villain. A half-eaten cheeseburger in the trashcan. Relax hon."

Hero bristled at the pet name, but didn't do anything rash. She just pulled up a chair and sat at Villain's side. He looked up at her with large, pleading eyes that broke Hero's heart.

"It'll be over soon," Hero promised. Villain's face relaxed slightly, but his muscles stayed tense in waiting for the inevitable pain.

"Begin incision."

Villain mewled as the thin knife slipped into his skin, right above the infected flesh. His toes and fingers curled in, then stretched out.

"Okay stop," Villain said in a hurried manner. His brow furrowed, nose twitching. "Stop."

Hero placed a hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to quiet his protests.

"Located the residual. Tweezers."

A tool made of two grated prongs took the place of the knife. Villain sighed as the knife marked its leave with a clatter, but his muscles immediately seized when the bloodied particle was removed.

"Staples."

Villain's eyes widened as a nurse pulled his skin together, shoddily and lazily stapling it. Villain screamed, jerking around each time the plunger cinched his tender flesh together.

Hero wrinkled her nose. The nurses weren't even bothering to use actual medical tools. Literally, the stapler was from the school section at the local Walmart.

The nurses topped their kindergarten artwork with a thin line of some numbing ointment, but that was all. A tiny gift, a mug saying "The Best Teacher Award" on teacher appreciation day.

The next injury the nurses fixed was the dislocated shoulder. Two nurses positioned themselves on both sides of the shoulder. Without warning, they pushed the joint back in.

Villain arched his back up in a desperate feat to escape the miserable pain. He clenched his teeth, holding in a scream that Hero knew just wanted to go.

Then he fell back into the bed, breaths full of pained whimpers.

"Okay. I think we tortured him long enough," Hero said, angling herself to give a more authoritive stance.

"We are taking care of him?" The head nurse replied, purposely making her statement an authentic question.

"Just give him something. At least something to take the edge off," Hero pleaded. "Can't you see? His world is nothing but pain."

"No."

Hero sighed, shook her head, and went back to Villain who now had tears streaming out of half-lidded eyes.

"Make them stop," Villain whispered, not even looking at Hero. "I'd rather be hurt. Rather be hurt at home."

Hero felt a twinge of pity, listening to Villain's requests. It was saddening to say the least, someone so hurt just wanting to go home if it meant that they could escape the extra pain of care.

Pain of care, now that didn't sound right.

Hero grabbed Villain's head and stroked it, but the tears and whimpers did not cease.

After a good few hours, the villain was throughly exhausted. He could barely stay awake, just dozing off even as caffeinated nurses shakily sewed the millions of cuts together.

Hero slowly stroked Villain's head, watching as his eyes drifted shut. She smiled. Sleep was his only escape from the pain.

#villain whumpee #injured villain #hero caretaker #reluctant caretaker #heros and villains #whump #whumplr #writing #surgery

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plethora-of-imagines · 3 years ago

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Multitasking

AN: I’m not fully happy with this one. The idea was good, but its not really edited and I’m not too fond of the ending. But continuing to try and rewrite it isn’t getting me anywhere so I am going to post it for now. Maybe in the future I will come back and fix it.

Word Count: 1412

Warnings: smut/lemon, telepathy, cockwarming

Description: DW Kinktober Day 3; Prompt: Telepathy

You just wanted to have some attention, and the Master needs to finish his sums.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

Shifting uncomfortably on the Master’s lap you tried to distract yourself from the situation you had put yourself into. Unfortunately, there was no one to blame but yourself for your predicament. As much as you wanted to blame the Master, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had told you when this started that he had work to do and there would be little attention paid to you. That really it would be a much better idea for you to just relax and entertain yourself somewhere else. Or to even go grab a book to read while you joined him if you really wanted to stay. You had been so certain that the appeal of you settled in his lap, warm and full of his cock would be enough to distract him from his work. It had yet to work. It had been ages already! It felt like he had been working on his sums for hours. How could he resist you ready to be fucked in his lap and continue to work with not even a little teasing? He hadn’t even bounced his leg or pressed a kiss to the side of your face.

Pouting you tried to enjoy the sensation of being so full and filled by the Master. Without him moving it was feeling more like agony. You were used to cockwarming but not for this long, not without him continuing to actively keep you aroused. You wanted nothing more that for him to move, even just to shift his weight. Anything would be a relief at this point. You wanted your thoughts and body to be filled with only him. Trying to be patient for so long was starting to take it’s toll on you.

Yet you didn’t mutter a word of complaint. He had warned you that he was busy, it was your own fault for thinking you could change that. It had been your idea to beg him to let you cockwarm as he worked, hoping to derail his progress with a quick fuck. You had assumed he would give into temptation after half an hour at most. You had just wanted some attention, to be close to him. Clearly, your plan hadn’t quite worked out for you. So you tried to stay still, to behave. Because he was busy, and you didn’t want to disturb him when you had promised not to.

Almost as if he had been reading your mind, the Master shifted slightly so that his head could rest on your shoulder. Pressing a quick kiss to your throat before you feel an ache in your head. Like the very beginnings of a headache that you knew was coming on. Slowly the pain faded, leaving you with the strange sensation of your mind being cradled in warmth. Even after having experienced the sensations hundreds of times you were still not used to the Master being inside of your head.

"Hmmm someone's getting a bit impatient. You alright, love? Got somewhere to be?"

His teasing echoed in your mind, like your own thoughts but scattered. His mental laughter didn't help you to process his thoughts any easier. The laughter was quiet, almost as if he was trying to keep it from reaching your mind. The issue with that was that no matter how much he tried to shield his stream of consciousness away, your mind reached to pull him in with just as much force.

“I can be patient,” you shot back at him mentally. Your own inner thoughts betrayed you with a soft admission, “or at least I’m trying.”

Fond amusement washed over you. How adorable it was that you were trying to play pretend when your body was now rocking side to side. Aiming to gain as much stimulation as you could from shifting your weight.

Shaking your head you tried to get the Master’s thoughts out of your head. It was instinctual, your mind not wanting to accept that someone else’s thoughts were intruding upon where your own stream of consciousness should be reigning. It truth you wanted to know every thought the Master had, especially when they were about you. The moment you felt the semi-rough texture of the Master’s hands caressing your thighs you lost all semblance of thought.

So close to where you needed to feel him, yet teasingly far away. You blissfully accepted every touch. Trembling when his fingers finally brushed over your clit. His cock twitching in pleasure simultaneously. Oh, sometimes you forgot that he could feel what you felt when he did this. Clearly, he knew that the build up had made for the most wonderful of pleasures when he finally relieved you of your anticipation. Again and again he repeated his teasing motions.

Stopping abruptly in his pattern right before he would brush over your clit he stole your full attention.

“I have to get this work done. Be a good girl and be patient again?” He projected into your mind.

“Please,” you whispered into the silent room.

You found your hand wrapped around the pen the Master had been using before his hands found their way to your waist. Slowly, you could feel the emptiness left as the Master lifted you off of his cock. Mind filled with your thoughts mourning the loss, until you rapidly found yourself filled again. Being yanked back down with a force that made you cry out in pleasure. This, this is what you had been patiently waiting for.

“I don’t know if you can really count what you were doing as patient. Love. Your thoughts had been screaming that you wanted attention. They made it even harder to concentrate than the feeling of your warm, tight cunt around my cock.”

You moaned wildly as his words entered your head, bringing with them echoes of memories of how he had struggled to keep him mind focused.

“Write down 62 for me would you, love.”

Startling you out of your mental haze you tried to focus on the mathematics the Master was now filling your thoughts with. Each lift and drop of your body as he made you ride his cock clearing your head again. You could barely understand the numbers, nervermind write them down. Yet somehow you managed.

“Next we need to solve for E equals,” interrupting his thought you reminded him that it was really him who was solving these impossible difficult mathematic computations. It was kind of him to mentally include you, but you both knew the truth was that you were his glorified secretary.

“And what a beautiful secretary you are, now where were we?”

“Solving for E=mc cubed, Master,” you mentally reminded him.

“Such a good girl, remembering your lesion on the extra temporal physics of the time vortex!”

Your mind seemed to heat up as if your brain itself was blushing. It wasn’t possible yet somehow that it what it felt like. Or maybe the sensation stemmed from the Master resting one of his hands against your very flushed cheeks. The heat he was feeling transferring into your own thoughts as a literal feeling of heat.

You hands shook as overtime your arousal grew, building up until you felt ready to fall apart. It was a struggle to write down any of the numbers you could pick out of the Master’s head. How did he manage to do both solve mathematic equations and fuck you? You were getting distracted just trying to write down some numbers! You hated the fact that he could multitask so well.

A pleasure shot through you before the mental connection was broken. You could feel the Master’s release shooting into you. It felt heavenly, something you had grown to love more and more each time you felt it. It was then that you noticed. Your arousal hadn’t subsided at all, your little orgasm had been a reflection of the Master’s. Your body was still humming with need. You whined pathetically, it wasn’t fair. You could feel the Master’s cock softening inside of you.

“What happened to my patient good girl?”

“This is so rude, Master. I want to cum so bad and now I’ll have to wait, again.”

“Good things cum to those who wait.”

“Don’t pun at me,” you laughed, annoyed that you couldn’t manage to stay upset with him.

Besides you knew what you were getting into when you interrupted his sums. Honestly, as long as you got to spend time with him you were content.

#dwkinktober21 #kinktober 2021 #the master x reader #dhawan!master x reader #prompt: telepathy

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thatweirdoleigh · 4 years ago

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Frozen Love

#February2021promptchallenge

Prompt: “I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Oneshot / kinda based on daydreams about an oc

Procrastination is a bitch, but here you go!

Little editing. WE DIE WITH PRIDE. Sorry if this is scientifically impossible. or just impossible to read.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, implied Hypothermia, some swear words Feel free to @ me if I missed any.

Italics represent thoughts

Kol x Reader

Her tears felt like fire against the freezing air. It had happened. He did it. He finally fucking did it. Her boyfriend, now ex, had finally snapped and showed his true colors. Her bloodied lip and quickly bruising face a testament to his cruelty. He confessed that he was cheating and that he liked it. He called her a worthless excuse for a lover, then threw her back out in the snow without so much as a coat. The winter temperatures had continued dropping below freezing for the past several weeks and as shivers raked across her spine, she quickly realized she would surely freeze if she didn’t pull herself off the ground.

Ok Y/n where can you go?

Taylor is already stressed.

Dave will be angry.

Klaus will outright kill me if I go to Cami or Marcel.

With a groan, y/n pushed herself off the brick wall and up from the ground. Her stomach twisted in knots, as she resigned to her fate. Pulling out her phone only to find it dead, she cursed at the sky. Damn it. And so she walked, vigorously rubbing up and down her arms, hoping to whatever god would listen that she was going the right way.

Kol groaned as he stripped off his coat. Tugging a hand through his hair, he informed his brothers that he was going to go shower off the blood and then crash, and that he wouldn’t be joining them for there celebrations. Klaus only waved his hand, mumbling that there wouldn’t be one, he himself being eager to join his very pregnant wife in bed.

Although neither party were on particularly friendly terms, Marcel and the Mikaelsons were not actively trying to kill one another. This however, did not persuade a group of extremists from attacking the Mikaelsons in the name of “freeing Marcel from their compulsion”. Marcel was not compelled.

They were exhausted. This was the 4th attack in a week and it was only Wednesday. So Kol trudged up the stairs, careful not to track mud across the carpet (Rebekah would have his head), stripped his clothes and got in the shower where he allowed the hot water to relax his aching muscles.

Kol opened his eyes, consciousness slowly swimming back to him, as shivers ran down his spine. After having scrubbed off all the blood in the shower, Kol had gotten in the tub figuring he deserved the joy. Must’ve fallen asleep. He acknowledges. The water now cold, Kol gets out, and dries his hair but not after putting on gray sweatpants and his favorite sweatshirt, the one that y/n had gotten him for his birthday. His lips involuntarily curl into a smirk at the thought of his best friend and secret crush.

Regardless Kol yawns and flops onto his bed relishing in the warmth of his room, grateful for the modern invention of indoor heating.

I’m hungry. Should probably go eat s’mthin.

Just as sleep starts to wrap around Kol like a warm blanket, the door bell rings.

He frowns against his pillow and listens intently for the front door, trying to figure out who would be here at this ungodly hour. He is rewarded with a familiar voice pleading with something he can’t quite place, “Please Kol, just open the door”. Y/n?

And so Kol makes his way out and into the entryway, exasperated and sleepy, trying to figure out why his best friend would grace his doorstep at this time of night.

“This better be good” he said playfully as he swung the door open. However both his mood and face dropped quickly as he saw the state of the woman he loved. Her eyes were glossy as if she could she right through him, her eyelashes were clumped together where her tears had frozen, her lips and nails were a concerning blue, complementing the purple and black that marred across her cheek and she was shaking as if a gentle breeze could push her over.

“The hell? y/n?” he pulled the door wider, shock and panic starting to take hold.

“Sorry” she murmured, seeming genuine in her apology, “didn’t know where else to go”. And with that she collapsed into his arms.

“Fuck!”

When y/n woke up, it was not with a sudden gasp from her usual, frequent nightmares, or with the same clarity that one had after a good night’s rest. No, when y/n woke up her senses swam back like molasses. The first thing she notices is, its warm. She is wrapped in something warm and soft. Blankets, she concludes. The second thing she notices is the taste of copper and how thick it feels in her throat. Kol. gave hes blood i guess….Kol. She hums his name gently as she gets the vague feeling that she is forgetting something.

“Y/n?” Following the voice, the next thing she notices is the body pressed against her back. She hums again as she rolls further into its warmth. Her eyes flutter open and she is greeted with the face of her best friend and the man she has secretly loved while her boyfriend messed with her mind, filling it with lies. Lies claiming the she could never be loved. She smiles, “Kol”.

Pulling her closer to his bare chest, y/n now wearing his sweatshirt in an attempt to keep her warm, Kol gave a breath of blessed relief at the sound of her voice, “you had me worried, you were so cold, I didn’t think you were breathing.” He gave a half hearted chuckle. Y/n hummed happily as she snuggled backwards closer into the warmth of his body. Kol shuffled the blankets higher over her shoulders and took and careful breath.

“So do you wanna tell me why you appeared on my doorstep half frozen and bruised, without a jacket, in the dead of the night?” His words had an edge to them that he hadn’t intended, as he desperately tried to push away the image of her face marred by black and blue.

y/n stilled, suddenly wide awake, as her memory of tonight’s events came back in a flood. The pain, the heartbreak, the cold, all of it.

“y/n?” She choked back a sob, as the hatred of her boyfriend’s words starting echoing in her mind.

You’re useless and a waste of my time. Guess I was wrong, you can’t be loved. Not even by me!

“y/n”

The crash of the beer bottle was jarring but what was more jarring the punch thrown shortly after the bottle hit the wall.

“Y/n.”

His fist was in her hair now as tears streamed down her face. “Let me go!” she begged. “You’re hurting me. Let me go! Please!”. The door opened and she landed in the snow, as she was thrown out into the icy cold. “AND DON’T COME BACK YOU USELESS BITCH”. The door slammed shut.

“y/n!” Kol was now hovering over top of y/n, desperate to break through her distress. She took in a sudden breath and then a sob as she clung to him. Kol swore under his breath as he started rubbing up and down her sides and legs trying to get her to calm down.

“hey, hey. Its ok. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ll take care of you. I’m going to take care of you okay?”

Another breath, “Okay”.

“okay?”

“Okay.”

Several minutes passed before either spoke again. Y/n because she was to overwhelmed to speak and Kol because he was terrified he would scare her again. As y/n’s breathing evened out Kol laid back by her side and wrapped her leg over his hip as he pulled her closer to him. The intimacy of the gesture caused y/n’s guilt to bubble through into the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Kol was taken back by this.

“For what? Crying? Princess, Its OK, I shouldn’t have asked, I should have just let you sleep and then waited to talk in the morning.”

Y/n’s throat swelled tighter at the sincerity in his voice. “F-For being weak. For being a coward. For showing up on your doorstep at ass o’clock at night!” She said thickly.

Kol pulled back to look her in the eyes and he saw the pain and anguished guilt in her eyes, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to make it all go away.

“Baby girl, I love you, but you’re scaring me. What’s going on? Why were you outside? Why didn’t you have a jacket? How and where did you get the bruises from?”

“J-JJ kicked me out for being home late. A co-worker volunteered me for overtime. H-He hit me and confessed he was c-cheating.” She explained her tears were flowing freely now.

Anger flashed behind Kol’s eyes, and he pulled her tighter against him, like he was using his body as a shield from the outside world. “I’m gonna kill him,” He vowed lowly. “How dare he. How dare he fucking treat you like that”.

Y/n froze, not because of Kol’s vow, that was to be expect of any Mikaelson, but because of something else Kol just said.

“Wait, you love me?”

Now it was Kol’s time to freeze. His anger quickly over-taken by shock and the fear as he realized his slip up. He avoided her eyes in shame.

“y-yeah” his heart stuttering, “yeah I do. “ he whispered.

“Oh thank god. “

And then she kissed him.

#kol mikaelson x reader #february2021promptchallenge #kol mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol x reader #kol x y/n #kol mikaelson fluff #im kinda proud of this #please be nice i'm more confident with poetry #leigh wrote a fic

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romeoandmesittinginatree · 3 years ago

Note

Hello Jet, my love. For your angst prompts, I give you 12 :)

12: Innocence.

No trigger warnings. Based partly on Innocent by Taylor Swift and Innocence by Avril Lavigne.

Honestly I think this is kinda fluffy? OH MY GOD DID I FINALLY SUCCESSFULLY WRITE FLUFF???!!!!?!!??!?

—-

The alarm clock on the side table ticks softly, a steady stream of consciousness in the dream-like moment.

Above the bed, a window is open. The curtains billow like the sails of a pirate ship. Cool air blows through their room, somehow giving a sense of mortality to the otherwise perennial room.

The sheets are soft and thick under his bare skin. He sits up on his elbows, watching the man across from him sleep.

It’s unimaginable, in this moment, that he - either of them - could be who they are. In this moment, there is no war. No death. In this moment, there’s nothing but the rise and fall of his love’s chest and the cool breeze and the love permeating the midnight air.

A hand wraps around his wrist, and he looks down. Groggy eyes open and look blearily up at him. He smiles down at his love, his affection for the man so strong it scares him. There is nothing he wouldn’t do just so long as he got to keep this love safe.

—-

So no other editing was done to this except for sending it to Phoebe and her pointing out how I can’t spell the most simple word ever and then I asked her if I should post it and fucking hell I did it. So like. Have some fluff phoebe.

Completed & Posted: 8:03 pm, September 11, 2021.

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #look I know I don’t name anybody but this is Draco and Harry in my mind OKAY?#but feel free to think of it as whomever you want #as long as they’re gay and in a universe where they’re fighting a war #also yes there is symbolism and yes this is meant to be abstract art #sort of? I don’t think this is technically strictly abstract art but like #you can take it however you want? and so I guess that’s abstract art?#I’m not an art major okay? I don’t know. ask Sarah.#oh um #fluff?#flangst?#soft drarry #drarry fic #my writing

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gizkalord · 4 years ago

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Aight I rewatched the episode in a normal mental state lmao (aka not at 2am.....)! Long-ish post ahead, be warned!

Taken as a whole, it’s actually a nice episode, particularly if you view it from the perspective of how it adds to Din and Grogu’s journey. Din has been increasingly confronted with the idea that he does not want to part with Grogu—he’s already subconsciously assumed the father figure role, but hasn’t consciously accepted or acknowledged the gravity of that yet. I thought it was a nice touch for Ahsoka to realize that he and Grogu shouldn’t be parted before Din (and Grogu) come to that understanding about their relationship. Also, Din just sitting there with baby in his arms for ages actually brought some tears to my eyes upon my rewatch L M A O.

This episode also sets up what I suspect to be the endgame of season 2—I’ll go out on a limb and predict that a big confrontation with Gideon is probably going to take place on Tython as he chases them there. I also have a feeling this is the set up for Grogu choosing to stay with Din and not broadcasting himself for the Jedi to find him. At this point, Din still sees this as temporary, and I think the end of season 2 will see Din and Grogu actively choosing to stick with each other as a family officially, as Ahsoka hints at towards the end of this episode.

The set design was very nice as well—Corvus/Calodan is one of the more interesting locations we’ve had. Really liked the whole misty, bare tree environment (as well as what looked like lava streams from the space view??), as well as the courtyard aesthetic of the showdown between Morgan Elsbeth and Ahsoka.

The fight choreography for the duel was lacking (I’ve already roasted it enough lmao—still think a more Seven Samurai-esque homage would’ve been better and more fitting!), but I think the editing itself was actually quite well done, and the other fight scenes were decent. The cuts between the actual duel and the standoff between Din and that dude (not bothering to look up his name lol) with the sound of the clashes were pretty cool as a concept.

I don’t know much about actual directing but I’ve always wondered if Filoni has trouble bridging the gap between having a LOT more creative freedom with action stunts and cuts in animation vs live-action, and I feel some of the more ambitious (and thus jarring) stunts and camera tricks/work in this episode are maybe indicative of that? There were some beautiful still shots throughout the episode though.

As for the elephant in the room (live action Ahsoka), my opinion hasn’t changed from last night—I think it was just alright. I don’t think the look or performance were as awful as some people are saying, but it also wasn’t a home run for me. Really wish the headpiece had gone through some more workshopping, though. Setting aside any issues with Rosario as a person, it was a decent enough performance with some nice moments but nothing to rave about. It gets an “ok it exists” rating from me lol, and it's not good or inspiring enough for me to replace the image of Ahsoka in my head with rosario’s performance.

also....... wHERE IS THE ANIMATED REBELS SEQUEL ANNOUNCEMENT!!!! filoni knows he’s driving us insane!!!!!!!!!!!

#mando spoilers #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #din djarin #grogu #star wars #sw meta #mags.txt

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saladejin · 5 years ago

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Beyond Breathless | Jungkook

(cr.) Jungkook x Reader | first aider in training!au, childcare worker!Jungkook | s2f2l (not quite there), fluff and crack, awkwardness & touching, confident/bold reader

Summary: One class is all it takes for Jungkook to finally realise that yes, maybe there is someone out there who can put up with his timorous tendencies. Now, if he pays attention, he might just learn how to breathe again.

Warnings: None, shy sub kookie (he’s a mess y’all), and suggestive themes if you really squint

Word Count: 2.9k

<< masterlist

A/N: Ok so this was part of my cuddle prompts game for August 2020, but it turned into a one-shot so I decided to post it accordingly. Also this is a really bizarre take on ‘cuddle’, but it’s there all the same. The prompt was 24.) between strangers.

Took me FOREVER to write and edit because so much was going on, with Dynamite dropping and all these streaming/chart records being broken etc. but anyway I’m just in time to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK & CONGRATS BTS FOR GETTING THE #1 ON BILLBOARD’S HOT 100 💜💜

@vinterjeon this is for you wifey

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jungkook was trying his best to stop tripping over his own damn tongue, but the pretty receptionist kept on asking him questions. Wasn't it easy to tell he was already kind of shitting bricks over here?

"The class began five minutes ago Sir, you shouldn't have missed too much," she said finally, handing the fidgeting man his papers with a smile.

Okay, let me go in then?

Jungkook nibbled at his bottom lip in apprehension when the woman continued to type something on her computer, nails dragging loudly across the keys as if to torture him further for his tardiness.

"I've notified Mr. Lee. Have a great class, Sir."

At the receptionist's gesture towards the nearby glass door, Jungkook immediately jerked into action. He muttered out a small 'thanks' with a bow and tried to take a deep breath, hating the fact that he would now hog every scrap of attention for being late to the class. It wasn't his fault traffic was bad!

Try as he might, slipping into the room silently was impossible when the door itself creaked loud enough for the neighbouring buildings to hear. Jungkook stifled a wince and took in the scene before him with wide apologetic eyes.

"Jeon! Glad that you could join us." Mr. Lee grinned, the easy-going nature of the teacher easing Jungkook's nerves ever so slightly. With a shy bow, he entered the small room and could only count six other participants milling around the empty space.

The teacher clapped his hands together, causing a few of the other attendees to jump in their skin. "Alright, I think we can officially begin."

You shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the newcomer with interest. Jeon? Was that his last name? You had to admit he was quite handsome, but also you couldn't help feeling bad for the guy. He was clearly a blushing mess of humiliation for being late, even if it was only a mere five minutes. You couldn't see any of the other attendees being all that bothered, but as you all lined up in front of the stout teacher, you could almost feel the nerves radiating off the man's body from where he stood beside you.

"Welcome, everyone, to our First Aid Course specialising in providing emergency first aid responses in an education and care setting."

As Mr. Lee reeled off his spiel in that commanding tone of his, you gradually sensed the young man next to you beginning to relax.

Half an hour in, the class had gone over the process of CPR briefly - or as Lee would call it, cardiopulmonary resuscitation - and had even taken turns in performing the procedure on a nightmarish looking mannequin. Jungkook had no idea why some manufacturers decided to paint genuine human features on some of them, but in the end he supposed it added to the whole realistic element of the course.

"Hey there, you alright?" a sweet voice piped up from somewhere in front of him.

Jungkook's form went rigid as he darted his eyes away from where someone was being instructed, flooding with even more confused self-consciousness when he drank in the sight of you. You hadn't meant to intimidate him further, but the way he was so intently focused on the teacher and student currently practising CPR on the dummy had you worried.

"Me? Uh, sorry yeah I'm fine thank you," Jungkook stumbled out, a hand instinctively coming up to rub at his neck which was reddening the longer he maintained eye contact with you. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed you before, but then he remembered how he tended to lose the ability to concentrate in general whenever he was embarrassed or nervous.

You returned his shaky smile warmly. "You just seem a little tensed up. Are you scared of Mr. Lee or something?" Whispering out the last part, you revelled in the sight of his smile widening.

He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "No, I just really need to pass this course. Don't want to miss anything, you know?"

You nodded but had no time to respond.

"Okay!" Lee boomed, gaining everyone's attention instantly. "You've all shown your proficiency at this. Now we're moving on to the next part of the course. Since you're all going to be specialising with children and students once you're finished here, we need to thoroughly cover choking, airway obstructions and respiratory distress since they're quite frequent in childcare settings."

You caught Jeon nodding solemnly out of the corner of your eye, and wondered why he was taking this course in particular. Teacher maybe? He mentioned really needing to pass, so maybe he even worked with young kindergarteners or infants. Eyeing his well-built frame contained within a tight black t-shirt had your mind working a million miles a minute. It was oddly endearing to imagine this moderately tall, buff looking guy caring for kids with such gentle shy eyes, and such a soft-spoken voice.

"Pair up with each-other and I'll demonstrate the choking procedure on adults first of all," Mr. Lee instructed, his bright passionate eyes flashing with amusement as he crossed his arms and waited for his students to spur themselves into action.

Jungkook's eyes met with yours almost immediately, and he had to avert them again out of sheer bashfulness. He only tried to seek you out because he hadn't spoken to anyone else yet, and the way you were chuckling softly at his bout of eagerness had his lips quirking up into a shy smirk. Well, that was decided then.

"You, be my guinea pig for a bit."

It took Jungkook a moment to process that the teacher was beckoning him forward with a sturdy finger, but you were already on the ball and pressing a hand into his lower back before his mind could catch up. Hating the feeling of being watched by everyone else, he tried to ignore the way he shuddered at the combination of your subtle touch and the several pairs of eyes regarding him closely.

The teacher began his explanation, but Jungkook could only hear the rushing of blood past his ears at this point. Why him? Out of everyone here, Mr. Lee couldn't have chosen anyone else? Thinking back, he did remember that being late probably served to single himself out in the teacher's mind. He deserved to be picked on.

Suddenly, Lee's stocky hand was pressing itself into Jungkook's chest, and he only then thought to finally tune in with what the older man was saying.

"Then, bend the choking person over slightly. Preferably parallel to the ground, but as long as they're somewhat sturdy on their feet..."

Jungkook swallowed nervously as the teacher demonstrated by adding pressure to the space between his wide shoulder blades. As embarrassed as he was, it was relieving to see the rest of the students focused on the information rather than him. Some were even practising the manoeuvre already. His eyes instinctively flew to where you were standing on your own, and a sharp tingle travelled the length of his spine when he caught you appraising him with ... interest flashing in your eyes?

W-why?

You watched as the teacher proceeded to explain how to perform a back blow, though not putting his full strength into the heel of his hand in case he hurt his student. "Do this five times, and if the choking hazard isn't removed, we can move on to the Heimlich manoeuvre - otherwise known as abdominal thrusts."

Oho?

You couldn't even suppress the way your lips pursed in amusement, and some of the other attendees around you even exchanged knowing looks with one another, trying not to chuckle at the sight of Jeon's ears flashing a bright red colour in embarrassment. God, he'd never wanted to die so badly.

Luckily, Lee spared him the mortification by keeping his demonstration to limited physical contact. He gave instruction on how to stand behind the victim before wrapping your arms around their torso - to which he only created a circle with his arms around Jungkook - and making a fist shape with your hand, thrusting it upwards into the victim's stomach to hopefully dislodge the object from their airways.

Jungkook couldn't really form a coherent thought at the moment. He was too fixated on the way your eyes were watching the whole scene intently, and he felt so exposed but he also wasn't entirely hating it. Well, maybe only if he could forget there were other people in the room, that is.

His brain on autopilot, Jungkook barely registered his feet taking him back to his original position after the teacher had finished up his demonstration. You were facing him as soon as he got there, and he shoved away the tingles in his belly to cock his head in confusion.

"Well?" you spoke, open palms coming up to urge him into action, but he didn't know what for. He whipped his head around and scoured the room to see the other pairs re-enacting their own version of the choking procedure.

"You want me to...?" he trailed off, hands fumbling in the air awkwardly as he tried to pull the words seemingly from thin air. You hid your smile with the back if your hand, not wanting to embarrass him further by laughing in his cute little face. How someone so big and masculine looking could be so shy and sweet, you'd never know.

"Yeah. Literally just the same as what he did to you." You helped the struggling man with a reassuring nod, not missing the way he was still hesitant to make any kind of movement.

Jungkook wanted to kick himself. "Sorry, I don't think I remember exactly," he sighed out, waiting for you to roll your eyes and click your tongue in annoyance. Instead, you threw him right off guard by reaching out and gently turning him around on the spot by his broad shoulder.

"It's okay, I watched what he did."

Fuck, what?

The hairs on Jungkook's neck stood on end when he heard your footsteps drawing closer behind him against the linoleum flooring of the room, but when he tried to crane his neck around to see what you were doing, you simply chuckled and straightened his jaw forward with a firm dainty hand. His breath hitched when your fingers then lingered ... eventually trailing down to lightly press against the column of his throat.

"What are you doing?" He jerked away, heart thumping against his ribcage so hard he thought he'd faint right there. Your brows only furrowed together in shock.

"Checking your throat to see where the blockage is? It was literally the first step."

You saw the way his eyes fell almost instantly, the internal berating quite evidently written on his features. "Sorry, it's my fault for not paying attention before," he mumbled and bowed his head in apology.

"It's okay. Just turn around," you snorted, thoroughly entertained. He was seriously too adorable to match the way he looked, but you supposed judging books by their covers was an outdated practice in this day and age.

Following the steps, you performed the back blow after pressing down on his shoulders to lean him forwards slightly. His muscles felt so taught underneath your hand, and you really had to battle the urge to just forget the exercise and run your hands down the expanse of his clothed back. Something told you he wouldn't protest, either.

Jungkook didn't know how to feel. His wide doe eyes fixed themselves on your hand that was splayed out on his chest, only serving to steady yourself, and he couldn't help but let his mind wander. When the heel of your other hand came down in between his shoulder blades, he physically lurched. Not because of the force, there was no way you could match him in strength, but it shocked him enough in its suddenness that a tiny grunt fell from his lips.

"Excellent form, (Y/n)!" Mr. Lee spoke up from the other side of the room. Jungkook came back to his senses and straightened his position, briefly catching your beaming smile from the teacher's praise. He just hoped to dear God you hadn't heard his pitiful whimper at your touch.

At least I have a name now.

"Okay, are you doing the Heimlich or am I?" You then turned to him, and he swallowed thickly yet again. This one he did remember a little more vividly, but envisioning standing behind you and pressing his fist into your stomach made his hands tremble slightly. He couldn't do that! What if he hurt you?

"Um, you can." He cleared his throat and gestured to you in a manner he hoped came across as confident. You saw right through him anyway, but the man was still cute, so you let it slide. As much as you longed to tease him, you were still basically nothing more than a stranger right now. Even you knew when some lines shouldn't be crossed.

Your lips curved in amusement and you motioned for him to turn around. "Okay then, I'll try not to make it too painful."

"Don't worry, I can handle-" Jungkook's sudden show of cockiness vanished as soon as your arms wrapped around his small waist. Were you ... pressing yourself to his back? He couldn't remember the teacher going that far, but here you were with a friendly smile and mischievous eyes, shaping your body to his in a way that had his breathing pattern suddenly sharp and shallow.

"Bend over a little," you directed, trying not to laugh at how you could see the tips of his ears burning a bright crimson underneath the black tresses of hair brushing just above them.

Jungkook almost shuddered at the sensation, but fought the urge in order to comply with what you were asking. It wasn't long before you were surprising him yet again by bringing your hands together into the Heimlich fist and flat palm formation, arms comfortably settled around him and fingers brushing just above his navel as you prepared to squeeze.

Amidst his inner panic, you were enjoying this immensely. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to be able to plaster yourself to someone so attractive, and so downright eager to please. You knew it was meant to be strictly professional for educational purposes and such, but the way this guy was responding to you was undeniably exciting. You'd tiptoed the line that shouldn't be crossed carefully, and he only seemed to be liking it more and more.

Considering the way his palms were sweating profusely at the close contact, he knew he was a goner.

With a quick word of warning, you performed the abdominal thrust as gently as you could while still making sure it was firm enough to lift him slightly off his feet. The sudden show of strength stunned him, but he wasn't about to let it show. He'd already made a fool of himself one too many times today as it stood.

"Easy enough." You chuckled, letting the man go quickly so he could regain control of his senses somewhat. He leaned away, but to your surprise didn't move to exit your personal bubble. In all honesty, he had no desire to part from you at all.

You inwardly cursed at yourself for flushing at the thought and raised your hands in invitation. "Did you want to try on me?"

"Ah, no it's alright. I think I have it all now." He flashed a small smile, tapping one index finger to his temple in emphasis. His reluctance confused you, but judging from his largely bashful demeanour, he most likely never planned to make any moves to touch you in the first place. It was forward of you to take the lead, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't in your nature.

There's always next time anyway...

"That's a wrap for this week's class!" Lee's bellowing voice snapped you both out of your thoughts, and you had to blink away the embarrassment from all the shameless staring.

"Hey what's your name by the way, I don't think I caught it before." You tried to save grace with a polite, yet awkward handshake. Jungkook only felt his heart grow warmer at the thoughtful gesture.

"It's Jungkook. Sorry I should've said sooner, before you had to punch the shit out of my back."

That tore a laugh from you, and soon enough all the tension in the air had melted away. "It wasn't that hard, c'mon."

His smile, which you now adored after catching a glimpse of his bunny-like teeth, had quickly become one of your favourite things to look at. "I swear you were this close to beating me up," he joked, feeling more alive than ever.

Jungkook collected his bag from beside the door and filed out into the administration area alongside everyone else. He took a moment to eye the receptionist from earlier, wondering what might have happened if she'd told him he was unable to attend the class after all. Watching you walk away from him with a tiny wave of farewell had him resolutely believing it was fate that brought him here.

He just couldn't wait for next week.

#jungkook x reader #btsghostie #thehouseofbangtan #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook crack #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #s2l au #jungkook one shot #sub jungkook #shy jungkook #requests #salade-tb

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peantbutter-honeycombs · 4 years ago

Text

The Hollowing Series: Part II

Title: The Boy and His Companion

Word count: 3,339

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Originally the story was going to be completely told from the point of Sophia but after a few drafts I decided it should follow Oliver. My college friend who sometimes beta reads my work used to hate the boy but now she likes him. He used to be mean and dismissive toward Sophia but clearly I changed things. Even I quite like his character now.

Speacial Thanks to @underskaro for beta reading this chapter. I know your busy and this really meant a lot to me. So thank so much.

Figured I tag @mirkwoodshewolf because they kindly edited the first chapter and I want them to know I finally got around to the second.

———

The rain had ceased, leaving a heavy blanket of grey white on the hills. It hugged the rain-soaked ground, dancing around each of the kid’s heels. The late day fog controlled the landscape, making it blur in the same way as the opening credits of Mary Poppins.

The entire walk home, the two walked in silence. Oliver, in one hand, held the middle bar of the bright green trike. The metal was ice in his palm. He gripped the bar so tight his knuckles were turning a ghostly shade of white. He held Sophia’s hand in the other, though not nearly as tight. However, still tight enough to make the little girl uneasy.

Sophia would have “said” something if it wasn’t so woefully clear Oliver was cross. His soulful hickory eyes were hard as stone. Instead of their usual boyish spark, there lingered a disdainful flicker. She could swear he was muttering something bitter. Now and then she’d fear a foul word, he’d probably later scold himself for saying.

Whoooooooooo.

He stopped, eyes narrowing. He took a deep, rather stiff breath and sharply exhaled through his nostrils. Adrenaline surged through his system so fast he felt it burn a path through his veins. He spun around, pulling Sophia behind him. Oliver had a glacially callous glare on his face, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The wind tore at the collar of his slicker, and his damp mess of blonde curls. Their surroundings were clouded, hidden, shrouded by the thick veil of fog. Oliver stood silently, the only sound coming from the ferocious flapping of his jacket. He scanned the stretch with the careful eye of a concerned mother.

The fog is not the mist. The fog is not the mist.

The second they arrived home, Oliver condemned Sophia to the time-out chair. She quietly settled in on the stool, positioned in the far corner of the dead end down stairs corridor, without protest. It was an older item. The hand carved mahogany always felt stiff on her bum. But she thought it better not to whine.

Oliver, he sat alone in the living room. A damp, worn out mess of a human being. He tiredly sunk into the couch. He ignored the clammy feeling of his rain-soaked clothes. He completely collapsed across the cushions. Every muscle in his body just surrendered to gravity. He could feel the tiredness pressing on his chest, weighing him down, draining his energy, exhausting his patience.

Why would she think?… Especially now. He rolled off his side onto his back and focused his eyes on the ceiling. She can’t just… Ugh!

He brought a pillow to his face and screamed.

The seconds ticked away into minutes; in the isolation of the sitting room, Oliver let the world around him fade into silence. The minutes ticked into half an hour; Sophia absentmindedly twiddled her thumbs, humming a familiar song in the back of her head; Oliver had been awake for sixteen hours. His consciousness was grasping at straws.

One sniff and Oliver’s eyes are open. He rolled on to his side. Immediately his face fell into irritation. Oliver locked eyes with a familiar pair mere inches from his face.

“I’m not done with timeout. Go back.”

Sophia blinked, processing the instructions she’d just been given. Her eyes darted around, searching his face for any traces of sarcasm or falsehood. Nothing.

Sophia lightly pecks his cheek in the sloppy little kid way. It left a little wet mark, one he’d wipe away once she’d left the room. Oliver chuckles softly, carefully bumping his forehead against Sophia’s. The little ginge giggled, stumbling back, whilst raising a palm to where her temple had been nudged.

“Ten minutes?”

Sophia nods and politely shuffles off.

The landscape blurred, clouded, the fog lingered hovering above the cool streams and the crowned hills. The brilliant greens and vibrant patches of rich wildflower were poking through the fleeting fog. Soon the sun would begin its descent. Lowering, lowering until it was nothing more than a single sliver of gold vanishing on the horizon.

Eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, which rhythmically rose and fell with each dozy intake of breath, Oliver laid quietly on the couch. The father clock at the top of the stairs ticked, the pendulum swung from side to side. Quarter till four, it read.

Sophia sat in her timeout chair, continuing to hum her melodic tune. In these moments of boredom with no toys to play, no stuffy to “talk” to and no Ollie to cling to, all Sophia could do was wait. She sighed, blowing up a long strand of hair that kept dipping, falling between her eyes.

Oliver stuck his head through the white Tudor arch way that separated the sitting room and entryway corridor. Sophia, having somehow positioned herself upside down on the small stool, gave the boy a dopey smile.

Oliver rolled his eyes, pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey Soph a loaf,” Oliver softly sing-songed, sitting against the wall directly beside the timeout spot. Being upside down, her auburn hair fell in waves suspended centimetres above the rough and stained planks. She was holding her shirt down, preventing it from exposing her stomach.

“You… Wanna make a pillow fort?”

The quiet of the house is shattered by Sophia, letting out a blaring squeal. In moments she somersaults off the bench, landing clumsily on the floor. She’s up on her feet in a heartbeat, bouncing, squealing, stomping.

Oliver chuckles lightly. “Sophia, Sophia, Sophia.”

Sophia poked her head through the arch at the call of her name.

Sophia whined, tilting her head as if to ask ‘what?’

“Nothing. Just… love you Soph a loaf. Lots and lots.”

The pillow fort took longer than expected, given that they both took the construction of fort building oh so seriously. They rushed through putting on their pjs, then moved on to making dinner. No one could tell them not to eat under the bedclothes.

“You can’t put peanut butter on grilled cheese!”

Just as it did every day, the sun set. The shadows of the trees and the aging building stretched up the hills, as the golden ball of orangish yellow began its descent.

Beneath navy blue blankets, patterned with rocket ships and sea creature stickers, sat the two children. Oliver had built much of the fort; Borrowing cushions, towels and blankets from around the house. While Sophia had eagerly decorated their cloth kingdom; twinkle lights, stickers, and scribbled drawings decorated the walls and ceilings.

“So her dad was killed-- Ow. By the same agent trying to recruit her?"

Cuddled firmly against his side was Sophia, her body glued against his similar to Double Pops. Every time she moved, her knees or feet would buck, nailing Oliver in the ribs or hip. He had an arm wrapped around her neck, functioning as both a pillow for her head, and one support for the tablet he was holding.

“That’s quite coinc-- Ow! Sophia!”

Sophia bit the edge of her lip, trying to contain her giggles. Her giggle was a violin playing the open string G (Sol), alluring and dulcet. Considering she burst into a mini giggle fit with each jab, Oliver’s face crumpled like a discarded wad of paper.

He could feel Sophia wiggling against him. Her legs squirmed in a boyishly wild fashion. Her knees curved, beating him in the ribs.

“Ow!" Oliver sat up.

“Okay.” He inhaled sharply. His body was stiff from high levels of irritation. Sophia calmed herself, gently curling her toes. Her brown eyes followed Oliver’s movements, becoming larger, curious.

“Sophia, do you have to use the toilet?”

Sophia drew in her lip. She bent her knees, so she grabbed her toes. She stared, thinking hard. He watched as her face became still, eyes blinking frenziedly. Within fifteen seconds, she nodded.

“Let’s go then.” He stood, helping Sophia up.

He crawled out of the fort’s entry tunnel, it was barely big enough for him to squeeze through. They’d run low on pillows, while building some part of the structure had to be sacrificed.

He heard the soft scuffling of sock padded feet against the old wooden floor. “Sophia?” He looked back over his shoulder, realising Sophia was making more noise than necessary.

“No! Soph, you’re not bringing a blanket to the loo.”

“We lay my love and I…” Oliver sang.

Oliver sat on the third step of the stairs. Beating his hands against his thighs. He was a child. His rigid posture had been replaced by a chill slouch. Sophia had taken her time correcting the blanket as she shifted. She was just now clambering out of the blanket fort.

“Beneath the weeping willow…”

Sophia shuffled past him into the next room, across the corridor from the sitting room. As she passed, Oliver gently took hold of the back of her shirt. Sophia backtracked, then turned on her heels to face him. Oliver had a focused look, his eyes fixated on the ginger like a surgeon during brain surgery.

“Sophia. Where are you going?” He asked.

Sophia wrinkled her nose, pointing in every direction. Oliver simply rolled his eyes.

“Then go find your sweater.” He instructed. Sophia points to the room she was headed toward. “No. It’s not in the drawing room. You left it in my room. Upstairs.”

Sophia let out a pout huff, making Oliver chuckle. She looked past him at the stairs, eyes narrowing to a thin line. Nonetheless, she began her slow ascent upwards. A downside of wooden stairs. If you’re not wearing shoes, instead socks, it's easy to slip. Her sock covered feet slipped and slid, making her ascent up the stairs look clumsy.

“One foot in front of the other.” Oliver teased. Sophia, her face only inches from his ear, blew a spitty raspberry. With the satisfying feeling of retaliation, Sophia pressed on.

“Remember to use the toilet.” Oliver reminded, wiping the flecks of spit from the side of his face.

Oliver patted his thighs and then stood. Standing rather motionless, in his sharp black and orange KTM Factory pyjamas, he distinguished himself amongst the rustic clutter of the foyer. After a moment of stillness, he leapt from the third step, landing on the floor with a hard thud. He resets himself, brushing a hand through his mop top of dirty honey blonde hair.

He wanders around the corridor, gently running his fingers across the wall, over the knickknacks and along the edges of the chair rail.

"But now alone I lie..." he quietly sang, “...And weep beside the tree...”

The house was old. Ancient. It looked like it had been plucked from an autumn-aphile's Pinterest board. Time had been kind to the country home. While the creepers crept along the worn grey cobbles, the inside was a monument to times long gone by.

Thump, thump, thump.

Sophia. She was moving around upstairs.

His mother was a collector. Her husband called her a hoarder. She called herself a dreamer. She was a traveller. When she had been young, before the children, she'd seen the world collecting baubles and knickknacks that now cluttered the home.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

"Your feet aren't drums!"

A single overhanging lamp dimly illuminated the foyer, mirroring the glow of candle light. Their neighbour had once asked why they didn’t store all their tchotchkes away in the shed. Stacks of completed books left careless about rough wood carvings from around, antique finds nestled beneath blankets of dust, dried flowers, and colourful drawings from Oliver’s younger days.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

The house, so full of things. Some would shudder at the chaos of it all, others would be queasy because of claustrophobia, and rest would be quietly fascinated.

Oliver stood himself in front of Credenza, pushed up against the left wall. He eyed the reflection staring at him through the distressed mirror mounted about mahogany sideboard.

He’d forgotten a lot rather recently. Thirteen. He’s thirteen. His eyes are a weak shade of brown, not like Sophia’s, the colour of almond coffee. His dirty blonde hair softly curled and tucked, just barely overhanging his sunken eyes.

Thump, thu, thu, thum.

“Singing ‘Oh willow waly’…” he sang, “… by the tree that weeps with me.”

Oliver retreated, leaning against the sloping stair posts. He checked the clock hanging above the front door. Four minutes had passed since Sophia had gone upstairs. Standing there with nothing to do but listen to the creaky footsteps from above.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

“Singing—”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

His nerves abandon him quickly. His breathing becomes shallow and erratic. He couldn’t hear his rapid breathing, the chaotic beat of his heart dominated. His fingers curl into a fist, nails piercing the tender skin of his palm.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

His eyes dart to the clock. 6:11.

It’s as if his hidden sixth or seventh sense activates. Every tick of the clock is a threat, every creak of a floorboard is a risk. His fingers twitched as he defensively moved toward the door. His body stiffens, trying to shut him down before he can reach the front door. He keeps moving.

His hands tremble and his skin becomes rough with goosebumps as he reaches towards the door handle grip.

No one knocks. No one could would.

He grips the handle tightly thumb pressed on the thumb-place, the metal would surely leave a mark on his palm. He finds it hard to swallow, lungs betraying him. Slowly he presses down on the thumb-place, pulling on the handle.

“Hello!”

Oliver’s blood ran cold. He tightened his jaw.

“You followed us?” Oliver murmured. His grip on the door handle tightened, to where he could feel the cool metal dig into his palm. Standing square, shoulders defensively strained back, he felt a knot forming in the back of his throat. Fear sat quietly, waiting like a vulture, ready to claim him.

“You followed us home?” His eyes darted to the Moors, where a small cloud of mist was slowly forming. He wasn’t quite scared. His eyes showed more of a wary concern. After all, he was all that stood between two mysterious strangers and his world.

“Yes. We did.” As he spoke, Oliver observed the Doctor with slight aversion. When he spoke, he’d move his hands about. A little unnerving. Still Oliver held his ground, preventing the Doctor, still a stranger, from entering his home. “We have some questions…”

“Questions?”

Thump, thump, thump.

That’s when Oliver jumps. A pump of adrenaline surged through his system almost triggering his flight or fight instinct. Without his support “system”, it would have been flight. Oliver shook his head, pushing down his panic.

Thump, thump, thump.

He was the barrier between his world and trespassers. A wave of boldness washed through him, demanding he be bold and shielding. However, a light gust of embarrassment from his jump made his cheeks glow.

“You-- you have questions?” he stammered.

The Doctor seemed to take this as an invitation. He moved to enter the cobblestone house. Oliver slammed a hand across to the other side of the door frame, so he couldn’t enter.

The Doctor’s brows pressed together, his shoulders slumped, and his mouth hung slightly open and loose. His expression gave way to his confusion. A hard stone glare carved into Oliver’s tired eyes. A warning. The doctor took heed and took a careful step back.

His lighthearted manner returned within seconds.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m the Doctor, this is my friend Amy. What’s your name?” He asked as he extended a hand out for Oliver.

Oliver shook his head, smiling a little, as he gently pushed the Doctor’s hand down and said.

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

Just because someone introduces themselves, they aren’t any less of a stranger. Though most of what he observed of the Doctor seemed safe, suspicion and caution still governed his mind. He’d be more trusting in different circumstances. But there weren’t many people worth trusting, at least not anymore.

“You’re still a stranger.”

The Doctor nods, scratching at his chin. “Fair enough.” Something about the grown man’s cluelessness. The right corner of Oliver’s lip twitched, threatening to curve upward. He started gesticulating again, moving his hands about as he spoke. “Answer me this then where is everyone else?”

His brain stuttered for a moment, his face fell, and the blood drained from his face, leaving him as pale as a sheet. He recomposed himself, adopting a more stoic expression.

“Home,” his tone was cold, cold as ice.

“Home?”

The Doctor observes Oliver’s shift in manner with calculative eyes. He leans back, arching a brow. Oliver only nods in response. However, he could see it. The Doctor could see it, the fear trying to hide in the corners of the blonde child’s eyes.

He’d figure that out later, for now…

“Tell me, why should we be wary of the mist?”

Oliver scratched the back of his head. His eyes struggled to focus on one point. Again, they settled on the Moors. His stomach twisted and sunk with his nerves, as he gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, wrapping it around his hand.

“Hard to see, you could get lost.”

The Doctor squatted, so that his eyes were level with Oliver’s. He carefully studied Oliver’s face as he lowered his mouth. He went to speak, but Amy, she spoke first.

“Have people gotten lost?”

Thud.

This time his muscles become tense. “I-- I better get inside,” he stammered, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. His unsettled eyes shift down to the ground, avoiding the watchful looks of the Doctor and his companion. Oliver cleared his throat and then croaked out.

“You should get back home, before it’s too late.”

Without another word, he shut the door, leaving the Doctor and Amy in the chill of dusk.

Oliver was silent as he fell back against the front door. The tick of the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs felt louder than before. As the full realisation of his conversation sank in, he ran his hands down his face. A loud groan of frustration flowed past his lips.

It’s foolish to trust, he reminded himself, for no one knows what the mist does hide.

A small whine snapped him out of his stupor. He immediately stood. Sophia stood one step from the top of the stairs. She wore a puzzled expression. Oliver rolled his eyes, his brows creased, and he put on a fake smile.

“It was no one,” he lied, dismissively waving a hand in the air. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “It was no one Sophia, leave it alone.” He insisted, trying to laugh the matter off.

“Now, I have some work to finish.” He said as he moved toward the drawing room. As far as he was concerned, the matter of who was at the door was finished. His mouth twitched into a genuine smile, and his tone softened. “If you’d like, you can color at the desk while I work.”

Sophia shook her head, gesturing with an arm toward the entire upstairs. “No? Just going to play in the upstairs?” He asked. She nodded, making her ginger tresses bounce. “By yourself? Are you sure?” The way her one dimple crinkled, the shifting of her freckles, gave him his answer.

“Fine, have fun, bed in an hour.” Oliver brushed his fingers through his hair, strolling into the drawing room.

Sophia brought a hand to her mouth, then blew him a sloppy kiss. Hearing the noise of the peck from the other side of the archway, Oliver bent an arm back through the doorway to catch it. He cast his head back through the opening, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Love you too Soph a loaf. Lots and lots.” he gently laughed. “You be good,” he reminded moving into the drawing room.

“And Sophia,” His tone became serious, and resigned. “Let's stay out of the master room.”

#11th doctor #11th Doctor x child oc #Doctor who fandom #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #doctor who imagines #doctor who series #11th doctor fanfic #doctor who series 5 #amy pond #ocs #11th doctor imagine #matt smith #karen gillan #noah jupe

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managedmischiefs · 4 years ago

Text

north//chapter fifteen

genre: angst

warnings: prison, mentions of solitary confinement, mentions of physical abuse, spoilers for The Good Doctor, spoilers for Lucifer, alcohol, drugging

word count: 7.1k

summary: spencer gets used to life in prison in the worst ways. amelia goes through a rollercoaster of emotions and tries to cope with spencer being out of reach. she tries to stay positive and convince others that she is okay.

i’d like to say once again that having a good understanding of the prison arc is helpful in reading this fic. i don’t explain every single detail (because it’s unnecessary to) and if you’re not familiar w the storyline, it’ll be harder to comprehend.

school is over so i’ll have more time to edit and post!!!! yay!! enjoy the chapter :)

SPENCER

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, yes, it's clear!"

My heart pounds against my chest and that's all I can feel. Absolute fear and absolute helplessness. I can't do anything here. I've accepted that but maybe I've just been lying to myself. How can I ever accept that I can't do anything to protect myself or protect others? I’ve spent my life protecting. I need to protect. I need to.

The fear and the panic are overwhelming and I'm thrashing around. I can't do anything to stop it. I wish it would stop. The panic is overwhelming. It's consuming. It's eating me alive. It’s too uch. It’s way too much. I need to go and protect. I need to protect.

"Help! Help!"

I jerk awake, drenched in sweat and my hair matted to my forehead. The images of my dead friend are still flashing in my head and as badly as I want to forget, I know I never will. My back and bottom ache from the metal cot I’m on, my limbs stiff in the smaller-than-twin, poor excuse of a mattress.

I twist my body and reach under my pillow, pulling out the journal that my counselor had given me and the pencil, scribbling down my stream of consciousness as quickly as I possibly can. It's barely readable in my chicken scratch writing but who cares enough to read what I have to say anyway? No one. Nobody cares here. Nobody cares about me. I’m nothing.

Getting more and more intense. Got to fall deeper in to beat them. I've lost friends before, but not like this. Not in a box where I have no control. Or do I? Starting to think like them, starting to survive like them. I'm here because I made a choice. What if that means I don't get out alive?

My blood runs cold as I dot the question mark with my trembling hand. I swipe my hand across my dripping forehead and grimace at how wet my hand comes back. I throw my journal onto the floor and lay back down, forcing my eyelids closed.

How could I expect myself to sleep? I'm foolish to think I will. But I keep up the illusion for a while and keep my eyes closed, hoping that sleep will draw me in, but it never does. I just keep replaying the events that plague me every night, and eventually, my eyelids snap open again. The gory images were too much. Then the beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed images became too painful. I scrunch up my eyebrows when I feel a headache forming between them.

My eyes immediately land on the journal, and red hot flames replace my brown orbs. That journal is horrible. It's filled with depressing content and it's falling apart and it's a disgusting brown color. It doesn't have my name in beautiful calligraphy on the front, and perfect drawings of beakers and coffee cups and strawberries and books and records players and decks of cards, and my confessions of love for my girlfriend inside. It doesn't have any of that beauty on the inside. No, this journal contains my deteriorating mind and my disappearing conscience.

Barely having control of my tired muscles, I roll off the bed and land on my hands and knees, holding in my grunts of agony. The cell block is almost silent, aside from the fans blowing around stale, warm air, and I don't intend to piss off anyone by disrupting their sleep. I keep my mouth shut after the initial impact sound.

I make the bed. I fold the corner of the sheets, so they are absolutely perfect. I fold the blanket and tuck it under the mattress. I smooth my hands over the top of the bed to make it perfect. It has to be perfect. If the bed isn’t perfect, it will get torn apart by the officers. They will rip up my bed and take away my blanket and pillow and humiliate me in front of the whole cell block. I don’t need that to happen again. I experienced that on my first week here and I vowed to never let it happen again. I make the bed and then I make it again, then fix it, then arrange it perfectly one more time. Finally. Perfection. It has to be perfect.

I push my journal against the wall and lay on my back, setting my feet flat against the floor and tucking my hands behind my head. I keep count in my mind as I lift my chin to my knees, ignoring the burn in my abs and the sharp pain in my spine from the concrete I'm rolling my bones against.

Once I've reached my goal number, twenty higher than yesterday’s number, I roll over onto my hands and lift myself up, and start my press ups. I begin a new, higher count in my head as I continuously bring my nose to the concrete, and with each time my biceps flex, the anger flares up. I clench my jaw and my stomach bubbles and my head gets light.

Fuck prison. Fuck it. Fuck the fact that I have to be here. Fuck Frazier and fuck his gang and fuck his shank and fuck the fact that he killed Luis. Fuck this whole situation. This is madness.

I'm becoming them. I am them. I either become them or I die, and I refuse to die in here. I refuse to die without curing Alzheimer's and getting married and having children and spending my life hunting the very people I'm locked in here with. I refuse to die knowing that there's a whole life I could live if I keep fighting. I refuse to break law after law in here like my life doesn't matter in the free world. I refuse to lose the person that I was, even if he's slipping further and further away by the second. Even if every time I try to recall the person I was, the images of my own face get more and more blurry. They’re hard to make out.

And maybe he's already gone and I've already sucked in the traits of the felons around me. Maybe I just refuse to accept who I am now. That's more likely than the lies I feed myself.

I work my muscles until the sun peeks in through the tiny window across from my cell. I'm drenched in sweat, even more than before, and my muscles are aching, but it's easy to forget. And if I can't forget, then it's easy to revel and bask in the intense pain.

The correctional officers bring us to the chow hall and we all collect our disgusting food and eat as quickly as possible. We usually only have three minutes for meals. Three minutes. That's it. It was horrible at first. I had to sit at a table, alone, with my shoulders hunched, shoveling food into my mouth. If you don’t eat at chow, you don’t eat at all. I always used to go back to my cell and curl up in my bed, thinking I was going to throw up. The combination of moldy, rotten food and a three-minute time crunch to eat has horrifying results. But now, three minutes is child's play. Three minutes is eating leisurely. I could eat my entire meal in exactly two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Three minutes, now, is generous.

After breakfast is visitation and, to no one’s surprise, my name is called. I wonder who's on Garcia's list for today. They haven't managed to stick to a set schedule yet, due to cases and traveling, so I have no way of predicting who I'll see. I’m always left to wander into the visitation room and come up with lies on the spot.

I stick my hands out and allow Wilkins to slap cuffs on me, but I never meet his eyes. I wouldn't dare to. No amount of crunches or push-ups will ever prepare me to take him. I keep my eyes down and, shamefully, let him push me towards the visitation room.

I scan the little tables for a familiar face and smile the tiniest bit when I see Rossi sitting and waiting for me. He hasn't come to visit me yet, and out of the two people I don't want to visit me at all-- my girlfriend and my mom-- I've been waiting to see him. I resist the urge to push the person in front of me to get as much time with Rossi as possible. I wouldn’t dare risk pushing someone. I don't need a fight to send me to solitary confinement. Huh. Actually, solitary confinement doesn't seem too bad right now. I could get away from all these other inmates who want to hurt me. I could relax in solitary.

I sit down and just give Rossi an expecting look, utterly speechless. I've had so many questions to ask him. I've needed so much advice, but now I have nothing to say. My voice is stuck in my throat. His facial hair is longer. The bags under his eyes are a shade darker. Luckily, he speaks first. "You haven't slept." Okay, not what I wanted or needed him to say.

I just shrug nonchalantly. "It's been a while." What else can I say?

Rossi just nods. What else can he do? "I heard about your friend, Delgado. I'm really sorry, Spence," Again, not what I wanted or needed him to say. I don't want to hear or talk about Luis anymore. I'm tired of dwelling on that. I feel guilty enough. I don't need to see his slit throat every time I close my eyes and then open my eyes and talk about him. I don't need that. When I'm unresponsive to this, Rossi continues. "Is there anyone you can talk to?"

I roll my eyes to the back of my head. If my mother were here, she would warn me that if I do that long enough, my eyes would get stuck there. "We have group therapy once a week. The counselor wants me to keep a journal. So I am, but I don't really think it's helping."

Rossi's furrows his eyebrows. "How come?"

A scoff escapes my lips before I can stop it. "Because no one in here is honest. I mean, not a single person can admit that they're terrified," my cuffs rattle as I move my hands as if to hone in what I'm saying. "If we can't agree on that one basic truth, then it doesn't really matter."

"They could just be numb to it all." That's what Rossi offers up. It could help. It would help if I was in the free world.

"Well," my voice softens and even though I know there are gang members around me and people who want to hurt me, I let my guard down, "I'm not. There's," I drop my head the tiniest bit, "there's a helplessness in here that causes people to do things they'd never consider."

Rossi sighs, and this was what I was scared of. I open up and he has nothing to say to me. He has no world-class wisdom to offer. I'm prepared to do what I did to Garcia and practically ignore him for the rest of the visit, but when he reaches into his jacket, my intrigue beats out my disappointment.

I recognize the calligraphy on the front of the envelope as soon as I see it. It's on the front of every single one of my journals that still lay in my desk drawer. It looks as beautiful as ever in black ink, outlined and accented in a yellow pen. There's a lump in my throat that I try to swallow.

"I had to flash my badge just to get it in here so you better read it. I'm not letting you refuse to read this like you refuse to see her," Rossi moves the letter closer to me, directly in my eyesight.

I swallow the thick lump and slowly raise my cuffed hands to grab the envelope. I carefully, without ripping my cursive name, make a slice in the top with my finger and pull out pieces of paper that I recognize to be paper ripped out of Amelia's journal.

"Did you read this?" I ask Rossi as I place the envelope down.

"It was still sealed, wasn't it?"

I nod and stay silent as I drop my head again. I could cry just at the sight of Amelia's handwriting. She touched this paper. This specific piece of paper. This piece of paper was in her hands, in her apartment, and now it’s in my hands. She sat and put pen to paper and wrote this out for me to read. And with one final breath, I finally bring myself to actually start reading it.

To my love dove,

Hi!! How are you? I'm only okay, but there's something I need to tell you can it can't wait any longer.

I started watching this tv show called The Good Doctor a few weeks ago and I've finished the entire series. Honestly, Spencer, it's so amazing. I think you would love it so much.

I know you don't watch that much tv, unless I'm around, so I'll tell you what it's about. The show is about this resident surgeon named Shaun Murphy who is fighting to get a job at a hospital, but the administration of the hospital won't give him a job because he has autism. But then he saves a child's life in an airport or something (I can't remember exactly, it’s been a while) and does a procedure that is really innovative and outside the box and it floors everyone and the hospital hires him.

The show follows him navigating adult life and relationships and his job and him learning how to be less dependent on older people telling him what to do. He gets a girlfriend and loses his virginity and then starts talking about sex at work which is fucking hilarious but also stupidly inappropriate, and he has a friend who's a girl who his girlfriend has a problem with.

And then (I'm sorry, baby, but spoilers are coming!!) they kill off one of the main characters at the end of the third season! How dumb! Melendez was one of my favorite characters and he was just about to admit to Claire that he's in love with her and then they killed him off for such a stupid reason. The season ends on a cliffhanger! You know how much I hate cliffhangers. And that plot of Claire and Melendez falling in love was teased at for so long and they gave it to us just to take it right away!!!! Cruel!! Do I have grounds to sue for emotional distress? I think there is. I should get on this.

Okay. I've calmed down now.

Fine. You caught me. I haven't. I'll never calm down from my heartbreak over Dr. Melendez. But I can move on for now.

I think you would really like this show and I'd be willing to watch it again with you. I think you'd enjoy it. They talk a lot about medical terms and medical procedures and there’s diagrams and everything. And whether they're accurate and precise or not, I'm sure you'd enjoy picking out mistakes in the procedures or telling me why the procedures are revolutionary. And no matter which option it is, I'm ready to listen and learn.

Before I watched The Good Doctor, I finished watching Lucifer, but I know that you hated that show. But he went back to Hell!!!!!!!!!!! He really did That!!!!! He left Chloe and went to Hell!!!!!! So fucking rude. I screamed out loud when he said he was leaving. Thankfully, there's going to be a season five and maybe I'll make you watch that with me so we can see what happens with Lucifer and Chloe. I debated on watching Star Trek or Doctor Who because you're always talking about how much you love those shows, but I know I won't understand it. I'll need you to explain it to me. I think I'll just wait to watch those with you. Sounds like a good date night to me.

I love you more than words can even express. I miss you more than I will ever be able to say (or in this case, write). I know you're not doing well and I know you don't want to see me but I hope that hearing from me helps you in some way. I don't know how it would but I hope it does.

I love you. I promise, I'll see you so soon.

With all the love in my tiny body,

from your pretty girl,

Amelia <3

ps. idk if you're shaving your face in there but... I'm curious to see what you look like with a mustache and beard... that's a sight I never thought you'd let me see. Hmm. I shouldn't let my mind wander. Sorry. I love you. Kisses.

I read over her letter once, twice, three times. Every time I read it, I notice something new. Every time I read the letter, I notice a teardrop beside a word, of a subtle smudge of a pen, or another hesitation in her pen stroke.

I read it again. And then I read it again. But then I read it one more time. And just when I think I've had enough, I read it another time. I’m on the tenth read before the wheels actually start turning in my head, slower than usual. This letter has distraction written all over it in Amelia’s pretty writing. I don't like medical dramas and I hated Lucifer. She knows that. She acknowledged that in her letter. But this is the kind of thing she would tell me as we're eating dinner when I get home from a case, or as we're laying in bed, or when we're showering, or when we're sitting on the balcony of one of our apartments. This serves that purpose, except this time, it's in letter form. She's distracting me. God, I would give anything to break out of here and drag her to a courthouse and marry her right now.

"Reid?"

My head snaps up when Rossi speaks, and when I force our eyes to meet, he's holding out a pen. I know for a fact that pens aren't allowed. Pens could be considered a weapon in the hands of the wrong inmate. He snuck this in, and I'm not sure how, but I don't want to know how.

I snatch the pen out of his hand and rip the sides of the envelope so there's more room to write, scribbling down my thoughts as fast as possible. I don't want to get caught. If I do, I can't imagine the trouble I'll get in, especially if Wilkins catches me. When I'm pleased with what I've written, I fold up the envelope and hand that and the pen back to Rossi. But I keep the letter, tucking it into the waistband of my pants so it's completely out of sight.

Rossi smiles, putting the envelope back in his jacket pocket and flattening the lapels. "Is there anything you want me to tell her?"

"Tell her--" I'm cut off by a sharp alarm going off, a guard screaming about a lockdown, and for all the inmates to return to their cells. I sigh, rising to my feet. "It's all there. Just give that to her."

///

AMELIA

///

"Hi, Jeannie," My voice is only a mumble as I greet the receptionist. She gives me a pitiful smile, another new tradition that has only formed in the last few weeks, handing over a visitor's pass and watching as I clip it to the pocket of my jacket.

I drag myself to the elevator and hit the up button, drag myself inside, and when it opens on the sixth floor, I drag myself to Penelope's office. My mood is lower than it has been lately. I didn’t really think it could get any lower. But here I am with a heart heart, hunched shoulders, and the inability to smile. I'm not sure why I feel like this on this specific day, as opposed to any other shitty day, but maybe it's because I know that Penelope went to visit Spencer today. All I know is that I barely wanted to drag myself off of Jenna's couch this morning and get dressed and show up here. I could barely pay attention to the new episode of The Good Doctor that Jenna coaxed me into watching with her last night. I could barely get myself to come through the front doors of the building, but I show up to the BAU every single morning like I work here.

I plug in the code to Penelope's door and push it open, and I’m welcomed to a sight that I didn't think I'd see for a while. Luke is kneeling in front of Penelope, and at first, I think that he's finally confessing his feelings for her. My first intention is to silently back away and let them have their moment. His hands are on her knees and she isn’t insulting him, so nothing about this interaction could be bad, right? But then I notice that she's crying, and my heart drops. I don’t back away.

My hand slips off the doorknob and it slams shut, making me flinch on impact. The two stare up at me like deer caught in headlights. I see this expression way too much for my liking nowadays. And judging by the sheer fact that there are still tears dripping down Penelope's cheeks, this isn't good. Nothing is ever good anymore.

"What happened?" I don't step closer, I don't grab Penelope's hand, I don't touch Luke's shoulder. My heart is pounding against my chest and my hands are starting to shake.

Luke glances at Penelope before rising to his feet. "Garcia went to see Reid today."

"I know," I snap faster than I intended to. "What happened to him? Is he okay? What--" my voice betrays me and I can't choke out another question.

Luke sucks in a breath, keeping a stony, emotionless face. "He got beat up."

"Beat up?" I regurgitate the disgusting words that have just been spewed at me, backing myself against the wall. "He got--"

Penelope stands up and moves towards me, lacking her normal finesse. "His face had bruises and he seemed agitated but he seemed fine otherwise--"

"He's not fine if he got beat up," My anger, somehow, quickly dissipates and turns to heartache. My heart pounds against my chest at an alarming rate. My eyes flood with tears and my knees start to give out from under me, and I go sliding to the ground, curling into myself. "He's trapped inside with the people who beat him up and there's nothing he can do."

"Listen," Luke kneels in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder, but I can't bring myself to shake it off or even look up at him, "I'm gonna get an extra set of eyes on Reid. He's mentioned something about another inmate that sounds like an ex-FBI agent, and I think I know how I can get him to protect Reid. Amelia, he's gonna be okay. I'm gonna go to the prison right now and figure this all out. You call me if you need anything at all."

Luke stands again and smiles at Penelope, quickly leaving the room. And once he's gone, Penelope takes his place on the floor beside me, sitting with her legs straight out. She's silent, but I'm not sure why. Is she giving me space? Is she waiting for me to speak? Is she figuring out what to say? Is she too scared to say anything? I wouldn't blame her if she was. I'm not the person I was anymore.

I reach into my pocket and pull out Spencer's medallion, passing it between my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper, keeping my gaze on the metal circle. "I haven't exactly been a best friend lately, or a friend at all. I've just been a bitch."

"No, you don't need to apologize," Penelope insists, scooting closer to me. "This is a really hard time for you. It's understandable. I don't expect you to want to be listening to my guy problems or wanting to drink wine. I mean, I don't even want to be doing either of those things. It seems too...cheerful for right now."

My lips quiver and I try to hold back my tears, but no matter how hard I squeeze the medallion, my tears won’t retreat and my pain doesn’t disappear. "I just really miss him, and I'm really worried about him."

"We all are," Penelope sighs, patting my leg. "But we're working as hard as we can to get him out."

"I know you are," I flip the medallion over and stare down at the compass. "I just hope he comes home soon because I don't know how much longer I'll last without him."

///

The snapping of my pencil against paper shakes me back to reality, and my head pops up. I find that I've been jamming my pencil into my sketchbook, creating a hole in the paper that has effectively ruined my drawing and maybe even ruined my entire sketchbook.

A groan leaves my lips and I drop my sketchbook to the floor, my pencil following. I shouldn't be upset. Whatever it was I was drawing was horrible anyway. I haven't drawn anything good since Spencer got arrested. My art revolves around joy and happiness and the good things in my life and if I don't have any of that, how am I expected to make art?

"Hey," Jenna comes and sits beside me, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table. I don't touch it. She never makes it as good as Spencer. She picks up the sketchbook and lets out a sigh. "It's a shame there's a hole in it now. I liked what you were drawing."

"It was bad," I respond, letting my head fall onto her shoulder. "Nothing in there was any good."

"I disagree," Jenna drops the book and slings her arm around my shoulder, drawing me into her embrace. She’s not nearly as warm as Spencer. "Sometimes, our best work comes from dark places. You know, like comedians. A lot of comedians have depression and--"

"Jen, I appreciate it but I'm not in the mood for this," I murmur, eyelids feeling heavy. I rest my head on her lap and stare up at her, resisting the urge to purr as she starts to brush her fingers through my hair, but it's nothing like the way Spencer does it. Spencer, somehow, doesn't let his fingers get caught in my curls and he doesn't tug on knots. His hands are big and veiny and strong and not dainty and tiny like Jenna's.

"I'm sorry," Jenna apologizes with a heavy sigh.

"No, I'm sorry," I catch her hand in mine and intertwine our fingers, squeezing tightly. "I've been horrible lately. I've just-- what I'm going through with Spencer is no reason to be acting like a bad friend to you. You've been so generous and so helpful and so--"

"Hey, listen," Jenna cuts me off with her sweet smile, "when everything with Spencer is resolved and he's settled at home with his mom and with you, then you can take me out and throw me a Jenna appreciation party. But for right now, don't worry about me. Just worry about you and staying healthy and trying to stay happy, and focus your energy on your happy memories with Spencer."

"You're the best, have I ever told you that?"

"Hey!" Jenna exclaims. "Save it for the appreciation party."

I smile back up at my best friend, nodding slowly. "Okay, yeah, I can do that. Once I get my shit together, I'll throw you an amazing party."

"And I look forward to it," Jenna quips, and then looks at the time. "Okay, I've gotta get to a meeting but you're welcome to stay here if you want. My apartment is all yours."

"No, I think I'm gonna go home for a bit. Probably shower and then get to the BAU with fresh clothes. I feel all," I sit up, brushing my fingers over my cheeks and grimacing, "greasy and oily."

Jenna returns my ruined sketchbook and ushers me out the door, watching me get into my car to make sure I get there safely. I wave goodbye to her before driving off, not even bothering to turn on the radio. I never do anymore.

Trudging up to my door, I unlock it and toss my keys aside, throwing my bag down on the floor and kneeling down to take off my shoes. I pull out my hair tie and drop it to the floor, then leave a trail of clothes to the kitchen. First my denim jacket, then my socks, then my crop top. I'm left in my bra and sweatpants in the middle of the kitchen, reaching into the fridge for something to eat. It’s nearly empty. Of course it is. I haven’t had the energy to go shopping lately.

I reach my hand out but I pause and scrunch up my nose at a strong scent. Why does it smell like bubblegum in here? Again. I don’t even like the scent or taste of bubblegum, and I obviously didn’t buy any gum recently. I roll my eyes, wandering over to the window to open it further and let out the smell. I breathe in a bit of the fresh air and sigh, stepping away and going back to my original plan of getting something to eat. Maybe the older woman next door has a bubblegum candle that she likes to light whenever I’m home.

But the smell is persistent and it's filling my lungs and my brain and my tongue. I start to walk towards the window again but my feet don't let me. It's like there's someone telling me not to go and breath in the fresh air outside, and so, I don't. I stand in the middle of my kitchen like a floundering fish, gripping the island with white knuckles. My head feels fuzzy. My eyes feel like they should be rolling into my skull. It’s that familiar feeling of not having control over myself. That sickly familiar feeling of someone standing right behind me, whispering in my ear and telling me what to do.

But then I feel the urge to shut the window completely, so I do. I rush over and slam it closed with so much force that I think I might break the glass. But I'm confused. I'm so confused. The bubblegum smell is nauseating so why am I closing the window? What is telling me to close the window? Who is telling me to close the window?

I feel my feet walking over to the couch and I lay down. My eyelids feel heavy and I don't stop myself when I feel an intense need to lay down and close my eyes, to rest. I curl up and drift off comfortably, into the best sleep I've gotten since I had the privilege of sleeping in a bed with Spencer.

When I finally wake again, my head is pounding. I whine out loud, curling my knees into my chest and tossing my arm over my eyes, trying to block out the lights above me. But nothing works so I roll off the couch, falling onto my knees in a pathetic heap. I lift my head, finding an empty bottle of white wine on the coffee table. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. I didn’t drink wine today. The bottle is empty but I didn’t drink. I mean, I feel hungover but I know I didn’t drink. The smell of bubblegum is gone.

I reach around for my phone, but after groping the couch and the coffee table, I come up empty. I conclude that I've left it in my backpack which I dropped beside the door. I grind my teeth as my muscles pop when I stand and walk over to the foyer, rubbing my eyes and letting out a dramatically loud yawn. When I get to the foyer, I find that my backpack is nowhere in sight. That's odd. I could have sworn that I left it here when I got home from Jenna's apartment, but I guess in my blackout, I moved it.

I turn on my heel to head back to the kitchen, and the first thing I notice is that it's not morning anymore. It's dark out. My head whips towards the clock and I find that it's almost midnight. I must have gotten drunk. I must have finished that whole bottle myself and the alcohol made me forget. I drank the entire day away, somehow. That's not like me. That's never happened before. I drink wine all the time, I know I can hold my wine. How did one single bottle of wine do this to me?

Shaking my head at myself and pushing away my pathetic tears, I move on to my kitchen. Surely enough, the contents of my backpack are strewn across the island and my phone is right there. What I need it for? I'm not sure. But despite the fact that I've just woken up, I'm exhausted. So with my phone in my hand, half dressed, belly button ring falling out, hair tangled, head pounding, and my brain swirling, I drag myself up the stairs and collapse into bed.

The sheets smell like him. They always do. They always will. The pillow he claimed as his own will always be stained with the scent of his cologne, and no matter the amount of times I wash it, it was always smell like him. I roll over and hug his pillow to my chest, and this time, I don't stop the dam from breaking. I let the tears flow down my cheeks relentlessly and I let the sobs rack my body and I let myself succumb to the depression I've barely been fighting off.

But I don't let my mind succumb too much, not to the bad thoughts that are hounding me. I stumble off the bed and into my bedside table, pulling out my journal and holding it in my lap. My pen moves faster than my mind does and before I know it, I'm signing my name at the end. I don't even proofread it. I don't check for spelling or grammar errors or try to dry the tear stains or fix any pen smudges. I just rip out the pages, fold them up, put on some clothes, and jump in my car.

The doors the the sixth floor open as I fiddle with my visitors pass on my hip. I see Stephen first and he smiles at me, stepping out of the way and gesturing me for me to go past. I thank him softly and go tiptoeing by, pulling open the bullpen door and stepping in. JJ and Tara are talking with Anderson and Kevin by the coffee machine and I send them a wave, but I don't go over to talk. I haven't been in the mood for small talk lately. And besides, it’s midnight. Everyone is here incredibly late to work and small talk would distract them from their obvious mountain of work. They don’t need the extra worry of me showing up hungover and confused. I keep my head down to avoid everyone.

I pass Emily and get to Dave's door, knocking much softer than I have in the past. He calls for me to enter, and when I do, I give him one of the fake smiles I've become so accustomed to lately. "Hi," I state gently.

"Hi," he gestures for me to sit, and when I do, he closes to door. "Are you okay?"

"I am," I nod quickly, probably way too quickly, and bring my backpack into my lap, digging through the contents. "I saw that--"

"Are you drunk?" He interrupts me, narrowing his eyes at me as he takes a seat again.

I fiend surprise, shaking my head. "No! Of course not! Why would you--"

"Your eyes are bloodshot and you're not speaking properly, you're slurring your words," Dave points out bluntly.

I don't move my gaze from his as my hands finally land on what I was searching for, and I pull it out, holding it to him. "I saw on Garcia's board that you're the next to visit Spencer. Could you bring that to him? It's just a letter."

Dave takes the envelope from my hand and admires the calligraphy on the front, the same I always use to label Spencer's sketchbooks. He nods and tucks it into his jacket pocket. "I'll bring it. The prison checks everything and--"

"If they confiscate it, I don't wanna know," I tell him, standing and putting my backpack on again, heading towards his office door. "Just-- everything I have to say is in that letter. I've gotten it out and even if he doesn't get to read it," I shrug my shoulders up to my ears and laugh pitifully, "whatever. I just hope he's safe now."

I go home. I leave with my head down and tears in my eyes. Dave is going to think I’m a crazy drunk who can’t control herself. The reality is, I don’t even know what happened today. I’m just confused and sad. I’m missing Spencer, I hate the smell of bubblegum, and I can’t do my job anymore. Everything is fucking horrible. Everything has gone to shit.

Like clockwork, I bring myself to the BAU the next morning. Freshly showered and in presentable clothes, looking better than I have in months. An obvious overcompensation for what Dave said to me yesterday. I need to show him somehow that I’m okay. Well, I’m not okay but I don’t need anyone worrying about me. I should have practiced my fake smile in the elevator.

"Hey, you," Penelope smiles softly as I walk into her lair, dropping my backpack on the empty desk. "Feeling okay?"

"Meh," I shrug, sitting down in a free chair and drawing my knees to my chest. "I'm trying to keep my spirits up. It's hard, you know? It keeps getting longer and longer since I've seen him and the longer it gets, the harder it gets. I’m trying to keep it together. It’s hard, P."

"I think I may be able to help with that," Dave's voice at the door makes the both of us jump. Neither of us had even realized he had come in right behind me. But I jump to my feet and smooth down my skirt, adjusting my nose ring so it’s perfect and brushing my straightened hair behind my ears.

"Help with that?" Penelope repeats, glancing between us. "Help with that how?"

Dave reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the envelope for the letter I'd written for Spencer, and my heart drops to my feet. Why was I thinking? What made me think he would be able to bring my letter in? He's in a maximum-security prison. Spencer can barely take a shower without prison guard eyes on him. He's not going to be able to get a letter from a visitor without it being checked and rejected first.

"I told you I didn't wanna know if he could see it," I whisper, looking down at my lap and hating the way my eyes instantly burn with tears. I’ve cried too much lately. "You should've just thrown it out. I don't want it back, just--"

He drops the envelope onto my lap to shut me up, but now, it's unfolded and there's writing on the inside. My body jerks ungracefully when I recognize Spencer's handwriting and I snatch it up to read what he's written for me.

To my pretty girl,

The Good Doctor sounds like a great show, and even though you've basically spoiled the whole show for me, I'd love to rewatch it with you. Medical dramas tend to be incorrect with their facts so I'd like to see how much of the show is accurate. And no, I will not watch Lucifer with you. But I will absolutely watch Star Trek and Doctor Who with you. It would be my pleasure to explain them to you.

I think of you every single day. You are the reason I'm pushing through and you are the reason I'm still alive. You are the reason I get out of bed and you are the reason I'm sane at all. You're still my north. Don't forget that. I’m going to come home to you.

Like you said, words cannot describe how intensely and how badly I miss you. Things are hard right now but I promise that I'll see you soon and I promise that everything will be okay.

Listen to some Brahms or Mozart for me. I love you so much.

With all the love I have left to give,

Your Dove

ps. There are no razors here and I haven't shaved in months. Enjoy.

pps. Thank you for distracting me. It worked wonders. You're truly amazing.

I read his letter over and over and over. I examine every single word on the page and I barely even notice when my tears start to fall on the paper. His writing is messy, it always has been, but it's so beautiful. Maybe I think it's so extraordinarily beautiful because I know he touched this piece of paper and now I'm touching it. It's from his heart. It's from him. It's from my Spencer.

"Penny," I whimper out, and she is at my side in a second, placing her hand on my shoulder. "He—” I sniffle and hiccup, “he promised."

"He promised?" She echoes, her voice sounding hopeful but like she's talking to a child. "What did he promise?"

"He promised that everything is gonna be okay," I clutch the paper in my hand, admiring its beauty and counting the strokes that Spencer made with the pen. "And he told me again that I'm his north and-- that's good, right? He's still there, you know, mentally."

Penelope nods at me, reaching down to wipe my tears. "Yeah, Amelia, that's really good that he said those things."

I drop the letter to the floor and throw my arms around Dave, crying into his shoulder. "Thank you so much. Thank you for doing this for me."

He hugs me back tightly. "Anything to see you and the kid happy. Anything for you two."

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