#currently it’s only 4 times a day and only in the dead of night when i know for certain i won’t be awake

[zevrans-remade]

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[goldensunset]

if you want to see kh content from me better be online between the hours of 3am and 7am EST because it is all going in the queue atm

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops. 

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead,  “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

--

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that. 

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

--

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

--

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift. 

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.” 

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!” 

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans. 

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him. 

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive. 

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him. 

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob. 

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it. 

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all,  “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack. 

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope. 

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face. 

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you. 

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone. 

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

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[moondirti]

animalic (4)

← chapter three // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k summary: things don't go according to plan warnings: enemies to lovers, light bondage, sexual tension, arousal, choking, canon-typical violence, dub-con elements, paralysis, suicidal ideation, self-hatred, angst, miguel o'hara is not nice, no use of y/n notes: y'all. i promise we are getting somewhere. i promise. lmk what you think tho cuz i thrive off comments

“Lyla?”

While you’re – regrettably – unable to make good on your promise to phase through the floor, you catch yourself hoping it splits to swallow you whole instead. It certainly would be a better alternative to the purgatory you currently face. 

“Lyla? Come in, Lyla.” 

Feeble rays of light filter in through the weathered windows, their reach slowly growing as night surrenders to the wakings of dawn. Variegated motes bob lazily, suspended upon the streams of sun, quivering back and forth between a range of countless colours. Paralysed and splayed atop the frigid, hard ground of the empty store-lot, you try counting them all for lack of anything else to do. Pink, green, orange, gold. You wonder what force chooses the order, whether it’s sequenced to fit some plan of high design. 

“¡Ay, coño–”

Slowly, you let yourself scrutinise other things, too. The scent of neglect that permeates the stale air, particularly pungent around the entryway. You trace the yellow-brown mass that runs along the door’s hinge edge, and attribute the vaguely muddy smell to rot. Then, it’s the glint of shattered glass, winking at you from lost corner’s of the room. They look narrow, far too inconvenient to clean out with a standard broom. You revel in the understanding that whoever had been in charge of scouring the wreckage appears to share your habit of quick quitting.

It’s only when your vision begins to water do you divert your attention to the situation at hand. Last you needed to blink, it took half a minute for the command to register, and even longer for the motor neurons in your eyelids to act. By the time you eventually got them closed, you’d already started contemplating whether his venom would be the death of you. 

(Lame end to a lame life.)

It didn’t take a genius to figure out, though. You know that, if he wanted to, he could’ve kept imbuing you with the substance until your body was no longer able to perform the basic mechanisms necessary to sustain life. He could have kept his fangs lodged deep into your neck – encroached upon your stuttering veins, bathing in the ichor that flowed – until he felt you go limp, concentrated with his poison. It would have been a denouement to his problems – right there, easy, sandwiched between him and the wall – but it wasn’t. Because he didn’t. 

Just like he didn’t let you plummet to your death that day at the quarry, or strangle you while you were unconscious back at HQ. 

So, no. It doesn’t take a genius to acknowledge that Miguel O’Hara doesn’t want you dead. As he fiddles with his malfunctioning watch, you endeavour to come up with a divisive list as to why that is. 

One: you’ve charmed him. The notion is almost funny enough to elicit a snort, given that you weren’t cast in an immovable anathema.

Two: he’s a good guy. Somehow, this option seems less viable to you than the first. 

You find your third prospect slinging from the threads of a fraying memory. 

You’d been a student, before – attending college at a reputable institute close to home. It’s easy to forget what it was like most nights: cramped in that two hundred square foot dorm, borderline losing it as you tried to validate your claims on matter-antimatter rockets and their potential contribution to interstellar travel. There were concerns of total annihilation, and sourcing, and an array of other limitations – that which you’d dedicated your academic career to drawing up proposals for. It’s laughable now; the stress and theories blurring together to form a vague picture of your long-lost ambition. 

You have a hard time conjuring what exact future you were so hopeful for, but the lamp by your roommate’s bed remains clear in your mind’s eye. Warm-white, comforting. For as long as you were awake, tapping away at a never-ending thesis, she’d work through the latest volume of her beloved murder mystery anthology. 

It was the night before your start at an internship with Alchemax that the series came to a close. Her aggravated screams still ring fresh behind the clouded pane of time. You had thrown your pillow at her in a belligerent plea.

(You wanna elaborate?

The suspect behind every case was shot!

So? Isn’t that a good thing?

No, dumbass. It means the detectives fucking lost! They’ll never be able to prove how right they were.)

Admittedly, you know very little about Miguel, but you have an idea of what matters most to him. It’s entirely possible, then, that he refuses to kill you for what your death would do to negate his efforts thus far. 

“Oye,” 

Your mental traipse is reeled in when the devil himself snaps at you. Steadily, your pupils roll up to look at him. 

“I need your day pass.” 

You continue to stare. His jaw clenches. 

“Because of your little headbutt outside, my watch is busted. My only hope of fixing it is by using the parts of your day pass.” 

Is he asking? Does he expect you to respond? 

You can’t fool yourself into believing he’s that ignorant. 

But Miguel stays on standby, scanning your lax form. He takes in the webs that wrap around your waist, branching out to your thighs and shoulders, restraining your arms behind your back. When his eyes meet yours again, the reluctant question you see glaze over them pushes the recognition to the forefront of your mind. 

He is asking. 

Or, notifying – making sure you’re aware of what he’s about to do. 

God, you wish you could speak. You’ve never come up with so much to say without promptly blurting it out before. Irritation and amusement rip at one another within you, locked in a brutal dogfight fated to have no real winner. How hypocritical of him to pick and choose when your treatment takes priority over his mission; you’re littered in marks that all point to his prior negligence of such subtle humanity. Four stabs above your wrist, a pounding migraine at your temple. If it weren’t for your paralysed stomach, you’re certain you would have regurgitated your innards as consequence to the concussion he’s given you.  

But, oh. 

How funny would it be if you agreed. To let him discover the harrowing truth for himself. 

Deliberately, you muster an affirming blink.

Miguel's weariness escapes him in a heavy sigh, the weight of it etched upon his expression. Thick brows furrow, evidence to his age creasing between them, before he sinks down with a purposeful grace and carefully flips you over. Despite the resentment that festers in your gut, you can’t help but hiss a mental sigh of relief at the service it does to your elbows, which had begun throbbing in response to the pressure that the hardwood floor exerted.

From that point onward, it becomes a guessing game of sorts; you can’t see him, nor are you able to tilt your head and confirm your assumptions as to what he’s doing. Deprived of your most reliable sense, the others strain to fill the gaps in your knowledge, drawing upon every available cue; the sound of his miniscule grunts, the warmth of his skin – that which penetrates through his gloves. You’re alarmed into attempted action when the characteristic rip of his claws equipping pierces the strained air – your body powerless in addressing the adrenaline it secretes – until the spider-man touches his forefinger to your palm.

“Relax.” He all but commands. “I’m just cutting the webs off.” 

You’ve no reason to trust him, of course, but you can’t exactly pitch a complaint right now. 

(Perhaps it’s in your best interests to ignore how easy he’d been able to read you.)

A few moments of jostling ensue, before he withdraws with a curse. Your arms remain ensnared in the tight restraints, the ache that smarts your skin all too real for the continued predicament to be illusory. An assortment of jokes occur to you. 

Can’t get it up? 

In your peripheral, you catch him weighing his options. The pause is laden with a sticky indecision – this change in placement, you realise, exacerbates the already difficult task of breathing for you. 

While you fixate on that fact, he seems to come to a conclusion. With one swift manoeuvre, he positions himself astride your thighs, straddling the deadened extremities, and reaches forward to push your wrists apart. You’re quick to catch on to his intention, how the arrangement gives him better leverage, yet–

His groyne presses into the swell of your ass, worsening with every bid to sever the webbing. It’s impossible not to notice, especially not when the seam of your jeans start to shift in tandem, smoothing over your clothed core.  It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last roused like this. Enough for it to feel brand new, a wrapped curse in a prim little bow, eager for all that you shouldn’t be. 

And… Christ– 

And then he unfastens the lines around your arms, and runs his hands up your skin. It’s not gentle, nor is it brutish, but you can feel his desperation escalating. His touches grow progressively antagonistic, kneading your palms up to your shoulders, patting down to the shallow pockets of your pants. You’re searched like you hold the key to his success – you suppose that, in some oddly comical way, you do. And it should be upsetting, blasphemous. 

But you’re no sacred thing. You’d laid down that possibility a long time ago. 

No. You’re foul, questionable at your best, and erupt into goosebumps over the ruthless grip of a man who hates your very soul. You’re a deeply detestable spirit, truly, but a detestable spirit who has just managed to get one up on Miguel O’Hara. 

He throws you back around, wrapping his hands around your throat. His snarl is primal, maturated in acrid anger. 

“Where is it?” 

You’re sure that, in some alternate reality, your face is stretched in a shit-eating grin. 

“Where’s the fucking day pass?” 

Your satisfaction is short-lived. 

You’ve never been one to notably detest humiliation. It’s productive – healthy, even – in smaller doses; a fitting consequence for those who you deem deserve it. Yet, as you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over Miguel’s shoulder, forced into a meandering parade through the streets of New York, you breach into uncharted territory – a threshold where your tolerance encounters its breaking point. 

He makes no effort to soften his strides, unmoved by the idea of providing even a shred of respite for your susceptible self. If anything, it feels as though he deliberately seeks out the harshest terrain, silently chastising your earlier defiance in the most passive aggressive manner known to man. He’d reinforced your constraints before marching out on this fruitless venture, and now you bobble uselessly, backside pointed upward, anchored solely by the meaty arm around your knees. 

At least you’ve regained control of your mouth. 

“D’stroyed it. Gone. Dearly d’parted–” 

“If you’re going to run that little mouth, then make it helpful.” 

“M’bein’ helpfoo,” you start, straining your weakened vocal cords in an effort to mock him. The grip of paralysis may have slackened its hold, but neurotransmission remains at an all time, sluggish low. In all actuality, it astounds you that he can even begin to decipher your words from the tangled murmurs they become. 

“You had it on at the convenience, and a little bit afterward. You can’t expect me to believe that you dealt with it while running for your life.”

Running for your life. Sure. 

Displeasure sparks at the confidence he imbues in his assumption.

“Escoos m– hnngh–” A sudden jump of stress robs you of breath, your stomach plummeting alongside the rapidly distancing ground. As Miguel propels himself above the city skyline, effortlessly evading the crowded streets via a web he’d grappled to an adjacent building, you’re confronted with a stark reality – that this is the very first time you have ever, and likely will ever, experience what it’s like to swing. 

It’s exhilarating and nauseating all at once, gravity relinquishing its command as you transcend the confines of the physical, soaring through some reality where law loses significance. If it had been you, your arms and skill and jurisdiction, you’d never come down. But maybe that’s why it isn’t; maybe your life was meant to lead up to this, and only ever this. 

(Not antimatter technologies or heroic conquest. Yeah, this feels more fitting.) 

Your skin prickles. You phase through the sturdy frame that’s held you up so far, and plummet from its grasp.

Slicing through the boundless sky, you’re accompanied by a profound tranquillity. It isn’t absolute – fear still gnaws at your core, its presence undeniable. But, amidst the churning horror, your instincts are fainter than they ought to be. They whisper in a subdued tone, overshadowed by conflicting conceptions. One, being the inference you’d drawn earlier about how – whether you like it or not – Miguel would not let you die. 

Another, quieter suspicion hints toward the full reality of your… relief.

Though, of course, you’re right about the former. Tree-trunk biceps wrap around your waist, pulling you close as he slingshots off to a nearby rooftop. You flop into him, a ragdoll to the overwhelming force of his agitation, and squeeze your eyes shut at the hints of patchouli permeating from under his mask. 

You don’t have to face the gospel just yet.

“¿Qué mierda? Eh?” He shouts, propping you up against a ledge. “What the fuck was that?” 

You don’t have an answer for him. Your heart lurches, catching up to the urgency at hand, striking on the hollow bars of your ribcage to some reckless tune. It’s only amplified by the torrent of blood distending through your system, throbbing at your temple, rushing by your ears. 

What the fuck, indeed. 

He damns you, it seems, with a fervour that breaches the heavens, as if willing God Himself to commit his plea to eternal memory. Or not; truthfully, you can’t tell. With the roar of your own snowballing thrill, it becomes impossible to discern the sequence of interrogations that explode from him. The world around you fades to the background, your preoccupancy consumed by the disquietude it leaves in its wake. 

Your sense is only validated a minute later when, two blocks away, an ear-piercing shriek ruptures your dissociation. 

Miguel stiffens, slowly turning to face its source.

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘕𝘖-𝘏𝘜𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘐𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘓𝘠-𝘔𝘜𝘓𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘈𝘉𝘈𝘚𝘌:

Earth-15 – analysed, marked as closed. 

Spider-totem – The Spider: soon after being bit by his radioactive spider, convicted felon Peter Parker merged with Earth-15’s variation of the carnage Symbiote.

Notes – do not engage, at any cost. 

chapter five →

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[persevereforahappyending]

He Hung Up (Christmas)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: “Christmas is literally in a few days, is the plan for them to stay through Christmas as well?”

Warnings: None

Word Count: 6k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Sam trudged up the stairs to her apartment, sighing as she got her keys ready. She just got off a long shift and wanted nothing more than to just relax. She wasn’t big on Christmas, but she was looking forward to the time off and spending time with her sister, it had been a long time since they got to spend Christmas together. Sam doesn’t really count last year because there was still a lot of recovering from Ghostface going on. She knew this year wouldn’t be perfect, but she was hoping it might be better, maybe she and Tara could make new memories and Christmas could become something they enjoyed again. She knew she was part of Tara’s dislike of the holidays, first their dad left and then Sam left. Sam had a lot of make-up to do.

The college was already on winter break but given Sam’s job she hadn’t gotten to spend any time with her sister, she barely got started on her Christmas shopping. Chad and Mindy left the first day of break, which happened to be the day after Tara’s birthday. Sam was glad the twins got to spend Tara’s birthday with her, it ended up being a fun night. The next day they flew back to California to spend the break with their mom. They all agreed to do a Christmas together when the twins got back, which just meant Sam had more time to pick something good out for them. She was hoping to get a little input from Tara, she wanted to do something football related for Chad and horror related for Mindy but despite her father being a serial killer that spawned a popular horror franchise she didn’t know shit about horror.

Danny also flew back to his hometown to be with his parents. So, the only thing keeping Sam from getting to spend the holidays alone with her sister was you. As Sam’s keys jingled, unlocking her apartment, she heard what she had been hearing every day since the break started, you. You had been over every day since the break started. The only good thing was that most days you left and went back to your own apartment, not that it mattered because you stayed all night and then were back by morning, sometimes Sam was eating breakfast, and you were already there, knocking on the door. Sam was trying to be nice though, it was the holidays and she’d hopefully have Christmas Day just her and her sister.

When Sam pushed open the door, she saw you and Tara curled up on the couch watching a movie as you not so quietly talked to each other. Sam glanced at the TV to see Gremlins playing. “Gremlins?” she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah!” You exclaimed, looking at her like it was the most obvious choice for them to be watching. “It’s the best Christmas movie.”

Sam was taken aback giving you a look like you had two heads. “How is-”

“Don’t,” Tara tried to warn her.

“That a Christmas movie?” Sam continued her question.

“Well, you see Samantha,” you started, earning a quick glare from Sam, she hated when someone called her Samantha. “Gizmo,” you pointed to the little fuzzy guy who was currently on the screen, “was a Christmas present.” You clasped your hands together as if you were presenting a project. “The whole movie takes place around Christmas time. They’re decorating the tree, making Christmas cookies, and the gremlins even dress up like carolers.” You let out a satisfied huff at the end of your reasoning.

“But people are attacked and some of them even die,” she tried to argue. She wasn’t sure why she was playing into your game.

“People are attacked in home alone, but everyone considers that a Christmas movie,” you fired back.

“But there’s no death!”

You scoffed, waving off the claim. “Gremlins only has off screen deaths, those don’t count. Also, all that shit Kevin did? Those two guys should have been dead.”

“Whatever,” Sam said shaking her head. She saw your reasoning and it was pretty logical, not that she’d ever tell you that. She still wasn’t sure if she’d considered it a Christmas movie.

Sam tossed her stuff down and made her way into the kitchen, opening the fridge to see what she could make for dinner. “Oh,” Tara called out from the kitchen. “Can Y/N stay for dinner?”

Sam sighed, closing the fridge, and moving to stand in the doorway. “Again?” Sam asked some of her annoyance from the week slipping in.

“Yeah?” Tara asked, turning to face Sam. “What’s the issue?” Tara wasn’t glaring at Sam, yet, but Sam could hear the slight annoyed tone. Tara always got that tone when she didn’t get her way, specifically when it came to you.

“They’ve been here an awfully lot this week,” Sam started, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

“So? It’s Christmas break.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to spend every second of every day here.” Sam ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “They’re usually just leaving by the time I’m going to bed and then they’re back knocking on the door before I leave for work.”

“So what?” Tara was now on her feet, arms crossed and glaring at Sam. “You haven’t been home, and I don’t feel like spending all day alone. Who cares if they’re here all day?”

“Christmas is literally in a few days, is the plan for them to stay through Christmas as well?”

“Maybe!”

“No,” Sam snapped. She didn’t mean to be so harsh; all the weeks of stress have just been building up. She hadn’t expected an answer and the fact that Tara didn’t see a problem in you crashing their Christmas sent her over the edge. “That’s where I draw the line.”

“What are you saying?” Tara matched her sister’s anger. “I can’t spend Christmas with them? They’re not allowed to come over and see me?”

“I want one day! One day of just you and me! I figured Christmas could be that day. We could finally spend a Christmas together, just the two of us.”

“What about what I want?”

“Don’t they have a family to go see over Christmas and they want to spend time with?” Sam saw a flash of something in your eyes, but she was to focused on Tara to recognize what it was.

“God! You-”

“Actually,” you spoke softly cutting Tara off as you slowly rose to your feet, gently resting a hand on her arm. “I’m headed back home tomorrow.”

“What?” Tara whipped around. Sam almost got whiplash from how fast Tara went from angry to hurt. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know I was having fun with you; I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You leave tomorrow?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I’ll call you every day and I’m getting back the day after Christmas.”

Tara crossed her arms pouting. “I was hoping to give you your present on Christmas Day.”

“I’m sorry,” you looked at her sadly. “I wish I could give you yours Christmas Day as well, but we can do Christmas the day after, yeah?” You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Just me and you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I guess.” Tara was still pouting but she seemed slightly less upset. “I still wish you would’ve had told me.”

“It’s not like it’s going to be fun. I’m not going to be doing anything, really.”

“Then why do you have to go?” Sam wanted to roll her eyes, of course Tara would try and convince you to not go to your families for Christmas.

“Spending time with family is important, right?” You raised your eyebrows, staring Tara down to make her agree with you. Sam didn’t know how you did it, you always got Tara to agree with you. If Sam had said any of the stuff you did, Tara would be nonstop, making nothing into a monstrous fight.

“Yeah,” Tara sighed. “I’m still going to miss you.”

“Me too,” you rest a hand on the side of her face, caressing her cheek. “Besides we still have tonight,” you looked up at Sam, silently asking her if that was still okay. Sam nodded; she could tolerate you one more night since it meant you wouldn’t be around for a few days.

“I guess,” Tara mumbled, wrapping her arms around your waist before burying her head in your shirt. You instantly wrapped your arms around her, pulling her in for a tighter hug. Sam wanted to roll her eyes, the two of you were acting like you weren’t going to see each other for months not a few days.

“Come on, lets finish the movie.” You kissed the top of Tara’s head, keeping one arm wrapped around her as you pulled away and led her back down to the couch.

**************************************

The next few days did not go as Sam had imagined. She had still been working crazy hours and after work she spent the night going from store to store searching for a present for Tara. She had a gift card at the ready to give to Tara, but she wanted something more personal. Tara had also been silently hostile towards her since you left. Sam was trying not to start anything; she was just hoping Tara’s mood would lighten by Christmas day. The only good thing was that Tara wasn’t actively seeking arguments with her, she was just pouting and giving Sam short responses. Every night Tara was on her phone either texting or talking to you. Sam knew it was young love or whatever, but you guys had just seen each other. She herself had barely talked to Danny since he left, they texted a few times but neither one of them was glued to their phone.

As she walked the streets of New York, searching for a shop she hadn’t already been in, something that would call to her, something that screamed Tara, she passed by a bakery. Sam stopped, looking in the window at all the Christmas themed baked goods, there were cakes decorated with snowflakes, cupcakes with little Santas, and various cookies decorated. Sam ripped open the door, stepped into the shop and purchased a dozen cookies. All the cookies looked great but before she could walk away from the window, she noticed some of them were decorated with characters or quotes from various Christmas movies.

As she continued to walk down the street, the box of cookies under her arm, she thought back to her childhood. Sam didn’t like thinking about her childhood, most of her memories were tainted by the lies of her mom, her dad leaving, the truth of her birth father, and the guilt she felt for leaving her sister. When she was younger and Tara was just a little kid who loved following her around things were good, they were happy. Christmas used to be a magical time for them, every Christmas eve they would spend the day baking cookies to leave out for Santa. A part of Sam wanted to bring that back, maybe not the leaving the cookies out for Santa part but the making their own cookies. Besides loving to eat the cookie dough, Sam remembered how big of a smile Tara had on her face, usually covered in flower, when they would make the cookies. Part of Sam worried about bringing it up to Tara, she knew Christmas wasn’t great after she left and Sam didn’t want to try and force old memories, just because she thought it’d be fun didn’t mean Tara would.

Sam sighed, she had been out a little later than usual and she hadn’t seen a single shop that seemed interesting. She was about to turn around when a life-size Wolfman figure caught her eye. She looked at the store front, seeing the windows filled with other movie related memorabilia and posters. She shrugged, deciding there was no harm in giving the little store a shot and opened the door. She knew it was the holidays, it was the day before Christmas eve and the store was closing soon so she was going to do a quick look around and see if anything jumped out at her.

The store was small but was stuffed full, wall to wall, ceiling to floor, there was product everywhere. There were posters, action fingers, DVD sets, a wide range of TV shows and movies. As Sam weaved her way through the rows of shelves she finally came to the register where there was a display case of collectibles. There seemed to be higher valued collectibles, things way out of her price range, but there were also knives and other weapons. The weapons were horror themed though, they were the same style from whatever movie they were from and then they had the villain of the movie etched into the blade. Sam’s eyes grazed over the Ghostface knife and landed on a Friday the 13th machete. The machete had Jason from different scenes etched all down the blade. Sam smiled at the old man behind the counter and pointed to the machete.

When Sam left the shop, she had some slight reservations about buying Tara a weapon. Luckily for her the man assured her the blade was dull and was meant to be a display piece more than anything. Sam made a note of where the shop was, she would have to take Tara there one day and she was tempted to come back and get the Michael Myers knife for Mindy as a gift.

As Sam juggled the box of cookies in one hand and Tara’s present in another, she caught a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye. She stopped dead in her tracks, turning to do a double take. Her mouth fell open, her brow furrowed as she watched you walk out of a pizza shop, pizza box in hand as you made your way in the direction of your dorm. Sam watched you from across the street, Tara hadn’t mentioned anything about you coming back to town early. Sam also hadn’t noticed any evidence of you being in the apartment since the night you left.

When Sam finally got back to the apartment, she kicked the door closed, making sure to hide the bag with Tara’s present. She heard Tara on the phone but paid her no attention as she rushed to her room to hide the present, dropping the box of cookies on the dining room table on the way. She quickly shoved Tara’s present in her closet, planning to wrap it before she went to bed, then made her way back out to the living room.

“Alright, night,” Tara said, smiling into her phone. “Have fun with your family and I can’t wait to see you when you get back.” Sam watched curiously as Tara waited for, Sam assumed you, to respond. “Love you too.” With that she hung up the phone and looked up at Sam with a confused look. “What?”

“Was that Y/N?” Sam questioned, turning her back to Tara to open the box of cookies.

“Yeah,” Tara sighed. Sam could see Tara’s pout without having to turn around.

“They still out of town visiting their parents?” Sam looked up, internally smacking herself, she was trying and failing at being subtle.

“Yeah.” She heard Tara leave the couch, her feet quietly shuffling as she made her way next to Sam. “Said it was kind of boring there and has only really been watching Christmas movies.” Sam could only hum in response, she couldn’t figure out why you didn’t go home for the holiday and more importantly she couldn’t figure out why you were lying to Tara about it. “Whatcha got there?” Tara nodded to the box.

Sam smiled, flipping open the lid of the box. “No way!” Tara said, reaching out and grabbing a cookie. “These are so cool. Where did you find them?” Tara mumbled through a mouth full of cookie.

Sam giggled, shaking her head at her sister. “Passed a bakery on the way home. Are they good?” Tara nodded, giving her a thumbs up.

Tara grabbed another cookie and plopped herself back down on the couch. Sam tapped her fingers against the dining room table, working up the courage to ask Tara what she wanted to. She grabbed a cookie, taking a bite as she sat in the chair next to the couch. She glanced at the TV to see Tara watching The Grinch.

“So…” Sam started off slowly, looking down at her cookie, it was a really good cookie. She flicked her eyes from Tara, who was already looking at her, to the TV, and back to Tara. “I get it if you don’t want to do it, but I was wondering if you wanted to make cookies tomorrow, like we used to do.”

Sam flicked her gaze from her cookie to Tara a few times, waiting for her sister to respond. Tara was looking down at her cookie, her brow furrowed as she was deep in thought. “We don’t have to,” Sam said softly, trying to reassure Tara that it was totally fine if she didn’t want to do it.

“No,” Tara said with a small head shake, finally looking at Sam again. “I’d like that actually, it sounds fun.”

“Great,” Sam smiled and turned her attention back to the TV. Which is how they spent the night, sitting in a peaceful silence, watching whatever Christmas movie popped up next.

***********************************

It was Christmas eve, Sam was off work, she had Tara’s present wrapped, they had plans to bake cookies later in the day, and everything was going perfectly just like Sam had always wanted. Sam couldn’t stop the nagging feeling at the back of her head though. She made breakfast for herself, and Tara and they were halfway through their second Christmas movie when she suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. Sam jumped to her feet, grabbed her keys, and walked to the door.

“I’ll be back,” she said, looking back at Tara before opening the door.

“Wait what,” Tara said, muting the TV. “Where are you going? I thought we were spending the day together?”

“We will, I just have to run out real quick, I forgot to pick something up.”

“I thought you wanted to make cookies,” Tara frowned.

“I do,” Sam smiled softly at her sister. “We will make them as soon as I get back. You’re going to like what I bring back.” Tara continued to pout. “Trust me, please, I promise you, you will love it.”

“Okay,” Tara mumbled quietly, curling up on the couch as she unmuted the TV.

Sam gave her sister one last look before rushing out the door. As a surprise to no one, the streets were bustling with people doing last-minute Christmas shopping. Sam pushed her way through the crowded streets, making her way to the college campus. There were hardly any students on campus, most having returned home for the holidays. Sam easily found her way to your building and up to your dorm room. She did a few quick knocks on your door, then bounced from foot to foot as she waited for you to answer.

The door was quickly flung open and standing before Sam was you, your mouth hung open, whatever you were about to say dying on your lips as you just stared at Sam. Sam bunched up her hands in her pockets, looking at you expectantly.

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked back, a little harsher than she intended. She couldn’t help it, you had a habit of just annoying her without even doing anything, she knew she had to work on that.

“I live here,” you said confused.

“Why are you lying to Tara?” Sam crossed her arms. “Why did you say you were going back home?”

You let out a defeated sigh. “You wanted Christmas to be the two of you,” you shrugged. “I didn’t want to intrude or ruin your Christmas.”

Sam’s eyes fell to the floor, it was so hard to dislike you when you were so considerate. You were kind of an asshole and Sam’s dislike was warranted half the time but deep down you were sweet. “Why didn’t you go home? Don’t your parents want to spend Christmas with you?”

You scoffed, refusing to meet Sam’s eyes as you looked down at the floor. “My parents haven’t spent Christmas at home since I was thirteen and deemed old enough to not burn the house down when left alone.” Sam frowned, she knew you didn’t talk about your parents much, Tara had said they weren’t super active in your life, but she didn’t realize how distant they actually were. “I don’t even know where they are right now,” you shrugged. “Somewhere warm.”

“Let’s go,” is all Sam said, turning to leave.

“Wait what?” you leaned half your body out the door.

Sam turned around, rolling her eyes at you. “Grab whatever you need and come on,” she waved her hand impatiently. “You’re spending Christmas with us.”

“Nononono,” you shook your head. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Get your shit and come on,” she snapped.

You quickly shut your mouth, ran back into your dorm, and came out with two presents in less than a minute. You silently walked behind Sam as she led the way back to the apartment. She never thought she’d say it, but it was actually unsettling how quiet you were being. When the two of you got back to the apartment, she went in first, tossing her keys on the table before closing the door behind you.

“What did you have to get?” Tara asked, not taking her eyes off the TV. Sam didn’t answer, making Tara look up, her eyes becoming confused when she saw you but quickly lit up. “What are you doing here?” she jumped up, running, and crashing into you for a hug. Sam shook her head; it hadn’t even been a week since you were here and yet Tara was acting like it was a lifetime.

“I never had plans to go to my parents,” you admitted, dropping your eyes to the floor in shame.

“What?” Tara asked, there was no anger in her voice, only confusion.

“They aren’t big on Christmas; I never spend it with them. I didn’t want to intrude and ruin Christmas for you guys,” you looked back at Sam. “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel bad, I knew you’d try and convince me to join you guys.”

Tara lightly punched you in the shoulder before pulling you in for another hug. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into your neck.

Once Tara and you separated, the two of you followed Sam into the kitchen. Sam grabbed the ingredients and the three of you made cookie dough. You and Tara threw flour at each other, making a mess and though Sam would usually be annoyed she couldn’t help but laugh along with you guys. She’s pretty sure the three of you ate more of the cookie dough than you used to make cookies. When there were finally enough cookies to fill the tray, they popped them into the oven and moved to the living room, popping on another Christmas movie as they waited for the cookies to be ready.

When the oven dinged, you and Tara raced to the kitchen, nearly forgetting oven mitts as you moved to pull the cookies out. Sam had to push the two of you back before the two of you started grabbing the cookies off the hot tray before they had the chance to cool. She shooed the two of you back to the living room, forcing you both to wait for the cookies to cool before you all started eating and decorating them. With how excited the two of you were Sam wasn’t sure you guys would be able to wait to start decorating, you and Tara would probably eat all the cookies plain.

That’s how the three of you spent the rest of the night. You all decorated cookies together at the dining room table, eating cookies in the processes. Sam was focused on her decorating but every time she looked up, she saw you licking icing off your fingers, she wasn’t sure if you ever finished decorating one cookie. When all the cookies were eaten or decorated the three of you retired to the living room, Sam taking her usual spot in the chair while you and Tara cuddled up on the couch.

**********************************

Sam woke up Christmas morning to the smell of something delicious cooking. She rubbed her eyes, frowning at who could possibly be cooking so early. It wasn’t that Tara was a bad cook, she had to learn to cook after Sam left but she had never made anything smell this good. Sam couldn’t judge though; it wasn’t like she was a master chef either, she knew how to make enough things to allow them to survive and give them some variety, but they still did takeout the majority of the time.

Sam ran a hand through her hair as she walked down the hall and into the kitchen, she stopped, blinking a few times to try and clear her vision, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, you were in her kitchen, cooking, and it smelled good. Sam looked around, seeing you were making use of the entire stove, cooking eggs, bacon and sausage, and pancakes at the same time. You flipped three pancakes onto a plate that already had a few, before pouring more batter into the pan, making three more pancakes.

“Morning,” you said, when you finally saw Sam. You kept your pace though, sprinkling cheese across the eggs before flipping it over, creating an omelet, then added more cheese on top. “We got pancakes,” you gestured to the plate beside you. “And eggs,” you gestured to the pan in front of you, before sliding the omelet onto a plate when the cheese was sufficiently melted. “And bacon and sausage,” you pointed to the other pan that was sizzling. “What would you like?”

Sam blinked a few times, still processing the site in front of her, it was just breakfast food, but everything looked so good, perfect almost, nothing was burnt. “An omelet, please,” Sam said, finally finding her voice.

You nodded, cracking another two eggs into the pan. “You guys didn’t have a ton of options but let me know what you want in it.”

Sam looked across the counter at the options, there was actually more than she thought there would be. “Just tomato and spinach.”

You gave a quick thumbs up before flipping the pancakes. You grabbed another plate, dumping all the bacon and sausage onto it. Tara came in, grabbing the plate of bacon and sausage and two separate plates with omelets.

“Morning,” Tara mumbled, taking the plates to the dining room table.

“Morning,” Sam replied, still watching you cook. She watched as you added the veggies to her omelet, flipped the omelet and added more cheese and veggies to the top of it. You flipped the pancakes onto the plate, Tara at your side the instant you were done and already taking the plate to the table. You quickly finished the omelet, sliding it onto a plate and holding it out to Sam with a smile.

Sam looked from the omelet up to you and back down to the omelet. She hesitantly took the plate but had to admit it looked just as good as everything else. “You can cook?” she couldn’t help but ask.

You just shrugged, turning off the stove as you followed Sam into the dining room. Sam set her plate down, taking a seat and got a full look at the table. The plate of pancakes, sausage and bacon, and a plate of toast was already laid out in the middle of the table.

“They can cook breakfast at least,” Tara said, shoving a fork full of omelet into her mouth. “Everything else, that’s debatable.” You scoffed, stabbing your fork into Tara’s omelet, and stealing a bite, she quickly slapped your hand, throwing a grumpy glare at you, making you chuckle.

“Thanks,” Sam said, looking down at the omelet.

You shrugged again. “It was the least I could do.”

Sam took a small bite of her omelet, and it was amazing, she hated how good of a cook you were. She almost wanted to say you could spend the night any night as long as you made breakfast in the morning. The three of you sat in a comfortable silence eating breakfast, slowly waking up the rest of the way. By the time you were all done almost everything was gone, except for a couple pancakes left over. Sam sighed, she hadn’t had breakfast that good in a long time, the diner she worked at didn’t even make breakfast that good.

The three of you moved into the living room, grabbing presents from under the little tree the sisters had put up. Tara and Sam exchanged gifts and then you handed Tara a little wrapped box, Sam was silently praying that it wasn’t a ring again. Her mouth fell opening as she looked up at you with questioning eyes when you handed her a present as well.

“Why is hers bigger?” Tara questioned, whipping her head around to look at you, holding the present she had gotten you out of reached.

You just chuckled at her. “Yours is more expensive?” you offered.

She narrowed her eyes at you but handed you the present. You happily took it, giving her a quick kiss. Without wasting any time Tara was ripping into the present you had gotten her. When she was done, she held a small jewelry box in her hand, it wasn’t a ring box though. Breakfast was good but if you had gotten Tara another ring Sam probably would have killed you. Tara lifted the lid, letting out a light gasp at the sight, she lifted the item out of the box to reveal a necklace. The necklace had a silver chain connected to a silver pendant with her birthstone in the center, it matched the ring you had gotten for her birthday. Sam might have hated the ring at first, but she had to admit you had good taste in jewelry. Tara held out the necklace for you, moving her hair so you could place it around her neck.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, pulling you in for a long kiss, acting as if Sam wasn’t still sitting right there. “Thank you.”

Tara then ripped into her present from Sam, letting out an exciting gasp at the machete. “This is awesome!” she held up the machete, a crazy look in her eye. Your eyes widened, instantly going to Sam, silently asking her if she was serious.

“It’s not sharp,” Sam quickly said. She could see you physically relax as she calmed your fears.

Tara pouted a little at the new knowledge but still twirled the machete in her hand, looking closely at the etching. “This is so cool,” Tara said again. “Thank you.”

You opened your present from Tara, jumping to your feet to reveal two videogames. Sam had no idea what the games were, but you were acting like a little kid, so she assumed her sister did a pretty good job. “Thanks babe,” you said, giving Tara a quick kiss, making her blush.

It was Sam’s turn; she slowly opened her present from Tara. “Holy shit,” she whispered as she took out the little box. Tara had gotten her ear buds, she had been looking at a pair forever because she wanted some for when she went for a run or to the gym, but she could never pull the trigger, they were always too expensive for her to justify. “Thank you.”

As Sam started to unwrap the box you had gotten her, she caught a mischievous smirk on your face. Sam almost paused her movements; she couldn’t even imagine what you had gotten her let alone what would cause that kind of smile on your face. Sam undid the rest of the wrapping paper, looking down at the box in front of her, she blinked a few times before glaring at you. You were smiling widely, nearly bouncing up in down in your seat.

“You’re an ass,” is all Sam said. She turned the box, revealing Woodsboro Monopoly, making you break out into laugh. Tara quickly slapped you but there was a small smile tugging at her lips as well.

“I’m sorry,” you said through laughter. “I couldn’t help myself,” you were practically wheezing. “I’ve had that for months.”

Sam couldn’t help but join in, lightly laughing at the game. “You know we did never get to finish our game.”

Your eyes lit up. “Yes!” you pumped a fist into the air.

“But I get to be the knife,” Sam said in a serious voice.

“Well, I’d expect nothing less.” Sam glared at your light jab. “I want to be the phone though.”

Tara groaned, rolling her eyes. “This means we have to suffer through another game of Monopoly,” she mumbled.

You gasped in offense. “It’s not my fault we were rudely interrupted last time,” you said.

Sam shook her head as she listened to you and Tara argued back and forth. Tara might hate monopoly, but it was only a matter of time before she conceded. You would probably even convince her to wait for the twins to be back and would probably drag Danny over and force everyone to play the new version they now had for game night. Sam relaxed into her chair, watching as you and Tara argued with smiles, you were slowly growing on her, not that she’d ever tell you that.

After presents the rest of the day was uneventful. The three of you just spent a lazy day lounging in the apartment, watching Christmas movies on TV again, even though you all had seen all of them within the last few days. When night finally came, Tara was curled into your side, your arm wrapped tightly around her as she was sound asleep with her head resting on your shoulder.

“Night,” Sam whispered, getting up to head to bed herself.

“Wait, Sam,” you called out, looking back but making sure not to turn enough to disturb Tara. Sam stopped in the doorway, looking back at you. “Thank you,” you whispered, dropping your eyes for a second before meeting hers again. “I really appreciate you inviting me over. This has really meant a lot.”

Sam nodded. “You’re always welcome here.” She looked away from you, opening and closing her mouth a few times. “Sorry, I kicked you out earlier.” You gave her a soft smile, shrugging lightly. “You’re now expected to join us every year,” she said in an annoyed tone, but you laughed, catching the playfulness underneath.

Sam went to bed that night with a smile. She had wanted Christmas day with just her and her sister but you joining them ended up making it better than she could have imagined. This ended up being the best Christmas she ever had, and Tara would probably agree with her. It seemed the cycle of tainted memories and disappointing Christmas’s were over; she was more than happy to make new memories with Tara and was even okay with you being in those new memories now.

You still annoyed the hell out of her, but she didn’t miss the way you brought a lightness to the group, even after everything that happened, even though you were still struggling, you managed to still find the humor in things. If Sam was being honest with herself, she was now looking forward to you joining her and Tara or the group for holidays, birthdays, and other big events. If anyone asked her if she were happy, you were there, she would deny it but inside, she was happy to have you around.

Taglist: @screechcat

[madkiska]

watching the entirety of jrwi: riptide again. here's some important things from the first few episodes that I feel we forgot (<110 mentions too though)

Jay

Had night terrors similar to those of Kubakinta's curse in episode 5, and they eventually start returning even after Loffinlot's curse is lifted ○ All of them were about her family and/or the navy ○ I simply think people leave her out of the nightmare stuff and she deserves it. Hurt her more, please (he said, lovingly)

was actually very upset at having to use her medal to get a Loffinlot rebellion to shut up ○ This could be because she didn't want them to guess she was a spy, but I choose to believe it's because she felt guilty

"If you're gonna be sailing with someone, you should have a good relationship with them. [nervous chuckle]." She says, while asking him for information about the Black Rose Pirates (ep. 10)

Said "thank god they didn't find me" after a nightmare about the navy attacking. Even when she was supposedly a spy, who one day would have to return to the navy ○ Very unclear if she was scared of her dad, or if it's because she was a secret spy so the navy would've just killed her

Rewatching, she was suspiciously into the plundering and gold and stuff. Like that was real sus. It doesn't fit her current character much

The only one among them who's gambled before

Chip

The entire thing literally starts off with Bizly holding a lit match

Called Gillion "Gill" and Jay "Sureshot" from an early stage

Was SO much more of a bastard. Lied to Gill constantly, didn't care about anything but the money, etc.

Had aggressive hand tremors alongside Jay's night terrors ○ Gill cures it with lay on hands

When he gets drunk married, they talk extensively about how he'd be released when he's dead. Welp.

They did actually break up and it was fine and they were still friends. They parted on good terms

Is really fucking good at chess ○ Beat Earl twice and Jay once. Jay had a point of exhaustion after a nightmare but Earl had no excuse ○ Lost to Gillion though, but only cause of prophetic screwup ○ This kid is smarter than he lets on, y'all

Was the first one to have a backstory dump while Jay is asking him about the Black Rose Pirates, yet still we know jack shit about his life before them other than "orphan"

Gill

Charlie has referred to Gillion with 'they' many times. I can pull receipts.

When describing Gill, Charlie said: "He's more.. elven, if you had to make a comparison. 'Cause I don't wanna be a fish guy". Oh, honey.

Smote a bald person by using his hair as a whip (ep. 4)

Was given anxiety and self-doubt alongside jay's night terrors and chip's tremors ○ "What do you want?" "I want the feeling of satisfaction I've been chasing my whole life." ○ This was episode FIVE.

First mention of the prophecy and how Gillion wasn't their ideal student is ep. 7, after he divine smites + prophetic screwups and deals like 60 damage to some beetles ○ Chip spends the next 30 seconds in gay awe

He refers to the crescent moon Niklaus tattoo as "my zodiac" (probably a bit) ○ It's not a lil basic white girl moon this thing is the entire size of his forearm

Gill had never heard about the Black Sea - it's unclear if the Undersea just don't know, or if that's just how sheltered he was (ep. 10)

Biz: "What would Gillion do. If he just had no goal - was just sitting there." "Gillion always has a goal." "Would his goal ever be to just.. Sit there?" "Absolutely not." ○ Later, Chip expresses that he doesn't know what Gillion likes. What he would want out of winning a bet. Gillion doesn't have an answer

Other

Apple, in a couple of early battles, acted like Gill's familiar (see: ep. 7)

They also pecked at his Niklaus tramp stamp and looked all confused at the idea of eating seeds

The specific crescent of the moon in the Niklaus tattoo is known as a symbol of "corruption" (ep. 9) and its antonym is the sun, for "life", similar to the yin and yang ○ Interesting to consider after what the tree said in 110 <_<

Pretzel has a masters degree in couple's therapy (ep. 10)

The Albatross/Millennium Chipper was described as the colour of rosewood or mahogany

Captain Lizzie's first introduction was a wanted poster, and Chip wanted to turn her in for the prize, then decided to try learn from her instead

Chip/Bizly called Old Man Earl "Erol" for a loooong time ○ Maybe it's an accent thing but I have an uncle called Erol and so this stands out to me

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (4)

[Astarion x reader] A little longer than usual, I hope that’s fine for all of you :,DDD I didn't want to cram too much into the post though, so the segment at the end might be continued in full detail, or maybe not! Let's see.|Word count: 2.9k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, allusions to sex, a few ooc characters, reader being a dumbass and wahtnot.

Part 3 here!!

Masterlist here!!

A party is being held at the camp in the heroes’ honor, which greets you with a lively crowd that you’ll hopefully meet again soon. And with a gathering this large, you’re bound to garner attention. But with a constitution as poor as yours from the night before, a round of drinks is the last thing you want. 

Alternatively: A bloodless human tries to balance respectfully participating in a drinking party, while also not drinking at all. 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

The sun rises, the warmth of its rays gently waking you in the absence of the campfire’s flames. The soft chirping of the birds greet you a good morning as your eyes slowly open, ready to greet the day as a new opportunity arises.

Is what would have happened in a more idyllic scenario. Instead, you bolt awake with a pounding headache, worse than any hangover could possibly feel like, and quickly rush to get up. By the sheer brightness of the light that burns your newly opened corneas, it is far later than when you usually wake. And breakfast still hasn’t been made. 

“Well, good morning sleepy head.” One of your companions, Gale, says as he fixes his belongings. Readying himself for the skirmish that was about to take hold later on in the day.

“I’m very  sorry for waking up late. It won’t happen again.” You bow your head low for a moment before he waves you off.

“Oh come now, we all have our off days. Besides, I think the rest would agree with me when I say what you made for us last night was more than enough to last us ‘til morning.” His statement is punctuated by the lively sounds of the others training. Ready and well rested for whatever may come.

You look around. None have seemed to mind your temporary absence, so you endeavor to double check with everyone leaving and ensure that they had a sound strategy with the necessary materials and weapons should there be a need for failsafes. You remind them of certain notes that some of them have informed you about but failed to share with the rest of the group. 

‘While goblins typically go down faster than other opponents, they have no sense of honor nor pride which gives way for them the opportunity to use more underhanded tactics. But they also aren’t very bright, so you can convince the others to let them infiltrate the camp and eradicate them from the inside out.’

As the rest disperse, finalize their plans and check their supplies, your favorite character approaches you much like he usually does every morning. Only this time, you see that he looks very pleased. A more vibrant spark in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally woken up.” He looks at you, in the same way an old friend of yours would when they’re seconds away from telling a joke. 

The look fades soon enough though as he breathes out. You wonder if it’s because the joke isn't funny anymore, or if he never had a punchline to begin with.

“You looked a little ill last night, but you’ve certainly recovered.” Recovered isn’t the word you would use to describe your current state of feeling almost half dead, but you don’t bother correcting the details.

“And you look particularly vibrant today, Astarion.” The itch of your neck intensifies as you return a pointed look at him as he frowns.

“Oh, of course! Now, don’t be so upset. I will admit that I got a little carried away, I apologize.” He pauses. The frown remains on his face for a while before it is erased with his usual expression of confidence. 

“But let’s not fall out over this.” He moves to stand closer to you, taking your hand to his as he nears it to his lips as he continues. 

“We need each other.” 

And whether its done purposefully or not, you see his fangs peek out from his mouth and a shiver courses through your body.

You slip your hand out of his own in a panic and interject. 

“I know that much already, and I trust you not to let what happened last night happen again. I also apologize for not noticing sooner and dealing with the situation better.” You hold your head down a bit to apologize but quickly meet his gaze gain. “But I do need to know what we’ll have to feed you from now on.”

The look of confusion, and perhaps even shock that was once swimming in his eyes dissipates before you can notice them when he swears upon his resolve. “No innocents, you have my word. After all, you know what I am now. I can fight with all my weapons–” He grins, allowing you a clearer view than what you had earlier. “Teeth included.”

“And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They’re just as dead.” He makes a very compelling argument, at least to your standards.

You sigh, satisfied for now. You’re confident that none of your party members would end up at the mercy of his fangs, and you’re more than sure they would be able to overpower him more than your attempts did. But the same sentiment cannot be shared for possibly important, plot driving, characters that you might meet later on.

So you propose something to strengthen your trust that the unlikely will stay the unlikely.

“Look, I’m–” You breathe in, almost as if you're trying to suck back whatever courage washed over you back in as you steeled yourself for what you were about to say next.

“I’m not against you feeding from me, but!” You punctuate the last syllable as you see his grin growing wider. “We need to discuss things beforehand. No prowling over me while waiting for me to wake up or to sink your teeth into.”

The proposal greatly delights him, as is evident in his response. “Of course! That sounds eminently reasonable. I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. But until then: no more late-night surprises. You have my word on that.” 

After that, he makes a joke about feeling ‘peckish already,’ and quickly gathers the rest of the party to leave on their adventure.

You promise them a feast when they came back as the victors that they are. What you forgot, after what felt like weeks in the real world, was the crowd that would come filtering in to celebrate their heroes’ achievements as well.

————————————

When you saw the tieflings from the grove traveling alongside your companions, you knew they had come to celebrate. And you blanched at the thought of the provisions they’d be seeking to pair with their drinking. It’s been so long since you went through this event, and you no longer recall if they even ate anything during the party.

You look at your bubbling cauldron–– a bigger one as you had anticipated a few acquaintances accompanying them–– but you wager that at least a little extra things to nibble on won’t hurt to have. You still have quite the amount of camp supplies in the trunk, but you keep it reserved for the camp’s use only. So you smile at your returning comrades and alert the others that stayed behind for your reason to leave and that they can begin eating dinner. 

While others told you it wasn’t necessary, the rest just nodded with a smile and yelled that they’d wait for you to return. You return quite too quickly though, all the while informing them why you’re keeping the communal chest in your tent as you spy the child that tried to steal and swindle the group a few days prior approaching with the rest.

They have a laugh and you quickly proceed with your plan to find at least a few consumable berries and nuts or seeds to accompany the drinks later on. 

But foraging for said consumables near dark is a choice not for the faint-hearted. You came to realize this when you heard the low grumble of a large animal, thankfully far from your form. You turn to look behind you, taking great care to do so as slowly as possible so as to not alert the mysterious creature.

In the clearing, you spot a rather dark looking bear and you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your temple. Hands, growing wet in the dangerous situation you’ve placed yourself in. This wasn’t the same as being drained to death by a vampire, that, you could at least reason with. But a wild animal? With your lack of magical prowess and lesser knowledge of connecting with nature and the wild, you would be finished if it were to follow you.

The small pouch of nuts and wild berries stayed holstered on your waist, but the bear’s eyes that were previously low on the ground are now trained on you. Almost as if it were caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to be. 

You freeze. You forgot what the basic policy was around brown or black bears and therefore couldn’t do much about your current predicament. There shouldn’t be a bear around this area, not unless they had traveled from far away, or that this bear was one of your future companions.

And while the latter isn’t impossible, you most certainly did not want to gamble your life on a possibility. So you tried to compose yourself, returned the gaze of the bear with a shaky and careful nod, and turned back to return to camp. Figuring that the amount of tidbits you gathered would have to suffice.

 When you return, the company you shared seems to be in high spirits. Some more than others. But conversation was plentiful and you smiled as the tieflings cheered for your comrades. You quickly got to work and began to chop the nuts into thinner pieces. Something you learned to make the appearance of something look more abundant than it really is.

While you were chopping away unfortunately, you nick your finger along the way and silently curse. Unfortunate, but not an unforeseeable outcome given the booming drums of the bard that plays oh so nicely with your bloodless state. You quickly, but neatly, arrange the provisions on two small platters, and position them near the larger gatherings. 

“Flitting around like a hummingbird as always, I see.” A familiar, but not immediately recognizable voice greets you as you pass them. You turn and you see an unexpected acquaintance with a bottle in their hand and an incredibly charming grin.

“Dammon! How lucky of me to run into you.” You genuinely were elated to see him. You didn’t see much of him later on in the game, and being able to interact with him beyond the opportunities given to you was certainly nice.

“I could say the same. Though you’re as lively as you usually are.” There’s no malice in his tone, only an innocent observation, yet you feel embarrassed to have been seen scuttling about like a bug.

“I– promise I’m more organized. I just didn’t expect us to be having any guests.” He takes notice of how you push your fingers into your palms repetitively, a small action that soothes you.

“I think you’ve done more than a fine job already. The celebration is for you all, and it was us who planned to come and might’ve put your friends on the spot.” He later takes notice of the cut on your finger as well.

“Speaking of,” He gingerly grasps your hand, looking to you for permission, but you’re too confused to respond with anything he can understand. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy for the night? You’ve done enough. And if what happened at the grove tells me anything about you, I’m sure they’ll survive even if you settle. Just for a bit.” 

He leads you nearer to the water and produces a small washcloth to clean a bit of your finger as you respond. “The grove? They did that on their own. I just um, take notes.” You sit on a fallen tree, your head still fuzzy, as you observe his crouched form. Inspecting the cut as he cleans it. 

A curious interaction. Not one that you’d expect from an non-romanceable NPC, but an interesting one nonetheless. And it would seem that someone had found it equally as interesting, if the way he scrutinizes you had anything to do about it.

He chuckles in turn. “If modesty is how you like to live, then I won’t impose.” He smiles and gets up as you continue your conversation. You don’t recall if the tiefling has ever had this much screen time, but his voice is rather lovely so you don’t complain about it.

You end up discussing quite a bit, but you focus on what can be done about your party. Specifically Karlach as you worry for the future and you’d like to have answers for her when he isn’t around during your journey. He doesn’t have much idea of what else can be done, but he does mention that he should have something by the time you meet him again in Baldur’s Gate.

You do remember that you might meet him a lot sooner, but you don’t mention it explicitly. You do, however, advise him to be extra careful around the oxen as they can be rather unpredictable this time of year.

As you continue, you notice his eyes flit up every now and then. Like something was catching his attention ever so often. You ask him about it and he actually laughs at your genuine inquiry. “It looks like I was wrong. Your friend there looks like he’d like his turn for your company.”

You turn around and you don’t immediately eye anyone looking in your direction. You were never the subtle type, so you looked around, blatantly searching for someone. It was a bit odd to see.

Your eyes do eventually train on his, but he doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to talk to you. Sure, he’s scowling away, though that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Besides, he has a bottle of something that you hope is helping him relax.

Still, perhaps Dammon saw something you didn’t so you politely thank him for his company and excuse yourself.

You greet the others that regard you as you walk past them. Declining the offers to drink and excusing yourself politely when you were asked to stay a bit. 

As you approach him, a tiefling tries to strike up a conversation with him. With a bored look, he dismisses them and turns to look at you. He takes a sip, sneers, and begins his rant now that you’re situated in front of him.

“I hate it. This is awful.” 

“The…wine?” He looks at you as if he should be mad, but a hint of amusement surfaces past the expression anyway. 

“There’s that, but I’m talking about the tieflings. We killed some goblins to save the others. The tally of lives didn’t change much. But what do I get for my hard work? A pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” He looks down the neck of the bottle, swirling its contents before handing it out for you to take.

You look at the bottle, then him, warily. Modern alcohol is already a wonder to you, and this medieval mead could only do so much worse. Still, you take the bottle, and take a very small sip.

It’s a heavy, rich, red. Dry and sharp. You make a small sound of shock as you keep the liquid in your mouth. Offering him an awkward smile and a nod as you do.

“Ugh, see what I mean? Awful.” 

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” You would think that after an entire day of fighting whatever was out there he’d be tired. Apparently not. 

You sigh, ready to reprimand him and that he should just enjoy the night, but you stop when you feel his unburdened hand reach out to you. Eyes, boring into your own as he propositions you.

You’re here. Face in the grasp of a character you’ve longed to romance with what little time you’ve had away from your scholarly pursuits. Yet meeting him in strange, yet not all too unfamiliar, territory stirs uncertainty within you. Because while he doesn't have a knife at your throat like he did when your character first met him, it certainly does evoke the same sentiment.

‘To, “make me his”, is that right?’ While the idea is tempting, that statement alone can have various interpretations. And you didn’t want to hedge your bets on the one that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Thankfully, he releases his hold on your visage. Only the gods know how much his touch alone can influence you, and you struggle to stand upright.

“I’m– very,-- truly, sorry, but don’t you think you have the wrong person? I mean,” You gesture to yourself with both hands, a cut visible from the labor in the few hours prior to the large festivities going on.. “Uh…in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a position to make any um, lucrative offers.” 

 He looks at you, a familiar expression graces his face. He leans his weight on one leg, and you struggle to recognize what his body language is conveying. This is one of those instances you wished you had the dice roll mechanic of the game at your disposal. 

“Why, that hardly matters, darling. What matters is that you’re here.” He takes a sip from his bottle, the very same that he allowed you to partake from moments prior. Only this time, without the sneer at the aftertaste as he continues.

“But then again, what’s a sinner to do when faced with the very embodiment of chastity?” A smile graces his face, but it’s one that is all too perfect. As if he’s rehearsed the same song and dance enough to save him lifetimes.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep we’ll find each other.” 

You have no idea what to expect. Well, you do, but you’re not very sure if this is necessary. You’ll just have to find a way to continue the story without having to go through with this. For now, at least. 

“We’ll see about that, Astarion.” 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, @auszimbo, @maruichio, @iamsexytrash, @craig-mywifeisdead-boone, @grimissleepy, @fandomsfanman, @bitchyzombienacho, @r1kk, @ancuninstar, @izuoyarmin, @gracemisconduct, @kiinokochii, @marina-and-the-memes, and @life-is-hard-m8 for asking to be tagged!!

[judes-hoe]

Bitter rivals, sweet love

Parrings ~ Lewis Hamilton x OC

Summary ~ She’s gonna be in f1 for her third year and goes to a team no one expects her to. She’s always got a cold expression and only those close to her know why. Shes been close one to many times to winning a championship and this year she’s gonna get it no matter what.

Warnings ~ talks of being cursed, talks of dead parents, think that’s it

A/N ~ only doing brief of Miami gp!!!!!

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.7

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week after the Chinese GP, Vanessa got p2. She was currently on her way to have a “couples therapy” with Lewis. Her manager just telling her to be there in 20 minutes. So she got in her red Lamborghini and was there in 15 minutes.

She walks into the office and sits down in front on her manager and his manager waiting for him. He walked in on his phone and sat down, putting his phone in his pocket. “Welcome you both, today we’re doing a little get to know each other.” Aura said with a smile. “We’re gonna give you both a separate pile of cards, you’ll ask the question and you both have to answer.” Olivia said getting out two piles of flash cards with at least 15 in each pile. She handed one to Lewis and one to Vanessa.

“Phones.” They both said holding their hands out. Vanessa and Lewis both groaned before handing them their phones. “We have to do it now, since the last time we tried to do this you just played on your phones.” Olivia said with a stern look. “We’ll be back in 25 minutes.” Aura said with a smile.

Both left in the room facing each other, each with a small pile of cards. “My first card says…who is your hero?” He spoke looking at the card then at Vanessa. “My hero…I have two, my mom and dad.” Vanessa said softly. “You?” She said since they both had to answer. “Senna, definitely.” He spoke with a calm tone.

“Mine says…favorite childhood memory.” She whispered, she didn’t know childhood would be brought into this. “I’d have to say winning my first karting race.” He said with a smile like he was reliving the moment, before he looks at her for her answer. “Probably when my parents bought me my first kart, or when my parents used to take me to get ice cream after I won a race.” She said with a small smile, remembering those memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Media day in Miami, Vanessa couldn’t wait she had a good feeling about this race. She got sat in a room with Lando, Charles, Pierre, and Yuki. She was sat on the end next to Charles.

The interview was going on, Vanessa being left out as always. But the boys she was with tried to bring her in it.

“Question for Vanessa.” A male reporter said. She looks at him and smiles to let him know she’s listening. “Hope you’re doing well, my question is that after this weekend it’ll be your home race, so are you excited, are we hoping for a good outcome this year?” He asked her. “Yeah very excited can’t wait, and I’m hoping to get on podium even better if I win” she smiles at the thought of winning. “Also please to my editors do White Ferrari or Viva La Vida as my edit songs if I win.” she whispered into her microphone talking to the people who would edit her first win.

She then doesn’t get asked another question for the rest of the time. It was always like that, one or two questions per press conference or interview she had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the weekend went by in a blur, Lando won his first ever race, max got p2 and Vanessa got p3.

She didn’t go out to celebrate or party, she had her flight set to leave that night so she was back at the hotel packing when Lewis walked in. She ignored him and finished packing before laying on the bed since she and a few hours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Emilia Romagna Grand Prix. Her home race, its finally come. She got to the hotel and walked in to see Lewis. She wasn’t gonna let him ruin her mood this weekend. She set her suitcase down and looked out the video of their room and let out a sigh. “Home sweet home baby.” She mumbled to herself with a smile.

She sat on the bed they had about two hours before going to the paddock for press conferences. She was scrolling on her phone, but no matter what social media went on it was all ‘is Vanessa’s curse over this year.’ ‘Will Vanessa finally win her home race!’

She decided to not go on her phone and just sat in silence while Lewis minded his business. But with her ADHD she needed to do something. “Lewis?” She said softly. “Yeah?” He said not looking away from his phone clearly doesn’t wanna talk to her. She noticed this and changed her mind, she just got up and grabbed car keys her phone and some other essentials. “Never mind.” She said and walked out the room leaving the hotel.

Lewis watched her leave and thought it was a little weird but payed to mind to it. Vanessa though, she went to her car and drove.

After Vanessa’s visit she made it to the paddock and was immediately bombarded by Daniel. “Hey!” He said and stopped her from walking. “Where were you?” He asked. “You haven’t been answering my text or calls?” He asked worried. “I’m sorry, I was doing something and wasn’t paying attention to my phone.” She said quietly. Daniel noticed this and didn’t let it go past him. “Talk to me.” He said softly. “Did you go where I think you went?” He asked concerned. “Yeah, I did, I needed to, it’s been 2 years now.” She said looking at him. “I know, I know, but I’m here to talk okay?” He said making her look at him. “Okay.” She said.

Soon they headed into the press conference, she had Daniel by her side and she was glad she was in there with her. She sat quietly in the couch picking at her nails a little and her leg bouncing. It wasn’t long before an interviewer asked a question. “Vanessa, hi, pictures just started going around at you at the cemetery today before you came here?” They said. “Were you visiting your parents?” They added on, and before she could answer another interviewer interrupted. “Yes, rumors been going around you have bad luck, is it because of them.” They asked. “2021, second race, April 18th.” They said the exact date.

All the talking and the eyes made Vanessa panic. She walked out the room past the next group of people who were watching. She put her hoodie up until she got to her car. She drove straight to the hotel and goes to the hotel room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone who was in that press conference with her left. No words and no questions. Just up and gone, so the next group went in and the first to speak up…Lewis.

“Hold all your questions cause we’re addressing what happened. That shit you guys brought up, is personal, like super personal. How would you feel if someone was doing that to you. Bringing up a bad memory, you know how absolutely fucked up that is. To say some shit like that. The girl is 24 for crying out loud. Her third year in f1. And this is how she gets treated! Just because she’s a girl and been through some shit doesn’t mean you can use it against her! You don’t know what that does to a person.” He spoke absolutely pissed, he didn’t know much about your parents or past. But he was standing up for any driver who got any type of disrespect. “And I’m not answering any of your fucking questions.”

The press conference was almost dead silent. A few questions here and there until they got dismissed early. He was immediately walking to his car ignoring everyone around him. He saw that look in her eyes, hurt, panic, sadness, lost. He knew you needed someone, he may hate her, but not this much. He doesn’t know much about her parents or what happened but now all he knows is that they’re dead.

He walks into the hotel room, it’s dead silent besides the uneven breathing and sniffles. He walks farther in and sees her with her back against her bed sitting on the floor facing the wall. He can tell shes panicking and sits next to her. “Breathe, breathe I’m here.” He said placing her head on his chest over his heartbeat. “You’re fine, I’m here, I got you now.” He said and pulled her into his lap so it was more comfortable for her. Once shes out of her panic state. She tucks herself in his neck and start sobbing.

He felt his shirt getting wet from her tears, but he just rubbed her back in a comforting way just wanting to be there for her, talk or not.

After about an hours is when she calmed down. Just laying there not caring, she was just happy he was willing to help her. “I’m here to talk, but completely understand if you don’t want to.” He whispered into the air just to let her know. “Thank you.” Was all she said, he knew what she meant though, she was saying thank you for coming to her and helping her when she needed it.

About another thirty minutes past before she talks again. “They’re right, I am cursed.” She said softly. “Don’t say that, just don’t listen to them, don’t listen to anything people say this weekend and stay off socials, and I promise I know you’ll do great this weekend.” He said to her wanting her to believe in herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day after that little thing with Lewis. He acted like nothing happened, going back to hating her and she just accepted it and acted the same way back. But hey on the bright side she did amazing in all free practice.

And the next day she stayed first in all qualifying. She was in the garage looking over her Q3 which she did perfectly and got P1. That’s until Toto came over and whispered in her ear. “FIA is checking you car, apparently something is wrong.” And with that, her face drops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N~ so it’s been a min….

Taglist: @tallrock35 @itsmrshamilton

[hoseokslefteyebrow]

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 4: Homesick

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

You find yourself seated in a familiar spot. The scenery is the same as back at home, the sun setting on the sight of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. There have been a lot of days where you and your best friends have lost track of time talking to one another late at night in this very spot. 

You're worried,mind running with scenarios of how home would be doing. How is your own world? Are you having this human body - cursed spirit issue too? The one you had been fighting was quite tough- were your classmates alright? Was your best friend alright? Or had everyone written you off as dead? Considering you disappeared right after a battle, it wouldn't surprise you. You're not sure. Your eyes sadden, losing yourself in your thoughts. You refuse to believe that everyone believes you're dead, that they've given up on you just like that.

You glance down at your bracelet. It's ordinary, crafted from simple wood. It matches your best friend's bracelet back at home. You wonder if his works. It's filled with water, imbued with your cursed energy. That way, he could always find you when he needed you, and you could always find him when you needed him. You doubt it works. You can't feel your connection to it currently, your cursed energy with you and you alone. 

" Are you okay? That last mission seemed to be quite rough on you. "

You glance up, only noticing Yuuji standing there now. Had he been standing there for long? 

" Ah, sorry, I didn't notice you. I'm alright. I've just got homesickness at the moment. "

He hums, noticing your sad eyes as he sits down beside you. 

" The way you stood up for Nobara was badass. It was cute too though. Are you two close in your universe? " 

He's calm, watching the scenery with you. Your presence is somewhat comforting. New, yet so oddly familiar. 

You hum. 

" Yeah, we are. I was so happy to learn that another girl would be joining our class. We hit it off right after meeting in the city for the first time, when we went to pick her up. I think that got Sukuna a little jealous. "

You're smiling fondly at the memory, meanwhile Yuuji has to remind himself that you're talking about a different Sukuna, not the one he's harboring. 

" Ah, he's your best friend right? "

You hum. 

" My one and only. "

" What about us? "

You turn to him, blinking. 

" What about us? "

" Are we close? You've mentioned that we used to be close when we were younger. "

" Ah, yeah. We were inseparable as kids. Until you grew more athletic and developed a love for horror. I'm a whimp- I don't like horror at all. It makes me downright unable to sleep. Sukuna would laugh at me when I came over to sleep over one random night, because of my fears. I wanted to prove him wrong, so I watched a horror movie with the three of you. It backfired, and I was unable to sleep. Sukuna ended up feeling guilty enough to watch Pokemon movies with me all night. We grew closer after that. I realized that I too was one of the people he has a weak spot for. In my universe, you're one of those people too. "

Yuuji blinks, not having expected that at all. 

" Sukuna as my twin.. The idea of that leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. "

You laugh softly. 

" I think it's weird you share a body with him in this universe- and that he had 20 fingers. And that you swallow them for breakfast, basically. "

Yuuji laughs, agreeing with you. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You lean your head on his shoulder for a moment. Back home, you were touchy with your friends, often linking arms with Nobara, or straight up pulling Sukuna along to where ever you pleased. He always pretended to hate it, but you know him better than that. 

Yuuji doesn't seem to mind, instead relishing the comforting gesture. 

Yet, you can't help yourself from asking him the next question. You need answers. 

" You've mention that you've... Killed, instead of exorcised before.... "

You're careful in your words, allowing him to stop you if he wants to. When he doesn't, you continue to carefully speak. 

" I just wondered... Do you maybe know why? - As in why they were in a human's body? "

Yuuji shakes his head, eyes on the floor. 

" I don't. There's a curse who's strong enough to transfigure people though. I know you're afraid too, but if we don't figure out how to send you home soon, you might have to fight more human-cursed spirits. "

You nod at his words, your eyes downcast on the floor. 

" I don't like it either. I hope we manage to kill patchface and these cursed spirit people before anything too rash happens though. "

You hum, about to reply when-

" It's because of you! You took me in, and now the severed parts of my soul have awakened. "

Your eyes widen, head raising to stare at the mouth and eye that has sprouted on Yuuji's cheek. What the fuck was this?-

" To help lots of people, was it? Brat! People are gonna die because you live! "

" Hey, don't tell that to Fushiguro. Don't you dare. "

Yuuji's stoic, different. It's obvious he doesn't like Sukuna. 

You don't like this Sukuna either. You can tell he's nothing like your Sukuna. 

" And what are you looking at?! "

" You're an eye and a mouth on my friend's cheek. "

You deadpan the obvious as you blankly stare at him. 

He cackles, Yuuji slaps his hand over him, trying to shut him up. 

" That's enough out of you. "

It doesn't stop him, Sukuna's mouth appearing on the back of Yuuji's hand. 

" You don't belong here! You should die! "

" That's rich, coming from someone who's a mouth on a hand now. I'd say you should die. "

While you're busy mocking him, Sukuna has an unsettling realization. He's met you before. You're not from here, and you're definitely not supposed to be here. You were a sorcerer he was forced to face back in the Heian era. Your reverse curse technique was strong, strong enough to be used as a weapon. Your domain too, was one he hated. He absolutely hates you. He needs you dead before he can carry out his plans of regaining powers. Facing both Gojo Satoru and you would set him at a huge disadvantage. One that not even his current plans could face. 

However, there's no need to rush in killing you though. It appears that you don't even know your potential just yet, your body protected with regular cursed energy. 

Yuuji scoffs, slapping a hand on his own to stop Sukuna from spouting nonsense. Thankfully, he disappears. 

" Soo, that's your Sukuna. "

" Yeah, sorry about that. "

" It's fine. I don't take things randomly appearing mouths say to heart. "

Your smile eases Yuuji's worries, his previous guilt gone, replaced by a warm feeling. The two of you sit in silence a little longer, enjoying each other's company and watching the sun set on Jujutsu Tech. 

-

A few days pass, and you find yourself and your classmates in Tokyo's shopping district. 

" Aren't you buying way too much? " 

Yuuji releases a puff of stress, holding the many bags Nobara has shoved in his arms.

You're walking a few paces up front with her, your arms linked together. You have bought some stuff too, considering that was why you were here in the first place. There was no answer on when you could return to your own universe, no one has any idea how just yet. Your financials are finally properly supported by Jujutsu Tech, and you've entered the shopping district. You're only really buying stuff you need, though that is still quite a bit, leaving you with three bags. 

You're only holding one. For some reason ( an unspoken one, everyone was surprised when he offered), Megumi was carrying your other two bags. You've promised you'll buy him a crepe as a thank you, but he's brushed you off, telling you it was fine and that you should save the money. 

" Half of that is yours, you know? "

You blink at her, that's not true. 

" This bag is all that's mine! "

Just as Yuuji raises his bag to show her, one threatens to fall out of his arms. He manages to catch it. 

" Drop one and you're dead. " 

" Ah, Yuuji, do you maybe want me to carry some bags? "

" No Y/N, Itadori is a strong guy. He's fine. "

" I don't think being strong is part of the issue Nobara-"

And then.... One of the clothes she bought slips out of the open bag, on the floor. 

Everyone's eyes widen. 

You raise your hands, attempting to stop Nobara, but as expected, she's already punching him. Megumi tugs on the back of your uniform, holding his own high in embarrassment as Nobara scolds Yuuji. 

" Come. Let's pretend we don't know them. " 

He's already walking a few steps away with you, arm around your shoulders, When his phone rings. 

He takes his arm off you, taking out his phone. 

" It's Gojo sensei. " 

You're not sure why he's informing you. Maybe because you know him as well. 

Their conversation ends soon enough, and he turns around, facing Yuuji and Nobara again. 

" What? "

Finally, Nobara releases Yuuji. 

" Gojo sensei is calling us. "

" Huh, why? "

Nobara's pouting, you guess that she wanted to spend the whole day lingering around Tokyo's shopping district. 

" It's a mission, 'a top secret one'. "

You snort, the words familiar. 

" Ah, so this Gojo sensei is the same as the one back in my universe. "

" Does your Gojo sensei say that often as well? "

You grin at Nobara, nodding. 

" Last time he called us for a 'top secret mission' was because he wanted to get crepes and didn't want to go alone. "

You smile fondly at the memory. Eventually, it had only been Yuuji, Nobara, Megumi and you. Sukuna wasn't around, because he was simply god knows where. You hadn't felt bothered enough to find out back then. Your best friend had been offended that you had gone without him. You only found him hours after the place closed. As a peace offering, you spent your money on expensive fruits (strawberries) and chocolate, dipping strawberries in chocolate late at night. 

Nobara laughs at your words. Some people are apparently the same no matter the universe. 

" Why not go? Gojo sensei still said it is top secret after all. It must be big. "

You smile at Yuuji softly. He was so cute sometimes. 

" Yeah well, Y/N is right. He does say it all the time. "

Yuuji hums at Megumi's words. 

" Yeah, so what? "

All four of you exchange smiles, and make your way back to the busstop. This time, you link arms with Megumi, simply because he's the closest. He shoots you a surprised glance, but his expression softens, features softening into a smile. 

This Megumi was so different of your own. This one is nice to you. 

The Anomaly Taglist:

@luxylucylou @kalulakunundrum @strxbxrrylover @aethersslave

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 4) - 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)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 4

You think about Tenko more now, but you’re allowed to – he’s your patient, and if he was your patient at the clinic, you’d expect to see him for a follow-up on the four gunshot wounds you cleaned and dressed. You’re allowed to think about him, so you think about him. You think about him a lot.

The thoughts take two directions. One is just wondering about him – how he’s feeling, how he spends his days, what he’s thinking about, what he thinks of you, whether he’s thought about you at all. The other is thinking about the situation he’s in. His parents and grandparents and his sister are dead. He’s been missing for fifteen years. He’s got a quirk and he’s a villain, ambitious and strategic enough to target UA High and escape alive, albeit badly injured. His guardian is a cloud of mist in a suit with some kind of split personality. And there’s someone else in his world – two someone elses. The doctor he referenced, who wouldn’t help him, and the one he calls Sensei, who gave him his new name and a hand to wear over his face and set him up to fail.

You think about Tenko a lot, but you can’t think about him all the time, because now that you’re a nurse, you’re twice as busy as you were before. The doctors expect more of you, and so do the other nurses – and so do the MAs and CNAs and high school students who are starting their apprenticeships, since you now have three years’ experience to go with your reputation for smoothing things over with difficult patients. Your friends keep you busy, too. They might call Kazuo to find out if something’s wrong with them, but they call you to find out what to do about it.

“You need to get a scan,” you say to Yoshimi for probably the fifth time. “I know you don’t want to –”

“It’s weird!”

“Not any weirder than whatever Yoji does when the two of you are at second base,” you say, and in the background of the call, someone snickers. If you had to guess, you’d say it’s Mitsuko – she has the guts to bully Yoshimi into making the call, combined with the brass balls to feel comfortable eavesdropping. “It’s called a mammogram. You’d have to start getting them at some point anyway, just like we all do. It’s just to make sure there’s nothing weird going on.”

“Stop it. You’re freaking her out for no reason.” Yoji’s there, too. “It’s probably just an STD.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second by the sheer classlessness of saying that about one’s own girlfriend, but you bounce back fast. “First of all, they’re called STIs, genius. Secondly, there’s not an STI on the planet that gives you nipple discharge. Yoshimi, get the scan. I’ll go with you if you want. Just get it done.”

“Can I do it at your clinic?”

“Uh –” You glance at the Imaging queue. Things look quiet, but you can’t count on that to last – but if you report Yoshimi’s symptoms, which include soreness, nipple discharge, and what she describes as a weird rash, you’re pretty sure the doctor on call will bump her to the head of the line. “Yeah, come in now. I can’t stick around after my shift, though. I have stuff to do tonight.”

“Ooh, stuff. Let me see –” There’s some rustling, which you can only assume is Mitsuko grabbing the phone. “Is stuff tall, dark, handsome, way too serious, and currently working as a sidekick?”

“That would be stuff,” you admit. “It’s not a big deal. We’re just grabbing a drink after our shifts.”

For the first time since you and Kazuo broke up, you have a date, and it’s Kazuo’s fault. Or maybe it’s you and your friends’ fault, because you decided to throw Kazuo a twentieth birthday party and invited a few of his friends from UA. One of those friends is Sugimura Hiroki, who fits perfectly with your type of dark-haired boys who want to be heroes and who’s so painfully shy that it took him six beers and the entire party to talk to you. You were sort of weirded out by that. You’re not very intimidating, and you spent the first half of the conversation trying to figure out if he knew you were quirkless, since you learned the hard way that it’s something you need to disclose up front. But the two of you eventually worked your way around to the point, which was that Sugimura wants to get to know you better, and he tripped over his tongue so badly that you finally just asked him out to end the suspense.

It’s taken you a while to actually schedule the date, but tonight’s the night, and you’re sort of anxious about it. Luckily, work is busy enough to keep you distracted. Your lunch break ends while Mitsuko is still going into increasingly nasty speculations about Sugimura’s physical attributes, and you hang up the phone without saying goodbye.

There’s a message waiting for you on your computer, from the front desk. FOF. Can you take him?

It’s not Tenko. You know Tenko wouldn’t come here again. You send the same message you did when it was him. How F are we talking?

Jumpy, talking to himself, chainsmoking. He’s in costume.

“In costume” could literally mean that the patient’s wearing a costume, but it’s also code for when the front desk thinks the patient’s a villain. You’re used to dealing with villains by now. Send him back.

When the knock on the door comes, you’re ready and waiting, and the CNA ushers in a tall man in a black-and-grey bodysuit – so “in costume” was literal this time around – and a paper bag over his head. You’re momentarily transfixed by the paper bag, and more so when you realize that he’s bringing a lighted cigarette to his mouth while wearing something highly flammable on his face. The CNA shuts the door and bolts. You face your patient and introduce yourself. “Have a seat if you feel comfortable doing so. What brings you in today?”

“I’m not – whole.”

That’s concerning. “Are you injured?” Your concern grows when he gestures at his face. “It would really help if I could see the injury. Can you take the bag off?”

He shakes his head. Instead he reaches into his pocket and produces a torn full-face mask. You look at him, then at him, putting the pieces together. “How do you feel right now?”

He doesn’t answer – maybe can’t answer – so you default to the face chart you use when little kids aren’t able to express how they feel in words. Your patient points to scared, stressed, anxious, angry. Then he throws in happy, possibly to mess with you, or to distract you from the fact that the first four emotions indicate that he’s ready to snap at any second. “How about this?” you ask, after thinking it over. “I can ask the doctor to give you something that will help you calm down –”

“Please!” The patient bursts out. Drug-seeking? “No, I don’t need it, sister! I’m so calm it’s hard to believe.”

“Okay, then we’ll just have it here in case you decide you want it. As an option,” you say, keeping your voice smooth and calm. “Either way, this is a quiet place to wait. You’re safe in here with me. And if you want, I can sew up your mask for you. Would that help?”

“You can do that?”

“Easily,” you say. “Can I see it for a second? I need to make sure I grab the right thread.”

The patient hands the mask over, which is a good sign. You’ve established at least a little bit of trust. You examine the mask and decide that you’ll need the thinnest-gauge needle and thread you have. “I can definitely fix this,” you tell the patient. “It might look a little rough, but it’ll cover you up like it did before. And it should last until you get where you’re going.”

The patient nods. You stand up. “I’m going to get some supplies, and a little anxiety medication if you decide you want it. I’ll be right back, okay? Just wait here.”

The patient nods again. Given how labile his mood is, you need to be fast about this, and get back before he gets upset or decides to leave. You step out the door and shut it behind you, heading for the supply closet, but you’re waylaid on the way there by one of the doctors. “We need you up front. Now.”

“I can’t. I have a patient, and he’s –”

“I don’t care. We’ve got a hero coming to visit, and we need somebody to keep things calm,” the doctor says. Shit. “Figure out what they want, get them as little of it as you can get away with, and get them out of here.”

“Which hero?”

The doctor shakes his head. Great. “Just hurry.”

You can’t go just yet. “My patient’s got a lot of anxiety and he’s in costume. I need him to stay calm. Can you –”

“2mg diazepam. I’ll put it in the chart.” The doctor unlocks one of the medicine cabinets, extracts a prefilled dosage cup, and hands it to you. “Go.”

Diazepam is long-acting. Hopefully long-acting enough to keep your patient quiet while you get rid of the hero. You skitter back down the hall with the dosage cup and hand it over to the patient, along with a tiny bottle of water to wash it down. “I’ll be right back. Just finding the right thread.”

The patient downs the pill dry, which is both good and bad for you. You shut the door again and head for the lobby. You don’t make it there. A cloud of black mist boils up around you, swallowing you whole.

By the time your feet hit the familiar wooden floor of the bar, you’re already out of patience. “No. Send me back right now.”

“Shigaraki Tomura has need of you. You will assist him.”

“Not right now I won’t. You snatched me from work,” you say. You’re facing the wall and the All Might poster again, and you don’t want to turn around. If you see Tenko, it’ll make it harder to say no. “If I go missing, people will notice. Is he dying?”

“No,” Kurogiri says.

“Is he in imminent danger of dying?”

“No.”

“Then send me back,” you say. If Tenko’s asked Kurogiri to get you, it means he needs medical assistance – or follow-up. You’ve needed to follow up anyway. “I can come back later.”

“No, I need you right now!”

“How much later?” Kurogiri asks, ignoring Tenko’s protest.

You think it over. You can dispense with the hero situation quickly, stitch your patient’s mask, and sneak out of work early. They’ll have to give you the emergency time off. You’ve never asked before in three years of working there. “Ninety minutes.”

“That’s too long. Kurogiri, don’t let her leave!”

“Ninety minutes. I’ll be in the alley behind the clinic.” You ignore Tenko, too, in favor of focusing on Kurogiri. He’s the one who decides if you leave or not. “All right?”

The mist wells up around you again, which counts as a yes. You land on your feet in the hallway, reorient yourself, and head for the lobby again. Tenko wants you again – needs you, your stupid brain corrects – but he’s going to have to wait for you to sort this out.

The hero in the lobby is Uwabami, the Snake Hero, and she’s got two sidekicks with her. No, students. You recognize one of them from your limited viewing of the UA Sports Festival and feel a spike of guilt run through you. She’s from Class 1-A. The same class Tenko tried to kill.

You don’t need to think about that, and you don’t need to feel guilty, because you didn’t do anything to her. You force yourself to focus. Uwabami wouldn’t have brought high school students here if she was doing any kind of investigating, which means your patient and any others who might be nervous around law enforcement are probably safe. The question of why she’s here still remains. You step forward. “Welcome to Yokohama Free Clinic South. What can we help you with today?”

“We’re on patrol,” Uwabami says. “My interns gave some feedback that our patrol involved a little too much publicity –”

The students look unrepentant. Good for them. “So we’re engaging in some down-to-earth patrolling,” Uwabami continues. “Tell us about how heroes support your clinic.”

Heroes don’t support your clinic. Most heroes strongly dislike the free clinic network, and the feeling is mutual, for a bunch of reasons you’re more than willing to articulate. Then you think better of it. Picking a fight with a hero in front of hero students is a bad move if you want to get out of here any time soon, and if you’re going to keep helping Tenko, you need to stay completely off the heroic radar. You focus on the students instead. “You’re on internships, right? They’re supposed to show you what life will be like as a hero.”

“Yes,” the girl who’s not from 1-A says. “They’re supposed to.”

“We have a program like that here, too,” you say. You gesture for them to come forward, and they desert their supervising hero at high speed. “A lot of our nurses and techs started working here in high school. Let me introduce you.”

You’re on much more solid ground talking about this. This clinic and this program saved your ass – without their sponsorship, you’d never have been able to get around your quirklessness as a barrier to nursing school, and you started getting on-the-job clinical training while most other nursing students were stuck in the classroom. You catch yourself evangelizing a little bit, but you don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world to do. You’re proud of the work you do as part of the clinic. It’s nice to get to talk about it.

You clear the hero students out in half an hour, hoping you’ve impressed them even a little bit, then hurry back to your patient. The diazepam’s kicked in nicely, and he chatters away to you while you stitch the tear in his mask. You learn that his name is Jin, or Bubaigawara, or Twice, which you’d guess are his first name, his family name, and his villain name, in that order. He doesn’t say how his mask got torn and you don’t ask, but you send him on his way in a better mood than before. “Thanks, sister,” he says on his way out the door. “You could be worse. You’re a saint!”

Different tone, different pitch, completely different meaning between the first sentence and the second. It reminds you of Kurogiri. You know enough villains now that you can compare them to one another. You shake your head, bemused, then head back inside. Time to guilt-trip your boss into letting you leave two hours early.

Your guilt-trip is successful, mostly because of how you handled the hero situation, but as you’re trying to sneak out, Yoshimi arrives for her scan. After you cajoled her into the office, you can’t abandon her to some random tech. You do abandon Mitsuko in the waiting room, though – she says the words “nipple discharge” as loudly as possible, then starts picking on the scant amount of makeup you did for your date. You don’t feel bad at all for leaving her behind.

Yoshimi’s scan goes quickly, and just like you feared, it nets her a follow-up appointment at the main branch of the free clinic tomorrow. Tomorrow’s your day off. You promise her you’ll go with her – you, and not Mitsuko or Yoji – then talk the doctor into sending her home with a dose of a different anti-anxiety medication than the one you got for Twice. Then you check your phone for the time. Almost ninety minutes exactly. You race out to the alley.

The mist engulfs you almost the instant you set foot in the alley, and you’re in the bar a moment later, facing Kurogiri. Tenko’s nowhere to be found, and before you can ask the question, Kurogiri turns and sets off through a doorway, deeper into the recesses of the building. You follow him, wondering if this counts as being taken to a secondary location. Or maybe the bar counts as the secondary location, even though you’ve been here before. Either way, you’ve listened to way too many of Mitsuru’s true-crime podcasts.

Kurogiri leads you into an absolutely filthy room. The floor is covered – empty wrappers, empty cans, old newspapers and magazines, plastic cases for game disks and chips. You have a bad feeling about who lives here, and when Kurogiri clears his throat and speaks up, you’re proven right. “Shigaraki Tomura. I have brought the girl.”

The only semi-organized spot in the room is a desk with two monitors on it, a keyboard in front of it, and Tenko slumped down with his head pillowed on one arm. He looks up, and for a split second, you can see that he’s happy even behind the hand. Then his face turns bright red and his expression twists into a snarl. “I told you not to bring her in here! Get out!”

You don’t need to be told twice. You duck out the door and retreat about twenty feet down the hallway, listening as Kurogiri tries to placate Tenko. “You asked for her to be brought to you immediately, not for me to summon you when she arrived. I followed your orders to the letter.”

“I didn’t want –” Tenko breaks off, swears. Then he mumbles something, and Kurogiri chuckles. “Don’t laugh at me!”

You check your phone. You aren’t supposed to meet Sugimura until eight, but you’ve got no idea how long this particular encounter is going to run. You might need to tell him you’re running late. You’ve just sent the text and tucked your phone away when Kurogiri reappears. “We will return to the bar,” he says. “Shigaraki Tomura awaits you there.”

So Kurogiri warped him to the bar. You wonder what that was all about. Was Tenko embarrassed that you saw how filthy his room was, or just embarrassed that you saw his room at all? Or did he change his mind about wanting you here? The last thought upsets you. You follow Kurogiri back into the bar and find Tenko sitting at the counter. It’s an improvement from the last time you saw him, when he was sprawled out and bleeding from four gunshot wounds, but this time he’s got his arms crossed, clearly pissed about something. His face is still red behind the hand. There’s a bloodstained bandage taped to his right shoulder.

A pile of supplies appears on the bar as you come closer. “What happened this time?”

“It wouldn’t stop bleeding.” Tenko uncrosses his left arm to gesture at the wound. “This is the fourth one I’ve used.”

If he’s gone through four bandages, it must be pretty deep. “How long ago did it happen?”

“Two hours,” Kurogiri says. “Shigaraki Tomura sent me to retrieve you immediately.”

“Can you fix it or not?” Tenko snaps.

“I need to see it first,” you say. You come a few steps closer, sit down facing Tenko on the barstool next to his, and reach for the bandage. He doesn’t stop you from unwrapping it, and you detour to glove up before you start peeling the fabric of his shirt back from the wound. It’s oozing blood rapidly. It’s jagged at the edges, and deep – if you suctioned the blood away, you’d be looking at exposed muscle, and you’re so horrified by the fact that Tenko’s been badly hurt again that you ask a question you shouldn’t. “How did this happen?”

“Hero Killer,” Tenko says, and your stomach lurches. “I thought he might be useful, but he’s just like the rest of them. Obsessed with the precious Symbol of Peace.”

You don’t know very much about the Hero Killer, except that he kills or cripples heroes and he’s not in Yokohama any longer. Tenko’s still ranting. “Why can’t anybody shut up about All Might? Don’t they know –”

“That he’s not gonna fuck them?” you interrupt, and Tenko nearly chokes. “I guess they can dream.”

Tenko’s expression is contorting behind the hand. You’re pretty sure it’s not the result of your explorations of the wound, because you’re not touching it. You watch, concerned, as his shoulders shake and his mouth twitches, until awkward, rusty laughter finally issues from his mouth.

You always try to make people laugh. You’ve been in the habit since you were little. It’s an effective strategy for defusing tension, whether the joke is funny or not, and your jokes are usually at least kind of funny. But you always liked making Tenko laugh when you were kids. You were always just a little prouder of that than you were with other people. Tenko made people smile all the time. He deserved for somebody to make him laugh, too.

Tenko’s laughter is brief and uneven, because he’s trying to get it under control. “Stop it,” he finally snaps at you. His mouth is still twitching. “It’s serious.”

“Right,” you agree. But you can’t resist another joke. “It would be a novel strategy. If you can’t beat the Symbol of Peace, make him unfuckable instead.”

“I can beat him,” Tenko says, but his voice is strained to the point of snapping, and his shoulders are shaking again. “Can you fix my arm or not?”

“I can fix it,” you say, “but I’ll need a suture kit. And I’ll either need to cut your sleeve or you’ll need to take your shirt off.”

“I’m not taking my shirt off.” Tenko’s face is red again. “It’s ruined anyway. Just cut it.”

You cut his sleeve open from the neckline and peel it back, then go looking through the medical supplies. Kurogiri took your advice about additions to their supplies, and nothing turned up missing at work, which means they honored your request to steal from someone else. You’ve got local anesthetic this time, which is good, because you need it. You start numbing the edges of the wound, asking every so often if Tenko can feel what you’re doing. When he stops saying yes, you open the suture kit.

It’s a bit weird, but putting stitches in is one of your favorite parts of the job. You can get in the zone with it, even when the patient wants to talk. Tenko wants to talk. “People talk about the League of Villains out there. Don’t they?” he asks. You nod. “What do they say?”

“Um –” You’re not sure this is an answer Tenko wants to hear. “They’re wondering why the attack on UA happened.”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Like, if there was a message behind it,” you elaborate. You need to be careful, with the stitches and with this line of thought. “More than just killing All Might, because lots of villains want to do that. If there was a message, it didn’t get out. The police and UA haven’t shared much information – not even how the breach happened in the first place.”

Tenko scoffs. “They don’t have a clue. They won’t see it coming the next time we hit them, either.”

He’s planning something else. Your blood runs cold, and for a moment you’re torn about whether or not to ask. Tenko makes the decision for you. “What else do they say about the League?”

“Not very much, otherwise,” you say, and Tenko swears. “There are a lot of villains, just like there are a lot of heroes. People talk about the ones they see the most of.”

“Which heroes do you talk about?”

“I don’t really talk about heroes.” You tie off a stitch, trim the thread to the appropriate length, and take another. “One of my friends has this nasty crush on Endeavor, so we talk about him sometimes, but otherwise – no.”

“Your friend has a crush on Endeavor,” Tenko repeats.

“Like I said. Nasty.”

You’re conscious of Tenko staring at you, and you will your face not to heat up under his gaze. You don’t even know why he’s staring, and you’ve got stitches to do, so it doesn’t matter. Your phone buzzes in your pocket – probably Sugimura, probably confirming your date. A date you’re not sure you want to go on anymore. Did you ever really want to go on it? Or did you just say yes because –

“You look weird.”

You look up from the stitches, startled. “Huh?”

“You look weird,” Tenko repeats. “Your clothes are different and you’ve got stuff on your face.”

Tenko and Mitsuko feel the same about your makeup skills, apparently. “Sorry.”

“Why do you look like that?” Tenko presses. You tie off his next stitch. “Are you going on a date or something?”

You answer without thinking about whether it’s the smart thing to do. “Yes.”

It’s quiet for a long stretch of seconds. “Go on your date, then,” Tenko says. His voice is flat. “I don’t need you.”

It stings. You don’t want it to, but it does, and you look down at the cut on his shoulder so he won’t see it on your face. “You still need a few more stitches. At least let me finish them.”

“No. Get out.” Tenko jerks out of your grip. You barely have enough time to cut the hanging thread on your last stitch. “I don’t want you here. Kurogiri –”

“Shigaraki Tomura, I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“I didn’t ask you!” Tenko swats at you open-handed and you leap backwards. “Get out! I don’t –”

You don’t hear the end of that sentence. Kurogiri warps you away too fast, and possibly saves your life. He drops you back in the alley behind the clinic, holding half a suture kit and still wearing bloodstained gloves. You peel them off and dump them into the garbage, furious with yourself. You shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have talked about your life at all, and above all else, you should have remembered that you were talking to a villain, not your best friend – that whatever’s left of your best friend isn’t enough. He’s angry with you, and he’s been having you followed. Just how angry is he? Angry enough to hurt you? Or angry enough to never talk to you again?

You’re sickened and more than a little scared to realize that you’re more frightened of the latter possibility than the former. It’s entirely possible that you’ve never been in less of a mood to go on a date.

But you do go on the date, because you said you would, and it’s – fine. There’s nothing to complain about, but there’s nothing to be excited about, either. You and Sugimura hug to say goodbye, and you promise to text each other about setting up another one, and then you walk home. Mitsuko texts you, wanting details, or DETAILS, but you’ve got nothing to share. It was just a date, and no matter how many times you try to tell yourself otherwise, you’re angry about it.

Not because of Sugimura asking you out, not because you agreed, not because you went. Because you told Tenko and gave him a reason to get rid of you. Why does this keep happening? Why do you keep finding him and losing him, over and over again? What is it going to take for you to hold on?

“So how was the date?”

The voice emanates from the alleyway on your right and you nearly jump out of your skin. Tenko’s there, hand down from over his face, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He hasn’t changed his shirt. “I didn’t think heroes were your type.”

“They aren’t.”

“Then why were you on a date with one?”

“He asked.”

“And you just go with whoever asks?” Tenko looks half-incredulous, half-disgusted. You shake your head. “Forget it. Come with me.”

You shake your head again and take a step back – away from the alley, closer to the street. Tenko looks frustrated. “Come with me,” he repeats.

“What, so you can kill me?” You take another step back, well into the glow of a streetlight. You see shock flicker across Tenko’s face. “I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I don’t want to kill you,” Tenko fires back. He looks surprised at himself for saying it, but only for a moment – then he repeats himself, with more conviction. “I don’t want to kill you. You’re supposed to be my sidekick.”

Your jaw drops. “You remember?”

“I don’t remember everything.” Tenko takes the hand called Father out of the back pocket of his pants and studies it for a moment. Then he puts it away. “I remember that.”

Some kids played a different game every day. You and Tenko always played the same one, with a rotating cast of classmates at your side. All the heroes in the world were working together to fight one big villain, the worst villain the world had ever seen, and Tenko could never decide which hero he liked best, so he played a different one every day. But no matter which hero he played, no matter who else was playing with the two of you, you were always his sidekick. You reminded him every day that you didn’t have a quirk, and he always said the same thing in response, no matter which hero he was pretending to be that day, even though he didn’t have a quirk, either: You don’t need a quirk to be on my side. My quirk’s enough for both of us.

“Come on,” Tenko says again. He holds out his hand, three fingers and his thumb folded down, his pinky finger extended towards you. “Are you coming or what?”

You’ve never seen the world in black and white, but some things are unmistakable: There’s a line here, not visible to others but clear as day to you. On one side of it is Tenko and the darkness that’s swallowed him, the evil that surrounds him, the terrible things he’s done and is planning to do. On the other side is everything else – your dreams, your friends, your family that’s always loved you but used you anyway, a world that’s punished you time and time again for being born without a quirk, the knowledge that the world is so much crueler to so many others. You don’t think Tenko’s planning to kidnap you, to never let you leave. You’ll come back here, physically. You’ll go home and go to sleep and wake up early on your day off to take Yoshimi to her appointment at the main clinic, but you know instinctively that if you cross this line within yourself, there’s no coming back. Tenko was your best friend when you were five years old. Is he worth it?

You hate yourself for asking the question. You leave the light behind and link your finger with Tenko’s. “Where are we going?”

The black mist rises and wells up around you both. “You’ll see,” Tenko says, and for the first time since you found him again, he smiles.

[sillyteecup]

The Wrong Way

Roman Reigns x black!o.c

Jey Uso x black!o.c

Chapter 4

Warnings:

18+

Strong language

Misogyny

Mention of sexual assault

Taglist: @wrestlingprincess80 @nbanenefrmdao @vebner37 @theninthwonder @tshepisho @lensilver2 @trentybenty @empressdede @queen-shadow22 @becauseimher @jstarr86 @jaded-human @c-sgolden

A.N: This took me too damn long😭😭in my defense though, school has been drowning me and I've barely had the time to get this done quick enough, but ke...what can be said? Anyway, here is chapter 4 of The Wrong Way. I hope you like it. Enjoy❤️

Lori did not believe in setting expectations for people. As it was, she tried to keep her social interactions with anyone she did not know or trust to a minimal. Being a certified introvert, she thought it to be unrealistic to hold people to any social standards before speaking to them. All expectations bred disappointments as life is fickle. Human beings weren't nearly as fickle as life, but they could never be the exception to the rule.

All of that to say, she didn't know what to expect from the Tribal Prince Jey, as the first they met he grinned at her as though she were a piece of meat, and then the second time he glared at her like a foe. Now they were seated opposite each other in the matte black suv that Paul assigned to them, and he still had a scowl on his face.

"Have we met perhaps?" Lori questioned, breaking the heavy silence.

Jey tilted his head, features dancing between confusion and wondering if she was just stupid. "What?" he asked.

"Well you've been glaring at me since I landed, so I couldn't help but wonder if we had crossed paths and I happened to have wronged you by chance," she said indignantly, her irritation at his current expression slowly boiling.

"You're one to talk, when you don't look like the happiest trooper yourself," Jey said evenly, trying to keep an iron grip on his temper.

"Well I'm sure you can agree that there is nothing to be happy about as it stands," Lori pointed out bitterly.

Jey's face scrunched up in mild annoyance. "Yet you asked to ride with me. And for what? So you can shit on me for not acting like everything is sunshine and rainbows?" Jey spat, getting angrier by the sexond.

"I asked for you to accompany me so that we could perhaps get to know each other and maybe figure out a way to make this work, not have you sit there pouting like some petulant child who was denied pudding after dinner!" Lori hissed, finally losing her temper.

She watched as Tribal Prince Jey sat in his seat, jaw clenching as he likely fought the urge to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze till she was dead. If only he knew that she had the same thoughts swimming around her mind.

"Says the immature little bitch that threw a tantrum in the middle of a meeting because things weren't going her way," Jey said venomously.

"Tribal Prince Jey I assure you that while I respect your royal standing, I cannot allow you to call me out of my name. I shall hold my tongue because I was raised to be a respectable young lady, but-" she had begun to rant before being cut off by a mirthles chuckle from Jey.

"Respectable? Girl you a whole ass ho that runs around serving up pussy to every man that smiles at you," he said maliciously.

At this, Lori's heart stopped. Her hands began to tremble as tears threatened to spill form her eyes. She mentally condemned her father to hell for the way he painted the loss of her virginity as her being promiscuous. She had always rued the day she trusted him to understand and empathize with her for what actually happened that night. But now, at this very moment, she hated him for this false portrait he had sold of her to this family. He threw her trauma like a piece of raw meat into a den of lions. One day, he would pay.

"You do not know anything about me," she said, tone lowering as she seethed in rage.

There was another one of those mirthles laughs. "I don't need to. And frankly, I don't want to. Just 'cause we engaged, don't mean I need to coddle your feelings or be your friend or whatever the fuck you were hoping to achieve here!"

Lori bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from speaking out of line. Just because he was an insulant fool, it did not mean she had to stoop this level down in hell to defend herself. She was a woman of honor and dignity; there was no place in her mind that was reserved for engaging in petty spats with an individual such as Tribal Prince Jey.

"If that is what you so wish, then very well," she said evenly, marking him as dead to her.

No one could say she did not try.

➽──────────────❥

Roman, Paul and Sami arrived at the family mansion, or "the palace" as they usually called it, to find Miss Loreal Moore with her maidens, and Jey waiting for them. While the maidens each took in the courtyard with awe, Jey and his fiancé seemed disgruntled.

"Damnit," Roman whispered to himself. Even after the clear warning he had given Jey, his cousin did not cooperate. Roman could not let his incompetence slide as it would set a bad example to his brothers and the rest of their cousins. But he would deal with that later.

"The lady looks unhappy, my Tribal Chief," Paul pointed out, only adding to the grating of Roman's nerves.

"Wiseman, please tell me something. Do I look blind maybe?" Roman questioned him sarcastically, to which he shook his head rapidly while stammering for an answer.

"N-no, never my-my Tribal Chief. Your eyesight is absolutely perfect. 20/20 vision I would say-" Paul rambled, attempting to calm Roman down before he angered him even further.

"Then what made you feel the need to point out something that I can so obviously fucking see?" Roman said through gritted teeth. Everybody just seemed keen on trying his patience today and he couldn't understand why.

"I apologize my tribal Chief. But, may I ask, are there any plans by chance that the Tribal Chief may have to sway the lady in our favor?" Paul genuinely asked. If there was one thing Roman appreciated about his Wiseman, it was his dedication to the family. However Roman couldn't let his real plans be known, as one of the pieces to his little chess game was in the front seat.

"The best we can do right now is be hospitable. Show her that she's in the right place," Roman said before flashing a smile at Sami through the rearview mirror. "Ain't that right Sami?" he asked Sami in what has half a joke and half a threat.

Sami caught onto this and his lips curled up nervously. "Yes my Tribal Chief, definitely," he laughed nervously, earning a pat on the shoulder from Roman.

"Wiseman, get my door," Roman commanded while keeping his eyes on Sami. The moment Paul left the car, Roman leaned in to whisper into Sami's ear. "You and Miss Loreal Moore friends, Sami?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"She's been very kind to me my Tribal Chief," was all Sami said.

"I hope you've been returning the energy. After all, she might need a new friend around here," Roman whispered, sounding genuinely concerned for the lady.

"Oh, yes definitely, my Tribal Chief. I have shown Miss Loreal Moore nothing but kindness and I would be happy to be her friend if she allowed it," Sami rambled nervously. Roman moved back and smiled.

"Good, good. You're a good man Sami," he said, ending the conversation right before Paul finished announcing his presence and opened his door.

Right as he stepped out, Ms Loreal Moore's sharp gaze shot into his direction. "Miss Loreal Moore, you seem displeased-" Roman began to say, being cut off by his cousin's fiancé.

"I wish to go home. Now," she stated, her voice trembling as she struggled to hold it together.

Roman was taken aback by her demand. Her tone sounded to him like she had likely been angered or triggered by something Jey said. His neutral gaze quickly shifted into questioning glare towards Jey, who only scowled and turned away.

"I'm sure that whatever that happened to to make you wanna do that can be fixed. I don't know you well but you seem like a smart, mature and level headed woman. So let's just-" Roman began to say to calm her down only it be interrupted again. Which was beginning to get on his nerves.

"That thing you just did; attempting to soothe my ego to gaslight me into agreeing with whatever" solution" you were going to come up with? I hate it. It is an insult to my intelligence. And from what I can see, this family seems to be built on the foundation of insulting those they feel are lesser beings to them! I am by no means a fool! I know why that-" she took a breath to control herself mid-rant before continuing.

"I know why my father sold me to you people. I did not expect to be treated kindly or for this to be a fairytale of sorts, hell I did not even expect to be treated with integrity. But what I cannot take is being refferred to by obscene words, and then having my intelligence insulted less than 4 minutes later. If this is how it is to carry on going forward, then I would rather you put me on the next flight back to my home, so that I may live out the rest of my days in unmarried bliss," she finally finished before letting out a heavy exhale.

Roman clenched his jaw and nodded. He began to rethink every time he said Naomi was too stubborn for her own good. Compared to Miss Loreal Moore, Naomi was child's play. Even though she always gently kept them grounded, she had never outright called them out on their bullshit. Let alone on her first day on the island. As much as Roman appreciated this woman's strength, he also understood that she was going to be a nasty piece of work to mould into their image. Yet he found himself enticed by the challenge. Clearly he would have to break her and rebuild her in an image he saw fit. And one thing about Roman? He enjoyed playing God. But he would have to be smart about this. She had already seen through his first trick, which to be fair he hadn't even thought was one to begin with. He was just used to solving problems like that. Nevertheless, he was going to have to get far smarter than he ever had.

"I see. Wiseman, show them to their rooms. They've all had a pretty long day and are in no state to travel right now," he commanded, noticing the storm grow in Miss Loreal's eyes.

"Miss Loreal Moore, I shall speak with you tomorrow morning at 07:00 once you've had enough sleep," he added, hoping to quell her still rising temper.

Her eyes narrowed as she bit the inside of her cheek. It was as if she had realized that now that Roman had made his choice, there was no arguing. At least she held authority to a high regard to some extent.

➽──────────────❥

Skin illuminated by the sun rising, Lori took in the appearance of her room. The walls were a dull dull beige that contrasted poorly with the dark oak doors and large, arched windows. The curtains were a glaringly bright red, an irritating sight that drove Lori to open the curtains at the crack of dawn. They with the bedding sets and the velvet couch on the other end of the room. It was big, more spacious than the one back home. She hadn't bothered to check the size of the closet as she had no intentions staying long. The carpet and sheets were black, along with the blackwood vanity set. The whole room was dreadful.

And so was this family. Lori's mind had been flooded with predictions of how the Tribal Chief would try to coax her into staying. Having caught on to his tactic yesterday and with the understanding of the weight this marriage holds, she figured that Tribal Chief Roman would likely attempt slither his way into her mind to convince her that all of this was worth it in the end.

And maybe it was, but a few words dipped in caramel would not suffice in proving that to Lori. She glanced at the huge round clock on the wall next to the bathroom door, 05:30. Her maidens had insisted on making sure that they were at her side by five o'clock sharp, however Lori resisted. Insisting that she would much prefer if for the first time in a very long time, they rested. They deserved it. And her parents were not there to tell them otherwise.

After bathing and moisturising in complete solitude for the first time since she was born, she took the long-sleeved cotton sundress that. Minerva had picked out and ironed for her, and put it on. Lori then moved to sit by her vanity and frowned. She had never done her own hair before, and now with the bonnet covering her braided hair, the lack of experience had come back to bite her in the ass. From what she had observed in Willow doing her hair, her long, voluminous afro was no easy feat when it came to styling.

What if I just woke Willow up to help with my hair, then immediately after, she goes back to sleep? That would not be cruel would it?

Her pondering of her dilemma was interrupted by a knock on the door. Confused, Lori checked the time again, 06:30. Could the girls already be awake? She stood up from the stool and cautiously made her way to the door. The knock sounded again, right as her hand had touched the handle. Finally she opened, and on the other side was the last person she had expected to see.

"Sami? What are you going here so early?" she asked him. As nice as he was, and as much as she planned to utilise him if things went south, Lori was still guarded when faced with all the members of the Bloodline. After all, who was to say it wasn't an act?

He stook tall in her doorway with a boyish grin. He sported a black Nike t-shirt and sweats with sneakers to complete the ensemble. "Good morning Lori! Tribal Chief said I should swing by and check if you're ready," he explained cheerfully. His grin however faltered when he took note of the bonnet.

"What?" Lori said, noticing the change in expression. Sami grimaced in response and gestured for her to let him in. Hesitantly, Lori stepped to the side only for Sami to usher her back to the vanity. "Sami what is the meaning of this?" she demanded only for Sami to gently push her into the chair and smile at her through the mirror.

"You don't know how to do your hair do you?" he asked slyly, causing her eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

"How did you know?" she questioned, wondering what had given her ineptitude away.

"Educated guess," Sami shrugged as his hand hovered over her bonnet. "May I?" he asked, earning a nod from Lori which prompted him to remove it, revealing her hair. "Wow," Sami gasped as he felt the soft texture of her hair.

"What's wrong?" Lori asked in concern, not sure how to take Sam's reaction to her hair.

"Nothing, it's just-I've seen healthy, beautiful long hair before but this? God, your mom must love you," Sami said, still in awe of the sight before him.

Lori just wore a wry smile at the last comment. While she was sure that Sami meant no harm as he was unaware of her relationship with her family, he still struck a nerve. When speaking of her connection with her mother, Sami wasn't asking, but Lori had been for the longest time. And by the looks of it, she would never get an answer.

"Actually, Willow is the mastermind. Before that it was her mother. The two of them have been so kind to my hair in the way they have taken care of it. In fact, I would probably have cut it all off had it not been for them," Lori explained, notes of gratitude in the way she spoke. Willow and Mrs Graham had been taking care of her hair and keeping it healthy since she was born. They were the real heroes.

"Either way, they are hair goddesses," Sami chuckled as he began to braid Lori's hair.

That's when it dawned on her. "You know how to do hair?" she questioned, eyeing Sami suspiciously as his red locks were out and untamed.

"Yup, an old friend taught me," he replied, not seeing the way she looked at him.

"And where is she now?" Lori asked curiously as Sami kept unbraiding and gently detangling.

Sami glanced at her through the mirror, eyes gleaming with a hint of sorrow. "She-uh, got married," he said before clearing his throat. He was then quick to change the subject to how he barely saw the point in styling his anymore since the island's climate was never kind to it. Lori zoned out as he rambled on and on, watching as he carefully brushed and styled her hair into a simple low ponytail with a puff at the bottom, completing the look with sleek baby hairs.

A white man can do my hair better than me? I need to up my game.

Despite the huge favour he had done for her, Lori still couldn't help but be unconvinced. Apart from him, she had met two direct members of the Bloodline, and both of them have proven to be...unappealing for lack of better words. Why would she trust that Sami hadn't had the same ideals indoctrinated in him. After all, as much as he was "an outsider", he had still been there longer than her. And since he did not offer the family prospects of wealth as far as she understood, there had to be another, more sinister reason to keep him around. If only she had thought of this on the plane yesterday.

"Sami, why are you helping me?" Lori asked, her trust issues suddenly flaring up.

"Because you're cool, duh," he replied as if it were obvious.

"Cool?" Lori questioned, unsure what he implied with the term. Her father had always considered that kind of language to be juvenile and forbid it around the house, however Lori had heard it time and again at her old University and during the two years when Lord Byron had allowed her to go to a private high school to graduate instead of finishing with a home school education. Still though, she was not very familiar with the context of the word.

"Y'know, good, nice. Cool," he simply said. Although he was not clear, Lori understood just fine.

"Oh okay. Lovely." If Sami was acting, he sure was doing an amazing job at it. Either way, her oncoming talk with the Tribal Chief would determine whether or not it mattered.

➽──────────────❥

"The Tribal Chief requested that I escort you to his office."

Tribal Chief Roman's office was cold...fitting the stories she had been told of the man who inhabited it. Perhaps it was the intense air conditioning, or maybe it was the lack of a personal touch to it's decor. Either way, apart from the spread out red and black furniture pieces, it was rather dull. Lori doubted he cared to much about the aesthetics anyway.

She had been seated on the black couch situated next to the door, about 5 feet away from his desk where he sat, nose buried in his work. Her eyes followed the clock's hands as time slowly ticked by, foreshadowing her slow and agonising ego death, should she choose to stay here. It had been 3p minutes and the man hadn't said a thing aside from "Have a seat." Part of her felt like there was an angle he was playing at here. A psychological one that she couldn't quite point out. Perhaps he was asserting dominance by making her wait on his time. If that was the case, then the one he had hoped to present would not hold up too well.

Her eyes scanned the bookshelf to her left. The names on the spines of each book caught her by surprise. While some of the books were typical of what was seemingly his nature, such as The Art of War, the others were unbecoming of what she had noted about him so far. Romance novels.

The rest of the titles were in Samoan and Italian, two languages Lori had not an inkling of an idea about. Still though, the very idea that Roman likely not only spoke these languages, but also read them was somewhat attractive. An observation she mentally chastised herself from. The very reason she had let her sights roam around the office was to avoid settling her gaze on him. Lord knows how he would react to his cousin's fiancé staring at him.

Speaking of his cousins, before she slept, Lori had done everything in her power to cleanse her memory of her interaction with Jey yesterday. Better to pretend it never happened than to let it hold power over her. Her logic was faulty, but it worked. But that did not by any means imply that she would be thrilled about being in the same room as him. The last thing Lori wanted was to be executed for murdering her fiancé. Regardless of how satisfying it would be.

"I take it you slept well?" she suddenly heard Tribal Chief Roman say.

Keeping her gaze on the window behind him, she nodded. The room was ugly but the bed was comfortable. "Yes, my Tribal Chief."

"Good. As a future member of this family it is only fitting that the best is what you are offered," he said, causing her to scoff. His gaze narrowed at the action. "Why do you want to leave?" he asked her, tone completely neutral.

"I was quite clear about my feelings yesterday, my Tribal Chief. I do not appreciate being treated like a street urchin by your family," Lori responded coldly.

Tribal Chief Roman placed his forearms on his desk to lean forward. "What did he say to you?" he asked. His voice had dropped to a dangerously low octave that struck a feeling that Lori was not familiar with in her chest. It was a mix of two feelings really; fear that was all but expected, but more surprisingly, yet minimal, lust.

"Things I would rather not repeat," she said.

"Because you're afraid?" he questioned with an arched eyebrow.

"Because I am a lady who refuses to compromise herself by spewing anything unbecoming of me," she retorted with a scoff. Yes, Tribal Chief Roman himself was terrifying, but that was not a sentiment she held towards Jey.

He leaned back into his chair, firm gaze remaining on her. "Whatever it is that he said, does not reflect our views of you. He will be corrected-"

"You mean punished," she commented, cutting into his sentence. She noticed his jaw clench at her interuption and swore she choked on her breath.

"And I will make sure, that nobody else treats you like that again," he finished, patience waning with each word.

"Why go out of your way instead of allowing me to go home?" she questioned, knowing the answer but still wanting him to completely clear up his intentions.

"You said it yourself yesterday. You know why this engagement was arranged; political gain for my family in return of financial gain for yours," he explained with a shrug.

Lori slowly nodded, the sound of the clock ticking re-invading her ears. "Where is he?" she asked. She wasn't sure why she was curious, but she was.

"His house not too far from here. Sami neglected to tell you that you two will not be living together until after your wedding," he explained, causing Lori's eyebrows to shoot to the edge of her hairline.

"How come?"

"Tradition," he stated vaguely. "Some things I have no control over, although something tells me you don't mind," he said, subtly pointing out her already existing grievance with his cousin.

"Do you have control over how often we are to interact?" she asked half-jokingly.

"Don't push it," he responded in a tone similar to hers. "I would advise you not to worry too much about the personal aspects of your engagement. The moment you two are married, you can get your own place nearby and only have to interact during public appearances," he said, tone reverting back to serious.

She fought the urge to ask if that was his arrangement with his wife a she had not seen her yet. Unless of course the divorce rumor was true.

"Until then, I am to stay here with you and Sami?" she inquired.

"Are you comfortable with Sami's presence?" he asked. His omission of her comfort with his own presence did not slide past her though. But she would let it seem as if it had.

"Yes. He is good company," she acknowledged.

"Then he will stay here as well. Anything else?" he asked. An answer immediately came into mind.

"Yes, actually. Could one of your staff perhaps get an interior decorator on the phone?" she requested, taking him aback.

"I do not like how my room looks," she specified, putting him at ease.

"I'll have it arranged as soon as possible. Is that all?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Good. I'm assuming Sami informed you about today's agenda if you stayed?" Lori shook her head 'no' in response as her features festered into a look of curiosity. Sami must have thought that there was no way in all seven variations of hell she was staying there. Never say never, they say. Tribal Chief Roman ran his hand down his face and sighed, attempting to quell his frustration at Sami omitting this information.

"Today is your welcoming ceremony. The day when you're being introduced to the entire family and our ancestors as Jey's future bride and as a future princess to the people," Roman explained.

Lori's stomach twisted into knots. If there was anything she hated nearly as much as being blindsided to marriage, it was large gatherings and parties. All of those eyes on her, perceiving her always sent her into a spiral. If the very people that conceived her saw her as inadequate, who was to say that these people who did not know her from a table spoon harboured similar sentiments. Not to mention the whispers of gossip that she found mind numbing. A fact that would be hypocritical if Lori herself was a gossip.

She preferred self-preserving journalist anyway.

Nevertheless, she had chosen to stay and become a part of this bloodline that many considered to be of high esteem. Lori had chosen to become Tribal Princess Loreal. No longer Miss Loreal Moore. She would finally be rid of the last tie to her wretched father. If anything, that just sweetens the deal. This ceremony was just the starting point, one she would overcome with poise and grace.

"Is there a specific dress code, my Tribal Chief?"

[earthmoonz]

WIFEY. | EPISODE TEN (10.0) [ACT ONE]

start / previous / next

a/n: welcome to the part 1 finale of wifey! I’m so glad you’re here! there’s so much to share in this chapter and I needed to close out this section of the story on a round number so i’m going to split it into acts! hope you enjoy ❤️

When Luis was young, his father seemed gigantic to him. He was broad shouldered, statuesque and seemed to absorb every space he was in. At the time, Winston often assured his son that one day, he too would get his 6 '4 height but instead he grew to an unremarkable 5' 10. It was as though the universe was forcing him to know his place, like the firmness of his father’s hand wasn’t enough. Years later, when Winston keeled over on a cliffside in Selvadorada, Luis finally saw his father for who he was. Not a giant, but a man. One so deeply afraid of what he might lose, that he could never fully accept what he had gained. It was down to Luis to play his father’s role, and keep his family from disintegration. But though he knew the lines, his performance always fell short. The costume was ill fitting and the ghost of his father loomed in every corner, casting a large shadow over his first and only son.  It was almost predictable then, when in the quiet of late night drives or the still dark of his bedroom before sleep, images of a life beyond his current circumstance started to flash through his mind. What was surprising, is that in a rare act of benevolence, the universe appeared to gift it to him.

(transcript below)

[NINE MONTHS EARLIER]

(LUIS): Why come to me?

(ROY): Enemy of my enemy. God saw fit to deal with your father. It’s up to me to handle the rest.

(LUIS): I see…and you’re sure this will work?

(ROY): I’m certain. You help me, I help you. We both get what we want.

(LUIS): Alright…I’m in.

[SEVEN MONTHS EARLIER]

(LOURDES): Have you lost your entire mind?!

(LUIS): Lourdes-

(LOURDES): Dad hasn’t even been dead a year and now you want to break Mami’s heart all over again? You want me to lie to my only sister?

(LUIS): Lourdes please. What I’m doing will save our family. It will make us better!

(LOURDES): You don’t know that! I feel like you’re not telling me the whole story. I don’t get why we just can’t go to Lena and Mami-

(LUIS): Because they won’t understand! Do you honestly think I’d ask you to help me if I wasn’t desperate? You’re the only person I trust in this world! I need you by my side on this. And you’re right, I’m not telling you everything, but it’s because you don’t need to know. You have to let me protect you, just like I'm trying to protect Mami…[off Lourdes’ look] and Lena too.

(LOURDES): …Okay. …I’m with you.

[lesbicosmos]

day 4 of @painlandweek !!

day 4 prompt: domestic au

summary

2061. charles and edwin have been together for over seven decades. they've been best friends AND lovers for nearly four decades. their non-lives are good. edwin reads about a certain comet passing close to earth soon, and both are determined to go out and watch it

notes

title from space girl by frances forever

this was inspired by one reblog on tumblr of a post about halley's comet saying the boys both could have seen it when they were alive. i saw it and the idea just came to me and Would Not Leave (it may have just been an excuse to make edwin a bit of a space nerd. apologies i’m projecting my nerdiness onto this traumatised edwardian boy)

also on ao3!!

you know the galaxies of my heart

Forever was such an unfathomable concept. The passage of time was so much different when there was no limit to how long you were going to be around. It also felt different depending on the people you surrounded yourself with. The first thirty-four years Charles and Edwin spent together seemed to have flown by in a flurry of mysteries and laughter. Since they were both dead, there was no visible aging to represent how much time had passed, so they very well could have lost track of what year it was. Then they met Niko and Crystal, and everything slowed down. The two of them had limited time, they aged, they needed to sleep every day. The pace of their afterlives seemed to slow to better match theirs – though it still felt like it passed faster than it had when they were alive, and they didn’t like that. Niko and Crystal’s lives began passing quicker than either of them could prepare for, and by the time it had only felt like a couple of decades for the ghosts, in reality nearly forty years had passed. The girls were older, while the two of them still looked exactly the same as they had the day they had died. They also didn’t like how much change came with the passage of time. The girls didn’t join them every time they had a case now – they couldn’t race around London as quickly as they had been able to in their youth. They were still vital members of the agency, of course, but it was different now. It was like Charles and Edwin were going back in time to their first few decades together whenever they were on a case just the two of them. It was odd, but it was predictably nostalgic.

On the days they didn’t have Niko and Crystal around, and they didn’t have any cases to work on, they would spend their time simply existing together. That had always been so easy for them, and had barely changed when, a while after they met the girls, their relationship had taken a romantic turn. It wasn’t exactly the same – they did much different things in their free time than they had when ‘best mates’ was all they were – but all in all, not much had changed. They’d been comfortable around each other and devoted to one another since the very beginning. The last forty years had just included a lot more physical and emotional intimacy than the thirty that had come before.

It was one of those quiet cosy days. The sight was one that often occurred on days like these, and had done for many decades by now: Edwin lying on the sofa – he could actually fit now, they had invested in a new, larger one since they moved offices back in the 2030s – with a book in one hand, the other in Charles’s hair as he curled up beside him. Charles’s eyes were closed. They couldn’t sleep, but they agreed this, just existing in each other’s space, was rest enough. Edwin was around halfway through the 2061 Night Sky Almanac, currently reading about the many comets that would be visible later in the year. He loved looking up into the night sky, admiring the vastness of the cosmos. It was one of the only things that had barely changed since his time – only now there was much more light pollution, so it was harder to truly see its beauty.

As he turned the page, he gasped softly. Whether for hearing the gasp or for feeling Edwin’s chest rise, Charles opened his eyes.

“You okay, love?”

It had been nearly forty years, and still that nickname managed to send a comforting warmth through Edwin’s body.

“Yes. Just reading this…have you heard of Halley’s comet?”

“Yeah?”

“It only passes within visibility of Earth approximately every 76 years or so, and it’s passing by this year!”

“Oh, brills! When?”

“In a few weeks. Then it will be visible for several weeks after that.”

“We’d better make plans then,” Charles said, kissing Edwin’s cheek.

“You know,” Edwin smiled. “I saw Halley when I was alive.”

“Really?”

“May 1910. I was just ten years old, at the time. My science teacher at St. Hilarion’s was quite an eccentric fellow, was always interested in the stars. He’d taken our class out into the courtyard one night to watch it. Most of the boys merely messed around, of course. They were ten years old at a private boarding school, they didn’t care for comets, they just took it as an excuse to get out of study time. But it always intrigued me. I think I was the only one who saw it in the end, a dot of bright green amongst the stars in the sky. It was beautiful. I spotted it another couple of times through my bedroom window before it passed, too.”

“Woah.”

“Yes, Charles,” Edwin chuckled. “It was very woah.”

“I nearly saw it too.”

“Of course, it would have passed nearby in… ’86, too, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep. It was one of the school holidays so my friends had organised to go out into one of the fields nearby and camp out – well, a few of their girlfriends had. They’d invited us to go with, but none of the other guys were really that interested. I was though, I thought it was wicked. And although the guys were twats, even at 13, their girlfriends were pretty nice. I was good friends with a couple of them.”

“But you didn’t go in the end?”

“No."

“How come?”

“Why d’you think?” Charles let out a scoff, one Edwin had come to recognise whenever Charles’s father had been mentioned in the past.

“Oh.”

“He would’ve let me go if it was the guys, but ‘cause it was the girls…he really didn’t like me having friends who were girls. I never really got why, ‘cause he was always asking if I had a girlfriend, but now I’m pretty sure it was some homophobic bullshit, he didn’t want me interested in ‘girly’ things. So, he grounded me. Locked my bedroom door from the outside so I couldn’t sneak out. I could pick locks by that point, so I could’ve got out if I wanted, but I was just too scared of him finding out. And since my bedroom was in the basement, I had no windows, so I missed it. And then it was cloudy every night for the rest of the time it was meant to be visible, typical London.”

“I’m sorry your father didn’t let you go.”

“Nah, I got over it. It wasn’t the worst thing he did.”

Edwin knew that too well. He was almost glad he and Paul Rowland had never met before the latter died. Knowing everything he’d done to Charles, to Charles’s mother…he wasn’t sure what he would have done in the presence of that man.

Edwin hugged him tighter.

“Well, we’re going to see it this time. I promise.”

They had closed the agency for the night. Nothing was going to distract them from their plans. Over the last month, the plans had morphed from simply going out to watch the comet to turning it into a proper date. In all fairness, most of what they did together was as close to a ‘proper date’ that the boys could get, whether they planned it that way or not. They couldn’t eat or drink, so their ‘dates’ usually consisted of simply being together, without any talk or worry about the agency or a case. It was their time to simply be in each other’s company.

They’d found the spot they were going to go to. With their office being in the middle of London, they stood little chance of seeing the comet with all the light pollution, so had decided to travel. They were going to go to a field atop a hill in the countryside – one where they had been before whilst on a case. They had some vague knowledge of the area; including a cottage nearby that had a full-length mirror in the hallway.

“Ready?” Charles asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and offering his arm to Edwin.

“Ready,” Edwin replied, taking it.

Charles looked him up and down, admiring the boy he loved, the boy he’d seen every inch of over the last several decades, both physically and emotionally. While he had kept his everyday outfit practically the same since the day they had met, tonight Edwin had forgone the bow tie, instead having undone the top few buttons on his shirt, leaving his collarbones on show. He also didn’t have his usual jacket, instead settling only for his sweater vest. His hair was different, too; it wasn’t slicked back like usual, instead falling naturally, his slight curls tucked behind his ears. Whenever they were alone, Charles always found a way to run his hands through it, which always messed up its usual style, so Edwin had begun planning ahead for times like these.

He looked beautiful. Charles told him as such.

“Thank you my dear,” Edwin smiled. “So do you. As always.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me,” Edwin teased.

“As much as I would love to do that, we have a once-in-a-lifetime comet to go and see.”

Edwin resisted the urge to point out that once-in-a-lifetime meant nothing to them since they were dead and had forever, but he was eager to see it tonight and wasn’t entirely keen on having to potentially wait another seventy-six years.

“Point taken,” he sighed, and reached his hand out to the mirror, focusing on their destination. “Right, let’s go.”

They stepped through the mirror together, arms still linked.

The cottage was owned by a living couple, neither of whom could see the dead, so the boys exited the house without any trouble. Charles reached into his backpack and took out a lantern – a lantern, Edwin noted, that was identical to the one he had brought for Charles in the attic the night they met, identical to the lantern Charles had carried through Hell and left there. Edwin smiled at the sentiment, took Charles’s hand, and soon they arrived at their intended comet-watching spot. They’d been there to stargaze a couple of times since the case that made them aware of the area, but this time it was even more special.

Charles crouched on the ground, taking the bag off his back and opening it.

“You know,” Edwin chuckled. “You really didn’t have to bring the blanket. Or the pillows. We won’t be able to feel the difference.”

“It’s about the principle, mate.”

Only Charles Rowland would be able to turn ‘mate’ into a romantic nickname, and keep it that way for several decades.

‘You’re still my best mate, that’ll never change,’ he had explained the first time Edwin had questioned it after they were officially together – although that felt odd in itself since they’d always been together. But they supposed there hadn’t really been words invented to accurately describe the two of them. ‘Besides, it could also be short for soulmate, y’know.’

Edwin couldn't argue with that.

Charles pulled the blanket out of the backpack – it was a large handmade one, knitted in blue and red with a design in the middle: two traditional cartoon ghosts, one wearing a bow tie and the other with a gold necklace and earring. To no one’s surprise, it had been a gift from Niko back when she had found out it was the boys’ 40-year anniversary of knowing each other. That had meant it had also been 40 years since Charles’s death, but that was never the main reason he remembered that date.

He laid the blanket out on the ground before reaching his arm into the bag again, rummaging around until he found the pillows he packed. He only noticed Edwin’s raised eyebrow and endearing smile when he finally looked up after taking several out.

“What?” Charles asked, arranging the pillows around one side of the blanket.

“Your dedication to our inconsequential comfort really is charming.”

“What can I say? Charming is my middle name,” he grinned, and laid down on the blanket.

“We both know you don’t have a middle name, Charles.”

“Shhh. Come on, sit down.”

Charles shuffled over slightly, expecting Edwin to take the space next to him. Instead, he decided to sit right on top of him, straddling his waist.

“Jeez, alright, give a man some warning would you?” Charles smirked.

“I’m so very sorry,” Edwin said, smirking back, clearly not sorry at all.

Edwin cupped Charles’s face with his hands, leaning down to capture his lips with his own. Charles’s hands were on Edwin’s waist, holding him steady as he kissed back.

“You know love,” he breathed when they parted, keeping their foreheads touching. “You’re gonna struggle to see the sky from up there.”

“Well luckily for us, it’s not quite dark enough to see it yet. Although…” Edwin looked across to the lantern, still switched on and glowing bright yellow an arm’s length away from them. He reached out to grab it, switching it off before returning it to its spot on the grass beside the blanket. “Wouldn’t want interference from any light pollution, would we?”

With that, Charles rejoined their lips, his hands moving under Edwin’s shirt to touch his ribs. Edwin gasped slightly at the touch, breaking the kiss. In that time, Charles moved his own mouth from Edwin’s to his jaw. Edwin tipped his head back slightly and Charles mentally thanked Edwin from an hour ago for leaving those top few shirt buttons undone, moving down to kiss his neck and collarbone.

“Charles…” Edwin said softly, and Charles felt the vibrations against his lips.

Charles moved away slightly, looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

Edwin launched himself forward to kiss him again, catching Charles so off-guard he fell backwards into the pillows. ‘See, comfort,’ he thought, but didn’t have the willpower to say it out loud, or in fact do anything other than kiss back fervently.

“I love you,” Edwin mumbled against his lips, manoeuvring himself so that they lay flush against each other, wrapping his arms around Charles’s waist as they kissed.

“Love you too,” Charles giggled.

They may have been together for nearly forty years, and had a tendency to act like a couple who had been married for even longer, but they were still just teenagers in love at heart. And since they would never age, that would never change.

Eventually, Edwin broke away from the kiss, instead burying his head in the space between Charles’s neck and shoulder, sighing contentedly. Charles tangled a hand in his hair, threading his fingers through the loose curls. Once again, he thanked Edwin’s forward-thinking when he got ready.

They lay there for a while, Edwin occasionally pressing a kiss to the side of Charles’s neck. Charles just stared up at the sky. They had definitely chosen the right night; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. As he cast his eyes over the vast expanse above them, Charles’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the stars becoming more and more visible as the sky grew darker and darker.

Then, he spotted something.

“Hey, Edwin,” he whispered, removing his hand from Edwin’s hair to his shoulder. “I think I can see it.”

Edwin shuffled off Charles, turning onto his back and lying beside him so he could look up. Sure enough, amongst the tiny lights of the stars, there was one slightly bigger, slightly greener glow, with a slight short tail of the same green fading out to one side.

“That’s it,” Edwin said, joining his and Charles’s hands in the space between them on the blanket. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Charles replied, awestruck. “Although, I expected it to be faster. It barely even looks like it’s moving.”

“Well, remember it is very far away. Even at perihelion, it is still nearly fifty million miles from us.”

“Woah…”

“If I remember correctly,” Edwin explained, “Halley’s average speed when it is this close to Earth is around one hundred and twenty-three thousand miles per hour, which sounds very fast – and is – but at such a distance, it’s barely anything from our perspective.”

“That’s insane.”

“It is, rather. I’m very glad I got to see it again.”

“I’m glad I saw it with you,” said Charles, moving to rest his head on Edwin’s shoulder.

“If it’s not cloudy next week, would you like to come again? It should be visible for a while as long as the weather is forgiving.”

“That’d be brills.”

“We could also ask Niko and Crystal if they’re free. Maybe we could camp out, like you were going to back in ‘86. I know we aren’t exactly your teenage friends but it’s unfair you missed out on that because of your father.”

“We should definitely invite them. And for the record, I’d much rather do this with my three favourite people ever than anyone I was friends with back then,” Charles said, pressing a soft kiss to Edwin’s jaw.

Edwin hummed, kissing the top of Charles’s head in return.

They didn’t return to the office until well after the sun had risen. They would have fallen asleep in each other’s arms if it were possible, but since it wasn’t, they spent the night looking up into the sky. Edwin pointed out constellations he could remember, and Charles came up with new names for the ones he thought sounded stupid.

(“How is that a swan? It’s just an X!”

“Use your imagination, Charles!”

“I dunno if it was just imagination the people who named these were on, Edwin.”)

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Edwin asked after they’d been quiet for several moments, eyes still fixed on the endless expanse above them.

They’d moved now so that Edwin was lying beside Charles with his head on his shoulder, Charles’s hand gently stroking up and down his arm.

“Yeah,” Charles replied, but when Edwin looked up at him, Charles’s eyes weren’t on the stars.

They were on him.

Edwin chuckled softly, turning his head to look up again to hide his blush – which wasn’t really there anyway. Charles just smiled.

The stars reminded Edwin of the two of them. Most of them were probably long-dead, but from this perspective, for people who could see them, they shone so brightly it was as though they were still alive. He also couldn’t help but make the connection between the stars and his own feelings for Charles. They had burned so brightly for so long, and after he’d truly realised what they meant, they only grew brighter still until, in the moment he was most vulnerable, they exploded out of him; a supernova on that staircase on the journey back from Hell. But the difference is: supernovae are star deaths, and that was far from the death of his feelings for his partner. Forty years on from that fateful moment on the stairs, it was as though they glowed brighter than ever before. Charles’s did too, the two of them orbiting around one another closer than they ever had, a binary system that would break all the rules of the universe if it meant they could burn as bright forever.

[onlymurdersintheafterparty]

Updated OMITB S4 Killer Theory

After watching this week's episode I have a new theory for who killed Sazz. There are some plot holes proving otherwise but for now this is what is sticking with me the most. I think it also ties some of these storylines together. I'm putting this all under a spoiler tag just in case since it hasn't been a full day yet.

I think Bev is actually Dudenoff. From what we know so far, Dudenoff is rarely ever home and is currently in Portugal. Bev living and working in Los Angeles means that she could go back and forth collecting rent, hire someone to do so, or just have it deposited directly. Maybe she inherited one of the apartments, saw an opportunity for the others and took it. Plus it's a nice side hustle that can help to fund her film projects.

The mysterious person in the group with their face scratched out could very well be Helga. Vince said that Helga was the wrong type of weirdo and Rudy, Inez, and Ana were all trying to paint her as mentally ill and paranoid. I think we can assume she's not dead since we heard her on the radio, but she is clearly in hiding meaning she didn't leave the West Tower on her own accord. I think she uncovered a secret about Dudenoff or whatever other crime these Westies are into and was going to tell Charles so he could expose it on the podcast.

Sazz was digging around searching for clues before she was killed, even going so far as to discover that someone was watching Charles and gaining access to the code for the Dudenoff apartment. This season has been playing around a lot with the concept of stunt doubles, twins, and actors portraying actors. What if Sazz bore a strong resemblance to Helga and was successfully able to pass as her which is how she got entry to the Dudenoff apartment? If the theory that Helga was going to snitch is correct, maybe during the night of the party one of the Westies looked out the window, saw Sazz in Charles' apartment and thought she was Helga and killed her to keep her from telling?

If Bev is Dudenoff there is a possibility that she was in attendance at the party at the end of season 3 and was also in town to collect the rent owed by the Westies. Maybe at the party she saw Sazz and because of the Sazz/Helga lookalike theory thought Helga was in disguise to get close to Charles. Having her side hustle exposed would lose her money and with how she hounded the trio to sign over their movie rights she sounds like she's struggling financially. In episode 4, the actors are referred to as faces because there's a dynamic where stunt people don't get recognition for their work and aren't recognized outside of the work that they do. At the party when they discuss the wine Charles has upstairs, Bev could have overheard that Sazz was going up to get it and saw that as her chance to strike. As Dudenoff it would be easy to run over to the apartment she owns and gain access to get the job done. Plus we now know she knows how to handle a gun after she is seen holding the trio at gunpoint at the end of the episode.

The question remains whether Sazz was the intended victim or Charles and I'm still going to go with Sazz for now. I know there's the whole "Everybody hates Charles" agenda but he's basically a homebody so I doubt there would be enough interactions over time for someone to actually hate him. The only other reason is that a family member of one of the victims in the podcast or the killers is mad at him for profiting off of their death like what the bartender said at Concussions.

So this is where I'm at right now theory wise. There is still plenty of time to change that because we have 6 episodes left. I know there's so much more to be discovered so I can't wait to see what direction the show will take over the next few episodes.

[sky-casino]

dabi x reader: she was sunshine, he was midnight rain

pairing: dabi x fem!reader (within canon)

genre: angst, some fluff

word count: 2,300+

synopsis: you're a doctor in kyudai garaki's hospital and he chooses you for a special and highly confidential task: be the sole person to take care of the villain dabi and his burn scars.

a/n: this man got me in a chokehold istg 💀😭 dabi (and the todoroki family) got me into MHA last december. and so this is my first MHA fic. hope you enjoy~

when doctor garaki and AFO finally accepted LOV after shigaraki tamed gigantomachia, he intended to start taking care of dabi's scars. garaki and AFO wanted to make sure that everyone is in top shape, especially dabi since he's the only one in LOV who has a quirk that can be used for long-range combat.

so garaki hired you—a doctor who works for him at the jaku general hospital specializing in treating burns—to take care of dabi's scars and overall health. his offer entails you to leave your current position in the hospital to solely work for him and dabi. and of course, a pay that's much higher than your current one.

you're quirkless and a good person who have always wanted to help others, which is why you became a doctor. so you were terrified to know that your former boss is a villain and that you are now in charge of taking care of one. if you refuse, of course they'll have to kill you so you wouldn't tell anyone about what they just told you.

hence, your weekly session with dabi starts. garaki wanted you to facilitate the sessions in your own apartment so it'll be safe for both you and dabi, instead of the two of you having to go somewhere else which increases the risk of heroes and police finding the two of you, especially dabi who's a wanted criminal.

treating dabi's scars requires dabi taking his clothes off, except for his underwear because according to him, he doesn't have burns there. you agree without any further questions. it also requires you gently cleaning and exfoliating the scars to remove any dirt or dead skin. after cleaning, you instruct him to submerge himself in your bath tub where the water has some medication mixed in it to soothe the scars. after he dries himself, that's where you carefully wipe his scars with more medication using cotton balls and the like. overall, it's an intimate activity, which you are used to because you’re a doctor. but dabi seems a bit stiff and awkward sometimes, which he successfully masks under his perpetual smirks.

your first few sessions are mostly quiet and awkward. but as time goes by, dabi has started to become more talkative. he always asks you questions about yourself, telling you that he of course wants to know more about his own personal doctor. he asks simple questions like what's your favorite food, favorite color, hobbies. scared of angering him, you respond to his inquiries. eventually, you start to ask him about himself too but not forgetting the disclaimer that he doesn't have to answer them if he doesn't want to. you're afraid that he might think you're nosy. to your surprise, he smiles genuinely when he replies.

one day, you start finding takeout food on your dining table with a note from dabi on days where you two have no scheduled sessions. and eventually, he starts bringing food that you can enjoy together before and after your 4-6 hours sessions. 

you begin to spend more time together but in an unplanned manner. he would suddenly knock on your door or even sneak through your window at night covered in dirt and fresh scars, which he gets from altercations against both heroes and petty villains. or from drunk fights at the bar. he'd ask if he can take a shower and if you could attend to the wounds, to which you oblige. sometimes, when it's too late into the night and he's too exhausted to go back to the league's hideout, you just let him stay.

in the morning, there are times where you'd find him cooking simple breakfast for the two of you as thanks for letting him stay. or sometimes he'd just leave food for you and be gone before you wake up. this amuses you, thinking that what he'd do in the morning depends on his mood.

unlike before wherein he leaves as soon as the session ends, now the two of you watch movies together while eating dinner. one time, you fell asleep before the movie ended and he carried you to your bed. 

you're surprised to find that the villain has a warm and friendly side to him, which you didn't expect at all. you're the same age and you enjoy getting along with him.

and to be honest, there are times when you feel like he's flirting with you. but you dismiss the idea right away, thinking that it's impossible. knowing what you know about dabi, strength is important to him, so why would he be interested in a weak and quirkless girl like you?

but surprising you with food regularly and the vague words of flirtation would all be set aside when he begins making physical moves on you.

staring at your face and your lips as you meticulously replace his surgical staples and wipe his scars with medication.

closing the distance between the two of you as often as he can, like when you eat, watch movies, and wash the dishes together.

slithering his index finger into your medical glove and onto your palm as he stands closely behind you where you can feel his breath behind your head. your heart is racing as you feel and watch his slithering finger. after some seconds, you pulled away your right hand and walked away from him without saying anything, focusing on doing some work instead.

there's a short silence before dabi leaves and says, "bye, see you next week" normally, as if that whole intimate thing didn't just happen.

your next session is quieter than usual, which feels just like the first time. but now there's an unspeakable tension brewing in the air. it feels heavy. it's already evening when the session ends. your back towards dabi as you clean up. dabi is putting on his coat as he watches you, until he decides to finally break the hours-long silence. 

"can i kiss you?"

"what do you want, dabi?"

"i just said it. a kiss-"

"why do you want to kiss me?" you finally face him.

"you know the answer to that, doll." he smirks.

"no. no, i don't, dabi." you're surprised to feel tears prickling your eyes as you walk towards him. "i'm not gonna kiss you just because you tell me to. i'm not here to play your games."

"it's not a game." his tone suddenly stern and serious, smirk disappearing.

"yeah? answer my question, then."

dabi takes a slow and deep sigh before he answers, his eyes not leaving yours.

"i want to kiss you because i want you. i have all these feelings inside me that i'm experiencing for the first time. even when i busy myself with missions, even when i'm not here with you and i'm somewhere else, you're all i can think of. i want to see you all the time, hear your voice all the time, feel your touch all the time... even though it's just to treat my scars because that's what you're paid to do." he says with a painful smile. "i don't know know what to do with these feelings. i really don't, y/n. so... i'm sorry if i made you think that i'm just playing."

you're too stunned to speak or move after hearing him ramble on about his feelings. it's hard to believe, but the villain right in front of you just confessed to you. 

you don't even realize that the tears have fallen until dabi wipes them away. you see his worried face as he blames himself. 

"kiss me... before i change my mind." you whisper to him as you close your eyes.

you two make it official and dabi begins spending more days and nights in your place. you're practically living together, except for when he has to go for missions and meetings with the paranormal liberation front. for some time, he considers bringing you to the mountain villa so you'll be closer to him, but his overprotective self doesn’t push through with it as he doesn’t want other villains around you. he’s also worried that you might be caught in the crossfire if ever the heroes find their hideout and ambush them.

for dabi, it's the first time something besides getting revenge has got him excited. it's the first time he has something to look forward to every day, and all of it feels surreal and foreign. it's the first time he feels love again.

when dabi is 100% sure that he can trust you, he divulges his identity and goals to you and only you, not even his comrades know about this information.

he tells you of his life as touya and how dabi was born. you cry as you listen to him and by the end of his story, you're a sobbing mess. 

"why are you crying?" he laughs as he cuddles you.

"who wouldn't after hearing all that?"

you accept him for who and what he is, yes. but without being too pushy, you persuade him to just run away from everything. run away together to a more peaceful place where no one knows the two of you. start a new life together. he said that would be lovely, but as much as he wants to, he can't. he's gone too far now just to turn back and leave.

you let go of the run-away suggestion and move to plan b. the next time he stays in your place, you convince him that releasing the video publicly is enough to exact revenge on his father. he can let the angry mob do their thing and he doesn't have to stain his hands with the blood of his father and brother. to no avail yet again.

although the two of you are happy together, dabi can't help but feel guilty and inadequate. because of his identity as a villain and a wanted criminal, you can't go on normal dates like eating at restaurants and watching movies in the cinemas. you can't even go to the nearby grocery together. 

he also feels terrible for making you worry every time he comes home with fresh burns and wounds.

one night, he watches you sleep and caresses your face. that's when he decides to write a letter for you.

it's the same letter that he mentions during his phone call with you as the heroes suddenly invade them in the mountain villa and in garaki's hospital. he quickly updates you with what's happening and also mentions that he has an important letter for you that you can find in the clothes drawer that you designated for him in your place.

after the call, you hurriedly looked for the letter which you find underneath all the clothes you bought for dabi before.

hi baby,

you're probably surprised to learn that i'm the love-letter kind of guy. me either. but i have no choice but to write this letter because i'm too much of a coward to say these things to you personally.

i love you. you know that. do not ever doubt that.

even for just a short time, i felt genuine happiness because of you. you're the only sunshine in my life's years-long darkness. but beneath our happy times, there was always this dread lingering in the back of my mind because i knew that ultimately, we wouldn't have a happy ending.

you deserve someone better. you deserve a good man who can give you the life you want, who can make you happy and take care of you, who won't make you worry all the time, a man who is not a villain.

this pains me immensely, and you may even get mad at me for this, but i need you to please forget me and move on. this is the best thing to do as we both know that you're not safe with me. the fact that you're reading this now means that we've reached the point where it's inevitable to part ways.

this is just wishful thinking and you would probably find it ridiculous, but perhaps there is another life out there in the universe—a life where i'm not a villain—where there's no dabi, only touya. and in that life, i will find you and i will love you again, so we can finally get that happy ending. i promise.

thank you very much, y/n, for accepting me, for taking care of me tirelessly, and for doing beyond what you were originally tasked to do. i love you.

P.S. honestly, i never thought i could ever love someone until i met you. and i still can't believe that i am loved by someone as great as you.

you're devastated as you cry for a long time, clutching the letter into your chest. then, the video he recorded suddenly interrupts the television broadcast. you already know everything he's going to say, but you still watch attentively.

later on, the heroes in charge of evacuating the civilians finally reach your street as you hear them from a distance. 

you keep thinking about the last part of dabi's letter. you ask yourself why the two of you need another life to have a happy ending, when you can just try in this lifetime. you're not ready to give up on what you and dabi have.

you don't know what will happen now that chaos is ensuing, but you decide to go with the heroes because you still want to see and talk to dabi. you want to respond to his letter by talking to him face-to-face. and for that to happen, you still need to live.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

What if the reader come to they world instead how will all the Organization react

When you came to their world

Self-Aware! BSD characters x GN! Reader

Warning: OOC, Slight Yandere. English is my second language.

A/N: The order of characters in Port Mafia and other organizations (except ADA) can be changed, when I will start writing full entries about them. Also, I am currently reading Gaiden, so, right now, I won't add Gaiden characters for now (Still planning to add them, when I start writing about The Government). Same situation with 55 minutes characters.

Another thing, my ideas about many characters are still in work in progress, so, they can change in the future.

_____________

The time has come. Finally, after all this time, they have fond a way to the real world. To Their Guiding Light.

Just a few moments left before their first meeting.

All of them gather near the portal.

The honor of turning it on was given to Atsushi Nakajima. The first person who became self-aware.

Atsushi pushes the button.

Bright light... So bright, no one can see anything...

Loud noise...

Then light faded...

But they were still there. The portal didn't work?

Everyone felt devastated. They hoped, they will be free from this world. They will be with you.

Then they heard a familiar voice.

"What in the...?"

So, the portal works. But it works wrong. Their Guiding Light were standing there.

Shocked...

Scared...

Real...

Their Guiding Light have come to their world.

___________________

General reaction:

🐾 Panic! Everyone is panicking, including you.

🐾 That's not how it should be!

🐾 When everyone calmed down, BSD gang explained the situation to you.

🐾 They also explained, what is happening in their world.

🐾 One thing must be noted. BSD characters have never been planning to kidnap you and bring you to their world.

🐾 Their world is a mess. Organizations members are the only people over there, streets are empty, night and day cycle are irregular and bizarre.

🐾 They think, that it would be torture for you to live in this world.

🐾 You, after some thinking, tell them, what cons and pros you see in your current situation.

🐾 Pros in living in BSD World:

1. There are no problems with supplies. You won't go hungry, thirsty, dirty or sick. 2. You have your favorite characters [You apologize for calling them characters, but everyone was chill about that] to talk to and spend time with.

3. No school/university/work. No taxes.

4. You can visit all Yokohama famous tourist spots for free. Plus, you can visit places from manga, including ADA building, Port Mafia headquarters, Moby Dick, Rats in the house of the dead base, Hunting Dogs headquarters, Sky Casino, Meursault and Mukurotoride.

5. There is nothing dangerous in this world.

1. The emptiness of the world and inconsistency of night and day will take a toil on you.

🐾 Cons in living in BSD world:

2. BSD Characters not only wanted to be with you. They wanted to be in reality. In a world full of other people.

3. You won't be able to see your family/ friends/ pets/ people that you hold dear.

4. Yokohama is the only normal city out of here. You won't be able to visit other cities.

5. You will have problems, if/when you got back in the real world. How exactly you are going to explain your disappearance?

🐾 At the end of the discussion, you all came to one decision. They will try to redo the portal to bring all of you to the real world. Untill then, you are having a vacation in Yokohama.

🐾 And if they won't be able to find a way... Well, that way they will make sure you won't be hurt. They will protect you.

Armed Detective Agency

🐯 Atsushi will think it's all his fault, so he will do his best to assure your stay here is comfortable. Will try to master full tiger transformation, so you can cuddle with him.

📒 Kunikida will try to make a schedule for you. It's a necessity in this world, so you can have a food and sleep schedule.

🩺 Akiko will be your personal doctor № 1. Will monitor your health. If you had problems with your health before come to their world, she would treat you. Even use her ability.

🌨️ Junchirou will be one of your guides. He and Naomi will show you around Yokohama. Also, he is the one who will cook for you.

👩🏻 Naomi will always be ready to have a conversation with you. She doesn't want you to become bored.

🍵 Kirako will make the best tea she can for you. Also, will talk with you about Mii-chan.

🛏️ Katai will find anything he can from your world Internet. Also, will monitor the police reports about your disappearance.

🐄 Kenji will go with you for a walk every day. He will insist on going outside the city.

🐰 Kyouka will be another person who will cook for you. Also, will invite you to eat boiled tofu.

🕵🏻 Ranpo will share his candies with you. Also, will discuss real life crimes with you.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa will comfort you, if you need it. Will give you head pats.

🪢🦀 Dazai will try to keep you happy. He will do anything for you.

Port Mafia

💉 Mori will be your personal doctor № 2. Also, takes you on a shopping trips. Even if the shopping means breaking into the shop and take everything you want.

🍷 Chuuya will be another of your guardians. If you ask, will use his ability on you, so you can levitate.

🌂 Kouyou will keep you company. She, Kyouka and you will have tea parties together.

🇫🇷 Paul is your protector №3. Will try to learn, if you have enemies in the real world.

🎧 Rimbaud will share his coat with you, in case you became cold. Doesn't care, if he had to cuddle you to keep you warm.

🧥 Akutagawa will become your shadow. Will let you touch Rasenmon.

🔫 Higuici will be a part of the "friends for conversation" group. Will teach you, how to shoot, if you want to.

🚬 Hirotsu will tell you interesting stories about his past and about Yokohama.

🔪 Gin will keep you silent company. Also arranges tea time for her, Akutagawa and you.

🧲 Tachihara, been the member of two organizations, will do double job in taking care of you. Will protect you with guns and with any metal he can find.

🍰 ⭐⭕ Elise and Q will offer you to play together with them. And annoy Mori.

🍋 Kajii will offer you to do some experiments. Will blow something, if you ask him.

🍛 Oda will simply keep you company and giving you a tour around Yokohama.

The Guild

💰 Fitzgerald will bring you to a Mobi Dick, so you can stay in luxury.

🦝 Poe will read you his new novels. Also, Karl will curl on your lap.

🐋 Melville also will tell you stories about his youth and days of been The Guild leader

🐙 Lovecraft will tell you horror stories. Will let you sleep on him.

🍇 John will try to teach you about farming. Perhaps, one day, it will be useful.

☕ Lucy will try to keep you company. Only when Atsushi isn't with you.

🪶 Alcott will spend all her time to find a way to fix the portal. Bring her coffee time to time.

👒 Mitchell will offer you to teach you, how to be comfortable around rich people and how to show yourself.

♊ Twain will talk with you about his book. Will go with you if you want to take a look around forests near Yokohama.

✝️ Hawthorne will listen to you, if you want to vent. He, been a priest, is a good listener.

Rats in the House of the Dead

🫖 Goncharov will be your self-appointed servant. Will do his everything to make sure you are comfortable.

😷 Pushkin will show you Meursault. Also, will bug you, asking you to tell him more about his real world counterpart.

Decay of Angels

🐀 Fyodor will try to find the way to fix the portal. Will ask you questions about your world. Will let you wear his hat.

🤡 Gogol will be your partner in crime. If you want to set something on fire, he will bring gasoline and matches.

🃏 Sigma will bring you to the Sky Casino. Will teach you, how to play cards.

🧛 Bram will ask you about your world. You can talk with him about vampires in literature.

⚔️ Fukichi is another bodyguard. He is interested about your world history. Also, he is interested in politics.

Hunting Dogs

👶🧒🧓 Teruko will try to train you. Be ready to play chase with her.

💧Jouno will simply keep you company. Will tell you, if he noticed, if your friends have lied to you, before you were transported here. You had questions, how he managed to hear it through the phone speaker.

🌸 Tetchou is not allowed to cook for you. Will show you tricks with his ability.

The Government

⛩️ Taneda will be your guide if you want to take a look at the Yokohama temples.

💻 Ango will try to find news from your world, to discuss with you.

Others

👻 Oguri will discuss mystery novels from your world. And crime mystery shows.

🍎 Shibusawa will bring you to Mukurotoride. You will have a chance to lay on jewels.

🐱 Natsume will discuss your world with you. Will turn into a cat and let you pet him.

⌚ Gide is another of your bodyguards. Want to learn more about living a peaceful life.

👧 Aya will be another playmate. Will try to rope you into practicing karate with her.