#i lost it halfway through but. he lies as a job. i think this explains a lot about him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anonymousfiction211 · 3 years ago

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Loki’s Game: 1

Summary: You are working at the Avenger compound as a ICT and security specialist. Everyone thinks you are doing a good job, but you procrastinate a lot. You lie effortlessly, or so you think. When no-one other than the God of Lies and Mischief, Loki joins the team. He quickly discovers that you are lying and decides to take advantage of that.

Word Count: 2.498 words

Warnings: No smut in this chapter, but definitely in the upcoming chapters. Overall story warning: dubious consenst, BDSM, forced orgasms, overstimulation, manipulation, angst

A/N: A multiple fic which I started on AO3 and Wattpad. Thougth maybe some of you will like it as well. Next chapters will be sunday.

The alarm of your mobile started to ring. The screen showed it was 08.10 a.m. That leaves 20 minutes to get dressed and go downstairs. Almost finished you thought while typing on your laptop. You typed like your life depended on it. With your work finally finished you put on the clothes you had laid out and quickly brushed your teeth. Why do I always do this to myself? You had a month to make a new security plan, but you started a week before the deadline. The plan wasn’t bad, but it could be more detailed. Now you had to go to Tony and Steve, explaining your not-so-detailed-plan. On top of that, you were tired. You had set an alarm in the middle of the night, just so you had something to show this morning.

How, you did not know, but you made it through your presentation. Steve was supportive. Tony and he decided you could have more time to work out the details. Luckily, the presentation was recorded. When they started to ask questions, you made up answers on the spot. You now had to implement those answers for your next deadline. So, they didn’t figure out that you lied to them. They gave you two weeks. This time, I am going to start on time! Sitting at your desk you were distracted, checking social media, and watching YouTube. Suddenly you got a call from Tony, asking you to come to the living room.

Walking inside you saw that Natasha, Clint, Steve, and Tony were all there. “How is your plan coming together?” Tony asked you. “Fine, it may even be finished before the deadline” you lied. Great, after this you have to get to work. The door opened and Thor walked in. Besides him walked another men you recognized immediately, Loki. “I still think this is a bad idea” Clint said. “I know, but we need him. Thor has vouched for him” Steve commented. Thor had a tense look, Loki was just smirking and looking around. Nobody made eye-contact with him. Tony clapped his hands together “Well.. ehm.. welcome, I guess. I will give you a tour, this is (Y/N) by the way. She will give you security clearance and tell you how to work with Jarvis.” You raised your eyebrow at Tony “What is happening here?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you. There was some suspicious activity, Loki is here to help. Or so he says. I wanted to tell you, but you were so busy with the new security plan, I didn’t want to disturb you” he said. “Oh, yeah. Super busy, lot of late nights. No problem” you lied. Lots of late nights watching Netflix that was.. you thought. You saw Loki staring at you. “He will be in the room across yours.” he then turned to Loki “Try not to disturb her, she’s one of my best employees and very busy.” You felt yourself blush at the compliment. Loki’s eyes were still fixed on you. You started to feel bad for Tony, he really thought you had been working hard. You were mentally scolding yourself for being so lazy. I will fix it in the next two weeks.

“Plan is almost finished then?” Natasha asked you. You nodded, not wanting to go into much detail of your not-so-detailed-plan. “Great, I need your help next week, think you’ve got the time?” she asked you. Shit, no.. but well, if I work a few all-nighters I have. Who needs sleep anyway? “Yeah of course, I was just telling that the plan will probably be finished before the deadline” you said. “You sure about that?” Loki said in a dry voice. Everyone just stared at him, nobody had expected him to join the conversation. “Back off, Reindeer Games. She knows what she’s doing” Tony said. Loki’s eyes narrowed at you and you looked away to the ground. Thor seemed to notice his brother staring at you “I will join the tour, shall we go now?” he said to Loki and Tony. With that the three of them left. The rest of the team was still discussing how they were feeling about Loki’s presence.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steve asked. “After his last encounter with Loki, he thought it was best to stay in the lab” Natasha told him. Steve smiled at you “I will check on him. Thor or Tony will bring Loki for the security clearance after the tour, call me if you don’t want to be alone with him.” You watched him leave and then left yourself. You sat back down at your desk and started to work on your secret planning. First you listed everything you needed to get done to finish the security plan. Then you made an overview of your time the next two weeks. I should have told Natasha I didn’t have time. With this planning that meant at least two nights you had to work through. You had to plan them accordingly, so nobody would notice how exhausted you were. Luckily, there were two days most of the team would be away. I hate myself for not starting on time. After your planning, your eye caught the Netflix logo on one of your tabs and you decided that you could watch one episode, before starting your long workday.

You were halfway through the episode. “Busy?” a low voice asked you from behind. You jumped from your chair and quickly closed your laptop. Turning around you saw Loki leaning against the wall in the doorway. His posture was casual and relaxed, but you couldn’t help starting to feel like you were in trouble. He walked towards you and you forgot how to breath. He took a seat in the chair across from yours and put his feet on your desk. He was leaning back slightly. His eyes never left yours. His eyes were a beautiful emerald colour, but the gaze they had made you feel like a deer in headlights. Suddenly, you were very aware that if he decided to kill you, he could with a snap of his finger. “Lost your tongue?” he asked. That’s when you realized that you hadn’t answered his question. “No, I’m not busy. You just startled me, that’s all” you said. Your voice sounded a little higher than you had hoped. You took a deep breath and sat back down in your seat.

Loki smirked at you “But I thought you were extremely busy?”. His voice sounded too innocent for the look he was giving you. “W- well.. I- I am. But I- eh.. I meant.. just knock next time you come here.” you stammered. “That didn’t sound convincing at all” he said. You saw a small glint in his eyes, which appeared immediately. “Thor said I should come here for security clearance, so I could walk freely around the building.” “Yeah right, ehm.. a moment please” you said. You started to type on your computer, entering Loki’s clearance. Feeling more nervous every second that passed. Loki was still staring at you. God, I wished he just looked at something else. You started to type faster and began your explanation of Jarvis to him. He cut you off after one sentence and rolled his eyes. “My brother might not know much about your primitive technology, but I do. No need to explain it, little one” You blushed at the nickname. “S- so eh.. you have now clearance and can walk around freely. If there’s nothing else I can do for you..” you didn’t finish the sentence and motioned at the door.

Loki stood up from his chair. Thank god you thought. However, he didn’t walk towards the door. He walked around your desk and stood right behind you. You felt goosebumps starting to form. “W- what are you doing?” you asked him. Your voice trembled. He put one hand on your shoulders and leaned down. His touch froze your whole body. You felt his breath tickle your earlobe. Fuck, he’s hot. Your breath hitched, you were surprised by your own thought. Where did that come from? You heard Loki chuckle in your ear and the first instinct you had was to jump up from your chair. He didn’t let you and held you firm in place with his hand on your shoulder. He is so much stronger than me. You started to panic, not knowing what to do. You sat as still as possible and stared at your screen. The screen was showing your episode on Netflix. “You are not going to finish” he whispered in your ear. “I wonder what Stark thinks of his model employee, wasting her time, his time, everyone’s time. I was surprised they didn’t notice your lies” he put his other hand also on your other shoulder.

You started to breath faster, unable to make up your mind. Running was not an option, and you were unable to speak a word, let alone form a sentence and tell him to fuck off. The sudden image of Loki bending you over your desk and taking you from behind crossed your mind. What the hell? No, not with him. You kept it a secret that you were extremely attracted to dominant men. You were ashamed of it. It felt demeaning to have a man control you like that. Usually, you had strong will-power and were opinionated. In bed with your former partners, you always were on top or in control. “You know, the soldier told me about your new security plan, he was very impressed with your presentation this morning. Did he know you made everything up on the spot?” You didn’t know how he knew that. You lowered your head, staring at the ground. “No” you whispered. Loki stroked his thumb across your collar bone. You took a deep breath, unable to decide if you were fearful of him or turned on by his touch.

You suddenly felt his tongue against your earlobe, flicking it. He started to kiss softly against the top of your neck. Trailing downwards towards your collar bone. His other hand travelled down to your breast. You forgot how to breath again and felt yourself heat up. I should do something. Get away, tell him to stop. But you didn’t move a muscle or say a word. He was massaging your breast and you felt your upper body lean into his touch. Damn.. you thought. This felt so wrong but also so right. “I think I am going to like my stay here” he hummed against your collar bone. The vibration on your skin sends a shot of arousal to your core. He suddenly grabbed your throat and squeezed it to cut off your breathing. “From now on you do as I tell you. One wrong move and I will expose you to Stark, you got that?” He loosened his grip somewhat, but not enough for you to get air. You started to nod as fast as you could. He laughed “If you try to scream or tell anyone about this you will pay.” He then let go of your throat. “Now, be a good girl and get back to work” he whispered in your ear. You were breathing heavily, trying to process everything that just happened. When you looked behind you, you saw that Loki was already gone.

When you caught your breath, you contemplate your options. If you told someone about it, you surely would be fired. Maybe I can tell Steve? He always has my back. But you also lied to Steve a lot, and he was so impressed by your work. Nope, not an option. Maybe quitting? There was no way you would ever find a job you loved so much and paid so well. Plus, you have gotten quite close with most of the members on the team. I could tell Natasha. She might know a way out. But she would surely ask why you hadn’t castrated Loki, or at least tried, when he started to touch you. You couldn’t admit to her that a part, buried deep within you, liked to be treated that way. I could finish my work, and if Loki tries anything again then tell them. They would believe you over the God of Lies after all. And with your work done, Loki couldn’t show any proof of his accusations. The only other thing you needed to do was to avoid him as much as possible. After this encounter, you didn’t want to know what he would want you to do. Maybe a little… you thought. He is tall, and you could feel his abs through his leather jacket. If you didn’t know anything about him and met him in a club, you definitely would have let him take you home.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. You snapped your head to see who it was. Thor was standing there. “Are you okay?” he asked. You froze, thinking he had witnessed the whole thing. “I’m fine” you said, hoping he would believe the lie. “Good, Loki likes to scare and play with people. So, I thought I check up on you” he gave you a genuine smile. “Also… I wondered if maybe you would want to have dinner with us tonight?”. You looked at him with a questioning look on your face. “Sorry?” you asked him. Thor started to let his hand go through his hair. His posture changed a bit, he looked more nervous. “Well, bringing Loki here was necessary. But I’m worried about how he will fit in and he needs to. Plus, he will be here a long time. So, I was hoping you would help me with him and maybe get to know him a bit? If he knows someone, he usually lights up.” he gave you a pleading look. “You two actually are very similar in some ways.” he said quickly. “N- not that I mean.. I didn’t mean..” he stammered. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, I just think you two could be friends, that’s all” he sighed. I really don’t have time to spend a whole evening trying to befriend the guy that just made my life hell. I really need to work. You looked at Thor, who was putting on his best puppy eyes. You sighed “Fine, but I have to finish some things for work. So, I cannot make it too late.” Thor grinned widely at you. He walked towards you and engulfed you in a big hug. “Mortal over here, Thor” you said while he was squeezing the tiny amount of air you had in your lungs out. “Thank you Lady (Y/N)!” he boomed. “Just come to his room around six o’clock, I will take care of dinner.”

Thor left your office. Great, tonight is going to be so much fun you thought sarcastically. You turned towards your laptop and opened your document, finally getting to work on your security plan.

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

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Keeping a Secret - Part 6

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn wc: 7.1k

Part 5 || Part 7 || masterlist

[a/n]

I’m sorry for the slow update (As you know, I finished my other mini series last week and I was just a ball of exhaustion, until now tbh)

I think we’re halfway along the story now. I think. Lmao.

AO3 link is on the masterlist’s page.

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

No one budges - not Tsukishima, not the team, not even you. You scram the insides of your brain, trying your absolute hardest to come up with a panic-stricken solution on how to remedy the carelessness brought by your surge of pride from winning.

You can feel your heart pounding on your chest. Or maybe it's Tsukishima’s against yours. You can’t tell at this point and you don’t bother trying to. You push your cognitive skills to its maximum as you strive to think for a fix for your current predicament.

Luckily, you’re not a university scholar for nothing.

You release Tsukishima and open your arms wide to the next person you lay your eyes on.

“Kyou-kun! Good job,” you manifest the joy on your face as you come up to Kyoutani for the similar hug you just gave Tsukishima.

Like Tsukishima, Kyoutani also stills when you embrace his perspiring body. Kyoutani is not a touchy person, but unlike Tsukishima, you know he’s fond of you. So he doesn’t push you away. Rather, he awkwardly pats you at the back.

“T-thanks,” he says with his low, raspy voice. You beam at him and move on to the next player until you’ve hugged all six on the court.

When you come back to the benches, there’s an organized line of the rest of the Sendai Frogs.

You blink quizzically for a few seconds, wondering why, until you realize that they’re waiting for their turn as well.

“Aww, you guys!” you gush dotingly at how adorable they are. Yet, you can’t indulge them.

“Maybe next time? You need to line up already,” you remind them. They all groan downcastedly, but Coach Mira castigates them immediately.

“What the hell are you all sighing for? You won. Stop dawdling around and fall in line over there, not here!”

The guys snap out of it and do as they’re told. Before Coach Mira joins them, she shoots up an eyebrow at you, probably looking for an explanation for your behavior.

“Sorry, Coach.” You chuckle as you apologize for getting the team a bit sidetracked, but provide no reason why you did so. “Won’t do it again,” you supplement the apology.

She lets it go casually and lines up with the team as well.

Once the match is officially done, you head over to the restroom. You enter one of the cubicles quickly and lock its door, you knock your head on it.

‘What is wrong with you, you dumb bitch!’ you lambaste yourself while staring at tiles with petrified eyes as you replay the scene again.

When you made the deal with Tsukishima, you were confident that there wouldn’t be problems with hiding what you two have. He is one of your athletes first and foremost; that hasn’t slipped out of your mind. Yet for one moment there, you blurred the line that you and Tsukishima had established.

You got cozy with him when you’re not in private--when you’re not supposed to. It was just a hug, but still, it was something when you’ve made the whole Sendai gymnasium your audience.

You’re the one who even assured Tsukishima that no one will know about your set-up. Tough luck, you’re also the first one to mess up.

You bang your head on the cubicle door again. The sound of your frustrated groan echoes through the whole bathroom. After a while, you take a deep breath and unlock the cubicle. You go back out to the halls.

When you turn left to head for the bus, you’re startled at the presence of the blonde that was just in your mind. Tsukishima is there, leaning against the wall next to the door you emerged from.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you exclaim.

“Tell me about it,” he replies with a straight face. Despite the nonchalance, you know there’s meaning behind his short retort.

You scan the area, looking for any other member of the team who might be present. When you see none, you drag Tsukishima outside to a secluded area at the side of the gym. Once there, you check around again just to be sure no one will pass by.

Tsukishima just watches you acting in distress, waiting for whatever it is you’re going to say. Obviously it’s important enough to you that you tugged him all the way here. Once you’re done confirming that the coast is clear, panic sets in your face.

You clutch his jacket and start lamenting. “I’m so stupid, Tsukki! Oh God. They’re gonna find us out. We’re screwed!”

He thought that you were just going to explain and apologize for your slip-up earlier. He was stupefied when you did it. He’d probably be giving you an earful right now had you not resolved your mishap before it became an object of inquiry to the others. Admittedly, he was still planning to scold you a bit. However, seeing you this freaked out about it makes him change his mind..

“I’m so sorry!” you go on as you drive yourself deeper to hysteria.

He can’t understand why you’re having this kind of reaction. You solved the problem. You hugged five huge, sweaty men to make up for it. That was a convincing distraction for testosterone-filled players who just won a match.

“Can you calm down? I do-”

“Maybe we should stop it already,” you suggest strongly, cutting him off as perturbation clearly clouds your judgement.

This throws him off. The idea didn’t cross his mind at all. He was just going to reprehend you to be mindful, not call off the agreement you two made.

He doesn’t mind it anymore - kissing you. Sometimes, they’re more enjoyable than he initially anticipated them to be. Most importantly, they’re harmless. They’re just meaningless kisses born out of what little attraction you two have for each other. No one is getting out of line. You don’t go beyond kissing. You both act like the deal doesn’t exist unless it’s just the two of you in your room.

That’s why he is willing to let your mistake go, apart from the fact that you were successful in covering it up.

But instead of contesting your suggestion, he says, “If you say so.”

Even though he’s accepted that kisses from you are allowable, if you want to back out from it, why the hell should he stop you?

“Right??” you persistently convince him even though he basically said yes already.

“Right,” he presses on as well to satisfy your apparent need for him to agree with you.

His answer effectively calms you down as you let go of his jacket and sigh a breath of relief. You swiftly regain composure and face him with your trademark sassiness. “Awesome,” you say with a reassured smile.

“You go ahead first so Coach won’t ask me to chew your ass for taking too long to get on the bus.”

“And you?”

“I’m the manager. I’m always the last to get on the freaking bus.”

He turns around and walks back to the bus. That’s strange. He thought you love taking advantage of every opportunity there is for you to pick on him. He might be wrong.

He can be sure about one thing though: you really are the manager who looks out for everyone, including him.

Maybe that’s why it bothers you so much. Above all else, you are their manager. So when you acted upon something other than such in the court, you lost your cool.

Oh well.

It’s not as if scrapping the deal off is a loss of any kind. He’s gained some sort of fun from it. That’s that. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Tsukishima knocks for the second time. He wouldn’t have bothered knocking since it’s your scheduled time to meet today, but he also doesn’t want to barge in without your permission. So he knocks again.

Sure enough, it opens this time. Yet, no one’s there to meet him.

“Tsukishima...”

His eyes drop further down to where your voice came from. You’re on your knees, your head faced down on the floor, and your arm reaching on the doorknob where your hand is latched onto.

What is it this time? What kind of antic will you throw his way? He waits for you to do something unearthly again, readying himself for anything you might surprise him with.

But nothing. You just stay where you are while he stands still.

You groan weakly and ask, “Did you not get my text?”

He slouches down and gets on your level, still not discarding the thought that you have a trick up your sleeve, and you’re waiting to spring it on him.

“What text?” He didn’t check his phone on the way here so he doesn’t know.

You lift your chin to face him while he anticipates your big reveal -- your comedic idea of the day -- but it doesn’t come. What greets him are your squinted eyes, almost beet red cheeks, and pale lips.

“Not today,” you struggle to say which comes out raspy and frail.

He instantly reaches for your forehead to confirm his speculation. His eyes widen with worry when his palm touches your skin. Even without a thermometer, he can confidently conclude that you’re sick. Not just sick, you’re burning with fever.

He looks behind you and sees your laptop open with a mug filled with brown streaks of fried liquid he can only assume to be coffee.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. You really won’t fucking stop at nothing even if you’re literally sick already.

He peels your hand off from the doorknob. He scoops your legs and waist with ease and stands up.

“H-Hey,” you protest. You’re gravely debilitated so you do not move at all aside from a hand feebly clutching his shirt for support. He kicks the door close and walks over to your bed.

“Do you have a fucking death wish, y/n?”

Even with his harsh tone, he’s extra careful to duck down from your top bunk because he’s too big for the damn thing. If he’s not mindful, he’ll surely bump his bed on the metal frame.

He delicately lies you down on your bed as he manages to sit beside you without hurting himself.

Your eyes are closed and your whole face screams of discomfort. Your mouth opens as you scuffle the words to come out.

“Go home. You’ll get...sick too. Game soon,” you whisper hoarsely.

As usual, you’re still thinking about the team. Is it always everything else before yourself? Don’t you really know how to take a fucking break? It’s an eyesore. Watching you slowly but surely deteriorate yourself is more taxing than handling your childish nonsense.

He’d love to give you an earful of his thoughts about your pressing behavior, but it’s not what you need to hear at the moment. “Who should I call to be here?” he asks instead.

You force your eyelids to open and look at him. “No one. I can take care of…,” you trail off as your eyes begin to flutter close again.

He can’t decide if it’s funny or foolish that you think you can take care of yourself when you can’t even finish your sentence. “Right,” he says, unable to help himself from sounding sarcastic despite your situation. It’s just so stupid how this easily could be avoided if you didn’t push yourself too hard.

He’s in no way responsible for you. He should just walk out like you said. You did this to yourself. There’s no reason for him to stay there.

Yet, he puts down his bag and takes off his jacket.

“Do you have a medicine kit?”

His question is no longer heard. You’re already passed out. He stands up and starts looking around your room for anything that resembles a first aid kit. If you do have one, you didn’t place it where someone can easily see it.

He sighs as he’s left with no choice but to go out and buy the stuff you need. He can’t possibly go through your things. It feels like an invasion of your privacy.

When he comes back from the pharmacy, he’s expecting that you’d ease up even a bit since you finally stopped working. But when he sits beside you again, he can see the same worrisome distraught wrinkling your pretty face.

Alt hough he doesn’t want to disturb you, he has to. He needs to feed you, get you to take medicine, wipe you with cool compress, chang e your clothes, then tuck you back in bed. After that, he still needs to stay to make sure your stubborn ass won’t get back to working once you feel a tiny bit better.

He feels all his facial muscles droop down at the amount of chores he needs to do for you. He really shouldn’t bother. He can just turn a blind eye and go home, leave you alone since you brought this upon yourself.

But there he is, tending to your needs for no substantive reason other than him being a decent person. Well, he’s already taken the first step, so screw it.

He can still work on his own uni requirements while he watches over you anyways.

Although you resisted a bit at first, your own lack of strength makes you give in to his attempt to cater to your sickly needs. The feeding and the medicine was an easy task. You were practically a lifeless doll and just went with whatever he tells you to do.

Now that he’s in your bathroom with a small basin of cool water and a small towel hanging on his shoulder, he contemplates on how to proceed with the next step: a sponge bath. He should just hand you the towel along with a new set of clothes, leave the room, then come back after a few minutes.

Because he is not doing it.

He won’t be undressing you and wiping your naked body. Just no. You should gather whatever energy you have left because you’ll be doing that all on your own.

He dips the towel in the basin and squeezes the excess water out of it. He puts the moist towel in a container and goes back to your bed.

“Hey, sit up for a bit.”

You groan softly, but does as you’re told. He puts the small plastic case with the towel on your bed and helps you get up. “I’ll get you a new set of clothes, then wipe yourself down,” he instructs you.

You let out one short hum of approval, so he goes to your drawers. He pulls the first shirt and bottoms he sees. As long as you have your blanket, it should be fine if you’re not wearing thick clothing.

When he turns around, he finds you holding the wet towel to your shoulder, completely still as you rest against the wall by your bed. You fell asleep with the towel soaking up your shirt.

“Crap,” he curses as he rushes back to you.

He places your fresh clothes to the side and hurriedly removes the towel off of you. He’s about to shake you back to consciousness but aborts his plan as soon as he touches your other shoulder.

You look like you really want to do it yourself as well. Even now, he can see minute movements from your fingers as if you’re still trying to follow his directions earlier.

Goddamn it. It’s really up to him now, isn’t it?

He glances at you one last time, thinking of another way out. If you hadn’t gotten your shirt wet, he would have ditched the sponge bath idea already. Now he’s left with no choice but to proceed with it.

Whatever. It’s just a human body for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be as alarmed as he currently is. He’s seen a female human body before. Yours should be no different.

He takes a deep breath and gently tugs up the shirt you’re wearing.

‘They’re just mammary glands,’ he repeats in his head but makes sure his eyes never land anywhere near the blob lump of fat on your chest.

He gets to work, brushing the cool towel starting on the sides of your face, then down to your neck. You must only be half-asleep because you lift your chin up a bit to allow him access to the column of your neck. He keeps his eyes on it as his hand travels down a bit further.

He spreads the coolness of the towel on your chest, but as soon as he feels a particular softness, drags his hands back up. With his hand still on your chest, he feels the pace of your breathing quicken a bit. When shoots his eyes up to your face, you’re already looking at him with dazed eyes and slightly agape mouth.

Beautiful. Too fucking beautiful for his liking.

It’s ridiculous. People are supposed to look like shit when they’re sick, not inviting.

A certain delicate temptation kicks in, urging him to back away a bit to reward himself with a quick sweep of your semi naked figure.

‘No,’ he grounds himself.

He’s not that barbaric. He’s not doing this so he has an excuse to ogle at you.

So why is he doing this?

With the turbulent thoughts reigning in his mind, he unknowingly squeezes the moist towel he’s holding against your skin.

The cool water drenching from his palm distracts him from his pondering. Reflex makes him look at his hand and involuntarily follows the slow trickle of water down the supple mount of flesh he’s been meaning to avoid looking at this whole time.

He realizes he’s been staring, but he’s too enthralled to stop. He lets his eyes wander further down, still watching how the droplet glides to your stomach. It gets absorbed by the fabric as it reaches down the waistband of your shorts.

The absence of the water he’s been trailing with his eyes snaps him out of his trance.

What the fuck is he doing?

He quickly moves on to your arms, patting your skin aggressively and haphazardly so he can finally get this cumbersome chore over with.

When you recover from this, he’s going to barrage you with a litany of fulmination on your self-destructive habits.

He’s supposed to wipe your thighs and legs too, but the idea is already tossed away as his train of thought is antagonizingly twisted today.

As fast as he can, he puts on the shirt he got for you. He was being gentle previously, but his priority at present is to cover up your exposed body away from his sight.

When he successfully clothes you, he gently lays you down again. He pulls the blanket to your shoulders and looks at your overall state.

You look a bit better now so he goes to your study table. He tidies up your stuff and puts them aside for him to set down his own.

Finally, he can get his shit done while he waits for your fever to go down.

He’s halfway through his elective course when he hears you whimper. He ignores it the first two times, but he hears it again louder the third time, he concludes something is wrong.

When he gets to your bed, you’re shivering frantically even with your blanket covering your whole body. He quickly searches for another one and piles it over the one you already have.

It only lessens your trembling but it’s still there. Your pretty face is still ruffled with unease. He touches your arm and finds out that you’re shaking way worse than you look.

In just seconds, he slips inside the blankets and draws you in to provide you the body heat you might need. You desperately cling onto him, pressing your body to share what he silently offered. Your fingers that are clutching the back of his shirt are quivering. You sink your face on his chest with agitation, badly in need for an additional source of warmth.

His displeasure towards your self-negligence dwindles when he feels your trembling body against his. Yes, this might be your fault, but he’s certain you hate this more than he does. Not only are you in pain, but you probably see this as a waste of your valuable time. You brought this upon yourself, but you don’t deserve it.

He encases his arm on your waist and tugs you even closer. He lowers his body a bit and gently nestles your face on his neck so you can feel the direct warmth of his skin on your cheeks.

Within a few minutes, you begin to relax within his embrace. The tremors become less and less until your fingers on his shirt loosen up.

You faintly pull back to look at him. “Sorry, Tsukki,” you mumble groggily with forlorn eyes.

“Shut up,” he utters without any trace of hostility as he cups the back of your head and buries your face on his neck again.

Your grip on him slackens but you don’t let go. You ease into him with your breathing getting even and your heart beating softly against his chest. When your chills completely fade away, he’s left with nothing but the softness of your body within the confines of his touch.

He becomes more aware of your bodies tangled against each other now that you’re completely still. The plumpness of your breasts are pinned on him. Your ample lips are grazing his neck. His pinky and ring fingers are hovering just below your spine, almost touching the curve of your behind.

To make things worse, you begin letting out small moans of succor which he can hear only because you’re too close.

He should be immune to this. He’s already had his fair share of kisses with you and sometimes, it involves a lot of touching. However, it is never as intimate as this. The furthest you two have gone was when he slipped a hand underneath your shirt before your friend barged in.

Before today, he had never seen your bare body. He had never held you to the point that almost your every curve melds with his. He has never thought about what it’d be like to do more than just making out. Only now when you’re not even doing so.

He considers himself a level-headed person driven by logic and rationality, but for crying out loud, your thigh is nudging on his crotch as if challenging his self-control.

As much as he wants to keep himself in check, his own body betrays him when his dick starts to nudge back at your right thigh.

‘Breathe in, breathe out,’ he reminds himself repeatedly to calm himself down.

“Hmmm,” you snuggle even more on his neck, your moist lips tracing his skin before you press it on him as you relax even further.

Fuck.

The shameful tent in his pants is becoming painful on his jeans as his imagination runs wild. How will you sound if it's the other way around, if it's his lips that’s traveling on your neck? How will you react if it’s his palms kneading the supple flesh pressed against his chest right now? Would you blush a deeper shade of red than the one you’re wearing if he slams his…

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t decide who is more sick: you or him, who’s lusting over you despite your situation. His plan to chastise you for your own inattentiveness for your own health is back in action. He’ll make sure it's ingrained into that irresponsible, beautiful head of yours.

To distract himself from his inane fantasies, he forces himself to recall the scientific names of all the reptile species he’s aware of. And when he’s exhausted his mental list, he moves on to whatever animal species he can think of until he dozes off with you.

You haven’t opened your eyes yet, but as you regain consciousness, you can tell that you had an amazing nap. For the first time, you reap the benefits of a power nap. It feels like you slept for a complete eight hours or even more. You no longer feel sick. You celebrate the after effects of the nap, stretching your legs before you get up.

You look out your window and see that the light is still a dark shade of blue so you still have the whole evening to finish what you need to do.

When you turn your glance to your table, Tsukishima’s seated on the floor with his laptop in front of him.

Why is Tsukishima here? You texted him and called off your meeting today.

Something’s off.

You don’t really remember going to bed. You just remember doing one of your subjects when you heard someone knock.

“Tsukishima,” you call his attention urgently.

He turns to you, but you can’t see his eyes from the light reflecting on his glasses from his screen. “What time is it?”

He looks back to his laptop. “It’s 5 am.”

What?!

You didn’t take a nap. You fucking slept. A more horrid realization comes to you when you remember what happened before you did. You passed out and Tsukishima fixed you up.

Shit! He’s been telling you all the time to stop overworking yourself and he had to be there and clean up the mess you did to yourself.

You panic when he sits beside you. You sit properly, hands on your lap, pressed lips, eyes on the floor as you prepare yourself for a long, tedious arduous lecture from the blonde.

“Hey.”

You slowly turn towards him, anticipating the slew of curses about to unroll from him.

“Y-yes?”

You keep your eyes leveled on his chest, embarrassed of yourself for burdening him with your unwell ass.

Instead of speaking, he inserts a thermometer in your mouth, causing you to shoot your gaze up to him. Neither of you say anything and just hold each other’s stare until the thermometer beeps.

He takes it out of your mouth and checks your temperature.

“You’re okay now,” he announces, then starts getting ready to leave. “Don’t bother coming to training later or else I’ll tell Coach that I caught you extremely sick,” he threatens nonchalantly.

Your mind is running laps on how to process everything all at once, but you decide to deal with the most pressing one.

“Uhhhh..”

He glances at you, silently waiting for what you’re going to say, but you only gape at him as well.

What were you going to say again? Shit, you actually can’t remember what it is.

He disregards your quietness and proceeds to your door. “You should just stay in. One day of missing classes won’t cost you your scholarship,” he says before he closes the door behind him.

“Wait.”

He’s gone. It’s only then you remember you wanted to say thanks.

When you come back to the gym two days after, everyone expresses their worry about you. You assure them that you’re completely fine now. Even with the love and concern you are showered with, your eyes scan for someone who isn’t among the players in front of you.

There he is, dribbling the ball and is about to do a jump serve. Just before he tosses the ball in the air, he looks at your direction.

“Y/n?” Kogane’s voice pulls you back to them.

“What was that?” you ask because you didn’t hear whatever they were saying.

“He was asking if you’re really okay now,” Eiji says.

You nod enthusiastically. “So stop wasting your training time on me and practice instead,” you say with cheerful authority that they’re very pleased to hear again.

Once the crowd disperses, you spring your way to the middle blocker who didn’t welcome you back.

“Hello!” you greet him sprightly.

“What?” he asks with a bored tone.

You step closer to him for the next thing you’re going to say is for his ears only. “I really appreciate what you did the other day.”

Tsukishima sees the earnest, grateful expression on your face, but what grips his attention is how refreshed you look. You look brighter than you usually do.

He was almost sure that you were going to ignore what he said about going absent on both in classes and in here, but you seem to have taken his advice with how well-rested you are.

But most of all, he didn’t expect you’d bring it up during your working hours. Neither of you talks about what happens in private when you’re the ‘Sendai Frogs’ manager,’ not his classmate, or occasional kiss-buddy .

“I don’t,” he responds vacuously to your thankful sentiment. It was a very tough night for him. When he woke up, his erection was still raging through his pants. As undignified as it was, he got himself off in your comfort room just to ease the unbearable sexual tension that was still there in the morning.

As usual, you don’t take offense from his sour remark. You chuckle whole-heartedly and pat him hard on his shoulders. “Of course you don’t,” you say mirthfully before you walk over to Coach Mira.

It was a very tough night you made him endure, but he’s relieved to see you back on your feet.

The team is going to the fourth match of the regular rounds. Three more after this and you get the chance to have a game from the bottom two teams from Division 1.

As you and the team march towards the court, you hear someone call Tsukishima.

“Tsukki!”

You look at whoever it is and stop when you see Kotarou Bokuto, the wing spiker of MSBY Jackals, crazy energy on court, super clean line shot.

He’s waving energetically at Tsukishima while the latter just nods at him. You grab Tsukki by his shirt and stop him from advancing any further.

“You guys go ahead. We’ll be there in a sec,” you tell Kogane who’s the person in front of you. He nods at you then walks off with the rest of the team.

“Why did we stop?” Tsukishima asks with a frown.

“How do you know Bokuto?” you ask.

“I used to train with him during high school,” he says like it’s nothing because to him it really is not a big deal. Bokuto and Kuroo practically coerced him to join their free practices when he already wanted to call it a day. Training with them was a drag - a drag that pushed him to become a better blocker.

Among the four of them who regularly practiced in the third gym, it was him and Bokuto who went professional. Even if the wing spiker is in a higher division, he still sees Bokuto as the same person who told him it only takes one hit to be hooked on the sport. Bokuto just got better at it.

Other than that, he still seems like the silly guy Tsukishima knows him to be.

“Can you introduce me?” you say as you try to hide the zeal in your eyes, but horribly failing to do so.

“Shouldn’t I go warm up?” he counters instead of responding to your question.

“I promise to be very nice to you in the three succeeding training days. Introduce me, please, ” you beseech graciously at him, insistent on meeting the athlete.

“Make it five days,” he tests to see your conviction.

But you easily agree, “Deal!”

Seeing that you won’t let this go easily, he thinks it would be better to just give you what you want.

You both walk over to where Bokuto is. Beside him is another part of the third gym, Kuroo, who’s now the official promoter of the Volleyball Association.

“Hey hey hey, Tsukki!”

“Hey,” the lack of enthusiasm in his response totally contrasts Bokuto’s. “This is-“

“Hi!! I’m Y/n, Tsukishima’s manager,” you cut him off which makes him jolt. Why even bother asking him to introduce when you’re more than capable of doing it yourself?

You grab Bokuto’s hand and shake it vigorously. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” you dramatically state, your eyes twinkling with idolatry.

Bokuto, as expected, is exceedingly glad from the adoration. He uses his two hands to shake yours and reciprocate the same energy you gave him.

“I’m such a huge fan. Personally, you’re my favorite player from Division 1. I don’t care what others say. That chest bump. Flawless save!” you drag on, endlessly showering the spiker with compliments which Bokuto is totally eating up.

He’s egging you up even more by constantly nodding, laughing, and agreeing in everything you’re saying.

Meanwhile, Kuroo and Tsukishima are just standing there watching the whole exchange.

“I’m sorry if this is a stretch, but can I hug you?” you ask almost like a tame puppy.

He’s been disregarding the entire conversation, but really? A hug? Have you no shame? Not that he cares but should you be ogling at another athlete when you’re wearing the uniform of Sendai Frogs?

Great. Go worship a big brawny dude from Division 1 minutes before your own team’s game. How thoughtless.

He imagined it would be a civil hug but then you open your arms to Bokuto and envelop him in the warmest hug he’s ever seen you give. His eyes drop to Bokuto’s limbs which are ensnared around your waist as the spiker hauls you closer to his body.

How imprudent. It was a mistake bringing you to Bokuto. You should have known it’s unwise to mix up your personal agenda with your work. You should have known that it was better if you just ignored Bokuto and made him warm up, than make him introduce you to your favorite player.

What is wrong with you?

Kuroo’s attention slips from you to Tsukishima’s change of demeanor. Tsukishima is usually unbothered, but as soon as you embraced Bokuto, Tsukishima’s mood became sour. It is an amusing sight to watch.

He never thought Tsukishima would associate himself with an individual as lively as you. But who could blame him?

He, himself, has just been watching since you fanned the ego of his old buddy. You have not graced him even a glance since you approached them. Your eyes were all set on Bokuto. You’re probably not aware that another presence is also there.

So he’ll make you be aware.

“Ehem,” he clears his throat to grab your attention, which works as you shift your gaze from Bokuto to him. “Hello,” he flashes you the best smile he has, but has no effect whatsoever at you.

The difference in treatment is drastic. While you revere Bokuto with adoration, you regard him like a nuisance. It’s not that palpable, but it’s there. You look at him like he’s an obligation to deal with.

Your smile is rehearsed and so is the cheerful “Hi” that you give him.

“Kuroo Tetsurou,” he introduces as he offers his hand. You take without hesitation, firmly gripping his extended hand for a brisk, professional handshake.

“Y/n, manager of the Sendai Frogs,” you respond in an amicable, yet refined manner. He gets his business card from his pocket and hands it to you.

“So, Miss Manager, how are the Frogs doing?” he asks to strike up a conversation.

You scrutinize his business card for a quick while then pockets it. “I believe as their manager, I, myself, represent the team more than my words can. So what do you say, Mr. Promoter?” The professionalism chips off and reveals a real slice of you - sly and mischievous, as you compose your stature and put a hand on your hip, accentuating your curves.

He crosses his arms as he eyes you from head to toe without any reservation, then back up again.

“I say the Sendai Frogs are looking hot this season,” he says with his own grin that’s just as devious as yours.

“There’s your answer then,” you give him a wink that almost makes his heart flutter.

‘Geez, lady. Take it easy on unsuspecting men,’ he thinks to himself but easily recovers as his grin spreads out.

“Oy, we should be getting back,” Tsukishima says, breaking Kuroo’s trance towards you. You snap out of it as well, agreeing with Tsukishima as you give the blonde a nod.

“It’s so nice to really meet you, Bokuto,” you tell Bokuto before turning around. Even though you’re treating Kuroo as if he doesn’t exist, he can’t help but be intrigued even more by you.

“Bye, y/n,” he says a bit loudly for you to hear since you’re already a few steps away from them.

You’re about to look back but Tsukishima puts a hand on your shoulders and starts talking to you. Kuroo would have disregarded it, but he doesn’t miss the quick glare Tsukishima throws at Kuroo and Bokuto. What’s even more eye-catching is how Tsukishima’s hand travels down a bit on your back.

You don’t take notice of it though. It might because you’re preoccupied or because you genuinely don’t mind. But for Tsukishima to do so, it’s a different story altogether.

“Hey Bokuto, did you see that?” he turns to his friend.

“Uh huh. She’s so pretty!” Bokuto squawks out, obviously not catching what Kuroo did. Kuroo just lets it go since it wouldn’t really do much even if he tries to explain. He looks back at you and agrees with Bokuto instead.

“Yeah, very pretty.”

Even though you’re the one who broke off the deal, you still feel the urge to kiss Tsukishima at times. He does too. You notice the way he glances at you briefly then returns to his work as soon you catch him.

It’s not awkward. There’s none of the tension-filled air, probably because you’re both aware that the impulse is there. You just silently agreed to dismiss it.

It’s all good though. It’s for the best. You don’t want another slip-up like the one from the Jaguars’ match. What’s weird is that even though you’re no longer making out, it feels like nothing has changed.

You still sit beside him. He still lets you lean on him. He still lets out nasty side comments but he’s not as rancorous as they used to be.

“You’re spacing out again,” he points out.

“That’s cause I’m done, Tsukishima,” you counter immediately while still gazing at your window across you. “Anyways, I’m gonna nap,” you announce.

He stops typing and looks at you. That’s weird. He’s always the one strenuously suggesting that you take a break when you’re feeling tired. What gives?

“Are you sick?” A bubble of unwarranted concern rises within him from your sudden inclination to take a nap.

“Oh, no. But I’m going to a party later so I need to recharge a bit.” You head to your bed and start straightening out the crumpled bedsheets.

Party? Are you out of your fucking mind? You could rest instead, make the most out of the night by catching up on sleep. But you’d rather attend a pointless party? Here he thought you were being thoughtful of your own health.

Not to mention, there might be perverts getting their hands all over you again. Obviously you can protect yourself, but wouldn’t you prefer not having one ogling and harassing you?

“Mind enlightening me how a vomit-smelling gathering is of any benefit to you?”

“Mind enlightening why it’s any of your business?” you retort instantly.

“It’s not,” he responds just as swiftly. “I’m just curious because I honestly don’t get it,” he says calmly. If you want to go to the damned party, then by all means. He really doesn’t care what you do with your free time.

“If you’re so worried, Tsukishima, you’re very welcome to come,” you tell him, mockery dripping from your invitation.

“I’d rather not,” he says dryly.

You shrug as you slip under your blanket. “Lock the door when you leave.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters.

‘Truly unbelievable,’ he tells himself again as the smell of cigarette and alcohol tickles his nostrils while he sits at the bar, mulling over whatever the hell possessed him to come there.

It definitely isn’t because of you.

He’s not looking for you either nor is he worried about you.

It’s worse than he remembers. There are more people than last time and the music is banging on his eardrums.

“Are you getting anything?” the bartender asks him.

Although he absolutely detests alcohol, he feels like punishing himself tonight for lack of better judgment in coming there.

“Your worst drink.”

Even though you slept that afternoon, you still don’t plan on staying out too long for the party. You just wanted to catch up with some uni friends and instead of meeting them all one by one, it would be efficient if you attend this party and meet them all at once.

Although you would prefer if you just slept or watched a documentary, you think it’s necessary for you to be here. You almost don’t have any time to spend with friends. This might be your last chance to do so since it’s almost graduation.

As usual, you avoid drinking since you hate dealing with hangovers. You learned that the hard way when you had to keep up with who’s scoring points in an official match while an invisible hammer pounds your head.

So, despite the endless free shots given to you, you persistently decline. You also did not pay much attention to the dance floor to save your energy.

After a while of talking to everyone you know, you look around to check if you missed anyone. That’s when you catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde slouching by the bar.

‘ No. It’s not possible ,’ you say to yourself but you’re already smiling hard as you saunter to where he is. It’s very unlikely that it’s him but on the rare chance that he is, you’re not going to let it slip by.

He’s facing down his glass which is joined by two empty shot glasses. You lean back with both your elbows on the counter.

“You new here?” you playfully ask. If it’s not who you think it is, you’ll just dance awkwardly to throw him off.

“I actually am,” he says as he encircles the rim of his glass with his index finger. Then he raises his face to turn to you.

When he reveals his face, you confirm that it is indeed Tsukishima, but at the same time, he looks nothing like his usual self.

The tips of his ears up to his neck are burning red while his eyes are dazed like you’ve never seen them before. But that’s not the weirdest thing.

He’s smiling. He’s fucking smiling like a happy idiot.

“Tsukishima?” you ask him for confirmation in any case that it’s just someone who looks extremely like him.

“Hmmm?” he asks with a little bit of a slur that throws you off.

As if you’re not astounded enough by the scene unfolding before you, he grabs you by the waist and lugs you until you’re situated between his thighs.

“Who did you think it was, manager?”

Part 5 || Part 7 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu @expectonothinfromme @finnydraws @namelessidentity @hqbeesun @yatoatyourservice @mrkozume @suzuyamitsuki @celestialarchiveshq @yongboxerrr @gomenpudding @kutiekoge @fizzfrick @flamingosis @korean-bbq @ihaterainbowsprinkles @red-lint @backtonormalthings @borpcorp @lonelyheartxn

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima angst #haikyuu x reader

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katsukikitten · 4 years ago

Text

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone, the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call, a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing. You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back. The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room. When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you. Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it, you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #yandere bnha #shinso yandere #yandere shinso x reader #bnha x reader #bnha harem collab #bnha halloween #bnha spooky

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cudan2 · 3 years ago

Text

One Last Surgery

Spring Break Shadowing Part 5.1

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Summary: You finally find out the reason for going to the children’s hospital, but you’re more distracted than usual today and Dr. Cullen can tell.

A/N: Tell me why part 5 of SBS takes up over half of the whole series? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 5 months because I keep adding more to it smh. Now it’s too long so I’ve decided to split it up into 3 parts (in addition to parts 6 and 7). I’m making the final edits the rest of this part now - 5.2 should be posted in like two days.

Anyways, this is technically the beginning of #1 and #2 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital is only across the street from Doctor Cullen’s office, but it seems to take forever to get there. You trail the doctor like a lost puppy through a skyway and a series of corridors before eventually reaching the right building. Different is definitely an understatement.

Gone are the linoleum-tiled floors, the abstract paintings lining the hallways, and the stark white walls. Instead, there are bright colors everywhere you look. Artwork featuring various galaxies and planets scatter throughout the hospital, and giant stars are imprinted along the floors; even the whole atmosphere just feels different.

You don’t get much time to analyze the differences though. Doctor Cullen is wasting no time to reach the destination, and his long legs aren’t making it any easier to keep up.

“Not that I don’t like surprises, but any chance you can tell me what we’re doing in the children’s hospital now?”

“Impatient, are we?” Doctor Cullen chuckles. He stops at an elevator and pushes the up button, only giving into your question once he catches a glimpse of your pout. “Alright, you win. Are you familiar with a cleft palate or cleft lip?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open with it. You shake your head no and get on the elevator with him. He presses the button for the floor and then leans against the wall, arms outstretched on the handrail, and gives you an explanation.

“A cleft is a gap or split occurring in the roof of the mouth, upper lip, or both. It is due to improper joining of the tissue during fetal development. There are no definitive known causes as of right now, but it’s believed that the environment and genetics can play a role.

The hospital has its own craniofacial team, but I was asked to join this particular case given its more complicated nature. Hanna became one of the first patients I treated when I came to Columbia,” Doctor Cullen finishes fondly, a smile gracing his lips.

“What makes this case complicated?” you ask.

“Hanna was born with a bilateral complete cleft lip and palate, meaning her lip cleft is two-sided and continues into her nose. It took quite a few surgeries to repair the lip, but now the next step is to repair the palate.”

The elevator reaches the floor and dings. You follow Doctor Cullen out and continue prodding him with more questions, which he is more than eager to answer. It’s incredible how knowledgeable he is. Granted, it is his job to know these things, but you couldn’t begin to imagine yourself being able to even scratch the surface of these topics, not to mention give a mini lecture on it.

You’re soon standing at the door to a patient room while the doctor asks Hanna’s parents if you can observe. They readily agree, and Doctor Cullen motions for you to come in.

Inside the room, you see an infant that can’t be more than a year old – Hanna. She’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning against who you assume to be her father. You notice two fading scars going up into her nose above her lip. Her mother is waving a stuffed toy around her, but Hanna’s attention is fixated on the blonde doctor.

“Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Hanna’s parents, Anthony and Linh Pham. And this is Doctor Giselle Adamou, who will be working with me on the surgery,” Doctor Cullen gestures to the older doctor in the room.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say politely.

Pre-op goes differently than what you’ve gotten used to observing this week. There is no case presenting given the lack of residents on the case. If anything, this is what you would expect out of a non-teaching hospital.

Doctor Cullen re-explains the procedures to Hanna’s parents, but halfway through, Hanna crawls to the end of the bed where Doctor Cullen is and attempts to stand, arms outstretched as if to say, “Up! Up!” Bewilderment is not a word you would have associated with him, and yet you catch the brief widening of his eyes that betray his usually calm demeanor.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Linh comments.

“I can see,” Doctor Cullen muses. “Do you mind?”

“She’s all yours.” Linh picks her daughter up from the bed and hands her to the doctor. The sound of Hanna’s elated laughter fills the room, and you can’t stop a small smile from appearing on your own face. A cute baby and a gorgeous doctor? You don’t know who to thank for the sight.

Meanwhile, Hanna starts playing with various pens in Doctor Cullen’s breast pocket while Doctor Adamou continues where her colleague left off. You try to pay attention, you really do. Like Hanna though, your attention lies on someone else, and that someone else happens to be Doctor Cullen.

The more you study him, the more the minute features you never noticed about him before seem to pop out to you. Under the bright fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the dark purple circles under his eyes are more apparent than ever. How ironic for the preacher of health to lack sleep himself. His eyes, which you normally consider to be a vivid golden, are darker than you initially thought them to be. They are liquid pools of dark amber, speckled with dustings of gold and flecks of black. There isn’t a single blemish on his face that you can see either, further confirming your belief that this man is truly the most attractive person you have ever met. Either that or he must have one hell of a skincare routine.

It’s unnerving how young his appearance is. Skincare and diet can only do so much for a person, right? Doctor Cullen has to be at least 35 at the minimum, yet he could easily pass off as someone from your own school.

“Any last minute questions?” you hear Doctor Adamou ask and snap back into reality. By missing nearly everything the older doctor talked about, you already know you’ll be so screwed if and when Doctor Cullen decides to interrogate you on this case.

Neither parent has anything left to say, so Doctor Cullen gives a reluctant Hanna back to her mother. She lets out a cry and his expression softens.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss you too, but I need to get ready for your big surgery, okay? I promise you’ll see me again in a few hours.” His soothing voice does wonders for her. In an instant, Hanna quiets down and her frown is replaced with giggles and smiles again. She waves the two of you off, and you both take your leave with Doctor Adamou trailing behind you. You’re not even halfway out the door yet when Doctor Cullen starts testing your knowledge again.

“Y/N, what procedure will we be doing to repair Hanna’s cleft?”

You do not have this one in the bag whatsoever. You wrack your brain for information that could help you, but Doctor Adamou interjects before you get a chance to say anything.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re treating students like interns already, Carlisle?”

“I am merely advancing the education of next generation’s doctors,” he responds.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “Don’t scare off Y/N though, or we won’t have any doctors left in the next generation.” She turns to you after picking up files from a nearby counter and says, “You come running to me if he pushes you too hard, alright?”

You grin. “For sure.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you both in the OR,” she says before heading off.

You like Doctor Adamou. Each surgeon you’ve met here so far has had such different personalities, yet each also has the charisma and confidence to take control of a room and command respect. You, on the other hand, could barely get your own friends to listen to your own words. How are you ever going to get on the level of all the amazing doctors around you?

“She saved you there,” Doctor Cullen comments, leafing through Hanna’s charts as he walks you into an empty elevator to the operating floor. Oops, it’s just your luck that he noticed your lack of attention during the pre-op. “It’s unlike you to be distracted. Penny for your thoughts?”

The elevator doors shut, and he looks up from the chart, his eyes falling onto yours. He has that twinkle in his eyes again – the one that brings warmth to your cheeks and could make anyone weak in their knees. You know it’s silly, but a single look from him could make you spill any of your deepest and darkest secrets, yet a part of you also knows that he would keep it. You’re not naïve – you know it’s dangerous to put so much faith into a man you only met this week – but there’s something about him that told your instincts to trust him from the very beginning.

Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just plain stupidity, but you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him about how you got distracted because of his pretty face.

You hesitate for a moment and let out a sigh. “How do you do it?” He quirks a brow, momentarily perplexed, and you attempt to find the right words. “How do you make all of this look so easy? How do you know what the right thing to say is? Or trust that what you’re doing is even right? How did you know if this was all meant for you? This is really dumb, but it seems like everyone here was born for this job, and then there’s... me.”

There’s a slight sense of dread starting to form in your stomach. You’re unsure if what you asked even made any sort of sense and wonder if you gave too much away. Giving any reason to second guess your abilities is like digging your own grave when it comes to this career. Expressing uncertainty is one of the biggest taboos of the cutthroat world that is pre-med because schools would not accept students that aren’t absolutely, totally, and completely sure about this path.

You’ve wanted this for so long, yet there’s still a part of you that doubts if you would be enough.

Rather than going straight to gowning and scrubbing in for the surgery, Doctor Cullen grabs your hand and leads you down to an abandoned hallway, only letting go once the two of you are hidden in an alcove away from any prying ears or eyes.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for surgery?”

“We have a few minutes to spare. Y/N, please know that I understand how you feel,” he says softly. “There was a time when I questioned my own abilities as well… whether my perseverance could overcome adversity. It took quite some time to reach where I am today. However, without enduring those trials and tribulations, I would not be here. With time comes experience, and it is that experience that allows me to perform my job the best I can.”

His voice reminds you of a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of a tree on a cool summer night when he continues speaking in hushed tones. It brings a blanket of reassurance, a sense that things would eventually be alright.

“I have said this before, but I see enormous potential in you. You still have a great deal of time to grow and develop your skills. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing yourself with others, especially given today’s societal standards, but I believe you are much more capable than you may think you are. Everyone’s journey is different and yours may not necessarily be as linear as you would prefer. In due time though, I have faith that you will succeed.”

What he says is exactly what you needed to hear.

The swell of tears pricks at your eyes and start blurring your vision, but you blink them away quickly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around the doctor.

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome. Now, I believe there’s a little girl waiting on us.”

XXX

Tag List - Message me to be added or removed to either this series or the rest of my fics!

@jelly-fishy-babie @notahappytree @anxiousgoldengirl

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen imagine #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagines #twilight renessaince #twilight saga #twilight reboot #twilight renaissance #doctor daddy cullen #you guys can't tell but this whole story was one large self-insert #i started writing this at the beginning of the pandemic #was in the midst of my junior year and about to apply to dental schools #basically got rejected from all 19 schools i applied to only for one to rescind their rejection and offer me a spot for next year's class #it's a school in new york too!!#what are the odds?#for anyone struggling out there or feeling like things aren't going the way you want them to - life has a way of working out eventually #twilight fanfic

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silhouetteofacedar · 4 years ago

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

#my fic #txf fic #msr #xfiles #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #OH SHIT YALL THE ANGST TRAIN IS PULLING INTO THE STATION #had to do it to em

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robinrunsfiction · 3 years ago

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It’s A Love Story - Part 2

Part 1

When Saturday arrived, (YN) had been so excited for her and Mikey’s birthday party, but the noise had been going on for what felt like ages and she needed a break. It wasn't like many people were talking to her, apparently Gerard's threats were even more intimidating with him in the corner keeping an eye on everything as their mom left him to chaperone while she stayed up in her bedroom, away from the teenagers.

(YN) slipped away to her room, flopping back onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling when she heard a knock on the door frame. She sat up with a start and found Frank looking amused in the doorway.

"Avoiding your own party?" He asked.

"And I'll cry if I want to, or however the song goes. I dunno how Mikey got all of the outgoing genes in like the entire family. It's not really fair."

Frank laughed and nodded. "You and Gee do have that in common."

(YN) nodded. "You can come in ya know."

"I dunno what rules your mom has about boys in your bedroom," he said, padding across the floor to sit next to her.

"Oh you know you only got Gee and Mikey to be scared of," she replied, shaking her head. "What brings you up here anyway?"

"I got you a present," he said.

"Really?" (YN)'s eyes lit up and a grin formed on her face.

"Yea, umm, here," he said, pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket.

(YN) stared at it for a moment before carefully unwrapping it. Inside was a necklace with a blue sapphire charm. "Oh wow," she whispered.

"The lady at the store said it was your birthstone, but I didn't know if you'd like it," he trailed off with a shrug.

"I love it, it's so pretty!" She said, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "Thanks Frank."

"Of course, happy birthday (YN)," he replied, returning the hug.

"I'm gonna guess you didn't get Mikey the same thing?" (YN) laughed as she put the necklace on.

Frank laughed. "Nah, I got him a CD," Frank replied before pausing, seemingly lost in thought. "It's kinda shitty how him and Gee scared off all the guys from you."

(YN) sighed. "I just wish they would have asked me how I felt about it first. But," she paused, drawing up every ounce of courage she could find, "as long as the guy I like keeps talking to me, it's fine."

Frank nodded before his eyes went wide and (YN) couldn’t help but laugh a little at the realization that had clearly just hit him.

"And I seem to be the only guy that's ever talking to you."

"So that would mean," she trailed off, her cheeks burning.

"For real?"

"Yea, sorry," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"No, no that's not what I meant. I mean, I like you too, (YN)."

She was surprised, but couldn’t help but grin. "It's dangerous to have a crush on me, ya know."

"I like to live dangerously," he smirked, and (YN) had to keep from melting on the spot as the air hung thick between them.

"So what do we do now?" She asked softly.

“Well, I really wanna kiss you," he said, sliding closer to her, his hand on top of hers.

“Gee and Mikey will kill you,” she whispered as they started to lean in together.

“Then I’ll die happy," he whispered back.

“See you at your funeral,” she replied as Frank reached up and touched her cheek gently before closing the distance between them. Their lips met and (YN) had to try not to sigh, it was everything she had hoped it would be.

When they pulled back, Frank was smiling like she'd never seen before. "Was that good?" She asked.

Frank furrowed his brow in confusion. "Yea, it was really good. Wait, was that your first kiss?"

(YN) nodded and bit her lip, her cheeks going pink again. "Yea."

A smile spread across Frank's face. "You wanted me to be your first kiss?"

"Duh," she laughed lightly. "Is that weird?"

"No, it's," Frank looked like he was trying to find the words to describe what he was feeling. "Fucking awesome," he finally replied.

(YN) smiled and shook her head, before looking down at the necklace she was now wearing. "Thanks for making this a really memorable birthday."

"You deserve it," he nodded.

"We should probably go back downstairs before someone comes looking for us, or starts to suspect something."

"Yea," Frank agreed. "We'll talk soon about… us?"

"Sounds like a plan," (YN) nodded.

Frank leaned in, giving her another quick kiss before getting up and leaving her room.

(YN) sighed and flopped back on her bed again before letting out a squeal of utter glee.

The following week of school felt like the longest of (YN)'s life, all she wanted was for it to be Friday night. She and Frank had decided they were going to skip the weekly movie night with her brothers and Ray, and instead have their first date. When Friday evening finally arrived, (YN) couldn't get out of the house quick enough.

"(YN) are you still in for movie night?" She heard Mikey ask behind her. She froze, wincing, hand inches from the doorknob.

"Oh, no sorry," she replied, turning to face her brother. "I'm going to Marie's, she's having some boy problems and wanted someone to talk to."

"Oh," Mikey shrugged.

"What's going on?" Gerard asked, walking into the living room.

"Guess it's just us and Ray tonight," Mikey explained.

"Where are you going?" Gerard asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Marie's. No Frank?" She asked, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"He said he's not feeling good, stomach thing," Gerard explained.

(YN) nodded. "That sucks... Well, I'll see ya later," she said before hurrying out the door, afraid they'd somehow see through her lies.

The walk to Frank's house was quick, she'd made it countless times before, but never before in this context, which added an extra spring to her step. By the time she arrived at the door, her heart was pounding.

"Hey," he said, immediately pulling her into a hug when she walked in. "I ordered a pizza a little bit ago, is that cool?"

"Yea, of course," she nodded before kicking off her shoes and dropping her purse by the door. "Umm, so did you tell your mom that we're," she trailed off.

"She's not home yet, but yea, just so she knows not to bring it up around the guys for some reason,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen.

“That’s good,” she nodded, taking the soda that he offered to her.

An awkward silence hung between them as they stood in the kitchen. They normally would have been bantering easily, but there was now so much to talk about that neither seemed to know where to begin.

“So, umm-” Frank started, but before he could get any more words out, the doorbell rang. “Oh, hang on.”

(YN) nodded and made her way to the living room, plopping down on the couch.

"Thanks man, see ya Monday," she heard Frank say before walking into the living room with the pizza.

"Who was that?"

"Tucker. I didn't know he got a job delivering pizzas."

"Me neither, but no one tells me anything anymore," she laughed.

Frank laughed as he sat the pizza down on the coffee table in front of them. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Whatever you want,” (YN) shrugged as she picked up a slice of pizza.

Frank hummed as he perused his movie collection. “Got it,” he nodded, pulling one off the shelf, and putting it on. He settled onto the couch next to (YN) as he started the movie. After they both had their fill of pizza, Frank put his arm over her shoulder. "Is this ok?"

"Yea," she smiled, sliding over so she was resting against his side.

They sat in silence as the movie continued to play, but (YN) was only halfway paying attention. She was too busy thinking about Frank's hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into the material of her shirt. She had just turned her attention back to the movie when a jump scare made her yelp and bury her face against Frank’s shoulder.

She heard the sound of the movie stop and Frank wrapped both his arms around her. "Shit, sorry," he murmured, rubbing her back soothingly.

"It's ok," she replied, pulling back from him enough to look up at his face. He was definitely concerned, and it warmed her heart.

"Do you wanna watch something else?"

"No, no, it's ok, we can keep watching this," she insisted. “I was just startled.”

"Ok, he replied, pressing play again, but she stayed curled up against him and he kept both his arms wrapped around her, holding her tighter than before.

"There's another jump scare coming up," Frank said a few minutes later.

(YN) whined a little and turned to hide her face against Frank's shoulder again when he caught her chin and she looked up at him. He leaned in and kissed her while the suspenseful music blared from the TV. (YN) smiled into the kiss as she wrapped her arms over his shoulders and he pulled her closer. Tentatively he deepened the kiss, and she tried not to get too excited that she was finally, truly, getting to make out with Frank.

It wasn't until the end credits were playing that they came up for air.

"I really liked the movie," (YN) laughed.

"Me too," Frank grinned. "And I really like you."

"You'd mentioned something about that before," (YN) smiled coyly, but couldn't help but blush a little. “Umm, so can I ask something?” Frank nodded so she continued. “When did you realize that you liked me?”

Frank scrunched up his face for a moment as he thought. “I think it was kinda gradual. When we started the band and you started doing your own thing with your clothing designs, I thought that was so cool.”

“Really?”

Frank nodded. "I don't always know who or what you're talking about, but it's cool seeing you be so excited about it. But," and then winced a bit. “If I’m gonna be totally honest, umm,” he trailed off.

“What?”

“Please don’t think I’m a scumbag like Adam, but umm, at the pool party, I mean,” he rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re hot!” He finally blurted out and (YN) began to laugh.

“I don’t think you’re a scumbag, because I know you’re not gonna try to take advantage of me or anything,” she replied.

“I never would, you mean too much to me to do anything that would make you feel bad," he replied sincerely.

(YN) smiled. “That’s why I like you, ya know.”

“Hmm?”

“You always make me feel better about myself, even when I'm struggling through math class or whatever. And because when Gee or Mikey are being obnoxious and picking on me, you would always take my side," she smiled. “Plus you’re really cute and I really like watching you play guitar because it’s so cool.”

It was Frank’s turn to grin. "So are you gonna start coming to watch our practices?"

"I dunno, I don't wanna just seem like a groupie,” she laughed. “Or worse, raise my brothers' suspicions. I don't want them to freak out and kick you out of the band or something," she said, starting to pick at her nails.

"Hey," he started, taking her hands as she looked up at him. "I know you do that when you’re nervous, but whenever you're ready to talk to them, I'll be there. Until then, we'll keep things between just you and me."

"The secrecy is kinda fun, forbidden romance and all that," she smiled.

"And when it's not secret, it will be even better, because then I'll be able to do this whenever I want," he said leaning in and kissing her.

(YN) got completely lost in the amazing sensation of kissing Frank until the front door opened. They jumped apart as Frank’s mom walked into the house. She peeked in the doorway to the living room with a smile. “Hi Frank, hi (YN), don’t mind me!”

They both greeted her, and (YN) checked the time. “Ugh, it’s getting late, I should probably get home,” she said, getting up.

“Do you want me to walk you back?" Frank asked, following her to the door.

"Probably shouldn't risk it. You're supposed to be sick, remember?"

"Oh yea," he replied, sounding a bit forlorn.

"I promise I’ll try to figure out how to tell them soon."

Frank nodded. "Like I said before, whenever you're ready, I'll be right there with you. You're my girl."

(YN) felt her heart flip and her knees go a little weak as she threw her arms around Frank and buried her face against his neck. He held her close until she pulled back, and gave him a quick kiss.

"Let me know when you get home safe," he said as she headed out the door.

She waved over her shoulder, feeling like she was practically floating

Part 3

#frank iero x reader #frank iero fan fic #frank iero fan fiction #frank iero imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

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yellow : s.r

after a mission that targets couples, spencer realises how much you truly mean to him back home (4.1k oops)

shameless plug but i have an etsy shop (10% off on tote bags until 2nd december!)

criminal minds masterlist

(also the case idea is just something i came up with! please do not steal my ideas/work or repost elsewhere without permission. thank you!)

Warmth. That was the first thing you noticed when you woke up. Warmth radiating from the sunlight filtering through your blinds, warmth from your boyfriend who you were curled up against and warmth from your cheeks as the events of last night replay in your mind.

Yet, as always, those are short lived once your alarm clock sounds.

Spencer stirs upon hearing the repetitive beeping. His arm tightens around your waist as you move away to press snooze and his breath fans across your neck as he chuckles.

“Good morning,” He whispers, shuffling to kiss your jaw sweetly until you turn to face him. “every morning I’m amazed at how beautiful you look.” Spencer admits candidly.

“That’s because I haven’t opened my mouth yet and you can’t smell my morning breath.” You mutter, unable to take him seriously as his curls point in every direction and sleep laces his tone. “You’re something else, you know that, Spence?” You chuckle, lifting an arm up as you brush your hand across his face.

Humming in response, Spencer begins to open his eyes. “You know, around 50% of adults in America suffer from morning breath, the ADA has researched it’s caused by bacteria in your mouth building from food particles between your teeth, gum line and tongue.” He explains, watching as you roll your eyes. “And yes, I do know I’m something else, you tell me most days, except yesterday.” A smile lines Spencer’s lips as he pictures the exact moment. “Yesterday you called me a fucking God.” He chuckles as you groan, lifting your hands to cover your face.

“Please, just forget that.” You tell him through your hands whilst Spencer shuffles as his body rests above yours.

“Y/n, open your eyes.” He whispers, and as you move your hands Spencer leans down, kissing you softly. Pulling away, he sighs happily. “I love you, but I need to brush my teeth.” He announces and rises from bed, heading to the bathroom as your laughter lines the corridor.

The sound of your phone buzzing interrupts your thoughts as you reach over and unlock it. For a moment you allow your eyes to adjust to the brightness glaring into your retinas.

“Spence?” You call out as you force yourself from the cocoon of your bed as you shove your feet into your slippers.

As you exit your bedroom, you meet Spencer halfway to the bathroom as he looks at you with wide eyes whilst a toothbrush hangs out of his mouth, toothpaste marking the corners of his lips.

“Penelope texted me, she assumed your phone was downstairs,” Which was true, and Penelope knew Spencer well enough to know such. “you’ve got a case.” You tell him with a heavy heart as Spencer’s face falls and nods.

Retreating back to the bathroom, Spencer spits the toothpaste out as he looks at his reflection. He knew this was his job, and you both knew the hours weren’t the typical nine to five. But for once, Spencer wanted to be selfish and stay with you for the weekend that he promised you.

“Hey,” You speak up as you wrap your arms around Spencer’s waist as you rest your head on his back. “it’s okay, you can make it up to me another time.” You reassure him as you rise to your tiptoes, kissing his bare shoulder. “I’ll go make you a coffee.” You add as your arms slink from Spencer’s waist as he finishes brushing his teeth and turns the shower on.

“Or, you could join me?” Spencer pipes up, a mischievous smile lacing his lips as you pause before turning on your heels.

“Spencer Reid, are you suggesting I accompany you in the shower?” You feign shock, resting your hand on your chest as your lips part whilst Spencer’s tongue glides over his lips for a moment, that rare glint crossing his gaze.

“I’m suggesting we save water, last year alone over 2.5 billion people were living in areas of drought, and that’s not including-” Cutting Spencer off, you remove your dressing gown and slippers.

“Alright, I give in.” You wave him off. “It’s too early to listen to your statistics.”

“Morning, sorry to call you all in during the weekend.” Hotch starts as everyone takes a seat around the table, Spencer trying his best to suppress his yawn as he drinks the coffee you made him just before he forgot it as he left. “Garcia?”

“Right yes,” Penelope gathers herself as everyone opens their tablets whilst Spencer flicks through the physical case file. “over the last two months, there have been three murders of married couples,” Penelope begins to explain as she displays images of the three couples. “our first couple were newlyweds, married for two weeks before they were kidnapped and tortured before dying from lacerations to their throats which I will not be looking at on the screen.”

“Same MO for all three couples?” JJ asks, and Penelope sighs as she nods in response.

“That is correct, our latest couple were discovered placed back in their bedroom this morning when their daughter arrived home from a sleepover to discover her parents,” Penelope trails off as Hotch rises to his feet.

“Wheels up in 15, we’re going to Phoenix.” Hotch states as he walks out of the room, slowly followed by everyone else.

“Take it your romantic plans aren’t happening, kid?” Rossi speaks up as Spencer follows him out from the conference room.

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re going to try again next weekend if we can,” A sigh leaves Spencer’s lips as he grabs his go back, throwing it over his shoulder. “but she’s just, so understanding.” He admits, and Rossi whistles.

“Says more than my ex-wives.” Rossi comments.

“How is my sweet Y/n?” Penelope asks as she follows the team toward the elevator, JJ chuckling with Tara.

“She is just fine, Penelope. But she does miss you, don’t worry.” Spencer tells Penelope who beams happily as he makes it into the elevator.

“Well, I’ll make sure she’s safe whilst your gone, goodbye my crimefighters!” Penelope waves as the metal doors close on everyone, and that familiar silence falls over all of them as they begin to pick apart the case.

Arriving in Phoenix, Hotch splits the team up and Spencer is paired with JJ to go to the morgue.

“Based on victimology, our unsub targets the wives first, looking at our first victim, Charlotte Yestley, the bruising on her wrists and ankles is much darker than her husbands.” Spencer explains as the ME returns with the reports.

JJ hums as she leans closer. “But overall the damage on Charlotte is cleaner than on Michael. The laceration on Charlotte’s neck was done in one motion, whereas Michael has multiple lacerations and stab wounds covering his torso.”

“Cause of death for both was the loss of blood from the laceration to the neck.” The ME states. “Charlotte Yestley died within minutes whereas Michael would’ve bled out for at least an hour.”

“So he’s torturing the husbands, could be symbolic? Maybe our unsub was married, lost his wife and is looking at couples who have what he no longer does?” JJ suggests.

“I’m not sure, I’ll call Garcia and see if she can find anything out about the Yestley’s.” Spencer exits the room as he calls Garcia, leaving JJ to discuss with the ME the toxicology report.

“Go for Garcia,” Penelope answers the phone.

“Garcia can you look into the Yestley’s personal life, considering they were newlyweds there must be something online about them.” Spencer asks as Penelope types away.

“I’ve got hundreds of photos appearing across social media platforms from the past five years of them both. It seems they met in college and then split up after they graduated, got engaged two years ago and were married at the Hillsong Church. Intimate celebration, close family, two bridesmaids and a best man.” Penelope reels off, and Spencer nods to himself.

“I’ll call Hotch, see if we can talk to the bridesmaids and best man,” Spencer tells Garcia. “thanks, Penelope.”

After investigating further, the team had conducted it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows between the Yestley’s. In fact, days before the wedding it was nearly called off by Charlotte as she caught her fiance with another woman.

“What if that’s it?” Rossi speaks up as the team sit in the room the local PD helped them set up. “Cheating, being disloyal.”

JJ glances over to Spencer, seeing the cogs whirring away in his brain. “Rossi, you and Lewis spoke with the Littlewoods daughter, right?” Spencer asks as he walks over to the board, looking through all of the photos.

“Yeah, she said how her parents weren’t sharing a bed anymore, they were in the process of separating.” Tara comments and Hotch straightens up as Spencer turns on his heels.

“Rossi is right, it’s all about being disloyal. The unsub is projecting onto these couples, finding out about their personal lives or seeing snippets of them and punishing them for cheating or harming one another.” Spencer explains, and Hotch nods as he glances around at the rest of the team.

“I think we’re ready to deliver the profile, guys.” Hotch states as he closes his case file, heading out to speak with the deputy.

“So, how’s it going?” Your voice filled with curiosity is the only thing that can soothe Spencer’s thoughts as he lies down on the firm hotel mattress.

A long exhale leaves Spencer’s lips. “We’ve delivered the profile, now we’re just trying to narrow the search down.” Spencer explains, hearing the faint sound of the TV playing in your house. “How was work today?”

“Same old same old.” You chuckle as you busy yourself, unable to sit still without him at home with you. “My Mom came by earlier, she says hi.” You add shyly, despite having been together for two years, your parents visiting was an infrequent occurrence.

A small smile forms on Spencer’s lips as he listens to you, the normality he craves in his life. “How is she? Did your Dad abandon her like last time at the airport?” He asks through the line as he closes his eyes, listening to your story as you ramble on about all the things your Mom picked out about your house and about Spencer.

“And then she had the cheek to say you’re never here! Like, where is my Dad?” You scoff, hearing a gentle hum on the other end of the line. “Sorry, I got a bit lost there.”

“S’okay.” Spencer mumbles, his eyes unable to open again. “I’m hoping we’ll be flying back within the next week, sorry.”

You finally pause as you rest your hand on the back of Spencer’s beloved armchair beside his old bookcase. Forcing your smile to remain in place, you nod to yourself. “I get that, serial killers don’t have a care for date nights and the lives of others.” You laugh dryly, something that doesn’t go undetected by Spencer.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Spencer whispers to you, picturing you in front of him when he opens his eyes, only to be greeted by the tap leaking in his bathroom sink.

“Just, keep safe and find the son of a bitch, yeah?” You mutter. “I love you, Spencer.” You add, moving to sit in his armchair as you wrap his blanket around him, his aftershave weaved into the fabric.

“I love you too.” He whispers.

As you hang up, the tiredness Spencer previously had has vanished as he faces the ceiling, staring at the Artex wishing you could be by his side.

“Another couple has been taken from their home,” Hotch announces as he enters the conference room, everyone turning to look at him. “Maria King, 81 and Jacob King, 85. Their neighbour suspected something was wrong when they noticed their front door was wide open.”

“So our unsub has taken them to a secondary location?” JJ asks as Hotch nods in response.

“We’ve got a lead currently on where they might be held, but we’ll have to move quickly.” Hotch states as he exits the conference room, the rest of the team filing out straight to the lockers.

There was an unsteady tension in the two SUV’s on the drive to the abandoned farmhouse. Everyone was thinking the same thing, why the unsub would take an elderly couple.

“He’s clearly escalating from our profile.” Tara states as she sits in the passenger seat. “Garcia, was there any sign of an affair from either Maria or Jacob King?”

The sound of Penelope rapidly typing echoes through the line until it suddenly stops. “Nope, Maria and Jacob recently celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary, and it seems they’ve never been more in love.” Sadness coats Penelope’s voice as she looks through the photos of the couple. “The owner of the farmhouse is Tyler Edwards, however, Edwards sold the property last month to Lewis Wise. Unlike his name, Lewis was not the wisest in life. It seems that his wife, Clara, was on her way home from a business trip and died in a car crash.” Penelope explains, but a small gasp leaves her lips.

“What is it, Garcia?” Spencer chimes in, and the sound of typing increases.

“Well, turns out Clara was not coming back from a business trip, but instead her lover, Daniel Lovatt.”

“That could be our trigger,” Tara states. “Wise loses his wife and discovers she’s been having an affair.”

“How long ago did Clara die, Garcia?” Hotch asks, nearing the entrance to the property.

Humming, Penelope quickly answers. “Two months ago.”

“Same time the murders started.” Spencer mutters as they prepare to exit the SUV.

“Please let them be alive.” Penelope mutters to herself, closing the photos of the elderly couple from her monitors.

Arriving at the farmhouse, the faint sound of screams could be heard as the team exit the SUV’s.

“JJ, you, Lewis and Rossi take the back entrance, Reid, we’ll go through the front.” Hotch explains, and with everyone in understanding, the team split up.

Following Hotch, Reid tried not to focus on the cries for help from the strained voices inside.

“Just, shut up!” The unsub exclaims.

“Please, my wife, she’s hurt. We need help.” A new voice, Jacob King cries out to the unsub.

“She won’t need help for much longer, I can promise you that.” A sick laugh follows and Hotch kicks the door down, running forward with his gun aimed at the unsub.

“FBI, drop the weapon!” Hotch yells as the unsub is standing behind Maria, his knife against her neck as her eyes continue to drop, she’s already losing blood.

“Lewis, just drop the knife. This couple, they’ve done nothing wrong.” Spencer speaks up, seeing the rest of the team enter from the back of the farmhouse, slowly walking forward, guns aimed at Wise.

“They have! Look at them, they, they hate each other!” Lewis spews as Jacob sobs quietly, his fingers intertwined with Maria’s.

“No, they don’t. Lewis, I know what happened to your wife, and I’m so sorry.” Spencer hesitantly steps forward, Hotch keeping his eyes trained on Wise. “But you don’t have to do this, there’s another option.” Spencer’s voice remains soft as he glances down to the couple and flashes a brief smile.

“I can’t, they need to be punished.” Lewis states as a whimper leaves Maria’s lips.

“Lewis, just put the knife down and we’ll talk.” Spencer reasons. “Here, I’ll put my gun down, how about that?” Spencer slowly lowers his gun to the floor, ignoring the worried looks from his team behind Lewis.

“But they are bad people.” Lewis repeats, his eyes darting from the couple to Spencer. “I, I won’t let them get away with it.” Lewis yells, and before he’s able to apply more pressure to Maria’s neck, shots are fired and Lewis falls backwards.

“Oh my god,” Jacob cries as his wife falls into his embrace.

“We need medics here, now!” Hotch speaks into his earpiece whilst Spencer rushes over, quickly followed by JJ.

“Medic’s are coming, you’ll both be all right.” JJ assures the couple as Maria looks up at Jacob with such adoration as he wipes her tears.

“I’ll always love you, Maria.” Jacob tells his wife as she shushes him. “No, no let me say this,” His voice cracks, and JJ looks up at the sound of sirens in the distance. “you were my first love, and you’ll always be my last.” Jacob sniffs as Spencer keeps pressure on the stab wound on her side, trying to ignore how blood is seeping through her top.

“I love you,” Maria breathes out as her eyes start to close, but Jacob protests.

“Don’t go yet honey, there’s so much more for us to do.” Jacob cries out, just as the medics arrive.

Stepping back, JJ rests her arm on Spencer as she guides him out from the farmhouse as they join the rest of the team, witnessing Lewis Wise being taken away.

“You okay, Spence?” JJ looks up as Spencer focuses on the police car as it drives away, his gaze shifting to the Kings sat in the back of the ambulance, still together, holding hands.

“Yeah, yeah.” Spencer nods, tearing his eyes from the couple as the image of you crosses his mind. “Just thinking about a few things, that’s all.”

“Wanna share?” JJ enquires, raising a brow to Spencer.

Yet, a small smile forms on Spencer’s lips as he shacks his head. “Maybe some other time, let’s go.”

For the entire flight home, Spencer could only think of one thing; you.

As soon as they arrived back at HQ, Garcia enveloped the team into a tight hug. “Oh thank god, you’re all safe and home.” She gushed as the team entered the bullpen one by one, Spencer last.

“Our angel came in yesterday for a visit.” Penelope speaks up as she walks alongside Spencer into the bullpen.

“She did?” The surprise is evident in Spencer’s tone, in the two years you’ve been together, you’ve visited the bureau a grand total of three times.

Penelope nods, trying to hide her growing smile. “She erm, left you something on your desk.” With that, Penelope rushes over to the others, having a hushed conversation whilst Spencer nears his desk.

Standing in front of it, nothing looks out of place. He knows exactly where he left the seventeen case files on the right-hand side just below his phone set. The pen pot still has three blue pens and two black, his monitor is off and the keyboard is parallel to the mouse.

“What did she leave?” Spencer calls out to Penelope as he spins in his chair, looking over as the team stand together, trying not to make it obvious they’re spying on him.

“Erm, try the second drawer?” Penelope answers and Spencer nods before turning back to his desk and opens the second drawer down.

Inside is an envelope with his name written across the front. Lifting it up, Spencer wastes no time opening it like a child on Christmas day, revealing an invitation for dinner, tomorrow night.

Unable to hide it, a blush rises through Spencer’s cheeks as he chuckles under his breath. You always have been one for extravagances, but that’s just one of the many things he loves about you.

Rising to his feet, Spencer slips the invitation into his satchel. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Bye, Spencer!” Penelope waves as Spencer tries to hide his eagerness to get home as he lightly jogs to the lift, his foot tapping against the floor as he waits for the doors to open.

Once they do, he slides in and once out of sight, the team turn their attention back to Penelope.

“What was in that envelope?” Rossi raises a brow to the tech wiz who merely shrugs her shoulders.

“I have no idea, Y/n knows better than to tell me these things.” Penelope explains, but there’s a hesitance in her tone the team know all too well. “But I may have taken a look at her recent search history and found out she’s booked a table for 7pm tomorrow evening at Spencer’s favourite restaurant.”

JJ chuckles to herself as she pats Penelope’s arm. “Couldn’t keep out, could you?”

Lowering her head in defeat, Penelope nods.

“Come on, how about a drink to celebrate another case?” Rossi suggests, and the team all gratefully agree. “And maybe Penelope will spill what else she knows about the future Mr and Mrs Reid.”

Pulling up outside of your apartment building, Spencer releases a shaky breath as he heads up to your floor, having the route memorised after your third date together.

As he stands outside of the apartment door, he reaches into his worn satchel for the key as music begins to play inside.

He doesn’t recognise the tune, but the faint sound of you singing along is something ingrained in his mind and hopes to never forget.

Unlocking the front door, Spencer quietly steps in as your singing becomes louder and more energetic as the beat of the song increases.

Unable to wipe the smile from his face, Spencer wanders through toward the kitchen and hovers in the doorway. There you’re dancing, holding a spatula in one hand as a microphone whilst wearing one of Spencer’s old shirts. You’re so carefree, without worry or sight of the missions Spencer endures, you’re not exposed to the graphic crime scenes or twisted minds of their unsubs. You are just you, and Spencer adores it.

“And it was called ‘Yellow’ So I took-” Turning on your heels you yell, throwing the spatula at Spencer. “Christ, Spence!” You laugh, running your fingers through your hair as you exhale shakily. “You scared me, when did you get in?”

Rushing over to him, you wrap your arms tightly around Spencer, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

For a moment, Spencer just holds you close, not wanting to respond. He always misses you when he goes away on cases, but coming back to you is always bittersweet.

“A few minutes ago, I could hear you singing and wanted to witness it without interruption.” He explains as you loosen your grip around him, relaxing your hands on his hips as you look up at his tired face.

“I missed you, goof.” You mutter as Spencer’s hand rises to your cheek, caressing it softly as you hum, leaning against it.

Faintly, the radio continues to play as you sway with Spencer before he leans down and kisses you. As always with Spencer, it begins as a delicate kiss as if he could break you, but as your arms rise to behind his neck, it deepens into something more passionate.

You smirk at the sound of him moaning quietly before pulling away. “Come on then, we’ve got time before dinners ready.” You wink, guiding him up the stairs as he chases behind you.

Lying in his arms, slightly sweaty, Spencer moves your hair from your face. Your eyes are growing heavy, and suddenly the words from Jacob King cross his mind as he held Maria in his arms, begging her to stay awake.

“You were my first love, and you’ll always be my last.”

Spencer mutters your name as you hum in response, opening your eyes as you look up at him. Outside, the sunset is peaking through your blinds, but this time it’s blinding you instead of him.

Squinting up to him, Spencer breathes a laugh. “I just want you to know, you’re my everything, and I know we don’t do emotional speeches because neither of us can finish without crying, but I love you, Y/n. And, I always will because you’re my sunshine, you’re the stars that glow in the night sky, though stars don’t actually glow as they’re mere-”

“Spence,” You mutter, shuffling in his arms to lean on your elbows, paying close attention to him as his eyes flicker over yours.

“Sorry, I, well, you’re my yellow. You radiate joy when I come home from missions and you never pry, you always give me time to explain when I’m ready. My family, the BAU adore you, I’m pretty sure Penelope might book us a wedding venue and arrange a wedding soon.” You laugh lightly, knowing it would be the case with Penelope. “And I just love you.”

A tear slips from Spencer’s eye, barely having a chance to fall before you wipe it away.

“I love you too Spencer Reid.” You sniff, tears glazing in your eyes as they glow in the sunlight. “And I’ll forever be grateful to be your yellow.” You whisper, curling up into his arms as he kisses the top of your head, wishing this moment would never end.

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years ago

Text

Ashes Chapter 6: Level-Headed

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

You meet Nightwolf. Turns out that he's a really good dude. Liu Kang is still having a tough time but he is seeming at least a bit more like himself. He's got a level-head but now you're the one who can't keep it together. And who could blame you?

A/N: I am just so happy that other people like reading the nonsense I write. I know it's not the best but I'm having fun writing it and it's even more fun getting to enjoy it with people <3 Sorry I'm so sentimental lately. Just feeling really loved and I want to spread that love~

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The next day was awkward but you weren’t biting each other’s heads off at least. You were both too tired, it seemed. Liu Kang had a big red comical handprint on his face that morning but it faded by the afternoon. You were both unhappy but you supposed this might have been progress since you weren’t snapping at each other. Either that or you’d taken ten steps backwards and said things you didn’t mean and had done irreparable damage to your friendship.

By the evening you were drawing close to the spot on the map, or at least you thought you were. “Look.” You gestured to a cabin in the distance. You could barely make it out between the trees. Then there was the howling of wolves and you heard their footfalls running toward you, the shadows of the hulking beasts flittering between the trees. It was only seconds before you were surrounded by wolves enveloped in green mist.

You drew closer to Liu Kang and summoned a sword with your ink. Liu stood at the ready but didn’t summon his fire yet. Neither one of you liked to hurt animals, even when they were aggressive. Besides, the floaty green mist made it seem like you were out of your league with these wolves.

They didn’t attack. Instead the voice of a man broke through their howling and the dogs silenced as he walked amongst them. Tall, with messy dark hair, dark eyes and tan skin, the man’s presence was commanding. This had to be Nightwolf or at least someone in close relation to him.

“What brings you to this place?”

Liu made to speak but you grabbed his arm to silence him. He’d caused more than enough trouble with his mouth the past week and you no longer trusted him. “We’ve come to talk.” You dug in your bag and one of the wolves growled. Intimidated, you felt Liu Kang step before you defensively. You reached into the bag and dug for the wolf charm you’d been given. Then you presented it to the man and the wolves disappeared. The man turned away from you.

“Come.”

You exchanged a nervous glance with Liu who remained tense after you’d interrupted him. He nodded to let you know he was okay and you followed the man into the cabin. “You’re Nightwolf.” Liu Kang wanted to make sure.

“Yes, that is what they call me now. You must be trusted to have been given this location and that trinket.” He addressed you and you offered a polite bow.

“I’m Y/N and this is Liu Kang. We’ve come a long way to talk to you.” For a while, the conversation went smoothly. Liu Kang explained the dragon marking and its significance, showing off his own and having you express that you had one too. He explained the nature of the realms, of Lord Raiden, of the war that was likely coming and that you needed him to speak with Lord Raiden and come train in his temple. You were grateful that Liu Kang had somehow managed to have a civil conversation with someone. One point in the win column against a thousand in the lose column. That was something.

But Nightwolf didn’t seem eager to join you and instead mulled over your information. You couldn’t blame him. This was a lot and some of it was beyond belief without proof. If you hadn’t been thrown into the whole mix against your will, then you would have struggled with it too. You’d had nowhere else to run at the time and had been in over your head with unruly arcana and visions from the past.

“I have a duty here in America. I’ll have to think about it.” At least he was honest.

And reasonable. Leaving everything that he’d ever known was a huge decision. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t return someday but there was also a chance that he would die. What you did was dangerous. Your lives tended to be short. You held your bag a little closer.

“I’m to bring you to Raiden’s Temple. I won’t leave without you.” Liu was sounding harsh again so you sighed. Maybe that was why Raiden had sent you together. Liu Kang was too grief stricken and angry to do his job on his own and you were too swept up in guilt to stay focused. You balanced each other in a horrible way.

“That decision is not yours to make, friend.” Nightwolf was incredibly respectful considering Liu Kang’s tone but the air became tense.

“I understand your hesitation, but would you give me a chance to try and convince you? You have a little time to think about it but we’re not sure how much. The longer you get to train the better off we’ll be. We have no idea how long before Outworld strikes again.” You tried to play mediator. Liu Kang’s hand grasped your arm and you nearly snarled in anger but somehow managed to get yourself together.

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N.” Liu scolded you.

“We do. You’re being impatient. Take a breath.” You narrowed your eyes at him dangerously.

“Excuse me, then.” He gritted his teeth and walked out the door, slamming it behind him. His temper was out of control. You winced at the sound of the door slamming. You missed him. You wanted him to be okay.

“I’m sorry. It’s been difficult. This war has taken a toll on us all.” You offered an excuse and a smile.

“He seems troubled.”

“He’s a good man, I promise. Just having a hard time right now.”

“You seem troubled.” Nightwolf added with a knowing glance. He was a good judge of character. He was calming and you were grateful for that because you had enough frustration from Liu’s attitude. If you snapped, it would have made Liu Kang’s poor attitude look like child’s play.

“And I’ll be okay too.”

“So, tell me, Miss Y/N. Why do you think that I should help you?”

“Well, it’s not me that you’re helping, that’s why. It’s not us. Earthrealm is our home, warts and all. If we have any strength then we have a responsibility to protect it in any way that we can, no matter what that means.”

“A wise answer.” He smiled and you were relieved. “Is that why you do this?”

“Ultimately, yes.” You had found, over the years, that honesty was the best policy. There were plenty of times where it didn’t work, but Nightwolf seemed to be looking for honesty. You had a feeling he would be able to tell if you lied. “I was sort of thrust into this at first. I had nowhere to go after my mark and so I was brought to Raiden’s Temple, which I fought, and then I was too sick to leave. I fought at first because I didn’t know what else to do. I was lost. But with time and understanding, I found that no matter what other reasons I had, I would fight to protect the place and people that I loved. This is my home, and I am willing to die to keep it safe.”

“But you weren’t at first?”

It felt like a test, and you hoped beyond hope that you were passing. You’d failed enough the last few months, you couldn’t risk another check in that column.

“I was overwhelmed with the scope of the danger and truth of all this. In the beginning, I treated it kind of like a joke because I didn’t understand. I knew, deep down, that it was the right thing to do but I had no other reason than that. That changed, of course. I think it’s normal to want to think it over. Liu Kang thinks it is too, he’s just not himself right now. I hope that you don’t judge him too harshly for his temper. It’s not like him.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Y/N.” He stood and walked to the counter, picking up a clear bottle filled with tan liquid. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“You have no idea.” You laughed and he joined you in having one. As long as you weren’t with Liu, there was no risk of you making another stupid mistake. And as long as one didn’t become ten, the risk of that was even lower.

Nightwolf turned out to be a kind and interesting man. He had struggled with his mark because the mark meant that he was special. You understood how that felt. Embracing the fate of something beyond your control had scared you too, but it had been worth it in the end. You listened to him as he shared his story and you shared a drink. You were a good listener. You always had been, and he seemed to appreciate the ear.

When your glasses were drained, he took them and set them aside which you were grateful for. “There are couches and some blankets that are open to you and your friend. I’ll make my decision as soon as I can, but I make no promises as to what that decision might be. You have been patient with me, and I appreciate that patience. I will do what I can.”

“This is a big decision but time is of the essence. Still, I want you to take that time.” You wouldn’t push him into giving up his life as he knew it to travel halfway across the world. You wouldn’t push anyone who didn’t deserve pushing. You also had the feeling that he was going to help. He seemed like a kind and powerful man whose motives were morally aligned with yours. You were grateful for that. So many with the dragon marking had wound up being scumbags.

“Thank you. Get some rest, Y/N.”

“I will. You too.” You watched him leave and then were left alone in the kitchen. You set your bag down on the smaller couch and walked outside. There was a firepit near the house and several overturned logs that served as benches. You sat on one of the logs and faced away from the firepit. The sky was overcast that night so you couldn’t see the stars but watching the clouds was soothing too.

Then Liu Kang sat next to you.

This was all too familiar now. You watched the clouds and were at peace for a short time.

“I’m apologizing again.”

“Oh. What for now?” You couldn’t help it. The sarcasm came out. He mulled it over as if to be thinking through the list of nonsense that he’d done in the last few days that he had to apologize for. Then he gestured back to the cabin.

“Being a jerk about this whole thing, for one.”

“That is just not specific enough, I’m afraid.” You turned to him.

“Being short with Nightwolf. He deserved time to mull it over.”

“I know he did. You know he did. You’ve got to figure out this temper that you’ve developed, Liu.”

“I don’t know where it came from. I always had such control.” He slumped his shoulders.

“You’re grieving.”

“Yeah, but so are you and you aren’t jumping down everyone’s throats for no reason.”

“Not when you’re looking, at least.” You were still angry with him even if he seemed willing to talk. He’d upset you. An apology wasn’t enough.

“I’ve got to get it together.” He held his head in his hands and pushed his hair back, disgusted with himself. The sound he made would have been funny if you hadn’t been a terrible mixture of mad at him and worried for him.

“Do you know what I keep thinking? What I keep wishing for?”

“Kung Lao to be back?” He said in a tired drone.

“No. I keep hoping that you find peace. I’m crushed by his death, Liu, but you’re broken.” You watched the clouds again. You wanted him to be okay, but you couldn’t be an emotional punching bag for him to figure it out with. He watched you and you could feel his eyes taking you in longer than they should have. He scooted closer. He probably didn’t believe you, and you couldn’t blame him.

“Your being here helps.”

Bullshit.

You laughed in disbelief. Liu Kang radiated with fire and you knew that feeling all too well and scooted a little away.

“Really? Because I feel like I’m actively making it worse.”

“Well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“That’s a good word for it.”

“You remind me of him. You make it real. But also, you’re my friend. You were more than that.” He shrugged, clasping his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees. “We never really talked about it and it made things so hard.”

“We’re talking right now. We’ve talked and yelled a lot the last few days.” You were tired of talking about your grief in vague niceties. You were tired of being comforting. Of fighting.

“Not Kung Lao. Not grief.” He gestured between you and then returned his hands to his knees as if he had more control of them there. “About this.” You sighed heavily. Hadn’t you slapped him real hard about it the night before? “About what it was before you decided on Kung Lao.”

“I didn’t decide anything, remember? We did talk about it, Liu Kang. And you said that it wasn’t like it meant anything. That I didn’t owe you anything. A keep the change sort of comment. Remember?” You didn’t want to talk about it. You were so tired of fighting with him. It felt endless. How could Raiden do this to you? Why? Had you offended him in some way? Had your grief over Kung Lao not been loud and sad enough? “It doesn’t matter what you meant then, Liu, because that was what I was left with and so that was what I believed for years.”

“Except that I did that for Kung Lao. Do I not get to talk about it?”

“Sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past and move on.”

“Except that it isn’t the past anymore, Y/N.” He grabbed your arm and urged you to look at him. You stiffened up. “I guess that you were hoping we’d just never talk about the other night. You keep running off. I tried to say something in the motel but you shut me down hard.”

“You can’t do this.” You struggled to speak without your voice trembling. His eyes were so dark and sad and full of fire, his lips twitching in a way where you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. “You can’t just bring it up whenever it’s convenient for you. You can’t just… wreck my emotions on repeat because you’re grieving. I’m grieving too.”

“Yeah, well you can’t just crawl into my bed and leave a bunch of scars down my back and then fuck off because it’s convenient for you.”

You were exasperated and threw your hands up in frustration. “We were drunk! Obliterated!”

“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well I was. It was a mistake, Liu Kang. A grievous, drunken error that has only made things exponentially more difficult. I was sad and vulnerable and wasted. I made a mistake, okay? So maybe, just maybe, you can eat some of those lies you told me years ago. It’s not like it meant anything.” You spat with some venom and were surprised with yourself, covering your mouth after you’d said it. Oh, that hurt.

“I’m done lying, Y/N. I was never good at it. You’re not either.” He hadn’t yelled at you, which surprised you. In fact, he seemed to have a level head on more than you did. “It wasn’t a mistake for me. I knew what I was doing. I get that you’re trying to hurt me because you’re mad and grieving.” He said that in such an annoying way that you could have smacked him again. “But I’m saying now what I should have said all those years ago. It meant something. It meant something then and I knew what would happen if I went through with it the other night and I chose to anyway.” Liu was going to kill you at this rate. You were just going to drop dead. “Maybe I needed to feel something other than angry and sad. Maybe I thought I should try and undo something I regretted.”

Why was he so level-headed? Why, in this moment, had he managed to keep back his temper? If you could just yell at each other and hate each other it would be so much easier. But you didn’t hate him, you were torn between wanting to shake some sense into him and kiss him and it was so frustrating. Kissing him would only leave you more hurt but it seemed like the easier option too. You didn’t. You fought it, even if he seemed to be drawing closer. The tension of Liu Kang was so thick you could barely breathe.

“It was a mistake, Liu.” Your words were shaky but you tried to stand your ground. You’d beaten yourself up over this for too long and there he was, making it so much more complicated.

“Was it, Y/N? It didn’t feel like it was. It didn’t sound like it was.” His voice was low and serious and you felt your stomach twist into knots. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it was a mistake. That it was all a mistake. That it didn’t crush you when I said that all those years ago? That it had ever stopped being passionate between us even when we weren’t together. Tell me that. Look me in the eye and tell me that’s your truth and I will drop it.” He grasped your cheek and urged you to look him in the eyes.

You tried.

You couldn’t.

You were going to burst into tears at this rate and then he’d hold you and kiss you and you’d end up making this even more complicated and you couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not when he’d taken everything you’d known as truth and thrown it out the window. “I’m grieving Kung Lao and...” You couldn’t finish it. You couldn’t because it had never been a mistake to you back then. He was the one who had drawn the line in the sand. You’d just believed what he’d wanted you to believe for Kung Lao’s sake. And the other night was not something you remembered. There were only flashes of hot and sweaty lovemaking and all that version of you had felt was pleasure. Liu pulled his hand back and sighed.

“Figures that you would honor his memory more than think about yourself. He’d remind you that you were a terrible liar.”

You wiped your eyes as they betrayed you with tears and struggled to find words that didn’t involve crying or sobbing. You didn’t want to cry in front of him, damnit. You didn’t want to cry because of him. “This isn’t fair. It isn’t fair, Liu Kang. You can’t just… I can’t take much more.”

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, Y/N. I’m not trying to hurt you. You feel guilty but you don’t have any reason to. You think I don’t feel guilty? It’s eating me up. But we owe it to ourselves, don’t we? To figure it out?”

“Why are you being like this? Why now? Why?” You wiped furiously at your eyes. Stupid tears. You were so tired of your eyes being puffy and painful all the time. Stupid Liu Kang and his stupid emotions and his stupid whirlwind of honesty and misplaced anger. Stupid Kung Lao, dying and leaving you to deal with this. Stupid Raiden not sending you alone.

“I think that you turned down Kung Lao’s proposal because you were worried that maybe you still had feelings for me and had to figure that out first.”

That was the last straw. You broke.

You hated that it was partially true. You’d never stopped being attracted to him and that had become painfully obvious. What a selfish reason it had been to turn down the love of a man who had been dedicated to you and you alone. You swore that your heart was shutting down, it was beating so hard. He had you confused. Was that part of the reason? You didn’t know because you hadn’t been given the chance to figure it out. The truth was that you probably would have married Kung Lao. You would have talked about your plans for the future, what he saw of it, what you saw of it, and then accepted his proposal. You hadn’t turned it down because you didn’t love him. You had turned it down because you’d needed to talk. You were less spontaneous than Kung Lao had been. The only reason he’d needed was love and you’d needed to know more details. That was it. Liu Kang was making you overthink in ways you hadn’t in years.

“I can’t do this.” You stood and Liu grabbed your arm before you could leave. His fingers brushed down your wrist and to your hand and he gave you a look as if begging you to stay. It was killing you.

“We can’t avoid this forever.”

“I let you have your time to process this bullshit, Liu Kang and you are going to let me have mine.” He didn’t let you go. His grip tightened on your hand as if afraid to let you walk away, as if you would never come back. “Liu Kang?”

“Don’t go, Y/N.”

“You will let go of me right this instant.” You avoided his eyes. “You have ignored my feelings in favor of yours for long enough tonight. Let me go.”

Liu’s grip tightened but then he very suddenly let go and turned away with a bow of his head. “Of course, Y/N.”

The panic as you marched back inside the cabin and sat down on the couch was killing you. You held your head in your hands. What were you supposed to do with this? You had to calm down, first and foremost. Thankfully, Liu didn’t follow you inside and you had some peace and quiet but your thoughts weren’t much better than his argument had been.

You’d fucked up.

It would have been so much easier if neither one of you felt anything. It would have been easier if he had been as drunk as you had been. It would have been easier if you could continue believing that it really had meant nothing. It had never meant nothing to you. It had crushed you and taken you months to recover from that sadness with no one to talk to about it. You may not have remembered the other night but you remembered him from all those years ago.

The hot nights, the times you’d spent devoted to each other’s bodies, tangled up in his sheets or in yours. He’d made you feel sexy and forbidden, something beyond desire that no one else had ever made you feel. You hated those memories for so long that it was hard to feel any way other than that.

You loved Kung Lao.

But would you have even gotten the chance to if Liu Kang hadn’t said what he’d said? You had this connection, this fire that you couldn’t put out even after years of letting it simmer down. Even now when you’d fought, you had known that if you didn’t get out of there then you would have given into that passion, that instinct. What a mess of a human being you were. You curled up on the couch and this time you didn’t pull your bag close to you. You couldn’t think about Kung Lao when you were like this.

Next Chapter >>

#liu kang x reader #self insert #reader insert #liu kang #mk liu kang #mortal kombat movie #mortal kombat 2021 #ludi lin #liu kang/reader #liu kang x you #liu kang/you #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #romance #death #tension #grief #beauty through ash

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years ago

Text

We've Got Tonight - Ch 2

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This is the longest chapter, but it's worth it, I promise.

Word Count: Ch 2 - 2952

In case you missed it: Chapter 1 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We've Got Tonight

Chapter 2

Clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip, Andy silently crosses the landing. She places her foot on the top stair just as Dean rounds the corner from the hallway below her, both hands fisted in his hair. Even from this distance she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders. Her stomach twists, nausea and joy warring at the sight of him, and she can’t decide if she should turn and sprint for the door or throw herself at him and admit absolutely every foolish thing she’s done.

No. No, not foolish. She’s saving the world. That’s only a little stupid. She’s saving Cas and Sam. That’s good. She’s saving Dean.

That’s non-negotiable.

Then her weight settles on her foot, and the goddamned step creaks. Dean’s eyes snap to hers. For one hopeful moment, relief and genuine happiness flood his expression, and he smiles. The unclouded light shining from his face scraps any thoughts she has of bolting, and Andy makes it halfway down the steps before she’s engulfed in his arms.

He embraces her fiercely, and Andy allows herself a couple of seconds of peace and comfort, of the sense that she’s somehow home even though she’s only known him for a few weeks. Then the overwhelming realization of everything she’s signed away comes crashing down, closing her throat, choking off her air, and suddenly even the heat and safety radiating from Dean into her very bones isn't enough to ward off the chill of dread.

But she’s doing this to save him, to save Sam, to save...everyone. So, really, she’s not losing anything. If you save something, it’s not lost, so, really, she’s not losing anything.

Right?

Then her face is trapped between his hands, his face inches away, his eyes boring into hers with that burning intensity. The lies evaporate on her tongue, and she wracks her brain. What was she supposed to tell him? She has to say it before he starts questioning her, or she’ll blurt out every single thing she swore she wouldn’t.

“Are you okay? Where the hell were you? Was it those anti-Jesus freaks? How did you get away?”

What? Oh, yeah. The cultists. The whole reason she has a lovely new scar on her left arm and she met the Winchesters in the first place. The source of all their current troubles. Well, the main source, aside from her blood. Yeah, that would have been a good cover story, too.

Shit.

“Andy?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she manages, thankful at how little her voice shakes. She puts forth the effort of the ages and extricates herself from his grip, an act she recognizes as necessary while regretting it all the same. “I’m sorry I scared you. I had a lead, and I had to leave right away. They were really twitchy when I first contacted them, and I thought they might take off if I waited too long or tried to take anyone else, and by the time I realized I’d lost my phone it was too late to come back.”

Anger and disbelief seep into his expression, tainting the relief that animated him only moments before. “Okay, first of all, we’re going to have a long, detailed talk about taking off on your own for any reason without backup, much less chasing your own leads, because no. Just no. Second, what the hell? Did all phones between here and wherever the hell you went just vanish?”

“You programmed your numbers into my cell, but I never memorized them. I didn’t have any way to contact you once I got there, and-”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?!”

Deep breath. Keep steady.

“Look, I’m really wrecked, Dean, it was a long drive, and it ended up a bust. The guy never showed. I’m dying for a shower and some food. You can interrogate me all you want, but can we not do it right here, right now?”

She pushes past him, brushing him off in a way she’s never done before, but if he keeps gazing into her soul with those jade laser beams of his, she’s going to lose every ounce of self-control. Her fingers tremble with strain, and she clutches her bag tighter, determined to hold herself together for his sake.

She only gets a couple of seconds of reprieve, though, just barely making it off the staircase. He catches up with her as she passes the map table, aiming for escape through the library, and he snatches her elbow. His grip is harsh as he pulls her around to face him, and her fingers fumble at the fierce heat behind his eyes. Her backpack drops, spilling its contents on the floor.

Her stomach bottoms out. She immediately tries to crouch down, to stuff her papers and books back in before Dean can see them, but his grip tightens on her arm, and he forces her back up to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to disappear for two and a half days and then just-”

“Andy!”

Oh, thank god for Sam.

Andy takes advantage of Dean’s surprise to pull out of his grasp, but before she can bend down, she’s engulfed in a second, longer set of arms that feels almost as much like home as his brother’s.

God, what has she done? She really is going to lose everything. But this has to be worth it. Saving them is worth it, she knows it is. It’s going to be okay.

“Andy, are you okay? Where were you?” Sam is still in his concerned phase, and she’d like to make her exit to gather her thoughts before he hits Dean’s level of suspiciously pissed. She knows of no force in Heaven or Hell that can withstand the combined onslaught of Dean’s anger and Sam’s lectures.

“She says she found a lead,” Dean cuts in before she can try to explain herself. He’s definitely on the outer edges of pissed, and that’s fine. She can handle pissed, she just has to figure out what to do before he reaches volcanic levels of anger.

She drops down before anyone else can stop her and starts shoveling handfuls of papers in her bag. She needs to get them out of sight. She should have burned them, why didn’t she burn them, god if Sam sees some of it, he’ll know what she did without her having said a word to him, and -

“Andy, what the hell is this?”

Dean’s voice has dropped to a low, measured growl, and her eyes slide shut in dismay.

Don’t admit to anything, you don’t know what he found, just -

“You said you lost your phone, and now it falls out of your damned bag? You’re lying to me? Why-”

“Maybe because of this,” Sam cuts in, and she hears a rustle of papers from her other side, and she swears that it’s the loudest sound she’s heard in her entire life. It doesn’t matter which of her papers or which book Sam is showing his brother. They are all equally damning, and she really should have known better than to think she could get away with this plan.

“I had to do something. We were running out of time, so I made a decision while I still could.”

She’s impressed and surprised at the steadiness in her voice, the actual conviction. She is equally surprised to find herself standing when she opens her eyes, looking down at two of the most important people in the world, one of whom is regarding her with dismayed shock, and the other…

Her stomach wars with her brain; rational thought says the logical response to someone glaring at her with as much venom as Dean is packing is to run. Her stomach, on the other hand, is fully in favor of ejecting all contents in sheer terror. Somehow, she manages to shove down both impulses and stand her ground.

There’s a long moment where it seems like the whole bunker, the whole world, holds its breath, waiting for something to snap the tension. To Andy’s astonishment, Sam breaks in before Dean’s temper can explode.

“Tell me you didn’t. After everything we’ve told you, everything you know about us and our history, you called a crossroads demon? Where did you even find the summoning spell?”

She turns incredulous eyes on the younger Winchester. “Sam. I...really, Sam? When I asked to help, you put me on research. I didn't know where to look, and you gave me a stack of books, most of which had some variation of that or a similar spell in it. You gave me access to one of the world’s biggest fix-its, and you didn’t think I would do something with that?”

Sam opens his mouth, his face set with stubborn indignity, but he falls silent as Dean stands abruptly. He stalks past Andy, his silence far more worrisome than any shouting or lecturing could ever be. He stops at the bottom of the library steps, gripping the back of his neck like he’d rather have his fingers wrapped around something’s throat, and he stands like that for what feels like forever.

“I made a deal. To save you, Sam, Cas. Everyone. I had to do it.” Andy can’t stop the words that tumble from her trembling lips, and she can only be thankful that she doesn’t have to see Dean’s face as she says them. She should never have tried to lie to him, to them both, but especially not to him. Not after all the lies he’s had to live through.

“I won’t apologize. I found a way out of the end of the world when we had no other options, and I took it.”

Dean stands stiffly, unmoving as she confesses to his back. Sam wisely keeps his mouth shut, kneeling on the floor to look through Andy’s papers, avoiding looking at either of them. The gravid silence that hangs over the room is broken only by the thudding of her heart and the crinkle of pages as Sam rifles through her backpack’s spilled contents.

“Explain. Now.” Dean’s words are quiet and caustic, their bitterness cutting Andy straight to the heart.

This isn’t what she wanted, but their time is too short to try to work everything out. There will be nothing like a fairy tale ending for them, so she forces herself to say what she can. There are still some details she doesn’t want to tell him; if he knew everything, he could keep her here, keep her from going back to finish the deal, and she absolutely cannot let that happen.

“I did what you and Sam do every day. I did my research, I made a plan, and I faced the monsters. I made a choice, Dean.” She only just keeps the notes of desperation from creeping into her voice, though it’s a near thing.

He moves as she speaks, turning back to the table, his face inscrutable as he leans down to grip the back of one of the chairs. He holds onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping him together, and she feels a ridiculous stab of sympathy for the piece of furniture that’s bound to come to a bad end.

“And you think sneaking around, lying to all of us, and making a deal with a crossroads demon is going to magically fix everything?”

He’s too calm, too quiet. The chair creaks ominously under his fingers, and Andy takes a hasty step back. Sam rises, his forehead wrinkled with concern as he takes a step towards the table.

“Andy, just tell us the details,” Sam interjects, his tone low and placating, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “We can figure out a way to get you out of the deal. What did the demon you met with look like? Did they tell you their name? How much time do you have?”

“God DAMN IT!”

Dean slings the chair to the side, and it skates over the floor, shredding through her papers before slamming into a support pillar with a deafening metallic clang and careening across the room. Sam steps up protectively next to her, his hands half-raised like he can’t decide if he should try to talk his brother down or block more pieces of flying furniture.

“Why, Andy? Why didn’t you just wait for Sam or Cas to find something? We were looking!”

“There was no time left, Dean!” She knows there aren’t enough words in any language to explain her decision in a way that will satisfy him. It doesn’t matter to him that she’s one of the sources of all their troubles right now, or that she is an adult who was perfectly capable of making decisions about her life long before the Wonderful Winchesters and their guardian angel rode into town.

“We had days left, at best! I don’t want this anymore than you did, but it was my blood that started this whole disaster, my blood the cult needs to finish everything, literally everything! It’s my blood that’s the solution to this whole shitshow, and that means it’s my mess to clean up. I learned that much from you and Sam, at least! You clean up the messes you make, whether you meant to make them or not. You, of all people, could at least try to understand!”

“Understand what?! That you think selling your soul will actually fix anything?”

Dean closes the distance between them, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, knocking Sam to the side as he disregards all concepts of personal space.

“Selling your soul never solves a damned thing! And don’t you think for one second I’m gonna let you go through with this deal.”

“I’ve already gone through with it, I signed the contract. You can’t stop it, and you can’t change it. He said you’d try, and-”

“Wait a minute, ‘he’?” Sam cuts in, and Dean’s face flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with that son of a bitch Crowley.”

Fuck.

“I made a call,” Andy finally answers. “I was either going to hell and taking the rest of the world with me, or I was going by myself and keeping the rest of you safe.”

“You had no right-”

“To make decisions about my life? The hell I don’t, it’s my life, Dean! Who gave you the right-”

“We were supposed to be in it together, you and me! It’s not just your life, and you damned well know it!”

The three of them stand frozen, the words echoing faintly through the enormous room. Sam gaping at the two of them, Dean grips Andy like he thinks she’s about to bolt, and Andy tries desperately to remember why she’s not simply throwing herself into Dean’s arms.

Castiel, with his impeccable timing, chooses this moment to enter the bunker. The creaking door catches their attention, and all eyes turn to Cas, who stands on the landing, surveying the tableau of chaos beneath him. His eyebrows lower, his consternation clear.

“Andrea?” Cas’s voice is confused but gentle as he cautiously descends the stairs. She knows from the stories Sam and Dean have told her that her friend has a fearsome warrior side that makes even the worst demons think twice before approaching, but she’s never seen a hint of that part of him.

She’s seen this man soberly examining a bowl of Cheetos, questioning their attractiveness to large, feline predators; she has a difficult time picturing him facing down the worst monsters the universe has to offer, and yet, according to Sam and Dean, he does so without hesitation on a regular basis.

Which is why his cautious approach should really worry her.

“Dean, is it really necessary to hold on to Andrea quite that hard? You’re bound to leave bruises, and she doesn’t seem to be attempting to leave.”

Dean releases Andy abruptly. His face is dark and lined with the effort of repressing his rage, and he storms past the bewildered angel. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister, legs flexing and trembling as if he has to force himself to stop even that long. Sam takes a step towards him, but Cas holds out a restraining hand, and for once, Sam complies, though he looks seconds away from protesting.

“You should’ve waited, Andy. You should’ve talked to me, given me a chance to find something, anything but this. I can’t...I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

He climbs the stairs three furious steps at a time and is out the door before anyone can think of how to stop him, leaving Andy lost in the remnants of his anger and her shoulders aching more from the loss of his grip than the roughness of it. Her throat is burning, her jaw aching with strain, but her eyes are dry.

There was no other way, there just wasn’t. I did the right thing, and damn Dean to Hell if he thinks I’m going to cry for that.

“Andrea?”

Cas reaches out and steadies Andy, his grasp gentle and comforting in stark contrast to Dean’s furious hold. He considers her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Our lack of information regarding your whereabouts was quite troubling, and we assumed the worst.”

“Maybe not the absolute worst,” Sam sighs, leaning wearily against the table. He scrubs his hands over several days’ worth of stubble before rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, he can’t even meet her eyes, and an acidic splinter of shame twists in her stomach.

“You really should have waited, Andy.” ...

Chapter 3

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bestworstcase · 4 years ago

Note

What are your opinions on the whole Rapunzel-Varian drama in S1 post Queen For A Day, especially with the whole "Rapunzel should've checked on Varian after the snowstorm" or whose fault it was for their conflict?

tbh… if i had to pick one single representative example of the tts fandom’s general inability to handle nuance in fictional conflict, it’d be the QFAD discourse™

because! while this isn’t to rag on anyone, if you pick a random person with an opinion on this question, chances are they will fall into one of two camps. either: 1) corona’s treatment of varian was horrifically unjust and everyone involved except him is a terrible person, or 2) rapunzel did what she had to do and varian’s anger is irrational, unfounded, and fundamentally unfair.

people in camp #1 tend to believe that rapunzel was simply being selfish and acting like a sulky child when she failed to check up on varian after the storm. people in camp #2 tend to point out that rapunzel was traumatized by the events of QFAD too, and believe that this justifies her failure to check up on varian.

but the thing is imo the conflict in QFAD + the rest of s1 is just as complex and messy as the argument cassandra and rapunzel have in RATGT, in that there is no One True Right Answer and no person who is one hundred percent “at fault.” the question of blame is… honestly sort of beside the point if you ask me. to break this down:

#1: rapunzel is a sheltered teenager with minimal social skills dealing with a national emergency halfway through her first unsupervised couple days on the job.

the girl has had like eight months tops of training for the monumental task of ruling a country. she grew up in a situation where the only choice available to her was how she would wile away her free time inside her tower; gothel exerted total control over every other facet of her life. and while she has a little more wiggle room now that she’s out of the tower, she is still basically living her life with all the big, consequential choices made for her.

QFAD was intended to be her first taste of true authority, while still being ultimately inconsequential. if all had gone according to plan, corona would have ticked along more or less on autopilot—just as frederic left it—while rapunzel got in a little practice making judgment calls about minor, unimportant things, like mediating small interpersonal disputes between her subjects.

nobody expected, and rapunzel was absolutely not prepared for, a legitimate national crisis to explode in her face out of nowhere. this was supposed to be pedaling by herself for the first time with training wheels and what she got instead is careening down the freeway on a motorbike at 95mph with zero warning. it is a miracle that she held things together as well as she did.

#2: varian is a child with an emotionally distant, unsupportive father who sets him up for failure.

he’s smart but he’s also fourteen. he has little if any formal training in alchemy, he’s figuring stuff out by trial and error, and he has zero adult supervision. his efforts have caused significant levels of destruction twice in only a few months—the exploding boilers in WTH, and his invention going haywire (with a little help from st. croix) in GE—and it’s implied that this is a fairly regular occurrence with him.

and yet quirin does nothing. he shouts at varian, shuts him down, and at several points orders him point blank to stop messing with alchemy… but he makes no effort to connect with his son or understand where he’s coming from; he doesn’t try to impose reasonable restrictions (like “don’t mess with volatile chemicals unless i’m there to help”) that would allow varian to pursue his passion while minimizing the danger; and he doesn’t create an environment where varian feels able to turn to his father for help. and then with the black rocks, he lets varian come along to see the king, but refuses to explain why he “lied” (/spoke in code) to the king, destroying any credibility he had in varian’s eyes and making varian panicky and desperate because it seemed like no one else cared.

so the end result is that varian feels like he has no choice but to sneak around behind quirin’s back. he can’t rely on his dad for help if anything goes wrong, but the situation is so dire that doing nothing also isn’t an option. he tries his best to be careful (before quirin barges in on him, varian is attempting to put just one drop of the amber serum on the rock) but even if quirin hadn’t startled him, a terrible accident was bound to happen sooner or later, and the responsibility for that lays just as much if not more on quirin’s shoulders—the adult in this situation—as on varian’s. the kid is FOURTEEN.

(i think a neat argument could be made for varian as a deconstruction of the teen/YA fantasy trope of the hyper-competent teenager with absentee parents whose absence allows the teen to get on with the important work of the high-stakes fantasy plot; but that’s a whole different post)

#3: rapunzel did the right thing, but lost control over the situation due to lack of experience.

it would have been wrong to abandon everybody in corona to run off into the blizzard with varian, and frankly it wouldn’t have helped quirin anyway. he was already encased in amber by the time varian got back to old corona, and rapunzel couldn’t have done anything in the moment had she been with varian then. the only benefit to her presence would have been to comfort varian—which is not a small thing, obviously, but it’s not in any way a reasonable exchange for the hundreds or thousands of lives that would have been lost if she left corona completely without a leader in the middle of a crisis. so broadly speaking, staying in corona was the right call.

however.

rapunzel was not in control during that scene in the palace. varian bursts in, panicking, explains his situation and begs for her help—and rapunzel just says, basically, “i can’t help you, there’s an emergency.” then nigel comes in and reinforces that, which makes varian freak out; he grabs rapunzel and shakes her, nigel signals for the guards in response, and varian gets dragged out of the palace while rapunzel pleads with the guards not to hurt him.

(sidebar: the hate nigel gets for describing varian as “attacking” rapunzel is unfounded. varian grabs her and shakes her roughly back and forth and that is, in fact, assault. nigel is not wrong to describe it as such.)

anyway, notice two the things that DON’T happen here:

1) rapunzel doesn’t offer up any alternative solutions. a more experienced or better prepared leader could have responded to varian’s plea with a plan of action, like: i need to stay in corona to oversee the evacuation, so we can’t leave right this minute, but cassandra will take you to ask xavier for advice right now and the minute it’s safe to leave we’ll go together to help your father. or whatever—the point is to engage proactively with varian’s problem, make him feel heard, and give him something productive to do so he isn’t just sitting around fretting in the palace or struggling back home by himself in the middle of a blizzard.

2) raps doesn’t challenge nigel’s decision when he summons the guards to throw varian out of the palace, which is something she absolutely could have done. she could have said no, i can’t go to old corona right this minute to help him, but we are not throwing him out into the storm again, he stays here with me. this is, again, a sign of her inexperience; she’s not used to being an authority, she’s never been in a situation like this before, and she’s under a ton of pressure—so when an older adult whom she sees as an authority (he’s her father’s advisor!) makes a judgment call, it probably doesn’t even occur to her that she can challenge it.

this is why i say that rapunzel lost control over the situation—because even though she made the Right Decision, she got a kind of awful outcome, ie varian being tossed out into the blizzard to struggle home by himself to deal with his problem without any support, and rapunzel inadvertently breaking her promise from earlier.

#4: rapunzel doesn’t immediately go to check on varian after the storm because she’s traumatized, busy, and trusts her father.

painter’s block is all about how the trauma rapunzel feels as a direct result of her decisions during the storm destroys her ability to choose anything. she feels so debilitated by the fear that she will make the wrong choice—because she worries that she chose wrong when she allowed varian to be sent away—that she can’t do anything at all, let alone find the emotional strength to go to old corona and confront her mistakes. and while she tries to process and move past this trauma, mrs sugarby exploits it in an attempt to force her to free zhan tiri.

the next episode, not in the mood, involves rapunzel being put under enormous pressure to entertain an irascible ally of corona’s while he and her father negotiate a trade deal with the threat of a war breaking out if they fail. NITM is a silly episode, but it has the highest non-magical stakes of any episode in the entire series. this isn’t an event rapunzel could have reasonably skipped out on for the sake of one person, no matter how much she cares. she’s slammed. she’s still being forced to prioritize just like she was in QFAD.

and in the third episode after QFAD, rapunzel is tormented by nightmares about varian and what happened to his father, so she presses frederic for information about the rocks and varian’s safety. and frederic assures her that everything is fine. he lies to her face about the rocks having been removed, and rapunzel has no reason to doubt him, so she relaxes… until varian contacts her directly, and she immediately jumps to help him.

#5: at the same time, varian has been forced into hiding because frederic is attempting to cover up the rock problem.

what happens to varian after QFAD is plainly unfair and unjust. his father is trapped in amber, the rocks have completely destroyed old corona, most of the villagers have presumably moved to the new land frederic set aside for them, and frederic’s secret police are crawling all over the village trying to suppress information about the rocks (and fred’s role in creating them). the blame for this lies squarely at frederic’s feet, and varian is right to be angry.

i believe that varian interprets rapunzel’s absence as a sign that she’s complicit in what frederic is doing, making his anger at her justified as well. he doesn’t have access to the information we do about why rapunzel doesn’t seek varian out immediately—he doesn’t see how distraught and shattered she is after the storm, or the high-stakes political nonsense she has to deal with, and he certainly doesn’t see her trying to pursue the matter of the rocks and varian’s safety with her father and being flatly lied to to convince her to stay put in corona. all he knows is that rapunzel kicked him out and now she’s ignoring him and her father’s agents keep chasing him away from his home, and he draws the conclusion that makes the most sense to him, ie rapunzel must be okay with all of this because otherwise she would be here.

and once he has that idea in his head, the fact that rapunzel immediately jumps to help him when he contacts her isn’t enough to dislodge it. he’s a scared, lonely fourteen year old boy looking at this situation through a purely interpersonal lens while rapunzel is an overwhelmed eighteen year old doing the best she can while juggling about a million things at once and putting varian low on her priority list because she’s been told by a trusted source that varian is fine.

they both make mistakes, they’re both missing important contextual information, and neither of them handles this situation in the best possible way. but neither of them is “at fault” in the sense of being purely in the wrong, and—imo—frederic and quirin hold the lion’s share of the blame here, because they had all the information, and they refused and refused and refused to deal with the black rock problem until it overwhelmed them both. varian and rapunzel are both just kids scrambling to deal with something that should not be their problem to solve, and both of them fuck up! (and even then—the best fred and quirin could’ve done was just be honest and upfront about what the problem was. neither of them had the means to fix anything, and neither of them was responsible for the very unfortunate timing of the blizzard. so it’s not as clear cut as everything bad in s1 happens because fred and quirin stuck their heads in the sand. a lot of it honestly was just sheer bad luck.)

a n y w a y, i think by s3 and after a lot of introspection, varian has figured a lot of this out, and that’s why he’s so quick to let go of his lingering grudge against rapunzel. he’s realized that at the end of the day, rapunzel was just as unprepared and lost in that situation as he was, that she’s not responsible for (and wasn’t complicit in) her father’s decisions, etc, etc.

#rta #this is a bit of a ramble but yeah #tangled-dreamer-97

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fallenrepublick · 4 years ago

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A Fitting End

This is... not very good, but @savagesbonergarage made me think about it once and I couldn’t stop myself so now it’s you guys’s problem

Warnings: The Chiss Triangle, cheating

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He had tried.

He really, truly had tried. Strict moral codes and an internal shaming system that usually worked to combat his bad decisions had been rendered ultimately useless for once in his life, possibly making the whole thing worse now that he thought about it, having ended up forcing him to linger on the issue as opposed to ignoring it entirely. The greater sin, even then, was that he was glad for it.

There had been a moment, a night when Thrawn hadn't been there, as was usually the case nowadays. The emptiness of Thrass's house was normal, the dark rooms populated only by lifeless and semi-comfortable furniture not exactly welcome, all things considered, but not unfamiliar. For your own house, though, it was suffocating.

And he sat up frantically when the comm rang, rushing across the house to the counter he'd left it on, knowing that whenever he was contacted in the late hours of the night, disaster was imminent, or worse, had already happened. He answered quickly, a bit more forcefully than he had meant, and his heart stopped the moment he heard your voice on the other end, small and nervous, as if you were considering simply hanging up instead of following through with the call. You said his name, and silence followed.

"What happened?" was all he asked, fearful and anxious, terrified that you'd been hurt or otherwise. Despite his best efforts to hide his feelings, it was fairly obvious.

"Nothing…" you said lowly, instantly regretting your emotion-fueled decision. "I just… I'm kind of lonely… I guess…" It was ridiculous, you began to think. Why would you call him for this problem?

And he too wondered, why had you called him? He was the one you thought of when you needed someone? He was the one you needed? So he offered, "I could stay with you, if you wish."

When you said no, he sank, only to be lifted once more when you asked to come to his home instead. He quickly agreed, bidding you stay where you were, and he would go bring you. He had believed it to be a one time occurrence, that you would have moved on with your life once Thrawn once more left. But you called during the second trip, the third, the fourth, eventually leading the visits to be a usual ritual, if only for your comfort.

That was months ago. Even now, even as Thrawn still remained home, Thrass barely slept, the comm inches from his bedside, waiting for a moment when it would ring and you'd ask for him. He doesn't know what he's expecting ever, but he would never miss that call for the world.

But again, Thrawn leaves. It seems like that's all he ever does lately, his presence more often out among the stars than home. You understand, of course, as that's part of the job, but even when he is here, he's not. His mind lingers elsewhere, still wandering through his work, still prioritizing everything that has nothing to do with you, still forgetting that he's home to begin with. And the worst part of it all is that you end up feeling less alone when he isn't there.

Thrass beams when you walk in the door, already knowing the system by now and which room you usually stay in, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders the moment you see his face, replaced with a new, lighter sensation.

“Welcome back,” he teases. It was the third trip this month, and you were only halfway through the second week. His black hair slides over his shoulders when he tilts his head, reminding you a bit like a waterfall shrouded in shadows.

He kept everything as you left it, each light softly glowing in its place, the furniture that seemed to have gained a pillow or two since you started staying here all neatly arranged in their usual spots. And him. He stands straight, his air of confidence a convincing facade to all except you, his eyes searching for something you aren’t quite sure you have. But his smile is warm and welcoming, such a contrast to how cold your house had been feeling, and the home was more open, so opposite to the constricting nature of Thrawn’s. You were always glad to be here, this time is no different.

You look forward to the late hours, when you sit on your plush bed, soft sheets surrounding you with a gentle heat that tells you you aren’t alone, while Thrass lays in front of you, leaning on his elbow. And you talk. It’s all you find yourselves doing when you’re here. He listens, smiling, laughing, a crooked expression that could hear you speak for eternity, that makes you want to speak to him for eternity.

He has food usually ready in the mornings, and if not, is making it by the time you enter the kitchen. You still talk, reminiscing, and he goes on about how he imagines his life if he wasn’t a syndic, if he simply dropped everything and found somewhere else. He can’t, he says every time. This life is too secure for something like that.

You find him in one specific room often. On the walls hang instruments, strings and woodwinds, different sizes and shapes, some from the planet and many not, aligned and organised the way he likes it. On the floor stands keyed instruments, ones that look close enough to a piano or harpsichord, others you wouldn’t be able to identify if he hadn’t shown them to you. He sits at one of the ones that looks like a piano most of the time, scribbling away at a sheet on the stand in front of him, playing the current line over and over again before writing yet again. You watch a while before speaking, the melodies he plays and movement of his hands so achingly sad that you can’t seem to do anything but watch.

“What song is that?” you finally ask, pulling him from his thoughts and back to you. His demeanor doesn’t change. “Is it a new one?”

He covers the sheet with books. “Yes. But it isn’t finished.”

The day goes on as usual. The loose schedule you follow doesn’t change. But the song doesn’t leave your mind either. And after the hours of talking at night, after you’ve sufficiently lost track of time and he tells you goodnight, you sneak back out. It’s wrong, you know. But you’re so curious. Slipping into the room once more, struggling to see in the darkness, you flip on a switch and carefully leaf through the sheets on the stand. You find it, neat and pretty handwriting gracing the page in dark ink, a single word at the top as its title. Your name.

You paused, unsure what to make of it, such a sad, hauntingly painful song given your name. Why? You flipped to the back, the blank back instead covered with more words.

I love you, I love you, I can’t say it, but I can play it, you’ll never know one way or the other, but I love you.

Endless lines of words that all say much the same, often switching between languages, some you recognise, some you don’t. And you don’t understand why your heart beats so quickly, why you want to find him. Yet it becomes evident that you don’t have to.

“I haven’t found a fitting ending, yet,” he says behind you, making you turn quickly, guilt in your eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t play it for you… But I want it to be finished before I do.”

“It says my name…” you say, half to yourself, looking back down at it. “And on the back…”

“I know.” It comes out in a sigh, knowing this conversation should never have happened. But gods, you’re right there. You hold his work so gently, as if it actually mattered, and your lips part when you watch him, trying to find your answer. There’s so much he’d give to do.

“Thrass…” You answer similarly. The proper thing is to reject this, to explain that you know where you stand, and such a thing isn’t possible. But you can’t. There had been so many other times, so many moments where he’d comforted you, when you fell into bouts of sadness or loneliness and his arms around you were the only thing keeping you in the moment. When his face buried into your neck, seeking solace where others turned their backs on him, a reason that you now see was only a part of it. Your hand had found its way into his soft hair, and his gentle arm on your waist made you never want to let go. And you would tell yourself that your heart often lied to you, that the waver was temporary and all would return to normal in time. But you aren’t so sure.

He smiles. “I know.” He can’t push it. He won’t push it. No matter how badly everything hurts when he sees you, no matter how harsh fate seems to make you love his brother. It’s a dream and nothing more. “I believed that I could find the courage to do something once I finished that. I believed I could walk away from my emotions. But I don’t know how to end it. I don’t know if I ever will.”

A beat. You know you shouldn’t say it. It isn’t right to say it. You tell yourself not to say it. But you do. “You see me.”

And at first, he seems surprised, his eyes slightly widening at the response. “I always have.”

You hesitate, words caught in your throat, tears forming in your eyes, though more from relief than anything else. But you’ve already said so much.

“You love me.”

A second. Another second.

“I always have.”

When he steps forward, he looks down at you, still smiling in the regretful, knowing way he always does, inches from where you stand. And it’s so, so wrong. You take his hands, holding them with the music, pressing them to your chest, feeling how cold they are against your skin. And you can’t bring yourself to look at him, lowering your head and closing your eyes.

“I love you, too... Thrass,” you say in quiet, shaky breaths, fingers tightening around his own.

You feel his lips press gently onto your forehead, and you glance up slowly, only to close your eyes once more as he continues, a kiss placed at your temples, your cheeks, your eyes. He waits for you to lean into him before kissing your lips, his arm snaking around your waist as he moves down your neck.

He hums about taking you away, about building you a life somewhere else, where you never have to be alone, where he’ll always be there. His breath is warm against your skin, his hands cool as they explore every place they’ve longed to touch. He melts into the way you hold his neck, the strokes they make through his hair.

Every kiss is a new word, another way to say “beautiful,” a new language and dialect, every synonym they have for “love,” for “perfect.” It’s so natural, the way he says it, as if the words were made for his lips, for you to hear. You forget it’s wrong. In the moment, it’s so, so right.

#chiss triangle

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huntertales · 4 years ago

Text

Part Three: A Mother’s Love. (Bad Boys S09E07)

Episode Summary: When an old friend of Dean’s asks for help to solve a murder, Sam and the reader discover that the older Winchester as a secret past—one that will help solve the hunt. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,212.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

in the span of less than an hour the ambulance was back on the farm, this time, for an injury that couldn't be blamed as an unfortunate coincidence. One of the kids who'd been caught bullying Timmy was in the middle of doing his chores when disaster struck. The poor kid was screaming in pain when his fingers got caught in the blade of the blade of the lawnmower trying to retrieve whatever had caused it to jam in the first place. The thing to blame was a set of rosary beads that belonged to Ruth.

It was easy to think that one of the kids might have stolen them from the woman as a prank, only to try and discard the piece of jewelry when she ended up dead. And it just so happened to land on the exact spot where the kid went over with the lawnmower. All of that would have made sense—except the part where the mower turned on by itself.

The kid claimed it turned off the machine like he always did when something made the mower get jammed. His friend denied any responsibility of doing such a heinous thing when eyes shifted over to him. These kids were trouble makers, but you had a strong feeling they wouldn't do anything to the point of causing bodily harm to one another.

Sonny made sure the kid went off to the hospital safely while Dean handled the other distraught one and made sure the rest of the boys were doing all right after the chaotic morning they had. You wouldn't admit it right away, but you were a bit shaken up yourself at seeing someone so young in such pain after such a terrible accident. Luckily you helped manage to get everything back to a somewhat calm state around the home, allowing you to momentarily slip away to try and help Sam. You needed to find out what was to blame for the two deaths and freak accident. Something was murdering adults and mutilating kids. It was your job to find out who. Occasionally you hit dead ends and wrong turns, but you couldn't go down the wrong path in fear someone else might get hurt—or worse—dead.

You made your way up to Sonny’s office where you saw sitting on the other side of the desk reading through files after going through what seemed to be dozens, despite being pulled away not too long ago to help calm the chaos You helped lighten the load when you reached for a thick file of cases. What you needed right now was a distraction, some mind numbing task to help try and distract your mind. You let out a shaky breath as you sat down on the edge of the desk, needing a moment first before you dived straight in. Sam glanced up from the file he was reading to see you weren’t doing that well. He saw that look on your face many times before to know what you were thinking without needing to say it.

"You okay?" Sam asked in a concerned voice. All though he’d been around for the aftermath of things, stepping in to see what the chaos was about and watching as the kid was put into the ambulance, the sight of someone at such a young age with his hand wrapped in a dish towel soaked in blood was a disturbing sight in itself. He couldn't imagine how you and Dean were handling things.

"Not really." You admitted to him. You didn't want to fight your denial when it was clearly written on your face. "I've witnessed a lot of messed up things in my time. But what happened to that poor kid? Seeing him cry like that from pain? For some reason....I don't know. It struck something in me. Made me want to help him. But I couldn't."

"I know what you mean." Sam muttered to himself, quiet enough so he was the only one able to hear. Only that didn't see to be the case when you gave him a strange look from his response. He nodded his head to the files you were still holding. "He'll be okay. You know better than anyone getting fingers attached is possible. Why don't you help me continue looking through these files? There's got to be something in here."

You didn't know the extent of the kid's injuries just yet, but Sam's insensitive remark made a smile across your face at the truth. Medicine had come far. You picked a spot in the office to crack down on your pile of folders and quickly began to start reading through all of them. Going through everyone who had worked here or spent time at the farm was a tedious task. You didn't have the luxury of researching farther into the people's names other than the information Sonny kept over the years. You thought As you reached the last folder in your pile, you were starting to believe this might turn out to be a dead end. Sam, however, found something odd. The right kind of odd he was searching for.

You made your way out of your chair and back over to the desk when Sam called for your attention. You circled around and leaned down to hover over Sam's shoulder to read the file he was holding. Your eyes wandered to the photograph clipped to the top of the file. It was of a small boy with glasses. Someone who looked awfully familiar. A heavy sigh fell from your lips when you realized who it was. You'd been trying to find a reason why Ruth and Jack were killed, along with the kid who had been attacked not too long ago. They were all connected by one kid named Timmy. You figured out who to blame, you just needed to find out why. And how to put a stop to it.

Dean made his way up to Sonny's office after tending to the boys and taking a quick phone call from Sonny himself. You looked up from the file you still had been reading to see Dean. You gave him a worried expression from the heavy sigh that fell from his mouth first. "Kid's gonna need eight thousand stitches, but he'll be fine." The update on the kid was finally enough for you to let out a sigh of relief you’ve been needing to take, but your problem was only at the halfway point.

"That kid was bullying Timmy before the accident, right?" Sam asked you and his brother for clarification, wondering if the lead you and him had been discussing prior might turn out to be true. Dean nodded his head. You handed over the file to the older Winchester for him to read the documents for himself. "Check this out. Timmy was found in an abandoned building about a year ago all by himself. No one was sure how long he had been there."

"And what about his parents?" Dean asked.

"Well," You reached out to grab the file back from him after Dean handed it back over to you when he was done with it. The documents told him nothing of importance. "They posted a picture on the internet, but no one ever showed up."

"Then, what's he doing here?" Dean wondered. "Shouldn't he be in an orphanage?"

"He kept running away from Child Services." Sam said, explaining more of the situation to help paint a better picture. "So about three months ago, Sonny offered to take him in."

"All right, so hard-ass counselors, bullies, all bite the dust, but Timmy's still standing." It didn't take much sleuthing to figure out something was wrong here. You saw from the look on Dean's face he wasn't liking how things turned out. Whenever kids were involved in cases, it made things more complicated. Somehow Timmy was in the middle of all of this. The kid who appeared to be innocent, too nilave to do any real harm. Or so he might have led you all to believe. "So, what are we talking? We got ourselves a Damien on our hands?"

"No. EMF rules out a demon." You said, shaking your head. You thought for a few seconds of what might be to blamed for this. Something you've personally dealt with once before in your time. "So...my guess? Ghost possession."

"Meaning what, we find Timmy and shove a fistful of salt down his throat, forced ejection?" Dean questioned you about the right method to solve this problem. You shifted your gaze away from the way things were starting to look bleak. Dean didn't want to turn to that direction just yet. There had to be something else all of you could do before the drastic measure was the only option you had left. "One of you is taking the barn this time."

The both of you agreed to the plan without fuss. Sam decided to check out the barn for himself while you chose to stay close, heading upstairs, leaving the first floor to Dean. He checked a few rooms close by the office to see there was no one in them. He hoped to find Timmy hiding in the bedroom by himself, innocently playing with his action figure and minding his own business. The best thing for situations like this was to keep the kid calm. However Dean found himself veering off track at the sound coming from the living room. He took a few steps forward to the nearby room and poked his head in, discovering an old face he wasn't expecting to ever see again.

Sitting on the same couch was Robin from the diner, lost in her own world while strumming a few chords, warming up like how she always did before each lesson. Seeing her back again like this brought back another memory of this place. The first guitar lesson Robin had given him after their introduction back at the diner. Small talk turned into Dean answering Robin's questions about himself, things he normally gave half-ass answers to that he'd be asked in the next town. This time he gave more detail, more honesty.

Robin seemed interested to learn more about him as a person, more than most people their age cared to know. Most girls giggled at the smirk he mastered down and the mysterious persona he gave off. Almost none cared to know more than the surface level. Robin wanted to know more. She was curious to know the reason how he landed himself here and why he moved around so much. She asked about the family business, not what it was, but if Dean liked it. The conversation opened up a topic Dean never really was able to discuss before with people, especially ones his age. Himself.

Most of the time Dean lied to avoid small talk about his personal life. No one truly cared to listen to his problems. Robin wanted to. Dean quickly learned she was a great listener. He told the truth to her that day. He didn't like it. But over time he learned it was going to be his future at some point when his father deemed him ready. Someone had to keep the business going after he….retired. Robin empathized. Her waitressing job at her father’s diner was a stepping stone into her taking over the place after she was ready. Both of them bonded over fathers who wanted their children to follow in their footsteps.

Robin declared she was going to be a photographer. She wanted to explore the world, eat all sorts of crazy foods. Dean's first response was that he wanted to be a rockstar. A stupid reponse when he didn't even know how to play an intstrument. He replied with a more realistic answer that sounded reachable, something he thought about from time to time. A mechanic seemed reachable and interesting, despite the lack of enthusiasm from Robin when she called it rough work. She didn't see it the way Dean did. Cars were like puzzles. He could pick them apart and put them back together, a problem that could leave and not be his responsibility anymore. After that answer, Robin did something he wasn't expecting. She kissed him. Dean would deny the way it took him off guard and how she was able to make him blush. It appeared to be the beginning of a possible relationship.

At the age of sixteen everything feels like it's going to last forever. The world seemed refreshing and exciting compared to the small town Robin grew up in. Things between the two slowly began to blossom into something more than the few secret making out sessions on Sonny's porch that were supposed to be for guitar lessons. Dean remembered they were supposed to go on a date. Robin's heart was set on it. She was so excited, holding onto Dean's promise that he wasn't going anywhere…

"Oh. Hey." Robin greeted the man after spotting him standing in the doorway, stopping her strumming when she realized he was lost in thought. "What happened to you at the diner? I turned around to take your order, and you were just gone."

“Long story.” Dean replied. “Have you seen Timmy?”

"No, not yet, but he should be here any minute for his guitar lesson." Robin said.

"Yeah, we're gonna cancel that." Dean told her. She looked back up from her guitar and gave him a confused expression, obviously taken back by the sudden shift in plans. "We got to get out of here, okay? I don't have time to explain. You just got to trust me.”

"Trust you?" Robin quietly scoffed at his words. She set the instrument down by her side and gave the man a look, expressing how she was feeling. The emotions she was trying to hide back at the diner after seeing him after all these years. "And why would I do that again?"

Dean’s expression changed at the realization of her subtle confession. “You do remember me.”

“How could I forget?’ She whispered to him.

Dean felt a pang of regret at the sound of her voice, the hurt she was unable to hide anymore. He broke his promise of never leaving her. At the time it felt like the worst thing to ever happen. Being a teenager heightened emotions to the most extremist of levels. Over the years she learned to deal with it. She wasn't hurt about him leaving abruptly. It was that he never tried getting in contact with her. He never wrote, never tried to call.

Over the years she got over it, forgot about it entirely and continued on with her life. Until she saw him in the diner, with the same damn smile that drove her crazy. Dean stirred up the same emotions he brought out in her when she was sixteen, there was no denying that. Along with the slight twinge of jealousy at seeing a strange woman sitting by his side. The both of them obviously moved on, but in the moment, Robin was overcome with too many emotions to process. It was easier to play pretend than tell him how she truly felt about their unexpected reunion. But she couldn't bite her tongue any longer.

"There were reasons why I had to leave." Dean tried to explain himself vaguely as possible, knowing he owed her a proper answer. At the moment they didn't have such luxury. There were more important things in the matter. "I don't have time to explain it to you right now. I got to get you out of here."

"Hey!" Robin shouted in anger when Dean grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her off the couch, dragging her to the front door against her will. "What are you doing?!"

Dean hoped he might be able to get her out of the house before it was too late. He was merely inches away from the open front door before some invisible force slammed it shut. The man knew better than to try prying it open. "I'm sorry."

Dean and Robin quickly turned around to see the little boy they both were expecting to see any moment now, Timmy. He stood there with a guilty expression from what was about to unfold. “Sorry about what, Timmy?” Dean asked him.

“I can’t stop it.” He said.

Dean flinched while Robin let out a terrified yelp when a vase crashed against the wall from behind them, spooking them from the nightmare that was about to unfold. Chaos unfolded around them when Dean instruced Robin to head to the kitchen, trying to get them to avoid the flying debris of breakable objects and furniture the ghost was controlling. Dean grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace set for an extra precautionary move in case whoever was responsible for this tried to show their face.

You came running down the stairs when you heard the commotion unfolding, calling out the older Winchester's name in a panicked tone. You narrowly missed a lamp flying in your direction when you saw the man standing in the dining room with Robin fleeing for the kitchen. All around you things were breaking and shattering, telling you the ghost was pissed as hell. Everyone needed to get out of here before it was too late.

Victory of an escape seemed attainable when Sam arrived back from the barn, using the backdoor instead. Dean tried to instruct his brother to leave it open long enough for Robin to escape, only it sealed shut the second after the younger man stepped inside. Much as Sam tried to somehow get the door to budge even the slightest, you could tell it was locked. The ghost wasn't going to let you go anywhere. But it didn't mean you were screwed just yet. You raced to the cabinets, frantically searching for salt before you found a box.

"Circle." You instructed the younger Winchester, tossing him over the box.

"Dean, what—" Robin stuttered slightly with her words while trying to form a complete sentence. Everything she was witnessing was too much for her to process. The panic on her face was clear as day. You knew Sam pouring salt on the ground wasn't helping the situation currently unfolding around her. "What just happened in there?”

"Okay, listen to me." Dean spoke to the woman in an eerily calm voice, giving her clear instructions on how to handle the situation if she wanted to make it out of here alive. "Whatever happens, you stay inside this circle. Understood?"

"All right." Sam stood back up after making a circle big enough for Robin to fit comfortably inside, and the rest of you if need be. He turned his head at the exact moment to see Timmy standing there again. "Guys..."

“I can’t control her.” Timmy said.

“Can’t control who?” Dean questioned the kid.

"Your mom, right?" Sam guessed the right answer before Timmy could. You furrowed your brow slightly from the person who was responsible for all of this. It seemed Sam found something in the barn his brother didn't. The younger man made his way over to Timmy and crouched down so he was now at eye level. "Timmy, listen. We need you to tell us about the fire, okay?"

Sam found a wall full of disturbing drawings that were clearly done by a child. All of it told a story, the one about how Timmy lost his mother and became an orphan. "It was late, and we were driving home when we crashed in the woods. Everything was on fire. But she saved me, she pushed me out...before the car blew up...with her in it."

Your heart broke for the poor kid when you listened to the story of how he became an orphan. The way he lost his mother was traumatic enough on someone his age, but having to witness it as well only added more pain. Sam knew the kid wasn't the one responsible for all of this. Possession felt to be out of the question. A ghost was haunting Timmy, following his every move since the accident. Protecting him from any dangers she thought fit. "But that's not all, was it?"

"I ran through the woods. I found an empty building, where I hid. I was scared. It was dark and cold. So I cried. I cried for my mom." Timmy continued on with the rest of the story, helping paint a more broader picture of how all of this came to be. Slowly the pieces were starting to come together. "And she came."

"But she had changed, right?" Sam asked. He remembered how the drawings Timmy made slowly turned strange and slightly disturbing near the end. His mother turned into a dark figure that loomed over her child, a monsterous guardian destroying any possible threats.

Timmy nodded his head to answer the man’s question. Your eyes wandered down to the action figure he always seemed to be holding. A smile stretched across your lips from the question you asked him. "I'll bet she gave you that cool action figure, huh?"

"Yeah." Timmy said, looking down at the toy. "When I turned nine."

"Timmy..." Sam captured the boys' attention again when he figured out what was anchoring his mother's spirit after all. Your eyes darted over to her spirit when she appeared out of thin air. What remained of her body after the explosion left her severely burned and disfigured. "I'm gonna need that action figure."

Before the younger Winchester could try and put an end to this nightmare, Timmy's mother struck first, throwing Sam across the room. You called out the man's name in a panicked tone while Dean struck the ghost with the iron poker he grabbed for this exact reason. You were given precious seconds to snatch the toy from Timmy when he wasn't suspecting it and went straight to the oven. The kid let out a shout of protest from what you were doing, the only gift he had left from his mother was being destroyed right in front of his eyes. Dean pushed the kid into the circle with Robin to keep him safe. You turned on one of the burners to the highest setting and dropped the action figure into the small flames. All of you watched as the hunk of plastic began to slowly melt, Bruce shouting his catchphrase over and over again until his recorded voice slowly faded into silence.

You made the wrongful decision in letting out a sigh of relief a little too early, thinking you solved the problem for good. Only you pissed off the spirit even more. You realized your potentially fatal mistake when you felt a gush of wind come out of nowhere, destroying the circle of salt, leaving Robin and Timmy vulnerable to a mother's wrath. If she wasn't pissed off before at you, she sure as hell was now.

"It looks like it wasn't the action figure that was anchoring her here, guys." Sam pointed out the obvious, making you roll your eyes in frustration.

"Then what is?!" You questioned him.

Sam thought for a second of what else might be keeping the woman's spirit here longer than it was intended. His gaze fell upon a scared Timmy. The kid who was innocently to blame for all of this from the things he said that night. "Him."

Most of the time when you dealt with spirits the only way they could keep from passing over to the afterlife was their body or some kind of object they were able to attach themselves to. Clearly none of those were an option. Sam figured that you might be approaching this all wrong. Your object was inanimate, it was a living breathing human boy who cried for his mother to come back. The boys stepped over to the oven to quickly discuss this and how you were going to be able to solve this.

"You know what? I think maybe his mom can't let go and she's still protecting him from the grave." Sam whispered loud enough for you and Dean to hear, sharing his possible hunch.

"Protecting him from what?" Deana asked. He thought back to the victims that died at the hands of the woman. All people who made Timmy's life uncomfortable. The pattern was repeating itself again for you. "What, from us?"

"It makes sense." You said. "Maybe she doesn't know what threats are real and what's not, so she just attacks all of them."

"Great." Dean muttered. He figured there was only one way out of this, one that was dangerous and stupid. Nothing he would ever be able to go through with. "So, what, unless we waste the kid, we're sitting ducks?"

Robin must've overheard what Dean said about potentially hurting a child that didn't do anything wrong. Her mind was still trying to process how doors were able to slam shut on their own and objects flying around the room. She was pushed to her breaking point. You looked over in Robin's direction when you heard her mumble something to herself before darting out the door when she had the chance. Dean called out the woman's name in a frustrated tone and followed after, hoping he might be able to catch up to her before it was too late.

You and Sam decided to focus your attention on Timmy, figuring you might be able to help make the kid understand better what was going on. You approached the kid and kneeled down to his level after he sank to the ground, thinking if you were at a better eye level he might listen to you better. You gave him a warm smile and tried your hardest to get him to at least consider putting a stop to this once and for all.

"Timmy, we're gonna need your help, okay?” You told him in a calm, almost neutering voice. You thought of you approached this like you were a parent yourself, hoping you might be able to fool his mother you meant no harm. Timmy barely made eye contact with you. "Listen to me. I need you to focus, okay. We are not here to hurt you. I promise."

His mother didn't believe in your words. She did what she thought was best for her child, destroying the threat she thought was trying to harm him. You and Sam found yourselves being thrown across the room to get you far away from Timmy as possible. Dean rushed back into the kitchen to see you and his brother were in trouble. But before he could try and help, Timmy's mother struck again, tossing his body where a table broke his fall and crushed underneath the man's weight. All of you struggled to somehow try and break free from the woman's grip she had on all of you. The one person who could put an end to all of this only looked at the chaos unfolding around him, still unsure of what to do. If he was even able to anymore.

"I can't stop her." Timmy whispered with an almost apologetic tone to his voice.

“Timmy, you have to try!" Dean told the kid. He tried to reach the kid on a more emotional level to pull out the strength he knew Timmy had. Force the kid to grieve his pain and move on from the past. While the grip Timmy's mother had around his body was making it painful to breathe, even almost impossible to talk, Dean persevered. "She came to you when you cried out for her. Now you have to tell her to stop and go away!"

"She's my mom." Timmy said. He sounded fearful to stand up to the woman who had only tried protecting him. Saying goodbye to her after all she did felt wrong. He thought he would be all alone for good. No one to care for him, no one to love him. And to protect him from the bad things in the world.

"She's a ghost, Timmy, because she can't move on, she's going crazy. Okay? You got to let her go. You'll be okay." Dean tried to reassure the kid that what he was about to do was the right thing. Timmy was still hesitant. His mother lashed out harder, trying to silence the three of you from making her son do something he didn't want to. "Listen to me. Sometimes you gotta do what's best for you, even if it's gonna hurt the ones you love."

Timmy forced himself to at least listen to what Dean was saying. He hesitated for a few seconds before he pushed himself up to his feet. He adjusted his glasses before he spoke up, finally doing what needed to be done. "Mommy...stop it." His voice came off timid and too quiet, causing his command to go unnoticed by his mother. Dean managed to use what breath left in his lungs to remind the kid of the trick he taught him when they first met. A Kung Fu grip. All he needed to do was be more firm. "Mommy, stop it! You're hurting people!"

His words seemed to have done the trick. The grip around your body suddenly vanished, letting you and the boys finally inhale the much needed air you were deprived from. Timmy's mother turned around to face her child. Despite the heinous things she had done, she believed it was the right thing to do. It was all out of love. She opened up her arms and gave her son a smile, a sad smile that begged him not to let her go.

"You have to go. Never come back. I'll be okay. I promise." Timmy comforted his mother. It was the words that needed to be said, not only for himself, but for his mother as well. Both of them needed to properly heal from the tragic night. Slowly, the wounds from the terrible night faded away, leaving Timmy's mother back to the way she always looked. She wanted the last image he'd ever have of her the proper one. She gave him one last painful smile. "I love you, too."

No parent who loves their child wants to leave them against their will. They want to protect them, shield them from the dangers of the world. But Timmy proved to his mother that he was going to be fine. He stood up for himself. All of you watched as Timmy's mother slowly vanished out of your sight, finally letting go and passing over into the afterlife. A moment like this was bittersweet. Timmy was finally able to do what he never could before. But it cost him the chance to ever see his mother again.

Timmy suddenly ran over to Dean, the one who helped him through all of this. A smile crept across your face at the sight of the man embracing Timmy into a tight hug. He understood the pain of losing a parent. No matter the age, it hurt knowing you were alone in the world. Dean patted the kid on the back and whispered to him that everything was going to be okay.

[Next Part]

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

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Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotted Memory

Somewhere out there

Beneath the pale moonlight

Someone's thinking of me

And loving me tonight…

Chapter 14 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : Alex and Augustus

Meet Me Halfway

John "Soap" MacTavish

Task Force 141

Location Unknown

18 hours ago

He thought he was dead. He thought they were going to kill him. He wished they would, just to end the suffering. But he also wished they wouldn't. He had greater plans, he still wanted to enjoy his life. And it looked like Nero granted half his wish, while depriving him of the other half. He's going to live the rest of his years in hell.

He couldn't stop thinking about that song, he lay flat on the ground, feeling weak, powerless and defeated.

If I lay here… Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

He couldn't feel a thing but he knew he was being transported somewhere. Red flashes filled his eyes as he slowly slipped away from the conscious world.

2 Seconds.

A single drop of water plopped on the cold floor where he laid every 2 seconds. It was getting annoying, but he thanked it for actually waking him up.

Soap struggled to get up and forced himself to do so, grunting in pain as the muscles and bones of his body reacted to his sudden movements. Enduring all the pain, he gasped and got up, moving to the direction of the only ray of light from a crack in the ceiling.

He limped but he had hope, exhaling with excitement as the light got closer every step he took. Then clang! He hit his head on an iron bar. He's in a prison cell, deep underground.

"Shite." he cursed, dropping his knees on the ground, his energy already ran out and he felt thirsty.

"That's freshwater dripping down there." An unknown voice emerged from the darkness, Soap wanted to believe he's hallucinating, but an old figure emerged from the shadows. His hair mostly greyed out and it was long enough that Soap believed he'd been here for far too long.

"The name's Jack. And I suggest you rehydrate. I've been here long enough that you could trust that it's safe." he suggested. His tone was strict but helpful and Soap knew he's trustworthy. They're both prisoners and as the saying goes: "The enemy of my enemy is my friend"

"So… uh Jake. What brings you to this dark and gloomy place?" Soap asked, his voice was barely audible but he was heading straight to the dripping freshwater.

"Turns out our friend Nero doesn't want me dead yet. He couldn't pry any information from me. I'm CIA, literally trained half my life to keep information away. He should've just killed me when he got the chance." He replied.

"So, that means he's going to get something out of you too…" he added, Soap looked worried, he didn't undergo some torture training and hes afraid of what Nero wants from him.

"Look kid, I know you're worried. That's why we won't let that happen. Okay? I have a plan." Jake patted Soap's shoulder, it still hurts from all the stomping and the tossing around but he knew he didn't mean it.

"So… CIA. Guess you crossed paths with Alex." Soap asked, his low accent echoed across the dark cage.

"Yeah. Alex. He was like my son, trained him and assisted him all throughout his CIA Career."

"He kinda disobeyed orders by joining the good side which looked bad in the eyes of the higher ups." Soap reported.

"Hm… It's very unusual of him to not follow orders, unless he believes it's for a better cause." Jack supplied to which Soap nodded, agreeing Jack's assumption.

"It was a good cause. Sacrificed himself for the greater good. Miraculously made it out, but lost his leg in the process." Soap continued, updating the old man about his protege, he's actually glad he did as he could feel the man's mood rising from grumpy prisoner to someone a little less grumpy.

"He had good morals, that kid. He could go far with that attitude… I just hoped that falling in love would not be his downfall… just like what happened to me…" he muttered. Soap didn't make out the last sentence so he assumed it was his own thoughts leaking out of his head. He didn't bother asking again.

The iron doors opened and a new patch of light opened. Jack looked at Soap with determination and nodded.

"Looks like it's showtime, sharkbait." Soap nodded noting the Finding Nemo reference at these trying times.

Jack was right. They had a practice of how to handle prisoners for interrogation. A few stomps, handcuffs, sack on the head and push you if you don't cooperate. Soap had to go through the whole thing, and as far as he knows, Jack must have gotten the key.

He limped his way to the interrogation room, buying enough time for Jack to blindly find the keyhole from the cell. He tried fighting back but the taser sticks were already giving him a bad time.

Just as Jack described, the interrogation room consisted of a dentist chair and a television, his captors were beside him preparing orders from Nero on the screen.

Soap squirmed his way out of the chair, trying to be convincing that he had no idea what's going on.

"Stop squirming! Tell us where the girl is… or I'll take a wild guess and destroy your base instead." Nero yelled. His voice was low, like it ran through a voice changer.

"Sod off…" Soap spat and squirmed again, receiving a shock from the taser. He groaned as tendrils of electricity ran through his body shaking him almost unconscious.

"Lower the voltage or he won't respond! Dumbasses! We need something from him!" Nero yelled at his henchmen.

"So… MacTavish…22nd Parachute Regiment, S.A.S., Now Task Force 141… Skilled in combat, Sniper and Demolitions… You know a proper brainwash would help me get the code from you right?" he mused.

"FOUR!" Soap roared from the top of his lungs, panting after he yelled.

"Four? What the fuck are you talking about?" Nero asked, looking confused. Addition to that, the ground shook and made everyone else in the room wonder.

"What's going on?" Nero asked.

"What? we're under attack? By who? How?" Soap's ears could hear the distress from their leader and from the looks of it, 141 already found him making it easier for him and Jack to get out of this hell hole.

"Augustus is gone? They're going to pay! Okay boys kill this man now. We have to send them a message!" Nero yelled angrily and the tv turned to static.

Meet me Halfway

Francine "France" Winters

Task Force 141

Task Force 141 Base - Briefing Room

"We're being pressured to capture Nero. With our base compromised, the Board would now decide for our force's future. Simon Riley is now researching Augustus' burner phone, if we're lucky enough, it could lead us to our next clue." Shepherd calmly informed the force about the status. He looked in distress but he had to keep pushing forward, to end this warfare.

"Some of Nero's forces are already in New York. It turns out he could command the brainwashed civilians to deploy EMP blasts but recon noticed that he could only command a few at a time. This means without the IP address, he is still powerless and trying hard." Shepherd added.

"I want you all to always be ready for an all out attack on Nero. Let's prove to the board that we're the best one for the job." He muttered and dismissed everyone. France decided to stay in the briefing room and let the quiet consume her thoughts.

"You okay?" A reassuring hand held her shoulder. She knew it was Gary and tears started to fall from her eyes.

"I… I can't stop worrying about him, Roach." She croaked and gave Roach a very pained stare. She actually missed John's presence even after being together for a short while, she felt that they shared a lot of common things together, the strive to become better, the response to danger even off duty and the determination to achieve a goal. Those were her traits that he also had, these same traits that made him like her despite his cocky first impression.

"Let's help out Ghost track that son of a bitch Nero down. And maybe it'll lead us to him." Roach assured them as they both stood up and went to Research.

"How… how can you still be so sure that he's okay?" she sobbed.

"The dogtags." Ghost interjected while typing furiously on the computer.

"If Soap was dead, he should've shown us his tag. That would cripple some of our Force's focus and would lead to his success in invading and capturing Samantha." Ghost continued, he made sense and France almost smiled with the two's support. Instead, she just breathed out and helped Ghost.

"So, have you traced each source?" France asked Ghost as she also started furiously typing codes and strings of data input.

"Yes, they're really sneaky with the encryption, but I keep on getting pings at one location before it spreads in different places." he explained.

"The nearest signal tower. Every packet almost goes through there. You see that?" France pointed at the screen.

"Yeah I do. Let's start tracing that source." Ghost muttered and the map already pinged the tower's location.

"Bingo." they both whispered and cheered, hugging each other as a sign of success. France felt Ghost's tight hug and felt something off about the guy, then he actually removes half of his mask and pouts his cheek close to hers.

"I…. uh… I'm sorry" Ghost shyly said as France pushed him away and felt awkward at the situation. Gary just stood there in shock as Price entered the room.

"What's the news?" he asked, looking at the three.

"We found him, Sir." Ghost cleared his throat and put back his mask.

"Well, bloody hell. Let's go then!" he said as they all ran towards the exit and prepared themselves. France didn't have the time to think about the events earlier as she was still worried about Soap's safety. She hopes that whatever lies in that place would give her an answer.

"FIRE!" Captain Price yelled as snipers quickly shot the guards surrounding the icy fortress. The gulag housed people that the world didn't want but couldn't kill, and she hoped that John MacTavish was on that list.

Danger close explosions crippled both attacking and defending forces as Price roared at Shepherd to be careful. France gulped as she saw a very open field that they're dropping in on and knew for a fact that she's very open and weak at these positions.

Her mind raced, looking at every angle. Tangos were everywhere carrying different kinds of weapons. With minimal angles to hide on, the force, led by Roach aggressively advanced to the Gulag, dodging heavy fire, grenades and RPG Rockets. As soon as they found the tunnel leading deep into the Gulag, France already felt comfortable. This was her playing zone and no one's going to stop her from getting into Nero.

The way in was almost clear, no enemies were against them but instead they ran further into the Gulag. Something was off.

Gunfire was heard deep into the Gulag and as soon as the team reached the control room, Ghost already did his magic. Opening gates, looking at the cameras and defending their six. The masked man helped them further advance into the Gulag.

"Nero's not here…" Ghost said.

"How so?" Price angrily muttered.

"He never set foot in this place. He only uses a television to communicate."

"Bloody hell. Now what?"

" I see two heat signatures behind that wall."

Roach quickly planted a c4 breach and as soon as it exploded Francine pounced at the closest person, raising her fist and looking at its eyes to see the punch go through.

Blue eyes. Those shades of blue. France stopped his fist as tears started to well from her eyes, dropping some on his bare chest.

"John…" she whimpered and smiled.

"Fra.." she didn't let him finish, she kissed him. She didn't care what everyone else thought. The gunfire and explosions suddenly felt nothing to her. She didn't care how John's lips tasted, all she cared about was that he's alive and she's on his arms.

Extraction quickly followed as Shepherd's forces already did a lot of damage on the old fortress. They barely got out just in time for the building's inevitable collapse but they're safe.

Next Chapter : Secret Alliances

Notification Squad my beloved

@samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @smokeywhalee @beemybee @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach

#horRAYfic #whateverittakes #john soap mactavish #john price #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #alex echo 3 1

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the-finch-address · 4 years ago

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Tag: Word Find

Tagged by @sharraus! Thank you!!

tHO isn’t at the stage where I can find half of these words in a comprehensible state since most of it is Draft 1 gibberish. So instead I’m using the opportunity to write something new for each prompt; some being canon from the book and others just standing as an excuse to write the characters interacting. Bc of this the length got a bit......Out Of Hand. Sorry about that. Putting it all under the read more so I don’t bombard anyone’s dashboard

> Prompt: Work [Note; This occurs years before the plot begins]

Vestiel ran his fingers through the grass and picked at early yellow blooms. The harsh clang of metal against wood echoed around him, the sounds of the forest easily lost behind it.

“Can we go home soon?” he whined, “I’m so hungry I could eat a bear.” His bottom lip is brought between his teeth, and he waits. Clang. Clang. Clang. “Please?”

The axe stills. Andi turns, wiping the sweat from his brow while fitting Vestiel with a look. Magpies trill in the wake of his silence, the flutter of fallen leaves following the breeze. Andi straightens his back. “Silas won’t have finished dinner yet, lad, the sun’s still well up the sky.” He answers, looking annoyed, “We’ve plenty of light to finish this up first. Fill the baskets if you’re so restless.”

He reaches for the axe again. The disappointment must have shown on Vestiel’s face, though, since the tool remains lodged, and Andi continues to look distracted. He knew the boy was too young to understand how important this work was, how it kept them warm and fed. He couldn’t blame a child for prioritizing an empty stomach over harsh and thankless labor. Still, that morning’s storm had downed too many trees to not take advantage of. It had to be done.

“Tell you what,” Andi resigns himself, a weary smile lifting his eyes, “I’ll let you do a few strokes, but Vestiel-”

The boy is already up and on his feet, dandelions forgotten in the sunken spots of grass where his legs had crossed, “You mean it?” He brightens, “I can do it all by myself?”

“Listen to me,” Andi lifts a hand, demanding attention, while the other remains on the hilt, “you’ll start with the axe wedged in and bring them down together-” he offers a stern look, “--and I don’t want to hear any complaints. This is your first time, I don’t want you lopping off a toe or, North forbid, a whole foot. You need a feel for the tool before you do anything else.”

Vestiel acknowledges this with a hasty nod, the muttered agreement of “Yeah, yeah, sure” crossing his lips, hand already reaching for the axe.

Andi comes between him with a harsher expression than before, eyebrows raised expectantly. Vestiel lets out a sigh.

“The axe will start in the wood. Got it.” The impatience hasn’t fully left his tone, but it’s an improvement, and Andi appears content by it.

The wood is already a narrowed size when the axe is driven through its flesh. The blade settles halfway down the block and wedges itself firmly along the grain with little resistance, just on the edge of splitting. He brings it to Vestiel, who takes the closer end of the block with his left hand and the hilt with his right.

“Now, you’ll want to bring it down towards the back of the splitting block,” Andi starts, “Make sure you do so with both hands together, or you’ll only-”

Clang. Vestiel opens his eyes, already knowing that Andi is going to ring his neck for having closed them in the first place. All is forgotten at the sight of the severed wood, though, and he can’t help but be excited with the results. It isn’t perfect by any means, but it’s his, and he’s no less proud of it despite his brother's hand-holding. He looks to Andi in hopes of praise.

“Mother’s grief, Vestiel, have some patience!” Is the chastised response he receives instead. “You couldn’t have at least waited for me to finish?”

Vestiel makes a sour face. “I did it fine, didn’t I?” He retorts, “Isn’t that good enough?”

Andi raises a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, a long and tired breath escaping him. After a minute of patience himself he’s able to give Vestiel the reaction he was looking for. A smile, small but proud. “It’s not bad for your first time,” he says, “but you’re going to need more practice, and patience, than that if you want to hack apart whole trees in a few years.”

He extends a hand to bring Vestiel near, pulling him snug against his side. “You did well.” Andi continues, “but, lad,” his voice lowers to a stern whisper, and

Vestiel pales, “If I ever see your eyes closed with an axe in hand again, you’ll sweep the whole corridor. Twice.”

He swallows harshly and answers only with a nod. The pride blooming in his chest doesn't falter.

> Prompt: Weather

The evening sky flashes white, casting shadows across paintings framed in gold and goblets of silver. Across the room, Caprice of the North hunches over a desk painted in candlelight. He draws a finger across the map in study of its various routes and borders, frowning. Behind him, thunder crashes down. He flinches. Pitiful.

Shaking away the thought, the young deliverer refocuses. His back arches further towards the desk until braided locks of gold spill over onto the wood. Especially now, as he squints in the darkness of his shadow, does he wish this dreaded storm had chosen another night. It brought a miserable chill to his bones despite the grizzly pelt draping heavily over his shoulders and brought an ache to his bones.

Lightning comes again, its brilliant light cutting into the room with the swiftness of a sword’s blow. Capri anticipates it this time. When thunder claps against his window he’s decisively ready for it, his knuckles gone white against clenching fists. He can’t stop their trembling no matter how tightly he’s squeezing.

A knock at the door sends him out of his skin.

Like a sharp wound, the anticipation drives him into a panic. Young flesh grasps aimlessly for a new frame to stretch into, finding nothing but mortal bones. By the time the door swings open he is straightened, remembering a human form, begging the drum within his heart to settle.

Silence greets him. A form approaches from the doorway and draws towards the light, illuminating their features quick enough that Caprice’s hand stills where it rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Dove?” He relaxes and lets himself breathe, forcing air into his lungs with more effort than is needed. “I thought you were with Eivind."

“He was needed elsewhere,” Dove signs. His hands portrayed a sense of disappointment where one couldn’t be seen in his expression, brown eyes seeming indifferent.

Caprice looks away shamefully, “You didn’t have to come,” he says.

“I wanted to.”

His gaze again lifts to meet the other with only a grunt, reluctant to answer in words for fear that his voice might betray him.

Light consumes the room with blinding force and concurrently Caprice’s hand reaches blindly for the edge of the desk to ground himself. It’s silly, he thinks, ruined pride staining his cheeks red. Internally he’s counting the seconds as they go by, steeling himself.

Dove reaches for him--

Capri recoils just as thunder cracks and booms overhead. The approach was too quick, well-meaning as it may have been. Dove understands the reaction. He reads Caprice as well as the noble reads his sign.

The thrashing of rain fills the aching silence and neither of them dares interrupt it. Seconds pass by without distraction until Dove again extends his hand forward. He moves slower than he has to under the young emperor’s weary gaze as though addressing a wounded animal.

When Caprice notices it’s not without backlash. His eyes turn hard, looking fussed. His nails dig into the wood beneath them until angry lines form on the underside of the desk and pain shoots up his fingers.

Dove’s palm settles over his hand, squeezing.

He flinches but can’t bring himself to shake the man away. The silence between them stretches on unbearably after, broken only by the rain. He releases the desk and turns his palm face up, intertwining their fingers wearily. “Thank you.” He whispers.

When the thunder comes this time, he doesn’t flinch.

Prompt: Help

Vestiel’s heartbeat thuds like thunder roaring inside his ears. He stares with too much intent at the earth beneath his worn shoes, doing his best to concentrate on the hole boring over the space near his toes.

Much to his dismay, Fannar-Haise appears to notice.

She carries herself past the snow huts and politely cuts through the crowd, stepping lightly around the fire and between celebrants, their songs alight with a different kind of flame.

Vestiel can’t hear them past his own thoughts. Get out, get out, get out. He forces some semblance of greeting out as she approaches but can’t manage to look her in the eyes. It’s hard most days, but especially now.

“Enjoying the party?” She asks, making no mention of the answer being pretty obvious. The smile on her lips is pitying, judgemental at worst, he just knows it. He can’t bear to lift his chin and see. If Andi were here he could explain himself easily but, as it was, he was going into this situation alone. Completely, utterly alone.

“Yeah,” he lies, “just tired from all the traveling.”

It’s a witless excuse and she knows it. Instead of pointing it out, though, she only offers a shake of her head. There’s a lot to say about communication and Fannar-Haise considers herself an expert on the subject. She watches him fumble about; the trouble in getting his tongue to do its job sticking out to her as sorely as the restless, rhythmic tap of his hand against his hip and the blatant avoidance of eye contact. It answered her question more than his words could, and that was okay.

“You’re overwhelmed,” she nods to herself this time, having seemingly come to a conclusion all on her own, “Let me help. You don’t have to answer with words, a nod will do just fine. Can you walk?”

Vestiel squints at the sole of his shoes, looking confused, then apprehensive, “I’m-”

Silence. No matter how hard he pries, not a single word comes loose from his tongue. The thoughts are there and plentiful, excuses and apologies, maybe something more, fastened tightly like honey coating his throat and hidden away between his ribcage, leaving him breathless and useless.

His chin tilts upward, lips parting, but he can’t manage it. Instead, he allows himself the nod she had been looking for.

“Good. That’s good. We’re going to go somewhere quiet and after that you can tell me what you want to do. Can I touch your hand?”

She patiently waits for the resulting, albeit cautious nod, and takes his hand within her own.

She guides him past the bustling scene like this. As they reach a distance where the noise has muffled he finds it in himself to speak again. It’s slow, at first, allowing his mind time to find the right words. “How did you know?”

Calmly she turns her gaze from the sky, not looking directly at him but rather just past where he stands. There isn’t a soul there when Vestiel follows her gaze over his shoulder, but he’d only half expected one. Andi had learned with time not to stare too long; something told him Haise was just as quick of a learner.

“Call it a hunch,” she hums, “I’ve experienced my fair share of things, Vestiel. This isn’t new or strange, it’s just you.” She pauses to face him, eyes still averted. He returns the favor and looks at her nose like it’s his only salvation, seconded only by the sight of his snow hut in the distance and the soft murmur becoming of the crowd ever fading behind them.

“Besides,” she continues, “these celebrations aren’t a requirement by any standard. They’re here to bring happiness. If something causes you to be unhappy you have no obligation to stay. If you need to step away, I will understand. We will always understand.”

Vestiel doesn’t know what to say when they reach the entrance. Despite her words, he can’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him for having both left the celebration early-- a celebration of his arrival, no less--and now, leaving their leader at the door.

She picks up on this, too.

“I’m going to head back to the others for a while longer. You can join us if you’re feeling up to it, or you can stay here and get some rest. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

Her warmth is everything to him, more grounding than a hole in his shoe could ever be. He wants her to know, wants to find the right words to explain how much her actions mean to him, but there isn’t an easy way to go about it without making a greater fool of himself. He answers with a weak smile and a simple, “Okay”, the best he can offer in way of thanks.

She matches his smile and bids him goodnight.

Prompt: Hope

The scent of leather tanning above flame clings to his nostrils. It fills him with a sense of despair unlike any other, weighing different from the miserable few weeks he’d spent mourning Andi, even. Putrid, a nauseating sort of agony like snakes writhing and tearing at his stomach. Burning. Burning. Burning.

The forest was ablaze. That was all he could possibly know, here in the dark. Shadows drove past him in a stampede of bodies carving through the night, survived only by a name and footprints worn into the poaching grounds.

He scares awake. Stars wink faintly above him, hidden behind the morning sun.

“Bad dream?”

Tupelo’s voice startles him a second time from where he lay, their trek up the hill all but forgotten until that point.

Vestiel slowly drags himself into a sitting position with a grunt of effort. Sweat collects at his jaw, cold against his cheeks. He licks his lips and tastes salt.

“A fire, just to the north of here-- tonight maybe--the forest, the people-”

Tupelo tends to the campfire, looking drained. It was suddenly apparent neither of them had slept well. “The forest?” they ask with a shake of their head, “Not to the north, yet.”

“Yet?”

Vestiel draws his shirt away and uses the

bottom corner to dry his face. Goosebumps still clinging to his arms, the memory remaining like a fresh wound.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says, “I can’t explain it to you and if I do, you’ll just think I’ve gone strange. I’m only asking that you take me north of here.”

He reaches for the map tucked inside his rucksack, spilling a few more items in the process, “It shouldn’t be too far off from where we’re going already. I’ll show you.”

Tupelo is quick to rest their hand against his wrist with a sympathetic, albeit calm look on their face. “We’ll go.” They assure him, pointing to the north. “If it’s important.”

_________________________________

It quickly becomes evident that Tupelo is just as ill-equipped for this kind of travel as Vestiel. For as nimble as they are the hill obviously called for a different kind of strength. The original path would have taken them up and around, but this new direction was a straight shot to the north, uphill for the better half of it.

Tupelo watches Vestiel out of the corner of their eye, checking up on him every now and then as though waiting for Vestiel to change his mind, or hoping he’ll get around to it if they climb for long enough.

However, Vestiel remains steadfast in the endeavor, eyes locked on the horizon. He’s certain of what he saw, having learned to trust the dreams long ago, and he had no plans to stop now. The smell of burning flesh still lingered undeniably.

“We’re almost there.” Tupelo breaks the silence.

“Finally,” he gasps, “I don’t think my legs can go on for much longer.”

He can feel it already. The weight of the earth shifting beneath his feet, a familiar pressure that seeps into his bones, pungent smoldering inside his nostrils once more. “It’s right over here,” he drags himself the last few feet to the summit, “It’s-”

Dead. Every tree, every blade of grass, the entire opposite face of the hill lie dusty and black, an empty expanse of burnt trunks where the forest should have been.

Tupelo comes up beside him.

“What happened here?” Vestiel gasps in disbelief, “I was sure-- my dreams have never lied, not once before. Were we too late?”

“Your soul tells stories, not prophecies.” Tupelo answers, “Father told me you can hear them.”

“Them?”

“The spirits,” they gesture to the barren woods, “they speak because they know you will listen. Come.”

Vestiel follows their lead. Dry grass crunches underfoot as they descend the hill. Patches of green pop up here and there, but aren't constant and don’t compare to the full weight of the forest that should have been in its stead. It’s a sight he feels the need to grieve over as though his own soul were tied to the scorched land. The thought scares him.

Tupelo steps ahead and crouches to their knees, hands smoothing over a ring of stones that would have gone unseen had they not brought attention to it. Wordlessly, they pull the canteen from its strap and let the remainder of its water drip out.

Vestiel inches closer now. He kneels beside the other, “What is it?”

Tupelo sits back on their heels, palms opening to show a young sapling, green and healthy, standing tall, small as it may be. It rests in a forgotten graveyard.

“A tree?” Vestiel reaches for it and thumbs carefully along the juvenile bark. “What is one tree to an empty field?”

Tupelo cradles the sapling fondly. “Hope.”

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I'm tagging @faenova @squid-scribe @zmlorenz @ashen-crest @henrike-does-writing-sometimes and @sharraus (can I tag the tagger? I'm doing it anyway)

Your words are Drenched, Gather, Cradle, and Howl

#finch writes #tHO #vestiel #andi #capri #tupelo #haise #dove #tag game

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