#him going youre still here while talking to either his therapist or no one at all????

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part two

I'm bored so [smashes plate] ANOTHER! I've been writing this faster than I thought I would 🤭 Hope everyone is having lovely and relaxing holidays xx

Warnings: just angst and the case progressing! Hotch is kinda an asshole but it's just how they show their love to each other xoxo

“You and Hotch still got it, huh?” Morgan teases, leaning his head over to grin at you. Part of you missed car rides with Derek, and the other part of you remembers just how much of a little shit he can be.

“Shut up and look at the road,” you mutter, pushing his face away from you.

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Derek taps the wheel, shaking his head to get your hand off him. “What is it with you two, anyway?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “We’ve never gotten along, you know that. You were there when we met.”

“Uh, yeah, I remember being glad Hotch got all the heat instead of me,” Derek chuckles. “You’re intimidating when you’re pissed off.”

“Good,” you say, smirking. “That’s the point.”

“Alright,” Derek says, letting the topic go. For now. “We’ve got five minutes ‘til we reach her house. What are we telling her?”

“Well, I want to take a look around, if you’d like to talk.”

“I can stall,” Derek nods.

“Five bucks says there will be no pictures of the father in the house, at least not in the living area or hallway, where family photos most commonly are.”

“You sound like Reid,” Morgan quips.

“Our IQ’s are really close,” you remind him. “I just don’t have a damn eidetic memory. That shit is insane. I don’t envy him there.”

“Me either,” Derek shakes his head. “I remember things plenty without a magic memory.”

“I hear that.”

Derek turns into the driveway of Lila’s home. One car is in the driveway, a silver Ford. Her mom’s car.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Never,” you reply, opening your door. “But it’s our job.”

Derek knocks on the front door, but stands back so you’re the first face the mom will see. Given who her ex-husband is, you suspect she might be distrustful of all men, regardless of whether or not they’re here to help.

As expected, the mom eyes Morgan’s badge more closely than yours.

“May we come inside?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, pulling the door open to let you both inside. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morgan says politely.

After shutting the door, the mom begins talking — rambling incoherently, more like.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, dropping her off at school this morning. I knew something felt off when I woke up, it just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ma’am,” Derek says. “Please, sit down.”

“I can’t,” she says, waving both of her hands like windshield wipers in front of her body. “I need to pace. Helps me think better.”

Derek looks at you, and you shrug. She’s obviously too wound up to sit down. Which is a good sign. If she was indifferent or resigned, there would be a bigger issue at hand. Clearly, she had no idea this would happen, so she definitely wasn’t in on it.

You take a look around the living room while Derek calms the mother down, mostly just letting her ramble, and take mental notes of what to ask her about later.

As you predicted, there are no photos with the father in the picture. All of them are the mother and Lila, mostly baby photos. Lila is a pre-teen, she clearly doesn’t want her photo taken. There is one where Lila looks older, but she’s not happy.

You take a closer look. She’s really unhappy.

“Mrs. Monroe?” You turn toward her, a sympathetic smile on your lips. “Has Lila been depressed lately?”

Her mom nods. “She’s been struggling ever since uhm— Ever since her father left. I’ve had her in therapy every week, but her therapist says she’s not really opening up. She might later, but right now she just doesn’t talk at all. She doesn’t want to.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “You’ve done the right thing by getting her help. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“She still ran away!” Mrs. Monroe cries.

“Please,” you move toward her, resting your hand on her arm. “Let’s sit. Can Agent Morgan get you a glass of water?”

She nods, looking up at Morgan. “Thank you.”

Derek disappears into the kitchen.

“What makes you think Lila ran away? Other than her mood, were there any other signs?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “She’s talked about it before, told me she wanted to run away and that she hated me. I thought therapy would help with that, but it hasn’t.”

“Would her father help her at all? Run away, I mean.”

“Richard?” Mrs. Monroe asks. Derek reappears with a glass of water, handing it to her. “Thank you. No, he wouldn’t, he— She doesn’t even know what he’s done. I’ve never told her.”

“Would she be capable of finding out?” Derek asks. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “I monitor all of her Internet searches, who she texts, who she emails, everything. She thinks I drove him away. That I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out. She doesn’t know that it was because I caught him burying a body.” She sobs into her hand, her words barely decipherable now. “And now she’s gone and she hates me and I don’t even know where she’d go— it’s like I don’t even know my own daughter.”

You take the glass from her hand and allow her to sob into your shoulder. You know what this is like. Because you were once Lila, a runaway who left her mother in pieces until she returned home. Your circumstances were different, but not by much at all.

“We will bring her home, I promise,” you say, despite yourself. Despite not knowing what the rest of this case will entail, what else you’ll uncover. “Did Lila have any friends that you didn’t approve of?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head again. “She doesn’t have many friends, but she talks to one girl, Marie, almost every day.”

“Where is Marie right now?”

“At school,” Mrs. Monroe says, sniffling. “I called her mom right away. My mind went to the worst case scenario, you know, I thought Lila would grab Marie and convince her to go with her—”

“Convince?” you question. 

Derek hears you and asks the next question you have on your mind. “Does Lila ‘convince’ Marie to do things she doesn’t want to do often?”

“Sometimes,” Mrs. Monroe admits, beginning to sob again. “Oh, God.”

You share a look with Derek, not liking where this is going, but you don’t know if you’ll get much else out of her right now.

“What things would Lila convince Marie to do?” you ask.

“Just small things, I don’t know,” Mrs. Monroe replies. She’s shutting down. “I don’t know why I said that, I—”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you try to calm her down. “Do you mind if Agent Morgan and I take a look in Lila’s room?”

“How will that help?”

“We might be able to find something that could tell us where Lila might have gone,” Morgan explains. “Sometimes kids leave clues. We might be able to find them.”

Mrs. Monroe nods. “Okay. Can I— Is it alright if I lay down while you do that?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

You help her stand and walk back toward her bedroom, getting her inside. She lays down on top of the covers and shuts her eyes.

You close her door and meet Morgan back in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Y/N’s back, you’re on speaker, Hotch.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily. Hotch couldn’t leave the two of you — mainly you — alone, could he? 

“Alright, I want the two of you to stay there and go through Lila’s room. Tell us anything you find. The school has given Garcia their security camera footage; she’s going through it now. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air and that is not good.”

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” Morgan says.

Hotch is quiet.

“Mrs. Monroe doesn’t think Richard had anything to do with this. She says Lila doesn’t even know—”

“Morgan told me,” Hotch says. “Call me back when you have something new.” He hangs up and you roll your eyes again.

“I’m gonna keep a tally of how many times you do that,” Morgan teases.

“Be my guest,” you reply. “And keep me updated. I bet it’ll be in the hundreds by the time this case is over.”

Lila’s room is everything you’d expect from a regular pre-teen girl. And reminds you too much of your room when you were her age.

It’s almost like she’s too open. Posters are everywhere. Her favorite movies, actors, and bands. Her bed is made. Her closet is neat. The desk is covered in schoolbooks, yet also clean. 

“Morgan, I know this room.”

He turns around. “What?”

“We can know everything about her from one glance. She’s organized. She loves English, hates science, but is very good at math. She likes alternative music, not boybands,” you point to the posters. “Fantasy movies only. Her closet is too neat. It’s like she’s not even living here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think she’s been planning her escape for a long time,” you say. “Which makes me think she had help.”

“Okay,” Morgan goes with it. “From who? You heard her mom, she watches everything Lila does.”

My mom did too, you think to yourself as you pull out your phone. You already have Garcia on speed dial, something she suggested for you.

“What can I do for you, my new angel?” 

Morgan chuckles while you answer Garcia. “Can you possibly see the search history after it’s been deleted?”

“Duh,” Garcia says. “Give me the IP address and I can show you all the dirty, dirty secrets on there.”

“Perfect, I’m going now,” you leave Lila’s room, peeking in Mrs. Monroe’s room to be sure she’s still resting. She is. 

You head to the living room where you saw Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Thankfully, after wiggling the mouse, it comes right up. No password or anything.

“Okay, she must really watch what Lila does,” you mumble. As in, Mrs. Monroe must stand over her daughter’s shoulder before even letting her turn the computer on. “How do I…?”

Garcia laughs and tells you what to click to pull up the information she needs. You recite it to her and she quickly works her magic.

“Oh, no.”

“Garcia,” you reply warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Morgan hears you and comes into the living room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you glance at him. “Garcia, what is it?”

“I’m going to need a minute to go through everything but…”

“Garcia, spit it out,” you put her on speaker, lowering the volume so only you and Morgan can hear her. “Garcia?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at first glance, this looks…it looks like she wanted to go with this person.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Okay. We’ll call Hotch, you keep digging.”

“Aye, aye.”

You turn the computer off and pocket your phone. “We need to go back to the precinct. I don’t want to risk her overhearing.”

“Okay. Good call.”

“I’m gonna let her know we’re leaving,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

You wake Mrs. Monroe briefly to let her know you and Agent Morgan are leaving. You assure her that you’re going to bring Lila home, but that you’re needed at the precinct right now, and don’t want to disturb her rest. You hand her your card, telling her the number is the same, even though it doesn’t have BAU yet on it. 

Morgan is leaning against the car when you emerge outside, sick to your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just hate lying to mothers.”

+++

You and Morgan decide to wait until you’re at the precinct to tell everyone what Garcia found. Better to break this news quietly in person than on the phone.

Hotch is speaking to a deputy when you walk in, but you flag him down with a nod, hoping he won’t take it personally. You’re too on edge right now to bother being irritated with him.

Once everyone is in the conference room, you shut the door.

“Garcia should be calling any minute,” you begin. “She’s going through Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Mrs. Monroe said she watches everything Lila does, but clearly not close enough, because Lila was on a popular chatting site talking with someone regularly.”

“Right she was,” Garcia joins in, having been listening on the nearby computer. Her smile is sad. “And it does not look good. I’m still digging, but a Rich34 was in constant contact with her. I’m talking every single night for hours. Mostly from 1am to 4am, while I’m assuming her mother was sleeping.”

“What do the chats say, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Nothing more than small talk right now, but I’m digging. It’ll take a while though, sir, I’m afraid they’ve been talking for months. Almost a year, I think.”

“Dammit,” you mutter. “I was afraid of that.”

Morgan sends you a sympathetic look.

“Garcia, see if you can track Rich’s identity in any way possible. It could be her father,” Hotch says.

“Or someone posing as her father,” you suggest, earning a glare from Hotch.

“Hey Garcia, send over all the chats, I can help you look through them,” Spencer offers.

“Alright kiddo, PG out.” The line clicks.

“Reid, look for anything relating to Richard Monroe’s history, or maybe Lila’s mother. Lila and her mother haven’t been getting along, and Rich might’ve used that to get Lila away,” Hotch instructs. 

Reid nods, already leaning over to grab the chat messages off the fax machine. Garcia knows him so well; she sent over hardcopies instead of electronic.

“Do we think it’s Richard Monroe in the chat room?” Emily asks.

“I’m not convinced,” Rossi says with a small shake of his head.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “The username is too obvious.”

“He could be taunting us by using an obvious screen name,” Hotch counters. “He’s evaded us for this long. Why would he bother hiding now?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Richard Monroe is behind this,” you argue. “Murder in cold blood is his thing. So why wouldn’t he just go grab her from the house? Why is he playing the long game like this? Why form this emotional connection if he’s just going to kill her?”

“Because he’s a murderer with no regard for anyone’s emotions other than his own,” Hotch fires back. “And because he likely holds a grudge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and taking Lila away.”

Now all eyes of the team are on the two of you, going back and forth like a tennis match.

“He murders women his own age. Lila is barely thirteen. If he wanted her so badly, he could have easily grabbed her by now and killed her. Why wait almost a year?”

“Her mother is watching her closely, and he—”

“Oh now you agree that her mother is overbearing.”

“Yes, because you met with her and confirmed it with actual evidence,” Hotch snaps. He pauses, staring at you. “We cannot rule out Richard Monroe.”

“We’ll be wasting our time if we don’t.”

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“You haven’t been doing this job long enough to have a trustworthy gut feeling,” Hotch says coldly. “Now, if you want to continue arguing, I suggest you do so with the wall. Otherwise, we have a young girl to find and her father is a priority suspect. Am I clear?”

“As river water,” you mutter. “Excuse me.” You push past your new boss, hating that he’s already gotten so deep under your skin. Again.

[gunsatthaphan]

but anyway let's talk about my favorite part of the ep (and maybe the whole series) real quick because the way Ray acknowledges that Sand never stopped caring for him? he knows how much he hurt him and that he can't help it, he acknowledges that being with him takes patience, that he needs help and him saying and yet you're still here while Sand is not actually sitting across from him to witness his biggest turning point and to hear all the things he deserves to hear breaks me so much but like in the best way because man what a scene. jfc.

[heartsforseo]

Straw hats with a member who was formally a celestial dragon's sl@Ve.

A/n: hehehe I always come back... *Insert the afton's bg music* request=?? requested: <yes> <no> wc: 1,140 warning: I only write for fun so grammar could be back. + some ooc?

⭑You found it incredibly challenging to open up to others due to your reserved nature. Despite hoping that Jinbe's arrival would provide an opportunity for conversation, your shyness prevented you from engaging with him. Thus, when a celestial dragon attacked the sunny and remembered you, the entire crew was taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.

⭑Luffy would be SHOOK amid the battle and pause for a bit.

⭑He'd turn and look for you, looking for an affirmation.

⭑Would shout your name a million times until you say something.

⭑When you said yes he'd have mixed feelings (sad and mad generally). Questions would start popping up, leaving him wondering why you hadn't said anything from the beginning.

⭑After he's done with the celestial dragon, he'll drag you and push you to talk.

⭑After your explanation, becoming the pirate king and destroying all the celestial dragons would give him more reasons to do so.

⭑Zoro wouldn't hear about you being a slave. He's either lost or focused on eliminating the marines guarding the boat.

⭑So when he returned to the ship and noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere, he would be perplexed and ask what had happened.

⭑He's not good with words and comforting so he'll just shrug about it.

⭑But he'd still be worried of course. He'd mutter "You can talk to me when you need someone, you know?"

⭑You turned around, making sure that he said it. But he'd turn and walk away.

⭑He's blushing inside and out so I hope you'll take his words seriously!

⭑Unlike Zoro, Nami would be mad AFFF.

⭑She's not just mad at the celestial dragon but also you! The Straw Hats are a family, and there should be no secrets.

⭑Big sister mode activated: When you need to open up, she will be there to provide comfort and gently guide you through the process. She will support you by holding your hand and ensuring that you feel safe and supported every step of the way.

⭑After you're done explaining, she'd try to distract you about the past and would do shopping with you and Robin.

⭑Would def give weird stares to the celestial dragons the crew would meet.

⭑She's now your therapist so congratulations!

⭑Poor Ussop. Boy was already pissing then he found out about your situation.

⭑He'd feel sad after the argument. He never realized something major had happened to you before! I mean, you know how to hide it…

⭑Tried to assist you by offering you coffee and gave some words of encouragement.

⭑For example: "At least you're with us now..." or "That's alright, it was all in the past now."

⭑At one point, he was so worried that he accidentally splashed Zoro's shirt with the coffee he was supposed to give you, causing them to bicker.

⭑It earned you a little laugh, and with that, Ussop was already happy.

⭑Sanji, on the other hand, would pause on what the celestial dragon said.

⭑Whether it was true or not, he directly attacked the celestial dragon.

⭑No female should ever go through that pain. Even if he hadn't experienced it, he knows how hard it would've been.

⭑He'd shower you with praises and affection. "You did so good holding it all up..." or "You're here with us now. You can always rely on us..."

⭑He was also the one who filled Zoro up on what was happening.

⭑Would look at you from time to time to see how you're doing.

⭑ Chopper would be SHOCKED and worried.

⭑He starts thinking about the pain and wounds that you’ve gotten. It clicked to him and finally realized why you used to have a lot of scars on your back + arms.

⭑While you’re explaining to the crew your experience, Chopper went to his office and made some anti-anxiety pills ‘cause he doesn’t want you to suffer anymore. (Robin had to kick him out).

⭑Would look at you endearingly and hold your hand around the ship. He just wants to make sure nothing bad will happen to you!

⭑Other than that, Chopper would still act normal and do some silly stuff with Luffy and Ussop.

⭑Robin is Robin. She already had some suspicions about your past, but she wants to hear the truth directly from your mouth.

⭑When she heard what the celestial dragon said she was a bit shocked. Yes, she had thought about it, but another person who suffered from the world government?

⭑She wanted to hold you right then and there.

⭑If Nami’s sitting on your left then she’d be on your right. She’d pat your back and make you some tea. (Ussop’s coffee did not make it😔)

⭑After the talk, she became your therapist (w/h Nami. 2 heads are better than one they say.

⭑Will try to keep an ear out for you when you disappear on her POV and in an unknown place. (Yes an EAR)

⭑Franky was SUPERRRR shocked. Like Robin, he knew you were hiding something either. But he didn’t push through. Your business is your business.

⭑Would be the one bombing the celestial dragon’s ship.

⭑While you were explaining your past, Franky was crying loudly and was playing sad music in the corner. (He had to get moved since his crying ws louder than ur voice)

⭑After the incident, nothing major really changed your dynamic.

⭑You both were still goofy and you’d still do the “SUPERRR” pose with him.

⭑But even so, Franky is still glad that your past didn’t affect the present negatively; instead, it made you stronger.

⭑Brook is another person who'll be shocked.

⭑He didn't think much about everyone's past. He likes to mind his own business and when someone opens up to him, he'll listen wholeheartedly and give some advice.

⭑So when you open up to the whole crew he'll just listen. He'd give some side comments here and there but that's that.

⭑Like Franky, nothing would change with your dynamic. He might be a little protective but he knows that you could handle yourself.

⭑The moral of the story is to find someone like Brook.

⭑Jimbei would be mad mad AF

⭑He's Luffy but 10x worse when it comes to the celestial dragon topic.

⭑He was never captured as a slave, but as a member of the Fishman species, he understands the immense hardships that must have been inflicted upon them. Being subjected to torture at the hands of one's kind was an even more maddening experience.

⭑But even so, Jimbei would be happy that you're finally free and is with the crew.

⭑After your discussion with the group, he would politely excuse himself and usher you into a private conversation. His demeanor would resemble that of an older brother, emanating a deep sense of care and understanding, while also imparting his valuable knowledge.

⭑Safe to say you have another buddy to talk with.

A/n: I LOVE JIMBEI SO MUCH.

[quantum1mmortality]

Im so glad you're writing for Curly bc I'm so obsessed with him rn!! May I suggest (if you haven't done them already) some soft/fluffy post burn hcs? Like finally seing him again after a long drive to the hospital, mentally preparing yourself for what he might look like. Curly being so afraid about how you'd react, and just breaking down when you let out an "oh, Curly :(" and softly place a hand on his cheek, so worried that you might hurt him by accident that it's hardly even a touch at all. Curly leaning his cheek into your palm, having been so scared to see you and now so desperate for your touch.

Life returning to a new normal after a while, prosthetics and PT, skin grafts, so on. Lying in bed with him and being so relived and happy when he gets a spark of mischief like he used to and tries to tickle or play wrestle with you. Him quietly asking questions when the laughter dies down. if you missed his lips, or the blond hair you loved so much that now hardly grew at all. Reassuring him that it didn't matter what he looked like, or what he could and could not do anymore. He's still your curly.

Sorry this turned out so long 😭 I can't get him out of my head!

I LOVE what you wrote 🙏🙏 I'll be going off of these, taking bits and pieces of your hcs and then putting them in here. Overall just gonna be fluffy post crash Curly hcs :)

Of topic, but the way some people in this fandom treat post crash curly makes me nauseous. Finding out that some of you wouldn't treat him like I would makes me wanna cry. Maybe I'm too empathetic or maybe I'm a baby back bitch, either way, I'd care for this man so much. Y'all don't understand how much I love him.

Tw/cw; none!! One curse word but that's literally it (I think)

Not proofread

Extremely sensitive to touch for the first few weeks. I feel as though curly would be in incredible pain, but would try his best to keep your hands touching his cheeks, face, body in general. He'd even go as far as to whimper at how bad it hurt, yet still enduring it because he needed to know you still loved him.

He'd be so happy to see you anytime you were around. Just like pre crash, but it was more special. It got to the point where you would take off work for weeks at a time just to be with him, just so you could see him happy.

After the first two months of agonizing pain, you'd start touching him more. Not sexual, obviously, but just getting more physically affectionate. You'd be able to hug and kiss him goodbye, and hold on to his arm as you talked with him.

Speaking of talking, he wouldn't be able to, so you would talk for him. Basically telling him something, then answering any questions he may or may not have. You've known him long enough, you know how he'd react and question things, so it was practically a no brainer for you.

Now that he doesn't feel as much pain as he used to from your touches, you'd begin sleeping with him. NOT SEXUAL!!! Just cuddling up next to him in the hospital bed, laying your head on his shoulders and kissing him goodnight. Just like how you used to.

Eventually he'd start getting prosthetics, and aside from the physical therapy he's usually getting, you'd bring board games and playing cards so he could learn to use his new hands while still spending time with you.

Curly used to kick your ass in uno and honestly he still does. The trembling in his hands would slowly go away over time, and you were helping him with that much more than his physical therapist was; because at least he wanted to actually be around you.

After months and months, he'd finally be ready to take home. New prosthetics and a bunch of skin graft surgeries later, he's in good condition again. Not perfect in his eyes, but it is in yours.

He wouldn't be able to work, but Pony Express sends him checks as if he was. He gets enough from them, you could quit your job, but you don't want to be dependent on them. So you keep working.

Getting home from work is your favorite part of the day, having Curly be so happy to see you makes everything so worth it.

Your home life goes back to normal with a few exceptions, but nothing too drastic. Curly being in a wheelchair and still not being able to speak, but it's nothing you can't handle. You love him, you're willing to make sacrifices. He'd do the same for you, and you know that.

Bonus content; if you guys were married before the crash, once he got his prosthetic hands, he'd have you help him make a little beaded necklace for his ring to go on; that way he could still wear it :) he'd never take the necklace off once it's done

A/N; I've been pretty busy recently so sorry for the delay on requests; I have a lot of ideas for them though so hopefully they'll be out soon

[thebibliosphere]

Wait, is Jason in Gotham Knights body horror? Because it doesn't feel like his body even tho he's controlling it? (He died, he came back, it's not the same and never will be)

Or is it more analogous to puberty and feeling like you don't know anything about your body anymore?

Just having thoughts about that boy again

I think Jason in Gotham Knights is very much connected with his physical body. It's his biggest weapon, possibly more so than his guns, given his lasting connection to the Lazarus Pit and the power it gives him.

His backstory talks about building himself up to peak physical condition into the absolute unit he is now, and you can either see that as someone trying to reconnect with their physical self or someone vowing never to be small or weak again.

I tend to think of it as both. It's a reclamation of his physical form but also a transformation into something bigger and stronger that ensures he's the scariest, meanest-looking mother fucker in the room. Basically someone you can't underestimate as a threat.

(Try not to think too hard about the fact that he now largely resembles Bruce in stature, that he is now the group's heavy hitter, the most menacing and the most likely to strike fear into the heart of his opponents, and that Jason molded himself into the person he needed to be rescued by as a child. Don't do it. Do not. I am normal about this.)

But he obviously struggles with feeling present mentally sometimes.

You'll see him zoning out occasionally, touching the J-shaped scar on his face before violently shaking himself back into the present.

He has panic attacks while playing a dance video game with a coffin in it—a coffin his character becomes trapped in because he's not moving fast enough. (hello, trauma)

He's angry all the time and so relieved when Barbra expresses her own rage at something because, yes, finally, someone else is letting their emotions out instead of bottling it up (Dick).

His emails are littered with orders for self-help books, emails from his therapist moving his sessions around, and concerned messages from his friends (Roy comes to mind) saying if he needs to get out of Gotham, they'll make it happen.

Alfred holding him while he sobs over losing Bruce still breaks me every time. I have to pause the game and walk around my house until I feel normal again.

And then there's the cut scene where Dick asks, "Hey, remember that time we all [insert funny thing here]," and Jason admits, somewhat angrily, that no, he doesn't because Lazarus took entire swaths of memories from him and he hates how he can't connect with people the way he used to and he hates the way they all look at him (the way Dick is looking at him now) when he admits he doesn't remember something they clearly loved about the old him: the version of him who didn't have volatile mood swings or made people flinch when he did something as mundane as handle a kitchen knife -- the undead monster he came back as*.

The fact that Dick then contrives to recreate this memory so Jason can be included in a newer version of it -- while also giving him what is arguably a weapon -- fucks me up every time. Dick just yeets a kitchen knife at him, trusting that Jason will catch it, and then just steamrolls over Jason's rightful 'what the fuck' expression with "Hey, we're making food. Get dicing."

And Jason knows what they're all doing. He's aware of it, and he gets the teeniest, tiniest smile before smothering it out. Except he can't quite. He's still smiling as he chops the vegetables. And yes, they're all hopeless at cooking compared to him, and he knows he's going to end up taking over, but that's okay. Because this is for him. He gets to control it.

And that's how Jason gets to make a new memory, one where he is handed a weapon and gets to turn it into a genuine expression of nurturing and care.

Because he does care about them. He wouldn't conspire with Dick to bake Barbara's favorite childhood cookies if he didn't. He wouldn't try so hard to be gentle with Tim triggering the shit out of him while he's struggling with his grief. He just doesn't always know how to express it because he doesn't always know what he's feeling.

Is his anger valid? Or is this Lazarus Pit Rage? Is he being overly sensitive because of his trauma, or is everyone else underreacting because of their trauma? (Should he sign them all up for therapy, quite probably, yes.)

So, you could perhaps argue that Jason experiences body horror in the sense that he doesn't remember all the pieces of who he used to be. (Speaking as someone with severe memory loss from medical trauma, it's certainly a type of horror.) But I don't think it's because he's detached from it physically or doesn't feel in control of his body. I think it's his mind that worries him.

His body he can control. It's his mind that still sparks green sometimes.

---

*Re the scene with Tim when Tim calls the Talons monsters. "What about me? Do you think I'm a monster?"

No, they don't.

But Jason does. And it scares him shitless.

[spacedace]

So I've seen a lot of "Jazz works as a therapist at Arkam" in the dp x dc fandom, and while I like the concept, I also feel like Jazz would take one look at the place and immediately be like "what the absolute fuck" at just the everything of the place.

Like, she either nopes out after the tour during the interview or quits not too long afterward starting there, not because she can't take it but because she's so appalled by what's going on there and can smell the corruption rolling off the place and knows no one sent to there is ever actually going to get the help they need.

So Jazz decides to open a private practice instead while still being absolutely determined to work with the various rogues in the city, she is here to help and nothing is going to stop her.

So she just starts showing up at known hangouts of rogues and during their heists/schemes/sprees, and even fights between them and the batfam, just like

"Hi! It’s so nice to meet you! My name is Dr. Jasmine Fenton/Nightingale/whatever last name she’s using and I was hoping we could talk!"

Casually kicks a baterang away without looking because she's being polite and professional!

"I understand that your experience with therapy through Arkam has been nothing but atrocious and that you are rightfully -"

Kicks Batman away without breaking eye contact or a sweat.

"Suspicious of attempting therapy again, and Idon't want to force anything on you, therapy should be on your terms after the experiences you've had but -"

Grabs Robin out of the air as he leaps at the rogue she's talking to and tucks him under her arm, ignoring his feral hissing and all attempts to break her hold.

"-I really think that you'd find it beneficial, even if I'm not the right therapist for you."

The rogue in question is having the time of their life and takes Jazz's business card - and a few extra to pass around - not really intending to actually ever book a therapy appointment with her but way too entertained and excited to share this madness with everyone else.

But then one of the rogues actually looks up Jazz's website and sees all the various safe guards she’s put in place to ensure that any villians that come to her will be protected while seeing her - soundproof therapy room, regular sweeps for listening and tracking devices, the most insane firewalls and protections anyone has ever seen on her network, and ooh she provides snacks and drinks!

So someone finally books an appointment with her, half convinced she's either going to turn them in or is a villain herself intent to experiment on them, but then it’s actually really nice??? And they feel a lot better afterwards?? She doesn't even say anything to indicate that she wants them to stop being villains, she just wants them to be okay??

So more and more rogues start going to her, and Batman was already losing his mind about this woman before - Oracle can't hack her system?!? And her background check shows a totally normal Psychiatrist?? - but now half of Gotham's heavy hitters and a dozen or so other minor league villains are seeing her regularly and every time he tries to get info on any plans the rogues might be scheme via her office it fails utterly. Nightwing got knocked out with something called a creep stick and when he tried to break in himself to get answers she just appeared out of no where and gave him the most scathing lecture about doctor-patient confidentiality before bullying him off her property and threatening to sick her brother on him if he tried again?

And because she's become such a figure in the Gotham underworld, she gets the attention of Joker.

And everyone, rogues and Bats alike, are terrified that she’s going to try and take him on as a patient like she has so many other villains in the city and that's just a recipe for tragedy.

But then the Joker is on his way to the hospital with two broken legs and the fear of god beat into him babbling about eldritch nightmares and whenever anyone asks Jazz what happened she just shrugs and just says things like "I refused him as a patient, he's not my problem." Or "My brother doesn't like clowns." And just, does not elaborate.

Batman is losing his mind over it all. Jazz is just happy to be able to actually help the rogues. Arkam is less happy about how she absolutely destroys their reputation.

[petew21-blog]

Poolverine

Spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

Deadpool and Wolverine aproached Cassandra while the others were battling her soldiers. Wolverine was suppressing his rage, Deadpool, on the other hand, was suppressing his words. He was still talking, just not as much as he would normally.

Cassandra Nova was ready for everything. After all, she was here for her whole life. She has seen everything. Even Loki escaping from the void. But now, these two basically immortal beings stood in front of her. One was a bigger paij in the ass than the other.

Deadpool:"Ok, Baldilocks slash wannabe Walter White in your kingdom. We know we had our ups and downs from the moment you killed Johnny, may he rest in peace. We loved him and will never forget him. But I gotta rain on your parade here, and I hope your bald head is not too sensitive for some cold rain drops, because now is the time to let us all go and end this drama show."

Wolverine:"You said you'll be holding back."

Deadpool:"Ohhh, this is holding back. I haven't even started."

Wolverine:"She has the power to kill you with a snap of her fingers, and you still think the best way to stop her is to insult her?"

Cassandra just stood in front of them, speechless.

Deadpool:"I think your X-men spoiled you with all the WE'RE-ALL-IN-THIS-TOGETHER attitude. Well, pal! This is my show, and here, we roast our enemies before we stab them after many unsuccessful attempts, moment of desperation and a collab with Madonna."

Cassandra:"I have no idea what he is on about, but the two of you look like a married couple after twenty years of hating each other's guts. And you know what couple therapists always say to the unfunctional couple?"

Deadpool:"Yep! They say, ‘You either learn to compromise… or one of you learns to hide the body really well.’ So, which one of us is digging tonight, Logan?!"

Cassandra:"I just... How do you put up with him?"

Logan:"I have known him for like 5 hours and killed him several times."

Deadpool:"And so did I! Cute, aren't we?"

Cassandra:"I can't... See each other's perspective and get out of my sight."

The two were now transported via portal back to one of the worlds to empty Xavier mansion.

Deadpool, now in Wolverine's body, stood up and looked down. "Ohhhhh, baby, yesss. Look at these!!!" Wade now popping his new claws. "Snikt! Yeaaaah. Oh, I could get used to this."

Deadpool turned his head to the audience and said:"Hey folks. Not to alarm you. Deadpool is still here, just a slightly broody and hairier version. Only now I got! Claaaaaws!!!" Wade sliced through a nearby painting that immediatelyfell down, destroying a statue on the table. "Whoopsie. Just normal Wolverine collateral damage, am I right?"

Logan:"What the hell is this? Why am I suddenly feeling... chatty? I need to get of this tight red spandex and this horrible mask."

Deadpool is now doing ridiculous poses in the reflection of a mirror. Screaming and scratching the air. "Look at me, I'm like a Canadian action figure." Wink at the audience.

Logan:"Stop this Wilson. We need to get Charles."

Deadpool:"Oh I don't know, I got this sudden urge to sing and get a circus. We shouldn't waste time."

They both search the house, but all the X-men are gone.

Now in the privacy of a small bathroom. Deadpool, stands in front o the mirror, shirtless, flexing. "Ohhhh look at that". He pops out his claws again. "If only I had these babies during my last taco truck robbery .- I mena, purchase."

Deadpool grabs a comb on the sink. "The hair! What an untamed mane. I look like a mix between a badger and a bad scripted shampoo comercial." Then he leans closer to the mirror. "And check out this jawline. Ladies and gents, feast your eyes."

"One, two, three, four, five...six! Finally jackpot. It's really like a washboard for all my dirty clothes. I could do laundry on these bad boys, If I ever did laundry."

"And what do we have here." Deadpool raises his furry eyebrows, following the hairy trail under, leading to the massive buldge. "Oh Logan, I knew you've been hiding some serious adamantium down here, but damn. No wonder all the X-men want to sleep with you. Pun intended. I mean... If I knew that you had this much heat packed in here, I would have switched with you sooner."

Wade strikes a final pose and blows a kiss to his reflection:"Wolvie, you beautiful, hairy beast, I may never give this body back to you."

Logan enters the bathroom with a scowl, freezing in horror at the sight before him.

Deadpool in Logan's body, completely naked and a little too pleased with his new situation.

"What the hell are you doing, Wade!!!"

"Hey, Wolvie. Just getting acquainted with the goods. Man, you've been holding out for me. Honestly, If there was a claw shooting out of this thing, I wouldn't even be surprised anymore." Wade said with a smile, gripping his hard dick in Logan's face

"Get your filthy hands off my...!" Logan fighting the urge to kill his own body

"Logan, it's your hands, don't forget that. So that means I did nothing wrong. Your body that touched yourself. I haven't touched anything, if you think about it." Towards the audience:"It's like flashbacks from puberty."

"Besides, I only wanted to take your body for a test drive, Logan. You know, making sure that all the gears work before returning the keys. Quality control!"

"If you don't stop now, I'll claw off that smug off your... your real face when we get back" Logan gets closer to his old body, now feeling a strange urge to want him to get closer. Both of the bodies pulling towards each other

Deadpool:"Logan? Did you pay Magneto to get us closer? Cause I feel a strange force pulling me to you and I have to say i don't mind it"

Logan:"I'm not doing anything. I... No way. I'm trying to go away from you"

Deadpool:"Oh yeah, it's happening, baby. My body can't resist this beautiful, hairy pile of muscles, and your body is controlled by one of the most perverted minds alive."

"YOU SICK BASTARD. This is all your twisted head. If you'll be enjoying even a second of this." Logan shouted

Deadpool:"Oh, come on. It's just chemistry. You can't fight it"

Logan:"Gotta get control of this."

Deadpool:"No need for that. Your body's got the hots for me. I'm a walking talking thirst trap now. Give in, big guy. Let's make it weird."

Logan now with his new hands still in spandex, touching his old body. "Wade... When this is over... I'm going to make you regret all of this."

Deadpool:"I'm counting on it. But until then, you're mine"

Wade pulls of his old mask down from Logan's head:"Ohhh there is that crispy chipsy face I haven't seen for a while". Logan:"Please just shut up"

Their hands our now all over each other. Logan's burly figure standing above Deadpool's figure. Logan's body under Wade's control now pushes his old body towards the wall. Breaking it. They get to Cyclops and Jean's bedroom, now vacant, ready for their action. Dadpool starts making out with his body still on the ground from the collision. Logan wants to fight back, but gives up and makes out with his bearded face. It feels kind of nice, but he can't ever admit that to Wade.

Wade picks up Logan from the ground using his claws, and with their help, he rips of the spandex off of Logan. Scratching him in the process. Logan now moaning in pain, looking deeply into his old eyes. He now understands why many people called him a "beast." He did look like one. But sexy one at that.

Wade threw Logan on the bed. Turning him around. Logan was ready for immediate penetration, but suddenly he felt a moist thing pushing its way between Deadpool's hairy ass. Was he now experiencing rimming? "Wade, no...!"

Deadpool:"Don't worry, sweetpie. I know what my body likes. Just relax, enjoy and don't fart in my face"

Logan has never felt this feeling in such an intimate place. And it wasn't even his body.

Wade now turned Logan to his back. He positioned himself. "Ready? I know you're used to pain, but this might be a bit... unsettling."

Logan:"I can take a bit of pain... AHHHHHHH"

Deadpool."Sorry, boo. Haven't stretched out that thing for quite a while."

He started pushing more and more. At that moment, Logan tried to get up and leave. But something in Logan's body overtook Wade. He took both of his claws and pushed them through Deadpool's body's forearms, securing him in place. Logan screamed in pain. "Why???"

Deadpool:"Don't want you to give up during the best part when it stops hurting"

Sweat was dripping from Logan's body all over Deadpool's. All of Logan's hair were now glistening in sweat.

"Ohhhh moth.... This is so amazing. I feel like a Republican during the Fourth of July" Deadpool screamed out while his claws were still in place.

He picked up the pace, and when he saw that Logan was now moaning in pleasure and not in pain, he took out his claws and just enjoyed the ride.

"Oh Wolvie. I think I'm gonna get you pregnant now."

"Just fuck me!!!"

Now very close to the finish, Deadpool took out his dick and pointed it at his old face, cumming all over his old chest and hitting his body's eye. Logan came too, but on his stomach. He was still mesnerized. How come, through all these years, he never even thought about stimulating his prostate?

Both now watching each other, sweaty, out of breath.

Logan:"You won't tell a soul."

Deadpool looking at the audience, smirking:"Promise"

And at the corner of the room a quiet girly voice spoke out:"Promise". Kitty sunk into the wall leaving embarassed to the next room

Message from Inbox :)

Yo, i love your writing. And with your last story with Hugh and Ryan....What about their characters?, Wolverine and Deadpool swapping bodies thanks to Cassandra Nova powers that also made them aroused for each other in order to distract them from stopping her. Wade can't help but to give into Logan's body urges to dominate, and Logan just want the voices gone.

[meeludrawz]

New rehab program - Pt2

~ You're the very last therapist that the law has sent to "help" Shigaraki Tomura. All Might is the one who recommended you but the thing is, you have to be roommates with the villain ~

Warnings: You have anxiety, skin picking problems (Not mentioned in this text but will be in next parts), emetophobia, angst? (Idk if that counts as angst) Author's note: So this part is VERY self indulgent, but you can enjoy it nonetheless!

In a month, you learned alot about his "schedule".

Shigaraki was quite the night owl. In the morning, you'd hear nothing coming from his room but by the time noon approached, you'd start hearing shuffling. He'd eventually come out, do his morning routine, probably, in the bathroom then sat down at the table to eat lunch with you. He never sat close to you though, always at the very opposite end of the table. You both never really talked either, well, you did try here and there but everytime he'd give you that one murderous look, that'd easily make you shut up.

Then he'd get up and watch TV while you did the dishes. Tomura was usually looking at Netflix or Youtube.

You were glad he felt comfortable enough to spend an hour or two on the couch while you were in the next room. You had tried to sit down in the living room to watch something with him, but he'd get up and watch the rest in his room. It always made you feel horrible. You knew you were unwanted since the very beginning but acting like that, right in front of you, was just painful. It only happened once and it was enough to make you stop trying to watch tv with him.

If he didn't watch TV after eating, he'd immediately go back to his room and not move from there until dinner.

Dinner was like every lunch, silent and awkward but he never seemed to find your food horrible as he always finished his whole plate or never showed any signs of disgust. Maybe he was just a good liar, but you couldn't help but feel glad that he liked your cooking.

You also picked up how much he didn't want help. Not just for therapy, but for everything else too.

One time he had lost "something", you figured it was important due to him rummaging around the whole place, so out of curiosity, you had asked him what was going on.

Surprisingly, he had answered. "Lost something"

"Would you like me to help? What did you lose?" You had genuinely asked.

By the look he had given you, you immediately knew that he was highly suspecting you. He probably thought that you had hidden his stuff. Tomura refused your help, and threw an insult so you never figured out what he was looking for. He eventually had stopped searching an hour later. Hopefully, you thought he had found it.

There was the time when his new gaming chair had arrived. He had installed himself in the living room to assemble it.

Half an hour later, you heard a thud and an angry Tomura swearing loudly so you ran to him. "Are you okay??" You had carefully approached him

Whatever happened that day, he only had stood up, looked at you dead in the eyes and went: "Fuck off" Before he locked himself in the bathroom.

But right before he did, you had spotted him holding his hand while he walked past. You figured he hurt himself and it hurt… You had only wanted to help since the beginning but he didn't want to. Of course you couldn't force him, but still.

There were other small events like these where you quickly learned that he preferred taking care of himself.

Little did you know, something would change soon

``` ```` Today was the only day that Shigaraki was allowed to go out that wouldn't require groceries or stuff like that. He could go out do anything he wanted! But under the eye of a pro hero, of course. Which, you couldn't help but observe, that it would get him more tense than usual.

Dabi and the pro hero, Hawks, had came to pick him up. The winged hero was in charge of the blue flame villain, like you were in charge of Shigaraki. He was also here to see how you were handling things with the crimson eyed villain.

When they walked in, Dabi went to Tomura's bedroom, while Hawks leaned on the kitchen counter in front of you. You were holding a warm mug of hot cocoa, unsure about this outing, but you trusted the heroes, didn't you? "Well, I'm not sure how it's going or what you're doing with him but he never had a therapist staying this long before"

You held a tiny smile before looking down and sighing. "Well, I honestly think I failed.. We didn't make any progress.. And sometimes it's.." You hesitated. He raised a brow but patiently waited for you to finish. "It's scary.. Whenever I try to do something, I.. He looks at me like I'm the worst thing on Earth and I immediately back off.. I- I don't think I'll be able to endure this for long"

The hero's expression softened even more than earlier. "Hm.. I get ya, it's not easy at all and it's even risky.. But hey I heard your quirk is quite useful for that, he didn't try to… Do anything against you, right?"

You nodded in agreement, your quirk was just enhanced reflexes. If something was thrown at you with no ill intent, you could easily catch it, like a ball or your keys. You could also easily climb up on a pile of books and if you had to fall, you'd easily land on your feet. But if someone wanted to attack you, you could easily dodge attacks. Though, it wouldn't work if someone threw a ball with too much strength or speed, or if you fell from too high.

"When are you thinking about leaving?" The hero asked.

You glanced back up at him. "Well, once the Director of the program knows, I think I should be able to leave next week"

Hawks nodded but as he was about to add something, Dabi and Shigaraki walked past you two. The purple-ish-scarred man giving you a respectful nod while Tomura didn't even acknowledge you before they entered Hawks' car.

The winged hero usually didn't need one but when he was hanging out with more than one person, he couldn't fly with them. Even though that would be more than hilarious. "Welp, time to go, I should bring him back around midnight"

You nodded, giving him an amused smile. It sounded like he was Dabi's dad telling you that he'll bring your "rebellious" child (Shigaraki) safe and sound.

You watched them leave with the "ex-villains". He was lucky that they were wearing those necklaces or else he would've been easily outnumbered. Now that they were "quirkless", he could handle them both with the strength of his feathers, if they even tried something that is.

You tried staying up all night to welcome them back but you ended up falling asleep on the couch.

The next morning, you woke up finding a little note on the little table in front of the couch.

'He drank a little bit too much, so he might be cranky tommorrow, sorry - Hawks <3'

Great

Now you had to deal with an hungover villain.

"I'm leaving soon" You sighed to yourself.

You got up, walked to the bathroom, brushed your teeth and all that.

You then decided to take a shower, but as soon as you were done, a towel wrapped around you, Shigaraki kicked the door open. You screamed and jolted. "W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"

The minute you saw his face, a cold shiver went down your whole spine, you KNEW what was going on.

Your brain was YELLING at you to run as far as possible to escape. But Shigaraki hurried past you and hunched over the toilet.

You had, by instinct, already covered your ears with your hands as your body started shaking violently and tears were forming in the corner of your eyes.

You kept your eyes, very anxiously, on the door.

Your brain was screaming at you, telling you to RUN, to ESCAPE, that it WASN'T SAFE to stay near him!

He was fine, he was fine! He didn't help-!

But he's your PATIENT-!

NO NO NO NO! RUN!!

Danger-! DANGER!!

NO, HELP HIM, he could CHOKE and DIE!!

You DIDN'T want to let someone die when you were RIGHT THERE, to help!

Shigaraki restarted gagging and, without being able to control your body, you stormed out. At this point, your shaking had increased. You clutched, holding it for dear life, the towel wrapped around you.

Once you had reached the extreme opposite of the house, which was a corner in the dining room, you had curled up in a ball. You silently cried, squeezing your hands against your ears, wanting to block EVERY little sound. But you had to calm down, you HAD to, you couldn't like this! He couldn't see you like this!

'What do I do? What do I DO?!' You wanted to scream.

You let out a whimper, you knew what to do but you really REALLY didn't want to get near him.

Your brain was screaming danger all over and over again. What a pathetic therapist you were, being mortified at the sight of vomit. Hell, you didn't even had a glimpse of it! And you were curled up in a ball, naked, in a corner of the dining room.

After what seemed horribly long, you very very carefully removed your hands from your ears and you surprisingly, and gladly, didn't hear any sound.

Though, it worried you, was he-

You quickly got up, the room spun a little, and headed to the bathroom. You, once again, very very carefully peaked inside and found him sitting on the floor, his back against the bathtub.

You shakily walked towards Shigaraki and carefully lifted his hair up a little. He flinched but never struggled against you, his body probably still felt too upset to try anything.

You were still shaking like hell and you never looked at him when you said: "L-Let's get y-your hair cleaned.." You didn't care about your very trembling voice, you just grabbed a small towel, poured water on it and gently rubbed his hair. You almost didn't look, not wanting to get a glance of anything that he had thrown up.

It slowly made you relax.

He was fine, you were fine, you weren't going to catch whatever he had because it was just a hungover, you cannot catch a hungover, you weren't hungover, you wouldn't get sick. You kept repeating those sentences nonstop in your head.

You grabbed his shirt, tugging it a little and he understood what you were doing. He raised his arms and you removed it. Then throwing it in the sink, as fast as you could to not touch or see anything that could trigger your fear more than it already was.

You had to take care of him, you had to, it was your job, wasn't it? You also kept repeating those in your mind.

You bent down next to him, your vision was a bit blurry but you felt fine, It was just not focusing on anything, which was perfect like that. Though, were you really feeling fine? No, not at all, you were still shaking, your heart felt like it was going to explode and your breathing also hadn't settled that much.

You didn't glance at him, you just put the back of your hand against his forehead, just making sure, but it was hard to keep it against him due to your trembling. He seemed fine though.

Your throat squeezed, you had to force yourself to talk. "A-Are you okay?"

Shigaraki looked so exhausted, almost zombie-like. Mostly with the state of his hair, it hid his whole face like a mop was thrown on top of him. He nodded before mumbling. "..Are you?"

You blinked, focusing your eyes again and you realized that he was looking at your hand who was still shaking against his forehead. You slowly removed it, trying to compose yourself.

You wanted to tell him that you weren't okay, but that would make you and horrible therapist, wouldn't it? You were the one that had to take care of him, not the opposite. Your lips quivered, and tears restarted to form in the corner of your eyes but you controlled yourself as much as you could. "Y-Yeah" Your voice cracked, of course, but you would keep lying if he kept asking.

He threw a quick glance at me. "Bullshit" He spat out, keeping his voice low though as he sounded more raspy than usual.

You showed him a weak smile before murmuring: "Yeah"

This would've been a good time to talk and have a little therapy session but the both of you stayed silent. Personally, you didn't want to push him, not after what he had gone through a few minutes ago. And him? He wasn't a therapist, what could he even say?? Not that he cared anyway. In all honesty, he felt so horrible that he didn't give a shit about you. He just felt like sleeping plus drinking water since his head and throat were killing him.

You eventually stood up and left to your bedroom. Though, you couldn't help but feel bad for leaving him in the bathroom.

Part 1

Pt 2 - You're here

Pt 3

[hpgal]

DC X DP: VACATION TO A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE Pt. 1

CW: mentions of death

TLDR: Danny is stressed and depressed feeling like despite all the changes in his life, he feels like he is still the same.

Word Count: 1310

a/n: I plan on making multiple parts to this one but it will take some time. This is more a draft to part 1 than anything else and will most likely end up on AO3 in the future as a more completed version of itself once it is done here on Tumblr. Any feedback and suggestions (or even if you want to continue this plot with your own spin on it as long as I am credited/ tagged so I can read it too!) is very much welcomed!!

Danny wanted a change.

Not just for fun either. Though fun would be nice between all these Ghost King responsibilities he had been forced to start learning for when he comes of age, or well not, technically?

He doesn't know! It's complicated! He was 17 now, but his ghost age was only 3! The Observants said to fully assume the throne his ghost age was supposed to be 18 at the youngest but they'd make an exception for when he was 18 in the living realm.

Ghee, thanks you weirdos, because I totally wanted my adult life to already be over so I can manage my undead life.

Anyways, between trying to graduate and learn his forever job, he had been going to therapy now that he isn't the only ghost fighter in town. He has breaks! A support system! 14 year old Danny would never believe his parents accepted him for his ghostly side!!

His friends learned to fight and trap so well over the years that they don't even need him by their side anymore for every fight. The GIW was chased out of town and supposedly disbanded by the government because "it was a scam and ghosts don't actually exist." Even his parent's business was booming in town.

They started leaving the field work to others and focused on research. They hold ghost defense classes 3 times a week for any and all citizens. They build home defense gadgets and other anti ghost equipment to sell to the town, too. There are even kids from his class who want to get into the field now and intern at FentonWorks.

Over the years, everyone in town has grown incredibly capable of handling ghosts themselves that there is a city funded ghost protection task force. And that is all to deal with the ghosts that are more on the unruly side.

The reality is that it is not exactly necessary anymore to always be prepared for the next daily ghost attack. Since it became public knowledge for the Ghost Zone that he'd be assuming the throne, most ghosts have opted to leave Amity Park alone since it was his haunt. However, he has opened it up to any ghost who wants to visit as long as they do not leave Amity Park. And so, ghosts and the living live in harmony in the town.

In his senior year, the town has become so open to ghosts that when a ghost whose obsession is teaching, they hired him at Casper High! Danny is even in the class. He teaches an elective on astronomy, something the school could never afford. Ghosts didn't want to be paid in cash, so it helped! All Dr. Denver wants was to teach and to be allowed to claim the observatory for his research.

But while all this was great, Danny felt depressed. Which leads him back to why he was in therapy. It felt like all these amazing things have happened. That everyone has changed, except him. Thanks to his halfa status, his physical state isn't changing as much either. He discovered he is aging much, much slower.

Talking to his therapist, she helped him realize that what he craved was for a change for himself. Sure, he IS going to become The Infinite Realms king and that'll be a big change but it isn't what he wants.

He doesn't know what he wants, really. Which meant his therapist has given him an assignment to figure it out. So he talked to Clockwork, naturally hoping for some help. And Clockwork told him something surprising instead.

"Yeah, I'm ready for a change, but I don't know what to change." Danny told him in hopes the wording would draw Clockwork to give him an answer instead of something cryptic. He really didn't want to do the legwork to figure it out while he had midterms to study for and more ghost king lessons with The Observants later.

Clockwork paused as if in thought, "You could take a vacation to your universe of origin," he suggests. "That may help give clarity in what you need to change to be happy."

Danny floated next to him. He couldn't bring himself to be frustrated with the being of time for knowing exactly why Danny was here. Instead, he stared at him in confusion, distracted by what he just said, "What do you mean? I am not from here?"

He grins, his form flickering from old to young, "When you became a halfa, you changed universes from the complicated process you went through to become one."

Danny contemplated for a moment, confused but intrigued. A different universe? I wonder how different it would be from here. Without a second thought, Danny grins eager.

"I wanna go!" He exclaims like a young puppy who discovered a new toy for the first time.

"That would not be a problem, time runs differently between there and here. A week there will be an hour here so you won't need a time medallion." Clockwork simply looks off into the space surrounding them before continuing, "I have a friend who will act as your guardian while there. Head through the star shaped door near the Yetis whenever you are ready and he will be standing by, waiting for you" He shifts back into an older version of himself, pleased with himself for already knowing Danny would be taking this chance to go and made the preparations for this moment weeks ago.

Danny does a small dance in midair without a second thought and starts to drift off in that direction, "Oh, and Danny?" Clockwork calls out, "Legally, you are dead in that universe and.. well, much is different from what you know, so do be careful. Due to how time and the laws of that dimension for being such as myself, I am not the main ruler of time there, so the protection spells I placed on you are not guaranteed to save you this time." Clockwork grins knowingly towards Danny as Danny speeds off, oblivious to how serious his warning was.

---

Danny flies like the wind through the vastness of The Ghost Zone until he arrives at the door Clockwork described. His thoughts start to sour at the thought of this universe where he is considered dead despite it being his origin.

The door he arrives at is huge. Like he was not sure how to open the door huge. But wow, was it beautiful. It was like staring into space itself. It sparkled unlike any night sky he has even gazed upon. As he approached the beautiful door, he hesitated.

He was technically returning home, but he didn't feel any attachment to the universe in front of him. To him, nothing seemed different. Everything was exactly the same when he woke up after the accident, so he never noticed. The entire idea that he abandoned his family and friends by dying here was a horrible thought, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't know what happened here.

Wait, did that mean Vlad wasn't from that universe either? Danny shakes his head at the thought. It was pointless to fall down that particular rabbit hole now.

Maybe he should've asked Clockwork more before flying off without a thought. Clockworks words echoed inside him for fear of what he might find. Was this really a good idea? To return to the place he no longer existed? Could he handle seeing what the grief of his passing had done to those he loved?

A moment passes, and Danny shakes his head and steels himself. He needs to know how much changes, if he really did make an impact. Was he important?

With his decision made, the door seems to open itself. A bright beam of a soft white light floods through the threshold, and Danny steps through.

[mellowsadistic]

Couples Therapy - Part 1

After Angela cheats on her husband, she agrees to go to couples therapy with him, but each session with the therapist leaves her feeling less and less like a grown-up.

***

Angela tapped her foot impatiently while her husband spoke with the therapist privately, probably whining about how angry and betrayed he felt. They were both supposed to go in together in a moment, but for now she was stuck waiting in reception.

Really, she couldn’t understand why Eric was being so dramatic. It was only sex! It wasn’t as though she didn’t love him anymore. She just needed to have a little fun sometimes, that was all. They weren’t even thirty yet! He was twenty-eight and she was twenty-seven. Did he really expect her to settle down and stick to a single sexual partner when she was still so young?

But he’d insisted on seeing a marriage counsellor and she’d eventually agreed, albeit reluctantly. Their therapist was a man. How was he supposed to understand what it was like for a woman in her situation? And her first impressions of the office hadn’t been great either. The receptionist was a total bimbo!

Angela glanced over at her. She was dressed up like some bizarre fetish fantasy. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a pair of high pigtails, and her stripper-sized tits were crammed into a sparkly Disney princess top. Didn’t this place have a uniform? She looked like an overgrown six-year-old for goodness sake! And she’d been acting like one too when she’d tried to match their names to their booking. Her husband had been very patient with her stupid lisping voice and barely passable ability to read, but Angela had wanted to turn around and leave straight away. What kind of serious therapist’s office employed a woman like that?

At last the door opened, and the therapist stood in the doorway. He smiled kindly and gestured her to come inside.

“He’s weady for you now!” the bimbo receptionist chirped happily, looking up from what looked like a fashion magazine for tweens.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

She went into the office and the therapist closed the door behind her. Eric was lounged on a sofa facing a hard-backed wooden chair, looking perfectly relaxed. Angela sat down next to her husband, leaving a few inches of space in between them.

The therapist didn’t take a seat in the wooden chair, however. He took a tablet from his desk in the corner and stood in front of Angela.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. She looked down at the screen in her lap in confusion. What was this for? Some sort of presentation?

“I find that girls always get a bit nervous in my office,” he said, talking to her in a light, overly friendly tone, as if he was talking to a nursery-schooler. “This will help you relax, okay sweetie?”

Angela scowled. She was about to launch into a furious tirade. She couldn’t stand being talked down to! Who the hell did this man think he was? If he assumed most women were like his ditzy receptionist then he had another thing coming. But before she could say a word, the tablet in her lap came to life. Brilliant pastel colours swirled and spiralled on the screen, sinking into a single spot in the centre, and her complaints died in her throat. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was just so pretty…

“There we go,” said the therapist in that same sweet tone. “That always takes care of fussy little girls.”

“Is there anything I have to do?” Eric asked.

Angela felt strange. She was vaguely aware of the men’s words, but it was as though they were coming to her from the end of a very long tunnel. Her attention was focused on the dazzling lights on the screen.

“Not a thing. Let me do all the talking. Did you hear that, Angela? We’re going to have a little talk, okay sweetie? Nothing to be nervous about. I’m a trained professional, after all. We need to have a little talk about how you betrayed your husband. About how he found out you were cheating on him. Because that wasn’t very clever of you, was it Angela? Getting caught.”

Angela shook her head, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Not clever,” she echoed. It was true. She shouldn’t have been caught. She should have been more careful not to let him find out. Because even though there was nothing wrong with what she’d done, even though she was completely in the right, Eric wouldn’t understand.

“That’s right, Angela,” said the therapist. “You’ve been a very dumb bitch, haven’t you?”

Angela frowned. That didn’t sound right. Dumb bitch. Was it okay for the therapist to call her that?

“Look at the pretty sparkles, sweetie,” he encouraged, and Angela sank back into the swirling lights. “That’s right. You’re just a dumb bitch, Angela. All women are, but you especially. That’s okay though. You don’t know any better – you’re just girls.”

Angela knew vaguely that there was something she didn’t like about what the man was saying, but she was too engrossed in the swirling colours to care. His words were like background noise. She could understand them if she concentrated, but it was so hard to focus with the wonderful patterns in front of her.

“Yes, you’re just a girl, Angela. Just a silly little girl. A big child. It doesn’t matter if you do something wrong, because you can’t be held accountable for your actions, can you? You’re sweet and innocent.”

Angela nodded eagerly, a dim smile spreading across her face. She hadn’t done anything wrong. If she wasn’t so distracted by her tablet, she’d have smirked at Eric. His stupid attempt to guilt-trip her with marriage counselling was backfiring on him. The therapist was on her side.

“Besides,” the therapist continued. “You didn’t cheat on your husband anyway, did you Angela?”

Angela was confused. She had cheated on Eric. Was the therapist going to help her cover it up? But Eric already knew, didn’t he? Surely that wouldn’t work! The lights on the screen grew brighter. They were so, so pretty…

“You didn’t,” the therapist said again. “In fact, it’s completely impossible for you to have cheated on your husband. You know why, I’m sure. It’s because of your embarrassing bedwetting habit.”

Angela wrinkled her nose and started trying to shake her head in disgust. She didn’t wet the bed! The therapist must be confused. He must be mixing her up with some little girl. Maybe one of his other clients was some silly little bedwetter who needed to be reassured that everyone had accidents now and again, but that certainly wasn’t her.

“Don’t… I don’t wet the bed…” she mumbled. Her words felt heavy in her mouth. It was hard to think. She just wanted to watch the pretty swirling lights.

“Look at the colours, sweetie,” the therapist told her. “That’s a good girl. You are a bedwetter, Angela. You wet the bed every night. You have done for quite a few weeks now. And what man would want to sleep with a woman who still pisses herself in her sleep like a dumb toddler? You’re very lucky your husband puts up with your babyish behaviour, young lady.”

Angela’s face slackened as the spirals spun faster and faster. Lucky. She was a lucky girl. She was lucky to have a husband who put up with her bedwetting. Another man might leave his wife if she started peeing herself every night. Especially if she’d cheated on him too. But Eric didn’t know about that. Did he? It was strange. For a while Angela had been sure he did. And the therapist didn’t seem to know either. In fact, he thought it was impossible for a bedwetter like her to cheat on her husband! She blushed even more brightly. How had she done it? Angela frowned slightly. She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember clearly. But the therapist was right – who’d want to have sex with some stupid, bedwetting baby-woman? Why would anyone sleep with her when it meant waking up in piss-soaked sheets, or next to someone in a sopping wet diaper. Her special protection. Her baby pants. Was the therapist still talking? She tried to pay attention.

“…because your husband puts up with you in other ways too, doesn’t he?” he was saying. “It’s not just the bedwetting. You actually have quite a few silly, childish behaviours that no adult woman should reasonably be expected to have. You…”

Angela tuned out again. She could feel his words entering her ears, but her attention was focused entirely on the lights in her lap. So pretty. Such pretty lights…

When she came to, the tablet was gone, Eric was standing up and putting his coat on, and the therapist was looking at her with a satisfied expression on his face. Had she fallen asleep?

“Ready to go home?” Eric asked her brightly.

Angela smiled back, a little hesitantly. She’d thought she was in trouble, but maybe she’d just been confused. She was such a silly girl sometimes. Such a dumb bitch.

Eric held out his hand, and she took it. It felt nice to be holding onto him. It felt reassuring. He held her hand all the way back to their house, and while he walked, she couldn’t help herself from skipping along beside him.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Hi! For the ficlet prompts: For Tarlos: 🫶🏻 Breakfast date For BuckTommy: 🛏️ There's only one bed, and it's… a single (or broken? Like sunken down in the center or something. Whichever option sparks joy. 😂)

There's only one bed, and it's a single

A few weeks into their relationship, Buck wonders why Tommy still hasn't invited him over to his house. Somehow, they always seem to end up in the loft, apart form that one memorable date that ended in the 118's locker room – he’s still proud of himself for keeping his mouth shut about it the next day, even though his face probably screamed „ask me what happened last night“. Anyway, Tommy often just turns up at his door or picks him up from work and drives to the loft as a matter of course, and for a while Buck thinks it's just because he likes his place so much. It's tastefully furnished, right? And since he owns a couch again, Star Wars movie nights with Tommy next to him are much nicer.

It's just... Eddie had been so enthusiastic about Tommy's house, the garage, the dōjō; and Buck – Tommy’s boyfriend, mind you – hasn’t even seen a glimpse of all that. There are, of course, many possible explanations for this. Maybe Tommy’s a slob and it's always untidy (Eddie didn't mention this), or he's ashamed of his furniture (Eddie didn't mention this) or he's currently renovating (nope, not a word about that from Eddie). Either these made-up motives are as silly as they sound in Buck's head, or the real reason is him. Both could be true. 

One evening, after a very good dinner (it's perfectly acceptable to praise yourself, Buck thinks, especially after receiving top cooking honors from Bobby), it's time to grab the bull by the horns. 

“We're gonna sleep at your house tonight,” he says.

Tommy sets his glass down, blinks and replies, “We’ve basically just arrived at your place, Evan.”

"Right, but you’re staying overnight at my place about three times a week.“

“Didn't have the feeling that it was too much,” says Tommy with a wink.

Buck is melting away. This man has such a magnetic effect... But not this time, he swears to himself. He's let this slide long enough. If there's one thing he's learned, it's that problems should be addressed. This one isn't necessarily a problem, but it's a little oddity that has piqued his curiosity. And perhaps it also scratches his ego a little.

“No, I love it when you're here,” he says, feeling his cheeks flush. “But Eddie keeps telling me about your house and...”

“What is Eddie doing in this conversation now?” 

Tommy sounds genuinely confused, and he can't blame him. Buck takes a deep breath. 

“I want to see how you live.”

That's not quite the right approach, but at least Tommy smiles his adorable smile, which makes his face go all scrunchy. His answer, however, is not an exuberant “okay, let's get going”. Instead, he says, “That's sweet, but I'm rarely at home. It’s actually not that exciting.”

Somehow, it is, at least it starts getting annoying; Buck's curiosity is hard to tame when he believes he's discovered some kind of riddle. While it’s certainly exciting to see that there still are some things about Tommy that remain mysterious to him, his house shouldn't be on the top list of sweet secrets he holds. 

“I’m getting a vibe that you don't want me there, Tommy.”

“It's not like that.”

“Then what is it? Do you have any porn magazines lying around? Don't you want me to see your underwear drawer?”

“Evan...”

“Are there pictures of your ex-boyfriends on the walls?” Now Buck is on a roll. “Do you collect tasteless art? Is your house just too small for two people to be comfortable?”

“Evan,” Tommy groans. Wide-eyed, Buck glares at him, until Tommy finally exhales loudly and adds, “Yeah, it's too small. You're not going to give it a rest, are you?“

“My therapist says I should talk about my feelings. And there's no one I'd rather do that with than you, Tommy, and right now... well. Honestly, it's driving me crazy.”

“All right,” goes Tommy, getting up and taking his hand, ”there's no point in delaying it any longer anyway. Come with me. We're going to my place – but whether you want to sleep there remains to be seen.”

That, of course, was an even more mysterious answer, but Buck jumps to his feet immediately.

From the outside, Tommy's house looked neither particularly small nor large. The most remarkable thing about the single-storey, flat-roofed building was probably that it stood in the middle of a terraced housing estate in the suburbs. It wasn't an area Buck would have associated with Tommy, and there was probably a story behind it that he was eager to hear one day. 

Inside, it was just as unremarkable. This was the house of a single man who often did 24-hours-shifts and also had very excessive hobbies that made him leave the house quite often. In other words, a comparatively interchangeable place. Eddie hadn't mentioned anything about that either, he'd probably been blinded by the flights to Vegas and the garage. There were no photos of ex-boyfriends on the walls, no obvious porn movies in the impressive DVD collection, no tasteless art; there weren't even any potted plants, “I just don't have a green thumb,” says Tommy. 

“I don't understand why you didn't already show me your house,” Buck says, a little disappointed that he still couldn't solve the puzzle.

“Hm,” Tommy utters, and it sounds almost apologetic. He wraps his arms around Buck and adds, “You're here now.”

„Yes, and I forgot a change of clothes. You’re gonna have to lend me some tomorrow.“

“You're really determined to spend the night here?”

“You bet,” Buck says, his eyes roaming the room, ”show me your bedroom and I'll show you how determined I am.”

“Then get ready for a cold shower,” Tommy returns, taking Buck's hand and leading him further into his house. 

The door opened to another plain, rather functionally furnished room with a built-in wardrobe, a second door that probably led to the bathroom, a large window without any curtains and virtually no accessories. Then Buck’s gaze falls on the bed, and his jaw drops.

“Well, I told you it was small...”

“I thought you meant your house.”

It was the bed. A narrow, single bed. It wasn't an unusual place to sleep, of course; millions of bedrooms were furnished like this. Buck just couldn't understand why anyone would voluntarily give up the comfort of a kingsize when they were tall and beefy like his adorable boyfriend with the very embarrassed look on his face. 

“W-wait a minute. Is that why we always spent the night at my place? Because you’re sleeping in... this crib?”

“Hey, I like this bed,” Tommy replies, grimacing. “It's just not a good place for two. Hold on, what were you thinking, Evan?“

“Well, for a while I thought you just liked my shower...”

“... it's an excellent shower, I must say.”

"Well, to be honest, I thought it’s not that important to you."

Tommy looks intently at his face, shaking his head. 

“Did you seriously think you weren't important enough for me? I thought we had clarified that point by now. And for once, I'm not talking about the excellent sex, honey.“

"Which would be … not that comfortable in that bed," Buck says when the penny finally drops. “Adorable, Tommy. As if the kitchen table wasn't enough for us.”

“But would you want to sleep on it?”

“Good point,” Buck mutters. “We really can't both fit in the bed.”

“Gonna be tough. And… actually, I really prefer your shower.“

“I'll probably have to talk to the landlord about the water consumption.”

"Well, we don’t need to move together so soon," Tommy argues. “But you could help me buy a bigger bed, how about that?”

“Excellent,” says Buck. “But we have to be sure it’s too small for the things I’d love to do with you.”

He pushes the surprised Tommy onto the bed with a casual nudge.

“Fine,” Tommy replies with a grin before closing Buck's mouth with a kiss, ”but we're sleeping at your place tonight.”

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Thank you for the adorable prompt, @herrmannhalsteadproduction. I'm gonna need to skip the Tarlos one because I'm running out of spare time, but this was fun 😂❤️

[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 2

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I'm like completely overwhelmed that anyone has even read the first chapter of my fic, well alone liked and/or reblogged it! Thank you guys so much!

This chapter is a little bit of filler, just a heads up. But I hope you all like it anyways.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.0k

There were a lot of people surrounding Rooster’s bed, they all introduced themselves but the only thing he could really think about was how scared he was for them to pull this tube out of his throat. The doctor told him that there’s always a chance he might not respond well and they’ll have to place another one. And good god, that was the last thing he wanted. The sedation medications, being unable to talk, having to have his throat suctioned constantly, and listening to the never ending sounds of the machines were his own personal hell. And the prep before this was its own level of horrible. They put a vest on him that shook him violently to loosen any crap that had built up low in his lungs while he was intubated. Then they deep suctioned the shit outta his throat, it was so uncomfortable but Y/N promised it was all to help him and keep him from getting sick again and having to be intubated again.

He looked over at Y/N and prayed that she could say something to make him feel better. All of his friends and Mav were still on the aircraft carrier in God knows where, so Y/N was the only familiar face. He guesses he could’ve called Penny, Mav’s girlfriend, but it’s a Saturday morning, she should be spending time with Amelia and getting ready for another crazy night at the Hard Deck.

“So what’s gonna happen is: I’m gonna sit your bed up really high and place a pad under your chin since a lot of gunk might come up with the tube. That’s completely normal.” Y/N explained calmly, “Brent, the guy on your left, is the respiratory therapist. He’s gonna ask you to cough a few times and on the last cough, he’s gonna pull the tube out.”

Bradley nodded, looking her straight in her beautiful, expressive eyes.

“Your throat’s gonna hurt and feel really dry, you probably won’t be able to talk for a little bit.” She continued, “But I’m gonna stay here and monitor you, listen to your lungs, suction out any more gunk, and maybe we can try swabbing your mouth with water to help with the dryness until you’re cleared to drink. Does that sound okay?”

The young doctor at the bedside scoffed, “Do we really need to have this much dialog? We have other patients to get to, Nurse.”

Y/N’s face hardened, “I am well aware that you all are busy. However, I’m not going to allow anything to happen to Lt. Bradshaw without his full informed consent, so I’m making sure he knows exactly what we’re doing. It’s his right.”

The older doctor smiled at Y/N, “This is why nurses are so important, they fill in the blanks for the patients. As physicians, we can get caught up in the science and the technicality of things but nurses are the people who remind us to remember that we’re taking care of the whole person.”

The young doctor rolled his eyes.

Y/N smiled at the older doctor and shot the young doc a look that said, Bite me, bitch. She then looked at Rooster and asked, “You ready?”

Rooster nodded slowly, he was so scared.

“It’s okay that you’re scared.” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “But you see Brent, the one literally doing the damn thing to you? He’s not scared and I’m not scared ”

Brent smiled, “Not one bit. And all of those docs in their fancy white coats, they OK’d me to do this. That means they’re not scared either.”

Rooster felt a rush of calm wash over him, Y/N trusted these people, so he had no reason not to as well.

“Ready man?” Brent asked.

Bradley nodded.

Y/N sat the bed up so that he was sitting tall and placed an absorbent pad under his chin, “Let’s do it!”

“Give me a few coughs, Lieutenant.” Brent instructed.

Rooster coughed uncomfortably, it felt so weird with this thing on his throat.

“One last big cough.” Brent said.

With his next cough the tube was out and Rooster couldn’t help but continue to cough and dry heave. All the doctors’ eyes were glued to the numbers on his monitor, the only one looking at him was Y/N. 

She wiped all the spit and nastiness off of his face carefully and talked to him quietly, “That’s it, let it out. You’re doin’ great.”

A few moments later the older doctor said, “His oxygen sats look great. Let us know if anything changes, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, “Will do. Can I get a standing supplemental oxygen order? Just in case his sats start to decline.”

“Of course, Carl– I mean… Dr. Parks will put those in for you right away.” The old doc looked over at the very displeased younger doctor.

Once the doctors all assessed him and felt okay leaving the room, it was just Rooster and Y/N. He gestured towards his white board, there was no way in hell he could talk yet.

Y/N happily passed it to him and proceeded to start her own assessment, listening to his lungs with her stethoscope.

That young doc is an asshole. Rooster wrote.

Y/N snorted, taking her stethoscope out of her ears and setting it to rest around her neck, “For the sake of professionalism, no comment.” 

Can you call Maverick and tell him I’m okay? 

“Yeah, of course.” She pulled a pen and a slip of paper out of her scrub pocket, “Just write down his full name and number.”

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“Hi Captain Mitchell, this is Y/N and I’m Lieutenant Bradshaw’s nurse today.” You tried your best to sound as not nervous as possible. You always hated sitting at the nurses station and calling family members on the phone, usually because it was to give bad news or tell them to come to the hospital quickly to say goodbye. At least this time it was something positive.

“Oh my god,” The man choked on the other end of the line, “Is– Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. I’m sorry for scaring you.” You fiddled with the long phone cord, “He’s actually doing great. We took him off the ventilator about an hour ago and he’s breathing really well on his own. He’s working with physical therapy now, they have him out of bed and sitting in a chair.”

You could hear the joy in the man’s voice, “That’s incredible! Oh my god! I can’t wait to tell everyone, we’ve all been so worried. Can I speak to him?”

“Not quite yet, he’s not able to talk yet and will be hoarse for a little while.” You explained, twisting from side to side in the swiveling chair,  “But I can see if we can charge up his phone so he can text you and call when he’s able to.” 

“Thank you so much for the update, Y/N.” Capt. Mitchell gushed, “I usually have to call first for updates but this was such a great surprise.”

“Well one of the first things Bradley asked me to do for him after his extubation was call you and let you know that he’s okay.” 

He let out a happy sigh on the other end of the phone, “Did he really? That’s so good to hear. Tell him I’ll be home soon and my first stop will be to see him.”

You nodded, “Will do, Capt. Mitchell. You have a great rest of your day.”

“You as well, I know you’re taking great care of him.” And the call cut off right there.

“Ooooh look at you, big shot.” You couldn’t help but smile seeing Bradley sitting up in a chair and channel surfing on the crappy hospital TV.

Bradley picked up his white board and marker from the table beside him, Did you talk to Mav?

“You mean Capt. Mitchell?” You confirmed and Bradley nodded, “He said he’ll be home soon and his first stop will be to come see you. But hopefully you’ll have busted out of this joint before then.”

Bradley raised his eyebrows and scribbled, You think so?

You shrugged logging into the computer by his bed and starting to organize his 3pm medications, “I mean, I can’t say for sure. I know that you military dudes can’t tell people exactly where you’re going or when you’re coming home on your deployments. But if things keep going as well as they are, it seems like a good possibility you could be transferred to a step-down unit and then hopefully discharged in the next week or so.”

Bradley started writing again, I don’t want to go to another unit. I want to keep you as my nurse.

You giggled, “Well that is incredibly kind of you to say, but the best part of my job is seeing patients get well enough to be transferred to a lower acuity unit and then eventually discharged.”

Bradley pouted and drew a big fat frowny face on the whiteboard.

“You were a lot less sassy with that tube down your throat, Bradshaw.” You teased as you crossed the room with his meds, hanging them on the IV pole and programming the pump.

Pumping me up with poison? He smirked as he wrote.

“Nah, just antibiotics to treat that pesky infection that almost killed you and brought you in here.”

Damn, I was hoping you were gonna say they’re steroids to get me yolked. He flashed a mischievous grin at you.

You scoffed, “I took a pledge when I finished nursing school not to harm my patients and I considered giving them drugs that would shrink their balls and give them breasts doing harm.”

Bradley snorted and let out a hoarse laugh. Though it was very quiet, you could tell it was a great laugh.

“Hey Y/N, I’m taking room 4 back from you.” Carly, the young nurse from the morning, sat in the empty chair next to you at the nurses station.

“Oh great, do you want a full report or are you good with just the updates?” You asked, pulling out your notes from the day.

She clicked her pen, “Updates are just fine.”

“So the biggest news is that he was extubated today.” You grinned.

“Really?!” She gasped, “I’ve been pushing for that but the resident kept saying no.”

“Parks?” You inquired.

She nodded and sighed, “Yeah, have you met him?”

“Unfortunately.” You rolled your eyes, “I think he shares similar feelings about me as I do him.”

“I hope you gave him hell.” She giggled, “I’m still a new grad, so I don’t have enough experience under my belt to push back very much.”

“Well if he gives you any grief on your shift, don’t let it get to you. He’s also a new grad doctor, he’s also still learning.” You assured her then went on to finish your report.

“Hey Bradley, I’m headed out for the night. Carly’s gonna be taking care of you and I’ll be back tomorrow.” You entered the room with Carly by your side.

“Thank you…” Bradley croaked, “For everything…”

Your heart melted a little bit, you knew it took a lot of effort to get the words out, “You are more than welcome. And I’ll see you tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll get you transferred to a less intense unit.”

Rooster pouted and did a big thumbs down gesture.

You giggled, “That’s a great thing, Bradshaw. You don’t wanna be stuck in the ICU with me forever.”

He sassily rolled his eyes.

“Carly and I are gonna sign off some meds and check your lines.” You said, “And don’t give my girl too much sass tonight; she will be reporting back to me in the morning.”

Rooster scribbled on his whiteboard, No promises.

[dollfacefantasy]

FALLING FAST ♡

pairing: billy coen x fem!reader

summary: after the mansion incident, billy gets caught and taken to a psychiatric ward for the government's problems while they decide what to do with him. lucky for him, you're there too and more than willing to provide some company.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, canon typical violence, archaic medical practices (shock therapy, manipulative therapists, etc.), psych ward setting

wc: 7.9k

a/n: heyy sorry this is a little late, i got caught up with some irl stuff you know how it goes. disrespectful especially for the man who inspired my blog's name 😓 umm sorry if the ending is a little rushed i've just been kinda struggling. i hope someone likes this tho. reblogs, comments, and asks are always appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 24 - forced proximity

The day they brought him into the ward, you could barely believe your eyes. You recognized the man thrashing around in the orderlies' grasp. His face glowed on the television every night when the news came on. Bright headlines zooming across the screen would read U.S. MARINE SNAPS UNDER PRESSURE; SLAUGHTERS DOZENS, or after that BILLY COEN, FORMER MARINE, SENTENCED TO DEATH FOLLOWING MASSACRE.

Obviously, the execution didn't take since here he stood before your own eyes, being dragged down the hallway either to his quarters or the "therapy" room. You wonder if they'd give him electroshock or hydro. Most people believed those methods to be archaic by now, but the overseers of the United States' top confidential psychiatric center didn't seem to hold those same sentiments. Outside, the world approaches Y2K, but between these walls, it could feel like the sixties were ever-lasting.

You didn't see Billy again on that day he arrived. You didn't see him for another two weeks after. You almost started to believe they'd carted him to the back to finish the execution, and then thrown his body out into the woods where the roaming wolves could take care of him.

But then on Tuesday, August 18, 1998, you found him in the common room. 

You bounded around the corner and spotted him right away. He sat in the chair next to the tv. You knew he wasn't watching it. One, because that chair was the most useless chair you'd ever seen, positioned at an angle where seeing the screen is impossible. And two, he looked off into the distance as though his mind was totally vacant. A battlefield where the war had already been lost.

That day had been going great for you. For once the night before, your roommate didn't have night terrors that woke up the entire block of rooms. And this morning, your scheduled therapy session didn't end with them pumping a sedative into your veins. The occurrence of those two rare victories coinciding told you that today was special. Only good things could happen to you during this interval of sunlight.

You strolled further into the room, scanning over what occupied the attention spans of your usual company. They all seemed to be going about their usual rituals: playing games or watching tv, some reading books or just sitting by the window. None of them talked to this new guy. You shook your head as you took in this sight. People could be so rude, but you intended to change that.

Approaching him from the front so as to not frighten him, you came to a stop and tapped his ankle with the point of your foot.

You didn't get a verbal response, but his eyes casted up to you, signaling that he's still in there somewhere. Up close, you could see the light electric burns on his temples. You wondered if they were just from that first day or if it had been more times since.

"Hey, soldier. What's your damage?" you started, giving his ankle another light bump.

Unamused with your antics, he pulled his legs back and looked up at you. His lips curled into an ugly sneer. The expression matched his rough appearance. His hair was so greasy, you thought it could be styled without any product. He had bruises up and down his arms. Your eyes trailed along the one covered in tattoos for a moment long enough to be noticeable.

You almost assumed you were going to get no response out of him until you heard his voice start to rasp.

"Don't call me that." 

He sounded like they hadn't given him a drink since he got here.

Your brows raised at the response. If he wanted you to leave him alone, he'd just made the fatal mistake of triggering your curiosity. You pulled over the nearby bean bag and plopped down in it, the small plush beads parting to support the shape of your body. The way you sat, your legs ended right where his began.

"Where have you been the last couple weeks? I thought they offed you or something," you continued with another few taps to his joint.

Again, a delay came before his answer. You weren't sure if the shockwaves scrambled his brain that bad or if he was trying to mentally size you up.

"They've had me in solitary. I guess they didn't believe I was ready to make friends," he said finally. His voice left his lips low and cool, sounding like he smoked one too many cigarettes to be forever cast as the bad boy in teen romance movies.

"Why? You seem friendly to me," you joked.

"Maybe you should try to convince the suits of that."

His fingers rose to rub the marred skin on the right side of his head. It doesn't look like he's trying to soothe any pain. More-so exploring the new scar to his own body.

"What's it to you anyways? You don't know me," he added.

"I was just curious ," you defended with a shrug, "It's not every day a celebrity joins the group."

He scowled, only a little less severe than before.

"A celebrity, huh?" he asked with disdain, "Didn't exactly feel like they rolled out the red carpet for me."

"Well not everyone gets struck by lightning on their first day," you responded, pointing to the now-faded scars on your own temples.

The mention of something based in your shared reality seemed to ground him a little, as if it served as a reminder that you and him were on the same playing field. He hummed in acknowledgement, sitting up in his chair a bit more.

"They do that to you too?" he questioned.

"They do it to almost everyone. I didn't want to take the meds, so they gave me a stronger prescription," you answered.

He didn't say anything back at first. His eyes fixated on you, studying your features and mannerisms. Assessing you, your place, and your motives. You relaxed your shoulders a little and shook your head in an attempt to appear as non-threatening as you could.

"That was a long time ago though," you said, "Haven't had to do that in almost a year."

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

You held up two fingers and wiggled them back and forth. "Since '96."

His facial expression didn't change though you felt like something about how he looked at you did. Maybe there was an air of surprise now? A hint of pity? You couldn't quite pinpoint it, but you supposed the details didn't really matter.

"What did you do to get put in here?" he said.

"Same thing as everyone else. Saw something I shouldn't have," you responded.

You considered telling him more. More about your past as one of Umbrella's top researchers. About how you dedicated hours upon hours of your life to developing bioengineering techniques for them. How you planned your future around the potential promotions you would earn climbing their company ladder.

But that required that you also tell him about how easily they flung you from the structure entirely. Putting pieces together didn't earn you a private office or cushier paycheck. All you received was meetings that seemed more like interrogations, implied threats, and finally, a new permanent residence at this luxurious institution.

You'd also have to spill what you found. That you found evidence your research was being used in dangerous and unethical experiments that already had a body count. The story you'd managed to string together sounded like something out of a hokey horror movie rather than real life. It wouldn't be one he'd likely believe, and then he'd end up thinking you deserved to be here.

So instead you left it at that. He opened his mouth to ask another question, one that might poke at some of this information you were keeping to yourself. But before he could, the orderlies called the bunch of you for lunch.

You rose from your seat and waited for him to do the same so you could walk side by side to the dining room.

Leaves outside the barred windows shifted in color, fading from bright green to a burnt orange. They clung to the trees in their last days of life as the wind tried to knock them loose and scatter them across the fenced in yards.

However, even with the temperature growing colder, your connection with Billy began warming up after that first day in the common room.

The two of you didn't become automatic best friends after only speaking a few words to each other, but he reluctantly let you linger around him. Close enough to adjust to your presence as a regular fixture. 

You had fun hanging around him. This place got so boring after a while. New additions were few and far in between, and most of them didn't do anything but weep and wallow for the first few months before giving up and letting themselves go numb. They didn't make good company to say the very least.

Billy, in muscular, tattooed contrast, did. Despite his dry temperament and cynical outlook on life, he could be funny. Most of the time unintentionally. He had stories to tell you about the marines and boot camp, even the mission that landed him here in parts. While he could get sick of you following at his heels like a puppy, in a way you made things here more bearable for him.

He let you eat lunch seated next to him. When your group was permitted out into the yard for a while, he'd allow you on the same bench. You'd look up at the same clouds and feel the same breeze blow across your skin. You'd tell him some stories of your own, things about going to school or when you first got your job.

His were far more severe though. You remembered sitting on the yellowing grass with your back pressed against the uneven wood of a wide tree. You had been studying and mentally comparing your feet to his. The difference in shoes - neither with laces but yours had velcro and his didn't. The size. The way yours constantly twitched while he remained still.

The two of you were quiet, letting the sounds of nature and commotion closer to the building fill the air around you. But you itched to talk to him, to find out more about the man you spent most of your days with now.

"If you got out of here tomorrow, what would you do?" you asked and looked over at him.

He glanced at you for a moment but kept his head facing forward. "Why? You dreaming up an escape plan or something?"

"No, it's just a hypothetical," you scoffed, "I'm just curious what would you do if you could get out."

A pause bloomed between the two of you, and you assumed this would be another time he openly ignored you and left your question unanswered. But you made your prediction too soon because moments later he spoke again.

"I'd leave this country."

You blinked at the blunt answer. "That's it? North or South?" you asked, trying to get some more.

"Either one," he responded, "It makes no difference to me as long as it's not anywhere with stars and stripes waving around every couple hundred miles."

The words came out drenched with bitterness, but you couldn't really blame him. From what he had told you about that assignment in Africa, you'd probably want to split too.

"I think you'd be kind of cool like up in the mountains in Canada or something. No one around to bother you and stuff. Seems like it'd be a natural habitat," you nodded, trying to brighten things up a little.

His eyes softened a little and he breathed out what sounded like it used to be a laugh. "Yeah? You don't think I deserve a tropical getaway?"

"It's not that. You just don't seem very beach vacation to me," you smiled.

"Yeah, probably not. I guess the mountains would be more my thing."

"Mhm. Maybe we could go together, y'know? There's nothing left here for me anymore either."

"Really?" he asked before tutting and shaking his head jokingly, "Pretty little thing like you running off with a guy she meets in a psych ward. You don't have any family that would send into cardiac arrest?"

You shook your head. "Nope. No one really stayed on my side after everything that happened. If I got out tomorrow, I'd have no one tying me down. No one expecting me home. I could just go."

"No boyfriend pining for your release?" he teased.

"Not at all. I was supposed to get married, but I guess without the vows, there was nothing tying him to me. No reason to try and help me."

Despite the heaviness of those memories, you beamed at him with the dreamy excitement of running away together. It would never happen, but that was part of the appeal. A dream you'd never have to stress about actualizing.

He looked at you with something close to sympathy upon hearing that, but he didn't say anything. He was never really good at getting sappy. Instead he just nodded and turned his head forward again.

"Alright. I'd take you with me then," he agreed with a smirk.

It was after more exchanges like those that you started to really consider him a friend. Better than any you had before you got locked up here. You tried to think of why that was. Maybe it was because you didn't have to put up any of the bullshit facades you did in the real world. There was no reason to hide anything here. You didn't have to dress a certain way or make sure your hair was styled or your lips coated with gloss. You didn't have to awkwardly laugh when something uncomfortable happened or soften your negative opinion about someone.

In here, the worst had happened, and you lived it everyday. Social niceties had dropped pretty low on the priority list of everyone staying here. Even if sometimes you said something too emphatically or disagreed on an irrelevant subject, neither of you could get away. It brought you closer than you've ever been with anyone. Even the fiance you'd vowed to forget by now.

The day you felt something a little more intricate than friendship for Billy still stands out in your memory.

You were sitting across from him in the dining hall, your foot swinging back and forth in a lazy pattern. Earlier in the day you'd caught the end of a news special. You missed the topic, but you sat there watching a petite woman with her hair in a pixie cut give an interview. Despite her smaller stature, she sported a badge. Her voice was chirpy and hopeful, easy for you to tune out until you heard some words of interest, specifically the words Lieutenant Billy Coen.

She told this naive reporter some story about how he was killed a month ago in the Arklay Mountains. According to her, the vehicle transporting him had crashed and been overrun by adversaries. Despite him fighting valiantly, he didn't survive.

You could almost hear the country's collective sigh of relief. Thank God the snapped soldier hadn't made it. He wasn't lurking in the shadows, waiting for another opportunity to strike. You had rolled your eyes when you heard the story, but it still stuck with you all day.

It bounced around your brain, driving you to ask him at dinner, "So do you think they're still gonna execute you?"

He looked up from his food with bewilderment across his features. "What kind of question is that?"

"An honest one."

After a brief pause, he shrugged. He was never one to find your bluntness off-putting.

"I don't know. They didn't give me a rehab plan or anything," he said, "Why?"

"Well I saw on the tv that they think you're dead anyways. So I don't know... just kinda seems like they might," you explained.

"They haven't said anything to me about it," he told you, "They still got me talking to that doctor three days a week so... maybe they will, maybe they won't. Not much I can do about it either way."

It was then that something struck you. It would be hard to even articulate it, but the way he acted so flippant, so casual about something that was literally a matter of life and death. Maybe he'd been out of control so long that this felt normal. As soon as he gained the freedom of adulthood, he shackled himself under the command of his captains in the marines and the sergeants at boot camp.

From across the table, he seemed to recognize that look. The gleam centered between pity and concern in the eyes of every woman he's let get close. He leaned forward, staring into your eyes.

"You'd miss me if they did, wouldn't you?" he asked with a smirk.

Your heart fluttered inside your chest like a bird learning to use its wing again. That small curl in his lip marked the first time you'd seen some fire in him. A bit of his old humanity poking through the unpleasantness of being confined here.

You didn't see a point in denying his accusation either.

"Of course I would. Everyone else here is totally boring. And we wouldn't get to go see Canada," you said, mirroring his position by leaning your weight on your forearms.

"I'll have to stay on my best behavior then. Not give them a reason to leave you stranded here alone," he teased.

And he stayed true to that assurance. A couple more weeks passed, and everyday the both of you met in the common room. Sometimes one of you had a bad day, injected with a sedative that left you slow and sluggish, talked into something by the doctor that bugged you for hours after. Other times it was just the memories of the past haunting you. The ideas of what could have been. What should have been.

On September 30th, 1998, each of you had already been having a shitty day. For you, it had started early. You took the hour sentence on the stiff couch in the therapist's office. Listened to the normal bullshit the doctor told you about false memories and paranoid tendencies. And at the end of the session, they handed you an envelope.

A small, pale rectangle. Crisp edges and totally unwrinkled from its journey here. It was thin, not carrying anything other than another paper. You turned it over in your hands and looked down at the return address scrawled in familiar handwriting.

Your heart nearly stopped when you placed the swirl in the 't' and the little dip in the 'h.' They'd handed you a letter from the man you were supposed to marry two years ago. The fiance who'd left you in the dust.

The last time you'd spoken to him had been the night heavy boots blew your apartment's door off its hinges and meaty hands strapped solid handcuffs around your wrists. He did nothing to defend you. He was the one who informed them of your schedule and when you'd be home. Either he didn't believe you or they'd paid him off. At the time, finding out his motives wasn't important to you. The betrayal cut so deep all you could focus on was how could this be happening to you.

But regardless, you didn't care all those years ago, and you wouldn't care now. You didn't care what he had to say. Whether he was sorry or curious or anything. That on top of the fact that you didn't even know if it was real. You wouldn't put it past the people running this place to try some tricks like this on you.

You decided not to read it. It ended up in the trash can outside the door before you went back to the common room to sulk on the couch. Billy was already there doing some sulking of his own. Neither of you said anything when you plopped down beside him.

It crossed your mind that maybe you should ask him what's wrong, but you weren't in the mood. You didn't think you could offer anything helpful in terms of advice or support when your mind felt so scrambled by the reinsertion of your past into your present.

The both of you remained quiet for hours as you went through other routines of the day. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. Him physically being there was enough for you, and you got the sense he felt the same about your presence as well. Brushing fingertips and the warmth of your thigh against his provided more comfort than any words could.

That evening the two of you had returned to the television set in the common room. The news droned on from the monitor. News about the upcoming midterm elections, a few stories about car accidents or trends in crime.

But that all came to a screeching halt before the sun had even fully set. Breaking news alerts flashed across the screen, illuminating the dim room in reds and blues. Snapshots of Raccoon City lit up before your eyes. News reporters spoke in nervous, quick tones; uncertain words about a rapidly spreading virus that turns people violent. Frantic announcements that residents should not leave their homes but help was on the way.

You watched on in amazement. In a way, it felt like a dream. Something you would have conjured up in your teen years after watching a horror movie. Buildings burned and people ran through the streets, weaving around traffic that was so backed up you couldn't see where the line of cars started or ended.

A pit began forming in your stomach, dread at the realization that this was what you had been onto two years ago. This was what you had failed to stop. Rationally, you knew it wasn't your fault. You understood that it was not reasonable to expect yourself to be able to take on a corporation backed by the government. But it still felt icky knowing you had ever been involved.

The images grew more graphic. Headlines flying across the bottom of the screen became more dire. You watched as people, or what used to be people, stumbled around with mangled faces and blood stained clothing. They chased after others and sunk their teeth into their flesh.

You looked over at Billy after a little longer. He was faring worse than you. This was the first time you'd ever seen fear in his eyes. He wasn't shaking, wasn't crying or starting to panic. But you could still see it. Deep in those dark pupils, he was scared.

His eyes were locked on the tv, taking in every bit of horror being broadcast the couple hundred miles to this facility. You didn't know what to say or do or if you should even say or do anything. There was something more to his reaction than normal anxiety.

All you could think to do was moving your hand over a few inches and clasping his own. Your fingers interlaced with his and wrapped around his palm. You gave it a small squeeze, a wordless reassurance that you had him and he wasn't alone.

You felt the faintest squeeze in return. He still didn't directly acknowledge you, but that was fine. As long as you had that little signal that he was still there, you were ok.

The two of you watched until the feed cut due to technical difficulties and the orderlies made the announcement to start moving to your rooms.

Both of you stood up and headed in that direction. He remained quiet while walking through the tiled hall. You reached the junction where the corridor divided into two, and you would have to go your separate ways.

"Are you gonna be ok?" you whispered, turning to look at him.

He looked down at you and paused like he did when the two of you first met. His eyes watched your face, contemplating his answer. He ended up nodding and muttering a quick "I'll be alright." Then he turned away and stalked off to his assigned room.

Reluctantly you continued the rest of the way to yours, but that night sleep didn't come. You couldn't rest as you processed what had happened just hours ago. It wasn't even the actual crisis that was upsetting you, but rather Billy's reaction. Something had bothered him. Some element of what was playing out wormed its way into his mind and prodded at some memory he'd rather forget.

Sighing, you gazed out the window and then turned your eyes to the night table. You didn't want to stay here. You wanted to be with him. He was the only person you had now who was worth anything to you. What were you doing if not making sure he was ok?

As quiet as possible, your hand reached out and pulled the drawer on the nightstand open. Reaching inside, you fetched the little twisted up pin you'd made almost two years ago. You'd crafted the little tool in your first months here, but hadn't used it since then. You made it to sneak out at night and have some semblance of freedom, but upon venturing outside your room during dark hours, you found there was really no purpose. The main exits had higher degrees of security that you couldn't break and there was nothing special around the ward worth wandering around for.

But now there was.

You grabbed the small bent pieces of metal and slid out from your bed. Padding over to the door, you bent down and jammed the little ends into the keyhole. You fished around for the right springs to unlock the door until you heard the little clicks signifying you were good to go.

Your footsteps didn't make a sound as they retraced your earlier path and headed in his direction. You slipped past the single orderly in the corner office and pranced down the remaining space until you reached another door. The pin made quick work of it like it did with your own, allowing you entry.

It was hard to see anything at first. The room was bathed in total darkness. All you could tell was that it was smaller than yours and only had one bed. You felt his eyes on you though. Apparently sleep had eluded him tonight as well.

He rasped out your name before asking what you were doing. A fair question given the circumstances. You closed the space between the two of you and came over to sit on his bed.

You positioned yourself at his side. Your eyes had adjusted by now to the lack of light, and you could make out the most basic features of his face. You could also tell where his hand was. Reaching for it, you took it in your own just like before.

"I just wanted to check on you," you whispered.

A pause filled the room for a few seconds before he responded. "I'm ok."

"It doesn't seem like it," you said back. You scooted a little closer before deciding to climb over to the other side of his body and lay next to his side.

He grunted at you forcing your body to fit beside him, but he didn't move away. The two of you stayed in place on the cramped twin sized mattress, staring at the ceiling and digesting the unspoken part of tonight.

"It's nothing... it's not anything worth stressing about," he told you. His voice fit right in with the surroundings. Quiet and low, implying a sense of something deeper.

"You just looked really worried. Like... you were scared of something specific. I don't know, maybe I'm just reading too much into it or whatever," you said.

Another brief bout of silence took over the space between your words and his response. In that time, the feeling of his skin against yours became more prevalent to you. You were increasingly aware of the fact that your arm was around his torso and that you could feel the definition of his muscles against your forearm. His arm was also wrapped around your back. It was like the two of you were cuddling, and it didn't feel at all unnatural.

"That stuff on the tv... it's not exactly why I'm here, but it's close," he started, "They aren't keeping me here because of the bullshit I was sentenced for. It's because I saw something at that mansion."

That piqued your curiosity, and you lifted your head to look at him.

"I know it sounds insane," he continued as if you wouldn't believe him, "But I swear I'm not crazy. The shit they had in that mansion... it was like it was out of a goddamn horror movie. And I knew it was gonna spread. I knew that night wouldn't be the end of it. I tried running, getting as far away as I could, but they caught me."

"Do they ask you about that stuff?" you interjected with caution, "The doctor's... do they try to make you think you misunderstood what you saw."

He nodded. So the two of you had more in common than you knew.

"I don't think they'll be trying for too much longer though," he muttered.

Your eyes widen. Your fingers instinctively dug into his shirt like a child clinging to their favorite stuffed animal. "What? Why?" you questioned.

"The way they've been talking lately, I just think they might want to finish the job soon. Now that that shit has spread, I'm more trouble than I'm worth. I don't have any information they would need," he offered.

"But they can't," you tried, "They can't just randomly decide to kill you."

"I doubt it's random," he responded.

You sputtered, scrambling for a response to make this problem go away. You knew they could do this, but you wanted to believe otherwise. It wasn't fair that they could let you get attached to this man and then rip him away so cruelly.

"But... they won't. We can get away. We don't have to let them," you said.

He looked at you with some sadness in the dark. Finally, the slightest display of emotion regarding his own death.

"You got some sort of master plan to bust out of here that I don't know about?" he asked.

You scowled and lightly elbowed his bicep. "It's not a joke," you said, "I won't let them do that to you. It's not right. You didn't deserve any of this in the first place."

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it, dollface. This is just the way it is."

"No," you shook your head. 

You were insistent about this. Maybe your emotions were fucked up from all the drugs they'd pumped you full of over the last twenty four months or maybe your perceptions of relationships had become warped from the severe lack of social interaction you'd had over that time, but even though you'd only known him for six-ish weeks the thought of being without him felt devastating. It was a rush of anxiety and dread. The kind of stress that made you feel like you had to do something.

"They can't take you away from me," you finished.

The way his gaze softened was palpable. He reached up one of his hands and stroked the flat backs of his fingers down your cheek. He didn't like the thought of leaving you alone either. For reasons he didn't fully grasp, the thought of you being isolated here, without anyone or any hope of a future, made him ache. It was a gnawing sensation. One that wouldn't go away with simple distractions.

"I don't want that either..." he murmured.

But you leaned in and clung to him with more intent. You rested on top of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart that you never wanted to stop.

"They do the same kind of thing to me," you whispered. He already knew about your past with Umbrella. You'd told him that much, but neither of you really talked much about your current treatment beyond the occasional extreme methods you were subject to. "No one ever believed me before, so at first, I thought they might have been right. That I just misread something or went too far with it."

You felt his hand start to rub up and down your back. He didn't say anything to interrupt your little confessional, but you could feel in the air around you that he was listening.

"When I was... When I was supposed to get married before this, he didn't believe me either. I tried telling him. I even said we should just leave. That maybe I shouldn't do anything, I shouldn't say anything. We could've just left. But he didn't believe me..." you said, "I tried to do something or to tell other people, but it didn't work. And when they took me, he just let them. Just left me to deal with it all alone."

You were aware your thoughts were coming out in a manner closer to rambling, but it's all you could manage right now.

"He didn't deserve you then," his voice broke out quietly from above your head.

Glancing up, your eyes scanned his face upon hearing that. You knew the comment was sincere. He had no reason to lie about his feelings toward a man he never met. But still, the remark stood out.

He saw your silence and responded with a touch before any actual words. He stroked your face, looking into your eyes.

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse now, but you deserved better than that. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be locked up here," he said.

"Well neither should you," you responded.

He hummed in acknowledgement. "I guess. But you really shouldn't be. You were a good girl. A smart one. You can be a little wild, but I doubt you got into any real kind of trouble before this."

Two little words in the middle of that statement had you tensing up on top of his body. He could obviously feel it as his hand applied more pressure to try and soothe you.

"I didn't," you answered, feeling like the words needed one.

"Mhm, I can tell. You're too sweet," he said.

Now you got the sense he may be teasing. With a nudge to his bicep, you scrunched your nose. "Shut up."

"I'm serious," he replied in spite of your attitude, "If we met under different circumstances, I would've really liked you."

"Really?" you checked. You hated the way your voice came out. So curious it almost sounded innocent.

"Yeah. You're just my type. Cute. A little mouthy till you get close to someone. Then you're all soft and sweet."

Heat crept up into your cheeks, and you could only be thankful it was so dark so that he couldn't see the timid expression on your features. He pinched the dough of your cheek between his thumb and forefinger, only making the feeling more intense.

"I can feel your skin getting hot. I know I'm right."

"Well I would've liked you too," you fired back in an attempt to turn the tables.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckled.

"Yup. You're tallish. All muscular. Dark hair and eyes. Tattoos. You look like you can ride a motorcycle."

"Don't make me sound like such a cliche," he teased.

Now it was your turn to shrug before scooting closer. "Then don't act like one."

"Smartass," he chuckled, "Even if we had met before, I doubt you could've handled me. I wasn't winning any boyfriend of the year awards with the women I dated."

"That's cause you hadn't met the right one," you said back, not missing a beat, "I could keep you in line."

"I'm sure. Sweet little thing like you would be the one to tame me, huh?" he mocked, "You don't think I'd ruin you?"

"Not in any way I didn't want."

After saying that, you realized how close you had leaned in. Your face was inches away from his. You could hear his breaths and feel the pulsing of his blood beneath your body. You really weren't sure what compelled you, but you brought your lips forward and closed the small gap between the two of you.

Your mouth landed on his, but he responded in kind, as if he had been waiting for the gesture. His lips pressed against yours before molding to reciprocate any movements you made. You could hear the soft grunts he let out as his arms encircled your figure and pulled you even further against himself.

You let out a soft little moan when his tongue brushed over the seam of your lips, a gentle push for entrance. You granted him access and slid yours forward as well. The two of you lose yourself in the series of kisses. As you made out, he slowly made the move to adjust positions, flipping the both of you over.

Your back hit the scratchy sheets that covered all the beds in the ward. In this moment, you didn't care though. The slight itch of them was easily drowned out by the intoxicating warmth of his skin.

His kisses migrated south, dropping from your mouth down to your jawline and then your throat. A sigh left your lips as he tended to your pulse point and artery. He hit all the little sweet spots. His teeth scraped across them tenderly and arousal bloomed between your legs in response.

"Fuck... you're so soft, so perfect," he muttered against your skin.

Your breath shuddered out of your lungs. His touch felt electric on your flesh. Glancing down, you couldn't help but think he looked even more sculpted like this. His shoulder blades twitched every time he moved his head around your neck. His arms trembled as he held himself above your body.

"Been dreaming of this..." you whispered, sliding one of your hands up to rest at the nape of his neck.

"Have you now?" he asked, "You fantasize about me while laying in bed at night?"

"Sometimes," you breathed.

He reacted to the idea with a soft groan. "Cute."

His kisses on your neck grew more passionate, needier and open-mouthed. His hands grabbed onto you. They slid down your sides to your hips where they groped the soft flesh there.

"I've had a few dreams about you too," he admitted.

A moan escaped your lips, but you made sure to suppress it enough to not alert anyone of your activities. You wriggled around a bit below him, trying to signal that you craved more.

"I need you," you whispered.

"I know, baby. Need you too."

He rose back up to his knees, shoving down the sweats they issued everyone and letting his cock spring free. It was a good size, thick and lengthy enough to attract your eyes. It oozed pre for you already. There was no mistake that he wanted you.

You squirmed on the mattress in an attempt to rid yourself of your bottoms before he reached for the waist and pulled them off with ease. Then he lowered himself back on top of you. His tip dragged back and forth across your soaked folds.

Despite only having known him for a short amount of time, this didn't feel like a casual hookup. It didn't feel random or unattached. It felt like something you needed. It felt like you were doing this out of love. Out of the need to be connected to this man who'd captured your mind and body.

He took as much time as he could in that moment. He glided the head of his cock back and forth, teasing the both of you with the anticipation of what you were about to do.

Then finally, he pushed in. You felt the satisfying split as he speared you open. His hips pushed inside at an exploratory, slow pace. A groan rumbled in his chest at the tight warmth wrapped around his shaft. Once he'd sunk all the way inside, his head dropped to the crook of your neck again. His breaths puffed out against you as he got used to the sensation.

It was an adjustment for you too. It'd been almost two years since you had any type of cock. The feeling now was a familiar one, but still something to get used to.

"Had to have a taste of this pussy before they put me down," he mumbled.

You whined and smacked his arm. "Don't say that," you whimpered.

Lifting your legs, you looped them around his torso and pulled him deeper. "You're still alive right now, so don't think about that stuff. Focus on fucking me dumb," you continued.

He chuckled against your neck, but complied with your request. His hips rocked backwards before popping forward again.

"You got it," he grunted.

His pelvis set into a nice rhythm. One that didn't have you screaming and writhing loud enough to draw attention, but to the point that you were satisfied and didn't long for something more.

Your arms laced around his shoulders and pulled him closer on top of you. Your clothes rustled together with every rock of his hips. His hands stayed tight on your body, keeping you flush against him as well. You could hear him panting right next to your ear in between the small pecks he'd leave on your skin.

With how close he was on top of you, his cock slid nice and deep every time. Every stroke brushed against the internal sweet spots that made your hips buck or another whimper spill from your lips.

"When we make it out of here, I'm gonna want you all the time," you whispered with a broken whine.

For once, he didn't mock your display of optimism. Instead, he played right along. "I know you will. And you'll get me all the time."

Your legs squeezed his waist, and he increased the force behind his thrusts, putting more of his weight into each one. He licked a stripe of your neck before kissing down the wet skin.

"I'll do it right for you then. Won't have to be quiet. You can scream as loud as you need. I'll have you filled up till you're shaking and crying," he said.

This time your walls embraced him. You whimpered at the pictures he painted in your head. Your breaths grew heavier to the point that you were panting too now.

He was so deep now that he didn't have to slide back and forth to make you feel good. He skillfully ground his hips against them, rolling them against your skin and rubbing up against all the places that made you keen.

One of his hands wormed its way between your two bodies. His fingers endured the lack of circulation to get at your clit. The rough pads of his fingertips swirled around it, giving the little bud a few good flicks.

Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the sounds that broke out in response. The sparks of bliss burned brighter into full on flames in your belly. Your toes curled, and your thighs quivered against his sides so hard it was like they were vibrating.

"Gonna cum soon, babydoll?" he rasped.

You nodded from behind your clamped palm. Your eyes fluttered with the weight of your impending release. The sensation boiling down below was close to bubbling over. Your breaths hissed against your palm as you tried to hold off, but he wasn't having it.

"It's ok. You don't have to wait. I'm right there too," he murmured, "Cum on my cock, sweetheart. Make me feel real good."

And after hearing that, you couldn't hold back. A broken cry escapes your lips, louder than you'd like it to be. Your body melded to his with the force of the high crashing into you. Your hands clung to his back while your legs locked around his waist.

A few more pushes of his hips and he was gone too. Sighing against your neck, he pulled out as fast as he could, spurting warm ropes of cum onto your pelvis. His teeth dug into his lip to stifle a few noises begging to be heard.

You both rode out your highs in tandem before he collapsed next to you. He nuzzled your neck, wordless appreciation for you. A silent reassurance that things would be ok. You brought your hand up to gently stroke his forearm in return, signaling that you knew they would be.

And you had been right.

Things around the ward got worse after September 30th. The orderlies acted nervous, as if this place was on the cusp of collapse. Restrictions became tighter, no more going outside and there were bed checks at night.

That didn't stop your feelings for Billy though. Since that night in his room, you only felt more connected to him. Affection in your current circumstances couldn't be overt. It was confined to brief touches and lingering looks, quiet words only heard between the two of you.

The people running the institute had hushed words as well though. They had lingering looks, specifically towards Billy. Day by day, you felt increasingly anxious about the possibility that they were planning something. Your nights filled with dreams of him suddenly being gone. Of him being taken away and left to rot.

There came a day when they announced half the ward would be "moved" though you doubted their transfer would be a mere difference of wings. The men who came in to facilitate the change were armed, riot gear and all.

You grabbed his hand tight, not willing to let go.

The next part you only remember in flashes.

The way they yanked him away, how he tried resisting but was overwhelmed. Then how your eyes darted around looking for anything that could stop them. You knew you grabbed a pistol off one of the holsters attached to a man's belt. You fired without thinking twice. One crumpled to the ground before you ducked out of the way.

That gave him the opening to the same. Bullets rained down across the common room, blood pooling on the tiles you walked over everyday. You moved on pure instinct. So much of the violence was blacked out to you now.

You must have ran. The both of you must have dashed out the front door, stolen in keys in one of your hands. You must have jumped in the car that matched the double click of the lock button.

Because now you're speeding down the road. The wind blows through the open windows across your face. Your feet rest up on the dashboard while one of your hands covers his thighs. The car zips down the road heading North, heading to a place where both of you would have something.

You turn your head and flash him a grin. He gives you a similar expression before putting his eyes back to the road in front.

[violetmuses]

Opposites Attract - A. Aretas (Part II) ❤️‍🩹

Title: Opposites Attract - A. Aretas (Part II) ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Detective!Reader

Main Storyline: Working with the Miami Police Department, you meet criminal Armando Aretas for the very first time. @adoresmiles @nobodygetsza 🏷

Part I ❤️‍🩹

======

2024

“Where did she come from?” Armando Aretas revealed this question about you while facing Mike and standing in his brand-new portable cell.

This federal transport would send everyone back to Miami, Florida.

“Joined our department and she's been pretty quiet until this point.” Mike defended your work here. “Almost fought me before we visited you last time.”

“She swung?” Armando wouldn't laugh despite the joke.

“No, but she'll definitely kick some ass when provoked.” Despite noting Aretas, Mike turns your way regardless. “Just like you.”

Across this space, you closed your eyes while trying to sleep. Even Mike's longtime partner and best friend Marcus Burnett trailed the operation.

______

Once everyone returned to Miami safe and sound, you watched surveillance cameras as precinct staff observed Armando.

“What happens now?” You looked toward Mike and Marcus. “We can't keep Armando in the building all night.”

“Her place…” Marcus pointed near you without thinking twice.

“I'll smack right upside your peasy-ass head, Marcus!” Mike then scrunched up his face. “No.”

“If anyone's harboring a fugitive, it might as well be her.” Marcus brought you up once more.

“That's crazy.” Mike couldn't believe what's going on.

“I can't bring Armando near the house with my family and you don't want to scare Christine, either.” Marcus continued speaking.

Burnett even referred to Mike's wife Christine, a physical therapist. She also helped Mike heal throughout the shooting recovery years back.

“I'll do it. Just tell him.” You say, gathering your belongings to leave with Armando.

Here we go. You thought.

_____

No more restraints, but Armando still joined the backseat of this car that night and small luggage occupied your trunk.

“If she calls from any bullshit, you're dealing with me.” Mike handles the warning for Aretas and still protected you.

“Same rule applies.” Marcus also stepped up. “I made the suggestion, but don't make me knock you out. She's like family.”

“Back off.” Armando grumbled from his spot while sitting in your car. “I'm not stupid.”

“Open the back door right now and whoop his ass, Mike!” Marcus nearly erupted over Armando talking back.

“Stop arguing. Can I leave?!” You finally roll down the driver's seat window, pissed.

“Go.” Mike then lifted both hands to absolutely surrender, watching your car exit.

_____

Organizing essentials at home, you straightened up the guest room while Armando waited.

“Everything's set up whenever you're ready.” You find Aretas looking downstairs, mainly focused on pictures.

You loved ones gathered different snapshots around the living room. Even Mike and Marcus invited special moments through photographs.

“Oh, hey. Thanks.” Armando realizes your presence.

“Of course, but I have a question.” You look near Aretas.

“Sure.” He waited again.

“Before Mike cut us off, what did you plan to say at the prison?” You seemed curious.

“I wanted your phone number.” Aretas flirted right back.

“No chance.” You scoffed. “By tomorrow, Mike should come back here and you'll be gone.”

“Fair enough. Good night.” Armando dropped this conversation and headed upstairs, leaving you.

_______

The next day, you're kind enough to make breakfast and share that kitchen table with Armando.

“Mike just texted me. Everything's packed?” You cleaned up this space.

“Yeah. Thank you.” Armando clipped the response once more and didn't talk much otherwise.

“You're welcome. See you around.” You at least bid farewell. Aretas would still join AMMO sooner than later.

Heading outside, you watch Mike's classic Porsche roll up.

“Good. Armando didn't burn your shit down last night.” Mike jokes with you when leaving the car.

“Don't kill each other.” You kept squinting through the Florida heat.

“Sin promesas, cariño.” Armando pulled his native language of Spanish.

“Hey!” Mike gasped upon realization. Even you cracked up watching both men bicker when the Porsche left your home.

Father and son indeed.

[winchester-girl67]

Wild Hearts (Part 7) - Ten Years After Dean Came Back

Summary: Dean and Y/N attend a session of couples' counselling with Dr. Garth Fitzgerald. They struggle with Y/N's infertility and make a final decision about the future of their family together.

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader 

Word Count: 2,668 

Warnings: age gap (reader is 32, Dean is 37), infertility, couples' therapy, adoption, relationship angst, mentions of physical abuse by a parent, language, angst, fluff 

A/N: After many rewrites and some creative differences with the characters in this series, we’ve come to the last part. 

_____ 

Ten years after Dean came back. 

"And how does that make you feel, Y/N?" The skinny man asked from his chair placed next to the couch. 

He wore a tweed suit and you thought he looked more like a college professor than a couples' therapist. He had a notebook in his hands and jotted down notes every time either of you spoke. 

"I don't know, not good." You shrugged. 

"Mhm," he jotted down more notes, "I see." 

It was your first appointment and Dean had yet to speak up for any of the questions. He told you there was no point in going since he still loved you and you still loved him. He made it sound so simple, but it was more complicated than that. And he knew you needed to talk it through, so here he was supporting you and holding your hand; you couldn't ask for more. 

"And, Dean, how do you feel about it?" Mr. Fitzgerald asked. 

Dean scrubbed his free hand over his mouth and chin as he side eyed you. Mr. Fitzgerald, or Garth as he told you to call him, hadn't directed any questions towards Dean until now. Dean didn't seem too happy about it, but refused to let that show in the way he looked at you. All you saw was love. 

"I'm okay with it," Dean said, still looking at you. 

"How can you be okay with it?" You asked, scrunching your forehead. 

"Because I love you, this doesn't change anything between us." He said with a shake of his head. "It doesn't change the way I feel about you or the fact that I still want to spend the rest of my life with you. I need you here with me. I can't do any of it without you."

"Yes, you can." You said. 

"I don't want to." 

Garth stayed silent while he listened and jotted down notes. He was a nice guy but hadn't said anything helpful yet. Maybe couples therapy was about opening the conversation more than actual advice or guidance. Maybe he just worked as a buffer and had you guys find your own way through. 

"Everything's different now, Dean." 

"No."

"You're the one that had our future planned out; two kids, one boy, one girl, a white picket fence, a big yard, and a dog. You even hung a tire swing and started building a treehouse, for fuck's sake." Your chin started to tremble and you took a breath. "Dean, you want kids and I want you to have them but it's not going to happen with me. I'm broken, my body's broken." 

After four years of trying to get pregnant and the endless testing and trials, you were spent. Your body was spent and you couldn't remember the last time sex felt like it was supposed to. It felt clinical now like you were running through a maze for a piece of cheese. You tried almost everything, there were calendars and ovulation sticks, hormone injections, temperature readings, wedge pillows, and you were sick of it all. 

You couldn't imagine it felt any different for Dean either. Your sex life was present but unaccounted for. 

"I love you." Said Dean. 

He wiped your cheeks dry from the tears streaming down them and kissed your forehead. It didn't matter how many times you'd snapped at him over the past four years with your hormones in overdrive, you couldn't push him away if you tried. And you had tried. 

That was one reason why you wanted to go to therapy, you wanted to come to terms with your infertility and let it go. You wanted to stop the hormone treatments and stop feeling the way you were. You wanted to feel like yourself again. 

"Y/N, did you hear what Dean just said?" Garth asked when he saw you had calmed down. Dean clutched your hand in his and gave it a squeeze. You shook your head. "He said, he loves you, do you believe that?" 

"Yes," you knew he did. 

That was something you never had to worry about with Dean. He let you know in more ways than one and you never questioned it. Hell, he supported you through the trials for this long because he knew it was what you wanted. He saw the toll it took on you and wanted to stop a long time ago, but you weren't ready to make your peace with it, with your body. Until now, you hoped. 

"So then why are you pushing him away?" Garth asked, resting his pen on his notebook and giving you his full attention. "Do you think that's what he wants? That it'll make him happy to find someone else who can bear his children?" 

"Maybe," you shrugged and refused to meet Dean's hurt stare. 

Dean shook his head. "Y/N, I love you." He whispered, he had been saying that a lot lately. Like he knew it wasn't sinking in. 

"And, Dean, when you tell Y/N that you love her, is that what you mean? Or are you trying to tell her something else that you can't find the words to say?" Garth asked and Dean cleared his throat and nodded. "What are you trying to tell her?" 

Dean thought for a long moment, "The future I planned for us, I don't want that with anyone else." 

"But we won't have it either," you said. 

"I've made my peace with that and we're here so you can too." He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. His green eyes pleading with you like he still tried to convince you of everything he felt and hadn't been able to communicate. 

"It's not fair, I wanted a family too. I never thought I would this badly, but I do. With you, I do." You sniffled, "It's not fair. The one thing I'm supposed to be able to do and I can't." 

"We still can." 

"How? I can't get pregnant, Dean, and I can't keep taking those hormones. My mood swings are all over the map with them and it's not working."

"We stop trying." 

"What?" You frowned, "I don't understand, how can we have a family if I can't get pregnant? We can't afford a surrogate, Dean." 

"Making a baby doesn't make you its parent, Y/N, trust me I know. My father might've played a very short hand in creating me but he was never a dad, he was never there for me, he never cared, he never loved me or Sammy." 

"Speaking of unfair, how can a man like that make two kids and I can't even begin to form one? Ugh!" You sighed exasperatedly and fell back against the couch feeling defeated. 

Dean smiled at your little tantrum and you wondered how he was able to do that. Find levity in the difficult parts of life. But that was his motto, something like: if you don't laugh, you cry. And for a moment, you saw him with a younger face, a bruised eye and a split lip. Smiling at you under the streetlamp with ice cream on his nose. That was almost seventeen years ago now. 

You were finally voicing your disappointment at the cards you had been dealt and that was a step at healing. You tried for so long to be strong and composed but Dean always saw right through it. He hated seeing you hurt, but it was hard to come to terms with the fact that your body could never do what you wanted it to, it was less hard for him; even if the struggle was the same. 

You had to live in your mind and listen to the little voice that called you broken. Dean just had to watch. Although, now that you thought about it, watching someone in pain could be just as painful. Especially when they refused your help and pushed you away. 

You silently promised him you would never do that again. 

"I love you, Dean." You squeezed his hand. 

You were endlessly thankful to have him around to pull you out of your funk. You tried to smile back at him as you sat up. 

"Can I interject here," Garth smiled, "I think Dean's talking about adoption. Sometimes a family you choose has stronger bonds than ones you make. You run that youth group, right, Y/N? So you of all people should know that there are many children out there that wish they could have parents that want them as badly as you and Dean want a child. At least look into it, if that's something you'd be willing to do." 

"Do you want to adopt?" You asked Dean, he'd never mentioned it before. 

"I looked into it after we found out conceiving would be difficult and again after your last round of hormone therapy. I kind of put our names on this list because it can take a long time to be selected." He confessed and quickly added, "I wanted us to have options and I'm completely fine with not having kids either. We could just be the cool Aunt and Uncle to Sammy and Jess' twins. I'd be alright with that as long as you're the one I'm growing old with. I want you in that rocking chair beside me on the porch and I'll tear down that white picket fence when we get home." 

“No, don’t do that... maybe we could paint it though.” You shrugged. 

"I like the way you think, sweetheart." Dean chuckled with a little smirk. 

Garth looked at the clock on the wall and clapped his hands together, "Well, I think that was an excellent session and I've got a bit of homework for you. Y/N, I think it would be healthy for you to look into adoption with Dean, exhaust all of your options together before you commit to a decision about your future. And, Dean, I want you to try talking about how you’re feeling to Y/N rather than just declaring your undying love for her." You laughed and Dean blushed, "I think she gets it, but she's not a mind reader. Everyone benefits from open communication and all I'm asking is that you try, you don't even have to be good at it, just put words together until you get a sentence and keep doing that. The best relationships I see are the ones where each partner refuses to give up on the other. It's about equal give and take and allowing each other to be happy and loved." 

"So, on a scale of one to ten. How did we do, Doc?" Dean asked and it was Garth's turn to laugh. 

"I can't answer that, but I will say that you guys have a great foundation. We just want to open the lines of communication as a safety net for when times are a little tougher to see through the fog. When your love is hidden behind the walls you use to protect yourselves. You don't need to protect yourselves from each other; I can see that as much as you both can feel it." Garth said, buttoning his tweed jacket as he stood up. "We all need a little help sometimes and that's why you're here, you can't be expected to get through this without it. Whether I be the one to help you both, or you turn to friends, or family, it doesn't matter as long as you find your way back to each other in the end. Never forget that you are going through this together and the best thing you can do is communicate that. Sometimes one partner may feel like they're hurting more or they are more to blame and that's not true, we need to communicate to know." 

"I got it, Doc, next session you want me to talk more." Dean quipped as he stood up with you and added, "I gotta know, what the hell is that?" He pointed to the sock puppet on Garth's desk in the corner. It had yarn for hair, blue button eyes and red lips. 

"That is Mr. Frizzles," Garth laughed with a hand on his stomach, "Sometimes couples bring their kids to the session and the kids respond better to him than me. He insists it's his sense of humour but I think it's his uncanny ability to sense when someone is being a liar." Dean just stared at him and Garth laughed again, "I'm kidding, Dean." 

"I like him," Dean said as you walked to the car together. "That's something I never thought I'd say." 

Dean opened your door, "Me, too." You said, sliding into your seat. When Dean joined you in the Impala moments later you added, "So, you'd be open to going to another session?" 

"I'm open to anything you want, sweetheart. We're in this together." Dean revved up Baby and headed towards home. 

"Dean, I don't want you to keep things from me anymore." Dean side eyed you with a curious look, "The adoption thing... If that's something you're interested in, I want to be included. Maybe it's the right direction for us. I just don't want you to ever feel like you have to hide things from me, especially things you want." 

"I wasn't hiding it, I was always planning on telling you about it but, I dunno, the longer I waited the more awkward it was to bring it up." Dean said and you grabbed his hand from the seat next to you. You gave his fingers a squeeze and he smiled. "The people I consider my family -aside from Sammy- that's you, Bobby and Jody, Cas and Benny, you're all people I found; people I choose to keep around through thick and thin. And I love you all, some more than others," he gave you a flirty wink and smirked, "But my point is when it comes to kids, biological or adopted, I don’t care as long as they’re ours. Family wouldn’t mean the same thing to me without you... So please stop pushing me away.” 

You nodded and vowed, “I promise,” then leaned over to peck a kiss on his cheek, his stubble prickling your lips. “Maybe we can go over what you learned on adoption tomorrow?” 

“Of course, Y/N, I’d love to.” He beamed and planted a kiss to the back of your hand. 

“You’re all kinds of awesome, you know that?” You squeezed his fingers again until he squeezed back. 

“Whatever happened to ‘strange and kinda wonderful’?” He teased and chuckled with you. 

“I love you... my strange and kinda wonderful man.” 

“I love you more, don’t forget that.” Dean smirked and bit his lip like he always used to when you were younger. 

You glared at him a moment as he grinned sideways at you. He knew you hated it when he said things like that. Your love for him was just as strong, arguably stronger according to you. 

“Pfft, hardly.” You declared with an eye roll. “Exactly what makes you think that you love me more? I was willing to see you with another woman just so you could have a chance at happiness and you wouldn’t even consider it.” 

“Isn’t that proof right there?” He laughed at you. 

“But it would make me happy to see you happy so-” 

Dean stopped laughing and cut you off, “I’m happy with you and only you.” He glanced over at you a couple times before he asked, “Are you still happy with me?” 

“You know I am.” 

“Good, then I’m yours and your mine and our future will be what we make of it.” He slid his rough fingers between yours and cleared his throat. “You tamed my heart a long time ago, it would be cruel to throw me back into the wild now. Got it?” 

You smiled, feeling whole for the first time in a while, “You’re right. I think I’ll keep you after all.” 

Dean chuckled. 

Whatever happened next you were in it together. 

_________________________

This series is complete.

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @vicmc624 @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch

[junicult]

Speaking of fiances and marriage, can you imagine Harvey's reaction to seeing someone talk to his partner, they're a stranger to him but obviously know Y/N, who looks really annoyed, obviously not wanting to talk to the person

So he steps in, introduces himself and ask "and who might you be?" And the stranger goes "oh I'm Kyle, their fiance" and Y/N just, very, very quickly fixes him and just "ex-fiance"

Apparently Kyle came crawling back but Y/N wants nothing to do with him, obviously, they've got a cute man now! Also Kyle is cringe

Kyle: I'm Kyle, the fiance

Harvey, ABSOLUTELY heartbroken: What?

Y/N: Ex-fiance, ex. It's there for a reason don't forget that, Kyle

🦂

contains ; entirely sfw. (nameless) male ex bf. fem!farmer. new bf!harvey. harvey being the sweetest (as usual.) short drabble.

note ; ok i’m going to bed. i’ll proofread this in the morning (no i won’t)

aw i love the idea of harvey being protective over u.

he’s still pretty reserved, he’s not going to start problems unless he absolutely has to. & he definitely can’t handle confrontation, that’s for sure. obviously, if you’re upset he’s trained and prepared to help you feel better. he’s not a therapist by any sense, but if you just need comforting, he’d be one of the best to go to.

let’s say it’s the very beginning of your relationship. i’m talking you’ve only made it official a couple weeks ago, still in the earlier stages where you get butterflies whenever you see him, and you get all nervous and stuff like that.

you haven’t had the time (or energy) to disclose your last relationship with him just yet. you know he wouldn’t be upset or anything, you just haven’t talked about it.

which is why your ex coming to see you at the farm—WHILE YOUR WORKING—became a huge shock.

you’re easily frustrated. i mean, he’s getting in your way while you’re trying to work so, maybe the easiest option would be to just give him what he wanted—a chance to talk.

he’s talking, in fact he probably won’t even shut up, while you’re watering your plants and listening all annoyed.

“my mom’s still super pissed, she wants to talk to you,” he complains.

“i’ve been pretty busy lately. i already gave you the ring back, what else do you want?” you counter, clearly exhausted.

“i love you, you know that. i think we can work this out, you just need to talk to me!”

his delusions make you even more frustrated, pausing mid pout to take a deep breath—but before you even have the time to yell, you’re startled by the only man you’d actually wanna see at the moment.

“hello…am i intruding something?” harvey asks, standing only a couple feet away. you were too distracted to even see him approaching.

your ex just stays silent, looking him up and down while you blink in surprise.

“no, actually. he was just getting ready to leave.” you sigh, shooting him a pleading look that he doesn’t miss.

“oh, ok! i’m harvey, it’s nice to meet you. she’s a little busy, so maybe you can give her a call later?” harvey smiles, and it almost eases you entirely. his approachable demeanor is making it easier for him to walk closer to him—more importantly you in case he needed to reach for you. but that was just in the back of his mind.

“then why’re you here?” your ex spits, taking him by surprise but certainly not you.

harvey’s the kind of guy that means no trouble. if anything, he just wants the best for everyone.

which is why it’s your turn to blink in surprise when your sweet, peaceful boyfriend’s smile falls just a little, and his eyes squint with a certain sass, saying, “who are you, again?”

it’s pathetic seeing your ex laugh like he has any right, taking a step closer as if to challenge someone who doesn’t even want one.

“her fiancé. who the hell are you?”

“ex,” you waste no time, rolling your eyes. “he’s my ex-fiancé. we lived in the city together months ago.”

whether or not harvey is shocked to learn that, he doesn’t show it. maybe it’s because of your clear distaste to even hear the nickname, but either way, he knows better then to ask any questions right now.

“well, it was a pleasure to meet you. i think maybe we both should probably leave her to finish work. she’s got a busy schedule, anyways.”

you’ve never seen harvey so authoritative, subtle with the intent to get this man who is clearly stressing you out, away from you. his smile still seems so kind, and he’s clearly prepared to step in the way in case your ex counters with some excuse to stay.

“yeah, it’s a bummer you didn’t check to see if she was free today before you came all the way down here.”

“well i tried, but she won’t answer my calls.”

“hm. weird. anyway—!”

you almost feel sick with how much your stomach swells seeing the most amazing boyfriend handle a stressful situation as such so easily for you. he doesn’t even as so crack his exterior while he guides him away, still showing decency just to avoid a scene, which you couldn’t be more grateful for.

it was almost so baffling how easily he handled it. and attractive (needless to say.)

but you still felt so guilty, seeing him after the crisis was averted.

“i’m so sorry, i was going to let you know. i promise i wasn’t trying to keep a secret from you,”

and because of how understanding, and kindhearted he is, it’s easy to melt into his touch when he pulls you in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“oh, i’m not mad at you! i’m just glad you’re okay. he seems like a real jerk.”

knowing him, his main priority will always be the most important task at hand. but of course, you know him well enough that he can’t help but have questions.

so when you get your chance to explain, you know to reassure him with your soft touch, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles and kissing his cheek to show how much he means to you. especially after that.

“i’m sorry you had to go through that,” he frowns, sympathizingly.

“no, it’s okay. the ring didn’t even fit me anyways. and besides, i’m with someone much better now.”

he smiles at your reassurance, not that he really needed it because—well, he knows already.

“me too,” he kisses your cheek. “and don’t worry, i won’t make that mistake.”