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silent-stories · 1 year

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𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie is in the hospital after what happened in the Upside Down but no one will let you in his room, so you wait sitting on the floor in the hallway until Wayne lets you sneak in.

Warnings: angst, blood, fluff

You were sitting on the floor as there were no chairs or benches of any kind in the hallway, your back was against one of the faded walls that looked like they hadn't been painted over in years. The dark corners of the walls let you know that no one had worried about the mold in that place.

You thought the doctors had purposely placed him in that cold, dark wing of the hospital, almost forgotten by everyone.

Probably the heating there was off or didn't work because the temperature was decidedly lower than in the others wings of the hospital and this made you understand how little the doctors cared about the only person who occupied one of the rooms there: Eddie.

It had been a week since you'd come out of the Upside Down dragging a barely breathing Eddie out, it had been a week since you'd seen him for the last time, his chocolate eyes misty with tears and full of fear closing as he rested his head on your lap in the backseat of Steve's car.

You remembered how his bloody hand had found yours as Steve was driving to the nearest hospital and you had to hold back from crying just because you didn't want to let him know how bad his condition was.

Only when his hand had stopped holding yours and you thought he was dying you begin to silently sob, your tears mixing with Eddie's blood.

He couldn't die. There were so many things you'd never told him.

Nancy had told you he was still breathing and you couldn't help but believe her words and use them as your only hope at that moment.

Your trembling hand had caressed his hair and your fingers stained of blood went through his hair until you reached the hospital. The look Nancy gave you as they were taking him to the operating room was that of someone who understood that Eddie was more important than a friend to you but no one had talked about that.

In the week since that night, you hadn't seen him once. You knew he was still sleeping but he was better, his situation was stable and he was going to wake up soon but despite all the times you begged them to let you see him, no one gave you permission to enter.

You jumped up when you saw a nurse walking in front of you and you put yourself between her and the door locked by the keys that only some of her colleagues and the doctors had.

The nurse rolled her eyes. "What do you want, again?"

"I wanna see him." You said like it wasn't what you'd been asking every day for the past seven days.

"You can't." She replied curtly, putting her hands on her hips with an annoyed air.

"Please." You insisted, your tone of voice couldn't hide your desperation.

She shook her head. "Girl, we've told you a hundred times. You're not family and he's a criminal. You can't see him."

"His uncle can!"

"Just one hour a week."

It was disgustingly little and she knew it too but she didn’t seem to care.

"Girl, he's a criminal. And he hasn't woken up yet anyway."

You clenched your jaw. "He's not a criminal."

"That will be decided by the police."

You took a deep breath to try to calm yourself.

"I'm begging you."

"You can't."

"But he's always alone."

"He is still sleeping!"

"But I want to be with him when he wakes up!"

The idea of Eddie waking up alone in a bare and probably too cold room made your stomach turn.

You just wanted to see him, talk to him even if he couldn't answer you and maybe read him some of his favorite books.

You just wanted to be there.

And they didn't let you.

You didn't want that when he woke up his first thought would be that all his friends had abandoned him.

"Now get out of my way or I'm calling the security." The nurse snapped.

You looked into her eyes, hoping to find a shred of sympathy.

"Girl, move away and go home. This is my last warning."

"Please, you don't understand. Eddie is innocent and he doesn't deserve to-"

"Get out of my way!"

You looked in her eyes one last time and eventually you moved away, watching the nurse disappear into Eddie's room and come back after a few minutes, leaving you with a glare.

You sat down on the floor again and brought your knees up to your chest, waiting for something you didn't even know what it was.

After another five days, you met Wayne for the first time. You recognized him from Dustin's descriptions of him: grey hair and often wore a plaid.

You wanted to talk to him but you honestly had no idea what to say.

While fighting monsters in another dimension with your nephew, I think I developed some feelings for him and now I have nightmares every night of him dying but nobody will let me see him?

You exchanged just a glance before he entered Eddie's room using the key the nurse had given him. The slight doubt in the man's expression hinted that he was wondering what the hell you were doing there, sitting on the floor in an empty hallway.

You watched him disappear behind the door, feeling a slight envy beacuse it was something you couldn't do.

You didn't realize you'd fallen asleep when you woke up with a jolt as the door opened again.

"Jesus Christ" You muttered rubbing your eyes, you had no idea what time it was because there wasn't even a damn clock on the wall but since Wayne was leaving, you must have slept for at least an hour.

"Hey kid, what are you still doing here?" The man asked looking down at where you were sitting, though he looked defensive, his gaze was gentle as Eddie's always was.

"Oh well they…they never let me in. So I stay here hoping someone will take pity on me." You said the last part with a slight chuckle even though it wasn't far from the truth.

"You're here to... see Eddie?" The question sounded almost incredulous.

"I... yeah, I am." The fact that his uncle had a hard time believing you were there for Eddie almost broke your heart.

You stood up and held out your hand.

"I'm Y/N. I'm…I'm a friend of Eddie's."

The man shook your hand. "Wayne."

You smiled for the first time in about ten days.

It was a rainy night when Eddie finally woke up. You hoped that thee lightning didn't remind him too much of what happened in the Upise Down.

Three nurses rushed to his room and you stood in front of the closed door, helpless. Eddie had woken up and he was alone and that was exactly what you'd been trying to avoid for days.

You'd talked to Hopper now that he was back and he was doing everything he could to prove Eddie's innocence but he said he needed a bit more time.

After a few minutes they went out.

"So?"

"So what?" One of them asked as if your question bothered her.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine." It was the only answer you got before the nurses left locking the door again.

You stood there for a few seconds undecided whether to sit down again or ask if anyone had called Wayne to let him know Eddie was awake.

You stared at the door. It didn't feel particularly thick.

You certainly couldn't break through it but you could have done something else.

"Eddie?"

You waited a moment, hoping your voice had reached him.

"Y/N?" He said your name like he almost didn't believe you were there.

Tears filled your eyes when you heard his voice again but for the first time in days they were tears of relief and joy. It was so good to hear Eddie's voice again.

Your Eddie. The boy you've known for so short but who managed to stole your heart anyway, the boy who deserved none of all the awful things that had happened to him, the boy who almost died for a city that hated him and that still did.

You dropped onto your back against the door as tears began to stream down your face. "Yeah- yeah it's me. How... how do you feel?"

"What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night." You could almost see his confused expression.

You sniffled. "I didn't want you to be alone when you woke up but those assholes won't let me in." You made a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob.

After a moment of silence you heard his voice again, his tone was concerned. "You're not crying, are you?"

You chuckled wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. "Maybe."

"What happened?"

"What?"

"You're crying. What happened?"

"Jesus Christ, I'm crying because I'm glad you're awake, you dumb fuck."

There was another moment of silence, you could only hear the sound of rain against the roof of the hospital and some thunder rumbling in the distance.

"Eddie?"

You heard a chuckle from the other side. It was soft and it was some of the most beautiful music you've ever heard. "I've missed your insults."

You shook your head with a slight smile on your lips. "You didn't answer my question. I asked how do you feel."

Silence fell again. Every time this happened you were afraid you would never hear the sound of his voice again.

"I almost died." He said, like that was the moment he realized it.

"That's why I'm asking you."

"I remember you holding my hand."

"I did."

"I wasn't afraid."

"You weren't?"

"No. Because you were holding my hand." His voice was gentle and he said it like it was obvious he would die happy if you were there with him.

Your eyes started stinging again and your vision became blurred from tears. "But I was. I was so scared for you."

"For me? Nah, there are things more important than me, princess."

"Stop doing that all the time." A tear rolled down your cheek and landed on your lips. You felt its salty taste while talking.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking nobody cares about you. Because I do. Dustin does. Your uncle does. Mike and Lucas do. Your band does. God, even Robin, Steve and Nancy and Max do, okay?"

The rain had stopped and somehow, being able to hear Eddie's voice more clearly made you feel closer to him.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for not leaving me alone."

You smiled through your tears for the second time, thinking you'd happily spend all night sitting on that cold floor talking to Eddie through some stupid locked door.

"I would never do that."

The second time you ran into Wayne at the hospital was the time he let you sneak in.

"If they catch me they'll stop letting you in too." You said hesitant. You really wanted to see Eddie but you didn't want his uncle to lose his chance because of you.

"I'll stay out here and make sure no one comes, okay?" He gave you a half smile as he turned the key in the door lock.

"Are you sure?"

"You and your friends brought him here when he was dying. If it weren't for you, he wouldn't be here now. I owe you this."

The memory of his bloody hand ceasing to hold yours crossed your mind for a second. It would have been one of those that you would not have easily forgotten.

"Okay." You said finally. "Thank you."

You entered the room closing the door gently behind you.

It was quite dark inside, the single window in the corner of the room had its blinds almost all the way down, and it was a little colder than you'd expected.

Eddie was sitting with his back against the iron headboard of the bed, a dark blanket wrapped around his shoulders was almost completely hiding the blue hospital vest he was wearing.

You thought her uncle must have brought that one.

You couldn't see the wounds on his body and maybe that was the only reason why you hadn't burst into tears yet, one on his neck was covered by white bandages lightly stained with blood.

A scratch on his cheek was superficial, unlike the other wounds which would have left deep scars.

"Hi." You said when his tired eyes despite having slept for days met yours, with a slight smile on your lips.

You had almost forgotten how they could shine despite the darkness of the room.

Or maybe it was just the tears he refused to let go.

"Hey." He looked at you like he didn't believe it was really you.

You chuckled. "You look like shit."

He laughed, some wrinkles growing on the sides of his eyes. "C'mere." He opened his arms, letting you know what he wanted.

You sat on the bed, quickly taking off your shoes to curl up next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to gently push him close to you after planting a kiss on his cheek, just below one of the scratches.

You held him careful not to hurt him.

"I've missed you so much, princess." He murmured as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling as if he wanted to remember your smell.

"I missed you too." You said as you pressed a tender kiss into his messy hair.

Your hand was slow and gentle as it caressed his back.

As you slowly pushed away, you brushed his hair away from his neck and your eyes fell on the bandages there. "Do they still hurt?" He knew you were also referring to those hidden by blankets and clothes.

"Not anymore now that you're here." He chuckled.

"Eddie." Your tone was almost reproachful.

He huffed. "Do you really wanna know? Like hell. But now that you're here I feel better, like every time I hear your voice through that damn door I feel less alone."

You pressed another kiss on his cheek. "My rockstar." Somehow feeling his skin under your lips reminded you that he was really there, that he was alive and that everything was going to be okay. "You'll be fine, I promise."

He chuckled at the nickname. "I don't really feel like one, right now."

You shrugged. "Once a rockstar, always a rockstar. And make sure you get back on your feet soon because I've yet to come see you play at the Hideout."

He smiled. "So you're still up for that date?"

Date.

When he had first mentioned it, when he was still hiding in the boathouse, none of you called it that. But it sounded good now.

"You think a little trip to another dimension changed my mind? It wasn't even my first time." You joked like you used to take a walk in the Upside Down every day.

He chuckled. "Good to know that."

As a calm silence fell between you, Eddie's hand found yours, resting in your lap. His pinky finger intertwined with yours before he pushed your hand into his.

You watched your intertwined fingers. "Don't let it go this time."

"What are you talking about?"

“When we were in Steve's car..." You took a deep breath. "On the way to the hospital, you blacked out and you stopped holding my hand. I watched it slip away from mine, blood dripping from your fingertips. It was horrible. "

"Princess-"

"So please don't let it go this time, at least for a while, because-"

"Princess."

You stopped talking as Eddie rested his other hand on your cheek, raising your head and making your eyes meet.

His thumb gently brushed away a tear you didn't even realize was crossing your face.

"I won't." He whispered, his lips only a couple of inches from yours. "I promise."

When his mouth brushed yours, you brought your free hand to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him into a real kiss.

His lips were as soft as you'd imagined and his kiss was as gentle as you were sure it would be, when his nose bumped into yours you both laughed against each other's lips.

"Eddie?" You asked with a smirk on your lips.

"Mh."

"Are you blushing?" You only said that to annoy him and he knew it.

"Oh, fuck you."

You laughed, your hand still holding his, your fingers tracing circles on the back of his from time to time.

"I don't want you to leave." He spoke, his voice was soft.

"You just told me to go fuck myself." You laughed.

"And you just kissed me. None of this makes sense."

You laughed again, resting your head on his shoulder as your tone became slightly more serious. "I don't wanna leave either. I don't think I'll be able to come back anytime soon. We'll keep talking through the door though."

"It's not the same. I can't hold your hand and not let it go if you're on the other side of the door, you know?"

You sighed, knowing you had to go but grateful for the opportunity his uncle had given you when your gaze fell on the window in the corner of the room. It wasn't very big but a person could have entered through it for sure.

"Oh no. What are you thinking about?" Eddie asked when he saw the smirk suddenly appeared on your lips.

'Make sure to keep that window open tomorrow, okay?'

"We are on the second floor! Do you wanna kill yourself?"

"I'd be already at the hospital anyway."

"Y/N!"

You laughed. "I'll try to climb. Relax, I'll be fine."

Eddie looked at you with a mixture of disbelief, amazement and admiration written on his face. "You're crazy."

"Well, this crazy girl here just found a way to see you every day."

Eddie shook his head, chuckling, before gently pulling the hand he was still holding towards him, to press his lips against yours a second time.

"God, I love you so much."

"I know."

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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themissinghand · 11 months

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Nice to meet you🤗..If the request is still open, Can I ask for Dokja's request for lucky female readers?🥹..Where do reader have high good luck?.The reader and Kim Dokja have known each other for a long time because the reader first started a conversation with Dokja (I'm sure it's fun when Dokja introduces reader to his group😂.) It's okay if not. Just don't be stressed by the requests. I hope the requests don't bother you.. Thank you.. And may your whole day till night be good.. Bye-bye.. Don't forget to take care of yourself.🤗💕

Omniscient Reader Viewpoint Lucky Star

Summary: In which Dokja finds his lucky star.

Or, maybe he’s not that unlucky after all.

Pairing: Kim Dokja x Lucky! F! Reader

Note: Thanks for your patience! Make sure you all take care of yourselves too~

Noona: typically used by younger male to call an older female or sibling.

Warning: None.

★・・・・・・★

If there is an angel in this world, then it must be you.

You were a bright light in his life, providing salvation to him in forms of patience, encouragement, and friendship.

You were his manager at the game company he worked at. Someone who was vibrant and cheerful, who possessed an uncanny ability to turn the mundane into moments of joy.

"Dokja! Let’s go for a drink!" You would say, your infectious enthusiasm pulling him into a world where deadlines and stress would melt away.

But you also knew when to not take in bullshit.

“Hey (Y/N), why are you overreacting? Huh? Just because I didn’t do my work the one time-“

“One time? It’s been a week since you did anything. And you put it on the newbie to finish it?”

“So what? You’re a terrible manager anyway, that’s why women shouldn’t work here-“

A snap silenced him.

“Hey mother fucker, calculate your severance pay. Talk to me like that in the disputes office and see who dies first.”

Kim Dokja heard it accidentally, but from then on, his respect for you has soared above the clouds.

"Dokja, you've got this! I'll teach you the ropes.”

Dokja marveled at your ability to lead the team with outspoken confidence, patiently teaching him the ropes and offering unwavering support when the challenges of the workplace seemed overwhelming.

“Happy birthday to our newbie, Kim Dokja!”

“Merry Christmas everyone! I got some gifts!”

“Ya, let’s go out for a drink everyone! I got the holy bank card from the boss!”

The team loves you for being a beacon of light, someone who could be fun and leader-like at the same time.

Dokja couldn't help but think that you must be cherished by the heavens, as you were blessed with an extraordinary dose of luck.

Like how you would “accidentally” meet important connections and befriend them, leading to successful results in projects.

Or how you would win those in gacha games with the character that you wanted.

“Noona, if you were in a game, your luck stat would be maxed out.”

“I guess so, but isn’t that good?”

Very soon after, little did he know that your luck would soon become a lifeline when the world plunged into chaos.

When the apocalypse struck, Dokja stumbled upon the familiar face in an unlikely place – the convenience store, hastily gathering supplies with a calm demeanor that belied the impending doom. It was then that he realized the depth of her luck, a quality that extended beyond corporate success.

Like how does someone find a healing elixir in a pile of junk food in the convenience store!?

Or how does she find a ultra rare bow in a police station?

What is this unfair world!?

Dokja appreciates your help and your luck, but at the same time, he can’t help but lament on his own life.

Perhaps the luckiest thing that happened to him was dating you.

With such a thought, Kim Dokja’s lips curled up and hugged you from behind.

“What wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Does my good boy want some love?”

Although he was blushing aggressively and in public, he couldn’t help but nod.

[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ is squealing and wishing for grandchildren]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ thinks Incarnation ‘Kim Dokja’ play a main character of a romance comedy show]

[The Constellations have sponsored you 1000 coins]

“Get a room.”

Dokja expected the worst when Yoo Joonghyuk entered the scene, but to his surprise, your life was spared.

“She’s useful.” Says the emo sunfish as he glares at Dokja for absolutely no reason.

(Okay, there might be that one time where he returned a punch, and absolutely wrecked that protagonist…no regrets)

Dokja wants to smack him a few times in the face.

The revelation that her constellation was the Secretive Plotter added another layer of mystery to her extraordinary luck. The constellation seemed to guard her against many dangers, marking her as someone to be protected, though for some unknown reason.

Can’t say Kim Dokja has any complaints about that at all.

You must be protected at all costs.

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ thinks her lucky encounters and moments are interesting]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ donates 1864 coins]

Whatever it is, Kim Dokja has no complaints…scrap that, he has too many complaints since he has too many rivals!

“(Y/N), you are my lucky star right?”

“Yep! Don’t worry!” She pats him on the head and he ignores the knowing looks from others on the team.

“Hug.”

“Someone’s needy today.” Kim Dokja gave others the middle finger behind your back as he rested his head on your shoulders.

From that point on, Dokja affectionately dubbed her his "lucky star" or, as they playfully jokes, his "lucky charm."

Whether it was winning luck-based games or navigating perilous situations unscathed, your fortunate aura became a source of both amusement and comfort in the face of uncertainty.

“So, what’s it like raising a puppy as a Sugar Mommy?” Han Sooyoung asks you, who chuckles lightly.

“Han Sooyoung.” Kim Dokja twitched a brow, but calmed down a bit when you held his hand.

“He’s not a puppy, but he’s cute and bites people he doesn’t like. And he protects me well!”

“(Y/N)!” Kim Dokja blushes in embarrassment but couldn’t say anything in his stuttering mess.

Han Sooyoung raised a brow before she mimicked a barfing action.

“Damn girl, you have it hard, I respect you.” She patted your shoulder before leaving.

“Dokja, just like I’m your lucky star and charm, you are my lucky puppy. Okay?”

Looking at your puppy face, Dokja couldn’t say no.

“Fine…just don’t call me that in public…”

Kim Dokja felt a kiss in his nose, and he reciprocated the action by lacing your hands together.

“Aw, who’s a good boy?”

“Stop it…”

Your laughter is music to his ears, and while sometimes your teases make him want to hide somewhere in a hole and die from embarrassment, he loves you all the same.

“Get a room!”

“Shut up you sunfish!”

Maybe cursing at the protagonist isn’t the greatest idea.

(When has that ever stopped him?)

“I will kill you Kim Dokja!”

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doctorbitchcrxft · 4 months

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Something Wicked | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, implications of verbal parental abuse

Word Count: 4885

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The two boys were bickering over coordinates Dean had received from an anonymous number.

“Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers, I couldn't find a single red flag. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I double checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important, Sammy.”

“Well, I'm telling you, I looked, and all I could find was a big steamy pile of nothing. If Dad's sending us hunting for something, I don't know what.”

“Well, maybe he's going to meet us there.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause he's been so easy to find up to this point.”

You sighed. You weren’t about to get in the middle of this argument and tuned the rest of it out. Alas, Dean won the argument, as he often did.

You stopped for some coffee along Fitchburg’s main street. The town itself was small, but it was quaint. A little too Middle America for your taste.

“Well… the waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky, but other than that, no one's heard about anything freaky going on,” Dean sighed, handing you and Sam your respective coffee orders.

“Dean, you got the time?” you asked him.

“Ten after four. Why?”

You nodded in front of you at the playground you were looking at. “What's wrong with this picture?”

It was deserted aside from one child climbing on the jungle gym.

“School's out, isn't it?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. So where is everybody?” Sam added. “This place should be crawling with kids right now.”

You and the Winchesters walked over to a woman on a park bench reading a magazine. Dean approached her, saying, “Sure is quiet out here.”

The woman sighed, “Yeah, it’s a shame.”

“Why's that?”

“You know, kids getting sick, it's a terrible thing.”

“How many?”

“Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching,” she explained.

All four of you watched the little girl playing by herself, and the wheels in your head began to turn. Why would John send you all the way to Fitchburg over a few sick kids?

The three of you made your way up to the pediatrics ward of the hospital to investigate the sick children. Dean and Sam donned suits, and you wore a pencil skirt and heels. You couldn’t lie to yourself, Dean looked amazing in his suit, but you much preferred his usual leather jacket and biker boots.

“See something you like?” Dean smirked at you.

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say. He just snickered in response while your cheeks burned.

A doctor approached you and the boys before Dean could taunt you any further. You introduced yourselves and headed down the corridor with the man. “Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydecker,” Dean said.

“Well, I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call CDC myself. How'd you find out anyways?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, some GP— I forget his name— he called Atlanta, and, uh, he must've beat you to the punch,” Dean lied.

“So you say you got six cases so far?” you asked.

“Yeah, five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia. Not that newsworthy. But now…”

“What?”

“The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are... wearing out.”

“Wait, but are there any signs of leukopenia?” you asked. “Any history in these kids of that?”

Dean looked over at you, confused by what you were saying. You continued to talk to the doctor.

“No, actually,” Hydecker answered.

“What about neutropenia?”

He shook his head as a nurse handed him a clipboard full of papers.

“Then, whatever this is would have to be attacking the bone marrow as well as the respiratory system… Have you done biopsies?”

“No, we haven’t,” Hydecker answered. “I’ll give that a try.”

“You ever seen anything like this before?” Sam questioned.

“Never this severe,” the doctor said. “And the way it spreads… that's a new one for me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another.”

“You mind if we interview a few of the kids?” Dean questioned.

“They’re not conscious,” the doctor replied.

You were shocked. “None of them?”

“No.”

“Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?” tried Dean.

“Well, if you think it'll help.”

“Yeah. Who was your most recent admission?”

Hydecker directed you to a man sitting on a chair against the wall in the waiting room. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He explained to you the oldest girl was first, and then his youngest. He told you that her window had been opened, but there was no one who could’ve done so except for his daughter because her room was on the second floor.

You and the boys headed out of the pediatrics ward and back toward the car.

“(Y/N), how’d you know all that stuff?” Sam asked you, referencing your conversation with the doctor.

“I like to read,” you shrugged. Sam smiled at your response and walked a little ahead of you.

Dean came up next to you. “You were really serious about nursing, huh,” he said softly enough so Sam wouldn’t hear.

“I guess. I really do just like to read, though,” you smiled. “I think I just wanted to stick it to my dad. I always thought I’d be happier not hunting. But, uh, I just don’t think I could ever go back to being ‘normal’.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he responded.

Sam turned back to you and his brother. “You know, this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia.”

“No way,” you shook your head, “pneumonia wouldn’t be lowering white blood cell count. It’d have to be elevated for it to be true pneumonia. Infection and all that.”

Sam hummed. “Okay, so then what’s your theory?”

“Honestly? Not sure.”

“I'll tell you one thing,” said Sam. “That dad we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home.”

***

“You got anything over there?” Sam asked Dean. The three of you had climbed through the home of the last two kids who had gotten sick looking for clues.

“Nah, nothing,” the older brother answered.

“Yeah, me neither,” you chimed in. You moved over to the window and paused. “Hey guys? I really don’t think it’s pneumonia.”

The boys came over and followed your line of sight to a rotted handprint with long, tendril-like fingers.

“What the hell leaves a handprint like that?” Sam asked.

Dean seemed to get pulled away into his own mind for a moment before he began to look a little sick. “I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job.”

Dean raced down the stairs to the window on the back of the house you’d climbed through. You followed him close behind. You would ask him what had happened to him in the little girl’s bedroom later.

Dean explained to you on the ride to the motel what he thought you were hunting: a shtriga.

“So what the hell is a shtriga?” Sam asked as Dean pulled into a motel parking lot. This motel was a little cuter than the ones you’d visited previously; centered around a white cabin with green shingles.

“It's kinda like a witch, I think. I don't know much about 'em,” explained Dean.

“Well, I've never heard of it. And it's not in Dad's journal.”

“Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago. You were there. You don't remember?”

Sam shook his head.

“And I guess he caught wind of the things in Fitchburg now and kicked us the coordinates,” Dean went on.

“So wait, this…” Sam paused, waiting for Dean to remind him how to pronounce it.

“Shtriga.”

“Right. You think it's the same one Dad hunted before?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?” Sam’s brows furrowed together.

“ ‘Cause it got away.”

Sam scoffed. “Got away?”

Dean was beginning to get frustrated, and you knew it was a cover-up for whatever was going on inside his head. “Yeah, Sammy, it happens.”

“Not very often.”

“Well, I don't know what to tell ya, maybe Dad didn't have his wheaties that morning,” snarked the older brother.

“What else do you remember?”

“Nothin'. I was a kid, alright?” Dean said defensively. You followed him into the motel lobby only to see a little boy watching TV in one room and a boy around ten or eleven walking out of it.

“A king or two queens?” The boy asked, looking between you and Dean.

“Two queens,” you and Dean answered quickly. “And one king, actually,” you added, stepping aside to reveal Sam behind you.

A woman entered smiling at you both. “Checking in?”

You nodded to her.

“Do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner,” the woman instructed the boy.

“I'm helping a guest!” he protested, but turned away under his mother’s hard stare. “Two queens. And a king.”

“Will that be cash or credit?” she asked you.

Dean took out his card. “You take MasterCard? Perfect. Here you go.”

You watched him look behind the woman at the boy pouring his younger brother a glass of milk. And there he went again; pulled into what you could only assume was memories of himself and Sam.

The woman before you held out his card to zoned-out Dean, and you took it from her instead. “Uh, thanks.” She handed you the keys, and you nudged Dean to bring him back to reality.

***

Dean explained to you and Sam what shtrigas fed off: children, most commonly. The only thing that could kill them were specially designed wrought-iron rounds while the thing was feeding. They often take the form of something unsuspecting; like an old woman.

“Hang on,” Dean said. “Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far and dead center?”

“The hospital,” you noted.

“Now, when we were there, I saw a patient; an old woman,” Dean continued.

“An old person huh?” questioned Sam. “In a hospital? Phew. Better call the Coast Guard.”

You giggled at Sam.

“Well, listen, smart-asses, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall.”

You and Sam stopped snickering and looked up at Dean. He raised an eyebrow at you.

And so, you headed to the hospital. Fortunately for her— but unfortunately for your hunt— the old woman with the upside down cross on the wall was just cataract-ridden and crotchety. Upon your return to the motel after thoroughly freaking out the old woman, you pulled Dean to your motel room for a talk before bed.

“What’s up?” he asked, sitting on a chair in your room.

You sat on the bed across from him. “Where do you keep going?” you asked.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I just realized how stupid that sounded. You keep, like, disappearing into your own brain,” you responded. “Like in the motel lobby. You zoned out looking at that kid and his brother.”

“Oh, that,” he said quietly. “I, uh, it’s stupid.”

“Dean,” you leaned over your crossed legs and rested your hand on his knee. “I’m asking you. It’s not stupid. I just care.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Dean,” you said. “You made me a pinky promise at that scary asylum. You promised you’d tell me. Please?”

He huffed out a small laugh. “You know how I said my dad hunted this thing before?”

You nodded.

“Well, I’m the reason it got away.”

“How? Didn’t you say it was sixteen, seventeen years ago? You would’ve been ten, dude,” you responded.

“Yeah, but it’s complicated. My dad left us alone in motel rooms all the time. He made me repeat to him what I was and wasn’t supposed to do every time he would go out on a hunt. Sam and I would fight over the last bowl of Lucky Charms from the groceries Dad got us for the week; y'know, stupid kid stuff,” he chuckled. “But it’d been days. I was climbin’ the walls, (Y/N). I had to get some air. I went to an arcade to just… blow off some steam, I guess.

"When I came back, the thing was over Sammy’s bed. I was frozen. My dad came in and shot it a couple times, but it got away. Dad just... grabbed us and booked. Dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away, but by the time he got back to Fort Douglas, the shtriga had disappeared; it was just gone. It never surfaced until now. Y'know, Dad never spoke about it again, I didn't ask." He looked away from you attempting to swallow his emotions. "But he, ah, he looked at me different, you know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order, and I didn't listen; I almost got Sammy killed.”

“Dee, you were a kid,” you said softly. He went to cut you off, but you stopped him. “No, let me talk. I know how that feels. My parents left me with Stevie all the time. I would've done the same thing you did. We were kids. We had to take on parental responsibilities. Anybody would be going stir crazy, especially at ten years old like you were.”

“(Y/N)—”

“No,” you told him, grabbing his hand. “You cannot blame yourself. I won’t let you. Would you let me?”

He shook his head.

“Exactly.”

He held your intense stare and rubbed a thumb over your hand. The two of you awkwardly pulled away from each other, and Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, thank you, for, y’know—”

“Yeah, any time,” you said, walking him to the door.

***

The next morning, you and Sam were teasing Dean about the old woman from the hospital the night before. You were headed to the car to go get some breakfast.

“ ‘I was sleeping with my peepers open’?” Sam laughed heartily, remembering the old woman's strange way of talking.

“I almost smoked that old girl, I swear. It's not funny!” Dean grunted.

“Oh man, you shoulda seen your face,” you giggled.

“Yeah, laugh it up. Now we're back to square one.” He looked over to the ten-year-old blond boy sitting on the bench behind his mother’s office. “Hang on.” He led you over to the child. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“My brother's sick,” he replied.

“The little guy?”

He nodded. “Pneumonia. He's in the hospital. It's my fault.”

“Ah, c'mon, how?” You could tell Dean’s mind was racing just based on his tone.

“I should’ve made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't've got pneumonia if the window was latched,” the boy lamented.

You watched, frowningly thoughtfully, as Dean looked away from the boy.

“Listen to me. I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?” Dean assured him.

“It's my job to look after him,” the boy frowned, tearing up.

His mother hurried out of the motel toward her minivan. “Michael, I want you to turn on the 'no vacancy' sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service, so don't bother with any of the rooms.”

“I'm going with you,” he protested.

“Not now, Michael.”

“But I gotta see Asher!”

Dean responded before his mother could. “Hey, Michael. Hey. I know how you feel— I'm a big brother, too— but you gotta go easy on your mom right now, ok?”

His mom dropped her handbag in haste, cursing under her breath. You rushed to pick it up for her.

“Listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a lift to the hospital,” Dean offered.

“No, I couldn't possibly—” she answered.

“No, it's no trouble. I insist.”

Michael’s mother handed Dean the keys and thanked him before addressing her son. “Be good.”

Dean turned to you before he went over to the car. “We're gonna kill this thing. I want it dead, you hear me?”

You and Sam watched Dean pull out of the motel parking lot, driving much more carefully than he ever did when you and Sam were in the car.

“C’mon,” you said. “You got the keys?”

“Yeah,” he threw them to you. “Where we goin’?”

“Wait, you’re letting me drive?” you asked Sam.

He shrugged.

You squealed childishly and jumped into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t lie, you loved this car. You loved how the steering wheel felt in your hands and the way the engine rumbled.

“Seriously, where we going?”

“The library,” you answered. “Town records, national records, internet, anything and everything. Dean wants this thing dead, and I intend to get it done tonight. And I gotta tell you, dude, something’s really bothering me about this whole thing. I mean, I never even formally went to nursing school, but I knew it couldn’t be pneumonia immediately. Why would pediatric doctors be unable to figure that out?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I get you. Something isn’t right.”

***

You and Sam poured through as many books you possibly could as quickly as you could. Sam was at his computer, scrolling with a furrowed brow when his phone rang. “ Hey. How's the kid?... We’re at the library. We've been trying to find out as much as we can about this shtriga… Well, bad news. I started with Fort Douglas around the time you said Dad was there?... Same deal.

"Before that, there was, uh, Ogdenville, before that, North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every 15 to 20 years, it hits a new town. Dean, this thing is just getting started in Fitzburgh. In all these other places, it goes on for months. Dozens of kids before the shtriga finally moves on. The kids just languish in comas, and then they die… Ah, I don't know. The earliest mention I could find is this place called ‘Black River Falls’ back in the 1890s. Talk about a horror show.”

Your brain began to make connections between all of those events. “Wait, Sam, put Dean on speaker.”

He did so.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to stay with me on this one. This could just be me spitballin’, but—”

“Just say it, (Y/N),” Dean said through the phone.

“I’ve been thinking, why wouldn’t Hydecker immediately rule out pneumonia? If he’s such a spectacular and caring doctor, why wouldn’t he know that pneumonia ups your white blood cell count; not depletes it? And the chance of all six kids having a pre-existing condition that lowers your WBC is incredibly low. I mean, why else wouldn’t he biopsy the kids?”

“Okay, WebMD, what does that have to do with anything?” Dean asked.

“I told you to stay with me.” You began typing in your computer searching for articles on the earliest case Sam had found in Black River Falls. “The point is, I think Hydecker’s our guy. Think about it— the center of the kidnappings is the hospital. And any pediatric doctor would be familiar with what pneumonia actually does to a kid’s body.” You smiled sourly at a photo you pulled up of doctors surrounding a child’s bed in 1893. You turned the computer around to Sam. “Boom.”

“(Y/N), that is huge.” He leaned over and lightly punched your shoulder. “Good going.”

“Thanks!” you grinned. “Dean, meet us back at the motel. Don’t deck the guy in the face, please. Not yet, anyway.”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

“Dean—”

“Fine.” He hung up the phone.

“Alright, we gotta get back before Dean explodes,” you told Sam. “Can I drive again?”

“Sure, why not. Just don’t tell my brother.” He tossed you the keys and you giggled.

***

“We should have thought of this before. A doctor's a perfect disguise. You're trusted, you can control the whole thing,” Sam said.

You and the brothers were back in the motel room.

Dean threw off his jacket and paced agitatedly. “That son of a bitch.”

“I'm proud of you for not drawing on him right there,” you said.

“Yeah, well, first of all, I'm not going to open fire in a freakin' pediatrics ward.”

Sam nodded. “Good call.”

“Second, wouldn't have done any good, because the bastard's bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. And third, I wasn't packing, which is probably a really good thing, ‘cause I probably would've just burned a clip in him on principle alone.”

Despite the situation, you found Dean aggressively grumbling about guns very attractive.

“You're getting wise in your old age, Dean,” Sam quipped.

“Damn right. 'Cause now I know how we're going to get it,” replied Dean.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Shtriga works through siblings, right?”

You knew what he was getting at. “No, Dean, I don’t like that.”

“What?” Sam asked, clearly not picking up where you and Dean were at.

“(Y/N)—”

“No, dude, we gotta get Michael out of here. I’m not letting you use him as bait.”

“Dean, what?! That’s out of the question!” Sam protested.

“It's not out of the question, Sam, it's the only way. If this thing disappears it could be years before we get another chance.”

“Michael's a kid. And I'm not going to dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook,” Sam scoffed.

“Dad did not send me here to walk away.” Dean turned away from you and Sam and gripped the edges of the dresser.

“Send you here? He didn't send you here; he sent us here,” Sam replied.

“This isn't about you, Sam. I'm the one who screwed up, all right. It's my fault. There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of me.”

“What are you saying, Dean? How is it your fault?” Sam paused, taking a moment to calm down. “Dean. You've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now talk to me, man. Tell me what's going on.”

Dean proceeded to explain what he had to you last night. Sam gave him the same lecture about how it wasn’t his fault, but Dean began to protest again. “Don't. Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it.”

You were surprised at the tough facade he gave his brother in contrast to the way he was vulnerable with you.

“But using Michael— I don't know Dean. I mean, how 'bout one of us hides under the covers, you know, we'll be the bait,” Sam tried.

“No, it won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed— it'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it, but it's gotta be the kid.”

***

Michael was completely against the idea and even threatened to call the cops on you. You and the boys returned to their motel room dejectedly.

“Well, that went crappy. Now what?” Dean groaned.

“What did you expect? You can't ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid,” the younger brother sighed.

There was a knock at the door, and you opened it to reveal Michael.

“Hey,” you said, surprised.

“If you kill it, will Asher get better?”

“Honestly? We don't know,” Dean told him.

“You said you were a big brother,” Michael started, “You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?”

“Yeah, I would,” Dean replied quietly. Your heart swelled at how much Dean and Sam cared for each other.

The young boy nodded. “Me, too. I'll help.”

Dean had hooked up a security camera to the boy’s room, and you and he watched the monitor closely. You were beginning to feel cross-eyed from how tired you were. It was around three in the morning, and your body protested against your will to stay awake.

“You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?” Sam asked his brother.

“Consecrated iron rounds, and yeah, it's what Dad used last time.”

“Hey, Dean? I’m sorry,” the younger brother said softly. “You know, I've really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad's orders. But I know why you do it.”

“Oh, god, kill me now,” Dean groaned.

You giggled to yourself, eyes returning to the screen. “Dean, look.”

There was a bit of movement off to the right of the screen outside of the window. You and the boys picked up your guns, holding them tightly and waiting for the right moment.

“Now?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

The shtriga moved closer and leaned over the bed. You could see Michael tense under the covers and draw them closer to himself. The creature leaned over the bed, pushing the covers down.

“Now?!”

“Now.”

You and the boys burst through the door and began to shoot the creature after Michael rolled away. It flew off Michael’s bed and fell to the side you couldn’t see.

“Mike, you alright?” Dean asked the kid.

“Yeah,” came his muffled reply from under the bed.

“Just sit tight.” Dean approached the shtriga, his gun at the ready. There was no movement for just a moment, before the shtriga shot up and grabbed Dean by his throat, throwing him across the room.

“Dean!” you cried, trying to run to him. The shtriga threw you to the side against Michael’s bed. Your back protested as you tried to roll and grab your gun that had fallen out of your hand in the chaos. You noticed the shtriga leaning over the top of the younger Winchester. Sam’s body went limp and began to go gray as the shtriga began to suck out his life force.

“Hey!” Dean gruffly spat. The shtriga turned to the older brother just to get shot straight between the eyes.

“Nice!” you said. You rushed to Sam’s side and smoothed a hand over his messy hair while he tried to catch his breath. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“You okay, little brother?” Dean called from behind you. You thought it was adorable how much he cared.

You and Sam stood and you tried to help hold the tall man up on his unsteady legs. You guided him over to the shtriga, and Dean shot it three times at point-blank range. The shtriga’s body fell in on itself, disintegrating.

You looked up at Dean, whose face was still set in hard lines.

“It's okay, Michael, you can come on out,” Dean told the boy peeking out from under his bed. He rose to stand beside you, smiling tentatively. Dean put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. You looked on, feeling your heart swell at what you knew was a full-circle moment for Dean. You knew these moments were few and far-between in a profession like yours, and you had learned to savor them in your memory.

***

You and the brothers returned to your rooms to pack now that the monster was dead. As usual, you were finished packing before the boys were and leaned against the Impala waiting for them.

You watched Michael’s mom’s car pull up in the motel parking lot. At that moment, the boys came out to join you.

“Hey, Joanna. How's Asher doing?” Dean asked the mother of the two boys.

“Have you seen Michael?” she asked him.

“Mom! Mom!” the child in question ran up and hugged him. “How's Ash?”

“Got some good news. Your brother's gonna be fine,” she smiled down at the boy.

“Really?” Michael grinned.

“Yeah. Really. No one can explain it; it's a miracle. They're going to keep him overnight for observation, and then, he's coming home.”

You smiled as Sam asked, “How are all the other kids doing?”

“Good. Real good. A bunch of them should be checking out in a few days. Dr. Travis says the ward's going to be like a ghost town,” she explained.

“Dr. Travis? What about Dr. Hydecker?” you asked.

“Oh, he wasn't in today. Must have been sick or something.”

You shot a knowing look to the boys.

“So, did anything happen while I was gone?” Joanna asked her son.

The boy looked to Dean before responding, “Nah, same old stuff.”

“Okay.” Joanna smoothed a hand over Michael’s blonde hair. “You can go see Ash.”

A wide grin spread across the boy’s face. “Now?!”

She nodded at her son, who ran into the car. “I, ah, I'd better get going before he hotwires the car and drives himself,” she told you and the boys. The three of you watched as Joanna’s car pulled out of the parking lot. Sam and Dean turned to you and placed their bags in the trunk next to yours.

“It's too bad,” said Sam.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“That's not what I meant,” he shook his head. “I meant Michael. He'll always know there are things out there in the dark— he'll never be the same, you know?” He paused. “Sometimes I wish that....”

“What?” Dean questioned.

“I wish I could have that kinda innocence.”

Dean walked to the driver’s side door. He leaned on the roof of the car and said, “If it means anything, sometimes I wish you could too.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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lucyandalexiafan · 8 months

Text

It’s Lucy | Lucy Bronze x reader

Summary: reader has a panic attack and Lucy tries to comfort her.

Warnings: angst; allusion to past violent/abusive relationship with family/partner.

Words: 1.9k

I sit against the radiator of the bathroom.

Same place where I sat as a child, when I cried hiding myself in the same type of room and behind that door.

That door that I was forced to close in silence so that no one would know I was inside, leaving only the small light on the cabinet.

I always ended up in the same position.

Back against the radiator.

Head on knees.

Arms holding the legs to the chest, the calves against the thighs.

It's the same position I have now.

And, like then, the chest twists on itself due to the sobs.

Tears running down my cheeks.

I bite my lip until it bleeds in an attempt to hold back the laments, the noises.

Like when I was a kid and didn't want to disturb anyone.

But now I'm alone, at home.

In another city.

In another country.

But that anxiety never goes away.

That fear of being heard.

That fear of being discovered.

That fear of making the situation worse.

Lucy isn't there.

She is at the Barcelona camp, somewhere around Portugal.

Jona had allowed me not to go.

He had seen how bad I was, how badly I was playing, and he had asserted that my mental health was more important.

He had insisted that I was supposed to stay in Barcelona, at home.

So why do I feel so guilty?

I had put my phone on not disturb mode and the only thing I have done during these days as an attempt to communicate was reply to his text every night.

I'm okay.

No more words, no less.

It didn't matter what he wrote to me.

It didn't matter what he was talking about.

It didn't matter what photo he sent me of the team.

I didn't answer anything other than I'm okay.

It didn't matter if it was a lie.

I hadn't checked the messages and calls from Lucy, from Alexia, from the team.

I was, and am, too scared to read them.

To confront the disappointment they feel about me not being with them.

For my having stayed at home.

For my not being enough.

The fear of finding out that Lucy is mad at me makes me nauseous every time.

So I can't look at them.

Read them.

Answer to the calls.

And also because I hadn't heard my voice since she left and it wouldn't surprise me to know that it's gone.

Since Lucy had left I had spent the days at home, alternating between the living room and the bedroom.

A sense of nausea, fear, discomfort pervaded my body since the first second that I was alone.

Preventing me from eating.

Preventing me from going out.

Preventing me from doing anything other than lying still.

Lucy had left, she was forced to leave, having no justification not to.

Mapi was injured, so she was in Barcelona.

She had tried to convince me to open the door of the house: she had camped out on the landing of the floor all the first night, until the next morning the old woman from the flat next to mine had threatened to call the police if she didn't leave.

Three days had passed.

I didn't expect her to come back.

I love her, we are friends, but I never thought I deserved that treatment, that attention, that try one more time.

And, in the end, she had only confirmed my idea, my feeling of not being enough.

My nails penetrate the flesh of my calves.

My hands crush the skin.

I feel dirty.

Useless.

How is it possible that I can't even do my job anymore?

The house lock clicks.

I gasp in fright.

I hold my body even tighter as if this could protect me.

I will not move.

I don't know who they are, but it's not important.

I'm not important.

I hear footsteps.

The sound of an object being thrown to the ground.

The sounds of some doors being opened.

Are they thieves?

It does not make sense, it's still evening.

Maybe it's Lucy.

But why didn't she call me?

I bite my lip.

Then I hear the bathroom door open.

“Amor”

I huddle in on myself.

I try to disappear, to merge with the radiator.

Is she angry?

Does she want to hurt me?

I close my eyes.

“Amor”

I whine.

The pain in the chest increases more and more.

I hear her sit on the floor.

“Don't hurt me, please”

I hear her holding her breath.

“Amor, look at me”

I shake my head.

“I'm sorry Lucy… I'm sorry, I really am - I moan, blood dripping down my calves - I swear… it wasn't enough, but I tried”

There is silence.

Why doesn't she scream?

Why doesn't she hit me?

I feel arms hugging me.

I squirm.

I try to move her away, to push her away.

I don't deserve this affection.

I can't even do my job.

Study.

Leave the house.

Why doesn't she hit me?

Her hair touches my nose.

My forehead against the crook of her neck.

She says something to me but I can't hear it.

The noise in my head is too loud.

The noise of the beats, of the tachycardia, invades the ears.

A dull, constant, fast sound.

I tell her that I can't hear, that I can't understand.

I hold her tight.

My nails dug into the sleeve of her arm.

My tears wet her shirt.

She asks me if she can medicate me.

The worried, sweet voice.

I don't answer, scared at the idea that it's an excuse to leave.

To hurt me.

She asks it again, telling me that she would like to treat my calves.

I swallow saliva.

I grip her forearm tightly.

Two of her fingers rest against my chin.

They force it upwards.

Her eyes fixed on mine.

“Everything will be fine, you just have to cooperate with me, okay?”

I look at her scared.

“Please… Please don't hurt me”

Her gaze softens even more.

She tells me that the only thing she will do to me is medicate me, that she won't hurt me.

She then walks away towards the medicine cabinet.

She opens it and takes out a first aid kit.

The one where there are gauzes, disinfectant, plasters and everything else.

She approaches again.

“Now, every time I do something I'll tell you, so you know what's going on and you can stop me if you need to, okay?”

Will she stop or is she lying?

I nod slightly, too weak to protest, to oppose her.

She opens the kit and I flinch at the sound of the zipper opening.

She soaks a piece of cotton with some disinfectant.

“Amor, can you stretch your legs a little? This will make it easier to disinfect the cuts"

I don't respond, I just execute.

She asks me to leave them slightly bent, so that they don't touch the ground.

I feel the sting of disinfectant on a cut.

I groan in pain, sucking air between my teeth.

Her other hand touches my knee, the thumb caressing the skin.

“I'm sorry, I swear - I whisper, scared, hesitating when her eyes look into mine - I didn't think... I'm so sorry”

“Amor, don't worry” she whispers before chastely kissing my knee.

Then she continues, wound by wound, to disinfect me.

Why does she disinfect them?

Why is she so caring?

I don't deserve it.

I know it, and I bet she knows it too.

If she wants to hurt me why does she medicate me?

“I think it's better to not cover them, so they'll dry quickly, okay?”

I nod.

I no longer look into her eyes.

I look at her hands.

They are stained with my blood.

They smell of disinfectant.

The air smells of disinfectant.

Is she angry?

Why is she so sweet?

So loving?

I bite my lip.

Her shirt is stained with disinfectant.

Or maybe it's blood?

The spot is dark, small.

“Can you get up? So we can go to bed."

I plant a hand against the floor, but as soon as I try to get up I feel my strength fail.

I shake my head moaning softly.

I curl up in fear that she will hit me.

That she will start screaming.

Will she hurt me for this?

I close my eyes in terror as she approaches me, her arms raised towards me.

“Can I pick you up so I can take you to bed?”

I watch her.

Eyes widening.

She-

That's why she is so caring.

Of course.

Why did I believe there was no ulterior motive?

How could I be so stupid?

How long was she at the camp?

A week?

Is that why she medicated me?

Because then we can go to bed and-

I push myself towards the radiator

The fear that it will happen again, that she will hurt me too, invades my body.

The memories that come back to mind.

My hands hold my legs, my back pressed against the radiator.

“Please… don't hurt me - she looks at me confused, her lips parted - We-we will do it, I swear - I gasp in terror - but not now, I beg you. I-I don't feel I can do it."

She looks at me.

The confusion in her eyes.

She hesitates, pulling her arms back against her body.

“I just want to make you lie down, you can't stay on the floor all evening” her voice worried.

Maybe scared of my reaction.

“We won't do anything, I promise - I look at her - I just wish you were in a more comfortable place”

I look at her trying to figure out if she's lying about herself.

Maybe she really just meant-

“You won't hurt me?” I ask hesitantly.

She shakes her head.

Her lips parted.

“I would never hurt you, amor”

A hint of urgency in her voice.

Can I trust her?

It's Lucy.

I can trust Lucy.

Right?

It's Lucy.

The sweet girl who gave me Lego flowers because she had seen them in a store and she had thought of me.

The loving girl who always hugs me because she knows that physical contact is the only thing that calms my anxiety.

The caring girl who always orders my favorite pizza when she understands that I'm having a bad day.

It's Lucy.

With her transparent glasses, nose piercing and freckles.

I bite my lip.

The tears welling up in my eyes.

Why do I always ruin everything?

She'll dump me after this.

She won't want to deal with me anymore.

I look at her again.

I know that if she tries to hurt me I won't stop her.

I will cry, but I won't fight her.

I don't have the force to do it.

Ever since I ran away from that house I promised myself I wouldn't let anyone hurt me or hit me, but the reality is that now it is so difficult to fight, to oppose, her.

I nod.

She's right, I can't spend all night on the floor.

In one way or another, we will end up in that bed together.

In one way or another, if she wants, she will find the opportunity to hurt me.

Her arms lift me up.

One under the crook of the knees, one under the middle of the back.

I instinctively push myself against her chest.

My hands clutching the fabric of her t-shirt.

The tears that wet it.

“I-I'm sorry Lucy”

She places me on the bed.

She kisses my forehead, then my nose.

“Don't think about it now, - she kisses my nose again - Whatever happened, it doesn't matter. I love you” she whispers, before lying down next to me, covering us with the blankets and hugging me.

It's Lucy.

I'm not sure that the way I wrote the allusions to Reader's past life is correct: in my native language they work, but I'm not familiar enough with English to know 100/100 if the way I wrote them is correct. If they are wrong please point it out to me, explain me what is the correct way and I will change them (so I can learn for the next time too). Thank you so much:)

#woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze fanfic #woso imagine

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rockrosethistle · 9 months

Text

A list of Nightmare Time episode ideas that I thought of and I think would be cool:

1.) Mr. Chasity has been trying to sell the old Waylon Place for far too long. After trying and failing over and over, he decides to take matters into his own hands by going in himself to see what all the fuss is about. But nothing could have prepared him to meet the real ghosts of Waylon Hall. And boy oh boy do they have shenanigans in store. (The episode would be called 'Unholy Ghost') .

2.) It's been a few months since Hatchetfield was destroyed in that awful 'accident'. Emma and Paul have been living under the aliases Kelly and Ben Bridges. (there can be a joke where Emma doesn't even pretend to care about her alias and Paul cares too much.) They live in Colorado now. Emma's finally started her pot farm, and Paul is working in marketing. For the most part, they have a good life. Only Paul's acting a bit different lately. Emma caught him humming company jingles, tapping his foot to a beat she can't hear. Maybe those spores he inhaled had some effect on him. It's probably nothing, but he's never sung in the shower before...(I don't have a name for this one yet.) .

3.) Max Jägerman is failing remedial algebra. In fact, he's doing so poorly that his dad shells out and hires him a tutor, PJ. (Bryce's nerd from 'Literal Monster.) He reluctantly lets her help him. At first it seems to work and his grades are rising steadily, but as PJ lets her guard down, Max starts to notice some things. Strange symbols scribbled in the margins of her notebook, almost like...jagged smiles? Weird stains on her hands, when she gets too close she smells like roadkill. And there's this white spider that keeps showing up in his room. Sometimes he feels like it's trying to tell him something. Or warn him. Without knowing what he's gotten himself into, Max has to evade getting his soul swallowed by a hungry god of darkness. (The episode is called 'Dirty Dude Soup') .

4.) Charlotte Sweetly is jealous. Her church friend, Carol Davidson, has exactly the kind of life she wants. Charlotte's seen the way her boss talks about his wife, and would give anything for Sam to feel that way about her. One day, Charlotte finally gathers her courage and asks her how she does it. Carol takes pity on her, and decides to reveal an important secret: it's all the product of a ritual, an ancient spell she stumbled upon on a trip to an amusement park. She claims that ever since she did it, her husband can't get enough of her. "I am all he sees. He calls me the apple of his eye." Charlotte doesn't believe her at first, but Carol gave her the instructions, and why the hell not? She tries it. Unfortunately, Charlotte messes up the wording. The spell still works, but not quite as intended. And an all-seeing police officer could be a good thing, but Sam is not a good police officer. (maybe let's call this one 'Omnipocop'. But that's awful to spell so suggestions are welcome) .

5.) While trying to be an assistant, Steph accidentally botches one of Pete's science projects. He forgives her, but she still feels bad even as he assures her it's no big deal, throwing the mix of chemicals out his window just to prove it. What he doesn't know is that the last family that lived in the Spankoffski house buried their dog in the backyard, and Pete's chemical slurry just brought it back to life. On a probably unrelated note, Paul has been trying to ignore the damage he's finding in his apartment. He's been chalking most of the tipped over garbage cans and torn apart cushion up to rats--giant rats?--or maybe a squirrel. But when a decades-old "missing dog" poster shows up on his doorstep, he can't ignore the truth for any longer. (the episode would be called "Patches' Revenge" and I thing it would work because it's just the right amount of weird. It would end with Paul teaming up with the nerds to defeat undead Patches with science.) .

6.) To his utter delight, Miss Holloway finally agreed to go out with Duke on a proper date. Nothing huge, just some ice cream and a walk on the beach. They're both enjoying themselves when Miss Holloway hears something. Duke can't hear it, but he still follows her down the shore to some kind of cave grotto, where she claims the noise is coming from. She tosses a pebble into the water, testing how it might react. A few moments later, the pebble come flying out again. Duke is stunned, but Miss Holloway tosses her ice cream cone. Sure enough, a few moments later is comes flying back, perfectly dry. They've clearly discovered something, and over the next few days, Duke and Miss Holloway experiment and try to learn about the grotto and the water in it. It's too deep to see the bottom, so their tests mostly involve tossing different things to see how they'll react. Little do they know, there was a reason Miss Holloway could hear a noise coming from the cave. There's a reason it drew her in, too. There's something singing to her, something that lives at the bottom of the grotto. And with each thing they feed it, it becomes a little bit stronger...(and then it's called something unassuming like "Wavecrest Cave")

So that's Nightmare Time season four all lined up. Please tell me if you have a good name idea for episodes 2 and 4. Also if anyone wants to use these as writing prompts, be my guest (just tag me so I can read them)

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 months

Text

Sweetest Dreams || B.Barnes - Part 4

Character: mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Finally, it's the right time with the right person. ❤️

Warning: Kidnapped, tortured (only a small part)

Part 1: Echoes Of Revenge

Part 2: Shattered Echoes

Part 3: All The Lies

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

"This is fucked up. Where am I?" Y/N's thoughts echoed in the disorienting haze surrounding her.

Ivan, the orchestrator of her current predicament, stood menacingly before her, a cruel grin etched across his face. "You should blame yourself for being in this condition," he sneered.

Y/N, still grappling with the fog in her mind, pressed for answers. "Where am I?"

Ivan, relishing in his control, delivered the chilling truth. "A hangout place for drug addicts. So if you don't listen to me, the next morning the police will find your body. Overdose."

‘Shit.’ Panic surged within Y/N as she scanned her surroundings, her eyes landing on a lone door – a potential lifeline out of this nightmare.

“Stop thinking about escaping.” Ivan's fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to meet his menacing gaze. “To be honest, I don't want to kill you. Because I need your brain to make money.”

Y/N, defiance burning in her eyes, said, “You think I will agree?”

Ivan leaned in, his breath sending a cold shiver down her spine. “You have to. After you make me bankrupt, I've gained a lot of enemies – elite people who invested their money in the company. And they want their money back.”

“So, you want to return the money to high-influence people rather than those with low income?” Y/N's disdain dripped from her words, her body language betraying a simmering anger.

Unfazed, Ivan smirked, reveling in the power dynamic. Y/N, unable to contain her disgust, spat on his face in an act of defiance. Undeterred, Ivan scoffed, “Those people are small fish. The most important thing is the big whale.”

Infuriated, Y/N spat on his face again, her eyes ablaze with defiance. “Work again with a mastermind who made thousands of families bankrupt? Fuck no.” She turned her attention to the door, silently calculating the risks and possibilities of escape.

Ivan wiped his face with a cloth, savoring the moment with a sinister satisfaction. "I knew you wouldn't agree, but I'll change your mind," he declared with a dark chuckle.

With a snap of his fingers, the dimly lit place transformed into blinding brightness. Y/N, still disoriented, realized she was tied to an electric chair. Someone approached from behind, forcing a mouthguard into her mouth.

Before she could react, her head was jolted by an electric shock, and a muffled scream escaped through the mouthguard, "Mrghh!" Tears streamed down her face as the searing pain coursed through her.

Ivan, reveling in the torment he was inflicting, taunted, "You've made my life hell for a year, Y/N. Now I want to torture you a bit."

Y/N, in the midst of the excruciating pain, wished for a chance to apologize to Bucky if today was to be her last.

"BAM!"

Ivan, caught off guard, exclaimed in surprise. He had been confident that no one knew about this hidden location. However, he was about to learn the extent of Bucky's knowledge of the town.

Bucky stormed in with a powerful kick to Ivan's face, sending him crashing.

“What the fuck?” Ivan spluttered, struggling to stand.

Bucky's eyes fell on Y/N, tied to the chair and seemingly lifeless. Panic and darkness consumed him for a moment as he approached her. "Y/N?"

He lifted her gently, holding her close. "You can't die. I don't know what to do without you."

“Urggh, I'm still alive, idiot,” Y/N weakly replied. Opening her eyes felt like a daunting task, and she couldn't quite believe that Bucky had come to her rescue.

Bucky, overwhelmed with relief, clenched his teeth. His gaze shifted to Ivan, who was still attempting to rise.

He turned to Steve, who had followed him to save Y/N. “Make sure he never sees the sun again.”

Steve nodded, advancing towards Ivan with a determined expression. He swiftly broke Ivan's arm, eliciting a pained cry. “You messed with the wrong person, pal,” Steve smirked, ensuring Ivan faced the consequences of his malevolent actions.

Bucky cradled Y/N, his eyes reflecting worry, anger, and relief. "I've got you," he whispered, vowing to protect her from any further harm.

Bucky, keeping a watchful eye on Y/N as she slept in the hospital bed, found himself reflecting on a similar moment from his recent past when he had visited her father.

Her father had looked at him and said, “What a small world.”

Indeed, it was a small world.

Fifteen years ago, Bucky was a teenage boy living alone in a desolate house. His mother had left, and no one bothered with the household chores. His father, Nicholas, was indifferent, unmoved by Bucky's struggles. School was a constant battleground for him, and life seemed monotonous and purposeless.

Then, one day, Bucky noticed his father bringing a guest home. His father never bothered with hospitality, a clue that this visitor wasn't just any guest. It was the first meeting with Y/N's father, a long-time friend of his own father.

Bucky calls him the kind uncle because he worries about Bucky more than his father.

This kind uncle regularly visited, bringing homemade food Bucky gratefully accepted. It was a lifeline in a home where food was scarce.

The kind uncle shared, "I have a daughter your age. I'll bring her next time." However, that promise remained unfulfilled, and it turned out to be the last visit. Bucky later learned that his father had lent the kind uncle money with exorbitant interest, severing their friendship.

It was pivotal for Bucky, revealing the depth of his father's greed and how money could destroy longstanding friendships. The realization left an indelible mark on him, shaping his future goals. Bucky vowed that if he ever became wealthy, he wouldn't burden his friends with the weight of borrowed money.

Then, when he entered university, he met her—the daughter of that kind uncle, Y/N. The revelation brought a sense of purpose to Bucky's life. He witnessed her being taken advantage of by classmates and seniors at the club, prompting him to take a stand and become her shield.

With him by her side, nobody dared to exploit Y/N anymore. Despite her initial annoyance towards him, Bucky saw a cute, angry kitten in her eyes, and teasing her became a daily amusement, injecting excitement into his otherwise mundane university days.

As they transitioned into adulthood, Y/N underwent a transformation. Her style matured, and she exuded newfound confidence, a far cry from her college days, where she often kept her head down.

Bucky enjoyed the challenge when she underestimated him, eventually giving her money because of her work in an investment company. Little did he know that this woman would swiftly elevate him to wealth.

Y/N's unexpected departure left Bucky in a state of confusion. He waited for a month, then three, and finally, six months passed, but she never returned.

The unanswered question lingered: What did he do wrong? His search for her took a year, but when he found her, she revealed that she had used him to rectify his father's mistake, the same father who had caused harm to her own.

Despite the revelation, Bucky didn't care about the past. He just wanted her back. However, Y/N, this stubborn and seemingly heartless woman, refused to yield.

As he watched her sleep, Bucky's hand cradled her cold cheeks. He joined her side, wrapping her in an embrace to ward off the chill. His fingers gently brushed her hair as he stared at the sleeping figure, who had inadvertently disrupted his life since the moment they met.

Bucky didn't harbor hatred; he found perfection in the chaos she brought into his life. The only thing he desired now was for her to wake up and ensure she could never leave him again.

Y/N blinked, momentarily blinded by the morning light streaming in from the window. The female nurse, noticing her awakening, hurried over to assist Y/N in sitting up.

"My dear, you've woken up? You've been asleep for two days," she informed a hint of concern in her voice. The dryness in Y/N's throat confirmed the duration of her unconsciousness.

Two days – no wonder everything felt hazy. Y/N's attention perked up when the nurse continued, "Rest assured, the bad guy has been taken to the police. Your fiancé has been keeping an eye on you for 24 hours."

'Fiancé?'

Y/N's eyes widened at the unexpected revelation. She hadn't realized she had a fiancé. The sliding door opened, revealing Bucky carrying a bucket of flowers. His face lit up with a warm smile upon seeing Y/N awake. "Babe, you're awake," he greeted cheerfully.

The female nurse couldn't help but giggle at the scene. "Yes, and she's healthy. Aww, so romantic, you bring new flowers today." She grinned at the young couple before making her exit.

Bucky chuckled as he placed the flowers in a vase. Y/N couldn't shake off her surprise. He took a seat beside her, brushing her hair gently. "It's the safest way. If everyone knows that you're my fiancée, no one will dare to kidnap you," he explained matter-of-factly.

He pulled her into a tight hug, their bodies sinking into the hospital bed. "Y/N, please don't go. I don't know what I would do without you," Bucky pleaded, his eyes reflecting the exhaustion from lack of sleep. Y/N's heart ached at the sight of the big man pleading.

She gets closer, kissing his forehead. "I won't go anywhere."

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise, a brilliant smile replacing his earlier plea. Finally, in that small hospital bed with the sterile scent of antiseptic lingering, it didn't matter. Bucky could have the sweetest dreams as long as she was beside him.

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

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sundrop-writes · 8 months

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hiya! Might be a bit broad of a request but could I get headcanons with jj x autistic female reader ?

Broad in the sense if I could get hcs of her reacting to reader with autism, how she helps reader with overstimulation and struggling with social cues and noise. If you wanna throw in smut hcs (jj being the dom) i’m also fine with that!

Basically anything with jj and autistic female reader, thanks!

I love this request so much!!! If you want smut/smutty hcs with JJ and autistic reader, definitely feel free to send in a separate request - I will come back for that in another post. For now, I hope you enjoy this!!

Requests are currently - OPEN.

Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader (Headcanons)

(Warnings: typical CM themes, the reader is described as touch avoidant (with some exceptions); mentions of molestation and murder (related to a case, mentioned in passing); mentions of blood, mentions of someone being shot in the reader's presence. Idk, I don't think there's anything else. Not proofread.)

JJ was raised around everything (neuro)typical, so when she meets you, she doesn't quite get you. Not at first.

You are one of the smartest people on the team - that is why you're there. Your ability to pick up on patterns and bits of detail that others don't see is incredible, and your brain holds mass amounts of obscure information that she could never even dream of knowing.

But you are quirky. More than quirky.

You have difficulty making eye contact, you freak out if someone even motions toward touching you unexpectedly, you have very odd, specific little rituals with your snacks and meals (which JJ does come to find endearing over time) - you go from talking at incredibly fast speeds, blabbering out information to being silent and stoic for long periods of time.

When she finds out that you have autism, she is a bit surprised. She is one of those people who thinks that autism is a disorder related to school aged boys - but you explain to her how it affects your life. How it makes it difficult for you to relate to people, form close friendships, how it's difficult for you to focus on larger 'important' things when smaller details are bothering you.

(It's one of the reasons you're so good at your job - but it also makes it hard to focus on people's words if their shirt is wrinkled and it's distracting you.)

You act cold toward most people on the team, and it's one random day that JJ finally starts to figure you out. A day that you finally warm up to her.

You were helping Morgan escort a suspect out of the police station, to a squad car where he would be driven to jail to be processed. He had confessed to molesting and killing eight boys after being caught with a ninth, and when the father of one of the boys heard the BAU had arrested someone, he came to the police station with a gun.

When the suspect was shot, you were covered in his blood, and in horrible shock from hearing such a loud bang right beside your ear - from feeling the sudden dead weight drop in your arms.

You ran back into the station screaming, and JJ followed her instinct - followed you into the women's washroom, wanting to see if you had been hurt. She was surprised to see you pacing back and forth in front of the sinks, muttering something under your breath.

"L/N." She called out your name, trying to get your attention. "Y/N? Y/N? Hey? Are you hurt?"

You didn't look up, not for a second. But your muttering became louder. And it became more clear what you were saying.

"My pen, my pen, I dropped my pen..."

JJ had no clue why you were so concerned about a pen when you were covered in someone else's blood, your ears likely still ringing from the gunshot - but she knew that you had a pen-clicking habit. It was something that often annoyed Reid and Morgan - but from what she had observed, you did your best work when your thumb was twiddling, clicking the end of your pen insistently. It meant your brain was whirring hard, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

JJ reached into the breast pocket of her blazer, and took out a pen that clicked on the end.

"Here." She offered it out to you. "You - you can borrow my pen." She said shyly, hoping it would help you calm down.

You extended out a shaking hand, and took the pen, and then began to click it harshly with your thumb. You gripped it so furiously, the skin around your knuckles so tight - but after a moment, you let out a tight breath. And then, for the first time since she had known you - you looked JJ in the eye.

"Thank you." You murmured, your voice ripe with tears.

"Keep the pen." JJ told you, feeling like it was a small consolation if it helped you calm down this much.

You reached up, petting a shaking hand over your face, and pulled back in disgust when you felt the sticky blood.

"Let me help you clean up." JJ said, grabbing some paper towels out of the dispenser and wetting them in the sink.

It was the first time you had ever let her touch you - you clicked the pen the whole time, and from then on, that sound became less of an annoyance and more of a comfort to her.

That was the day she realised one incredibly important thing:

To you, small things matter on such a big scale.

Coffee in your favourite mug instead of a random one she found in the back of the cupboard - that gets a smile out of you. Scones with blueberries instead of raisins - raisins get a shrug at best, blueberries get a giggle and a big 'thank you!'. Organising your files in alphabetical order instead of by date.

You and JJ became close after that day.

She wasn't a profiler, not in training, but she learned to read you like a book.

She knew that you bouncing your knee aggressively meant that you were becoming overstimulated - things in the room too loud, the florescents too bright, the day too overwhelming.

When this happened, she would take you outside for a break - often siting that she herself needed some air and she simply wanted your company. She knew you didn't like to be outwardly babied (who does?), but she also knew that you had a hard time self regulating. You had a hard time deciding when to take yourself out for a break, and if you didn't have one, then you would become irritable, have a hard time focusing, and hardly get any work done.

She also picked up on the fact that you just plain didn't get sarcasm.

Before, she thought you were being cool, or aloof. When someone said something sarcastic and you didn't understand, she thought that you were pretending not to get it in order to snub them or make a joke out of the whole thing.

But during one of your many conversations, you told her that you absolutely didn't understand sarcasm - you didn't get when someone was using a sarcastic tone, and you often took everything people said in its most literal interpretation.

So you and JJ developed a wonderful, silent system - if someone said something and you didn't understand if it was sarcasm right off the bat, you looked to her, and she would nod at you if they were being sarcastic, or shake her head if they were being literal. It was something people on the team picked up on, but nobody said anything about it - they just enjoyed the way you bonded with her, and how your quirky habits were spreading like a delightful little plague.

JJ knew that your life wasn't easy, living with autism, but she always tried to make it a bit easier. Because you were worth it.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #anonymous #requests #requested #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau #autistic reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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ethelschapel · 2 months

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do you have any idea about the story of willoughby and ethel and logan and can you explain it?

We don't know much about either character, especially Logan as the only real source material we have about him is the song Western Nights. However, I'll start with Willoughby as he's been hailed Ethel's first love. House in Nebraska is about him, the song clearly stating Ethel's extremely strong feelings for him but also outlining his departure or death or whatever happened to him that caused his split from Ethel. There's speculation that he died, that Ethel did something that caused him to leave her. A lot of what we know about Willoughby is purely conjecture, however in one way or another, Ethel and him separated before she met Logan and long before Isaiah.

There's an excerpt from a page of "Diary of a Preacher's Daughter" which Hayden posted herself saying, "As for me personally, I lost Willoughby that night. The only thing I've ever truly loved in this wretched life and I left him curled between the couch and the coffee table when it all got too loud. "Be mean" is what he'd tell me, every time I'd start my shaking. What he didn't tell me is that you can be mean and still be a coward. Some things you have to learn on your own."

You can read the full thing here.

Again, we don't know the full story surrounding Willoughby and probably never will until the book is published but that excerpt could lead us to believe that he died in the tornado. There's also another piece of source material, a fictional magazine called "Thoughts and Prayers for Ethel Cain," available to read here where the question "What about Willoughby Tucker? I know you two seemed pretty close before he moved away, have you kept in contact at all?" is asked. There's another interpretation here that he moved away, that Ethel could've done something to drive him away etc. I have to reiterate though that it's not confirmed what happened to him.

You may have also heard about the "B-sides" which are said to be all about Willoughby. You can find some collected information about them in this Reddit post. Note that although some of these things have been "confirmed" the artistic process is unpredictable and a lot of what's been discussed in asks and lives may not make it to the final project. The B-sides are also probably not coming for a while but Hayden has not scrapped the project as when saying her next project will have nothing to do with Preacher's Daughter she said, "no this doesn't mean b-sides are scrapped."

There's a lot to be revealed about Willoughby Tucker however he is a very important and frequently mentioned character by Hayden and the fandom.

Now, Logan is a different kettle of fish. He is Ethel's second love interest but is abusive, supposedly using Ethel for sex if you were to interpret the lyrics of Western Nights.

There's little known about Logan and he's very rarely mentioned by Hayden so just like with Willoughby, most of his lore is speculation. He is however a criminal, outlined by the line "Breaking in to the ATMs," and Ethel is dragged into the lifestyle alongside him. If it helps you visualise him better, Hayden has said before that Logan is a "hunky daddy." So...do with that what you will!

Either way, the relationship between the two is short-lived as he dies in a police shootout after robbing a bank causing Ethel to go on the run, ruminating on her relationship with Logan and how the abuse is a mirror of her relationship with her family, shown through the song Family Tree.

The most recent piece of lore we have was posted by Hayden on tumblr where she summarises the plot of Preacher's Daughter. See that here.

As I've said, it's not likely that much will be revealed until the book is out. I'm not Hayden and I don't have access to her head so understanding every detail is hard to do. I've tried to give different interpretations, piggy-backing off asks and source material that Hayden has posted herself, because the particulars are unknown and there's lot of contradictory things spread around. Art is meant to be interpreted though so do with this information as you wish.

If you want to do some of your own reading/listening, here's some other sources that could be useful:

. The lore page on Reddit

. Preachers Daughter document

. Thoughts and Prayers Mag

. Alt Press Mag

. The Line Of Best Fit Mag

. Artist Decoded

There's also another document which gives the basic interpretations of the story rather than lyrical analysis.

I hope this was helpful! And I hope I've made it clear that literally most of this needs to be taken with a grain of salt lol.

#†.inbox #ethel cain #preachers daughter #mother cain #hayden anhedönia

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writingquestionsanswered · 3 months

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Hey, I love mystery stories and I really want to write one myself but I don't know where to start. A mystery story is just so complex, with all the details and red herrings and subplots and the truth being buried under lies and in little things that many may overlook, and you have to balance it so the answer is not too obvious but also not coming out of nowhere, and I worry about things being contrived. Should I start with writing the truth and basically write the story backwards? Or should I start somewhere else?

Plotting a Mystery

I'm not a mystery writer, but if I was going to write a mystery, I think my plotting would go something like this:

1 - Fleshing Out the Truth - What actually happened, "whodunnit" (if someone dunnit), and what events led to this happening? Imagine the event as it's playing out. What sort of evidence might be left behind as to what really happened? What evidence might be obvious upon closer investigation (looking into things like cell phone data, computer searches, hidden motives, etc.)

2 - Fleshing Out the Back Story - In addition to the events that led up to the event in question, what other back story details are important? What players and situations need to be fleshed out and understood in order to understand the truth of what happened?

3 - Fleshing Out the Clues - Knowing the truth of what happened, as well as the relevant players/back story, what kinds of clues might be evident at the scene of the incident? Would there be any forensic clues like fingerprints, blood, hair, or touch DNA? Would there be any circumstantial evidence, like say a matchbook with a particular bar name on it, a cigarette butt with a smudge of red lipstick, shoe prints or tire tracks? What about clues like surveillance videos, eye witnesses, and apparent motives? Which of these clues do you want to be found by any first responders? Do you want any to be found later by other characters who are investigating?

4 - Fleshing Out the "First 48" - What happened in the first 48 hours after the incident? Who discovers that something happened and how do they make this discovery? How do they respond? Do police and investigators get involved? What do they do? What clues do they find and what do they make of them? Who do they interview? What conclusions do they come to? Who are the possible suspects?

5 - Fleshing Out the Trail of Clues - If there are a lot of clues that stretch out across a period of time and/or space, I would probably plot that out on paper so I could see when/how each clue was left, then think about how and when my characters might come upon those clues. For example, if I know one clue was discarded on the interstate, I know that's a clue that won't be found until later. And, I'll have to think about what led my characters to look there, or how some random person stumbled upon it.

I hope that gives you some ideas about how to proceed, but if you're still stuck, I know there are some really great guides available that will walk you through plotting a mystery.

Happy writing! ETA: See the reblogs for tips and resources from @incobalt who is a mystery writer! :)

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cairavende · 2 months

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Worm Arc 21 thoughts:

Well that was sure a turn around from last arc's "I'm going to rally the students so I don't get captured."

I know my daughter has made some . . . mistakes, but I'm not a fan of her turning herself into the openly corrupted and also bad at their job parahuman cops.

(Parahuman cops as in "cops who police parahumans" not "cops who are parahumans")

Like look, I get it. A precog told her to cut ties. I can't say it's wrong to follow that advice. But she could do that in a lot of ways that don't involve the PRT.

The second not from Dinah just being "I'm sorry" is brutal.

But before she can turn herself in she has to absolutely fucking crush the PRT/Protectorate for outing her civilian identity.

I love how fucking simple taking out the entire PRT headquarters was for Skitter and her girlfriends!

Who needs anyone else? Bitch brings muscle, Tattletale brings information, Skitter brings battlefield control. Lesbian polycule power activate!

Was it an overboard response? Maybe. Was it badass how she just took out so many heroes and PRT troops with ease? Yes.

Poor Dovetail has one of the most embarrassing introductions ever. First time we see her and Skitter is wiping the floor with her and thinking about her "crummy power".

God I hate Tagg so much that he makes me miss Piggot. Like she was absolutely terrible, but he's worse! And making me miss Piggot makes me hate Tagg even more!

Kindly old cemetery groundskeeper who doesn't pay much attention to the news! Never a bad trope.

They gave Butcher 15 to Cherish???!? Like sure they give all the reasoning for it but like ... it just seems like a really high risk situation. If she ever gets out it's going to suck. A lot.

THE SCENE AT RACHEL'S PLACE OH MY GOD!

SHE IS BUILDING A COMMUNITY! I LOVE HER SO MUCH!

Rachel just over here finding everyone like her and giving them a place. Legit crying. Look at that fucking growth!

(Also shout-out to my wife for having basically done the same thing. It's how I met her. It's how I met one of my girlfriends. And so many other important people. So ya. I fucking love this.)

Also you ever like a girl so much you try to give her an entire planet? Cause Taylor sure has.

"Rachel I don't want you to be sad when I'm gone so you can basically have this whole other planet we found."

GGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!

Imp let Regent take control of her . . . welp. Like, I'm not really surprised by this. And in a different situation I wouldn't even really find it that weird. I'd do it with the right person. But combination of age and the situation they are in and Regent being Regent annnnnd ya. Welp.

I did love how much of the interactions between Skitter and Regent/Imp really was just her struggling with parenting two teenage supervillains.

IT'S NOT SO EASY, IS IT CHILD?!? MAYBE YOU'LL CUT ME SOME SLACK AND LISTEN TO MY ADVICE IN THE FUTURE!

(She won't)

I fucking LOVE that she made the bible themed hero kneel. Absolutely fucking amazing.

Oh shiiit, Skitter just flat dropped that guy multiple stories. Is she going to far?

. . . wellll, these guys do literally worship the Endbringers so I guess a little aggression is ok.

Damn, Valefor sure has some fucked up powers, I wonder what they're gonna do abou-

. . .

. . . . . .

. . . wellll, these guys do literally worship the Endbringers so I guess a little aggression is ok.

. . .

Yep.

. . .

. . . I think I preferred when she just used a knife.

So anyway

Not a fan of Taylor having more alone time with Brian (not because I have any issue with the idea, but because I think she needs to be focusing on her girlfriends), but I am a fan of her using bugs to clean her dress and fix her hair afterwords while Brian just kinda sits there and has to contemplate what he has gotten himself into. Queen shit.

Flechette was SO mad that Parian wasn't "cute" anymore, I couldn't stop laughing. Sure, she said "You had to take the playfulness away? The joy?" but we all know what she meant. Of course, it's won't take very long for the new costume to get Flechette's attention. (I have to mention that this is basically exactly what I said when reading the scene, and the interlude a few chapters later just proved me right.)

Flechette is just so hopelessly gay

Miss Militia is actually getting very mild respect from me right now. Like, she's still working for the cops but she is actually agreeing to silently push against some things. Now, she says she doesn't have more power then that but she is a very well known hero and if she would publicly speak out about certain things there is a decent chance she could do more. That would of course be putting her position at risk though. Which is why she only gets very mild respect right now.

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T JUST GET TO SEE TATTLETALE'S MURDER WALL, I GOT TO SEE HER ENTIRE MURDER ROOM!

Fucking multiple bulletin boards with threads connecting them. Everything color coded. Reference numbers to files with more details. Multiple TV screens, computer with constant information dump. God. It's like a literal representation of the inside of my mind while I read Worm. SO MANY THINGS TO FIGURE OUT!

I love a lot of characters, but Tattletale always stays near the top. She gets me.

And from the fucking joy of getting to see that setup I come crashing the fuck down.

Like, I have completely figured out at this point that Skitter is turning herself in. I know what is coming. She's had her moment with everyone else and Tattletale is the last one.

And then. Then just . .

No goodbyes.

😭😭😭😭😭

HOW DARE THIS BOOK MAKE ME FEEL MY OWN FEELINGS!! I'M TOO GAY FOR THIS!

I do find it hysterical that the PRT officers working the front lobby don't all recognize Skitter on sight. Fucking gas station employees will manage to keep track of people with pictures on the "bad check" board, you'd think the PRT could manage to have their officers keep track of the face of one of the most well know villains in the country, if not the world, who also controls their city. PRT is forever bad at their job.

That one guy did notice her eventually though, so I guess he gets to be employee of the month.

The Number Man interlude thoughts:

The inside of this mans mind is one of the sexiest things I have ever seen and the constant reminder of the horrible things he is helping Cauldron do to all their prisoners was very helpful because it was the only thing keeping me from deciding that The Number Man is a perfect soul that can do no wrong.

I have no illusions here. I am weak. This man is a monster and I should not have any trouble remembering that.

But fuck shit fuck oh god fuck I don't even need him to touch me. I just need him to TALK to me. I just need him to get high with me and let me pick apart how his mind works!

He understood numbers, and through them, he understood everything.

That line. Absolute killer. Fucking take me.

. . . anyway yes it's a very interesting interlude!

Loved seeing more of the inner workings of Cauldron

I very much want to see the final level of their basement that only the Doctor goes into because I said that I thought Cauldron had a dead (for values of dead that are non-definable) higher dimensional being in their basement back during arc 15 and now I know for sure that there is something down there. I wanna know if I was right!

Oh my god he was friends with Jack

"Friends"

Look I make everything gay ok? It's not my choice! Sure it means I get to enjoy every tiny bit of Wolfspider and Chatterbug cause I see all of it. But it also means I see the ships I don't want to think about!

I men what was I supposed to think when Jack said “We can live this. Together. Every waking second…”?

Gay

Parian interlude thoughts:

And speaking of gay!

Fucking Flechette just full blown "Fuck all of this I want you to tell me what to do for the rest of my life!"

Full U-Haul lesbian.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

This is Parian's new costume having an effect.

Just so gay. I love it.

Also Bitch just so fucking ready to break Skitter out. So fucking gay.

And the incredible loyalty, which is gonna hurt if she ends up feeling betrayed by Skitter.

Still gay though.

Tattletale, basically without powers, just completely giving Accord the "fuck off, we're in charge" was amazing. All she had to do was promise to consider his binders and he was all in. This poor man just wants somebody to read his ideas! He's like a aspiring screenwriter just begging people to read his script.

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #Skitter #Wolfspider #Chatterbug #Smugbug #Number Man #I love doll lesbian #She is one of my favorite side characters #Curious what Flechette's new name is going to be #I was cackling about the idea of Flechette crossing half the city to make a phone call cause no one has any idea how much Skitter can hear #Or how far away she can hear it #And it's just like “Well uhhh other side of the city I guess?”#Also the amount of brain power currently being used to try and come up with a clever ship name for Jack Slash and The Number Man #Is unreasonable #I don't care. I don't want to care.#I don't want to think about shipping ANYONE with Jack #I hate that pretentious little shit bag so much #And yet #The possibilities with numbers and dividing and such are endless #And I can't stop myself #Please send help #Or just send me more of The Number Man's internal thoughts #That could distract me

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scary-grace · 22 days

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Enough to Go By (Chapter 15) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Chapter 15

Your experiences with the cops have been mixed, but right now, the cops are so relieved that someone’s found Eri that they don’t ask you too many questions. They run your name through the database, of course, but when they come up with no prior arrests and the fact that you’re quirkless, you can actually see them write you off as a suspect. Sometimes your uselessness works to your advantage. You’re planning to make a clean getaway, but Eri wakes up as you’re trying to put her down and starts to cry. You try to remember who she said she wanted earlier. “Can you bring, um, Deku? She said something about him.”

Deku is a bizarre name for a hero. You wonder what Midoriya Izuku was smoking when he picked it out. “Let me see,” the officer on duty says. She smiles at Eri, who squeezes her eyes shut and hugs the plush corgi even closer to her chest. “I’ll make a call. You might have to wait with her.”

“That’s okay,” you say. You’re sort of interested to meet Midoriya Izuku. Tenko hates him, and you want to know what Tenko’s up against. “I don’t mind.”

It’s not a long wait. Maybe forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of Eri tossing and turning restlessly in your arms, waking briefly and falling asleep again, sometimes crying whether she’s awake or asleep, before two heroes come barreling into the police station. You know the first one is Midoriya, but you’ve seen the second one before, too – Eraserhead, Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher. The one who was defending his psychopath student on national TV.

Anger flares up inside you, and you fight to tamp it down. You can’t look defensive or hostile. You need to look harmless and quirkless and maybe a little stupid, so you’ll register as such a nonevent that the idea of you being involved with the League of Villains will never cross their minds. Midoriya reaches you first, out of breath and a little panicked. “Eri! Are you okay!”

She stirs slightly, and while Midoriya’s trying to figure out how to yank her out of your arms while still asking nicely, Eraserhead arrives. He activates his quirk at once, although you’re not sure who he’s trying to use it on. “Why is she unconscious?”

“She’s sick,” you say. “She was like that when I found her.”

“Why didn’t you bring her to the hospital? That would have been the logical choice.”

“You’re supposed to bring lost kids to the police, aren’t you?” You let your face fall slightly. “I just wanted to do the right thing. I wasn’t sure.”

“You brought Eri back. That’s the most important thing.” Midoriya’s focused on her. “Where did you find her?”

“I was walking home from the grocery store and I heard something in an alley. I thought it was a cat, but I went to look and it was her.” You’re a better liar than Tenko is. You know how many details to add, when to be nonspecific. “Do you know how she got there?”

“We don’t comment on active –”

“The League of Villains took her,” Midoriya says, cutting Eraserhead off. “We rescued her from Overhaul – it was on the news – but they took her before we could take her to the hospital. They must have decided to give her back.”

“They dumped her,” Eraserhead corrects sharply. “Giving her back would entail taking her to a police station or a hospital.”

“But they couldn’t go there without getting arrested,” Midoriya says. He holds out his arms, and you pass Eri in her blanket bundle to him. He looks at you over her head. “Did she say anything about them?”

“No,” you say. An idea pops into your head and you run with it – something to push back on the story Eraserhead is telling himself, something to make Midoriya think he’s right. Something to confuse them both, to make sure that the story Tenko was afraid they’d tell isn’t the one that survives. “She had the blanket when I found her. And the toy.”

“Oh,” Midoriya says. Eraserhead doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t look happy. “She seems like she really likes it.”

Even in her sleep, she has it crushed to her chest. You keep playing dumb. “Can she keep it?”

“Of course,” Midoriya says at once. “Right, sensei – er, Eraserhead?”

“If nothing is wrong with it, and she wouldn’t prefer a toy not given to her by a villain, yes.”

So she will get to keep it. It’s just an ordinary toy. You’ve made the handoff to the heroes, and now you can go. But would the slightly brain-dead civilian you’re playing just go? You get to your feet, but hesitate. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes,” Eraserhead says. “She’ll be in good hands. Much better hands than she’s been in over the past twenty-four hours.”

You start nodding, ignoring the surge of frustration at the comparison between Tenko and Overhaul, and turn to leave. Eraserhead’s hand comes down on your shoulder as you’re walking away and scares the hell out of you. “What’s your name?”

“The police have it.” Wrong answer. If you had nothing to hide, you’d just have said your name a second time. You start babbling to cover up the error. “They looked me up and everything. Did you know they keep addresses? Like all the addresses I’ve ever lived at. It’s so weird!”

“Did you see anything?” Eraserhead asks. You shake your head. “Was anyone in the alley with her?”

You shake your head. “I only saw her. I wouldn’t have known she was there if she hadn’t made a sound.”

“She’s lucky you went to investigate,” Eraserhead says. The weird look you give him isn’t even slightly faked. “Most people wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” you say. “I – um – I’m glad I looked, too. It was – nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Midoriya says. He’s awkwardly rocking Eri. “Sensei, should we call an ambulance?”

“That would be best.”

They’re not paying attention to you anymore. You leave, feeling like you’ve dodged a bullet or ten.

The League is in a celebratory mood when you get back. Defeating Overhaul and cementing Tomura’s status as the next leader of the criminal underworld is a big deal, and you’re happy, too – but at the same time, you’re stuck on the fact that life as you know it is ending. If the Hassaikai could find you, other people could, too, and you’re still quirkless. Defenseless. It’s not safe for you to be here on your own. And Ryuhei was right. As the team’s medic, you have to actually be with the team to do any good. It’s right that you should leave. It was going to happen eventually. And you still feel like you’re losing something you can’t replace.

Because you are. After this, you won’t be a civilian anymore. Even if you’re not committing serious crimes yourself, the semblance of a normal life you’ve been maintaining will die away. You’ll be like your cousin Manami for real. Except that compared to what you’re mixed up in, Manami’s strictly small-time.

“I’m gonna miss this place,” Spinner remarks, sprawling out with his feet up on your couch. It takes way too much effort not to cry.

You head back to your room to pack long before everyone else starts to settle down. What are you supposed to bring with you when you go on the run? Your costume, obviously. Medical supplies, obviously, which you’ll restock from the soon-to-be-set-up supply caches when you need to. Changes of clothes, deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush? You try to figure it out based on what the League’s been asking you to buy for them, and it already feels like you’ve got too much stuff in the backpack you’re bringing with you. And that’s not even counting the evidence.

There’s not much left of Shimura Tenko. You’re pretty sure you have all of it, and there’s not room for it in your backpack, even with the plush corgi finding a new home, and you can’t leave it here for whoever searches your apartment once you’ve gone missing. The smart thing would be to get rid of it. Crumple up the valentine, shred the photos, throw the album away, flush the locket down the toilet and forget about it all. But you don’t want to do that. You don’t want Shimura Tenko to exist only in your memory. If something happens to you, it’ll be like he never existed at all.

You fold the valentine carefully, slide it into an empty sleeve of the photo album. You bury the album at the bottom of the backpack. The locket lands on the nightstand, to put on later. That just leaves you with the journal. You haven’t read through it at all yet, and even though you’re pretty sure you’ll be flushing the pages down the toilet, you decide that you should read a few of them first.

It takes only a few seconds for you to wish you hadn’t. The journal starts when you’re seven, and all the feelings you hadn’t learned to hide yet are scrawled on the page. Anger, confusion, sadness, loneliness, hurt, guilt. So much guilt. You didn’t remember how hard your younger self had tried to find Tenko, how much trouble you’d gotten into for sneaking out to look for him. You didn’t remember how insane everyone made you feel – not just for believing that he was still alive, but for remembering him at all. It’s obvious in the weight of your pen against the paper, the heaviness of the strokes, the size of the characters. HE WAS REAL. HE WAS HERE.

As the pages turn and you grow older, your handwriting gets better, until the day you found out your parents were planning to wipe your memory, at which point you go insane for real. Given what a mess your handwriting was and how blurry and water-stained the paper is, you’re surprised you managed to pull it together long enough to hide the journal and everything else away.

You’ve always thought your parents were wrong to do what they did. You still think that. But when you read through the journal as an adult, you can catch the faintest glimpse of why they went that far. If you had a kid and they were doing this, you’d be worried. You wouldn’t know what to do. And if it was really you, you grown up for real with a kid you’ll never have, you’d be terrified, because you know where this leads. It leads to throwing away a decent life, a normal life, and following your best friend off the edge of the world.

There are a lot of pages in the journal. You have to flush them down the toilet in handfuls, and you’re so focused on getting rid of them that you don’t realize how weird it is to flush the toilet eight times in a row. Someone clears their throat and you look up to find Dabi and Toga watching you. “What are you doing?” Dabi asks.

“Disposing evidence.” You yank the last set of pages out of reach and flush them, too. “Get out of my room.”

Dabi leaves. Toga stays, poking through your bathroom cabinet. “Can I have this?” she asks, lifting up your meager makeup collection. You nod. “What about this?”

Perfume you never use. “If you want to carry it, it’s yours,” you say, and Toga grins. “Actually, if you help me pack, you can have whatever’s left in my closet. That you’re willing to carry.”

“You’re the best! I needed some new things.” Toga hugs you, then turns to your dresser and closet, all business. “Bring all your underwear. Like, all of it. We can’t do laundry very much and I don’t feel as gross when I can switch mine out.”

That’s reasonable. “Don’t bring anything with short sleeves or anything sleeveless. Warm stuff only. It’s getting really cold at night,” she continues. She starts taking things out of your dresser and putting them on the bed. You can’t tell if she’s picking them for herself or for you. “Find a way to wear your hair that won’t get messed up too easy. We won’t get to wash it very often, either.”

Your hair’s going to be hidden by the veil, but that’s still smart. Toga has more suggestions – clothes with sturdy fabric, bras that aren’t uncomfortable to sleep in – before she gets serious. “Period stuff. I made Mister shrink a whole bunch of it, but it sucks to have to ask him to un-compress it.”

“That was really smart, though. It makes stuff a lot easier to carry.”

“We should have him compress most of the supplies,” Toga says, her eyes brightening. “That way we can carry more!”

She runs off to tell Tomura and the others, and you go back to reorganizing your backpack to fit Toga’s must-haves in it. She comes back a few minutes later, all business once more. “If you have jewelry, bring it so we can sell it if we need money,” she says. “And just to have. It’s nice to look pretty sometimes.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She throws a sock at you. “Being mean to yourself isn’t cute. Tomura-kun likes you how you are. Overhaul was really gross and even he liked you.”

“He didn’t like me. He just knew he could use me to get to Tomura.” You feel guilty when you think about it. You could have derailed Tomura’s plans so easily, just by being weak, being unable to fight for yourself. You need to fix that. “I wasn’t saying I’m ugly. I’m just saying I don’t think about that a lot. Anyway – jewelry?”

Toga nods, and you start digging your jewelry out of its various hiding spots. Rather than investing in a jewelry box with a lock that Compress could pick in two seconds, you scattered your small collection around your room, figuring Compress would give up the hunt rather than risk Tomura’s wrath. It must have worked, because everything is right where you left it, and none of it’s been replaced by one of Twice’s copies. You’re hoping Toga will let the subject drop, but she doesn’t. Not quite. “How did you make Tomura-kun fall in love with you?”

“That’s a strong word,” you say, thankful you’ve got your back to her right now. Neither you nor Tomura has said the L word. In your case, it’s not because you don’t feel it. You don’t know why you’ve held back on saying it out loud. “I didn’t make him. We just spent time together and it happened.”

“That won’t work for me.” Toga’s frowning. “I like Ochako – and Izuku – and Tsu. But they won’t spend time with me because they’re heroes.”

Your inclination is to tell Toga to find a more realistic crush, but you’re also not an asshole. “You’ve seen Ochako and Izuku at least twice, right?” you ask, and she nods. “When you see them next, try to make a strong impression, I guess. Since you don’t get to spend time with them very much, you have to make it count.”

“Something romantic,” Toga says, and you nod. “When I do that, can I have these earrings? Green looks good with my eyes.”

“Sure.”

“And what about this? Can I –” Toga breaks off, gasps. You turn to find her standing by the nightstand, your locket open in her hand. “Who’s this? Is this –”

You see it in her eyes when she realizes. She claps a hand over her mouth, which is good. Now you don’t have to do it for her. “You can’t tell the others,” you say, keeping your voice low. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t if you tell me everything.” Toga looks shocked and gleeful at the same time. It’s a weirdly intimidating expression. “Otherwise I have to talk to people so they can help me guess. I won’t need to if there’s nothing to guess about.”

You don’t want to tell anyone, but you want out of this conversation, and you don’t want it to leave this room. You sit down on the end of the bed, well clear of the stuff you’re trying to pack, and Toga plops down next to you cross-legged. “I knew him when we were kids,” you start. “We lived across the street from each other. We were best friends until – um –”

“He used to be normal?” Toga looks amazed. “What happened?”

“His quirk awakened. It –” You trail off. You’re not sure how to describe the carnage in what was left of Tenko’s house. It’s not your story to tell. “He disappeared after that. It was fifteen years before I saw him again.”

“How did you know it was him? He looks so different now than he does in the picture.”

“The scratching. He did that as a kid, too. And he remembered me, sort of.” You remember the way he froze when you said his name, how fast he ran from you. You’ve never asked him why he ran away. “There isn’t really that much to tell. That’s it.”

“Childhood sweethearts. That’s so romantic!” Toga beams. You’re not sure you want to call it that when the two of you were only five – but there’s a photo of the two of you swapping valentines right before you kissed him, so you can’t really argue. “He loves you so much. I can always smell when people are in love. He’d do anything for you.”

No, he wouldn’t. You’re pretty sure there’s one thing Tomura wouldn’t do for anyone. You search Toga’s face, looking for any hint that she’s planning to double-cross you. “I held up my end of things. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Why not? I bet they’d think it’s cute.”

“It’s not safe for many people to know,” you say. You think of how Tomura reacted when you told him Kurogiri had brought you to All For One, how relieved he was that you hadn’t revealed yourself. Even with All For One locked up in Tartarus, you don’t want that information getting out. “My friends Yoshimi and Mitsuko and Ryuhei know, and my other friend Kazuo. And now you.”

“Because we’re friends.” Toga hugs you from the side. “I’m so glad you’re finally coming with us! Jin is the best big brother ever, but I can’t talk to him about things like I can talk to another girl.”

“If we’re friends, we have to keep each other’s secrets,” you say. “Even if the others would think it’s cute. You have to promise not to tell.”

“Fine. I won’t tell.” Toga heaves a sigh. She snaps the locket closed and hands it back to you. “I should get one of these. I want pictures of Ochako and the others!”

“Maybe you can steal one,” you say, wondering if this counts as helping the League commit a crime. You’ve stayed out of Kazuo’s searches this long, but you don’t think you’ll be able to much longer. “And it’s not like pictures of them are hard to find. I’ll help if you get one.”

She hugs you again, and the two of you go back to packing. You fasten the locket around your neck instead of putting it on the nightstand. Now that multiple members of the League feel fine coming into your room without asking, it’s not safe to leave it lying around.

Toga’s tired by the time you’re done packing, and so is everyone else. When she leaves, you can hear them all settling down for the night in the living room, bemoaning the fact that this is the last time they’ll have a soft bed for a while. You, meanwhile, need to make sure your absence goes unnoticed for as long as possible. Tenko comes in while you’re composing an email to your supervisors, telling them that you need to take a leave of absence from work for the sake of your mental health. It would be a good idea even if you didn’t need to go on the run.

Tenko shuts the door, sits down behind you on the bed, and wraps himself around you. “What are you doing?”

“Covering my tracks. My family won’t notice for months, but work will notice I’m missing unless I give them a reason not to look.” You scan the email one last time and send it, then shut the lid of your laptop. “I should probably leave this here, right?”

“Maybe not. It would be good to have it,” Tenko says. He notches his chin over your shoulder. “If your job thinks you’re on leave, then it won’t look weird that you’re still connecting to the internet. You can probably bring your phone and keep in contact with the others, too.”

“Okay.” You slide your laptop and charger into your backpack. “But I still have to go.”

“Yeah. It’s not safe,” Tenko says. “The heroes might not have captured all of Overhaul’s minions, and he could have left instructions for them. And they won’t be the last enemies we make. I need you to be safe, and the only way I can make sure is if you’re with me.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Do you not want to come with me?”

“I do,” you say. “It’s just – I don’t know. The way I’ve been helping is the way I’m most useful to you. I can’t fight. I don’t have a quirk. I can find a weapon somewhere and I can do the medic thing, but –”

“Don’t say you’re useless.”

You weren’t going to, but it’s what you’re thinking, and Tenko knows you too well. He hugs you a little closer. “What else?”

The question leaves your mouth before you can think it through all the way. “I want to know where this ends.”

“Overhaul really got inside your head, huh?”

“It’s not about him,” you say. You’ve opened this can of worms. You might as well dump it out. “When we were kids, it didn’t matter that we never won. There was always another day. We could start over as many times as we needed to, and try as many things as we could think of until something worked. But this isn’t like that. When people get hurt, it sticks. When they die, they die, and we can’t get them back.”

You think of Hirono and Sho. Of Magne, who’s not dead but who’s locked up with no way for you and the others to rescue her. “I don’t want us to keep fighting forever. I want us to win fast, before we lose anyone else. And I don’t know what winning looks like.”

“When all of this is destroyed,” Tenko says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no piece of it that isn’t built on lies. Even your job, the stuff you do – it wouldn’t have to happen if the heroes and the idiots who worship them didn’t keep throwing people away. It can’t be fixed from the inside, so we have to tear it down. I have to. It’s what I’m here for.”

You want to argue, but you won’t win. You know you won’t. “And what about after it’s gone?”

“I don’t know,” Tenko says. “But you do.”

You can’t manage anything more than a stunned silence. “I know it needs to be destroyed,” Tenko continues. “Anybody who’s not lying to themselves can see that. But I haven’t lived in it. Not like you and the others have. So when there’s nothing left, you can decide what to put in its place.”

He tucks his head in against the side of your neck. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “You were always better at telling the stories than me, anyway. They were never any good on the days you stayed home.”

“Don’t you have any ideas?” you ask faintly. “About what it should be like? It’ll be your world too.”

“You wanted to know where it ends. That’s where,” Tenko says. “We win when we tear everything down. When it’s all gone, you and the others get to choose what happens next. It should be mostly you. Maybe Spinner, too, if you need help with anything.”

“What about you?” Foreboding creeps over you, making your skin crawl. “Where are you going to be, Tenko? When this is all over?”

“When it’s all over there won’t be a point to me anymore.”

“No.” You twist in Tenko’s arms, putting the two of you face to face. He avoids your gaze, which is how you know you’re right, how you know that you picked up the real meaning in what he said. “That’s not how this works. It’s not winning unless you’re with me afterwards.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you with me or not?” He’s stubborn. You’re stubborn, too. More stubborn than he is – but he’s still talking. “It was nice to think about while we were here. What it would have been like to be normal. But that won’t happen. Not even after we’re done with all this, so there’s no point –”

“Who said I wanted normal?” You cut him off. “I’m your sidekick. That means I’m with you no matter what. So if you want me to get through this and build a new world, you’d better be planning to come with me. Because if you’re not, I’m staying right here with you.”

Are you making some kind of suicide pact? You don’t think so. You think you’re just trying to get it through Tenko’s head that the two of you are in this together, no matter where it goes or how far it goes. He’ll destroy this world that’s hurt him, that’s hurt the League, that’s hurt you and so many others – and then you’ll build a new one, one where everyone has at least a shot at being happy. Everyone. Including him.

Tenko still won’t look at you. You cup his face in your hands, run your thumb across the scar on his lip, and his gaze drifts back to you. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“I – yeah.” Tenko’s red eyes stay focused on yours this time. “I mean, I guess. If you’re serious.”

“I’m serious,” you say, and he kisses you.

He’s not wearing his gloves. You have to pull away so he can put them on, and then again to get more comfortable on the bed – and then again so he can take off his shirt. As soon as Tenko has his shirt off, he’s pulling at yours, and once it’s gone, he drags you into his arms, holding on almost painfully tight. He kisses you hard enough that his lips split in spite of your best efforts. He needs to slow down. You need to slow him down. But when you frame his face with your hands again, he melts against you in a way that’s impossible to resist. Maybe you’re the one who needs to change this time.

Every moment, every motion, fades seamlessly into the next. It feels natural to kiss the scar over the side of his mouth, and the birthmark below it, and move from there to kissing his neck. It’s natural to hook your leg over his hip, to roll to your back and pull him down on top of you. It only makes sense to peel off your pants and unbutton Tenko’s and slide your hand inside, palming him through his underwear. It feels right to kiss him while you touch him, even if it’s a shame to have to muffle the sounds he makes with your mouth. The destruction of everything and the creation of a new world feels so distant that it might as well be a dream. The only thing that matters is the texture of his skin under your hands, the brush of his hair against your cheek, the sound of his breathing and of his voice when he says your name.

“Stop,” Tenko says, his voice shaking, and you obey, withdrawing your hand from his waistband and resting it flat against his stomach. “I want – not like this. This time. I want us to – can we –”

He’s pulling at the waistband of your underwear, and it clicks in your head. There’s something the two of you haven’t done yet. “Sex,” you say. Tenko nods. He looks worried, like there’s a chance you’ll make fun of him or say no. “There are condoms in the nightstand.”

“I thought they were in the bathroom.”

“I moved them,” you say. “Is that weird?”

“No,” Tenko says. “You were thinking about it, too.”

You have been, on and off. You figured it would happen organically, but tonight is sort of your last chance to get your first time out of the way if you want your first time to happen in a bed behind closed doors. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you say. You wind your fingers into Tenko’s hair and tug lightly. “Want me to tell you what I’ve been thinking about?”

Tenko sucks in a breath. “Yes.”

You talk to him while he struggles out of his clothes and searches for the condoms you put in the nightstand. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you say, trying to shed any hint of self-consciousness. “I thought about riding you. Maybe holding your hands down, too – not so you can’t touch me, but so you don’t have to do anything but let me make you feel good. I thought about letting you take me from behind, so you’re in control of everything, start to finish. I’d trust you with that. I know you’d feel so good that I wouldn’t care about anything else.”

Tenko’s gloved hands are shaking as he tries to unwrap the condom. His cock looks almost agonizingly hard. “But then I decided,” you continue, trying not to stare, “that I want you on top of me, this time. I want to see you.”

“Why?”

“I like looking at you,” you say. You could get into it more, but you’re worried you’d embarrass him. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with the condom now that he’s opened it. Then again, he’s never been to sex ed. You take it from him. “I was thinking,” Tenko starts, then shudders as you roll the condom down over his length. “I – fuck, I don’t know, I’m not good at this like you are. I want – you –”

“We can work the rest out later.” You lie back, legs spread, and pull him down with you. “Let’s start here.”

You help him align his cock with your entrance, lift your hips to make it easier as he sinks into you for the first time. Tenko’s a stretch, just shy of uncomfortable, more than enough to make your head spin. Your hands are shakier than you want them to be as you reach for him, and the low moan that exits his mouth sends a rush of heat through you and makes your muscles clench tight. Tenko’s hips give a frantic jerk. “Don’t do that. I can’t last if you –”

“I can’t – not,” you gasp. “You feel even better than I thought you would.”

Tenko’s hips jerk again. You see him grit his teeth, clench his jaw, and his first real thrust is shallow, shallow enough that your body aches for more. The next is deeper, but not by much, and the pattern he falls into deepens by increments, so small that you can barely feel a difference. You know he’s trying to hold himself together, trying not to come too soon, but it feels like he’s teasing you on purpose. Torturing you. almost. Giving you just enough of what you want that all you can think of is what you’re missing.

“Please,” you say, and Tenko’s eyes widen. “I need more. I don’t care if it’s over fast. I just want –”

He sinks into you to the hilt, leaving no space between you, and it takes all your willpower not to cry out. The pace he sets is faster this time, uneven enough to keep you on your toes if your toes weren’t curling already. The only problem is that it makes kissing difficult, and without it, you’re both a little too loud. Tenko’s trying to keep his mouth covered and keep his balance at the same time. You cover it for him with one hand while the other works its way between the two of you, finding your clit. You want the two of you to finish together, or close to it. You don’t want Tenko to worry that it wasn’t good.

You’re closer than you thought you were. A lot closer. “Tenko,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “Tenko, I need you. You feel so good like – there –”

You’d have helped him find this spot if either of you had the patience, but he’s found it on his own, and there’s nothing more you can do. A few uneven thrusts, the slightest pressure against your clit, and you’re coming on Tenko’s cock. You know instantly that you can’t keep quiet, and with both hands occupied, the only way to muffle yourself is to press your mouth against Tenko’s shoulder. He fucks you for a few more unsteady, rapid strokes as you tremble and whimper and moan into his shoulder. The barely-muffed sounds he makes when he comes send one last jolt through you, intense enough that you bite down.

Tenko slumps forward against you, shuddering. You free both hands to wrap your arms around him, holding on tight. And then it’s quiet in your room, save for the sound of his breathing and yours.

Your mouth is still glued to his shoulder. You can taste his sweat. Or maybe blood. How hard did you bite him? Embarrassment creeps in through the haze, worse when you realize you’re still clinging to him for dear life. You need to loosen up five seconds ago. “Sorry –”

“Huh?” Tenko sounds half-asleep, and two of you are working at cross purposes. You’re trying to let him go, and he’s settling in for a nap. “Don’t do that. It’s nice.”

He yawns. You can’t let him fall asleep like this. You shove lightly at his shoulder. “You can sleep in a second. We have to, um – disengage.”

“Why? I’m comfortable.”

He wants to fall asleep still inside you. That would be surprisingly hot if the condom wasn’t an issue. “The condom might leak. That’s not good.”

“It isn’t?” Tenko yawns again.

You can’t tell whether Tenko doesn’t know where babies come from or if he’s just being obtuse on purpose. “Getting pregnant when we’re about to go on the run would be really bad.”

“You were really good with that kid.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You don’t get an answer, and you decide you’re not going to worry about it right now. “Out.”

Tenko groans and pulls away. You have enough time to ditch the condom in the trash can in the bathroom, followed by the speediest bathroom break and hand-washing of your life, and as soon as you’re within arm’s reach again, Tenko yanks you back down. He flops down into the same position as before, minus actually being inside you, and you decide the comment from before can’t go unaddressed. “Me being good with kids wouldn’t make it less stupid to screw around with birth control.”

“Yeah,” Tenko says, although you’re not sure of how much of it he actually got. His breathing is already starting to even out. “I didn’t know you kept the dog.”

“I kept everything you gave me,” you say. “Are you mad I gave it to her?”

Tenko shakes his head, burrowing deeper into your shoulder in the bargain. The bitemark you left is already bruising. “You win,” he says. You’re puzzling over that, your own eyelids growing heavy, when Tenko speaks again. “I love you.”

Your jaw drops. Toga told you that Tenko felt that way, that she can always tell when someone’s in love, but hearing it come out of his mouth is something else entirely. Some part of you is elated to hear it. That part of you wants to shake him awake and kiss him and tell him that you love him, too – and not so subtly suggest depleting your condom supply a little bit further. That would be the thing that makes sense, the normal thing to do, the thing that somebody who’s loved him for as long as you have to do. You do love Tenko. You loved him when you were children, and you’re in love with him now as an adult. So why does the thought of saying so fill you with terror?

It’s not like you’ve never told someone you love them before. You told Kazuo, when the two of you were dating. It felt easy then. You talked to your cousin about it afterwards, because the two of you were close, and she was surprised to hear you say so. “It’s never easy for me,” she said, and you couldn’t quite hide your own surprise. “It’s easy to feel love. When I love somebody I feel so much I can’t stand it. But saying it out loud makes it real. Saying it changes them, and it changes me. So it’s harder to say for me than for you.”

You always thought that was because of Manami’s quirk, which powers up the person she loves most when she tells them how she feels, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s hard for you to say to Tenko because it makes it real in your head – more real than being his girlfriend, than basically moving him into your apartment, than quitting your job and going on the run with him and his villainous organization on a mission to tear down the old world. It’s stupid to think that way, when it’s everything you’ve done that makes it real. After everything you’ve done, everything you’re planning to do, you’ve proved your love for Tenko. Maybe you don’t need to say it out loud.

And maybe Tenko didn’t mean it, either. The two of you just slept together for the first time, and Mitsuko always says that you can’t count on anything a guy says until at least an hour afterwards. It was just an aberration, and it’s not like he’s waiting for you to say it back – he’s fast asleep in your arms, maybe drooling a little bit on your shoulder. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You close your eyes.

It takes you a second to get your bearings in the morning, to remember everything that happened yesterday. It was a lot. Overhaul almost had you kidnapped. You returned the girl the League kidnapped to the police. You realized you’d be going on the run and had sex with Tenko for the first time, and – you become conscious of someone watching you, and you open your eyes to find Tenko, awake before you for once and watching you with his chin propped in his gloved hand.

His hair is messy and his lips are cracked and stained with dried blood, but he looks well-rested for once. “What is it?” you ask. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, uh –” You struggle with forming the question. “Why are you staring?”

“You’re my sidekick, and my girlfriend, and we leveled up so hard last night that I slept like a rock.” Tenko cracks a grin, and a new split appears in his lower lip. “And I love you. Is that a good enough reason?”

You reach out and pull him in for a kiss, hoping he’ll count it as a yes. You lick the blood away from his lips and run your fingers through his tangled hair and do everything you can to ignore the twinging in your chest, the weight on the tip of your tongue. You love Tenko. Saying it might change things, but you can’t avoid saying it forever. It isn’t right. And with your involvement in the destruction Tenko’s planned for the world all but assured, you need to do the right thing where you can.

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