#he eventually comes to find safety and comfort in holding her hand and reaches for it when disturbed or anxious haha

[stabbyhara]

Anya and Dima attempting cute couple shit but in the most socially inept and awkward way possible (they’re trying man)

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Stalking Me, Stalking You (CSI Nick Stokes) Part two

Imagine: You never saw it coming, you never knew he was there until the moment he struck. For months, this individual had stalking you from the shadows, trying to find a way into your life. Never quite able to but in his mind, time was running out and soon enough you would be completely out of reach. This was the moment to act, to ‘rescue’ you and steal you away.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, hurt but eventual comfort. Suffering, lots of suffering, slow-moving plot, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Pairings: Nick Stokes x Reader and Reader x OC (one-sided)

Word count: 3,338 words

Universe: CSI

Reader gender: Female

Part two of ten

Tagged: @just-call-me-the-old-hag @horsedragonllama @space-helen @kneelforloki

Previous / Next

Tuesday, 8 AM

It was hard to even comprehend what, the how but most importantly the why as you lay upon the lumpy, uncomfortably firm bare mattress. There was not much within the room that could easily make out through the darkness covering every inch from wall to wall. A small window was your light source, far too high up and tiny to even be considered a viable escape route. 

A bare-bones cell, where you were completely dependent upon your captor for all your necessary needs except one. How long had it been since you had been placed within these four walls? It was hard to say with any degree of accuracy but you could hazard a guess after watching the sliver of light move across the room. At least twenty-four had come and gone which gave you ever a little hope.

As you thought over the few details you remember when he had last opened the only possible exit, an empty pendant that hung in the middle of the ceiling and one single chair and table on the other side of the room and that blinking red light staring down, watching. A camera poised just out of reach, following your every motion from within the safety of a room far beyond that locked door.

You could only focus on what was important, surviving through until an opportunity presented itself. One, where you'd find a way out and into the welcoming embrace of freedom. Until such a time arose, you would bide your time knowing that your mother’s arrival would herald the alarm being raised, you had not known a moment in time when she hadn’t been resourceful when left to her own devices. 

She wouldn’t have remained at the airport for longer than what she deemed a necessary length of time to wait before flagging down a taxi. You hated to envision the sight of her arriving at the house, only to discover that you were not there. Only to try and reach out again, nervously calling again and again but never able to reach you and elevate that rapidly growing concern. 

Fear was your constant companion, never knowing what was going to happen the next time that the door opened. With one hand, you pushed yourself up until you were sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed. As soon as you sat up, the waves of nausea returned but you could ignore it for now.

Your eyes turn upwards, staring straight at the camera. As your analytic mind ran through possible scenarios but for now, it was best to comply with your kidnapper. Play along, act like the part that he wanted you to play as you observe every word spoken, the slightest action and reaction to find that gold window to escape.

It would take time but then again, right now that was all you had. It had taken more than a moment, to mull over where you had seen him before, trying to place the man who had imprisoned you against your will. Then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes widened, in suspense at the realisation of who he was and the extent of the resources he had available to play with.

Money to make his problems vanish at the drop of a hat, with one well-placed phone call to the right person. You would have to play your cards carefully and hold them close to your chest as one wrong move could send you spiralling down a path that might not come back from.

Taking baby steps as you blindly walked over broken eggshells. The click of the lock turning alerted you to the fact that you were no longer alone. He was coming through. 

“Darling, did you sleep well? “He affectionately crooned, pushing the heavy door inward, and entering the box-sized room. There was a sense of anticipation for you to reply in his tone as he stiffly stood mere feet away, with a food-laden tray in one hand, carefully balanced but his eyes were glued to your frame. Lingering a fracture of a second longer upon your abdomen before darting away.

You could have screamed at the top of your lungs, demanding pointless answers to the mountain of questions you plucked of out the air, as to what had led him down this dark path, but what good would that do? You had seen the various outcomes, seen bodies dumped and victims torn asunder for questioning their killer’s motivations.

“My back aches but I did get a little sleep” You forced the words out, much like you would dry swallow tablets if you had no water. Your answer seemed to be good enough, as he quickly turned on his heel to place the tray down on the table.

You followed his few short steps, hesitating to move from your seated position. The table itself was bolted down to the floor, as was the chair. To keep you from wielding either as a weapon against him. He had thought through each likely eventuality, combing out stray paths that could allow you to find your way out.

This was going to be harder than you had initially considered but the security camera should have the first indication that he was smarter than most of the criminals you tangoed with daily.

“Your breakfast will get cold, come eat” There was underlying sharpness to his words as he spoke still in that disturbingly affectionate tone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday, 9:15 AM

As Officers Jack Rodriguez and Francis Sawyer rolled up to the scene, their eyes glanced from left to right taking in all the necessary details that would need to be relayed to dispatch first and then to whichever CSI would be assigned to gather evidence. 

It was a standard one-up, one-down house that looked much like the ones on either side. Nothing special from the outside. The perfect starter family home for any citizen who looking to live in this part of town.

Rodriguez pushed open the driver’s side door on the cruiser, as Sawyer silenced the siren that had flashing the blues as they raced across town straight from the police station. It was their first call of the day and they both wanted to get the ball rolling. His eyes then searched for the woman who had placed the call in the first place, one Mrs Evelyn…. 

Her surname had been a familiar one but then again, there were likely to be countless individuals with that particular surname. He pushed against the notion as his eyes landed upon an older lady frantically pacing in front of the homestead with Its front door wide out to the elements.

His keenly trained eyes noted the suitcase lying on the grass verge, remembering that the dispatcher had mentioned that this lady was the mother of the property’s inhabitant and was visiting from out of town.

“Sawyer, I’ll speak to the lady who phoned this in, whilst you secured the scene” Rodriguez stated to his partner who nodded and moved in the direction of the front door. They had always worked well together, becoming in sync over the last decade of their partnership. 

Jack with a gentle smile approached Evelyn carefully, trying his best not to startle her already frayed nerves. “Morning Ma’am, I’m Officer Rodriguez” He quickly introduced himself to try and begin an open line of communication between the two of them.

With his gun in one hand, poised in front of him Officer Francis Sawyer slowly approached the property. His eyes swept from left to right, to make sure that nothing would catch him off-guard as he moved through the threshold and into the entrance hall.

“Las Vegas Police Department” He loudly announced as he took the first step past the doorway. There was nothing but silence as he continued onwards, taking in every little detail from the empty coat hooks on the left side to the different pairs of shoes lined up on the right.

Nothing out of the ordinary thus far as he ventured further into the domain until he stopped at the threshold of the living room. This room told a completely different story. The sofa and chairs were knifed and torn into tatters, the coffee table shattered into a thousand different pieces and every drawer and cupboard gone through. 

Papers and possessions were thrown about the place, littering every inch of the floor. It was a complete and utter disaster as if a mini hurricane had come through here. As he inched deeper into the room, the crack of photo frames underfoot drew his gaze downwards. Seeing the image of one that he had crossed paths with in the past, at the shift change when she was on her way out. He blanched, as a sudden realisation hit him hard like a ton of bricks.

This was the home of one of their own. The name rang around his head once more, embedding the notion of this violation of privacy as if it was his own home that this stranger had entered and recklessly destroyed.

“LVPD, if anyone is there come out now” He tried once more but still was met with a wall of silence. He carefully wandered through the remainder of the rooms, sticking to the walls as he cleared each one. Francis went from one end of the house to the other until he stood in the kitchen at the back of the residence. Taking note of the broken glass that covered the ground underneath one of the windows. Once he finished his walk-through, he exited back out the front door to rejoin his partner to stand guard until the forensic unit took control of the scene.

Evelyn continued to listen and answer to the best of her ability the Officer’s endless barrage of questions. “Once I saw the state of the living room, I left the way I entered as I didn’t want to find myself face-to-face with the intruder” She had recalled the advice that her daughter had given her on one of their weekly catchups when she had told her about their cousin’s plight when she found her home broken into.

“I have been trying to reach my daughter since I landed, but my calls remain unanswered and this makes me think something has happened to her” Evelyn said, words drenched in heavy layers of fear and worry for her child. “How did you get in Ma’am?” Jack questioned, as he continued down this path as the picture of what had led to the phone was coming together. 

“My daughter came me a key the last night I was here, last October but the door had been left ajar which is not like my daughter at all. She would always check and make sure the door was locked before leaving” Evelyn answered honestly as this had been her child’s way even before moving to Vegas. Forever worried about her safety within and outside her residence.

As Sawyer returned, Jack could not ignore the troubled look on his partner’s face.  He had found something within those four walls as he watched him relay to dispatch an update. The familiar radio codes alerted him that there was more to this scene than what they had been informed en route. “Ma’am, is there any reason that your daughter would deliberately go missing” It was a question that needed asking, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth as the words passed through his lips. 

“No, she was looking forward to this visit.  We had plans, including dinner reservations with her partner” Evelyn blurted out, annoyed at the notion that her daughter would just up and disappear like this. 

“Do you happen to know the name of her partner? Had your daughter mentioned any concerns about them?” He pressed, knowing that any romantic entanglements would always be the first point of call in any investigation.

“His name is Nick but I don’t know his last name. They meet through work but she has never expressed any concerns. She always seemed happy when talking about him” Evelyn replied as she failed to recall any conversation where her daughter had spoken negatively about Nick. Jack nodded, noting down this in his notepad as the CSI’s rolled up.

“Thank you, Ma’am, I have your contact details and my partner will drop you off at one of the hotels as this is now an active crime scene” Jack started to explain before adding “I will let my superiors know to update you when we have more information” He tried his best to calm her but knew that she would likely be beside herself until that phone call came through.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------Monday, 11:30 PM

Captain Jim Brass entered the room without meeting the gaze of any of his colleagues. Conrad Ecklie followed close behind, much like a shadow would.

“Thank you all for waiting, at 8:45 this morning, officers were alerted to a burglary at the home of one of our own. From the testimony of the detective next of kin who had discovered the scene, dayshift CSIs have gone over the home with a fine tooth comb but it seems that this was just a distraction” Jim stated, taking a breath before continuing.

“The detective has not been sighted since 10:45 am yesterday, the availability of evidence has led u to believe that this is now a 427, that she has been kidnapped” As Jim spoke her name, he watched the expression on each of the faces change.

“We are pooling all resources together but as there will be a conflict of interest. The graveyard shift will be hands-off, using eyes only when reviewing the evidence. As Dayshift will be taking the lead. This time, Conrad spoke with authority that went above and beyond the department as Undersheriff of the entire LVPD.

Nick was beyond speechless, his face pale as the shock continued to rush through him. He could not find the words to express the true extent of his abject horror. His partner was missing and the order from up on high had all but reduced his capacity to assist in bringing her home, back to him. 

In a sense, he was an observer looking through a pane of glass, whilst others had the control and power behind his rescue. It was maddening, his blood boiled at the frustration and anger rising within. With his fist clenched, hanging by his side, to stood and listened knowing that verbally lashing out would get him nowhere fast.

Nick knew that he would need to come clean to Russell and Catherine to the extent of his relationship with the now-victimized detective. However, that meeting would come sooner rather than later, as Nick’s body language had not escaped DB Russell’s observant gaze. It was dissimilar to how the other had responded. The quiet fury reminded the older man not of a colleague or friend but of a deeper, more passionate connection.

His keen and well-trained eyes had moved through the room, watching how each of them had reacted. Frustration and annoyance hung in the air, they all wished to help to get to the bottom of this. They had worked alongside the Detective in question, some for many years, others not quite as long. He had only worked with the Dectivictive on a handful of cases but still, she was an easy-going well trained and personable individual.

Nick was a man bounded by limitations but ready to fight back when the opportunity arose, to go to the end of the earth, searching under every rock along the way. His eyes told a story, one that would be similarly reflected in his own if his family had been the ones to be taken.

He needed to speak to Nick Stokes the seasoned Criminalist before Nick Stokes the man and loving partner took hold and crossed a line that he could not come easily back from.

There was no personal connection for him, Russell would view the evidence objectively without bias but his colleagues would likely struggle. They would most definitely try but Stokes was an unknown element. A match that could easily spark into a blaze, he would need assistance in quelling this fire before it started. Catherine Willows would be an ideal second, to tag along into this meeting. 

With this knowledge, the cogs in his mind begin to turn. “Catherine, A word if you wouldn’t mind” Russell’s focus shifted back to the blonde woman standing across from him. He gestured with his left for her to follow him. She quickly nodded, before the pair of them exited the room,

His eyes flicked back to the layout as the two of them entered his office, walking as the lone Texan stepped into the hallway. His entire posture was tense, driven by powerful emotions that could send him spiralling down a dangerous road.

“What do you want to talk about DB?” Catherine enquired, from the other side of his desk, patiently waiting for him to answer. “Close the door please, As this pertains to Nick Stokes,” He said calmly, taking a seat behind the desk in his recently acquired office, decorated with his little personal touches. 

Catherine quickly closed the door but turned sharply back when Nick’s name was raised. “Nick? Relating to what exactly?” She questioned, taking a step closer to the man who was effectively her boss and superior.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------Sunday, 7:30 PM

His eyes remained fixed upon the long strait of the road ahead as he passed a sign on the side of the road. The twenty-five foot high tall incandescently lit up sign that marked the Vegas limits as his eyes briefly lifted to take in the words upon the back of it.

DRIVE CAREFULLY, COME BACK SOON

A smirk spread across his lips, as he turned his attention back to the road. A thought crossed his mind. He had no intention of ever returning to this city again, especially now that he had what he craved the most. All tucked away in the trunk of the car, she would still be knocked, thanks to the cocktail of drugs that he had administered not long before leaving the shack where his prize had been concealed. 

This was just the beginning of their life together, as long as she played her role to perfection like he knew she would. The winding road would indeed be arduous, for it would be a long while before they reached home. Yes, it would be their home to spend the rest of their days together.

She was different, unlike the others who tried and failed to live up to his high standards. She was the ideal candidate. She would succeed, where the others had been dismally disappointing. Those who let him down did not deserve to breathe the very same air as he did but they were not worth another wasted moment of his time, even to reflect upon.

“Here’s to the next chapter of our lives Darling” He smugly announced confidently, knowing that there was no one else around to hear his words. Not even his darling, who was lost to the drug-induced slumber. For there were no loose ends to tie up, they had all be swiftly taken care of, one way or another.

No direct evidence linking back to him, all the angles had been carefully considered before taking action. Oh, how wished that he could watch them scramble around like lost little lambs trying to find their way in the dark. Alas, that could not be, it was the risk that was too high for him to take without compromising his escape. It had needed to be a clean getaway, without that the probability of discovery rose to a level that could lead the cops right to his door.

He would not lose her, not after all the time that he had invested in his venture to simply obtain her, to rescue her and make her his.

[pocket-lad]

Grief - Part 3

Prev

“Well I’ll be,” croaked a deep voice.

Rowan froze, afraid to look at its source. The giant was always so loud, so slow. She could hear him coming a mile away, which was why she was so confident in her borrowing. Out of all the places she could have ended up, she considered herself lucky to call this place home. Until today, she guessed.

It made sense. Her luck had to run out eventually, but she never thought today would be that day. That day had to be far in the future.

But the Bean was there. Rowan could feel his presence and she could feel his stare. He hadn’t made a move for her yet, but that could change in the blink of an eye, so she couldn’t just stand there. With the safety of the walls so far away, she couldn’t run either. And despite how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of a third option.

“Where did you come from?” Geoff asked. That was the Bean’s name. Geoff.

Over the course of an eternity, Rowan turned her head to face him, but vastly underestimated his height.

She seemed to realize she was still holding a chunk of a cookie and immediately dropped it to the counter. “You can have it back…I’m sorry.”

Geoff’s eyes widened slightly with the revelation that the small person on his counter could speak. Then he laughed.  “Keep it. I shouldn’t be eating those damn things anyway. In fact…” He made a move to grab the package of Lorna Doone’s and pull out a whole cookie for her, but stopped when she stumbled backward.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “I won’t hurtcha. Here.” He reached for the package again and ignored her when she moved even further away. The plastic crinkled as he opened it and pulled out a cookie with a suspicious chunk missing. He set it a couple inches away from her.

Rowan yelped and threw her hands over her head as if that would protect her. But when nothing happened, she uncurled to find the rest of the cookie sitting innocently in front of her. She looked incredulously from the cookie to Geoff and back to the cookie again.

“Go on,” he insisted. He noticed the way the cookie was roughly half her size.

Slowly, Rowan inched toward it. She hesitantly lifted up one end and dragged it backward toward the wall, keeping her eyes locked onto Geoff for any sign of deception. She’d abandon the food if she had to. But he just watched her, all the way until she disappeared into the walls.

Geoff hummed to himself, mildly flabbergasted. This was perhaps one of the strangest things that had ever happened to him. It seemed as though he had a tiny person living in his walls, and she was scared beyond belief.  He wondered how long she’d been there. Regardless, he hoped she would come out again. It was about time he found himself a new friend.

Rowan, on the other hand, planned to leave immediately. She was found out. That was that. But there was something holding her back. Not once did Geoff reach for her or threaten her. It was disturbing to have such large eyes tracking her every move, she had to admit, but all he did was watch her. And he let her take the rest of the cookie.

Maybe Rowan would sleep on it. Moving was a big decision - one that shouldn’t be made impulsively. She thought herself unlucky for having been discovered, but perhaps her good luck would continue. Perhaps she found the only nice Bean in the whole world. Perhaps not. Only time would tell.

***

Daisy’s offer shouldn’t have taken Rowan so off-guard, but it did. Her first instinct was to decline and run away. That would mean climbing into the hand of a mostly unknown Bean and trusting that Bean with her whole life. That would mean leaving everything she knew behind.

What did she have left for her here, though? Comfort and stability, maybe? But even then, Rowan was just weighing different unknowns. The unknown of staying, of living with a whole new, potentially dangerous set of people, of risking discovery. Or the unknown of leaving, of traveling vast distances, of trusting Daisy, of uprooting her life.

Maybe going with Daisy was the right option. A terrifying option for sure, but the giant was right. Rowan couldn’t live here without Geoff. It would drive her insane.

Slowly, Rowan edged out of the crack in the wall, keeping her eyes trained on Daisy for any sudden moves. The woman was standing with her chest pushed right up against the mantle, well within grabbing distance. But she stayed still, watching.

“Okay,” Rowan said breathlessly.

Daisy smiled gently. “I’m ready to go. Is there anything you need to pack?”

Rowan shook her head. Everything she held dear was in her bag already. A sentimental part of her thought she should take one last look at the little home she carved out for herself in the walls all those years ago, but another part knew it was just an excuse to delay the inevitable. She’d seen those walls a million times. They would be burned into her memory forever.

Daisy rested her hand at the edge of the shelf and waited expectantly.

Everything in Rowan went cold. It was one thing to say she would go with her, it was another to actually do it. The hand was so big, so alive. It twitched in ways that were probably too small for Daisy to notice and some of its wrinkles were big enough for Rowan to stick her fingers into. The fingers buzzed with an energy that gave the appearance of a trap, like they would snap closed at any second.

“It’s alright,” Daisy said, registering Rowan’s tense posture.

“Please be careful,” Rowan whispered.

“I will.”

Still, she stood for another minute or so, unable to make anything happen. Her feet felt like they were superglued to the wood. But they weren’t, because eventually, one of her feet shuffled forward. And then the other. It was as if Rowan floated over to the hand.

The hand nearly came up to the height of her knees, almost glowing as it reflected the overhead light. There was no turning back now, so Rowan lifted her feet a little higher and stumbled forward onto the palm.

The skin itself was spongy, but the hand felt quite firm underneath her thin shoes. The twitchy fingers felt much more menacing up here, but they did little more than twitch.

Rowan hesitantly looked up at Daisy, who was trying to suppress a smile. The wonder with which the borrower regarded her hand was adorable, and she looked so small. She didn’t know what went on between her dad and the borrower, but she was determined to watch after her. They had to stick together, if only because they were all the other had. They were the only two in the whole world that understood.

“Let’s go,” Daisy said.

Rowan nodded but was only slightly sure Daisy saw it. Regardless, the hand lifted off the ground and Rowan fell to a seat from the quick speed. The world flew by her in a blurry mess of light and color. She desperately wished for something to hold onto, so she clutched her bag to her stomach and closed her eyes. It would have to do.

When the motion stopped, she peeked an eye open. They were at the front door, facing the inside of the home. She felt the rise and fall of Daisy’s chest behind her as she took a deep breath, and she could swear she even heard the air moving in and out of the woman’s lungs. That was…weird.

Rowan ignored it in favor of looking into the empty home. It looked emptier than ever from over here. It held a lot of memories, but those were memories she’d be able to keep in her head. She didn’t need a house to remind her of all the time she spent with Geoff.

“You alright?” Daisy asked.

Rowan only briefly glanced up at Daisy’s face, unnerved by the steep angle with which she had to do so. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Daisy turned around, opened the front door, and took a step outside. For the first time in a very long time, Rowan was about to experience a whole new world. And despite the horrible circumstances that led to their departure, she was ready.

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: “Do you do that a lot?” Dr. Owens questions, briefly resting his chin in a curled fist. “Do what?” She says with the click of her tongue. Her stubborn attitude keeps a grin on the man's face. A look of genuine entertainment no matter the softened glare in her eye or bitterness in the tone. She knows what he’s asking, yet dives out of fire and deflects with sarcasm. A behavior Jim Hopper had warned him of. “Avoid a challenging situation with humor. We all know why you’re here–why you came back for another session. But you,” he takes a pause as his fingers flick through the air in gesture. “dance around the topic.” wc: 2,672 warnings: therapy, hallucination, denial

It’s December twenty-first, and the air has grown colder. The snowfall was heavier - collecting on the ground and piling up against the windows. There’s laughter in the air. It’s heard throughout the small town of Hawkins as she passes them by in the early morning. There’s a lack of empathy - but more so, envy. The teenage girl expects to find her burden lifted - space given up and freed for more joy, rather than sorrow. Yet, despite last night's confessions, there’s a shocking lack of relief. A soul that aches and pleas beneath the ticking of the clock. The race of an anxious heart as she stares out at the white expanse, searching for what she longed for.

A moment of peace.

His voice is buried by her thoughts. Muffled questions eventually come to a halt as he takes notice of her attention elsewhere. He even spares a glance toward that same window, finding nothing of importance. The doctor is patient and kind. Holding out a hand to stall the officer at the other end of the room, who was prepared to break the spell. Dr. Owens simply lets her be. Let her wallow in it until she’s ready to come out from hiding all on her own.

Like a wounded dog reaching out to a hand of kindness. It’s frightened expression finally fades as it pokes its head out from the comforting shadows. Timidly accepting the gift of love when trust was hard to find.

Or, a lost child. Standing on two weak legs with only the company of tall trees. Finding safety in their shade but moving further into nothingness as they wander in hopes of discovering someone to guide them home. Dr. Owens would act as her guide, should she need him.

The girl's statuesque form slowly melts in the passing seconds. A deep breath was seen with the rise of her chest as though she had been suffocating. A sudden blink of her eyes in sudden awareness before they fall on her therapist. “D’you say something?”

He could become frustrated by her drifting attention span, yet all he can do is smile kindly. “I was asking about the beginning.”

It's with those few words that her demeanor changes. She’s slumped in the seat with arms crossed over her chest, chewing at her bottom lip with a leg swaying back and forth. It’s a topic of discomfort - hell, this entire session and the ones to follow were nothing short of fearful. Addressing the already known and digging at the roots, hoping to bring light to an unknown darkness.“The beginning?”

He only nods in reply, still wearing that same grin while her focus veers off in thought. Her answer does nothing to sway him. Instead, the look of amusement grows. “Roughly four billion years ago. But, who’s t’say there was nothin’ before dinosaurs? Everyone has different opinions.”

The sheriff’s disappointed sigh is painfully audible as all falls into silence. Even without his presence, you could envision fingers pressed deep into tired eyes out of frustration. Teenagers - especially stubborn ones, were a challenge on an entirely new level. One neither man had experience with.

“Do you do that a lot?” Dr. Owens questions, briefly resting his chin in a curled fist.

“Do what?” She says with the click of her tongue.

Her stubborn attitude keeps a grin on the man's face. A look of genuine entertainment no matter the softened glare in her eye or bitterness in the tone. She knows what he’s asking, yet dives out of fire and deflects with sarcasm. A behavior Jim Hopper had warned him of. “Avoid a challenging situation with humor. We all know why you’re here–why you came back for another session. But you,” he takes a pause as his fingers flick through the air in gesture. “dance around the topic.”

Her gaze flickers between an opened notepad with its pen resting at the hinge, to the recorder just at the corner of his desk. She wonders about the emptiness. The long spans of silence she allows and if you could picture a cold stare matched with the response. “I don’t know when it really began. It’s all I’ve known.”

Blue eyes cast up toward the ceiling in thought. Lips pursed as a hum rattles within his chest. He’s thinking of where to go next - what to ask. How to keep her on this path without detour. And maybe, for a moment, she finds some sympathy for the man. Autumn had come here willingly, yet refused to chip away at her walls. Ignored the weak spots with purpose - to remain ignorant despite a yearning to know.

“Someone was in the mirror. In the walls.” Her admission is softened and almost shameful. Looking down at her bouncing knees as she feels his focus shift back toward her. “Every mirror. Every wall. I could hear them-”

“Them?” He interrupts. His arms now fallen to tangle together as his torso leans inward, invested. “Multiple voices?”

Again, dull eyes fall on the frosted glass and the snow carried by a gust of wind. “I don’t know,” the teen replies with a heavy sigh. “I can’t remember what it all sounded like. I just–I just remember-”

The faucet was left running. Steam building and rising to ghost along the surface of her reflection. She had lost track of time - gaining a lack of direction when so many fingers pointed back at her. Autumn had never been the ‘new girl’ until now. Unaware of childish behaviors and fears as they dodged her in the hallways. Or the opposite eagerness to steal the open seat at her side, like Steve had, ready to make a new friend.

Autumn simply went elsewhere. Entrapped in old familiarities of her home and the kind words her father gave, all left on repeat to give comfort. It isn’t until the scalding water splashes against her wrist that she’s pulled into the present, hastily turning the nozzle back until the water ceases.

At first, it’s soft. Murmurs that almost seemed like a hushed conversation at her back, hidden behind stall doors. When she looks, there are no small feet in the misty glass. No bookbags to suggest she wasn’t alone.

Then, a fingerprint. A young girl can see every ridge until it fully flattens. The spot is now clear of steam, leaving beads of water to drip and clear the way. There’s no more voice. Only the achingly loud beat of a racing heart echoed in her ears. It carves out a message at a slow pace. Line by tedious line until it reads a simple, “Hello.”

Figures of classmates fill her vision - small and talking with excitement as they enter the bathroom together. One takes notice of Autumn and the look of fright in her eyes, asking if she is okay in a sweet tone. The girl points to the mirror, talking excitedly about something unnatural. And while she sees every letter so clearly, they only see the dampened surface.

That’s when the fear began.

The fear of Autumn Reid.

“What happened?” The Doctor questions. His icy eyes cast downward to his paper, writing every small detail down of a girl's pitiful story as she spirals into psychosis. The way those few girls ran from the bathroom, terror in their eyes. How they confided in some random teacher, who then reported it to higher-ups, dragging the girl to the office so she could wait for her father and address concerns.

A doctor visits their home, though Autumn can’t recall him giving any attention to her ailments, speaking with Ian instead. What’s the worth of a child's word, anyway? Drowned out and small as they stand beneath the shadow of giants.

“I think my medication was increased. Things…sort of fizzled out, after. But never really stayed gone.” Her eyes look beyond the man - to the organized clutter spread out along the table just behind him. The still Newton’s Cradle, stacks of various books on mental health, and the sticky notes that spilled out between pages. And the tall plant that stood in the sunlight. Its plastic leaves shine but never need the life nature gives. For a moment, she sees her father's ugly-colored walls and dark furniture. The file cabinets and cases that lined the walls just before she destroyed it.

Ripped her home apart piece by piece to escape the monster wearing human flesh. Picturing the dirt beneath her nails as she climbed the steps, finding her room and beloved plants flipped and tattered with purpose. It brings about a sudden ache. A strike of lighting to the base of her skull radiates and burns through every nerve as it dances. Autumn suddenly feels too heavy. She allows her body to collapse forward with her palms opened for her head to rest.

“What’s happening?” the doctor questions. His face twisted with concern though it goes unnoticed by the girl as she rubs at her eyes. A pitiful attempt to wipe away the images stained within them. “Nothing,” she nearly spits out. Forcefully prying her head away to meet his eyes, while her arms hang loose between parted knees. Even without seeing the exhaustion in her eyes, by her mere tone he can tell it was a lie. The girl was haunted. You could feel the chill of ghosts that followed her wherever she went. Stuck to her ankles by shackles she had no strength to break free from.

“Are you sleeping well?”

She can’t help the genuine, huff of a laugh that escapes. Not at him - more, the reality of her life. Kids her age sleep soundly, tucked in their beds. Or maybe their insomnia takes hold and keeps them up for late hours - something easily explained. Unlike the horrors that crept through her nightmares. Unlike the demon that wore Steve’s face. A vessel used to incite fear and confusion. “I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.”

Dr. Owens's chin rests in his palm. Pen tilts upward and dangerously close to marking his skin. But he seems entranced by this new path the pair have wandered down. “Is it because you can’t? Or don’t want to?” Her heavy sigh is all he needs to confirm what he already knows. Not bothering to make small notes as he holds their connection. Full of sincerity. “What are you avoiding? Is it…this feeling of vulnerability? Something you see, perhaps.”

Tired eyes narrow into a glare as she puts her guard back up. Her posture slouched as her back rests against the chair, arms crossed along with a once bouncing leg now laid out over the other. His assumption leaves the teen uncomfortable as it effortlessly hits all of the right notes. As if can see right through her. As if he knows her. “Nightmares?”

“They don’t feel like nightmares. Before, I could just wake up and leave it behind. Whatever I saw. But, I could be here. I could be right here,” her gaze moves down toward her lap. Counting every thread of denim for fear his face will begin to morph into something else, or someone. Her entire life a mere hallucination as reality breaks apart before her. “And then, I’m not. I’m somewhere else. I’m with someone else.”

Dr. Owens remains silent just across from her. Fingers now curled and pressed to his lips as he watches that wall finally crumble bit by bit. In every word, he can hear her dread. The anxiety of simply acknowledging her madness out loud, and what it did to her. What it did to others. He wants to reach for her and offer some comfort but fights back the impulse to stay seated out of fear she may close back up.

“It’s all so real, but at the same time, it isn’t. I–I can’t always tell if I’m really awake. But, the fear-”

“The fear you feel is real,” he interjects. Watching as his words slowly sink in and the way she hesitantly nods in agreement. The subtle movement of her finger as it pulls the sleeve aside to reveal clean skin, before concealing herself once more. He doesn’t question it but makes a quick note with frantic movement.

The clock ticks on and he finds himself taking fewer and fewer notes. Keeping his focus on the girl as she hesitantly carves out every demon to set free. But they linger. Stuck to her like glue and the moment she describes what she’s seen in the night or the light of day, they crawl back into their shell. Forever part of her and unwilling to let go.

Autumn brings up her father's behavior in their final days together. Irritable, and filled with lies. Confrontational and desperate to get a grip on something he was losing. How she doesn’t remember the words spoken in their fight, only of what came after. Almost as if she woke up in the parking lot of that grocery store. The girl says she knows what he was like. How he listened to her troubles with an openmindedness, giving the only advice he felt appropriate.

“Let them in.”

Or the way he pushed and guided her through these changes in her mind. Ways to cope and accept it, rather than shy away from the unfamiliar. He wanted this. So, why did he leave her in the end? When he saw what she could do? Why did he favor his project, while his daughter was achieving the unimaginable?

The session lasts for over an hour - it’s evident in the change of light and the purposeful cough from the officer just outside of the office, in the hallway. Hopper wants it all to move slowly. No pressure, and no overextended visits so her mental health could recover. And she caves to his call as her bag is slung across her shoulder.

“One moment,” Owens states, quick to stand from his seat behind the desk, leaving Autumn frozen in place, watching as he digs through a duffle bag. What emerges is a large box neatly concealed in wrapping paper. The closer it gets, the more she can make out Candy Canes and Christmas Stockings with kittens stuffed inside. And as she holds it, she can’t help but give him a puzzled look.

“I’m sorry about the paper,” he says with a sheepish laugh. “I couldn’t find anything else.” The girl remains quiet. Fingers locked around the smooth edges with a brow raised in his direction, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Tomorrow is your birthday, isn’t it?”

“W–well, yeah. But, this can’t be appropriate, right? You’re my therapist.” Her words seem to ignite something in the bored officer. The rustle of his pants is heard in the silence as he rounds the corner, standing just after the doorway to fully understand what was happening. The doctor merely offers up a hand of peace, smiling.

“It’s really nothing. Please, I insist. Take it as a sign of…trust? Friendship?”

Autumn casts a quick look over her shoulder for reassurance from her guardian, and he gives it with a small shrug of his shoulders. He’d inspect it first, most likely. Deem it safe enough to remain in her possession. No wires or ticks–just a simple gift.

“It’s a game,” he confesses. As if the secret had been bubbling up and he could no longer withstand the pressure of it. “All about strategy. A useful thing to practice, as everything here…can apply to your life. Be aware of your surroundings. Trust in your gut, and make the move. Don’t be held back by your fears.”

Confused, her focus shifts from the heavy box to his face multiple times. Unsure of what to do or say while he seemed so passionate about a gift to a girl he hardly knew. She forces a weary smile as the distance between them grows. His hands clasped before him with a prideful look in his eyes. “Happy Birthday, Ms. Reid.”

[orangez3st]

Dream Currents

Captain Rex × OFC Force Goddess

— Chapter 21: Revelation

Tags: teen & up, f/m, gen, hurt/comfort, childhood friends, romantic friendship, fluff, pre-star wars: the clone wars, clone cadets (training in kamino), very rex-centric, rex whump, the worst is probably sw curse words (tell me if I should add more tags!)

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Finally, finally.

Sand crunches underneath his boots as he steps into the Coastline. A grin breaks out in his face, basking in the warm familiarity of it all. The wind greets him with a soft brush of tropical air, caressing his skin almost longingly, as if saying you’ve been gone quite a while.

“I know,” he finds himself whispering, but he quickly catches himself, startled. Before he can register what just happened though…

“It’s been a long time.”

He swerves around almost in a frantic manner at her voice. Sho’cye’s voice. And there, a few feet away, he finds her, seemingly materializing out of nowhere as if maintaining her quirky behavior. The woman stands before him with a luminous smile upon her face, a usualness he’s grown fond of since forever.

“Yeah,” he finds himself smiling, “It’s been a long time.”

Sho’cye takes several steps closer, brows flinching into a frown every now and then as she scrutinizes him and what adorns his body.

“Is this the armor you’re going to put on during the war?”

He nods, glancing down upon himself. “Yes.”

An expression of awe latches onto her countenance as she studies him, eventually her gaze climb up and reach his face, seemingly noting his sharper cheekbones and deeper voice of baritone. He, in turn, notes the fullness of her cheeks and longer hair, now cascading nearly past her backside.

Sho’cye steps closer to his preferred proximity, and a jovial grin stretches across her lips. “How have you been doing? You look battle-worn already. Intense command training?”

“That, yeah,” he shrugs, passing her a matching grin as he relishes in his own pride, “Everything’s okay. I’ve been enrolled in…that. Command training. Completed the whole thing as well. And I’m a captain now–“

“You are?!” Sho’cye exclaims in excitement, “Then I suppose congratulations are in order! I’m so happy for you!”

A nervous laugh escapes him, and suddenly there’s a hot sensation on the back of his neck that he needs to rub over. “Thank you,” he mumbles meekly.

Sho’cye takes a step back and attempts a really stiff salute. “Reporting for duty, Captain, sir.”

His calm countenance that’s built over the years simply crumbles. “Nooo don’t do that!” He plucks her hand and sets it back by her side. “You’re not part of my men. Don’t do that.” And he just can’t stop his running mouth when Sho’cye playfully salutes him again. “Kriff. Stars – don’t. Please don’t. You’re a goddess. I’m just a clone. Don’t salute me.”

Melodic giggles escape her and he doesn’t realize how much he misses that sound. It makes his stomach flutter and his cheeks warm.

“I know, I just like being silly at the moment.” Sho’cye grasps his gloved hand, remains of her giggles linger in their close space. “I’m just glad to see you again.”

He looks down at their joined hands, waves of fond memories flooding his mind. All spells comfort and safety. Smiling, he squeezes back, wishing he could just drop his bucket on the sand and hold her hands with both of his. Hers are just so… warm. Even through the mass-produced gloves, he can feel her warmth.

“Come walk with me,” says Sho’cye, already dragging him towards the shoreline without even waiting for his answer, “We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t you think?”

The regret of leaving her abruptly a year ago, the heaviness that sits in his heart lifts swiftly. Letting the warm comfort blanket over him, he instinctively squeezes her hand and matches her fiery pace. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “Yeah, we do.”

And they talk, for hours. A precious abundance of time spent by two friends catching up for lost time. Eagerness and excitement of a reunion floats about them. Warm, comforting, safe. The Coastline radiates all that, like it’s always been, and always will be. Sho’cye keeps up along the shoreline where the waves brush against her feet in merry greeting, and he’s a shoulder brush away from her, preferring the dry land with less damp sand. Her foot trails are swept away by the water, while the imprint of his boots leaves heavy traces along the sand, their exchanged fond looks and bright chatter intermingle in the peaceful scenery.

“You always ask how I’m doing.” Remains of his grin from the previous topic of clone shenanigans are still apparent. “How about you? You been doing okay by yourself?” he asks, instinctively catching her elbow as she lets out a little yelp when her foot sinks too deep in the sand, catching her by surprise. “Careful,” he mutters, letting out a laugh.

“Thanks.” Sho’cye grins back up to him, softly patting his vambrace. “Well. As I have been for many millennia,” she answers his question. She shrugs at him with a smile. “Although a company wouldn’t hurt. I love your company.”

He looks at her incredulously. “You’ve got fellow deities and you’re looking for company in a clone like me?”

Sho’cye scrunches her nose. “I don’t do this with fellow deities.” If possible, her sea green eyes light up even brighter. “You’re much more fun to talk with. Fresher things to talk about, if you will. I love learning about you and your soldier routine.”

“You sure you’re talking about the same routine that I went through for the past ten years?”

Sho’cye shoves his arm playfully, eliciting another laughter out of him as he lets her. He looks down at her, and he can feel his stomach fluttering at her rather childish pout on her lips, expressively scolding him for the teasing remark.

Sho’cye waves off his amused chuckle before her tone gradually shifts into a more serious one. “Ten years is a blink of an eye to me. I’d rather be stuck ten years with you and your routine storytelling rather than a century with a fellow deity.” Smiling now, her gaze softens as she meets his gaze. “I’ve grown fond of you. Clones. You lot are everything to me.”

“Why?” shoots his voice before he can stop it. It’s at that moment as well the perplexity catches him off-guard and halts his own walk. Sho’cye follows suit, meeting his questioning gaze with a graceful intensity. He stares deep into sea green orbs, and sighs. “We’re just… clones. We don’t have anything of possession. Just hard skills we’ve learned over the years.” We aren’t natborns. We aren’t born, we’re decanted. We come out of tubes. We never touch the ocean. We haven’t seen the rest of the galaxy.

“You have everything,” Sho’cye beams. “Hope. You have hope. Hope is everything.”

“We… kind of call it morale.”

“Well, then, you have me,” says Sho’cye, half-teasing, stepping closer to him. “Do you call me morale?”

“Most of us who adore you do,” he mutters quite seriously, the calm breeze carrying his voice loud enough for her to hear.

A realization dawns on him. This is it. This is the moment. The perfect time to ultimately ask the question of all questions – the one that has plagued his mind since the beginning, and he has been patient along the delay and through all the I will tell you but not now she’s been tossing his way. He knows better than to turn his back on the elusive response. If he can’t bulldoze straight through it because one of those when the time is right I will tell you, he technically can go around it. To achieve this, he’d maybe willing to go in circles and test his remaining patience further.

“Why?” His tone isn’t pressing, however – attempting to channel Sho’cye’s own gentleness into the threads of his words. Being less hostile is the best way to dig and scrape out some truth, after all. And because he values all that is her, and he respects her deeply. For a fleeting moment, he lets his bold eagerness, his previous assumption, slip through the cracks, putting a firmness into his tone as he pushes, “Are you planning something for all of us?”

“Yes.” Sho’cye inclines her head. “And for you, especially.”

He then watches her breathe, inhaling and exhaling as rhythmically as the waves behind them, eyes shut in deep contemplation. A stray lock of midnight ocean hair slips away from her ear and brush against her nose and cheeks in the soft breeze. Makes a slight mess all over her face. Exhaling, he cautiously takes a step back and puts his line of sight somewhere else. It takes everything within him not to lift a hand and tuck everything back into place.

“I didn’t appear before you out of whim… nor to gain your respect and your worship.”

Sho’cye is already awaiting him for his attention back to her. Sea green orbs stare into him, the serene and enthusiastic glimmer within has dissipated and been replaced by a mix of heaviness and misery. It’s in that moment where he realizes the burden of the truth incoming.

“You are a soldier marching to war. You must take your surroundings sharply and know what you’re fighting against.” A flash of something flits past her brilliant eyes, her face slightly contorts in recollection and she shudders – for a moment he thinks he sees fear. Her gaze returns to him sharply, her voice dropping acutely low. “There is deep, dark evil lurking among the most delicate stream of happenings in the galaxy. Rotten intentions hiding behind a kind face. Sufferings behind good cause. Nightmares behind promises. To eradicate this evil is what you and your army would wage the war for.” Sho’cye stares blankly at something beyond his shoulders, her next words that come out of her mouth are barely above a whisper. “A chessboard has been laid out. The players are ready. Pawns will be placed, and they will be moved. But they won’t budge, unless they have something to believe in. To fight for.”

He nods his head once. “The Republic.”

Sho’cye takes his hands in hers. “For the galaxy. Not for me.”

This is about her worrying the clones, his brothers, would somehow change their cause for the war. For the glory of the divine ocean primordial goddess whose patronage they seek first and foremost. He seeks deeper. Chances are this is about her worrying she’s done too much. Too much motivation. Too much belief. Too much dependency of his brothers’ clinging onto her. Excessive feat. The risk of the clones forgetting what they’re here for in the first place…

Can’t even imagine why anyone would defect from the war cause.

A sense of dread washes over him, but empathy quickly takes place.

She’s worrying that the clones growing too comfortable in her presence that it dragged out their reluctance – pacifistic comfort over patriotic efforts – and their morale for the prosperity of the Galactic Republic lessens. She wants this war to occur. He can’t say he doesn’t want the same thing either – otherwise all those trainings will be in vain, especially with the amount of trust and respect put in him by revered trainers and the command batch.

The very purpose of his creation will be in vain, if he hasn’t found himself catching up, slowly and determinedly resolved in agreement.

“I do not wish you to wage war in my name. That’s why I keep my proximity. I don’t see your brothers every night, I give them different glimpses of dreams in different intervals – I merely give you rest and peace of mind, because I know how weary your hearts can be. Even all that… you are men with the strongest of hearts – the very quality I adore.”

Sho’cye squeezes his hands. He squeezes back in reassurance, and gratefulness. Warmth blossoms in his chest, as if a sliver of her power, her comfort, flows through their joined hands.

“I do not want you to fight in my name,” Sho’cye reiterates. “I want to help you in this war, but you must understand I cannot walk among you. I will help – I shall help. And I need your help as well.”

“We won’t hesitate when you call, however that is. I’m sure. We adore you. Most of us.” His mind is already calling for a strategic approach for those who don’t. Convince the vode. Words from the vode are strong. Our voice always means something to each other.

And yet his dissatisfaction remains, like a burning, agonizing fire that spreads too much heat, and he needs it extinguished. A cold bucket of water to smother hot coals of query.

“But why?” he strains, “Why do you want to help us?”

Sho’cye moves her gaze downward, onto their hands. How his hands now taking hers in his, both thumbs slowly brushing against the back of her hands back and forth, attempting to pass over comfort even through the fabric of the gloves. He feels his cheeks slightly warm at the thought of taking them off just to feel her skin and actual warmth without barriers, yet he dismisses the predicted awkwardness almost immediately. It costs him an instinctive flinch and a squeeze to her hands, and it seems to ground Sho’cye back to earth from whatever storms of conflict brewing inside her.

“The Force,” Sho’cye finally reveals, “It changed its course. To plunge the galaxy into cruel darkness is no longer what it wishes. The Force sent for me... to carry out this wish. And to ensure the galaxy falls into the right balance – the balance that is good and unified. People throughout the galaxy live in peace and harmony and abundance of life, not in fear and endless suffering.”

Too much.

It’s too much.

His mind goes blank for a while.

The Force, as she’s explained in some of their encounters, is what moves within the galaxy. The universe. The Force is in and around and is everything. Every graze of wind. Every drop of water. Every flick of fire. Every rumble of the earth. Voiceless whispers that tell which direction to move towards. A divine mandate. A will.

And it wants the war… us… the Republic, the clones… to lose?

He breathes through his anxiety. Sho’cye’s sea green eyes pierce into him, watching every bit of his reaction almost intently, as if testing him whether he can handle such… such a bleak revelation. He tries to backtrack, to recite what he just learned, and feels his worry slowly subside.

The… Force. Changed its mind.

Why? Too cruel? We all too precious to be massacred? He almost laughs. But… that means we’ll win the war. But that also means we’re gonna change catalyst events that would make us lose in the first place.

He wonders what could that be.

And she actually wants to help to win this war. Divine intervention.

He wonders how.

And she knows.

She knows how it would all have ended had the Force not changed its mind. Pain and suffering echo throughout the galaxy under the despondency of its people. Sho’cye has seen the future.

“You’ve seen it,” he registers, letting shock take over him, “Meaning you had visions of these?”

A slow nod confirms his thoughts.

“I have seen it,” she rasps, “And I certainly do not want you to live in it.”

Whatever it is must be so cruel, so dark, and excruciatingly painful to foresee that his hand flies to her face, catching a stray tear streaming down her cheek. A beat of silence. Then, with a gentleness he doesn’t know he possesses, he lets the tips of his fingers move on their own, finally gathering her stray locks of hair and gingerly tucking them behind her ears. Sho’cye’s own hand catches up to his, her warmth radiating through the glove, and brings it onto her cheek. And when she leans into the touch there’s more warmth – in his hand and in his chest and everywhere in his body. Determination ignites within him, anticipating to wiping more of her mournful tears away, because swear to Force he won’t let a goddess cry.

“I cannot tell you more,” her voice whispers somberly, “For now. There is time and place for me to explain what I’m willing to give. To show you these visions… is the last thing I’d do. Knowledge of the future can also be the most torturous downfall. You stray from the path you’re supposed to walk on, and you walk into shrubs of thorn, only inflicting more pain upon yourself when an animal trap catches your foot.”

His head nods. His voice grows smaller in silent revelation. “I understand.”

“And I’d understand as well if you don’t believe me at first,” Sho’cye continues, her grip on his hand is none other than comfort and convincing. “You are young. You have a war upon you. Occupy yourself with one thing before another. Nevertheless, signs will show; you will see the war never-ending, and you will see more people suffering because of it. People betray each other. They will love each other, and that love will be each other’s downfall.” Somehow, through the pain, Sho’cye smiles at him. “I’m sure you don’t wish to live in such a world.”

“No,” he says strongly, “Like you said, that’s what the war is for. We will fight in this war to maintain peace throughout the galaxy. We clones are bred for this – trained for this. This is our purpose.”

“Then go and see it done.” With her smile, strong admiration returns in her glimmering sea green eyes. “Remember. You are a leader now. You lead men. Good men. Men who trust you and will follow you till the end of the line. I have seen many wars and conflicts erupting throughout the galaxy since the beginning of time. I know what victory and grief can bring upon a person. Triumph upon winning, and sorrow upon losing.” Sho’cye slowly plucks their hands off her cheek, and with both hands she curls his one hand into a fist. “Keep your wits about you. Grow your heart as strong as rock. Galactic war is a dreadful place, even for clones who trained in hundreds of battle sims like you.”

 Later on, they end up leaning back against one of the smoother rock outcroppings in the upper part of the beach, huddling together from the unknown future before them. The forty kilogram nuisance of an armor digs into his skin – with him quickly finding out he prefers standing when he’s kitted up – but that doesn’t matter as long as Sho’cye finds comfort in him. His hands are laid out on his thighs and his legs outstretched in front of him. His bucket sits on the sand next to him. While the back of his head meets rock, Sho’cye’s is on his shoulder bell, while her nimble fingers are working to pry his glove away. If she feels any discomfort for leaning fully into his armor, the very one that even digs into his skin when sitting down, she doesn’t show it. Again with her selflessness.

He lets his mind drift away with the waves. The calmness, the quiet, the comfort. It all lulls him to sleep. With Sho’cye so close to him, a deep sleep is resolutely tantalizing.

But his mind jolts awake when he feels Sho’cye on his skin. Her palm meets his as she slips her fingers between his, clasping his hand and radiating impossibly more warmth into the touch. He sighs happily, and he doesn’t realize he’s done it too out loud that Sho’cye laughs softly at his reaction.

“It’s Rex, by the way.”

A beat, before Sho’cye excitedly looks up at him with full hope glimmering in her sea green eyes it almost makes him laugh again at the show of joy.

“My name. It’s Rex.”

“…Rex.”

“Yeah.” Maker it feels right when she says it. “My trainer gave it to me.”

Sho’cye gapes at him in awe, her eyes twinkling like stars. A soft laugh escapes her. “Well, I like it, too. Rex. Rex. Rex.” She tests the name rolling off her tongue in a whisper, but the excessive amount of tries sends his cheeks burning that he looks away. A poke at his shoulder, and he can hear the gleeful grin in her voice as she teases further, “Finally not just any numbers now, hm, Captain?”

He groans. “Don’t call me that. You’re not part of my men.”

“What, want me to call you ‘child’ again?”

Rex chuckles, gesturing to himself – his wide shoulders, his slim physique, and strong in-attention stance had he been standing up. “Not a child.”

“So I see,” Sho’cye smiles fondly at him. “You’ve grown into a fine man, Rex. Soon, a fine leader. You will lead an entire army capable of turning the tides of the galactic war.”

Rex averts her gaze sheepishly, shrugging as he goes. “That’s the only thing I want.”

“And I’ll see to it happen.” A couple of soft pats on his hand, and a smile. Rex dares himself to meet her gaze again, but hers seems to wander into the distance – to the pinkish sky of approaching dusk, where the horizon now glows with shades of orange and yellow and dark luminescence. The light shines onto Sho’cye’s fair face, the breeze caresses her hair – it makes Rex grateful enough that the weather today isn’t bleak or raining at all. It’s warm, a bit cloudy to provide enough shade that their skin won’t burn. Warm. Just like her presence.

Suddenly Sho’cye gets to her feet, the motion automatically prompts him to do the same, albeit a little hurried. “I’d like to give you my blessing, if you will,” she smiles.

Rex feels his brows knit together in confusion. “All that wasn’t enough blessing?”

“It was a pep talk.”

“It was a pretty good pep talk.”

“I’m touched,” Sho’cye chuckles, her eyes glint genuinely. “I don’t do this, as you know.”

“What changed?” shoots Rex, but soon enough he knows he won’t be getting a crystal clear answer, so he immediately resorts to a light teasing instead, “I guess we really are special to you.”

“You are, Rex, you are.”

There’s something about that particular string of words and her melodic laugh makes his stomach do a triple cartwheel and a double flip.

“Now,” says Sho’cye, her gentle voice bringing him out of his thoughts and Rex can feel the tips of her fingers pressing against his rerebrace. “Please, kneel. If you want.”

“I could refuse?” says his last-minute teasing, half a smirk on his face, as he descends onto the sand and his knees.

Sho’cye smiles back at Rex. “I never wish to make you uncomfortable.”

A soft touch under his chin. Rex looks up by the guidance of the touch, and once again he meets her sea green gaze intensely. Her fingers. It is the tip of her fingers under his chin. Sho’cye’s thumb barely grazes against his jaw, sending his stomach fluttering again, and Rex has to clench and unclench his fists in an attempt to reign himself from leaning too far towards such a gentle touch.

“But I want to do this properly,” says Sho’cye, and the goddess’ smile is luminous, even when she teases back, “I’m still a god, you know.”

A chuckle escapes Rex, and when her hands move towards him in his line of sight, he bows his head, the air turning serene in an instant. Her bare feet, where sand finds its way between her toes, stare back at him, reminding him of her power, her might. Her almighty omnipotence all over living creatures and her domain of the ocean. It makes him feel small and undeserving in gracious humility, but the warmth that Sho’cye offers always makes him feel he’s larger and more than all that.

Rex feels her hands hovering over his head, but a second later they gently land upon his blond buzz cut. The sensation – a calming resonance of hope, consolation, relief, safe, and sound – rolls in waves inside him that he closes his eyes.

“I call upon the powers and wills of the Force. The soul who kneels before me is good, and worthy of putting what the Force wishes in motion. A war is nigh, and inevitable,” bellows her voice, stronger and deeper, thrumming even through his bones and holding more power than he’s ever heard of her, “I grant thee, and your many brothers, protection and guidance. If your conflicts ever arrive in a realm with natural body of water, I shall be there as your divine patron. When your hearts are weary, I shall be there to grant you rest. When you call upon me in need, I shall be there.”

An unexplainable sensation washes over him, like one of those moments he plunges into training pools… close, but not exactly it. This time it’s more… refreshing, and glowing a blinding light. A warm light, like Sho’cye. Sho’cye is light. The light that relishes him, plunging him into a pool of sea water that connects his soul to its wild roars of the ocean – to her very conscience. Rex breathes through it, letting the familiar warmth encompass his heart.

“For the ocean knows no bounds,” Sho’cye continues, her thumb barely grazing through his hair, “as is her unwavering compassion for those whom she loves.”

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Word Count: 4,213

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[angeart]

[part 4/4]

The wheat fields sway gently in the moonlight as Ange drags her body past them, carrying a sword drenched in zombie blood and a pack of tiny, shiny, not enough gems. The wind presses questioningly against the scrapes and bruises on her skin, but she doesn’t react, only frowns a little and walks on.

Burning protest flares up with her every step; the world is hazy, her body exhausted, depleted. A part of her is still in the mines. Still stuck in those walls. Still desperately looking for more diamonds. The rest of her—the part of her up here in the overworld, wading through the grass and braving the steep village stairs—is ready to crumple any second. To just give out the moment she finds safety.

And that’s it, really. At some point, it all switched. The whispers were too loud and the darkness too oppressive and the hate of the world a bit too suffocating, and it overpowered the need for diamonds and swiftly slid it into something else. Something more deep rooted, basic, urgent—a kind of scrambling, desperate need for safety.

Ange briefly presses a hand against the muzzle of her horse, Mumbolio; she rubs at his neck in tired, soothing motions before she lets go and stumbles on. She doesn’t go to her tiny shack—an abandoned village house she took over, that never quite managed to feel like home—instead, she starts climbing the stairs up, up, up, ignoring the screaming ache of her muscles, the protest of her body, the fading vision that threatens to throw her to the ground once again.

But she’s already fallen so many times. What’s one more fall?

She needs to go where it’s safe.

It takes much longer than it should’ve, but eventually she finds herself in front of a wooden double door. The warm light flickers beyond the window panes inside, inviting and kind, and Ange gently knocks, for the first time in a long while feeling hopeful.

There are giggles coming from the other side, in lieu of response. They sound mildly off.

That’s... unexpected.

Ange pulls her brows to a faint, concerned frown, before she pushes at the door. “Stiff, I’m coming in,” she warns.

She’s not ready to see her friend sprawled on the floor, dazed and sleepy and giggly, smelling of alcohol. “Oh, heyy, Ange!” Stiff greets, reaching both hands up into the air and grinning toothily.

“Hi, Stiff,” Ange breathes out softly and, without hesitation, she kneels down and lets those arms wrap around her and pull her down.

It feels a little bit like being pulled to her knees by the world.

Except it doesn’t feel like that at all.

It feels softer. It feels like warmth in her chest where the cold was before. It feels like taking a breath without the air fighting her. It feels like calm, like being held without being trapped, like—

It feels like safety.

Ange feels fatigue drag at her, making her body heavy and her mind muddled. She burrows into the hold, desperate for comfort, clinging to her friend. Her heart still races and, surrounded by softness, her defence walls rapidly crumble around her soul, threatening whimpers to climb out her throat.

She doesn’t want to talk about what happened though, and she doesn’t want to worry her friend. Not now. Not when things are so fresh. Not when Stiff is so out of it—

There’s a small laugh right by Ange’s ear, wild and unfocused and entirely unprompted, and she knows that Stiff is unaware of things being wrong. That he’s not in the state to read the subtle body language. That he’s blind to things he’d usually be keen to notice.

She lets herself let out a shaky breath and cling a bit tighter, allowing herself that small concession, knowing it won’t be studied and analysed and understood. It’s self indulgent and selfish, but something in her is tearing apart just a little bit, and she needs it. She needs to cling on. She needs to let that writhing, agonising, terrified vulnerability seep out through the cracks before it suffocates her completely.

“Stiffy, come on,” she murmurs, pulling herself together, tiny shard by tiny shard, with shaking hands and non-existent strength. “Let’s sleep on the bed.”

There’s a tiny grumble and then a weak show of effort on Stiff’s side.

They’re both clumsy and destabilised and useless at this point, but somehow through teamwork, they make it work. They drag each other on top of Stiff’s bed. It’s soft and it sinks underneath their weight. The torch flickers, its flame dimming. The night breathes against the windowpanes, peering in.

Ange pulls closer to Stiff, blocking it all out. Her arms are wrapped around Stiff’s torso, her hold equal parts needy and lax, ready to let go if Stiff needs to change positions or will want more space. But for now, for now, she lets her fingers curl against the fabric and cling on in an attempt to make them stop shaking—

The bed creaks as Stiff shifts and then Ange feels arms wrap around her and tug her closer. “Hey there,” Stiff murmurs, a sleepy, unaware tone, but soft and soothing nonetheless.

“Hi yourself,” Ange retorts, voice muffled.

“You’re okay,” Stiff says, a bit slurred, yawning.

Ange wonders if Stiff even knows why he’s saying it. She wonders, but she doesn’t ask. She just takes it. Squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing down the lump in her throat and the rising emotions in her chest flooding her lungs, she takes it, lets the words echo in her mind as she burrows closer, seeking desperately more of that feeling of safety Stiff seems so willing to provide.

 “Yeah,” Ange manages to half-whisper eventually; her throat feels dry and raw.

And finally, held by gentle arms and in the safety of familiar walls, she allows the exhaustion to drag her into darkness so very different from the one of the void.

[Part 1][Part 2] [Part 3]

[teddythegiant]

(WARNING;MENTION OF ABUSE)

FYI I GET THIS QUESTION SOMETIMES; No, Teddy did not get her pregnant. Marie was in an abusive relationship with her ex-husband. She sought shelter at Mama's Dinner, where she met Teddy. She was going in to pick up an food order from the restaurant while her husband waited just inside the doorway. However, Momma noticed something wasn't right. The restaurant isn't only a place to eat, but it is a place that troubled people go to seek help. There is an item ( not sure what it would be yet) that can be ordered on the menu, but it is put up there as a signal to tell Momma or Teddy that they're in trouble.

"For here or to go?"= Is your abuser here with you or at home?

Here= They're here

To go= They're at home

( Still working on what other code names there would be. But there would be indication for Momma to get information on if the person trying to escape from their abuser has anyone at their home that the abuser may try to use as leverage or hurt; family members, pets, etc.)

Momma would take the order to the back where Teddy was cooking and hand it to him. He doesn't like roughing anyone up anymore, but he will use his size and reputation to avoid conflict or violence. He would take off his apron and get a glance at Marie with her ex-husband to identify them. Once Marie and her ex leave with their food, there would be a giant hand that reaches out from the alley corner and snatches Marie's husband. Course, Marie only heard screams in the dark along with a thud before the husband remerge from the alleyway running for his life. Her husband didn't think twice about the safety for the mother of his child. Scumbag left her to her own defenses for what could have been a very violent giant. However, Teddy wasn't that type of giant. The giant man had also stepped out from the darkness and had knelt down so he didn't seem so intimidating to the small pregnant Marie. He had pulled out a card from his chest pocket which asked if she was alright and if she needed medical attention before holding his hand out to her to carry.

It took time for Teddy to gain Maries full trust in the beginning, but eventually they started to find comfort in each other's presence before slowly falling in love. It took Teddy a bit however to admit his feelings, as he still felt at fault for his past lovers death and wasn't quite ready to let her go. But just as much as Teddy had helped Marie, she had also helped him too to reach the stage of his grief which was acceptance.

( One of the bittersweet moments in our rp was that Marie would come with Teddy to help maintain his past lovers grave, and even if he couldn't go for whatever reason, she would still go herself and clean it)

Is Marie single? Asking for a friend 🧡

Yes Teddy is a MASSIVE sweetheart but he doesn't mess around with his lover Marie. Especially bc she is expecting any day now!

@paperbagdemon

[yanderechuu]

do any of the teachers ever notice the things happening to y/n? (i headcannon Mic and Midnight as yanderes that would give advice to 1A lol)

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[2.1K]

Summary: Aizawa is the first one you approached in regards to your certain predicament.

Warning: nonconsensual recording

│

Aizawa suspected something wasn’t quite right by the moment he saw you entering the class a minute before the bell rang, all haggard and teary-eyed, though you tried your best to obscure your disposition. He always knew you to often be in a state of discomfort whenever you were compelled to socialize, especially with your classmates, but now - you looked as if you reached your limit of holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, crashing down all at once as depicted on your crestfallen expression. 

And when you showed up in front of the faculty room, timidly soliciting his presence, his suspicions were only further verified. Even with a pending question regarding subject matters in your mind, you weren’t one to approach a teacher to inquire about it, and if you did it was because the teacher was the one who would ask your attendance; never the other way around.

Present Mic was the first one to acknowledge you. He stood up from his office chair, waving at you comically. “Yo, (l/n)! Having trouble with English again?”

You never had a problem with his subject; he only insisted that you’d come to him in regards to that. “N-no, not really. May I speak to Aizawa-sensei?”

“Talk with me instead!” He enthusiastically spoke and headed over to you. “Come on, what’s the matter?”

“It isn’t your place to ask that when I’m here.” Aizawa interceded, clearly unimpressed by Mic’s antics. He failed to see the latter’s displeased countenance. “(L/n), what is it?”

You avoided eye contact with him, averting your view to the ground - that was alright. You were always like this, and he didn’t mind. Nothing out of place except for the fact that it looked as if you were about to cry any moment now.

“Can we- can we, um, talk somewhere more private?” You asked quietly.

His brows raised in wonder at your request. Nevertheless, he didn’t decline you, only nodding lackadaisically before heading towards the teacher’s lounge, where you followed him suit. He flicked the door tag to ‘occupied’ and entered the room after you, when he told you sit on the three-person sofa situated not quite on the farthest left of the space. Then, he settled himself on the chair across you.

“Well?” He asked, expectantly.

But you had once again your head above a thick cloud of anxiety. You knew that after the event with Momo in the girls’ locker room - where you had injured her against your will because she had been violating your personal space - your homeroom teacher kept a cautious eye on you in case you’d re-enact that incident. And it wasn’t just that incident that made him look at you like you were a criminal on the loose, either. Your classmates found and did a lot of ways to place you in Aizawa’s naughty list just so you wouldn’t snitch on their abusive (they’d call it affectionate) behavior on you.

That didn’t erase the fact that you were nevertheless his student; he cared for you no less than he cared for his other pupils, yet you were just too ignorant in figuring that out. All that mattered to you was that you’d voice out your current concern to him, but with your insecurities holding you down it seemed it would be more difficult than you had primarily foreseen it to be.

“I-I,” you stammered out, fiddling with something inside your pocket, “u-um, you see, t-there’s this, I mean, I can’t-”

He grew increasingly frustrated with your constant stuttering, and although he did understand your shy nature which largely affected your conversational habits, he only had so much patience to deal with it.

“I don’t have all day.” He stated, glowering at your form in mild irritation. “If you’re going to keep doing that, talk to the wall.”

You abruptly halted in speaking after that, only looking down on your lap, staring wide-eyed, grief-stricken at the revelation that perhaps he really did not want to heed any of your words because you were just that bad of a student that he had decided you were not worth much the effort to concern himself with. And maybe he was right - that your words didn’t matter because you didn’t matter; that there were more affairs he better be tending to than yours; that you were only making a big deal out of this when it truthfully wasn’t.

Oh god, you felt like vomiting. Self-deprecation was getting the better of you.

He stood up and sauntered to the exit, not bothering to spare you a glance. “Come back to me when you actually know what you want to say.”

It was a matter of seconds when you ran to him, pulling him back rather harshly by the grip you had on his sleeve. He turned around due to the force to see your head still hung low, avoiding his gaze as always - only, your shoulders were quivering sporadically, and occasional sniffs were heard from your person.

“P-please, sensei...” you voiced out, shaken and horrifyingly delicate. “I-I’m so scared. Please.”

While he looked at you with contracted irises, countenance now alert from your unexpected disposition, you pulled your trembling hand out of your skirt pocket, nervously disclosing to him from your palm a small, black device with a tiny yet prominent lens.

“M-my room,” you heaved, “I-I saw this i-in my room, m-my closet, while- while I was dressing up, and I don’t know how long it had been in there but it probably already caught me bare and-”

You broke down in a flurry misery and shame, allowing yourself to fall to the ground but you didn’t - Aizawa seized you in his arms, his gentle, fatherly arms that could only do so much to console you from the horror of your reality. And he held your head as you cried on his chest, one little thing he could do after ignoring your situation and letting you think that your significance was less than the rest of his other students. At that moment, you were just so little, so fragile, so naïve he’d keep you in his pocket if he could. Why would someone do something as debauched as illegally recording your innocent self?

“I’m sor-sorry,” you sobbed, “I’m really telling the truth, p-please-”

“Shh, it’s okay. I don’t doubt you.” He reassured. Why were you apologizing? Were you that insecure of being a nuisance? No, no, you never were. Not to him. He reached for your hand to take the cursed device. “Since when did you find out?”

“J-just this morning.” You responded.

“Alright. Do you want to rest? This must have taken a huge toll on you.”

But you still had classes ongoing. Then again, you didn’t feel like looking at the faces of the prime suspects who possibly did you dirty, even when you knew that you’d have to eventually interact with them to get notes of your missed lessons. You were so tired from summoning the lot of your courage to confront your teacher regarding your problem, so you probably wouldn’t have the energy to listen to class discussion. Aizawa finalized your decision by pulling you up and guiding you towards the office of Recovery Girl who, after being briefed of your predicament by your homeroom teacher, welcomed you with a warm smile, telling you to make yourself comfortable in one of the beds in the infirmary.

He then made his way to 1A classroom, a newfound swelling of rage and disappointment in his chest, both forwarded to his class and to himself because only now did he realize that perhaps you were often so restless and apprehensive in the presence of your classmates because they did things that made you bury yourself in the deepest parts of your shell as a last attempt to revel in a sense of safety. Your timidity was not entirely derived from your own nature; it was also due to the maltreatment you were receiving from your classmates. Halting his steps by the classroom door, he looked through the glass window, seeing the class focusing on Midnight’s lecture.

Well, not quite. He could tell that your classmates were visibly affected by the lack of your presence, glancing at your desk from time to time as quiz papers were being passed behind - so they were in the middle of a test, he guessed. But that wasn’t his concern.

In impudent manner, he walked in amid Midnight’s talking, disregarding her face’s sudden morphing into vexation as the students gave him a look of confusion.

“Eraser, what are you-” she was rudely interrupted as Aizawa took the test reference papers from her hands. Something about Modern Hero Art History, he read. He faced his class with disdain, stating,

“Until someone confesses their crime of hiding a spy camera on (l/n)’s dorm room, all of you are receiving failing marks on this test.”

Quite suddenly, the class burst into violent upheaval, gasping, perking, some allowing the dreadful news of your situation to sink in, others letting out noises of complaint before actually taking consideration to the main point of Aizawa’s statement. Midnight stared at him in disbelief, but did nothing to stop his measures.

Momo abruptly stood. “I-is (y/n) okay? We should go check on her!”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Aizawa said. “All of you are suspects. You’ve no right to see her.”

“She probably just made that up get back on us for whatever fucking reason!” Yelled Bakugou.

“Yeah?” The male pro-hero disingenuously mused. He then picked up the spy camera and held it for everyone to see, before setting it down the teacher’s podium. “This was found on her closet. Would she risk recording herself naked just to prove that point?”

Noise died down thereafter, setting their sights solemnly at the device, the class collectively having the same thought in regards to the spy camera.

(Why hadn’t they thought of that? It could have been easier to check on you that way, since you almost always confined yourself in the privacy of your own room.)

“So? No one wants to speak up?” Aizawa asked, though expected the silence.

“Aizawa, have them approach you after classes. It’s embarrassing this way.” Midnight intervened.

“Well that’s the point. Get them exposed to the entire class, so everyone could realize how much of a perverted bastard one of these to-be heroes are. Good values, my ass.” He replied, not bothering to filter rather colorful vocabulary. “Where’s your dignity?”

He let a minute or two pass for the perpetrator to reveal themselves, but soon it became apparent that whomever they were refused to admit to their crime, willing to sacrifice the grades of the class for the sake of anonymity. That would be deemed useless, anyway, because Aizawa was already set on figuring out whom they were, no matter the extent he’d go to in order for that to happen. He’d expel them at once.

But he didn’t have the power to expel someone outside of his class.

“I guess that’s it for your test.” He sighed, disgruntled, picking up the small camera and sauntering his way out of the classroom after giving Midnight a look that he was dead serious with marking all of them a failing score. She stared at him in uncertainty, nonetheless abided by his decisions, albeit hesitantly.

Upon ascertaining his absence, Midnight turned to Class 1A, amusement and humor dancing on her seductive countenance.

“Naïve, hormonal teenagers,” she mused, “the closet, really? Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere less conspicuous?”

None of them bothered to tell her that they were truthfully unaware of the incident.

===

Hagakure Toru, stealth hero, entered your room silently in the nude, the only proof of her movements being a tinier, different spy camera she’d brought along with her. No, not the closet, you might find it again. It looked so painfully obvious on the desk, too, and neither in the bathroom due to its pale white interior. 

But on the pencil holder situated atop your nightstand would do. You barely moved it, anyway, only having its purpose served as a decoration; something to fill the vacancy of the bedside table. After a few adjustments in camouflaging the device with the environment and making sure the lens displayed the area of your space, Hagakure checked its concealment one more time, before mechanically heading outside and back to her own dorm. 

Her body collided almost violently with her room’s door, snapping her out of her trance. 

“H-huh!? Weird... how’d I end up in my room?” She asked, receiving no answer from particularly anyone.

But Shinso Hitoshi could provide her one, if only he weren’t outside, staring at your terrace from five stories down your room, a gratifying smirk donned on his features. Now, the only thing he had to do was dismantle and relocate the gadgets wirelessly connected with the camera Aizawa had confiscated.

[calliecopper]

The opening: Kara is being assembled and expresses a sense of self-awareness and life not seen in androids before. As the operator disassembles her she begs for her life, and she is eventually released to the public, where she unknowingly begins to spread the virus that causes androids to gain autonomy (not deviancy, but the ability to express themselves)

A New Home: Kara arrives at the Williams' home and witnesses the potential abuse of a little girl living in the same home

Stormy Night: Kara is forced to make a decision after it becomes clear that her new owner is unstable, and puts the child in potentially life-threatening danger. Against direct orders, she protects the child and escapes the home

Fugitives: Kara has to find a place to hold out for the night, having to choose between Alice's comfort and Alice's safety. They potentially meet Ralph

On the Run: Kara has to navigate around police forces and the deviant hunter in order to keep herself and Alice safe. They potentially leave on good terms with Ralph. They escape, and Kara makes her way to a potential safe haven she had once heard about

Chapman's Farm: Kara and Alice arrive on Chapman's Farm and talk with Rose about their options to escape the police. Rose talks about potentially leaving for Canada, as many androids do, to live with her brother. In the middle of the conversation they are interrupted by an android calling for help. A child android is shutting down on the ground with a TR400 standing above her, crying. Rose tries to revive the child to no avail. Alice reaches for the child's hand and interfaces with her during her final moments, revealing she is an android. The TR400 is grateful.

Zlatko: Luther, the TR400, sets out to free other androids from the fighting pit he and the child android escaped from. Kara and Alice join, with Alice posing as the other child android and Kara posing as a human betting on the games. Kara works together with Luther and Alice to potentially free the androids.

Pirate's Cove: Rose is unable to get Kara and Alice into Canada due to come complications and asks for their assistance in retrieving other androids who need help, after potentially seeing what she is capable of with Zlatko. Kara, Alice and Luther travel to Pirate's Cove where they have to navigate in a blizzard to find the androids. If they do not find the androids and get them help in a certain amount of time they will fail the mission

Midnight Train: Police show up to Chapman's Farm to investigate rumors about deviants. Kara has to sneak around the small house as Rose distracts the police to cover up evidence. If she is caught, the police will either recognize her or not depending on how much she changed her appearance and if she has been stealthy or not when evading police in On the Run

Meet Up: Kara, after witnessing the Jericho broadcast, attempts to reach out to Jericho to form an alliance. She proves herself to Lucy by helping her protect androids being attacked in riots / mass burnings

Crossroads: Kara will travel with her allies and Lucy to meet with Markus or North to get help bringing the Chapman androids over the border. As the attack happens, the passports are only partway finished. She can decide to grab her, Luther, and Alice's passports, or to only grab her own and escape

Night of the Soul: Kara will either meet with Rose to discuss if she will infiltrate the recall centers or if she assist androids crossing the river, OR she will either take Alice and head straight for the border, or she will go alone

Battle For Detroit: Kara is either: Helping androids over the border, infiltrating the recall centers, escaping via the border with Alice (and Luther potentially), or going alone via border

Throughout her journey, she can acrue allies. Her base "Jericrew" will be herself, Alice, Luther, Rose, and Adam (Markus, North, Josh, Simon, Lucy) and she can potentially add Ralph and Jerry to the mix (like John and the kitchen deviant)

Thoughts?

[ao3dazaiisms]

dazaiisms' masterlist

one-shots

only then, i am human | 9k words | rated: e

“You know dying won’t let you escape me, don’t you?” Dazai continues as the silence drags on, “I’d just follow you into the afterlife.”

Chuuya smiles. A small, private thing, and a cold hand comes up cup Dazai’s jaw in a gesture far too gentle for either of them.

“I know.”

tags; toxic dynamics, jealousy, possessive behaviour

beyond repentance | 4k words | rated: e

All Chuuya wants to do is get to this halloween party on time. Dazai, of course, has other plans. Ones that involve a rather whore-ish nun costume.

tags; halloween, pwp, costumes

pull the trigger | 4k words | rated: e

There’s an itch that Dazai yearns to scratch. It burns at the back of his throat, rising like bile and choking him from the inside out. He tries his best to quell it, to stave it off with rope that digs into his skin, water that fills his lungs, drugs that alter his brain. He tries and tries again. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

His need isn’t filled, the urge persists, the voices don’t quiet.

So then, Chuuya.

tags; consensual but not safe or sane, gunplay, Dom/sub

seatbelt sign off | 4k words | rated: e

In which Dazai decides to indulge in something sweet just before getting on the thirteen hour flight from London back to Tokyo after a successful mission abroad, and promptly realises there’d been something in the chocolate besides salted caramel chunks.

Chuuya, of course, gets dragged into the mess.

Or; Dazai accidentally takes an aphrodisiac, and he and Chuuya fuck in the airplane bathroom.

tags; mile high club, aphrodisiacs, multiple orgasms

tender (touch me) | 3k words | rated: t

“You’re late,” is the first thing the younger says.

“Yeah, well,” Chuuya pushes up his mask to reveal his face, silently thankful for the fresh air as it hits his lungs. “Was a tough fight.”

Dazai’s face scrunches up in distaste. “You look like shit,” he mutters. And with that, disappears back into his room.

tags; spider-man au, fluff, tending to wounds

paint me in lilac skies | 3k words | rated: t

His frown seems more like a wonky smile from Chuuya’s skewed perspective, and for some reason it makes Chuuya want to laugh.

“C’mere,” Chuuya beckons. Dazai narrows his eyes suspiciously, though he does, surprisingly, obey. With one hand still holding the web steady, Chuuya reaches out the other to tangle gloved fingers in the short waves at Dazai’s nape. He pulls him in for an upside-down kiss.

tags; spiderman au, rooftop picnic dates, spiderman kiss

under your skin | 5k words | rated: e

Out on his most recent "mission" to bond with the Armed Detective Agency members following their organisations' truce, Chuuya catches a glimpse of a tattoo on Dazai's body that definitely hadn't been there four years ago. It succesfully manages to derail whatever plans Chuuya had of ignoring his pain-in-the-ass former partner altogether.

tags; tattooed dazai osamu, belly bulge, smut and angst

pretty baby, watch me bleed | 7k words | rated: e

“There is nothing the Angels’ all-seeing eyes will not find eventually. Even I can’t trick them forever.”

Quiet falls over the room. Dazai continues to look beyond the tall windows, at the thunderstorm that rages in the distance. Lightning strikes every few seconds, spreading across the crimson sky like the jagged roots of a tree.

“You knew.”

tags; angel/demon relationship, fallen angel dazai, multiple orgasms

amateur mistake | 15k words | rated: m

Chuuya rescues a puppy from the streets; saves it from the maws of death.

Dazai doesn’t care. Until he does. Maybe a bit too much.

tags; canonverse, hurt/comfort, character study

bandidas | 5k words | rated: e

His large, gnarled fingers are a hair's width away from touching her skin through her shirt when the sound of a safety clip being removed rings through the room. Dazai watches with concealed glee as the man’s eyes go wide, held in place by the gun pressed to the nape of his neck.

“Touch her,” growls a familiar voice in the tone Dazai loves oh so much, “You die.”

tags; fem!soukoku, western, rough sex

chaptered works

just enough for polaroids and cigarettes | 50k words | rated: e

When Chuuya boldly claims he can leave Dazai satisfied in a way his frequent hook-ups could never do, the two childhood friends enter into an agreement that adds certain benefits to their friendship. Strictly no strings attached, of course. A good idea in theory, perhaps, were it not for the fact that both their strings have been secretly attached to each other for as long as they can remember.

tags; college au, childhood friends, friends with benefits, mutual pining

emotions | 65k words | rated: m

It's not within Chuuya's life plans to get commited to a mental institution at age twenty two.

But after a particularly violent outburst ends in physical assault charges that threaten to land him in jail, Chuuya begrudgingly accepts the compromise of indefinite in-patient stay at Tenkai Sanatorium. He doesn't expect his time there to include the most infuriatingly intriguing person he's ever met. Or that he'll be forced to confront the demons he would much rather have left in the past.

tags; sanatorium au, mental health issues, 1990s

[imaginativeamateur]

HEY!!!! I read your kakashi x reader in which kakshi takes care of tired reader and it was *chef’s kiss* so i was thinking if you could a kakashi x reader in which the reader gets poisoned during a mission. They get a small scratch so it does not work quickly. So when they get home, they start to feel a bit dizzy and then start coughing up blood LOTS of blood ( if you don’t mind). So kakashi gets worried and takes them to the hospital. When they get there tsunade tells them it is a rare type of poison so they will need a day or two to make the antidote. So the reader is in pain and coughing up blood. Kakashi tries their best to comfort them. Sorry it is long. Feel free to ignore it. Sorry for bad english. THANK YOU ✨

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] Unbearable

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x gn!Reader

Note: Firstly, I'm glad that you like that piece, anon:D and your idea is fantastic!!! Okay, this one is a bit longer than what I usually write for, probably around 2,000 words. It's a mix of angst and fluff, the ending is fluffy though. And I didn't know what to name this one either:D Without further ado, please enjoy!

You pushed the door open, exclaiming happily when you finally got to sniff the familiar scent of his signature dishes, “I’m home, Kakashi!”

“How was your mission, love?” Wiping his palms on a handkerchief, he lifted his eyes from the pan to quickly examine if you had any injuries.

“Absolutely successful! We captured and brought the rebels back for investigation. My captain will be reporting it to the Hokage so I’m off for now!” You made your way next to him in the kitchen, pulling off your gloves in the process, “What are you making?”

Kakashi went off talking about the dishes he was preparing for your dinner but your mind turned fuzzy in the middle of his sentence. You lost your balance and tumbled backward as your sight blurred, not able to see anything clearly. With his quick reflex, the Copy Ninja caught you by your forearm and guided you to the floor, constantly asking if you were okay. Kakashi’s visible eye widened, brows furrowing as his hands roamed to search for any injuries that his eyes did not catch. You had no fatal wounds except for several scratches here and there, and he could sense your depleted chakra level. Lifting your body up in his arms, he whispered as he carried you to your shared bedroom, “You probably overused your chakra again. You should be back to normal tomorrow after a good rest.”

You sprawled tiredly in your bed, having no appetite for a meal and Kakashi respected it, he knew when it came to reviving a Ninja’s chakra, nothing would be able to beat some decent sleep. He let you stay by yourself for a few hours and went to finish his reports, returning to check on you once in a while. When he was finally done with work, Kakashi quietly slipped under the blanket on his side of the bed, carefully scooted closer to your warmth, hugged you close, and peacefully closed his eyes. In the middle of the night, you were woken up by the burning sensation that coursed through your entire body and a terrible headache, having just enough time to flip onto your side in case you would vomit right then and there. And you suddenly coughed, your throat was torn when the crimson liquid spattered onto the white tiles, bled your shirt, and dripped down from your chin. Being a light sleeper, the silver-haired immediately shot up from his pillow, switched the lights on, and scrambled down to the ground. You were trembling for the time being, and within a split second, Kakashi scooped your motionless body in his arms, rushing for the hospital.

He knew for sure that you were poisoned given the symptoms that were starting to surface. The hospital workers were greatly intimidated by the threatening aura that he sent, still hugging you tight as he brought you to the operation room himself. You continued to cough in his arms, and he did not mind his turtleneck being covered entirely by your blood. Tsunade arrived with a hurried disposition, and Sakura followed close behind her lead. Kakashi immediately reported your condition to the Fifth Hokage, grimacing when he saw blood pooling on the hospital bed as the Medic’s chakra slowly entered your body. He fought to retain himself—to not sprint to your side and cradle you tight, to not bring his hand up and wipe the blood staining the corner of your lips. It was all too much to him to see you panting in agony—

“Sakura,” the blonde Medic commanded, “set up for poison extraction. Get three more people.”

The pink-haired left the room after her teacher’s assignment, fleeting on her feet when she saw your tightly shut eyes and Kakashi’s scary expression as though he was going to burn the place down. Tsunade turned to the Copy Ninja, who was leaning against the wall with a visible eye that settled a tone darker, and called, “Kakashi, I need you to hold Y/N down when I extract the poison.”

He shuddered, unsure if he would still be able to maintain the last bit of composure left. The silver-haired found it impossible to remain himself when came to your safety, but he padded to your side, shaking hands reaching out to the pale face of yours. The Godaime assured him that everything would be okay and the man took a deep breath, moving his palms to rest on both of your shoulders as the rest of the team arrived, getting to work the second they passed the door. Kakashi held onto your upper body and arms, pinning you down onto the bed when the blonde started to focus chakra on her hands. “It’ll hurt, make sure Y/N stays still,” she said before the glowing green entered your body.

Kakashi could feel his sweats running cold against his temple, his uncovered eye fixed on Tsunade's hands, periodically glancing back at your face to make sure that you were fine. His grip on your wrists was tight but not bruising, fearing that it would add to the pain that you were already enduring from the poison. The Copy Ninja had his other forearm across your shoulder blades, pressing your torso in place as the Medic worked diligently. It hurt and you yelped, shrieking from the pure pain every time her chakra seeped inside. Kakashi was restless, biting on his own lips to halt himself from releasing his grasp and hug you tight. Your eyes turned dull when Tsunade finally got the last bit of poison out of your system, heavily placing your head back onto the damp pillow as the silver-haired wiped the sweats on your forehead. When all of you thought it was over, things took a different turn—for worse.

Pain suddenly shot through your body, and you started to cough more vigorously than earlier, blood covered the white sheets of the hospital bed. The whole room turned their attention back on your figure, your eyelashes fluttered, wincing when you felt the tiniest bits of your muscles being squeezed and ripped apart. Kakashi stepped back when he looked at his hands smeared by your blood, and grimaced, “… Didn’t you get the poison out already?”

The Medic furrowed her brows, examining the extract she got in a test tube, “It’s my first time seeing this type.”

Kakashi went feral, “How long?”

The sounds of your coughs filled the quiet atmosphere of the operation room. Every ticking of the clock seemed too audibly loud each passing second the blonde observed the Copy Ninja’s face. She eventually sighed and turned to the exit, “I’m not sure. It will take a while for us to create the antidote.”

“You can’t leave Y/N suffering like this, Lady Tsunade,” he breathed out laboriously, “I can’t.”

Kakashi’s words left his lips like a desperate plea as he stared at the ground. Tsunade shut her eyes to summon enough vigor to walk out of the room. Sakura hesitantly left shortly after, silently closing the door after sending her former sensei a sympathetic look. With shaking legs that were almost unable to hold him up, the silver-haired made his way to a chair beside your bed, tracing his thumb across your lips to wipe the bloodstain away. As a Shinobi, he was too accustomed to seeing open wounds and deep gashes—too familiar with his body covered in blood after a mission, especially when he got injured. But seeing you in this state made him crumble in dejection and turmoil.

“Kakashi,” your inaudible whisper pulled him out of his deep thoughts, “what if I…”

Before you were able to finish your sentence, Kakashi hushed you with a sign as he pulled the blanket up to your chest, “Don’t say anything, love. I’m not going to let you…” And he trailed off, finding it hardly possible to continue what he was saying. You were still in pain, forehead scrunched up to restrain the groans from eliciting, tight fists hidden under the cover because you did not want him to be more distressed than he already was. Kakashi slouched his back, head dropping into his palms, cursing under his breath, “I should’ve come with you, should’ve been more careful, should’ve gotten you to the hospital sooner. I-I’m sorry, Y/N… Please, please just be okay.”

His words fell apart, slipping past his lips muffled and croaked. It had been a long while since he last felt the wet droplets tittering on the edge of his lash line—range and misery boiled in his veins as he swore to himself this would be the last time he would see you like this for as long as he was alive. He did not dare to look at you, not when he had to helplessly witness his dearest person suffering. Your breathing decelerated, the sweats beading your hairline and neck had long evaporated, and you fell asleep between his soft whispers, exhausted and drained.

Every hour passed with dread for everyone. Each time Tsunade came back to check on you set up a thin wall of hope but it all shattered shortly when she shook her head and withdrew out of the room. You were coughing less, but that did not ease the Copy Ninja because you were shriveling impossibly lifeless. You could not swallow whatever food they supplied, only able to intake water and intravenous fluid. It was after lunch when Tsunade knocked on the door—two days since you were brought to the hospital, one day since you went unconscious—and Kakashi went to slide it open for her. No longer displayed a hopeful expression, he could not bear the disappointment and emptiness from the Medic’s shake of her head. But this time, Tsunade came with good news.

“We found the antidote.”

A single sentence from the blonde levitated the somber atmosphere that was clouding Kakashi’s mind. A contented smile found its way across his lips—though covered by the mask, Tsunade could clearly see his pupil dilating and the furrow between his brows starting to slowly vanish. With a quick move, she injected the solution into your arm with Kakashi watching closely, not letting any details went unnoticed.

“The fever should be gone after lunch, I’m not quite sure when Y/N will wake up though. That depends on an individual’s ability to recover.” She stated, “You two take care.”

The silver-haired thanked the Godaime and shut the door after she had left for several seconds. Then, he went back for a quick shower—the last thing he wanted was you worrying for his enervated appearance after two days without rest—not forgetting to plant a kiss on your forehead before leaving. When he returned, Kakashi brought a basket of fresh fruits with him, carefully peeling oranges and placing them on a plate for you in advance. He even went as far as bringing your pillow because you would be staying for another few days, and he wanted to make you feel comfortable. After checking over everything, he leaned his head back and closed his eye, stealing a quick nap with your hand in his—so he would know when you wake up.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, you quickly scanned the room, and your gaze settled on the very Hatake sleeping peacefully, then to his fingers intertwining yours. You let out a soft breath, “Thank you, Kakashi.”

------------------

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7

[bambiswriting]

Consequence of Krell - Part 1

Part: 1, 2

Captain Rex x Tactician!Reader (she/her) 

Summary: You have joined the 501st and 212th in the campaign of taking Umbara, and now you have to apprehend and arrest the turned Jedi, Krell. But what happens when Krell turns his sights and hurts you?

Warnings: Descriptions of heavy injury, strangulation, choking, vomit, blood, burns, lightsaber wound, head injury, angst, hurt, death. Not a light one!

Word count: 2k

-

The shield dissipated to reveal the imprisoned clones. You watched as Jesse and Fives took the blasters outstretched in Rex’s hands while you stood on the elevator pad with Tup and Kix. The nervous energy was thrumming from each of them. You were of equal mind. Fives, your best friend, glanced over Rex’s shoulder at you. He nodded and attempted a comforting smile. You dipped your head in a sedated reply. Your stomach sat heavy, a weight ready to pull you under. But… no. You couldn’t focus on it. Not now. You had to do right by them. The grief was already at a mounted peak, but there would be time to sit in it with them later.

You didn’t comprehend the sensation of the pad rising until a blaster bumped against your left side. On your right, Rex’s eyes casted sideways to search your glazed ones. Your pupils were involuntarily flicking left to right, searching the empty space between identical heads for a solution. Anything other than this - an alternative to the loss that would continue once you reached the upper level of the command station. Rex grasped your two fingers closest to him and tenderly squeezed. You squeezed back. A silent promise of companionship to one another.

The doors opened, a cruelty from the Force, and clones immediately filed out, surrounding Krell. The objective was to cut off each inconceivable exit, but every man in the room knew it would make no difference should the Besalisk ignite his sabers. Many of them would not leave the tower. And perhaps you would go with them. You took your stance between Rex and Fives, with a desperate plea to the galaxy to allow you to maintain their safety. A hologram by the door pulsated back online, and the noise made you jump, setting the lump in your throat deeper. You aimed your blaster at the fallen Jedi.

Rex straightened. “General Krell, you’re being relieved of duty.”

He turned, slowly, and somehow that was equally as terrifying as staring him directly in those sickly yellow eyes. His two pairs of arms persisted in a fold behind his back, with optimal access to his weapons. The pressure in your head was building. Rex hadn't yet raised his DC-17s. He was the most vulnerable person in the room. You unknowingly squeezed down on your trigger.

"It's treason, then." Those words carried the condemnation of a death sentence. He bared his teeth in such a way that it would have appeared he was smiling.

Finally, Rex pinned his blasters on the target. "Surrender, General."

If the situation owed to it, perhaps you would have laughed. The mere use of a title, still, was abhorrent to you.

Krell initiated a stalk towards Rex, centering himself in the room and widening his stance by the parting of his feet. Please, no.

"You're committing mutiny, Captain."

"Explain your actions."

The clones moved deeper into the room, cutting off the window at which Krell was just policing the Umbaran landscape.

"My actions?"

"For ordering your troops against one another."

"Oh, that." He raised his head, proud, and gestured nonchalantly. "I'm surprised you were able to figure it out… for a clone."

Your clench around the trigger was building.

Out of your left eye, you had identified movement from Fives. You assumed it was a gesture of advancement. But you didn't turn to confirm this. You couldn't move. Your limbs were paralysed.

“Surrender, General. You’re outnumbered.”

You felt the air around you turn stagnant. A rushing noise built in your ears, and then your feet tipped forward, toes dragging along the floor. The gravity shifted underneath you, and you were pulled towards the beast at full speed.

Quicker than it began, you stopped, making contact with one of Krell's fists. Nothing you had endured in this war thus far compared to the instantaneous pressure around your windpipe. Within seconds your eyes felt close to bursting. You couldn't hear the commotion around you, as your blood was pulsing rapidly in your skull.

Safety mechanisms released in every which direction. Rex pinned his pistols, now gripped in a vice, on Krell's skull. "Drop her."

Krell turned to you, talking steadily along the shell of your ear. "Your feelings for him - all of them - are strong, but they weaken you. They compromise your resolve." He raised you off the ground, your legs squirming as you frantically clawed at his fist.

"She intended to shoot me, for you," he squeezed again, sight tunneling on Rex. A noise like a whine escaped your mouth. “Half-breed."

Rex couldn't make the call. Krell's movements were quick and precise. Any one of his blaster bolts timed with a purposeful shove could hit you. His blood was turning acidic.

"Yes… I sense the fear in you. The anger. The fury. Take your weapon. Strike me down."

Your helpless wheeze cut through the rest of Rex's resolve like glass. Your arms had slowed their fight to return the stolen air to your lungs. You were going limp. Your heart was trembling. His hands shook.

"This is the art of war. Executive decisions must be made."

You felt something in your neck crack.

Krell bowed his head. "And you lack the ability to instigate them."

His arms at his back frayed and thrusted forward, sending the men hurtling to the ground. Rex hit the door and his blasters fell with him, skidding out of reach. He leapt with speed to his feet, in time to see the green blade of a saber come down against your back, splitting your armour, through to your jacket and then along your back. If you could breathe, you would have screamed in agony. The image of your eyes wide in torture would haunt his nightmares forever. Krell threw you carelessly across the room, slamming against the wall. Your head suffered the brunt of the contact, and your body collapsed in a heap.

Fives' voice broke into bottomless rage. "I'll kill you!"

The clones needed no instruction. They opened fire. A second double ended saber entered the battle. What followed was a myriad of needless lives lost. Krell cut down men with no remorse. His sabers spun and pivoted, deflecting blaster fire and creating a shield around him. The plasma shuddered audibly, sound reminiscent of gunship engines, faulting, stuttering and eventually declining in an air battle. He leapt between men, massacring war heroes. Most were fortunate, decapitated or impaled immediately and granted an instantaneous passing. Others were left with pieces missing and didn’t have such a luxury of a fast death. They bled out until painfully slipping away. Orange and blue chipped armour was diced and thrown every which direction, 501st and 212th assuming a role of puppets, and Krell was the master. The Besalisk sliced one clone through the gut, and kicked him at Rex, who jumped aside in a dodge. Krell ceased momentarily, just as the remaining men dragged themselves back on their feet, and his eyes bore into Rex.

“I will not be undermined by creatures bred in some laboratory!” His exit was open. He turned and jumped through the window, glass shattering around him and falling to the ground below. He spun in the air and landed on both feet, the shards from the tower raining around him. Then the clones below began shooting.

He should have run straight to the elevator and pursued the fallen Jedi. But the stability of what would normally be his auto piloted instincts had fragmented. The smell of your burnt skin crippled Rex's mind. You were face down, and the wound across your back was glowing as it continued to melt the area in its circumference. Kix ran over then, seemingly directing his focus to you. Unbeknownst to Rex, the medic had already done a sweep, and concluded that no one else in the room who had been on the end of Krell's sabers had survived. He hadn't registered that Kix was speaking to him. Everything sounded muffled. "I've got her, go!"

"Rex, come on!" bellowed Fives.

He staggered on his feet, bile threatening to spew over his lips. Rex clasped a hand over his helmet, shaking his head violently. Damn it, snap out of it! He just… needs to see your face. He needs to see that you're alive.

"Rex!" followed Jesse, taking a large step forward and tagging him on the arm. Rex finally jolted, and cast his eyes to the elevator. The men stood, waiting expectantly for his lead, all of them far worse for wear. He picked up his fallen weapons, ran in and spun to face the door, casting another pained expression on your failing body as the level ascended out of view and he went below.

-

The 501st and 212th sprinted out of the command tower, Rex in lead. They followed the trail of broken glass, passing by a cluster of Umbaran ships. Just then, Dogma stepped out from behind one of the transports, blaster trained on his brothers. "Hold it right there!"

Rex whipped out his DC-17s. "Lower your weapon, Dogma," he commanded.

He hesitated briefly, shaking his head. "I… I can't do that, sir."

Rex's patience was already worn into the ground. "That's an order!"

“It’s my duty.” Dogma flicked his aim between them. "You're all traitors!"

Rex deposited one of his blasters into its holster, then removed his helmet, an attempt to show some relation and find a common ground. "I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us,"

Tup lifted his blaster to Dogma.

"But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions." He stared intently at Dogma, his brow pinched.

Dogma switched his barrel on Tup. "Dogma, don't do it."

"Damn it, we don't need this right now!" Fives threw his arm down and scowled. "He hurt (Y/N)!"

That broke something behind the tattoo across his eye. "Is… is she alright?"

"We don't know," Jesse said dejectedly, angrily stuffing his blaster into his other hand.

Tup shook his head. “He just… cut her down. A civilian.”

“He’s the traitor, not us! (Y/N)’s not a clone. She wasn’t made to die this way!”

“That’s enough.” Rex’s words weren’t meant to come out as pained as they did. It was like there was a thick wad of sandpaper in his throat, grinding his voice down to a pained shadow of his usual resonance.

The truth is, you were no longer a civilian. You made the choice to enlist in this war, to try and make the galaxy safer for the future generations. It’s one of the things that drew Rex to you - your selflessness and willingness to join a battlefront, to do the right thing, where others would turn and run the other direction. You were hands on like that, believing in doing it yourself, or not at all. Others would have called you mad.

As much as he admired that about you, it was also his downfall, because he knew you wouldn’t walk away. You wouldn’t leave his brothers. You loved them like family. Hell, they were your only family. And they loved you. Perhaps that would mean he would lose you to it all one day. Perhaps he had lost you already.

Rex squeezed his eyes shut and drew his brows tightly together. He sucked in a breath.

Dogma lowered his weapon, and he was tackled by troopers without any protest. He stretched his arms out in front of him and released his blaster. They pinned either arm behind his back and secured his wrists together with binders.

Rex hesitated. "Take him to the brig," he ordered, pulling his helmet back over his head, then pointing to a couple clones.

"You two, get up there and help Kix! The rest of you, don't let General Krell escape!"

"Yes, sir!" They shouted as Rex and the others ran into the treeline.

[forever-rogue]

If you’re taking requests, can you do 102 & 110 from the 390 prompt list for Bucky Barnes please 💛

Prompts used: 

102. "I had a nightmare about you and just wanted to make sure you were okay."

110. "I just wanted you to know that when I picture myself happy...its with you."

A/N: I hope you all enjoy! 🥺

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was dark, filled with smoke and haze as Bucky looked around, attempting to figure out where he was. He waved his arm around trying to clear the path in front of him as his heart pounded in chest, threatening to burst through and bleed out. His mind was reeling as he tried to shut out the noise, screams, shouts, cries, and pleas that rushed to him all at once. It was so much, too much, at once and he felt like putting his hands over ears to ground himself. 

His knees felt weak and shaky as he pushed himself to move forward and make some sense of his situation. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right -

But then he heard it. And it caused him to stop dead in his tracks and stand still. It was your voice, your very distressed cry meeting his ears.

"Bucky!" 

His head whipped around so quickly it was a shock he didn't snap his own neck. Ragged breath and broken cries left his lips as he tried to make sense of where you were. He followed the trail of your voice as best as he could, pushing his way through crowds of people that were suddenly there. 

"Help me!"

Blue eyes scanned the crowd as he looked through the frantic horde. A sound of frustration bubbled up in his throat, along with acid and bile when he realized you weren't nearby.

"Bucky!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky sat up rod straight as he tried to slow his breathing. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. At least he was safe, he realized as he grounded himself by looking around his small apartment. Refrigerator, television, table. Refrigerator, television, table. He repeated the phrase to bring himself down several times until he finally felt the panic subside. He held his tired face in his hands as he slowed and evened his breathing, reminding himself that this was all a nightmare. It wasn’t real, none of it was real - it was all a cruel ploy of his imagination. 

With a loud sigh, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand and glanced at the time. 3:33. It was too early for anyone to be logically awake, but too late for even night owls. Bucky threw off his thin blanket and stretched, all of his thoughts rushing back to you. 

It was all a dream. He had to force himself to remember that. There was no reason for him to fly into a panic and come to check on you. But then again...he had the spare key to your apartment and could easily just pop in and check on you. Five minutes, he reasoned with himself, five minutes was all. In and out to ensure you were safely tucked into bed before he returned home to pretend nothing happened. He’d tell Dr. Raynor about this later. Maybe. He didn’t need her on his case even more about his nightmares and demons. 

He quickly swiped his black t-shirt off the floor and tugged it on his haste, not even bothering to change out of his grey sweaters before sliding on his shoes and grabbed his keys. He had no doubt he looked like a mad man, more mad than he even felt half the time, but he didn’t care. There was only one thing on his mind right now and that was ensuring your safety. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

When he reached your apartment, he was silent and aloof as he approached the door and looked around to see if anything was amiss; it all looked perfectly normal. Almost too normal in fact, and although the logical part of his mind knew he was overreacting, he couldn’t help but think of the worst possible things. Looking down the hallways, he made quick work of sliding his key in and quietly unlocking your door. 

Windows closed, lights off, everything put neatly away as it always was. Not a thing out of place. He shut the door behind him, remembering too late that it always creaked if you closed it at a particular angle and grimaced at the sound. Hopefully you were deep enough in sleep that you wouldn’t stir. Bucky stealthed down the hall to where he spied your open bedroom door and heard the faint sounds of the television still. 

A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he realized you’d fallen asleep while watching your favorite show; you’d had it on in the background when you’d talked to him on the phone earlier too. And then there you were, sprawled across your bed in your pajamas, mouth open ever so slightly as you snored quietly. You were okay, he told himself, very much alive and very much okay. He nodded to himself as he grabbed the remote for the television and switched it off so you’d have full peace and quiet. But for some reason that was the singular act that snapped you out of your dream sleep and you sleepily rubbed at your eyes as you moved to sit up. 

Bucky froze in terror as you yawned and opened your eyes to find him awkwardly standing there. Despite your sleepy state, you beamed at him and his heart relaxed as you held out a hands towards him, “hi Bucky. What are you doing here? ‘ts late and you should be sleeping, silly old man.”

Unable to stop, he came to you, taking your hand in his as he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, causing you to sigh softly, “I-I had a nightmare about you and just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“A nightmare?” you were suddenly wide awake as you looked at him with gentle, curious eyes. You pulled him towards you, “oh Bucky, I’m so sorry, my love. Stay - come lay with me.”

“It’s late,” he reminded you, “you need to sleep and I need to go.”

‘I’m not going to be able to sleep if I worry about you for the rest of the night,” you insisted firmly, standing up in front of him, “just get into bed with me, Bucky. Let me hold and you make sure you’re okay. I love you and just like you worry about me, I worry about you.”

“You don’t-”

“Don’t even try to argue with me James Buchanan Barnes,” you insisted gently, but with bite before you pressed a kiss to his lips. He relaxed, truly relaxed for the first time that evening as he keened into your body, “let me care of you too. You deserve it, Bucky. Stay with me?”

And who was he to refuse such an enticing offer? Blue eyes met your gentle ones as he bit his lip lightly before nodding. Your hands moved to his waist as you reached for the hem of his black shirt and slowly pulled it up and over, letting him discard onto the floor. A hand rested on his chest, just above his heart as you felt it beat, steady and true, under your palm. Bucky swallowed the lump on his throat at your small act of intimacy before letting a world weary exhale. You pressed a few kisses to the bare skin of his shoulder, working your way up his neck and jaw before pausing at his lips. He kicked off his shoes before letting you guide him into your soft, warm bed; it was always a comfort, just like you.

He made himself comfortable, burrowing his way under the covers and taking up the spot he normally occupied as you rejoined him. Curling around his body, you enveloped him, making him feel small and safe, and most importantly loved. It had been a rarity for him, before you came into his life, to feel like this, but you gave and gave and gave, almost never asking for anything in return. But he always gave back, as much as he could, because to him you were everything. Everything he was not, every bit of light and love that he wished he could be. But he was learning, learning to live and love again, and for whatever reason you were there with him, never thinking twice about your decision to so openly love and care for him. 

You wrapped your arm around his waist as you rested your head against his back, but not before pressing a few more kisses to his warm, soft skin. He practically hummed in content as his restless thoughts lurched to a screeching halt.

“I know they seem real, Bucky, but they’re just nightmares. Nothing can hurt you anymore,” you whispered softly, tracing aimless shapes over his body, “you’re not him anymore, you’re you. And it’ll be okay, everything will be okay. I’ll fight off all your demons myself if I have to.”

Bucky choked up for a moment, unable to properly form any words, but you felt him nod lightly as he took your hand and laced your fingers together. You didn’t need him to say anything; you knew, you both knew. It was quiet for some time, and eventually you felt yourself start to drift off to sleep as his breathing became heavier and steadier. 

“You’ve asked me before about why I stay with you,” you whispered to what you thought was a sleeping Bucky, “and I hope you know it’s because I love you - fully, and completely, every part and parcel. I just wanted you to know that when I picture myself happy...its with you. Always. And even if it takes you a while to realize that, I’ll always be by your side. I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. I am yours and you are mine.”

Bucky’s eyes were wide open now as he listened to your gentle words and stared out the window at the pale moonlight. Suddenly he felt calmer, more relaxed, like he was seeing things with a sense of clarity for the first time in a long time. He swallowed the lump that had welled up in his throat. Blinking back the stinging in his eyes, he brought your hand back up to his chest holding both of your hands above his heart. How vulnerable and human he felt in that moment - how loved. 

“I love you, Bucky,” was the last thing you said once you closed your eyes.

You didn’t hear it, but if you’d been awake still, you’d have heard the gentlest I love you spill from his lips. But it was okay, because you knew. You knew.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[hxseok-honee]

sundress || part 9

written portion under the cut!

sundress [part 9] || "I like it."

previous || masterlist || next

a/n : [when you’re close to me, i can’t breathe // we’re already six feet deep] fuck up the friendship x leah kate

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_______________________________

Monday, 20 September, 10:01am

“I sit through that class every morning, and I don’t think there’s a single thing I remember about it.” Yoongi runs his fingers through his hair as he exits the Charms classroom, free hand attached to Y/n’s hip. They hover in the doorway, waiting for Jin and Tae to join them, and then the four of them are headed down the corridor to their next class. Yoongi can feel his roommate’s eyes on him and Y/n, and when he glances over his shoulder, he finds that both Jin and Tae are looking with intrigue at the arm he’s got wrapped around Y/n.

“What?” They look up, Y/n glancing back to see what’s happening. Jin clears his throat, shaking his head, and Tae just smiles, a toothy grin that’s more than a little sheepish.

“It’s just… a bit weird, still -- seeing you two together. We’re getting used to it.” Jin nods before pointing between the two of them, eyes guarded.

“As long as I don’t have to accidentally walk in on you two getting freaky in the room, I don’t care what you do. But…” He trails off, glancing down at Yoongi’s arm again, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. “Yeah. Getting used to it.”

“You look good, though! You guys are a good match.” Tae gestures with both hands, the paperback book in his hold flapping obnoxiously as he tries to make sure he and Jin aren’t being misunderstood. “It’s cute -- we all like it. You know, except Jungkook.” Yoongi snorts, shaking his head.

“I really couldn’t care less what he thinks about it.” A lie, of course -- otherwise Yoongi wouldn’t be doing this at all. He wants to make Jeon Jungkook pay, just as Y/n does, but their friends don’t need to know that.

They reach an intersection then, Tae and Jin branching off to the right. They glance back when Yoongi doesn’t follow, and he points simply down the corridor on their left.

“I’m gonna walk Y/n to her next class -- see you guys at lunch?” Y/n looks at him, surprised he’s not heading to his own class. She waits until their friends are waving goodbye before she’s saying anything.

“You’re gonna be late…” Yoongi shrugs, guiding her down the left-hand corridor toward her Transfiguration classroom, his arm tight around her waist.

“So, I’ll run.” Y/n rolls her eyes with a scoff, but lets him walk her to class, anyway. She pretends she can’t see everyone in the corridor looking at them, just as they had been all morning. After all, once news had broken that Min Yoongi was no longer available, people couldn’t help but be curious. But Yoongi hasn’t said a thing about it, so she won’t either -- even if it is a little nerve-wracking.

When they get to her class, the very last one at the end of the corridor, Y/n turns to him, eyes suspicious.

“You better not use this as an excuse to skip your own class and go back to bed. You still have enough time to make it there.” Yoongi grins, shaking his head.

“You know me too well.” With a smile, she steps in and presses her lips to his in a quick peck. She would have tried to stay longer, but she can still feel everyone looking at them, and she’d panicked just a little bit. That’s a lot of eyes on them at once, and she figures a chaste kiss is acceptable enough that she can run into the safety of her classroom afterward without seeming like she’s avoiding his affection.

But as she’s turning to leave, a soft ‘see you later’ leaving her, she feels a hand on her elbow, pulling her back. Yoongi’s giving her a knowing look, tugging her close to him with an amused smile. When she’s close enough, he’s mumbling to her, fully aware of what’s been bothering her.

“You can do better than that.” Nervously, she’s glancing over his shoulder, but he’s tutting quietly, drawing her back. “Don’t look at them -- look at me.” She looks at him for just a moment, trying to build the courage to kiss him properly. It comes to her, and she’s stepping right up to him, hand on the side of his neck when she leans in.

Yoongi’s grip on her waist tightens when her lips find his, and he’s pressing forward right away, making sure to keep her focus on him. His free hand comes up and his fingers are threading through her hair, holding her still while he angles his head, molding his lips to hers more comfortably.

She pulls away first, ears tinting red almost immediately because she can tell everyone had seen that -- that they’re already whispering about them. But Yoongi makes it deceptively difficult for her to get carried away by the attention, tilting his head to block her view of the corridor with a playful smile.

“Good girl.” He’d meant it innocently -- she knows he’d meant it innocently. He’d only been praising her for not letting the embarrassment get to her, for doing it right that time. But he doesn’t know how those words affect her -- or… rather, he didn’t.

Because he catches it. He’s close enough, and his eyes are on her. There’s no way he’d miss the way her eyes had widened, even though she’s quick to mask it, or the purse of her lips -- the catch of her breath, almost imperceptible.

And then he’s narrowing his eyes at her, gaze flitting around her face, trying to pinpoint what had just happened. He puts it together easily, the side of his mouth tilting up as he gives her a knowing look. He wants her to say it, so he’s certain -- so this is something that can be shared between them, not something she’s too embarrassed to tell him.

“What was that?” Y/n blinks, shaking her head as she takes a step back, putting distance between them. He only steps forward to close the gap again. “No… something definitely just happened to you.” She shakes her head again, pointing over her shoulder into her class.

“Nope. That was nothing--I mean. Nothing happened, there was nothing.” She backs away further, jumping when she bumps into the corner of the wall. Yoongi only tilts his head with a squint, a full smirk on his features now.

“You know I’m not gonna let this go, right?”

“Go to class, Yoongi!” And then she’s gone, all but running into her classroom in a panic. Yoongi snickers, shaking his head as he turns and heads down the corridor, pocketing that interesting bit of information for later.

--

Monday, 20 September, 4:15pm

Y/n’s in the library, eyes scanning the shelf in front of her as she searches for the book title Hoseok had sent her. It’s something that has a chapter on the Wiggentree, which is what they’d chosen their project topic as for Herbology.

I’m definitely in the right aisle… Maybe I’m just missing it?

She moves to return to her starting place in the otherwise empty aisle, convinced she’ll find it if she just looks again. But she doesn’t make it far, a hand coming down on the shelf and blocking her. She’d been too focused on scanning the books to even notice that he’d arrived. But she certainly notices him now.

“So -- you like ‘good girl’?” Turning as the words are whispered into her ear, Y/n all but stumbles backward into the bookshelf, eyes wide as she finds Yoongi peering back at her. He’s squinting at her, just as he had this morning, as he searches her face for a reaction. Blinking rapidly, she glances down the aisle, worried someone might find them like this.

“Yoongi, what -- you can’t just sneak up on me like that!” Her voice is hushed, because she’s aware this is a library and even more aware that it’s full to the brim, having seen almost every seat taken when she’d walked through the room. The chances of them not getting caught are slim to none.

But Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, only stepping in and further blocking her way out. She scoots back as much as possible, but there’s only so far she can go with her back pressed against a wall of books.

“No one forced you to tell me that you were here.” Y/n sighs, because she should have seen this coming. He’d been totally fine all day, holding her hand at lunch and walking her to class after, never saying a word about what had happened this morning. Even during their free period, they’d just taken a nap in his bed -- everything had been normal.

So when he’d texted her asking where she was, she hadn’t thought twice to tell him about the book she’s been looking for. She should have known he’d bring it up again -- he’d even said he would. But she hadn’t expected it to be here, in such a public place.

Maybe I should have. This is Yoongi.

When she doesn’t say anything, Yoongi leans in, setting his lips against the shell of her ear.

“What else do you like to be called, hm?” Flushing red, Y/n plants her hand on his chest, intending to push him away. But he’s already pulling back, just enough that their noses are brushing while he looks into her eyes. She hates that he’s smirking, because he knows she’s flustered.

“You know you should just tell me -- I’ll figure it out for myself eventually.” He’s fully aware she won’t say a word, already seeing that her jaw is clenching, mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m not telling you shit.” He raises an eyebrow, thoroughly amused by her disgruntled expression.

“No? That’s okay. I’ll just get it out of you later, pretty girl.” Y/n blinks rapidly when her heart jumps and grimaces, because he’s testing her right here in the middle of this library. And she knows when he smiles that she’s failed.

“Got you.” Y/n rolls her eyes, cheeks warm from how embarrassed she feels, and moves to push past him so she can leave -- she’ll just find the book later. But Yoongi’s in her way, a playful smile on his face. “You still haven’t told me if you like ‘good girl’.” She shoots him a wild look.

“You know the answer to that.” And then she’s looking away, because his eyes are lighting up and she’s not sure how she’s supposed to feel about that -- mostly, she’s not sure why it doesn’t bother her that he’s excited about this. “Can I go?” He smiles, humming in faux contemplation.

“Nope. I wanna hear it from your mouth.” She turns to him, exasperated, because he’s being obnoxious and he knows it. But he doesn’t let up, only pressing forward until she’s backed against the shelf again. “Come on… it’s just a couple words -- say them and I’ll let you go back to your project.”

When she only glares at him, he hums again, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Okay, then.” And then he’s leaning forward, slotting his lips against hers roughly, muffling the noise of surprise that leaves her. She pushes him back just enough that their lips part, eyeing him with shock.

“What are you doing? We’re alone--”

“Are we?” She blinks, knowing what he means -- that there are eyes everywhere, that what they’re doing is okay because they are in public, even if the aisle’s empty. Because this is exactly what it's like to date Min Yoongi, so it's okay. Everything they're doing and saying right now -- this is how it's supposed to look to anyone that comes across them.

He looks her over, checking that she’s alright -- that she’s not upset.

“… Can I go back to being the sexy boyfriend that corners you in the library to convince you with my mouth to tell me what I want to hear? Or do you want to stop? Because I’ll stop.” Y/n snorts, shaking her head. He’s careful as always, but if she’s honest -- she doesn’t really mind this all that much. She’d agreed to it, after all. So instead of telling him that this is fine -- that they’re fine -- she continues the previous conversation.

“You’re not gonna convince me to say it, no matter what you do.” He looks at her sideways, smirking, and she immediately regrets having worded it like that because she can already see Yoongi’s competitive side making an appearance.

“Is that a challenge?” When she only rolls her eyes, he leans in, stopping just shy of her mouth and waiting, just in case she doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t move, gaze only flicking down quickly to his lips and back again. He tries his best to mask the smile that threatens to form on his face, but even as he closes the gap, it’s there.

He kisses her once, then leans back to talk to her.

“Say it.” She smiles, eyes full of mischief.

“Say what?” He kisses her again.

“Say it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Again.

“I could do this all day, Y/n.”

“No, you can’t. You hate missing dinner -- you like the dessert too much.” He sighs impatiently, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her in. The kiss he lays on her lips is different than the last few, this one made to leave her breathless. She hates that it does.

Without pulling away, he gauges her reaction, noticing immediately that she’s grabbing at the front of his uniform, almost as if to ground herself after something so unexpected. He doesn’t give her time to recover, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth. When she inhales sharply, he pushes his tongue past her lips, licking into her mouth -- she whines, the sound immediately cutting off because she’s realizing that they’re still in the library.

Yoongi only smirks, finding it cute that she’s so aware of her surroundings. But he wants her completely out of it, thinking either about him or nothing at all. So he brings one hand up to the back of her head, where he’s taking a fistful of her hair and tugging harshly, forcing her mouth away from his as her head gets angled to the side. That whine comes again, but she’s definitely already more dazed than before, because she doesn’t stop it from happening. Her head is spinning too fast, the feeling turning to pure white noise when Yoongi attaches his mouth to a spot under her ear, his lips searing hot against her skin.

“Yoongi…” She breathes out his name, clinging to him like she’s going to fall over if she doesn’t. Yoongi tells himself that that’s why he presses himself flush to her, sliding his free hand down to her ass and pushing her hips forward into his -- because he wants to help steady her. It has nothing to do with hearing her call for him like that. Nothing at all to do with the reaction it draws out of her when he does, that breathy moan he’d secretly been looking for. Pulling his lips from her neck, he drags them up to her ear, not even noticing how hard he’s breathing.

“Now do you wanna tell me?” She doesn’t respond, whining incoherently. Yoongi sees out of the corner his eye that someone’s turning into the aisle. When they stop short and immediately turn to leave, he’s smiling, because they’d just gotten caught and Y/n has no idea. She’s too busy trying to catch her breath -- trying to come to her senses. Yoongi’s having none of it.

Using the hold he has on her hair, he brings her toward him, smushing his lips to hers -- it’s not as rough as she’d been expecting, but it takes her breath away all the same. Just like the first one. She whimpers against his lips, and it warms him -- the idea that even this is enough to make her feel good. He wonders if she actually prefers when he’s soft with her -- he’ll have to explore that more later.

Pulling his lips away from her, he watches her. The way she doesn’t open her eyes right away or even notice that he’s waiting for her. She just leans her head back against the hand in her hair, and Yoongi steadies her, smiling at how dazed she is. He shakes that hand gently, jostling her, and that’s when she’s opening her eyes, realizing he hasn’t done anything in a few seconds. They make eye contact, Y/n trying to blink her way out of the fog in her head.

“Don’t you want this to end already? Wouldn’t you rather go back to finding your book before we have to go to dinner?” She nods automatically, even though there’s a small part of her that hesitates first -- it must be because she’s too out of it to process his questions right away. When she doesn’t meet Yoongi’s eyes for a few seconds, he’s pulling at her hair again, drawing her attention. And when her gaze finally lifts to his--

“Then be a good girl and tell me you like it.” Yoongi watches as she reacts -- as she breaks. As her lips part in a small gasp, her eyelids fluttering as she looks at him. As the hold she has on the front of his shirt tightens, her knuckles almost white. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this side of her -- the first time he’s ever seen her give in like this. He almost feels bad for how proud he is that she’s like this because of him.

But then she’s saying it -- what he’s wanted to hear from her all day. She doesn’t say all of it, but she doesn’t need to. Just those three words are enough to make him smile, because submission looks shockingly good on a stubborn lion like her. His Y/n.

“I like it.”

[ghostbustermelanieking]

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this. 

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him. 

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.  

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.) 

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive. 

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him. 

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own. 

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged. 

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.  

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place… 

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything,  any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

-

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them. 

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin. 

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. 

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do. 

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone. 

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done. 

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back. 

-

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood . 

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him. 

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming. 

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin… 

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope. 

-

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom. 

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?" 

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically. 

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it. 

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other. 

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.  

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. " 

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck. 

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…" 

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again. 

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment. 

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Quick question sorry if this has been asked before: do you know any Johnlock fanfic where they’re extremely sensual? Like not just making love but just super methodically drawn out and slow and sweet?

Hi Nonny!!

Ahh, because of this ask, I went through my bookmarks to see if I have any listed with “sensuality” so that’s what this list is!! It definitely doesn’t have all of my fics because I have to go back through them and tag them, but in the meantime, enjoy what I started tagging a few months ago when you sent me this ask, LOL <3

As always, add your own fics here, Lovelies!!

SENSUALITY

See also:

Emotional Love Making || [MOBILE POST]

Emotional Love Making Pt. 2

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John,  Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.