#anyway no one needs to respond to this I was just laying awake being haunted by visions

[grandwretch]

thinking a lot about how in a watsonian pov Lucas's motivations make a lot of sense and I support the character but in a doylist way his s3 arc has always rubbed me the wrong way bc i feel that the motivations of fictional black men almost always revolve around the concept of popularity and what is Cool and Masculine

and like yes white fictional characters often also interact with those concepts but like. they are also given other plots and I feel like young black men usually aren't. like black teen boys are always written as either jocks obsessed with what's cool or nerds who are obsessed with what's cool. like its disturbing how often fiction is set up to imply that a black person whose entire identity doesn't revolve around the acceptance of others must be miserable.

there is almost no presence of a gleeful black nerd in any medium. which is odd to me because I feel like, in the years before Marvel and Halo made being a nerd "cool", it was my black friends who introduced me to most of the nerdy shit in my life. Like, I probably never would have gotten into anime at all if not for a guy on the bus letting me read his copies of Yu Yu Hakusho. Most of the video games I play are because they are genres I used to play with a girl who I only became best friends with bc we were the only two girls who were into anime in our class. we got into dnd together.

and like it could be argued that Lucas feeling pressured to turn to sports is only because of this stereotype, but I don't think acknowledging the stereotype within the narrative actually makes it different from all the others.

[winniemaywebber]

Honeysuckle Rose

masterlist

part two

“This is the Greater Anglia service to Bury st Edmunds. Calling at Diss, Ipswich, Elmswell, Thurston and Bury st Edmunds.” 

The familiar voice of the train announcer startles Olive awake, her head banging against the strong plastic window. She finds that, embarrassingly, she'd been drooling and she wipes her chin with disgust. Pulling out a compact mirror from her handbag, she takes stock of her bleary red eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips, groaning at her rough appearance. All this was the result of a hangover, due to a celebration of her leaving the city the night prior. She had known it was a mistake the second she had agreed to having a going away party the very night before moving back to her hometown. Unfortunately, her fuck around and find out nature had consequences yet again, the movement of the train causing her stomach to churn, her insides doing somersaults and a subtle belch leaving an aftertaste of cheap cider clinging to her tongue. 

The countryside whizzes past the window as the train picks up speed from its previous stop, Olive trying her best to avoid looking at it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wishes to be anywhere but here - here on this train, moving back to her hometown after finding a job after drama school didn't work out, her parents being extremely blasé about what she would do or where she would go next. They'd packed up and moved to South Africa on a whim six months prior, leaving Olive even more lost and confused than she already was after being thrust into adulthood and self sufficiency. It wasn't until Grandma Pearl had called two weeks ago, saying she needed an extra pair of hands at home while her regular helper Joan adjusted to widowhood. Olive had agreed - very begrudgingly, however. The thought of going back home after all this time had caused Olive's shoulders to seize up, the tension wracking her body.

“Wow, Olive Lewis!” a voice cries from across the carriage. Turning around, Olive sees a redheaded man walking cockily towards her. It's only when he's right in front of her and she smells his familiar scent that she recognizes him. “Long time!” 

“It sure has been, Kyle. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, good, good, thanks. You here to visit?”

“No, actually,” Olive says, gesturing towards her two large suitcases sat in the chairs opposite her. “I'm moving back. Moving in with Pearl for a little while.”

"Shit,” he says, his eyes suddenly full of sympathy. “I'm sorry things didn't work out.”

“Nah, don't be. It's okay. I think I need it, anyway. London's too loud, too overwhelming. Glad to be back.” It couldn't sound more untrue, despite the smile she'd plastered on her face. 

“Maybe we can grab a drink? Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah, Kyle. Cos that went so well the first time.” She blinks up at him through your lashes, lips pursed before pushing a breath out and smiling. “I'd like that,” she says. “Let me get settled and I'll call you. Same number?”

“Same number,” he responds, before beginning to walk away. “See ya, Olive.”

"Bye, Kyle!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she murmurs under her breath the second he's out of earshot. She'd been back in the county not even for half an hour and already the ghosts of her past were back to haunting her. Laying her head on the window and willing this migraine to disappear, she breathes out slowly, just wanting this day to be over. 

The train stops with a sudden jolt, Olive's head whacking against the plastic yet again. “Fuck me!” She yells, before staring apologetically at the other passengers. 

“Emergency stop. Cattle on train line. Thank you for your patience.” The booming, deep voice of the train conductor over the tannoy causes everyone to jump. So bloody British, a lady stands up and begins offering Murray Mints from a small bag. “We're going to be here a while,” she sings out, passing the bag along row by row. Taking one and smiling weakly in thanks, the nausea disappears the second the sweet is in her mouth. Peering out of the window once again, Olive takes in the place she grew up in, the beautiful green fields a shock to her eyes after living in a mostly gray, drizzly city like London for so long. 

Three dairy cows run along the field, the shell of an airplane stood in the middle of it. Trying her best to remember her local history, Olive recounts the model of the plane: a B-17, from when the Yanks had been stationed at nearby Thorpe Abbotts during the war. Feeling a strange nostalgia for a time she'll never get to experience, she pulls her book from her bag for the first time this journey, once again getting lost in A Midsummer Night's Dream.

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 @piastrinho

Olive's playlist

part 2

[luna-writes-stuff]

Hey! I hope you're having a good dayyy

I saw ur requests are open and since ur lookin for sum,, can i request a thorin x reader fic (if ur still accepting hehe) where the story is similar to the ending part of the movie Artificial Intelligence (idk if you've watched that but ye the ending goes like this:

The boy (main character) wished to be with his mother again one last time, if only for a day :(( And so the aliens granted him this wish bbbut the mom didn't know she was already dead like after the sciency stuff, she woke up just like it was an ordinary day, and when the 24 hrs was up, she went back to sleep not knowing that that was the last time they'll be together :<<

So I was thinking maybe botfa?, either the reader or thorin died and then ^^^ anywayyy the magic is up to you ✨

I hope ur cool with dat,, if not that's perfectly fineee HAHA

One last day, Thorin Oakenshield

Just reading this request left me suffering. I hope I did your idea justice,,,,

anyways;

Headcanons, genderneutral pronouns

Tw: Pain. Lots of pain. Angst. Pain. Flashbacks to botfa. Pain.

- Thorin’s death had been the most difficult on you. You were left alone to rule a kingdom you didn’t have any experience with. Balin had helped you immensely, yet with every step you took, you felt as if you only worsened the kingdom.

- During the Battle of the Five Armies, you had been fighting on the other side of the planes, separated from your One. By the time you reached him, he had already left this world. You hadn’t even gotten a proper chance to say goodbye.

- And that thought had haunted you ever since that horrible day. Everyone had watched you dwelling, trying to guide others while you were unable to guide yourself.

- And then Gandalf finally decided that enough was enough. He had offered to help you say goodbye. If it would bring you closure, he’d do it for you. His terms were simple: he would bring Thorin back for one day, no more, no less.

- And you agreed, for obvious reasons. Perhaps a opportunity to say farewell would help you progress his death better. You had spent the entire evening thinking about what to tell him and what to do. You had been thinking non stop, until sleep finally caught up with you.

- The next morning, you (surprisingly) hadn’t woken up to the bright sun shining through your windows. It wasn’t the laughter and talking in the halls. It hadn’t been Balin knocking at your door. It had been snoring that woke you up. For weeks you had gone to sleep on your own, with nothing but darkness and silence surrounding you. But now, a snoring was heard. One that hadn’t been there the night before.

- You carefully turned around, but stopped halfway, noticing an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Your eyes quickly followed the trail of arms to hands, trying to understand exactly what was happening. The excitement of yesterday had washed your sense of reality within a matter of hours.

- Your breath had caught in your throat upon recognizing the hands. The rings it held, the small hairs resting on top of it, the way the fingers were shaped, but more importantly, the way they held you, the thumb resting gently as the rest of the hand held onto you. It had indeed been Thorin. Your Thorin.

- Tears had already started gathering in your eyes, harsh reality settling in. This was only for one day, but he was back. He was alive. Back with you.

- As the tears blurrier your vision, the quietest sniffle escaped your throat. Suddenly, the snoring beside you had stopped, an annoyed yet confused moan following it.

- You tried your best to get a hold of your emotions, but it was difficult when a scientifically dead person lay right next to you, as alive as you had been.

- “Amrâlîme,” he softly uttered, his voice deeper than usual, laced with sleep and confusion. Only hearing his voice again made another sob escape you, “are you alright?”

- His arm turned you around, now coming face to face with him. His hair was up in his usual braids, yet it was a bit tousled. He had his normal sleep attire on. Everything appeared as if it had been a normal morning. No injuries or blood covered his face and his eyes held life, instead of the horrifying look they had held when you saw him last time.

- Yet, as life had been shining from them, so was confusion and worry. His earlier question finally reached you and for once, you had no idea how to respond. What would you have to tell him. Would you give him the cold hard truth or enjoy your day of pretentiousness?

- “Just a bad nightmare.” You answered, trying to wipe your tears away. With no words left spoken, Thorin dragged you into his chest, your head resting on top of his heart. His beating heart. The sound of it alone, resurfaced a new pair of tears, your hands clinging onto his shirt tightly, holding him for a while, not ready to let go yet.

- Thorin had no idea what was happening or what had happened. In his eyes, you indeed just had a terrible nightmare and needed his comfort now more than ever. No nightmare has ever left you this shaken up, but he wasn’t there to ask you about it or to judge you about. He was content just laying next to you.

- The entire morning was just spent in bed, not even speaking that much, just holding onto each other, softly dozing off again, happy to be engulfed in his warmth and smell again.

- When finally deciding to get up, Thorin had been quick to grab you close to him, already busying himself with braiding your hair. The feeling had grown foreign to you, yet so nostalgic.

- As it became your turn to braid Thorin’s hair, you made sure you did your absolute best. Making them look perfect on your definite last day with him. You tried not thinking about it too long, knowing Thorin would grow concerned, and that was not how you wanted to spend your last day with him.

- When walking along the empty halls of Erebor, you held onto his arm, walking with him as if you were seeing the halls for the first time. He would tell you stories about the portraits or the stone that was being carved before Smaug took over. He would tell you about his heritage as he had done a thousand times before when in the Hall of the Kings. And you’d listen to it all. Occasionally offering a short question or a well appreciated comment.

- You had taken the opportunity to ask him about ruling and how to best approach certain situations, making sure to remember him after he’d be gone again. That way, there would still be a bit of him in control of the mountain.

- But the day had quickly run by, leaving you with only a few hours. You tried to make him stay awake all night, but Thorin was always looking forward to sleep. It had been there ever since the day the two of you met. His favorite time of the day had always been night, so he could let his worries fade away as sleep took him over, you content in his arms.

- And then you decided to finally ask that lingering question. Without thinking about it too long, you just asked him straight forward; “Thorin, I have a bit of a weird question to ask you.” You began. Immediately; his attention was on you, holding onto your hands gently.

- “Would all of this make it possible for you to die a happy dwarf?” A bewildered look flashed across his face, clearly taken aback by the question. “What makes you ask me that?”

- Now you had been driven in a corner. You had no idea how to respond. Should you be honest with him? Did you really have choice?

- Yet, a quick lie suddenly came to your rescue. “Just the nightmare I had tonight.” You explained, rubbing your thumbs over his hands. With that answer, Thorin smiled at you, one of his hands cupping your face, his figure stepping even closer to you.

- “With you by my side, I’d die anywhere a happy dwarf.” He commented sincerely.

- “You truly mean that?” You had questioned, not knowing if he had been just trying to soothe you or actually speaking the truth. But then yet again, Thorin had never been one for lying.

- “With all my heart, Amrâlîme. Truly.” And with that, he put a soft, yet lingering kiss on your lips, making you wish you could stay like that forever. You had believed him the moment he had uttered these words.

- “Now, I’m exhausted. We should go to sleep. It’s been a long day.” The dwarf concluded, toying with the end of your braids before dropping them. You mustered a tiny smile his way before climbing into bed.

- In a matter of moments, Thorin had been beside you, his arm around you like it had been this morning. You snuggled into his chest, playing with the rings around his fingers as his breath softly tickled your neck. Only now, your tears resurfaced.

- He hadn’t feared dying. Not as long as you had been with him. And you had been. For nearly all your life. You placed a small kiss on his hand. It was your small way of saying goodbye and thank you, but he didn’t know. For him, it had been a small sign of saying “I love you.”

- “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kurdel. Sleep well.” Thorin mumbled, placing his lips on your lips, a regular goodnight kiss he’d give you. But it wouldn’t suffice this day.

- You turned around, wrapping your arms around him as you kissed his lips in response.

- “I love you, Thorin. You do know that, right?” You mumbled against his lips, nearly touching them.

- “Of course I do. Men lananubukhs menu, ghisvashel.” He whispered back, kissing you once more.

- When you were finally happy with your goodbye, you laid your head on his chest, satisfied to hear it beating for a moment. The soft tapping of it lured you to sleep after a while. Thorin followed you shortly after it, always falling asleep only after you had. He was holding onto your hands, a proud smile on his face.

- And that’s how he left again. Happy, with you in his arms, knowing he had reclaimed his homeland.

- Upon waking up the next morning, you hadn’t even been that sad anymore. You knew Thorin died a satisfied man, and it was enough to bring you the comfort you needed. And finally, after a long few months, you felt confident enough to take the mountain into strong hands, ruling it as he would have. The braids he had made the morning earlier were still freshly in your hair, somehow seemingly untouched. And you left it like that, happy to care the smallest bit of him around with you.

[vicarfelix]

Internal Suffering

Vicar Max x Fem! Captain

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 2,756

“Captain. You’re better than this.”

“Is she okay?”

“Should we get SAM to break open the door?”

“Damn. No amount of alcohol in the world could drown out what she probably saw.”

“ERROR. Status of Captain’s door...LOCKED.”

Max finally held up a hand to silence the rest babbling crew that was expressing their concern for their Captain from where they sat around the kitchen table. They had known something was wrong the moment that Ellie, Max, and the Captain returned to the ship after they had been out for almost two days. She didn’t say much at all, only offering a brief hello before snatching a drink from the fridge and taking a shower before keeping herself buried away in her quarters. 

She was bruised and had minor injuries in various places. Not to mention that she hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours. But it was clear that was the least of things on her mind.

Max had managed to convince her to open the door long enough for him to check on her, which didn’t amount to much considering that she practically yelled at him to get out and leave her alone for a while. Max usually wouldn’t give up so easily, but he could tell that (despite her angry tone) she wasn’t mad. 

She was hurt.

She was completely rattled by what they had seen today. An ugly painting of horrific images and gruesome smells that not even the hottest of showers could wash away. It would haunt her for weeks to come, and on top of that, she was worried about how this was affecting her crew. 

Thankfully, she had taken Max and Ellie along today, which made her feel a bit better considering they were two of the more thicker skinned of the group. Still, she felt guilty for exposing them to that. 

Max and Ellie gave the crew a brief rundown of what had happened. While they were sickened by it, they were more worried about the Captain.

“Come on. We just want to know if she’s okay.” Felix pleaded.

“She’s just seen probably the worst that the colony has to offer,” Ellie huffed; “I’d be worried if she was okay.”

Max sighed heavily. He was beyond concerned. It wasn’t like you at all to shut out the crew like this. It wasn’t like you to shut him out. He was afraid that this had pushed you over the edge.

“She wishes to be by herself,” Max announced; “We should all give her some space and let her work it out.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mr. Vicar.” Parvati replied.

“Yeah, I don’t think she ought to be alone after seeing something as traumatic as you’re saying it was.” Nyoka detested.

Max shook his head.

“I know. But she doesn’t want to talk to us. We don’t need to push her.” Max pointed out.

Felix looked stunned at that, his eyes widening.

“She must be really shaken up if she won’t even talk to Max.” He said, clearly alarmed.

While Felix’s statement had innocent intentions, it caused a sting in Max’s chest. It was true that the Captain always seemed to flock to Max when she needed to talk. It was a mixture of things really. He was a professional when it came to listening to confessions, but he was even more comforting being as he was her boyfriend. She never felt like she couldn’t go to him when she needed him until now. 

It was killing him that she was closing herself off to him.

“She’ll be alright. Give her a couple days...or weeks. She’ll feel better when we get this job done.” Ellie stated.

Max sure hoped that Ellie was right. He wasn’t going to be able to stand it if the Captain never got over this. For now, all he could do was keep his arms open to her for when she was ready. Or for when he knew she couldn’t take it anymore.

The crew dispersed reluctantly to finish out their chores to close out the day, the Captain weighing heavily on their minds. Max went to take a shower to wash off the blood (some his and some not his), dirt, and sweat from his body. He took a moment to reflect on what he had seen earlier, realizing that he hadn’t given himself a moment to process everything. He wasn’t quite like Ellie Fenhill who preferred to drink herself into oblivion until her mind was too foggy to remember much of it. He’d rather come to terms with it on his own time.

Max had killed more people that day than he had the entire time he had been traveling with you. The strung out marauders and the doped up test subjects were probably the most terrifying people he had ever encountered. They were basically soul ridden beings with no sense of purpose or morale. They were just blood thirsty, violent animals that were once loving people.

That was the scariest thing imaginable.

Max stood under the stream of water until it threatened to turn cold, prompting his exit. He changed into a pair of clean clothes before leaving the bathroom, debating on what he should do next. By the time he had freshened up, everyone else had turned in for the night. The only sounds were the humming and singing around the ship, as well as Felix’s beloved Tuesday night adventure serial coming from his cabin. 

Max eyed his own cabin, the only one with the door open and the lights turned on. Max chuckled to himself as he entered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually spent an extended amount of time in his cabin. Ever since establishing a serious relationship with the Captain, he found himself staying in her room pretty much always. Her cabin was much larger than his, and despite the fact that her bed was exactly the same as his, he was convinced that it was comfier. 

Maybe because he always had someone he loved snuggled up to him at the end of every day.

He ran a hand through his damp hair to somewhat even it out. It always seemed to have a mind of its own when water dripped from his graying hair. She had always told him that she liked seeing his hair somewhat out of order, which was why she was likely the only person who had ever seen his hair unkempt.

He wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping alone, considering he had gotten so used to having her with him. But if she didn’t want him, then he would respect her desires. He bit the inside of his cheek in disapproval when he tried to stretch out onto his bunk. He sank into the mattress that hadn’t been used in quite some time, but it didn’t feel the same. 

His entire cabin just didn’t have the same comfort that hers did. Although, it wasn’t her cabin that he found comfort in. 

It was her.

Every other thought was occupied by his Captain. He wondered what she was doing as he lay there awake, worrying himself beyond measure. He was beginning to go against his own word, tempted to go to her even if she had pushed him away. She was struggling right now. She was suffering. 

He couldn’t just let the woman he loved be in pain like that.

He got up from his bed, quietly going down the stairs to the Captain’s door. The red light above her door indicated that it was still locked, and he couldn’t get in unless she opened it from inside or ADA unlocked it for him. It was awfully quiet from inside the Captain’s quarters, and he hoped that she was just asleep.

He traveled down to the ship’s computer asking ADA nicely to unlock the Captain’s bedroom. ADA, however, almost always gave Max a run for his money.

“I cannot take orders from anyone other than Captain Hawthorne.” ADA informed the vicar.

He groaned. 

“I know, ADA, but I’m worried about her. I just need to get into her room.” Max explained.

He always felt so stupid arguing with a machine. Although, ADA was likely light years smarter than he was.

“I can only take orders from Captain Hawthorne. You are not Captain Hawthorne.” ADA replied.

Max grumbled to himself. He’d have to take a different approach.

“Well...can you at least tell her I want to speak with her?” Max questioned.

“The Captain gave me direct instructions not to converse with her unless there was an emergency. Is this an emergency?” ADA acquired.

“No...” Max responded gruffly. He was a little surprised that the Captain had taken so many steps to avoid anyone from seeing her; “How would I go about unlocking her door myself?”

“Hypothetically, her door would automatically unlock if I entered a rest cycle. But that requires my restart button to be push-”

Suddenly, ADA’s screen went dark as Max put her into a manual rest cycle. The Captain usually ordered ADA to take a rest cycle overnight anyway unless something with the ship went wrong, so Max didn’t feel bad for shutting the computer up for a bit.

He commuted back to the Captain’s door, the doors whirring open to reveal what appeared to be an empty room. The Captain wasn’t sitting at her desk or laying in her bed, and she appeared to be nowhere to be found. Just as Max went to panic, he heard a sound. 

It was a soft noise that he would’ve missed if the room hadn’t been as quiet as it was. He followed the sound of sniffling over to the far corner of the room behind her bunk. 

The Captain was backed into the corner, knees huddled up to her chest with her head buried behind them. Her towel from her earlier shower was still wrapped around her naked body, indicating that she hadn’t even gotten dressed afterwards. Her skin was dry now, and her hair was just barely wet as if she had been there the entire time. She raised her head from her knees when she felt his presence, revealing her reddened, watery eyes and blotchy cheeks from her hours of crying. 

Max’s heart broke at the sight of his Captain falling to pieces like this. She was hands down the strongest, most confident person that he knew. He always reminded her how proud of her he was for always being the bigger person and doing what was right. Maybe that was his mistake. Perhaps he had made her feel like she had to be at her best all the time. 

She looked at him through bleary eyes, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tone thick with sobbing.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She apologized, almost choking on her cries.

Immediately, Max was sitting at her side, her head falling onto his chest as she wailed. He eventually brought her into his lap to hold her close, rubbing her back up and down and kissing her temple. He hushed her, hating the feeling in his gut every time she sobbed out again. Her face was buried into the soft material of his shirt, her tears staining it. Her arms and legs were freezing from being exposed to the cold air of her quarters for so long without clothes, Max’s hands rubbing up and down to provide her some warmth.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.” He hummed, holding the back of her neck in his hand.

“It was horrible. I’ve never seen anything like that,” She cried; “I don’t know how Spacer’s Choice could ever be capable of something like that.”

“Spacer’s Choice is arguably the most powerful corporation in the colony,” Max spoke; “The stronger the company, the more room there is for catastrophic events.”

The Captain sat up from his chest, leaning against Max’s leg that he had hiked up for her to lean on.

“I fucking hate the Board,” She hissed; “If I have to personally put a bullet in the skull of every single person involved then I swear to Law I’ll do it.”

Max was alarmed by her harsh words, his hands coming to her face to wipe away her tears.

“Captain. You’re better than this,” He remarked; “What’s the number one rule you always tell us? Try to talk it out before pulling the trigger.”

The Captain shook her head. Her tears had dried, but the anger coursing through her was giving her more energy than she had in days. 

“It’s becoming obvious that doesn’t always work. I don’t care if I have to wipe out every soul in Byzantium if it means overthrowing the Board.” She growled.

The last thing that Max ever wanted was for the Captain’s heart of gold to be hardened by all the things she had seen. In the beginning, the Captain had the most hope for the colony’s revival. Now though, her hope was diminishing with each new discovery she made.

He didn’t want her to become a lost soul the way that he had been for so long.

“What happened to my darling Captain? This isn’t you.” Max stated.

“I want the Board out of the system. Halcyon’s never going to make it with them around.” She replied in fury, ignoring his question.

“Captain, I-”

“I personally want to throw Sophia Akande out of an airlock.” She went on.

“Listen to me, this isn’t-”

“I’d like to throw her in a cell and pump her full of drugs just like-”

“Stop,” Max cut her off; “This isn’t how you do things. I know this isn’t how you want to do things.”

She finally let her tense shoulders relax for a second. Her eyes falling downward, her hands fiddling with the edge of her towel. 

“I know,” She whispered out; “I’m just tired of seeing so many people get hurt. Earth was never like this...not really.”

Max felt relief. Now she was beginning to sound like herself again. He pushed her hair behind her ear to reveal her pretty, but tired face. He caressed her face with his hand, her cheek resting in his palm. 

“If you keep doing things the way you have been, taking things day by day...then we’re going to be fine,” Max said; “I believe in you. I believe in us.”

She nodded, his hand falling to her waist and rubbing through her towel. 

“What do I do now?” She asked.

Max smiled softly.

“For now, let’s get you in bed. We can figure everything else out in the morning.” Max said, kissing the Captain’s knuckles in a gentle manner.

“Okay.” She replied.

She had to admit, it felt nice to have someone else giving orders for once.

Sleeping the rest of the night away was sounding really good to the Captain right about now. Without really giving it a second thought, the Captain let her towel fall so she could get dressed. She caught the way his eyes lit up at her naked frame, a blush evident on his face as he looked over her. She smirked a little, the first real positive emotion she’d had all day.

“You’re blushing, Vicar.” She teased,

His grin was blinding, as he pulled his leg in more to bring you in closer. 

“It’s hard not to,” He purred; “Beautiful...”

She kissed him like she meant it. His hands were warm on her exposed skin as he touched her the way he had dozens of times before. She ran her fingers through his hair, his smirk showing on her lips.

“I’m here for you. I love you.” He rumbled deeply.

“I love you.” She returned.

Max guided her up from the floor, wincing at the way her joints cracked from being uncomfortable for so long. He got her into a shirt to sleep in, bringing her over to her bed and getting her comfortable up against him. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. The feel of Max next to her and the softness of the mattress under her was enough to send her straight to sleep. Max was tired too, but he wanted to make sure she was okay before he got any sleep. 

He knew she wasn’t totally back to normal. It’d be a while before she felt like herself fully again. But he didn’t care how long he had to wait.

He’d always be there for her.

[stitch1830]

Family

I wanted some fluffier Kantoph than what I'd been previously posting (and I meant to post this yesterday whoops). But anyway. Hope you enjoy! And I hope it makes sense but I can't keep reading it lmao.

......

He woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, noticing the silent restlessness of his partner beside him.

Kanto turned in their bed to face Toph, trying to assess the situation and the cause of his sleep disruption. He noticed Toph’s stiff shoulders and quick, rigid moves, as if her muscles were involuntarily reacting to something.

She was having a nightmare.

They didn’t happen as often as he expected, especially when he considered the things she witnessed as a child. But nightmares were still nightmares and all were taken seriously between them, and they learned early on that having to wake her up was always the most difficult part. Still, Kanto did what he thought best for his partner, and he prepared himself to gently prod Toph awake.

The moment his fingers met her shoulder, Toph’s hand whipped around in defense, and had Kanto not been prepared for this, her hand would’ve hit him right on his jaw. But he swiftly moved back to dodge her ‘attack.’

He called out for her to wake. “Toph?”

She didn’t respond to his words, but instinctively threw her arms in the air, trying to find contact with whatever disrupted her initially. Toph’s fists came bearing down at Kanto at an alarming rate, and he grabbed her wrists in defense. “Toph! It’s me, you’re having a nightmare.”

He could see the tears welling up in her eyes, she fought for her life in the nightmare, but was unable to yell or scream. Kanto maintained his grip on her wrists, moving with her jerky movements and calling out for her to wake up over and over. His thumbs gently rubbed her skin and hoped to bring her back to consciousness.

“Toph,” he whispered. “Please wake up.”

Her watery eyes showed signs of awareness, and when she finally woke up, her tears fell as she choked out his name.

“Kanto,” she said breathlessly. “I—”

He pulled her into a tight embrace before she could finish her thought. And when her arms wrapped around his waist and she clung to him for dear life, Kanto rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Toph said nothing, but balled up his t-shirt in her fists and silently cried into his chest.

They never talked about their dreams. Both trusted each other with their life, trusted that they would pull them back to reality when they were too terrified to wake on their own, but admitting to their fears and becoming vulnerable was a new experience for them. Being weak wasn’t an option when they were younger, and vulnerability wasn’t a trait they wished to broadcast to the world, sometimes even to each other.

Still, they always asked if tonight was a night where talking about feelings was necessary, and almost every time when they asked each other, the answer was always, “Not tonight.”

Except today.

He asked her like he always did. “Do you want to talk about it?”

And instead of a shake of her head, she mumbled something into his chest, and he pulled away slightly so he could hear her properly. Toph let out a quiet sniffle and whispered, “It’s almost always the same.”

Kanto remained silent as they lay back in bed while Toph settled her head to rest on his chest. His heart hummed a rhythm that soothed hers, and every breath and beat she felt with her ear and fingertips gave her clarity.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt brave enough to be vulnerable to Kanto. He had her heart, and she his.

Toph took a deep breath in sync with Kanto’s, and she recalled the dream that haunted her for years. “There—there were a lot of times I was close to dying during the war, but there was only one time I thought I was going to.”

“When the comet came?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I was with Sokka and Suki, we got separated from Suki, and then Sokka and I were apparently surrounded by Fire Nation troops.”

“Apparently?” he asked.

“I couldn’t see. I was—” it took her a second to formulate her words. The experience was one she would never forget, but to say it out loud was something she had never done before. “I was dangling from the blimp, I could only see Sokka.

“He said that this was probably the end, and I could feel the truth in his words through his hand. All I could think about was how I was gonna fall and not know when it would be over. I would just fall, until I didn’t.”

“Toph—”

“And then as our grip started to slip, for some reason I was so determined to hang on to the last shred of vision I had.” The tears began to well up again, but she couldn’t stop talking now. The liberating feeling she got after speaking was too strong to stop. “I just wanted to hang on to the feeling of my friend until it was over. But then there was a crash and he let go and we fell onto another blimp.

“And every time I dream about it, it’s just playing out all the ways that I could have fallen. Or should have. If I fell, if we both did, if I had let go, if he let go of me… Every time I go to sleep I get this feeling that I’m playing out the scenarios that should have happened. I shouldn’t be here.

“It’s like I’m just waiting for the day I actually fall.”

Toph didn’t realize how much she was crying until she felt Kanto’s damp shirt underneath her. Her hand on his chest curled up in a fist, angry that she even let herself become so affected by this stupid dream.

But perhaps there was a part of her that thought that deep down, her dreams really should’ve been reality. That the only thing that kept her tethered to the world was the naive thought that loyalty and friendship and hope would keep her alive, but all were a childhood fantasy. If the scene unfolded in her life tomorrow, she wouldn’t survive. It was a silly thought that Toph entertained whenever her nightmares showed up, but the fear embedded itself into her, and no matter how hard she tried, the nagging voice in her head always told her the same thing after she woke up from a dream:

You are a burden to your friends.

When the silence invited Kanto to speak, he did. But when he responded, he answered her thoughts more than her words. “But you’re fighting those scenarios. When I try to wake you up, you fight back, because you don’t wanna fall.”

“Yeah,” she quietly scoffed. “I don’t, but—”

“But Sokka would never let you go. He’d rather fall before he let that happen,” Kanto explained. “All of them would rather fall than let you go, but Sokka especially. I hope you know that.

“And I will fight a thousand soldiers and fall a thousand times before I ever let you go.”

His words meant a great deal to her, and his reassuring hand on her back and the one engulfing her fist on his chest comforted her. Everything he said was true, but still. She felt so uneasy.

It was as if he could sense that, too, for he continued, “Your friends are loyal to you, not because they feel bad or obligated to help you, but because they want to.  You’re not a burden, you’re their friend and they love you. They will always have your back; they’ll never let you go.”

Thoughts swirled around in Toph’s sleepy mind, comprehending what made Toph Beifong love her friends, what made her love Kanto. And the answer came relatively quickly to her considering the hour in which they were talking.

Her friends were loyal. They loved her. The same could be said regarding Kanto.

And what a beautiful and comforting feeling that was to hear those words out loud, and to hear and feel the sincerity from Kanto.

The man had more to say, apparently. “I know you sometimes feel like you have to face things alone because of your past, but you don’t. You have a family in them, maybe...” Kanto’s voice trailed off, leaving Toph wondering what he was implying.

“Maybe, what?” she asked, sitting up on his chest. Her mind was reeling, and she dared to think of the possible scenarios he could have told her, wishing and hoping for… a sign.

Kanto let out a quiet sigh and gently brushed her bangs out of her face, tucking them behind her ear. “Maybe… Maybe one day you’ll consider me part of that family.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, and Kanto must’ve assumed it was a bad sign. He began to ramble in an attempt to walk back his previous statement. “I mean, obviously not now. For fucks sake, that would be crazy. I’m just saying that maybe, in the future, I can be something more to you? If not, that’s okay too, it’s just that I love you, and I consider you my family, but I totally understand if—”

Her lips on his interrupted his stream of consciousness, and when Toph felt his quickened heart rate slow, she pulled back, resting her forehead on his.

They breathed together, and Toph thought about what Kanto said, all of it.

At the mention of her friends, her family as he said, she felt at ease. Kanto was right, they loved her and would protect her, even though most of the time she could handle her problems on her own. They were there when she needed them most, and that meant everything to Toph.

And when Kanto implied that they could be a family, she felt so much love and hope. Toph wasn’t one to plan for the future, but with Kanto? Her mind wandered years down the line, curious about what they could become.

Truthfully, she liked what she conjured up for the two of them. All that was left in her daydream was to know whether or not Kanto was on the same path as her, and now she knew for certain that he was.

With her forehead still on his, she smiled. “You’re my family, too, Kanto.”

His heart fluttered and she could feel him grin widely at her comment. “I’m your family?” he asked. Spirits, his voice was so childlike and hopeful, like it was his birthday and was about to receive the greatest gift of his life.

“Yeah, Hotshot,” she smirked. “You’re my family, and I’m yours.”

She barely had time to finish her sentence before his lips found hers again. He turned them over in the bed and he was on top of her, kissing her and grinning like a fool while he did so.

“A family. You and me against the world, Angel.”

“Is that okay with you?” she lightly teased.

“More than okay,” he replied, his voice giddy with excitement. His arms playfully wrapped around her waist and imitated a platypus bear hug as he said, “I’m holding onto you and never letting go.”

Toph grinned at his antics and accepted his barrage of kisses.

In the back of her mind, Toph thought of how quickly the night’s conversation veered and shifted. But Kanto had that effect on her. The smallest gestures and words of sincerity changed the outcome of most sensitive subjects, and every time, it never ceased to make Toph smile. He was always there, he would always be there, and he told her he was never letting go.

She felt the truth in every word he spoke to her, and Toph felt so safe and happy with him. And she knew that was how it would be with him until the end of her days.

[4point7]

THWACK - A Negan One Shot

Summary: a load of words slung haphazardly together to create a modern masterpiece. Written for @negans-lucille-tblr​ 6K Roll The Dice Challenge using the prompt “ I'm a slave to your games. I'm just a sucker for pain “.

Characters: Negan x Reader (ft. Floral Wallpaper)

Rating: 18+ but maybe less than 98

Warnings: All the warnings. Don’t read this if you get offended by anything typically Negan. Floral Wallpaper.

Word Count: 1,963 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound of the clock echos through your mind. It suffocates your thoughts as it reminds you of the monotonous grind of time. Every "tick" amplified through the dark. The space between each one extending for eternity as the silence between them crashes through you like unrelenting waves on a crumbling cliff face, slowly beating away at your resilience. The rest of the community sleeps blissfully as you lay there, your consciousness unwavering.

Tick.

You roll on to your side and open your eyes, staring blankly at the wall. The floral wallpaper, once pristine, now peels away slightly at the seems, unveiling the illusion of perfection, breaking the once perfect pattern.

The luxuries of the past have long been abandoned. What's the point in keeping the inside looking nice any more? Compared to the horror that lies in the world beyond the mildew covered window of The Sanctuary, the room you're in, even in this state, IS luxury these days. You only need to see a couple of Walkers have their heads smashed in to be cleansed of material desires and become satisfied with basic needs being met.

Another tick of the clock calls an end to the time you're willing to designate to falling asleep. You sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, exposing them to the chill of the air that your bed sheets were protecting you from.

You feel the layer of dust and dirt on the soles of your feet as they connect with the cold floor. You reach to grab your clothes from the chair next to the bed and pull them on, taking the time to dust the debris from your feet before donning your boots.

You open the door, trying to muffle it's creak by pulling it softly and slowly away from the latch before stepping out into the hallway. You would rather not wake anyone. People would get suspicious if they saw someone walking The Sanctuary grounds in the early hours of the morning.

You make your way along the corridor to the door that leads outside and gently push it open. The cool breeze from outside washes over you, almost through you, as it breaks into the corridor. You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs, calming you, if just for a moment.

The door comes to a stop with a soft thud, fully revealing the early morning landscape. The trees and buildings in the distance consumed by a mist that spills onto the roads towards you.

As you step out, gravel crunching underfoot, a glint catches your eye. You follow it to its origin, finally laying your eyes on the steel barb wire coiled tightly around a baseball bat, like a snake wrapped tightly around a branch. It's doing no harm where it is but anger it and it will bite! Lucille, resting by the man himself, Negan.

You wonder if you can back away, sink back into the darkness of the doorway but it's too late, even though he isn't facing you, you know he knows you're there.

He stands, leaning on a barrier, his folded arms resting along it supporting the weight of his upper body, leather jacket taught across is broad back. Lucille stands propped against the barrier beside him, perfectly inanimate yet still so menacing. It's like the bat had a presence all of it's own, bringing fear to many while being nothing more than a prop to the horrors of it's master.

You have wanted to be this close to Negan for such a long time but now, in his presence, you freeze. Just standing there taking him in, feeling your heart thump harder in your chest, adrenaline surging through you.

"You just gonna stand there pissin' your pants or are you gonna join me?" His deep voice startles you for a moment, you weren't expecting him to speak. You walk over and lean on the barrier next to him, staring out into the mist.

You sense him turn to look at you but you don't dare look back. Not yet.

"So... who are you?" He says in a gentle deep drawl.

"I am Negan", you respond, now turning your head to look him, traces of a smirk lining your lips.

He chuckles and looks back to the landscape. "Holy shit balls, we got ourselves a joker!"

You don't take your eyes from him, taking in his profile. It's not until you're up-close like this that you can see his imperfections, the lines starting to creep across his skin, breaking the perfect appearance, reminding you of that floral wallpaper.

"What the fuck are you doing awake at this time, Comedian?"

"Can't sleep", you respond.

"Huh. No fuckin' shit!" He pauses for a beat and you say nothing. "Me either."

"Why?" You pry and he lets out a sigh.

"Could you fuckin' sleep if you had to do the shit that I do? Smashin' dead fuckers' heads don't make my prick hard, Joker! Smashin' livin' fuckers', even less so but some fuck's got to protect and lead this community. They haunt me. Every one of the cunts marchin', around my fuckin' thoughts like they're on parade. That's why."

It's an honesty you weren't expecting from him. You had always been sold this fearless, unfazed persona yet here before you stood a man troubled by the actions of his past. Almost broken. For a moment you let yourself pity him.

"Does nothing ever help distract your mind? Help you sleep?" You ask.

"Fuckin' my wives! At least, it used to. But knowing their just fuckin' me out of fear has started to take the shine off the pussy, if you know what I mean? Shit! I wanna slip my cock down the throat of a fucker who wants it, not just because they feel obliged. Then I might have the release I need". His hand slips down and gently caresses the handle of Lucille as if unconsciously.

You're so close to getting what you have wanted for a long time and you know you can get it if you play your cards right.

"WANT ME TO GIVE THE OLD CODGER A DAVID BLOWIE?", you exclaim.

"Oooh err, yes please, if that's okay with you, like? If you like don't mind and stuff and that?" He says back in a melancholy tone not far from how a school boy might ask for his ball back when he kicked it into his neighbours garden.

"You want to?"

"WANT TO? I'D FUCKING LOVE TO!" you whisper. "GIMME THAT WONDER WURST!"

You drop to your knees. Ouch! You think. You should have gotten down gently. Why the fuck you decided to drop so hard no one fucking knows.

You undo his pants revealing his big, flaccid whopper. "It's flaccid." You say. "Yes" he replies.

You stick out your tongue and touch the head of his penis with it as though your testing an ice lolly to see how cold it is. THWACK! His instant erection ploughs into your chin, essentially upper cutting you, and knocks you over. His meat looks like a big fat sausage that's about to explode. You get back to your knees and take his shaft in your hand. "Hey ho, here we go, yo!", you sing into his flesh stick like it's a microphone, before... boom! You slam that happy package right on down your gob hole! Your head smacking back and forth like your headbanging to a heavy metal track. Your throat is making noises like a fucking plunger making hard work out of a toilet or some shit. Like gluh, ung, gug, guh, glug, guh, guh, guh, gug, gluh, ug, ugh, glug... ... guh, gluh, uh, ugh. You had to stop in the middle there to take a little breath. You are human after all.

Anyway your smashing his trouser snake and shit and he fucking loves it and all that and he is like "yeah, yeah, ooh, fuckin' yeah" and shit. Drool is all puddling on the floor beneath you and all that and like splashing all over the place, you know. Like, step off Shamoo, people need to be careful of MY splash zone! And you like grab the shaft in one hand and the balls in the other and stuff and your like working it like that. Your tongue giving it the biggun on his nut balls. Like slip, slop, lollipop mother fucker. Better tongue action than a fucking ant eater. You pushing your tongue down his urethra and give a good old lick all up in there. Then you start slurping on that junk like a fucking kid trying to get the last of their slushy. And his eyes are popping out his head and shit and he's like "Holy shit balls, joker this is a damn acceptable level blow jay." And you like slap it on your forehead and shit and like maybe prod yourself in the eye with it a bit, I dunno. And you like slap it and he looks at you like "uh okay, I s’pose" and then you slap it again because fuck it. And back in the face opening it goes. Plunger noise returns. And he maybe grabs your hair or maybe not, maybe if you're into that and you're not but maybe you are. And he is all like, "I'm going to do a cum" and you're like "pardon?" And he's like "I'm going to do a cum" and you're like, "sorry what?" And he's like "I'm going to..." and you stop sucking and are like, "I'm so sorry, I can't hear you over the racket". He's like, "ever so sorry, I was just letting you know, I was going to do a bit of a cum" and you're like, "Right you are, Sonny Jim" and stick his whoopsie back in your cock pocket of a mouth. Then all of a sudden, without any warning whatsoever, *pew, pew* he does a bit of a cum in your throat making you gag. Then like a fucking fireman's house, white spaff juice sprays out of the end sending you flying backwards as he drenches you with his load. Like DRENCHES you. When he is done, you pull a hanky from your pocket and wipe the corners of your mouth. You have some class after all.

You get to your feet and walk back over to him, a twinkle in your pink eye.

"Thanks Joker, that was okay, I really fuckin' needed that".

You blush slightly and lean in for a kiss. As your faces connect you take his lip in between your teeth and hold it there. You hold it there until you feel it go slack in your grasp, until his eye's glaze over and then you pull out the knife you had plunged into his throat, his blood starting to gush over you. His body goes limp and falls to the floor with a thud. The vibration knocks Lucille from her perch and she falls across his slumped body. You wipe the blood from the knife on your shirt and place it back through your belt, behind your back. You had finally got what you had come for and you didn't care what it took to get it. You didn't fear the walking dead but you did fear what someone might do to you if they found you like this so you decide it best to head off. You step over Negan's lifeless body and start your walk home. After all, people will be waking up soon and it's a long walk back to Alexandria.

... oh yeah! You sing "I'm a slave to your games. I'm just a sucker for pain" as you walk off or something.

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI.1 / XI.2 XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII - XVIII - IX

Chapter 20

You didn’t die, but you’re not sure you’ll be alive for much longer either. It wasn’t night, but you were both asleep, curled up on each other, gathering strength for whatever was scheduled for you.

Before you could even register the door of the cell opening with a loud squeak you felt a prick on the side of your neck and your world fell again into the darkness.

You’ve woken up with a startle, wrists bound behind your back and you’re laying on the floor in the back of a vehicle, blindfolded; this time, you fail to set yourself free: the knots are too elaborate as if somebody knew all the tricks Miranda has shown you.

The vehicle is moving fast, but aside from the driver, you don’t know if you’re alone, or if Miranda is there too - you doubt she’s the one driving, for one, can you call for her? See if she answers? Or the people behind this will punish you? You honestly don’t care: it’s worth it.

“Miranda?” Your voice is hoarse, your throat hurts, but you don’t regret it when you hear her.

A loud bang.

“And you ask why Victor put you on the phones, you idiot!” She barks.

Not the words you were expecting, but it’s something already: at least now you know she’s in there somewhere close to you.

“We’re almost there anyway, just shut up, Miranda! If it weren’t for me-”

“Fuck off.”

That sets the argument.

What the hell is going on? Is Miranda bound too? She’s in the back too, but awake and talking to the driver - a woman - as if they know each other, and rather well. A friend? Another one of Victor’s? A repentant or simply someone who owed Miranda?

“Stay put.” She tells you, her hand glides your calf. You stir at first, startled by the contact, but you soon find comfort in her presence. “I didn’t want you to get upset and hurt yourself.”

The vehicle stops. The doors are opened, Miranda, besides you, fumbles around and rushes out, not before freeing your wrists in a quick movement.

Still incredibly confused, you pull yourself up and tug the blindfold away.

The bright lights blind you for a moment, your limbs feel too heavy to respond or sustain your weight just yet, so you wait, trying to focus on the two people in front of you: Miranda is shoving papers into her pants, the other woman is talking to her fast, a grave expression on her face. She looks familiar with her black hair pulled up in a ponytail and those haunted eyes - you think you’re mistaken but then the memory flashes in your mind: the glass box inside one of the halls, the woman inside politely answering calls with her headset on. She’s not just any person, she’s the receptionist and she, too, works for Victor. Can you trust her? Despite the friction, Miranda surely seems to.

“He’s reassigned me to England, we don’t have much time.” She says urgently, lightly punching Miranda on her shoulder to call her attention. “I was supposed to hide in the cargo, you take my place, I’ll manage. It’s safe, you can disappear from here.”

Swallowing, you take the surroundings in for the first time: you’re inside a hangar full of planes and boxes of all dimensions and shapes. If it’s not some illegal activity going on in there, it all seems awfully suspicious.

“Not like that- we’ve talked about it, Cecilia!” Miranda protests, gritting her teeth.

“Yeah, I lied.” The woman shrugs. “You’re so fucking stubborn it was the only way. It’s easier if you’re alone, you know it. Don’t be stupid, Miranda!” She cries out. “Besides, don’t be selfish: you’re the one at stake, she can walk out of here and make this all just a bad memory.”

They both look at you with the corner of their eyes and you suddenly feel involved in the discussion, even if it hasn’t been up to you, until now, to make any sort of decision.

Pretend this was all just a dream, from the night she kidnapped you to this, renounce Miranda to give her and yourself the best chance, forget all about this and build another life on the embers of the old ones… it wouldn’t be easy but not impossible. Miranda gives you no future, as things are. She has made you quite clear that she might care for your wellbeing, but that’s as far as she’ll go - and you can’t help wanting more. It’s a dead end.

It’s up to you to put the closure to something that it’s finished before it has even started. She might not feel the same, but you can bear the thought of being her undoing, for whatever reason she’s reluctant to save her own skin.

“Go.” You blurt out, shifting closer to the edge and putting your feet to the ground. “What are you waiting for?”

Miranda looks at you, she swallows, ducks her head, and stares at her own feet for a long moment.

“No.” She croaks out.

“Why?” It’s a chorus, coming from both you and Cecilia. You exchange a glance, you avert her eyes when she glares spitefully at you.

“Because.”

“Miranda!” You protest, try to stand up. You do, stumbling a little, without closing distance with them. “Get on the fucking plane and go!”

“Shut up!” She barks. “I’m thinking.”

“There’s nothing to think about!” Cecilia interjects angrily. “Victor will haunt you down as long as you breathe, the tracker is still online. Your best chance is overseas, trust me. He’d have you both killed by tomorrow anyway.”

Miranda lets out a frustrated sigh.

She takes a few steps away, pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage.

Somewhere close, an engine starts. Men scream to load the last few supplies, others call numbers, boxes as big as cars get pushed on the ramps and into the belly of large planes. It feels like being in the middle of a military base packing for wars… maybe they are packing for wars, but those are not military men.

Once again, Cecilia says there’s no time to fool around: it’s now or never, she won’t be able to get on board and the already slim chances to get away will reduce to zero.

“Miranda, get on the fucking plane!” You shout again, not minding to sound desperate or hysterical. It’s a matter of life and death, right? If she’s safe and far away, you’ll both have high chances to survive. It’s for the best.

Miranda pauses, grits her teeth, and turns to you.

“I will go on the plane, only if you come with me.”

“You’ve always been mental, but this-” Cecilia rolls her eyes, grabbing the brunette by the arm and tugging her roughly back to prevent her from getting closer to you. “It’s too dangerous for the both of you, can’t you see it?”

“No, it’s not!” Miranda replies, tugging herself free. Again, her blue eyes are on you - begging, commanding, you don’t really know. “Come, please.”

You shake your head, chuff out a bittersweet chuckle.

“Give me one good reason.”

Miranda moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue. Carefully, she approaches and, this time, Cecilia does nothing to stop her.

“You said you wouldn’t leave.” She says in a small voice. “It wasn’t the apartment that had you trapped. You chose to stay.”

“That was… in the past.” You murmur back. She’s right: you said you wouldn’t leave - the fact that you said you wouldn’t leave her was implicit, something either of you ever addressed specifically. “Things have changed.”

“Yes, things have changed.” She agrees.

Always cryptic in her consideration, Miranda leaves you puzzled. “You must come.” She whispers, walking even closer in your direction. “I can’t protect you if you’re not with me.”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. She’s asking you to follow her still, even if she can’t offer more. She claims she wants to protect you, but for what? After all, you’ve been through together, you can take care of yourself, besides, you hope you’ll be able to leave everything behind quickly.

Protection for its own sake, given just because she feels guilty, or responsible, it’s not what you’re looking for, especially from her. You know what it’s like to be bound to somebody, you don’t wish for her to feel bound to you out of that.

“Miranda, that is not enough.” You murmur, shaking your head.

“But it is enough.”

“It’s not enough for me!”

Miranda lets out a frustrated sigh. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, rubbing her forehead furiously with the pads of her fingers.

“Do I really have to say it?” She says softly, voice low, almost resigned.

She looks and sounds vulnerable and the mere sight has your heart skip a beat, you feel it pumping in your temples, louder and faster.

“Say what?”

“The reason why you need to be on that plane, with me.”

“Why?”

Miranda is quick to close the distance between the two of you, now. You gasp silently when you feel her hands cupping tightly your face, thumbs pressing under your chin to push your head up, forcing you to lock your eyes into her blue ones, coated with a watery sheen.

She swallows thickly, parts her mouth, and warm puffs of air fan your lips.

“Because I love you too, you stupid fucker.” She breathes out, the words ghosting against your skin, lapping at your soul as if they were alive. Something blooms within you, and you can’t help but smile when she does it too. “Please, m’eudail. Come with me.”

[corvidshipping]

Heartbeat

Summary: On a sleepless night, Possum tells Cliff they think his heartbeat is comforting. He’s not quite sure what they mean Pairing: Cliff Stｅｅlｅ/Heather “Red” Bowers (Possum) Warnings: none Rating: G/T Word count: 2.8k A/N: Editing? Outline? bitch what outline here we go

The manor creaked and sighed in the wind, the ancient and fragile upper floors almost seeming to sway with each gust. Cliff's heavy steps echoed through the silent halls, his eyes straining to pick up obstacles in his way with only moonlight to guide him. His outdated cameras failed him often even in good conditions, but in dead of night he usually had to make his way nearly blind, worsened by the lack of other senses like touch. He cringed internally as he noticed, through the static in his hearing that was ever-present now, how loud his footsteps were, and he wished it were easier for him to walk softly. He hoped it wouldn't wake anyone up.

As carefully as one could in a metal body, Cliff made his way down from his bedroom to the living room of the manor. A digital clock glowed softly on the mantle, a nightlight that the Chief liked to keep for Dorothy. The lit numbers read 1:47 AM. Cliff sighed out loud at the sight of it, realizing he had been trying and failing to sleep for almost three hours. He had managed it, at one point, briefly, but was haunted by visions of the past melding with the present - watching the accident over and over from an outside view, every time Clara replaced by someone different. Dorothy, Jane, and at one point, for some reason, Rachel Weisz was there. He watched a specter of his daughter, trapped in her youth, falling into the hands of Mr. Nobody. He saw worlds where he had died, and Clara was retrieved, her brain shoved into a cold, metallic prison, unforgiving and unfeeling. He heard his only child screaming, trying to cry, slowly realizing that robotic eyes could spill no tears. That was the worst dream so far, and the one that jolted him awake hours ago, the one that kept occupying his brain with anxieties and guilt.

An odd feeling rose within him, one he had grown unpleasantly familiar with. In his youth - that is, when he was human - he would grow sick with anxiety, a physical feeling that felt heavy in his gut. Now, with no body, he had no physical response to the near-constant dread, but a phantom response followed him, something he thought of as a leaden ball. It almost always was accompanied by a ghostly chill, one he should not feel - the expectation of a feeling that his brain, the only soft and organic part of him left, still remembered. Uselessly, Cliff shook his head, as if he were a dog trying to clear his ears of water. He tried to pretend the motion helped.

In the dark, Cliff ventured to the couch, dropping heavily onto it. He wasn't sure why, truly, he still sat there. Not like it's any more comfortable than anywhere else, he thought bitterly. He supposed it was habit, or maybe just that these joints were stiff, and it was awfully hard to bend enough to get up and down off the floor. Getting up the stairs was enough of an effort as it was, he didn't need to make life harder for himself. He blinked slowly, he needed to get his mind off this. His thoughts were just running in circles now, a car on an empty racetrack, making endless grim laps.

Somewhere to the right of him, the curtains fluttered over a closed window, the glass fogging just a little.

"Hey, Possum." Cliff's voice was quiet, and tinged with a hint of static tonight. He turned his head to the window to see writing forming, as if drawn by an invisible finger.

"It's late." The window read, drips slowly forming in the condensation. Slowly, the writing faded back into fog.

"Yeah, yeah, like you're one to talk. We're both awake right now." The curtain moved again, gently. He wondered if that was their way of laughing.

In the silvery moonlight, a soft voice rang out, barely audible and almost a whisper. "I'm a ghost. It's my job to haunt people late at night."

The resident bump-in-the-night, Heather Bowers - or as she preferred to be called, Red, and as Jane had christened her, Possum - could not be easily described in generally accepted terms. In the 1970s, when she was in her 20s, she was met with a terrible accident in small-town Ohio that she refused to speak about. At the exact moment of this accident, her latent psychic powers apparently activated, causing her body to cease to exist and become a thoughtform - a living consciousness, separate from a body, that exists only in its own thoughts, spread across multiple planes of existence. They now spent most of their time incorporeal, floating through the halls (and sometimes the walls) of Doom Manor, rattling chains and giving ghostly moans - the usual fare for a stereotypical ghost. At times, they could become corporeal - though it consumed quite a lot of energy - and, as a thoughtform, they could enter others' minds as a concept, especially in dreams, where they could form a body for themself and act corporeal in the sleeping person's dreamscape. It was almost comparable to Mr. Nobody, but rather than using these powers to cause harm and distress, they just tended to act as a year-round Halloween prop. The easiest way to describe her, in that case, was simply as a ghost, or poltergeist. Or at least, that was how Chief described it.

The accent pillows that Rita had insisted on earlier in the month shifted next to Cliff. "You weren't in the dreamscape when I came looking for you." Possum and Cliff had met when the former had begun entering his dreams, seeking an escape from the loneliness and boredom of life as an invisible consciousness. Possum was shocked when Cliff was able to see her and pointed her out as an anomaly in the memory he frequently revisited when he slept, and after she explained her situation to him and the Patrol, they had formed a comfortable routine of her entering his dreams frequently. An open invitation stood now between the two of them, Cliff trusting them never to overstep boundaries or snoop in memories that weren't theirs. It was a symbiotic thing, mutually beneficial; they got to re-experience corporeality and interact with the world, and they could influence the world of his mind, quelling anxiety and keeping nightmares at bay. Plus they were able to help him dream of his old body, so he got to experience human senses again.

Cliff made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. "You wouldn't have wanted to see what I was dreaming about anyway." Immediately, he regretted speaking, knowing that those words would make Possum worry. "It wasn't that bad," he quickly added before she could respond. "Just the usual shit."

There was a heavy silence after that, each passing second making Cliff more and more uncomfortable, wondering what he could say to cut the tension.

Finally, Possum responded.

"I'm sorry. I wish I'd been there earlier," they said gently.

"Aw, don't sweat it, Red." He leaned further forward on the couch, his aging metal joints groaning with the effort. "I'm up now, anyway. And so are you."

A hand reached out from the darkness, pale white and translucent, landing on his arm. He couldn't feel her touch, but he could tell from looking that it was gentle, resting on the plates of his forearm delicately, like he was something fragile, precious. Like she was afraid he would break.

When they spoke, Possum's voice was even quieter, lower, as if she hoped he wouldn't hear her. "Can I... will you, um, rest with me?"

"Huh?"

Possum cleared her throat. "You need rest. I uh, I saw once on the Discovery Channel that if you can't sleep, it's better to lay down and close your eyes, even if you don't sleep. Y'know, it helps, um, y'know, you don't strain yourself that way. Your brain, and stuff."

"Oh. Yeah, I'll be okay, pint-size." Cliff leaned back against the couch arm again. "You okay?"

He heard her inhale, a strange sound in the empty darkness. "Can I sleep with you here, tonight?" Before Cliff could respond, she continued. "It's just that the attic is so far away from everyone else, it's so quiet, and the trains keep coming through, and it's cold up there. And no one's been around all day, you know? I haven't been able to talk to anyone, it's been a bad day for corporeality. And, y'know. The attic is just... really cold."

If he could have furrowed his brows, he would have. Instead, he settled for a nonplussed blink. Briefly, he wondered if she might just be afraid of the dark. The thought made him laugh a bit, the bonafide ghost haunting the manor being scared of the dark in the attic she occupies. "Sure, yeah."

Before him, Possum's figure manifested fully. The nickname "pint-size" was not a misnomer - when Cliff stood at full height next to them, the very top of their head barely hit his shoulder. They were a tiny, ghostly apparition, red hair floating as if they were underwater shocking against the pale glowing white of their skin. Right now, this phantom was floating in midair, as if laying on some bed, one hand propping up their chin and the other still on his arm, their legs kicking slowly behind them. Slowly, moving as if in a pool, they rearranged their body's positioning, pulling their legs under them so they were sitting normally on the couch next to him. Cliff saw the couch shift as they became more corporeal, taking up more weight on the cushions as they became more grounded in physical reality. Once they had fully manifested, they slowly leaned over towards him, eyes averting from his.

They laid their head on his shoulder, gently, like they were testing if he would pull away. He didn't, just looking at them. They took a deep, quiet breath, and relaxed, positioning themself so their head was laying on his chest. Once they were in the position they wanted, they stretched out, the tips of their toes stretching to the other arm of the couch. Cliff shifted a bit, leaning back to make them more comfortable. Possum closed their eyes and smiled, and it reminded him a bit of an extremely self-satisfied cat.

Cliff looked down at their head nestled on his metal torso. "There's no way you're comfortable like that," he muttered, trying to be mindful of his volume with how close to his voicebox their ear was. With the way they smiled when he spoke, he could swear they liked the vibrations of his voicebox in his chest.

She opened her eyes to look up at him, black eyes gazing up at him and glittering like the stars reflected in a deep black pool. Their spectral ailment only served to deepen the effect of their eyes, leaving very little white to their sclerae, completing an otherworldly look. "No, I am. I like to listen to your heartbeat."

Was she making fun of him? "I don't have a heartbeat," Cliff said flatly.

They sat up, propping themself on their arms so they were eye-to-eye with him. "No, you do. Sometimes when we sleep and I'm not in the dreamscape, I listen to it, just like this."

"Possum, I don't have any organs. I barely have a brain." He laughed a bit at the end, trying to cover his confusion.

"I'll show you!" Suddenly, she had bolted upright, and swooped down to the ground like an Olympic diver, passing through the floor towards the basement level. Cliff waited a minute in the silence, the dark no longer lit by their odd phantasmic glow. Finally, they flew back up through a different space in the floor closer to the television with the same vigor. They held a stethoscope in their hands, likely borrowed from Chief's hoard, and Cliff wondered in bemusement what the logic of a solid object passing through the floor with them was.

"Here." They clambered back onto the couch, regaining solidity, and leaned against him. They stretched up to his head, and he leaned forward a bit to help them put the earpieces against the auditory inputs on either side of his head. "Listen!" They placed the resonator against his chest.

Cliff heard nothing, but Possum sat staring at him, their index finger placed against their lips in a hushing gesture. After a moment, he was about to call it quits and say they were hearing things, but their stare was so earnest, he couldn't bring himself to. He waited,

and waited,

and waited,

and Possum shifted the resonator,

and then he heard it.

It wasn't that it had just started. It had been there. But it was a low noise, one he was used to, and when Possum shifted the resonator it only then became loud enough for him to recognize as a sound distinct from his usual background noise.

It wasn't a heartbeat, per se. Not in the organic sense, at least. It was more of a mechanical thrumming, a pulsing, a deep noise that wasn't so much like the beating of a drum as it was like the quiet revving of an engine a few streets over, reduced by distance and acoustics to only its most bassy components. He looked down, and he heard the whirring and whining of the servos in his neck and shoulders through the stethoscope. The placement of the stethoscope was slightly left of center of his chest, where his heart naturally should be.

Possum pulled away the stethoscope, the earpieces falling away from his head. "You hear it, right?"

"That's not my heart," Cliff repeated. "None of my body past my neck was saved. I think that's my nutrient tubes. Or maybe my power system. Or my servos."

"So?" 

"... So what?" He blinked at her.

Possum sat upright and spread their arms out to either side of them, palms up, theatrically. "That's exactly what I'm saying!" They said with overdramatic exasperation.

She let herself fall back onto his body, a soft thud echoing inside his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and serious. "So what? I know it isn't an organ, dummy. It doesn't have to be an organ to be your heart. It's comforting either way. It just reminds me that you're here, right now. It doesn't have to be a literal heart to do that, just as long as it's part of you."

Cliff sat silently, as they shifted back into their preferred positioning. He mulled over their words as they pulled themself as close as possible to his body, snuggling their head into the crevice between his shoulder and chest. Mindlessly, he moved his right arm to the small of their back, like he was supporting them, and his left hand moved to their hair, gently running through the strands, liquid copper over the rust of his fingers.

When he finally moved to respond, he realized they had fallen asleep long ago, letting out small snuffles every once in a while. So instead of giving a retort, he simply pulled them closer to his chest, tighter, like if he held them tightly enough he could feel the warmth of their body or the softness of their skin. He nestled his face in their hair, a nuzzling motion with his nose, and let his eyelids drop closed.

✥﹤ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ﹥✥

The manor creaked and sighed in the wind, the ancient and fragile upper floors almost seeming to sway with each gust. Between the slats of the half-drawn blinds, dawn light crept through the windows, lighting up the motes of dust that floated in the air and landing in stripes across sleeping forms. Cliff slept, now, on the couch, half sitting, Heather's pale form clutched in his arms and her hair tangled over his left hand's fingers like wild vines. In his chest, a mechanical heart thrummed and pulsed in a gentle rhythm, delivering power to his limbs, his brain. There were no nightmares, now, no dreams of his anxieties, no personified guilt; nor did he dream of the past, the bittersweet memories that, though happy, always left him with an empty feeling when he woke. He didn't dream of Clara's youth, of his last phone call to Kate. He didn't dream of Mr. Nobody, he didn't dream of Chief locking him away in an iron prison. He simply didn't dream. For once, it was quiet within his mind, even without the shared dreamscape.

The manor creaked and sighed in the wind, the ancient and fragile upper floors almost seeming to sway with each gust. As the manor began to stir and come to life with the others, Cliff was at peace there on the couch in the living room, and so was Heather.

And two hearts beat between them.

[jawritter]

You and Me...

Chapter 14

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chapter Warnings*** Smut, unprotected sex, mild panic attack, trauma-based anxiety, language probably because it’s me, angst, some fluff, I think that’s about it for this chapter.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2597

A/N: Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. This is something I actually did and witness, and I realize this one might be hard to read because it is a little heavy.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Jensen's POV:

The sound of rain hitting against the windows and deep rolling thunder pulled Jensen from his deep sleep.  At first, he wasn't sure where he was, It felt like an eternity since he'd woken up in his own bed, and to be honest it felt a little foreign to him. 

The more awake he became he could feel the warmth that was surrounding his body. The warmth of another person wrapped tightly in his arms. Looking down he could see Y/N nuzzled into his chest sleeping soundly. 

He ran his fingers gently through her hair, moving it out of her face so that he could see her fully, enjoying the warmth of her body pressed to his. The scent of her shampoo filling his senses with each deep breath took, as her bare chest rose and fell against him. Her warm breath fanned over his throat in a way that had his body tingling under his skin. The feeling of her silky skin under his fingertip was almost mesmerizing. It was all overwhelming, and comforting at the same time.

He had no idea what time it was, but he was thankful that he'd made it through the night without those awful nightmares. He didn't know what he did to deserve her, but he did know he needed her. He needed this…

He laid there enjoying every moment, he didn't realize that he craved her contact this way, and for the first time in years, he was content. This was something he’d been missing even when he was married to Danneel, and he hadn’t even known it.

Laying here with her next to him last night really did help, and he felt like maybe, just maybe he could overcome his mind now. In fact, he was sure that he'd be able to overcome it now, even if it was a little bit at a time. Step by step. This was a big step for him, one he felt like he was making in the right direction for the first time since Supernatural ended. 

He needed her. 

He didn't realize it, but now that he did he couldn't imagine waking up and her not being wrapped in his arms.

The longer he lay there, playing with her hair, and touching her skin,  the more his body started to respond to Y/N’s presence. It was something that honestly surprised him. It was the first time that had happened since his attack. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the relief that washed over him. He decided today would be the day. He had to at least try…

Your POV:

The sound of the shower running woke you from your deep sleep. It took a moment to place your surroundings, everything was foggy, and sleep blurred as you struggled to come to grips with where you were.

The bed was cold when you reached over to see if Jensen was still asleep. He must have been up for a little while now, which explained the shower running. 

Stretching your muscles you figure that you had at least another 15 minutes before he gets done in the shower. So you roll over and try to go back to sleep. You can now hear the storm rolling outside. So that tells you that neither of you will probably be going anywhere today.

You must have successfully fallen back to sleep, but it felt like you had just closed your eyes when you felt someone playing with your hair. Looking up you see Jensen laying on top of the covers next to you, hair still wet from his shower, wearing a dark green T-shirt that makes his eyes stick out more than usual, and a pair of black running shorts loosely hanging on his hips; the line of his black boxers peeking out around the waist. 

How did he look that damn good first thing in the morning?

"Morning beautiful," he said when he saw you looking at him. 

"Morning," you grumble, rubbing your face. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you as close to him as the covers would allow. 

You nuzzled yourself into the bend of his neck, which was quickly becoming your favorite spot. The scent of his body washed, mixed with a hint of his cologne, and something that was just Jensen made your knees weak.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning,” you mumble against him, and you could feel him chuckle a little. 

"Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, placing a light kiss on the top of your head. “It's pouring outside. We ain't got nowhere to be. We got all day just to ourselves,” he says, running his fingers lightly along what part of your back was exposed. 

"Well, let me get some coffee, then I'll fix you some breakfast," you tell him, sitting up and holding the covers over yourself. 

"S'okay. I've already eaten a bowl of cereal," he said with a shrug, sitting up a little with you, his hair sticking up at random ends. He looked good this morning, calm. 

You grimaced a little. "Sorry. I should have got up while you were in the shower and made your breakfast so you wouldn't have to eat cereal," you tell him.

He laughs a little, grabbing your hand in his and playing with your fingers.

 "It's okay, you deserve to sleep in sometimes too," he says, suddenly sitting up next to you, kissing you on the forehead. “I’ll go start some fresh coffee,” he winked at you over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him, giving you some privacy. 

You couldn't help but smile at his good mood. It was the best one he's been in sense...well now that you think about it, you've never really seen Jensen in a good mood.

You quickly jump in the shower, throwing on some shorts and an oversized shirt. You throw your hair into a messy bun, and you make your way toward where you smell coffee coming from. You still couldn't get used to this house. It was gorgeous!

Seeing you coming, Jensen pours you a bowl of cereal and sits the milk down on the counter for you next to your coffee. "I didn't know you knew how I drank my coffee," you tell him, pouring milk into your cereal. 

He sits down next to you at the bar with a proud smile on his face. "I pay attention to more than people usually give me credit for," he says, pulling out his laptop, and checking his emails, letting you eat your breakfast.

Once you were finished he put your bowel into the dishwasher for you, then grabbed you by the hand. 

"Come on, according to the weatherman it's gonna be raining all day. I got something in mind," he said, pulling you into what he called the family room last night. 

The room is dark except for what little light was coming from the dim sky outside through the glass french doors. He had put a bunch of pillows and blankets on the floor. The TV. was on Netflix waiting for the two of you to pick something to watch. He had really put some time into this, and it made you smile more than a little.

"Netflix and chill Jensen?" Was all you could say, making him throw his head back in the first real laugh you had ever heard from him. You loved the sight of his smile and his laugh was contagious. You could get used to seeing him like this. 

"Yeah, if I'm lucky," he said, winking at you before flopping down on the floor, and patting the spot next to him; shedding his shirt before looking at you like a little lost puppy who needed it's ear scratched. 

"Okay, okay," you roll your eyes, teasing him, making him laugh again as he held up the cover for you could crawl under with him. 

He flipped through Netflix before you both settle on the walking dead, and he pulls you into his chest, laying on his side he started to run his fingers up and down the exposed skin of your upper thigh, causing an involuntary shiver to rip through your body.  

When you felt his lips brush over your neck slightly you freeze, not wanting to scare him away, just letting him do whatever he felt comfortable doing. Finding your pulse point he nipped at you gently. You were surprised at how well he was doing this morning but afraid to jinx it.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he kissed his way up your jawline, finally finding your lips, kissing you sweetly yet passionately, sending sparks through your body. You really don't think he understood just how easily he took your breath away. Taking a break, he puts his forehead against your forehead, both of you are breathing a little heavily as he brings his hand to rest on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"Babe, I think I'm ready," he said, playing with the waistband of your shorts.

"Ready for what?" you asked, more than a little confused. 

He took your hand in his and slowly placed it over his already hard length covered by his shorts. 

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you froze on the spot. 

"Are you sure?" you ask him, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitation or distress.

"No," he said with a nervous chuckle. "But I'm willing to try. She said yesterday that this was the only thing that was going to get me better. Even if it wasn't so great the first time," he said, moving to hover over you.

You tried not to get too distracted at the way his muscles moved just under his skin with every moment he made. His tick, solid chest and shoulders cover your view of the TV completely as he places himself over you.

"Okay, if you think that's what you want to try to do," you tell him, reaching up and touching the side of his face softly.

He says nothing, just lowers his lips to yours again, placing little light kisses there as his hands explored a little more of your body. Moving his way to your jawline, finding the sensitive skin behind your ear and sucking lightly. He was being overly gentle, taking his time, not rushing himself, and you were going to let him have complete control of this situation. 

He kissed his way down our neck to your pulse point and paused there for a while, pulling at the hem of your shirt, giving you the hint to shed your shirt and throw it into a nearby chair. Reaching behind your back, he quickly undoes your bra and slides it down your arms, throwing it with your shirt.

Sitting up a little more for a better view he stops and looks at your bare chest, taking his time, touching you softly, so softly that it was driving you crazy. Running his thumb over one of your nipples lightly and making it stand up for him, then moving over to the other side. 

"You're beautiful," he says before he slowly puts his mouth on our nipple, sucking softly and licking at the sensitive skin there, causing your back to arch into him. Once he finally had enough there he moved over to the next one, being just as gentle as he could, taking his time, running his hand up and down your skin on your side. 

Finally, he pulled at the hem of your shorts, taking down your shorts and your underwear in one smooth pull, leaving you exposed before him. He started to kiss his way down your stomach, stopping right before he got to the top of your quickly dampening folds. Taking a sharp breath he pulled his head back up to your shoulders, hiding there for a moment, burying his face in your neck, and breathing deeply.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that yet," he said, hiding his face from you. You run your fingers lightly across his shoulders, trying to be comforting but also not wanting to throw him into a full-blown flashback.

"It's okay. We'll only go as far as you're comfortable with going," you try and assure him. 

Shaking his head he sits up and rid himself of the rest of his clothes. 

You were surprised to find he was still hard. You thought that he'd lost steam when he stopped a few moments ago. Taking a few deep breaths he brings his lips back to the soft spot behind your ear, taking your ear lob in his teeth gently, bring a slight moan from you. 

He positioned himself between your legs, already lining himself up with your dripping center. Bringing his lips to yours he kissed you again, more need presents this time, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. 

"You ready?" he asked, breaking for air, his eyes searching yours. You nodded at him, wanting him to feel like he was completely in control. So much so that you were afraid to say too much.

Slowly he slipped his full length inside you, both of you moaning against each other's shoulders. You look up at him, and his eyes were closed tightly. You placed your hand on the side of his face, letting him know it was okay, and praying this wasn’t a bad idea. 

Slowly at first, he thrust into you, testing the waters, trying to see just how far he was willing to go. Quickly both of you became lost in the sensation. He was hitting your g-spot with every deep thrust, quickly pulling you to titter on the edge. Gradually he began to build speed, nearing his own end as well. Every time he fully seated himself inside you, you couldn't help but moan a little. You had been with plenty of men before, but never one like Jensen, you’d never felt so full, so stretched, and so perfectly content before. You watched his eyes roll, he was really, getting close, so much so that he was shivering slightly with each shakey thrust.  

"Baby I'm gonna cum," he said, voice deep and thick and strained.

You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him close as he buried himself into your neck. 

You didn't have time to respond before he came undone deep inside you, pushing you over the edge as white hot ropes of cum painted your clenching walls. Both of you were moaning loudly, pawing at whatever you both could reach, riding out your highs together. 

Finally, when it was all over, he slowly pulled out of you, curling up into a ball with a very distant look on his face, shaking slightly. A single tear slipping down his face and you reach over and wipe it away. He looked at you and then pulled you to him, holding you tightly. 

"I did it," he whispered against your hair. 

You unwrapped him as best you could from himself, and pulled him close to you, placing a kiss on the side of his forehead as he nuzzled himself into your neck. “You did it, Jensen. You did it.” 

You laid there rubbing his back trying to bring him down from whatever he was seeing, you could tell he was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack. He was still shaking slightly. The therapist said that the first time would be hard on him. You could see that it was. Jensen likes to hide how he was feeling when it came down to it. He'd downplay it so as to not worry you unless it caught him off guard like the nightmares did. This time though he wasn’t hiding anything, all his walls were down, and finally he seemed to be letting you fully in.

Thankfully it didn’t last long before he was able to calm down and relax into your hold, wrapping his arms around you tighter and keeping you as close to him as possible.

The two of you lay there the rest of the day like that. Just enjoying each other's company. Kissing each other. Letting him explore your body with his callused hands that never failed to leave a trail of fire under your skin. Snuggling as close as you could with each other.

 Deep down you hope that today he made a big step in his recovery process, not a step backward. As you watched him nap next to you, you couldn't believe this beautiful, strong, man was yours. Even if he didn't see himself as perfect, and thought he was damaged beyond repair, you wished he could see what you saw.

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[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 9

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 9)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Logan tries to find another memory, and comes back with something bigger. Virgil opens up to Remus. More facts about the night of Logan's arrest come to light.

And Janus is definitely out to kill the necromancer--but Roman learns something unexpected when he discovers this plan.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: ...so I felt bad about the cliffhanger. >.> XD

Also, I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the words 'pari' and 'geni' were gender neutral terms I created for this world for Logan's parents. They're twisted up with Latin roots for 'parent' or 'creator' because his folks are nonbinary.

Extra apologies for this one because no beta and I just got eager and wrote this in one day. Send help. XD

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

The first thing Logan noticed when he woke was the heat. Even with all the little luxuries he earned as a well behaved prisoner, he never woke up warm.

The memories were slow to trickle back to him through the haze of sleep, gentle rain splashing against the surface of his mind.

The assassination. The Green Man. The new quarters, his first private shower in ten years—soft spun cotton lounge clothes instead of the rough, drab, ill fitting uniform of the dungeon's prisoners.

Gentle fingers filled with strength laced securely through his. Strong arms, warm skin...

Logan opened his eyes, and found himself with his face tucked against the curve of a neck. Lifting his head with great reluctance, he found himself faced with a sleeping Roman.

The beauty of it nearly stopped his heart.

Loss had stripped some light from his features, worn them around the edges and haunted his eyes, but in repose his features were smooth and unburdened. He looked younger, surreal in his serene perfection. Something about the act of watching Roman sleep felt important...precious, even familiar...

Roman stirred then, and Logan acted without thinking, reaching out to smooth his fingers through Roman's hair. It was soft against his fingers, warm and silken and he repeated the gesture just for the pleasure of feeling it.

“...'lo?...”

“Hello, Roman.”

Roman hummed, and the arm Logan only just realized was wrapped around his shoulders tightened, pulling him closer against Roman's side.

“Lo.” he murmured, more confidently this time as he opened bright green eyes. “You're here.”

“It appears I fell asleep after our discussion. Apologies.” Logan replied, but could put no real conviction into the words. Something inside him...ached in a beautiful way he couldn't give words to. He didn't know what it meant...

For just a split second, his vision blurred, and Roman was younger, smaller, dark hair lightened by too much time in the sun...

...Logan's mind grew fuzzy again, but not with sleep. He recognized the feeling now, the haze of magic that let him reconnect to Virgil, to a fragment of his past...

The Loom of Memory. Roman spoke about it last night, telling his stories about them as friends—as kindred spirits.

“Logan?...”

Logan shifted to lay on his back, reaching for Roman's hand.

“Virgil restored one of my memories through a piece of personal magic I embedded in an object of power.” he explained, speech slurring just a little as his eyes grew heavier. “If...you took part in a ritual to give me...my power...”

“The Warping.” Roman murmured, rolling on his side. Gripping Logan's fingers tight, he looked down into Logan's face. Something about it tugged at the back of Logan's chest, something that was pulling him back into darkness again.

He could fight the pull. He did not try.

Gripping Roman's hand tight, Logan let his eyes shut.

“Hold on...do not let go.”

As he sank, Logan distantly felt warm lips brush his forehead.

“I never have. I never will.”

********** ...threads. Everywhere, itching, brushing, bothersome. This time, he pulled away from them, just a little. He flexed his fingers, and the shuttle was there, secure in his grip.

He tried to concentrate on seeing it this time. Pulling back, stepping away.

…there.

The loom was massive, the warp glowing softly with a gentle radiance that begged to be touched. Running his fingers over it, Logan sighed with pleasure—warm and whisper soft beneath his fingers, spreading through his hand and up his arm to settle in the core of his being....but loose.

The warp was too loose. Just a little tension was needed for a neat, tight weave.

Logan reached out to try and tighten the warp, but...something was wrong.

“...Logan?”

Who's there?

“Logan, it's me.”

...oh. I...

“Do you need help?”

I—I think so. I don't understand what's happening.

“It's okay—to be honest, I didn't understand then and I still don't. Just take what you need.”

I'll be careful this time.

“Don't worry about it. Just...don't leave me.”

I promise. In fact...will you stay?

“Stay? I...is that all right?”

I do not know—but there's only one way to find out. Help me, if you can.

He tugged gently at the thread—this time, it came smooth and easy. It was hard to do still—simply because it was so distracting, the ecstasy of handling it, letting the warp slide through his fingers and tug sweetly as he secured it to the loom—

When he was done, when it was ready...Logan set to work.

********** 1023, A.A.

Logan was so warm and so comfortable, he never wanted to wake up...but he knew he had to, for some reason.

Opening his eyes with a yawn, he turned his head—then grinned when he realized that Roman stayed.

There was something about seeing him in Logan's bedroom that felt secret and special: Roman, his Roman, with his face half buried in Logan's pillow and mouth slightly open as he slept. It wasn't a pretty sight: he drooled just a little, and he was laying on Logan, one arm and one leg thrown across his body, something he usually hated...

But Logan could feel his weight, his warmth. He was messy and heavy and too much...and he was tucked into Logan's bed, his fingers meshed tight through Logan's to rest on Logan's chest. This handsome prince, this good and loving and dangerously earnest boy that wanted with a ferocity that scared and dazzled Logan, eluded palace guard and the king himself just to help him. Just to stay.

Roman was everything good and just and right in the world. However, Roman was also two years older than him, he was royalty—and Logan was Necromata.

Secret and special was all Logan was ever going to get.

Staring into Roman's sleeping face for a few more precious seconds, he tucked the memory away somewhere safe in his mind and his heart before he gently squeezed Roman's hand.

“Roman?”

“Nnnnngh.”

“Roman. It's morning.”

“Nnnngh—guh? What?”

Roman came awake abruptly, and Logan's heart trembled at the muzzy confusion in his face. It made him want confusing, unattainable things, so Logan settled for smiling.

“It's morning. Sunrise—are you still okay?”

Roman nodded with a jaw cracking yawn, further upsetting Logan's already fragile, confusing state of mind by tucking himself forward until their foreheads touched. “Yeah, 'm fine. Remus'll cover for me 'till at least after breakfast. You?”

Unable to stop himself, Logan tucked their joined hands against his chest for a second, sealing the feel of it as deep as he could into his memory as he nodded. “Grandpap won't be back until tomorrow, and Pari lets me skip my morning chores if I'm studying.”

“Which you are, technically.” Roman pointed out with a smile, staring into Logan's eyes.

“Falsehood. I'm laying about in bed.”

Roman seemingly had no answer for that, and didn't respond—but also didn't move.

Logan couldn't bring himself to urge him into action.

“Where did we leave off last night?”

“Hmm?”

“The geneaology. How far did we get?” Roman pressed gently, a laugh in his voice that made Logan's heart tremble again.

Taking a deep breath, Logan managed to pry himself from the sanctuary of his spot tucked into the curve of Roman's body. Sitting up, he reached for the last book they'd been reading through before they gave up their research for sleep.

“We got as far back as King Thomas Cameron IV—the one who married the first Lord and Lady Stewards.” Logan explained, flipping to the right page. “They reorganized the line of succession for same sex and polyfidelitous families within the royal house of Sanders.”

“Right, right...Lady Valerie was the great granddaughter of Sir Edward, fifth cousin of King Thomas Roman I.” Roman mumbled, sitting up to peer at the book in Logan's hands. “Least the stories say.”

Logan fought a swelling of frustration as he flipped ahead a few pages. “Most of these are stories. Stories, lore, and speculation. There's no proof here—and there are a lot of missing records, which I find strange for a royal lineage.”

“Well, Father had some records sealed for privacy.” Roman admitted. “That's how I knew about Sir Edward. He was a mage of some power, but his family withdrew from the monarchy generations ago. They're no longer part of the line of succession, so their presence exists only in the Tomes.”

Logan hesitated, shutting the book in his hands. “The mage's histories? The ones kept at the Royal Academy library?”

“Yep—well, most of them.”

Logan looked at Roman sharply. “What do you mean, most of them?”

Roman's eyes went wide as he froze. Logan's pulse quickened.

“Roman? What do you know?”

Roman looked, for a moment, like he wanted to bolt...but then took a deep breath, gathered Logan's hands in his, and began speaking.

********** 1033, A.A.

Logan's eyes snapped open as the Loom dropped abruptly away, leaving him with an ache in the marrow of his bones and a chill he couldn't quite dispel. As he sat up, warm arms immediately encircled him, tucking him against a wall of fire that eased the chill and soothed the hurt away.

“Logan? Say something—are you all right?”

For a second, Logan just leaned into him and shut his eyes. It wasn't complete, vague and nebulous and full of holes, but a new memory was hanging loose in his head, barely attached. He could almost picture the room, a few snatches of conversation...but the feeling was the only part he was sure of.

Secret and special...good and right...

I loved him.

“Logan, please. What happened?”

Logan pressed his forehead against Roman's collarbone for just one more second, the sweet pulse of longing rippling through his bones, igniting an energy that was alien to him.

I love him.

“I am satisfactory.” he assured Roman, slowly straightening. He reached up to rub his head. “I...slept here last night?”

Roman nodded, his hand settling on Logan's shoulder, warm and heavy. “You don't remember waking up?”

“I...maybe? I was...the Loom.”

“You entered that trance again—you asked for my help, and I gave it. Like I did during your Warping, but this time my hand was glowing—like the last time you were channeling. You wanted to reconstruct a memory, did you succeed?”

Logan nodded, then shook his head.

Books...Grandpap...sun bleached hair, a special and secret cocoon in his childhood bed.

Flinching, Logan fumbled for Roman's hand, ripping it off his shoulder and squeezing hard.

“Roman.”

“I'm here, Starlight—what do you remember?”

“I...don't know. Just—my brother.”

“Virgil's not here.”

“I have to find him. Now.”

********** Virgil was going on twenty four hours wide, staring awake, and wasn't enjoying it.

Well...much.

Reluctantly following the crown prince through the lower levels of the castle, he hated to admit that for all his crazy, Prince Remus was kind of a fascinating guy. He was smart, yeah, but—more than that.

He was brilliant, in a way that was frightening. He babbled with barely any coherence, went off on tangents, talked to himself, but there wasn't a single wasted word. He talked about his brother with perfect devotion, discussed violence with absolute reverence, and spoke about death like...

Like he was Necromata. In between the stories he shared during the night—stories about Roman's secrets, three years of carrying on an ilicit friendship with Logan—he went off about Virgil's people with a flawless understanding of who they were and what they were about.

All while revealing, with all his stolen knowledge, that he didn't know jack shit about them. Everything he ever learned was heresay and speculation, but...but through the stories he saw the foundation. Remus was a quintessential outsider, but the respect he showed for the Necromata made Virgil ache inside.

Fuck, Remus actually gave him a little hope for the future.

“This way—this is where I found Roman after it happened.”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Virgil jogged to catch up with Remus. “We don't have a lot of time, Remus—Logan is supposed to try and resurrect your father this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah—we have an hour, I know.”

“Two.”

“What?”

“Two. The sun will be well above the horizon then—doesn't do anyone any favors to be too prompt when it comes to making sure the Barrier is closed, unless you want to end up with someone else in your father's body.”

Remus glanced at Virgil over his shoulder—then snickered.

“Could be funny.” he decided, ushering Virgil ahead of him. “Through this door—this is where I found Roman the night your brother was arrested.”

“Where was he? I never realized he was anywhere near us when we got caught.” Virgil huffed, shoving the filthy, heavy wooden door open to emerge into a dingy stone tunnel.

“Before this castle had lower levels beneath this one, this was meant to be a sewer.” Remus explained as Virgil took a few more steps into the tunnel. “It's on some early plans for the palace, but hardly anyone remembers it's here. I got nosy when I was six and found it—Roman and I have used this to get in and out of the palace undetected since we were little.”

“He must've told Logan.” Virgil muttered, peering up at the grate overhead. Above him, through the bars he could see scattered straw—the inside of an empty dungeon cell. “That's how he got us in here.”

“You were here that night?”

Virgil turned to face Remus, smiling a little without any humor in it. “He didn't tell you about that, huh?”

Remus shook his head in silence.

Virgil scoffed, turning his gaze upwards again.

“Not all that surprised. Hell, maybe he didn't know I was here, either. I wasn't supposed to be...truth be told, I was always certain that I was the reason Logan got arrested. It's why I tried to get him out.”

“What were you, four years old? What were you doing here, and how could you have been behind it?”

“I was nine.” Virgil replied quietly, unable to tear his gaze from the grate of the cell above him.

“And I was here because a Weaver needs his Spider.”

********** 1023, A.A. The tunnel was absolutely terrifying—dark and wide and squat. Grandpap would have to double over to walk through it, big as he was.

Virgil did not want to be here. He wanted to be home in bed with his blanket, listening to Grandpap's bedtime stories about the Before Times and the wicked king that was slain, plunging their tribe into eternal darkness.

Logan was here, though—and a Spider had to stand with his Weaver. Protecting Logan was his responsibility now, and he couldn't let his big brother down.

“...find the book in the office...”

Voices, up ahead. Echoes carried down towards him, making Virgil flinch hard enough that he stumbled and fell.

Silence. More voices, garbled and echoing...

A hand on his collar, dragging him to his feet.

“Virgil, what in the name of the Seven Hells are you doing here!”

When Virgil landed upright, he came face to face with the shadowed features of his big brother, blue eyes glimmering in the barely there light.

“What are you doing here, Logan?” Virgil shot back. “You snuck out without me! You're 'posed to bring me on important stuff, I'm your 'Pider!”

Logan spun around, as if he were about to address someone—but then froze. His shoulders hunched the way they always did when he forgot to thank the spirits of the ancestors at his altar every morning, nervous and unhappy.

Turning back to Virgil, Logan narrowed his eyes.

“This isn't Weaver stuff, Stormcloud, so you can't tell anyone. Especially not Grandpap.”

“I swear on the 'Pider's Thread, Loganberry.”

Taking a deep breath, Logan nodded. “Okay...okay, you can come. You'll actually be helpful to find...never mind. Just do as I say, and don't ask questions. I can't answer them?”

“Why?”

Logan raised a warning finger at him.

“Don't. Ask. Questions.”

Virgil slammed his mouth shut, but didn't argue as Logan took his hand and led him down the tunnel and into the palace of the king.

********** 1033, A.A.

“What part of the palace did you hit?” Remus asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Not sure. It was dark, I was nine and terrified...I've tried to track it since I enlisted, but haven't had much luck. All I know is it was somewhere in the lower levels 'cause that's how I found the tunnel and got away. Wasn't near the dungeons either, not really—when we got caught, Logan steered me towards a lit, open door. It was some kind of office, and I found an open grate that led me to it.”

Virgil faced Remus again, pointing upwards. “This is under the dungeons, but you said this was where you found Roman after Logan's arrest?”

“Yup.” Remus replied, popping the 'p' sound at the end. “Near the end of this particular tunnel, down here.”

Virgil glanced behind him, in the direction Remus pointed, Turning back to the prince, he jerked his chin in that direction.

“Let's go.”

The pair fell into step beside each other, easily matching pace. Remus was a little taller than Virgil, so he was slowing down to let him keep up. Virgil didn't appreciate it.

He didn't.

“You know, Roman didn't help you get in here. I did.”

Virgil turned sharply towards him. “You're fucking with me.”

“Identical twins? In a poorly lit room, you can't make out the streak and the 'stache, Sweet Cheeks.”

“But...why?”

“Because you were trying to help your brother, and mine couldn't. Help you, that is.”

“Why couldn't he? Why did he admit to doing it?” Virgil asked.

“Did he actually admit to anything last night?” Remus asked with a raised eyebrow.

Virgil opened his mouth...then closed it.

“Not outright, no.” he realized aloud. “But why couldn't he help?”

“Virgil!”

The sound of that voice, echoing off the walls of the tunnel, was a flashback in time. For an instant, Virgil was nine and terrified again, being led into Souls Knew What by his big brother...running for his life and trying not to choke on his sobs, knowing he'd left his big brother to die.

Spinning on his heel, Virgil found himself faced with the sight of the tunnel's end where he and Remus had been heading anyway. The door was open, and Logan stood side by side with the familiar figure of King Roman.

At least, until Logan bolted forward, barreling towards Virgil until he had a death grip on him.

“Unghf! Loganberry, you're...crushing me...”

“He panicked as soon as we got down here.” Roman explained, raising his voice to be heard as he jogged towards them. “He's been off since he woke up earlier. He tried to reconstruct a memory...”

Virgil sighed, wrapping his arms around Logan for a second to give him a comforting squeeze before he shifted to reach for Logan's hand.

“C'mere, Loganberry...lemme help you...”

The moment their fingers meshed, Virgil felt the pull on his consciousness—Logan drawing on his focus, pulling raw thought from his head that sent his awareness of his surroundings spiraling into a pinpoint.

Virgil's eyes slid shut, his head lolling back in familiar fashion—but this time, before the darkness took him, warmth flooded the base of his skull and softened his tumble into oblivion.

********** “Hey—hey! Wake up, Storm!”

“Remus.”

Roman watched his brother stand beside the silent cadet, one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his head, supporting him as he half sagged where he stood. There was a look in his eyes Roman wasn't sure he'd ever seen before, something like panic...but not quite.

It was familiar...but fuzzy.

Moving to his brother's side, Roman touched his shoulder.

“He's all right, Remus.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this is what familiars do. I've...seen it before.”

Roman blinked, startled by the words that came out of his mouth—but once he said them, he knew it was true. He had seen it before...somewhere among Logan's people, but where?...

“What are you four doing down here?”

Roman looked back towards the direction Remus and Virgil had come from, flinching when he spotted Janus at the end of the tunnel with Patton at his side.

“Lord Janus? Pat—what are you doing here?” he asked, moving towards the pair.

“I came 'cause Janny asked me to.” Patton replied, staring past Roman to where Logan and Virgil stood, deep blue eyes filled with worry. “What's goin' on? Janny?...”

With a sigh, Janus discreetly slid a hand up Patton's spine, only just visible as yellow gloved fingertips appeared near his nape then vanished with a soft whisper of leather on fabric.

“Go, darling. See if you can help.” Janus urged.

Reaching behind him, Roman saw Patton catch the gloved hand and squeeze before he hurried down the tunnel towards the trio of Remus, Logan, and Virgil.

Facing Janus, Roman folded his arms. “You didn't answer my question.”

Janus glanced past Roman, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Patton for a long moment before he finally managed to set his gaze on Roman.

“I'm an assassin. I'm not supposed to tell you why I do anything, Your Majesty.” Janus pointed out.

“So you're here to kill someone?”

Janus sneered, mouth setting into a thin, tight line.

“If you must know,” he growled quietly, “I came here to kill the necromancer.”

Roman's heart froze, blood running cold.

“No, you're not.”

“Majesty? Get your hands off me. Now.”

Roman blinked, not even realizing that he'd backed Janus up against the nearby wall, and to his shock had a hand wrapped around his scaled throat.

“Give me a reason why I should.” he asked flatly. “You'll have a harder time getting to the necromancer if you have to stop and kill me first.”

“Oh, for the love of—I'm here to kill the necromancer, not your pet prisoner!”

“I...what?”

“The necromancer that assassinated your father and is trying to assassinate you.” Janus spat, finally shaking Roman's grip so he could straighten his cloak.

“I...don't understand.”

Janus finally tugged the clasp of his cloak straight, and when he met Roman's gaze, his own mismatched eyes were filled with something far warmer than any man might expect to see in the eyes of a spy like him.

Janus was looking at him with sympathy.

“Your Majesty...Logan may be one of the Necromata, but he is not a necromancer.” he whispered.

“Of course he is! He--”

“--may have been a necromancer once upon a time, but he isn't any longer. The root of necromancy is memory—with no memory, he should have no magic. No mere necromancer can beat the Cleansing that way, it's impossible.”

“Then...?”

Roman turned away from Janus to stare down the tunnel. He watched Virgil and Logan both slowly come to their senses, Logan opening ice blue eyes as Virgil started to straighten, supported by both Remus and Patton.

Over Virgil's shoulder, Logan's gaze met Roman's, and for just a moment those gemstone eyes flickered with the soft, blue-white light of his magic.

Janus's voice spoke right next to his ear, shaking him to his core.

“Logan is not a necromancer, Your Majesty...he's a Lazari.”

[svudrabbles]

Imagine you’ve been taken to the hospital as a Jane Doe after being assaulted, and Amanda is sent in to talk to you TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT

Request:

Can I request an Olivia x reader where reader was raped and taken to the hospital as a Jane doe and when Amanda gets there she realizes who it is and calls Liv? If you can’t / don’t want to do it it’s fine! Thanks?

***

Olivia had warned you about this. She’d trained you in self defense, she’d gotten you a license to carry even. She especially warned you not to walk down that alley way. She’d found enough women there half dead at the hands of vile men, and the last thing she wanted was for that to be your reality.

You thought you knew better. You thought you could protect yourself. You were going to be late for work. You couldn’t take the chance of being late again.

You were certainly going to be late, though, because you’d spend three hours unconscious, half naked, beaten and bloodied behind a trashcan before a homeless man finds you and hollers for help.

You were in and out of consciousness the entire time, until the ambulance arrived at the hospital. All at once the pain hit you like a truck, and you began weeping. The doctors asked for your name, but you couldn’t answer. It’s like you were paralyzed. Your belongings had been stolen, so they had no way to figure out just who you were.

They had to sedate you to calm you down as your heart rate was off the charts. They had to give you thirty stitches, because you had a long gash just under your breasts. A large portion of your body was bruised, and your shoulder had been fractured.

Eventually, the doctors had no choice but to call the Special Victims Unit. 

***

As soon as Amanda walked into the emergency room, one of the doctors recognized her. 

“Detective Rollins?”

“Hey.”

“Our Jane Doe is just back here. She’s awake but terrified.” The doctor explained as she lead Amanda back to one of the patient rooms. “She suffered severe bruising across her arms, legs, torso. Bite marks to her breasts and hips. A long gash beneath her chest.”

“Of course she wont talk.” Amanda clicked her tongue. “And you found no identification near her, right?”

“None.” The doctor responded, stopping in front of the patients door. “Just...be prepared. I know you’ve been doing this a long time, but this is the first time I was truly haunted by the state of a patient.”

The doctor knocked at the door before opening it. Amanda stepped in, and her jaw dropped at the sight of the woman on the table.

It was you. Olivia Benson’s long term girlfriend. 

“Y/N?” Amanda stuttered.

Your eyes flicked up, and immediately began to accumulate with tears.

“Oh my God.” The blond detective walked toward you. “Y/N, are you okay?”

You shook your head back and forth, sobbing.

Amanda sat on the side of the bed, and wrapped her arms around you tightly. You were so glad to have a familiar face to lean into.

“Detective...Do you know her?” The doctor inquired.

“This is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s my bosses girlfriend.” Amanda explained slowly.

***

After a few minutes of calming you down, Amanda posed the question, “What happened?”

“I...walked down the alley near the apartment.” You sputtered. “Liv told me not to. I’m so stupid, so stupid, so stu-”

“Hey.” Amanda rested a hand on yours. “This is not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You sniffled. “She’s gonna be mad.”

“No. She wont be mad. She’s going to be worried out of her mind. We do need to call her, though.”

“I don’t want her to see me like this.” You whimpered. “She’ll think i’m ugly...dirty...”

Amanda sighed. “No, Y/N. She’s going to see you for who you are. A beautiful woman, who had an evil thing happen to her. But you survived. You survived despite it all. That’s what she’ll see.”

A few moments of silence passed before you said, “Okay...Call her.”

***

When Amanda had called her, Liv dropped her phone on the ground in utter shock. She hadn’t even responded. She gathered all her things and ran to her car, and proceeded to speed to the hospital.

She was definitely not prepared for the sight she would see when she entered your hospital room, but she burst in anyway.

Amanda was laying next to you, and you had your head on her chest, sobbing mercilessly. 

Olivia’s lips parted, and it was as if she became limp. Seeing you like that tore her in half. 

“L-Livvy.” You whimpered.

Amanda slid off the bed so Olivia could take her spot, which of course she did. Gently, she wrapped her arms around you and you collapsed against her.

“My love...” She whispered shakily, kissing your forehead. “My love...”

“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I went behind the alley, and you told me not to, and-”

“Shhh.” Olivia’s eyes began to water now. “This is not your fault. I’m just glad you’re safe, and alive.”

“I love you.” You mumbled.

“I love you more than you could ever know, Y/N.” 

[anna-justice]

Lost or Found - 11

Summary: As Jay, Hailey, Kim, Adam and Kevin start their junior year in the wake of a tragic summer, the past year of their lives comes back to haunt them. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Liars, this is for you! *UPSTEAD/BURZEK High School AU

...

11 - The Waiting ...

After a long night of waiting and then being forced to go home, Adam was seated beside Kim’s bed while she lay there still unconscious. He was beyond anxious, she hadn’t woken up since they found the girls and with the potential loss of her hearing looming over them, waiting was getting worse by the second. The steady beeping of her monitor was the only noise piercing the silence. Her mom had gone home to shower and talk to her dad, so it was just Adam in the room.

His almost fist fight with Jay the night before was still very prominent in his mind. Jay’s words stung, but he was right, all of this was Adam’s fault. If he had ended things like he was told to, he would be heartbroken, but Kim would be fine or at least not laying in a hospital bed. He had acted selfishly and it almost got two people he cared about killed, there was no room for mistakes in the sick, twisted game they were playing.

He leaned against the bed and put his face in his hand. She looked peaceful, the most at rest that she had been in weeks understandably. He reached out and wrapped his hand around her limp on, gently brushing his thumb over the top of it. He knew that in the movies this was the part where the mourning love interest makes a heartfelt speech professing his love for the other, but he didn’t have anything to say other than “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, Kim stirred and her eyes fluttered open, squinting at the light. She looked around the room and Adam stood immediately. “Hey, I’m here.” She smiled softly to acknowledge him, reaching to pull her oxygen out of her nose. “Oh, no, I think--”

“Take this off…”

“Let me help you.” He helped her pull off and leaned forward. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How’re you feeling?” He asked. He smiled big, she was responding so obviously able to hear him.

Kim’s face fell and she stuttered a bit. “I feel like a-like-like a puppet who someone else is making talk.” Adam reached out and brushed a stray hair that had fallen off of her face, “How long was I out?” She groaned.

“Well, they sedated you last night to help with the swelling in your brain. You remember what happened?” He asked.

“What? What happened?” Adam stiffened and reached out to touch her cheek, his heart beating faster. “What year is it? Who is the president? What’s the internet?”

Adam fake laughed and gave her a pointed look, “You are very funny. I’m not,” He swallowed, “Strong enough to be messed with right now.”

“Hey,” She said, grabbing his arm. “You were worried about me?”

Adam looked at the ground and scoffed, “You have no idea.”

“It’s okay.”

He shrugged, “I love you, you know?”

Kim grinned and nodded, he had said it before, but this time it felt so different. “I love you too.”

Adam stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead before pressing another against her lips. He sat down the bed next to her and took her hand in his, and as if on cue, her doctor entered.

…

A few rooms away on the same floor, Jay sat next to Trudy in Hailey’s hospital room. Like Kim a short time ago, she was still asleep after spending the majority of the night in surgery.

Jay had gone home against his will at about one the night before, Trudy insisted he needed sleep and a shower. He had only accomplished one of the two. He spent all of his short time away thinking about her, whether it was the situation with her dad or what had happened to her and Kim, he couldn’t get her out of his head.

Fear had begun to consume him and he wasn’t a huge fan. The situation felt all too familiar, he could feel her slipping away just like Erin did.

He glanced up to see Adam in the doorway, “Hey man, Kim’s awake.” He said and Jay looked at Hailey one last time before following Adam down the hall. When they reached the room, Kim was watching the news with a bored look on her face.

“Hey,” Jay said, “How’re you feeling?”

Kim gave him a soft smile as he crossed to her, “I’m okay, bit of a headache. But, I’m fine.” Jay nodded, eyes focused on the floor. “How’s Hailey?”

Jay shrugged, “Still asleep.”

Silence fell between them, Adam spoke up to break it. “So, now that we are free of the prying doctors...can you tell us what happened?”

Kim nodded while the two boys sat in the seats beside her bed. “We were going to get ice cream since Hailey was so upset.” Kim froze when she realized what she had said, Jay grimaced. “Anyway, the last thing that I remember is leaving the house and then I woke up on the floor of the garage. Hailey was still out when I woke up, so I tried to get her to wake up and I kept trying to open the door of my car, but it was locked. Then I remember Hailey hitting the window with a tennis racket, then I’m pretty sure I vomited. After that, I don’t remember anything.”

Adam nodded, “Okay, we need a fake story, to tell the police. They are bound to come by soon right?”

“Yeah…” Jay said, he was only half paying attention to them. He was trying to piece everything together, if Hailey had been trying to break the window then how did she end up all the way on the opposite side of the garage? How long did she lay there before they got there? What was she trying to do? His mind was racing.

“So, we tell them that I accidentally locked my keys in my car and when I tried to get something to open it, the door fell and we couldn’t lift it up. Skip all the middle stuff, and we both woke up here?” Kim suggests.

Adam agrees, “I think that it’s the only way we can spin this, I mean it’s going to make the two of you sound like idiots…”

“I know.” Kim grumbles.

“I’m glad we’re all on the same page, I think I’m going to head back.” Jay says, standing. He doesn’t wait for a response before he walks out of the room.

Part of him is so angry, he’s been trying to convince himself that it wasn’t Adam’s fault for hours but it’s not working. And, it seemed so unfair that Kim was fine and Hailey wasn’t when Kim was the intended target. Unless Kim wasn’t the intended target, he had no idea. Nothing made sense and the one person that could help him was still not responsive.

Not long after he returned to his perch by Hailey’s bed, Trudy announced that she was going to go update her husband and grab them lunch. Jay muttered a thank you before she left. Trudy left the hospital feeling uneasy, she hated watching the young man be in pain but it was comforting to know that Hailey had someone like him in her corner.

Jay sat back in his chair at the foot of Hailey’s bed, he pulled out his phone, deciding that he could find something to do to pass the time before he could look into those beautiful blue eyes again.

“Ohmigod.” Someone said, and Jay’s head snapped up. There was a petite, blonde woman standing in the doorway. She glanced over at him, her eyes widening. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Jay stood cautiously, “You’re fine.” He smiled nervously, his hand scratching the back of his neck. Jay looked at the woman with a cocked eyebrow, attempting to get her to introduce herself.

She must have gotten the memo because she stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “I’m Anne, Upton. Hailey’s mom.”

Jay immediately noticed the resemblance, feeling stupid for not thinking that before. “Jay.” He said, shaking her hand.

“Are you her boyfriend?” She asked, glancing between him and her daughter.

Jay blushed. He wished. “No, just a good friend.” Anne nodded, but he was pretty sure that she didn’t believe him.

Anne took Hailey’s hand in hers and Jay took a few steps back, considering leaving the room all together, but he couldn’t convince himself to walk out. “Do you know what happened? Trudy was very vague on the phone…” She trailed off, looking at him with glassy eyes.

“Uh, we had all made plans to hang out, so Adam and I--Adam is one of our friends--picked up Kevin and headed to Kim’s. Um, Hailey was at Kim’s house, she’s Adam’s girlfriend. Anyway…” Jay cursed himself for stuttering so much. This should not be so difficult. “Kim woke up a few hours ago and she told us that she accidentally locked her keys in her car and when they were looking for something to open the door, the garage door fell off it’s hinge.” Jay sighed, having successfully told their made up story. “Adam and I pried the door open when we got there and found him passed out on the floor, Kim said that Hailey tried to break the window with a tennis racket.”

Anne smiled softly, proud of her daughter for doing her best in a bad situation. “Kim, the other girl, is she alright?”

Jay nodded, “She’s fine.”

“Good,” Anne swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Thank you for being here with her.”

“Of course.” Jay gave her a reassuring smile, but he didn’t know if it was for her sanity or his.

Anne wiped a tear from under her eye. “Do they know when she’s going to wake up?”

“They said it would be at some point today…” Jay said, shrugging. He took a moment to take her in. He realized that this wasn’t the first time that her mother had stood over her uncious body in a hospital and it made his blood boil. Hailey didn’t deserve any of this, and her mom seemed so kind. It took him a bit before he noticed that he was intently checking Anne’s exposed skin for any signs of harm. When he found one his breath caught in his throat, there was a dark bruise poking out from under her short sleeve blouse and it was a scary reminder that Hailey’s past situation was all too real.

A few minutes of silence pass before Anne speaks up again, “Is she happy here?”

Jay thinks about it for a second. He really hoped she was. Even in the middle of the shitshow they were living, they had all managed to find ways to laugh and have fun, ways to just be tennagers for a little while. “I think so.” He said, a lopsided grin on his face. “I know that he makes the rest of us really happy.” Jay wanted to add an “especially me” to the end, but he figured the last person he should send mixed signals to is her mother.

Before Anne could respond another person walked into the room. “Sorry I took so long, I had to find parking and then figure out what room she was in…” The man looked up and gave Jay a questioning look. He looked at Anne, “Who’s this?”

Anne smiled, “Honey this is Jay, he’s a friend of Hailey’s.”

The man gave Jay a megawatt smile and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you son, I’m Eldon, Hailey’s father.”

…

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry my updates have been so sporadic! Classes just started and I am drowning in organic chem homework. I hope you enjoyed the nugget from season 2 that I snuck into this chapter, it seemed fitting. Thanks for reading!

@lissethsrojas @fuckyeahkillianemma @puckluck28 @chilly7188 @thebigapocalypsewolf @karihighman

[doomstypewriter]

16 , chapter 2

I finished it!!! 

Remember when I said I would upload the epilogue next week? What a lie that was! To be honest, I was definitely planning on it, but then I didn’t. I am glad to inform that, finally, the inspiration hit and I can proudly announce this fic is complete!  

(If you see this, please consider reblogging it, if you like it, that is. Tumblr keeps on not displaying my posts on the tags. Thanks!)

Chapter 1   

AO3

Summary:

After a run through sixteen years of grief, Lan Wangji lays next to his husband during a cold morning. Everything is fine and will continue to be. 

Word count: 1471

TW:  Nightmares, past trauma, grief, very mild angst (if you find anything else tell me and I'll list it as well).

Waking up

Waking seems to turn into a reminder of what he had lost. A cycle, haunted by a memory of aching loneliness. At the same time, being awake comes as proof that he would not be welcomed to an empty room after the usual nightmare. 

Not when each morning was blessed by the comforting warmth of Wei Ying’s body, as always, hiding from the early sun rays against Lan Wangji’s own body. This was now the usual. 

The wonder in saying that! 

There is no nightmare that isn’t vanquished by his presence. 

He no longer needs to imagine life without him, as he pretends to live day after day. 

“Lan Zhaaan” he complained, “quit moving. We’re asleep. It’s not even five yet”. 

Actually, it was a few minutes past five. 

But, a couple of minutes, even hours, were a little concession when he got to stay there in turn, as if nothing could change. It probably would. Lately, he allowed himself to believe that for the better. 

Lan Wangji yielded into untangling Wei Ying’s hair, he couldn’t help the smallest grin from appearing, these were the kind of things he had to resign himself to now. In his arms, Wei Ying sighed content, snuggling against him. He breathed in deep. 

“Sandalwood. How are we supposed to get up now? It really is your fault, you shouldn’t smell so good. Sandalwood makes me sleepy” Wei Wuxian muttered. 

“Poor excuse”. 

Wei Ying laughed silently after hearing that. 

“Well, one of us has to be in charge of finding excuses. If I didn’t do it, how could you enjoy your husband as well as you do, Hanguang-Jun? Besides, five isn’t a reasonable time to be anywhere, except asleep with me. I don’t deserve getting cold while they have you going all over the place, less now that your brother has retaken on his duties as Sect Leader. What sort of mess could happen in the Cloud Recesses at five in the morning? Not even I would wake up just to stir up trouble, and fierce corpses may not sleep, but even they must have enough common sense to not do anything until after eleven”. 

“I thought you wanted to sleep”. 

“Oh, I believe I’m practically already sleeping, how could you know? I’m sure that if I tried I could sleep talk in such a way that I would seem awake”. 

“Hmm”. 

“Will you stay with me? It would truly be depressing if I spoke alone in my sleep”. 

Exasperating as Wei Ying could be, he made it hard to say no, if only because of how little Lan Wangji could do not to adore him. 

“I don’t need you to. I will stay” he responded, far too willing to give in.

He could feel Wei Ying smiling against his skin. Turning his head in that lazy manner of his, he kissed the base of Wangji’s neck. 

“Lan Zhan, you’re adorable! I’ve only given you one kiss and you’re already getting goosebumps” he made a long pause, trying to keep himself as awake as he needed to finish showing his mental process. “I’m not giving you any more now, if I did I don’t believe you’d manage to get a wink… don’t sulk, if you nap now I’ll wake you up with as many as you like…”

“Hmm”.

“It’s so early…”

Lan Wangji leaned in to give him a kiss on the top of his head, as if to say ‘you can fully fall asleep, I’m not leaving’. 

Wei Wuxian’s breathing calmed down until it settled in the habitual rhythm that he associated with deep and peaceful sleep. It was long past five. His inner clock told him that soon it will be six, and, in spite of that, he couldn’t care less. He had asked him to stay. 

The morning chill filtered through every nook and crevice of the Jingshi, even more as the winter approached. Hidden beneath the quilts, it seemed as if they had built a small place in the world for such a paradise. Those were the simple pleasures in which Lan Wangji felt the echo of a twinge of pain. During dead moments like this one, once upon a time, he had convinced himself that the passage of time, with neither pain nor glory, would be all the future had planned for him. 

Yet, now. 

 He had spent countless mornings giving in to the demands of his husband to laze around for a few more hours, enough to memorise the meaning of each pause in his slumbering breath. It flabbergasted him to such a degree… his life. This was his life now! 

Around eight, Wei Ying began to shift in his place. They didn’t run short of occasions in which Lan Wangji had to move an elbow pressing against his ribs or gently straighten his husband’s posture, so he wouldn’t complain of back pain the following day. Lan Wangji could tell, from his frown and mumbling, this wasn’t a mere matter of choosing one posture. 

Naturally, they didn’t run short on nightmares either. 

“Wake up” he tapped on his husband’s face lightly. “It’s okay, wake up”. 

“Shijie” Wei Wuxian replied as he opened his eyes.

Wangji did not feel the need to say anything. He simply stilled his lips on Wei Ying’s hairline. 

“Lan Zhan…”

“Nightmare”. 

“Yeah, it seems like it… I’m sorry, you must be tired of having me waking you up time and time again with this stuff. It’s even worse since I can’t stand still when I’m sleeping badly” in all honesty, Wei Wuxian never stood still no matter what, but Lan Wangji decided against mentioning it. “I hope I didn’t hit you with my knee this once”.

“I’m fine”. 

“Me as well! So you can go back to sleep and stop worrying”. 

“Not tired”. 

“Ah, you’ve surely been just laying down here, awake, since five. Lan Zhan, you should’ve slept. I can’t understand how you don’t die of boredom having me drooling on the pillow without doing anything else”. 

“I’m not bored”. 

“Oh”. 

Wei Ying made sure to hide his face very well between the covers and Wangji’s chest, in such a way that he couldn’t see his expression regardless of how much he turned his neck. Anyway, he wouldn’t need it to understand what had just happened. 

“Lan Zhan, you can’t just say things like that so seriously. Anyone would think that… well, they won’t come up with anything they haven’t already. Ah, I don’t know what I’m saying. You’re really good, Lan Zhan”. 

“You can go back to sleep if you want to”. 

Right after that, Wei Wuxian half climbed his torso, half crawled with his right arm, to lay his head on the pillow. The tips of their noses touched. 

“I think it’s best if I keep you company”, he said grinning widely. “Sometimes you impress me so, how you’re able to endure hours and hours alone, doing nothing…” he trailed off, wrinkling his nose and looking aside the way he usually did when he thought he had touched on a sensitive topic. 

“I’m with Wei Ying”. 

“Exactly! Even in my sleep I’m still some fantastic company”. 

“Hmm”. 

Wei Wuxian began to laugh softly.

“I’m always going to be by your side, alright? Someone has to make sure you don’t get bored, and, who better than me? Besides, that way I get to speak as much as I please, the Cloud Recesses is already silent enough as it is. Having some variety is great! So, yeah, I’m not leaving… not anymore. This time we get to stay like this, no matter what! Is that fine?” 

Wangji replied before he could carry on panicking any further. 

“I was lonely… I got used to time passing… while I felt still”. 

It wasn’t that much of a confession, but he found it hard to reminiscence on it nonetheless. Wei Wuxian’s breath caught upon hearing it. Perhaps he was downplaying the significance of his own words in his head, too used to hearing it from the inside, never once spoken. It hurt. Being without him had hurt to no end. Wei Wuxian could tell as much, he knew. 

“Maybe it is worth it now, the pain. I didn’t feel like it was at the time. I went on for you… and for me. It was quiet, but not peaceful, and very lonely”. 

Somehow he managed to summarise, some would say understate, his brother would, those sixteen years. Wei Ying teared up. 

“I… I wish I had known back then, I would have… I don’t know what I would have changed but, maybe if I did something different I could have spared you--” 

“Wei Ying”. 

“Yes, sorry”. 

“I spent sixteen years grieving, not because of you, for you. But, in this life, now, together… I’ve never been as happy”.

[hcs-and-abnormalities]

Howdy stranger! I’m here to bring welcoming cheers and also Der Frei/Clouded Monk requests if you’re okay with it - I’m interested on how you think Der Frei and Clouded Monk get to the point where they’re talking about who confesses to who first. Thank you!

Sorry this took so long! I wanted to do something more than just bullet points for something like this!

Also quick warning for blood but like this is Lob Corp and blood is like rain.

Comission work wasn’t strange to Der Freischütz. If anything, that was one of the main reasons the employees routinely came to him; the other being that he was one of the easier abnormalities to manage. What was strange to him, though, was the target he was to be aiming for. What little information he got and what he saw only made the target stranger. The monster looked like a man, yet also not. A twisted depiction of such? One that used to be human, still looked human, but... wrong? He didn’t know. He just shot.

In order to calm the curiousity that made it’s home in the back of his mind, he one day questioned the employee currently working with him.

“Oh? The Clouded Monk? Yeah, he breached yesterday, not too long after I worked with him either. Feel pretty bad about it too. Normally he’s pretty calm and quiet, yet when I last worked with him, he seemed panicked. Almost on the verge of tears and hugging himself. Kept talking about ‘the demon.’ Felt bad for the guy but there wasn’t much I could do...”

That only piqued the markman’s curiousity more. He was a devil after all... maybe that’s why he felt so strange about this other abnormality? He was similar, in a way. Though, the sources of their hauntings were strikenly different...

And that’s when the marksmen decided he wanted to meet him. Wouldn’t be the first time he interacted with another abnormality (what with his friendships with both Funeral and Red) but this was definitely the first time he initiated it himself.

So, he did something that, technically wasn’t breaching, but might as well have been. You see, his gun can fire anywhere he wishes, as well as creating portals with it. So, all he had to do was think of where he wanted to go, shoot, and walk through.

Of course, the still recuperating monk was... less than thrilled to have the ground in front of him shot with the same bullet that pierced him the other day. He winced, stumbling to his feet and held his staff close to his chest. He shook slightly, though both abnormalities knew this wasn’t from fear.

Der Freischütz cocked his head. Huh, he looked... different. He was much less like a monster, and more so just an ordinary man. Of course, he was unable to see his face (or any skin for that matter), but he could tell from the way he held himself and acted that he was not the creature he shot.He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off.

“You can’t just... who even are you?” The monk was the one who broke the silence. Despite his shrouded eyes, Der Freischütz knew he was staring daggers right at him.

Frei raised his hand to speak, “Apologies. It was quicker to use my rifle.”

“Quicker to use? Sounds like an excuse you’d use often...” the monk said. Der Freischütz stiffened. “From your reaction, I seem to be correct in that assumption.”

“I didn’t come here to be judged,” Frei said, laying the barrel of the gun on his shoulder, “I just wanted to talk.”

“About what—?”

“...and apologize.”

That caught the monk off guard. So much so that he actually stepped back. “You... want to apologize?”

Frei nodded, then sighed. “I was the one who shot you when you last breached. Remember the bullet?”

“I know it was your bullet. Anyone would know that from the way it shoots straight across the place. No, I’m asking why you of all people would apologize. You’ve never shown remorse before, so why now?”

It was Frei’s turn to step back. “Why would you—?” He paused, “Oh...” Of course the monk knew. Everyone knew in this place. After all, once you see a bullet streak past you, you want to know where and why it was there. That leads to finding his information, then his past... “There’s no privacy in this damn place, is there?”

“Should a murderer like you even get privacy?” The monk had sat back down on the ground. The freeshooter wasn’t as much of a threat as he had thought. Besides, he still was injured enough that he’d rather not stand. “Doing what you do... killing for the fun of it. Even going as far as to shoot your own fiance.”

Frei looked down, hands shaking. This was a mistake. “Truthfully, I was hoping you’d understand.” The monk moved to speak again, but the marksman cut him off, “Of all people, you’d understand what it was like to be tricked.”

Silence.

“...you were tricked?” The monk was the one to break the silence once again. He looked up to the devil, unsure.

Frei moved to sit down as well, tired of towering over the already shorter monk. His gun clattered to the floor next to him.

“When you’re bleeding out, you’re not exactly in the right state of mind...” Frei started. “Besides... it... she told me she would rather herself have... then me being trapped for eternity...”

“In the end, it was her decision.”

The monk stayed quiet for a moment. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s fine, most do.” Frei said.

“....we really are similar. In the end. I... I still shouldn’t have...” The monk breathed in, then out. His bandaged fingers fumbled around his staff, the rings on the end jingling slightly. He stared at the ground. “Allow me to make it up to you at least.”

“You really don’t have to. It doesn’t matter that much anyway,” Frei sighed, moving to get up and leave. Instead, a bandaged hand grabbed the hem of his cloak.

“But it does matter. How about this, perhaps you could come back tomorrow, and I could get to know you... the real you.”

“And why should I?”

“Because, I can tell you’re just as lonely as I am...” the monk smiled, “You’re not the only one to sense souls. Yours probably should have tipped me off from the start anyway.”

Der Freischütz weighed his options. The monk was telling the truth but... he just met this man, and it had already been a roller coaster of emotions... but... like he said himself, the two of them were very, very similar.

“Okay, it’s a deal then.”

///

The visits continued, luckily without the accusations and random shots at the ground.

Of course, the facility knew of this. They weren’t exactly trying hard to hide their newfound friendship either. The two had been known to both passively breach at times. Both of them just walking down the halls, sometimes taking out some hostile entity to save some poor clerk. After all, despite his dulled numbness to death... Frei didn’t want the monk to suffer from the scent of flesh blood.

Slowy, the two also began to get more... touchy? Not in a weird way, but rather, it became a regular occurrence to see one sleeping on the other. Something so simple yet produced so much enkephalin... It’d be counterproductive to stop this.

“So this dagger was...?” The monk asked. The weapon, sheathed, glinted under the Corporation’s fluorescent lights. A blue dagger with silver accents.

Frei nodded, “She gave it to me. She always talked about how knives weren’t just for violence, but rather for survival as well. She didn’t want me to be in a situation where I wouldn’t be able to cut free from.” His soft smile was evident, as in his time with the monk, he’d become less and less stand-offish towards him. The cowl was pulled down, so his mouth was visible. Or... it was at least visible when opened.

The monk palmed the bandages on his face. Maybe... he wanted to... would it be okay if....? He handed the dagger back to Frei, who pocketed it.

“You seem... troubled today? What is wrong?” Frei leaned against his side. The close warmth made something in the monk’s chest jump.

“Well! I am just fine, thank you.”

“A person who is fine doesn’t insist they are fine,” Frei said, he leaned closer to him. Closing his eyes. He stifled a small laugh when the monk tapped his forehead. “Am I wrong though?”

The monk huffed. “No... I just... I am bot sure how to go about this... never happened to me before.” He started to fuss with the bandages again. Below them, there was a significant red flush that was left unseen.

That made Der Freischütz perk up. The small demon-like tail that the monk adored so much swished eagerly. “What do you mean?” He removed himself, and the monk wished he could pull him back to his side. He had enough wherewithal not too though. “Are your bandages bothering you? Besides, I don’t think I have ever seen you remove them.”

The monk’s hands slipped down, but he said nothing. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat before he could. He replaced them with another. “I’m just... I just don’t want people to see my face. At least, not just anyone.”

Der Freischütz nodded, but didn’t pry.

///

Days later, a pounding at his cell’s door woke Frei out of his half-awake state. He shook his head, holding his forehead as an employee ran in, boxes in their hands. “The Clouded Monk has breached! We need you to shoot him again!”

Frei’s body turned cold.

If he refused, the demon could kill people... something the monk would never want to do ever in his life.

But... he had to shoot him.

He had to shoot the person he loved again.

The sudden realization hit him harder than the bullet that pierced his own heart did. So... he did love the monk. Out of instinct, he placed his hand over his chest, where his heart would of been. Nothing beat of course, all that lay there was a gaping hole, but something there still ached. He passed it off as the phantom pains of old wounds. Now, he knew he was wrong.

Before he had a chance to truly respond to the request, the employee had departed. Frei shook. He... he had to do this, right?

///

The monk woke up coughing blood. He hoped it was his own. The other option being...

He tried to stumble away, but was quickly restrained my a strong but kind arm. Soon, it registered that he was laying on someone. He opened his mouth to speak, suddenly aware of the cold air hitting his face. He was quickly quieted though. A soft hand brushing through the hair on his hatless head.

“Der Freischütz?”

“I had to shoot you,” Frei said, his voice quiet and barely audible. “I... I am sorry.”

The monk tried to sit up again, clutching his chest where the bullet hit. He still managed though, getting into an upright position. He still leaned on Frei though, he... he needed someone. “Not your fault. I did tell you I’d rather you shoot me then the alternative.”

Fumbling, the monk realized how the bandages were much looser than before. The ones on his chest were also changed. A look to the corner showed where the bloodstained and torn old ones went.

“You were bleeding rather heavily, and those ones got soaked. Don’t worry, I only removed the ones on your abdomen, nothing else was removed. Sorry about your mouth though. They came loose and I couldn’t find a way to reapply them without restricting your breathing.”

The monk picked up on the slight waver in the marksman’s voice. The unusually quiet and saddened tone he spoke in was much different from his stoic yet soft way of speaking. He also kept clawing at his chest, where his heart would be.

He didn’t know the full details, but he knew nothing lay under his hand there. So why did he...?

In a split second decision ruled by emotion rather than complex thought, the Clouded Monk removed the rest of the bandages on his face. The fell to the ground, folding over themselves.

Freischütz shut his eyes tight, adverting his gaze. In response, the monk gently cupped his cheek, and turned his head back.

Freischütz opened his eyes. They widened after seeing the monk’s face, and the Clouded Monk swore he could see slight sparks under the marksman’s skin.

“Sorry, it’s not much but...”

“Don’t say that!”

Ah, the monk smiled at seeing the cold demon’s face grow hot with blush. He was so... bashful about any emotions he had. Especially if he shouted out those emotions in the heat of the moment.

“I just... thought you only wanted to show someone you trusted—“

Realization dawned on him. “Oh...”

“Oh indeed. Judging by your reaction... Hopefully those feelings aren’t unrequited.” A small stab of worry his the monk’s heart but... after seeing Frei’s face, he knew. And knowing made his own heart beat faster.

Frei sighed, “I... they aren’t by any means... you could probably figure out why I... hated having to...” Der Freischütz shut his eyes tight. Painful memory, or embarrassment at opening his heart? “But... in any case, I guess we both...” Frei leaned his head against the monk’s shutting his eyes. His tail wrapped around the monk’s waist; the fluffy wispy end laid where the bullet hit.

The monk laughed weaky, a smile forming on his face as he leaned back against the devil. “I do love you.”

Frei purred, “And I love you.”

[evanmcintosh]

|Butterfly Clips |

Who: @evanmcintosh & @daisyxabrams

Where: Evan’s apartment

What:  Evan is having trouble with his sobriety and needs a friend

Notes: Mentions of weed , alcohol, breaking sobriety.

daisy had been settled in for a movie when evan had text her. but, finding out that he wasn’t sober anymore had her worried enough to completely forget about the movie she’d picked on netflix. getting herself ready to leave the house, she collected up a few things and sent a text to beckett, asking if she could drop sir off for a doggy playdate. after she dropped him off, she made her way over to evan’s. she really hoped he was doing alright, well as alright as he could be. she cared about him, and she wanted to help in anyway that she could. parking her car, she grabbed her bag and made her way to the door. knocking, she called out, "evan? it's daisy."

Evan was high out of his fucking mind, at least he was an hour or so before he has texted Daisy. Now he has mellowed out and ended the night with a couple drinks. He was in the best blissfully state he’d been in for months. This was why being sober wasn’t worth it. This, was fucking Heaven to him. Not to mention he had a beautiful girl coming over. Could this night be more perfect? At the knock he made his way to the door where he opened up to let the girl in and wrap her up in a big hug. Billie eilish playing in the background softly and he swayed them. “Dais, you’re hereee.” He sang with a smile.

a smile spread across daisy's face when evan greeted her at the door, glad to see that he wasn't so far gone that he couldn't get around. she hugged him back, giggling softly as he swayed them to the music. "i said i'd come, so here i am." she told him. daisy was a woman of her word, it was something she prided herself on. second only to her loyalty to her friends. "you're having a good time, huh?"

“You’re the best, like really the best.” He grins and kisses her cheek before he pulls away and leads her inside. “The best time. Have you listened to this fucking album? This bitch is a fucking genius. It’s crazy.” He lets out a small laugh as he rounds the couch to grab the empty glass on the table. “Can I get you a drink? I have vino.”

once she was released from the hug, daisy followed evan into the living room, putting her bag down and making herself at him. "i'd be lying if i said i haven't blasted it to the point where i'm surprised my neighbours haven't complained. but since kinsley moved it, it's just connor and i don't think he'd really care." she said with a shrug. "vino sounds great. thanks. if i'd known we'd be drinking i would've brought something with me."

Evan couldn’t help but slightly cringe to himself every time he heard Kinsleys name. It’s almost like it haunted him. He grimaced and moved on to drinks. He made his way to the kitchen and called out to Daisy over his shoulder. “Babe. I’m back to being fun Ev, drinks are always involved.” He poured her a glass of wine and poured himself some whiskey before returning to the girl on the couch. He handed her the glass and admired the butterfly clips in her hair with a small bite to his lip. “God, you’re fucking cute.”

kicking off her shoes, daisy made herself comfy on the couch, her legs tucked under her butt, acting as if she was in her own home. "speaking of being back to fun ev, you wanna talk about what happened? i figure if i get the concerned mom part of the evening out of the way you can enjoy the rest of the night without having to worry about it." she called back. when evan reappeared, she took the glass from him and immediately took a sip. "well, lucky for you, i've got more than enough butterfly clips for the both of us. i've come prepared."

Evan shook his head with a small pout. “Why talk when we can drink?” He offered a cheers before sipping on his whiskey, clearing his throat from the slight burn. He sat back arms spread out behind the couch as he watched the other girl take out her clips. He raised a brow with a grin. “ do you want to put those on me? You’re gonna have to get a little closer.” He spoke as he gestured to his lap

as much as she wanted to check in with him about what had caused him to slip back into old habits, she wasn't going to push the matter. "okay, let's just drink then." daisy nodded, tapping her glass against evan's before taking another sip. "wow, you're not wasting any time tonight, are you?" she teased, shaking her head. "usually you last at least a few more minutes before you start hitting on me."

Evan gave her a bashful laugh. “I can’t help myself, those clips and that glitter is getting me all riled up.” He reached out to caress her cheek. “You should know better. Plus, you did say you’d play with my hair.” He smiled smugly

"you must have low standards if that's all it takes." daisy teased, laughing softly. "i can't say i've met many people who get all worked up over a few clips and sparkles." putting down her glass, she reached for the bag she'd brought with her. she rummaged around in it for a moment, pulling out a couple of different hair accessories. "i know i did, which is why i brought these with me," she lay them out in the space between them, "so we can match. how cute is that, right?"

“I’m a simple man.” He stated with a laugh as he shifted in his seat to try to calm the hardness in his shorts. He watched as she laid out her accessories and smiled. “Very, now get to the part where you’re touching my hair.” He whined impatiently

daisy shook her head with a laugh as she picked up the accessories and stretched her legs out. "here, lay down, put your head here," she patted her lap, "and i'll start working my magic. you're going to be as cute as me by the time i'm done with you."

Evan pouted at the realization that he was not getting lucky tonight. He sighed and put his drink down on the table before getting in position and laying his head on her nice pillowy thighs. The exhaustion came over him almost the instant her hand touched his tousled locks, his eyes fluttering, begging to close. “That’s impossible, no one can be as cute as you.” He mutters softly. He gets an idea.”You know, we should kiss but like just as friends. A friend make out sesh…”

she waited as evan got into position and once he did, she started gently running her fingers through his hair. a smile spread across her face as she noticed his eyes struggling to stay open. "are you doubting my skills? i'm hurt." she joked, carefully brushing out small tangles with her fingertips. "evan mcintosh, did you lure me here under false pretenses just so you could make out with me?"

“No.” He mumbles, his eyes almost fully shut at this point. “Not my intention at all. You just…” he lets out a soft yawn… “…you came here looking so pretty, made me wanna kiss you.” He hums, one of his arms wrapping around her leg for comfort. “…legs soft…” he begins to drift, not quite out yet.

daisy couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. "so i'm here just to be a pillow. got it." she teased. leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "how's that? am i forgiven for showing up looking the way i always look?"

Evan can feel the warmth of her lips as they catch his. His eyes fully closed now but his mind still aware . His smile grows at the warmth. “I don’t know, might need to pay up with a few more.” He responds with a sudden small jolt of adrenaline. “I have actual pillows in my bedroom if you would rather we use those.”

“you’d actually have to stay awake for that and right now it looks like you’re really struggling with that.” she chuckled, going back to playing with his hair. “i’m a classy lady, it takes at least a dinner before i get down to pillow talk with someone, you should know that by now. besides, real pillows would make it harder to get your hair looking cute, they’d just mess things up.”

Evan grunted as a remark to her comment. “I could take you out on a great date, if you let me…” he let out another soft yawn and nestled further into her lap. This time letting her drift him off to sleep. It was probably the best sleep hed have in a long time.

“is that right? well, i’m going to hold you to that.” daisy chuckled softly, watching evan drift off as she continued running her fingers through his hair.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “Under the Weather”

This is just a little post-Neverland one-shot, taking place sometime after they've returned to Storybrooke with Henry. Pan's gone, and there is no second curse. It was probably originally inspired (some years ago) by cold January weather and my wondering how Hook manages to keep warm and not get sick on a freezing cold old ship. And cold January weather brought it back to mind today to dig out for Self-Promo Sunday. Anyway, pretty sweet and fluffy, I'll admit it, but I still hope you enjoy - even all these years later and after how much closer our pirate and princess became...

"Under the Weather"

By: @snowbellewells​

Also available on ff.net or AO3

If anyone had asked her, Emma Swan couldn't have explained why she felt the sudden prickling of concern in the back of her mind, nor the unexpected, pressing need to make sure he was alright. Shaking her head at the sheer ridiculousness of the idea, she had fought against her impulses all day. She had busied herself with paperwork and answered calls about power outages and other inconveniences that came with the cold, wintry Maine weather, but there weren't enough jobs by early afternoon to keep her mind from wandering back to him and her eyes from every so often floating up to check the clock.

David knew something was bothering her; Emma could feel her father's eyes studying her for clues to her agitation. However, he was also wise enough to bite his tongue and not ask questions. She wanted to tell him to go on home to Snow, and she would finish up. Yet she didn't, knowing that would only make him more curious. Resolutely, stubbornly, she kept finding any bit of busy work she could lay her hands on to stop the disconcerting waves of concern for him that were now rolling through her at regular intervals.

'He's a 300-year-old pirate captain, for Heaven's sake!' her mind berated her seeming irrationality. 'He can certainly take care of himself in a sleepy little town. What in the world could he need you for? You haven't had word of any kind of trouble…' Still, while all of these arguments made perfect, reasonable sense, Emma found they didn't soothe her unease in the slightest.

When the clock finally struck five, David stood casually, announcing that since they weren't busy he was going to head home and help Snow with supper, if Emma didn't need anything. Emma shook her head 'no' with a small smile, thanking him and saying she would see him shortly.

"You're sure I can't do anything else to help before I leave?" her father asked sincerely, again looking at her so closely that Emma knew he was trying to divine her thoughts.

"Positive," she reiterated with a definite nod, giving him a playful smirk and waving him out the door. "I'll call if anything comes up, but I should be right behind you in an hour or so."

Once her father had left her to her own devices, Emma tossed the case files she had been pretending to read across the surface of her desk and gave up all pretense of working. Standing up and beginning to pace, she at last admitted to herself that the worry swirling inside her for Hook was not going away – in fact, it was only growing stronger. Taking one last glance around the interior of the station, she realized that she wasn't going to get anything else done, and she wouldn't have any peace until she put her awful hunch to rest. Hook was going to tease her mercilessly about her concern for him, but apparently she was going to have to live with that. The fact that he tended to haunt her steps and turn up anywhere she might be, made it especially disconcerting that she hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. At least, she was telling herself that was all it was.

She grabbed her jacket, hit the lights, locked up, and was headed for her car before she could fight with herself any longer. Parking the bug at the docks, Emma stepped out, straightened her clothes, and steeled her nerves before striding purposefully to the spot at the far end where the Jolly Roger had been anchored since their return from Neverland. Normally, the Captain was so alert and aware that the moment he heard anyone nearing his ship he would have already been standing on deck looking down in challenge, but Emma didn't see any sign of him.

Walking up the gangplank, she let her boots stomp and echo loudly; giving him fair warning that she was coming aboard and expecting him to appear any minute with an "Oi! Who goes there?" and brandished sword, but she was greeted with nothing but silence. Finding her footing on the familiar wooden deck, Emma actually experienced a strange sense of welcome reunion. Since they weren't hiding from Pan and Henry was safe, it was actually nice to be on the sturdy ship once more. She could have really grown to like the adventure and thrill of sailing, if the situation had been different and her son hadn't been in danger. She didn't linger in her nostalgic thoughts for long though. Trailing a gloved hand fondly along the ship's side, she moved toward the open door of the stairway which led below decks. Poking her head in, she tried calling out, "Hook?! Are you here?"

Again she got no response, so tamping down the feeling of trespass, she entered the darkness of the stairwell and stepped lower, growing more concerned all the time. 'Where had the insufferable idiot gotten to? And even more disturbing, why did she care?'

Remembering the lower level of the ship from their time in Neverland, she found her way down the hallway with a guiding hand along the wall, even though evening dusk was closing in and none of the hanging lanterns were lit. She passed the crew quarters that the rest of them had stayed in and didn't stop until she reached the room at the furthest end of the ship – the Captain's quarters. Pausing for a second, she drew in a quick, tight breath and then rapped her knuckles on the door. "If you're in there, Pirate, you'd better answer me," she warned, before adding with wry humor, "and I hope you're decent, because I'm coming in."

Whatever she had been expecting, the sight that met Emma's eyes when she entered Hook's chamber was not it. He was there, but the laughter that had been about to erupt at bursting in and catching him by surprise died in her throat when she got her first good look at him.

He was curled up in his bunk, even though it was barely 5:30, and he looked dead to the world, completely unaware of her presence despite all her yelling and stomping around. Even from across the room, she could see those unfairly long, gorgeous eyelashes flutter fitfully as he hovered not-quite-asleep, not-quite-awake, and he rolled from his side to his back with a pitiful, low groan.

"Hook?" she questioned worriedly, her voice small as she walked toward him, already stretching out a hand hesitantly. Once she got close enough to touch him, she nearly jerked back on contact; his skin was burning with fever under her fingertips. Emma gasped in surprise and leaned in closer, now truly concerned that he wasn't responding to her. She swiped her hand up his sculpted cheekbone to brush under the fringe of his dark hair and feel his forehead, equally hot and clammy from dried sweat.

It might have been the cool feeling of her hand on his flushed skin, but those stunning blue eyes, looking much more bleary and unfocused than usual, finally forced their way open to gaze at her in confusion. "Swan?" he mumbled, his voice sounding ragged and raw, probably from coughing, she realized sympathetically, "What are you…? Am I dreaming?"

She shook her head, smoothing his damp hair back and trying to calm her heart, which was now fluttering erratically at seeing him so vulnerable. "No, I'm here, Hook….I…" she hesitated, feeling that maybe she was giving too much away, "I just had a feeling…that something was wrong…that you needed help."

Hook started to smirk at her and, she was sure, offer some sort of smug comment on her admission, but he was shaken by violent tremors just then, shivering uncontrollably and a gruff sort of moan escaped against his will instead.

Her heart went out to him. Emma had honestly never pictured the man getting ill; he had survived a violent amputation, the Dark One's hand squeezing his heart, the rough, dangerous adventures of a pirate, and centuries of life in more than one realm. She would almost want to tease him for being felled by something as simple as the flu – if she weren't so concerned at the condition she found him in. She couldn't help wondering how long he had been lying there like that. Had he taken too much of a chill before she even arrived? What would have happened if she hadn't felt so compelled to come looking for him?

Reaching her other hand out in an effort to take his good one, Emma heard Hook's breath wheeze disturbingly as his mouth fell open, obviously trying to get a deeper breath through what must be badly congested lungs. "We'll be lucky if you haven't holed up in this drafty old boat and let your flu turn into bronchitis, Buddy," she chided him.

He tried to chuckle good naturedly, she could tell, but it became a wracking fit of coughs that made him clutch at his ribs and squeeze her hand in his, as if for reassurance that she was still there. "Hang in there," she whispered, squeezing back. "You're going to be okay." He barely nodded, but then his eyes fluttered closed and he didn't respond to her anymore. His loud, openmouthed, stuffy breathing let her know not to be alarmed, but Emma took the chance to look away from him and glance around the cabin.

There was a fireplace, but he had obviously not even felt strong enough to get up and tend it, as it had sunk to embers and was about to go out. She felt her own teeth nearly chattering it was so chilly in the room. He should probably be taken to someone's house – or to the hospital – but she didn't think she could move him alone, or that he was going to be able to stand and help her much.

Forcing herself to clear her head and draw in a deep, steadying breath, Emma tried to focus on one problem at a time. She pulled her hand from his clasp, and then patted his arm gently as if to reassure him she would only be a minute, though he made no movement and seemed out of it again. Stepping to the other side of the room, Emma took the poker from the mantle and stoked the fire until the embers flickered to a bit more life and then added a couple new logs. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't looking, and then began to rummage carefully through the heavy old trunk she spotted in the corner until she found a few more blankets than the single one that Hook was already using – which must have already been on the bed. He was obviously sweating and feverish, but she knew that he was still chilled and needed to stay covered.

Coming back to his bedside, she sat tentatively on the edge of his bunk, just next to his hips and gently spread both blankets over his inert form, tucking them in with a level of care and concern that bewildered, frightened, and warmed her all at once. Hook didn't even open his eyes, but let out a breathy sigh and murmured in a voice even lower and rougher than usual, "Emma…you came…"

Her name on his lips with such pure and simple affection stilled her motions and she froze for a moment, hands hovering over him as if she had forgotten how to move. Blinking, Emma came back out of her trance and stood again, looking around to see that the fire was crackling and the room was already less cold. With a nod of approval to herself, she quickly escaped above deck for a moment.

She knew her first call should be her parents, to let them know she wouldn't be coming for supper after all. However, she dreaded explaining to her suspicious, overprotective father why she had felt the need to check on Captain Hook and now didn't want to leave him sick and alone. So she put it off by calling Ruby first, knowing the other woman was about to get off work at the diner and asking her to pick up some orange juice, bottled water, cough syrup, and Kleenexes, and bring them to the Jolly, promising she would explain when Ruby arrived. Then, once she couldn't put it off any longer, Emma was relieved to get Snow on her parents' phone. Her mother actually seemed concerned about the Captain as well and wanted to help, but Emma managed to dissuade her – for reasons she didn't even want to study too carefully. She informed her mother she would be back in the morning, once she made sure Hook had some fluids in him and his fever had broken, and they ended the call.

She paced on the deck until she saw Ruby striding down the dock – sashaying was more like it. The female wolf had a sort of wild grace even in her human form that Emma wasn't ashamed to admit she envied. Emma gave Snow's best friend a wave, and Ruby grinned widely, holding up the bag of requested items. Emma thanked her, explained what was going on, paid Ruby, and tried not to dwell on how anxious she was to get back to Hook and make sure he wasn't any worse.

"You've got it bad and don't even know yet," Ruby murmured, eyes twinkling mischievously at Emma.

Emma felt her hackles rise as she shot back defensively, "What are you talking about?"

Ruby just raised an eyebrow at Emma, giving her a look that said she might be fooling herself, but it was right there for anyone else to see. "You can't lie to someone with a canine sense of smell," Ruby smirked teasingly. "The pheromones are literally rolling off of you in waves. Not that I blame you…" she paused, licking her lips almost predatorily, "…that swagger, those eyes, and all that leather…"

Emma snorted indelicately, rolling her eyes at the waitress' antics and turning Ruby to give her a push towards the gangplank. "You're crazy!" she added, laughing even as her pulse raced with the truth and she hoped the other woman couldn't sense that too.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sheriff," Ruby called back as she sidled off with a wave. "I'll let you go…for now. But I want details later." She turned once to wink at Emma, then she was gone, her chuckling at Emma's expense fading behind her.

Once Ruby had left, Emma redirected her steps below; trying to wipe her mind clean of the werewolf's teasing and her heart's whispering that was true. She stepped back into Hook's cabin, eyes immediately drawn to him across the room as she rooted through the bag to pull out the medicine and a bottle of water. She moved closer, only to see that he was shaking, teeth chattering, limbs shuddering enough that the blankets were sliding off him. His eyes were no longer closed, and they rolled up to meet hers weakly as he coughed harshly, sounding as though it raked his chest raw. "No need to gawk at me, Emma love, it's embarrassing enough having you here when I'm like this." He didn't get any more out though as the effort of speaking set off another coughing fit. Trembling, he suddenly wouldn't look her in the eyes.

She took pity on his pride and leaned in to help him sit, offering the plastic cup of cough syrup.

Hook wrinkled his nose, looking at it doubtfully for a moment, then glanced to her, "What is this, Lass?"

"Medicine, you stubborn pirate," she laughed, shaking her head at his hesitation and holding it out to him again. "Come on, I'm trying to help. We need to get some liquids in you."

He held out his hand to take the cup from her, but his fingers trembled so badly that Emma could see he was going to spill it all if he did. With a sigh, she brought it to his lips instead, tilting it so he could swallow, and gasped slightly, feeling a tingling sensation run through her hand as her knuckle brushed his chin. Their eyes locked together at the shock of the contact and neither moved until he shivered violently again, the shakes actually rattling his teeth and jerking them from the strange sort of reverie they had entered.

"Go on, Beautiful," he grit out, lying back as comfortably as he could manage and averting his eyes, "can't have you getting sick too. I'll survive. It will not be the first time in 300 years that I've been ill."

Something about the way he said those words and the look in his eyes stopped Emma cold. Her insides squeezed painfully at the thought of him suffering like this before with no one to rely on or even care if he recovered or not. That realization alone made her more determined than ever to take care of him, despite him being too proud to ask for help or want to trouble her. She shook her head, leaning with him as he tried to back away from her. "Nope, sorry, Hook. You're stuck with me." She held out the water bottle next. "Here, drink up."

His eyes narrowed, and he tried to growl at her, but the menacing effect was ruined by his raw throat and how pathetic it ended up sounding. "I'm not an infant, Swan." He grumbled a bit more, but drank about half the bottle with her holding it for him, before he stopped with a short sigh of frustration. "Go on. You must have better things to do, and I don't wish to impose."

"Really?" she shot back at him, arching a brow at his attitude, but not put off by it for a second. It was scary how alike they were; she could tell he detested looking vulnerable in front of her, or anyone. If she was honest with herself, she probably acted the same way anytime she was sick. "Stop being such a baby, Hook," she added, kicking her boots off and hanging her coat over his desk chair, "and slide over."

She nearly laughed out loud at his startled expression, and his confused, "Swan? What are you on about?"

"You're sick. You're cold. You need someone to look after you. I'm the only one here, so I'm not leaving. However, I'm tired, and it's chilly, so scoot over."

For a second, she thought he was going to fight her, and she wasn't sure if he was embarrassed, worried she would get sick, or if he truly was – despite all his innuendo – the gentleman he had always claimed to be. A round of chills and coughing gripped him again though, and once his head dropped to the pillow once more in defeat, she knew she had won. "Scoot," she ordered again, lifting the covers to crawl in next to him once he did.

So close to him, Emma realized how clammy and chilled Hook truly was. He had felt like he was burning up earlier, but the shivers would be hard to miss, curled up next to him as she was. To her amusement, as reluctant as he had seemed moments before, Hook was now pulling her closer. "You're so warm, Emma," he murmured, his arm coming to rest across her middle and shooting heat through her veins.

"You're a little bit out of your head right now, aren't you?" she teased him, still genuinely concerned, but also touched at the fact that he had allowed her comfort, feeling needed and wanted right where she was. Without thinking, or stopping to second guess what her hand did instinctively, she began to lightly stroke her fingers through his coarse, black hair, sifting it soothingly and watching as his breathing smoothed out and his forehead came to rest in the crook of her neck. It gave her an adorable little thrill in her stomach at the sight of him looking so young and unguarded, as if his burdens had lifted away.

"Emma," he murmured out under his breath, and neither the scratchiness nor the softness could mask the gentle affection in his voice.

Her heart stuttered, wondering what he was thinking as he whispered her name in his sleep. For a second, she wanted to panic and bolt, but then she realized how lovely the moment actually was. She could honestly lie right there with him and never want to move away. Occasionally, a small little tremor still ran through him, but they seemed to finally be lessening. She smirked wryly to herself, knowing that if she was smart, she would be out of his bed by morning, before he woke up feeling better and ready to plague her mercilessly for all of this. She lightly traced her hand in circles on his back, hoping he was warm enough and that she had gotten enough medicine down his throat.

Shaking her head, Emma chuckled at the way he had curled himself around her protectively, smiling in his sleep unawares. She felt her own eyelids growing heavy, and the thoughts that had troubled and distracted her all day simply floated out of her mind. She was almost grateful she had the excuse to be so close to him and hold him; she would never have done it otherwise. Defining this could wait; she was going to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

Tenderly, she tilted her head just a bit to place a light little kiss to his forehead, amazed at how beautifully at peace he looked in sleep, then cuddled deeper into their embrace. Deciding just this once not to be in control, but simply to feel, she allowed her eyes to close and followed her pirate's lead, drifting off to sleep at his side.

(I was originally so flattered that "Under the Weather" received so many nice reviews, that though I really only had that one-shot in mind, the requests for the next morning caused me to re-think and come up with this. After all, good reviews are nearly as irresistible as Killian Jones' smile. It's (again) pretty sweet and fluffy...)

Epilogue: The Next Morning

Rays of warm, golden sunlight filtered into his cabin, tickling Killian Jones' face and waking him groggily from sleep. He yawned, intending to roll over and go back to sleep, when he froze, his movement arrested in shocked surprise at discovering that he was not alone in his bunk. He stiffened, years of being on guard and ready for attack taking over unconsciously as he turned his head tentatively to the side. Despite the lingering stuffiness and congestion in his head and the weak sensation in his limbs, he was pirate enough to have already reached for the cutlass he had stowed at his other side before lying down the night before, tucked hidden between the edge of the bunk and the wall. However, the vision that greeted his eyes stilled his actions and stole his very breath.

Emma Swan was curled up next to him, actually cuddled into his side, her long, blonde tresses arrayed across the pillow with the sunlight glancing off them in a glowing halo. She let out a sweet little sigh and nuzzled her face into his shoulder, bringing her hand to rest unknowingly on his chest. There was a look of such peace on her face, that he had never seen her wear in waking hours, and it completely enchanted him.

Killian knew without a doubt that if he woke her, she would run – shut him out again, pick up her cares once more, and reinforce her walls. It pained him, but he knew it to be true, as surely as he breathed. He wanted desperately, more than he had any right to hope, for her to stay. Emma had come to him, cared for him, when he was ill and alone, and it had kindled a longing in him that she would trust him enough to stay always. From the moment he had met her, with her fiery eyes and stony determination, a modern woman out of her element in the Enchanted Forest, he had been drawn to her as strongly as had been pulling away from him. She didn't want to be abandoned as she had been before, so she had made sure to leave him first. He had been following her ever since. Her turning up last night changed the game. Suddenly, he was not the only one who cared.

Emma's brow furrowed in her sleep, as if something in her dreams troubled her, and hoping to soothe her, Killian reached over to brush a finger across her cheek, feather light, then smoothed the crinkled skin between her eyes. He was hoping to ease her back into quiet slumber, not wanting her to wake, or for this dream to end. It was as if he had wakened into a serene moment of refuge from the world that had been nothing but a bitter storm of hate and cruelty for as long as he could remember – until she entered it.

Her lovely face smoothed again, and she mumbled sleepily, a tiny smile quirking one corner of her perfect, tempting mouth. She practically hummed the word that he leaned in to hear. "Killian…" she whispered, her tone sounding so warm and happy caressing his given name that he could not help but smile and long for the day when she might speak it to him with that much affection while awake.

It didn't matter that his throat was still raw and he would kill for a drink. He tried to stifle the need to cough, for fear it would jostle the golden-haired angel who had now rolled over to face him and twined her legs with his as surely as she had twined her grasp around his heart. He hardly dared to breathe, much less move, but he was still staggered by how much better he felt just being able to clumsily sift his calloused fingers through the strands of her silky mane.

Sunlight might have been pouring in to wake them, but he was going to ignore it for the chance to have this incredible, broken, infuriating woman in his arms as long as her possibly could. "I love you, Emma lass," he whispered hoarsely under his breath, placing a kiss to her temple. Then he closed his eyes, not sure if he could actually manage sleep with her so near, but needing to savor this moment. So gently it was almost imperceptible, he cradled her even closer to the warmth of his body, glad he had woken to find her still there.

Someday, he did desire to wake her with languid kisses trailing down her neck and along her collarbone, whispering endearments before either keeping her in his bed all day to love her as she deserved or venturing out to fetch her breakfast and talk to her and she readied for a new morn. Yet he knew that day had not yet come. He would not rush her. Instead, he would celebrate the step she had taken in allowing him to know of her concern for his well-being. He would hold her close enough to memorize and treasure the feeling – in all probability, she would fight its happening again anytime soon – and be glad she had given him reason to hope. Killian touched one flaxen strand of her hair, twirled it around his finger for a moment, and then tucked it behind her ear. "I can wait as long as you need, Emma," he whispering fervently. "I have all the time in the world."

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