#night of the doctor Haunts me you must know

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice-cold eye?

[deanstead]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Requested: Yes, by anon

Summary: Sam gets an unexpected call from Y/N, which brings another surprise for Dean

Word Count: 2.7K

Tags/Warnings: Dad!Dean, canon-typical mentions of blood/violence

A/N: In my "everything i write sucks" era but thanks to @seatsbythepit for her consistent beta services! I think this was in my inbox for a (long) while so I finally got this out!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST

Sam frowned, glancing at his phone where it was lighting up with an incoming call from a number he didn’t know.

Not many people had this number, so he picked up warily, as Dean looked up.

“Hello?”

There was a short silence on the other end of the line before a familiar voice reached his ears.

“Sam?” 

Sam froze.

“Y/N?”

Dean sat up straighter, his eyes flicking toward his brother but Sam wasn’t paying attention.

It had been more than 2 years since you’d left and not a day had gone by that Dean didn’t blame himself for it. Sometimes, when he lay in bed at night, the last fight still haunted him - the look in your eyes when those hurtful words had cut across the room, the defeated sound in your voice as you looked him in the eyes and told him that if that’s what he thought of you, there was no point to all this.

After you left, he’d spent too many days staring at your name in his lists of contacts, his thumb hovering over the call button. The days ticked by, and soon it was way too late for Dean to call or reach out so he was left with replaying the last conversation you’d ever had like he needed to torture himself to make up for the hurt.

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice pulled Dean out of his thoughts and he frowned. That was never a good sign.

Sam spoke in a low voice before he nodded and hung up.

Dean stared at his younger brother as Sam stood, pausing as his eyes flicked toward Dean who was watching intently.

“Dean, she…”

Dean nodded, his eyes flicking back downward. “Yeah, I don’t blame her.”

“Look, why don’t you help from here, alright? I’ll make sure she’s alright.” Sam said, although he knew it must be killing Dean. 

“Yeah, just let me know what you need,” Dean responded, failing to hide the slight dejection in his voice as Sam left.

“Sammy.”

His name flowed off your lips the moment you opened the door, feeling familiar yet foreign at the same time. Yet, it was really good to see him.

Sam just smiled, enveloping you in a tight hug the way only an older brother would. “It’s good to see you.”

You nodded, smiling.

“You flying solo?” Sam asked, frowning.

You shook your head. “I’m not hunting. Not really. We were just passing through and I wanted to just run, but I… I couldn’t. Now, my friend’s sister is missing and I just…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Wait. We?”

You gave him a guilty smile. “That’s why I called.” You paused before continuing. “And why I asked you to come alone. I didn’t think I should surprise Dean out here.”

Sam gave you a confused look and you exhaled slowly.

Without saying anything more, you led Sam into the room, as his eyes fell upon a two-year-old kid. A kid who was unmistakably Dean’s son as he gripped a miniature Impala car in his hand where he was sitting on the ground.

Sam looked at you in surprise.

You nodded. “This is Leo.”

It was probably a Winchester thing but Leo took to Sam almost immediately despite the fact he never let anyone else but you carry him for the past two years. 

You remembered how he’d wail in the doctor's or nurse’s arms but he seemed perfectly content sitting in Uncle Sammy’s arms now, playing with Sam’s hair.

“I was gonna get a friend to watch him, but if he likes you so much…”

Sam looked at you like you were crazy. “You’re not going alone.”

You exhaled slowly and nodded, like you’d already expected this answer from him.

Instead, Sam asked to review the information you had. It felt almost like the good old days, as you watched Sam pore over the notes you had at the small desk at the motel, the only thing different being that Dean wasn’t here and you had a two-year-old who’d fallen asleep in your arms.

You knew Sam was planning to call Dean when he left to get dinner but you pretended like you didn’t, busying yourself with preparing Leo’s meal.

When Sam returned with food for the both of you, you glanced at him and he nodded. “Yeah, I called Dean. Look, you know the research there is helpful. It won’t hurt.”

You shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

Sam glanced up at you. “What’s the plan, Y/N? Why didn’t you tell him? Or me?”

You glanced over your shoulder at where Leo was sleeping soundly and sighed softly. “I don’t know. I guess… I guess Dean and I never really had the talk. I didn’t know where he stood with regards to having kids, especially in this life.”

You paused, looking up at Sam momentarily before continuing. “Besides, we’d broken up. I thought he’d try to come and get me but… well, he didn’t. By the time I found out I was pregnant, too much time had passed and I didn’t know how to tell him.”

Sam nodded quietly, letting you continue.

“But I got out. I didn’t let Leo into this part of our life. Until today. And I hate it that he’s here when there’s a nest of fucking vamps right here. I didn’t…”

Sam reached out and squeezed your shoulder. “You were right to call. No matter what, it never hurts to have someone looking out for you.”

You smiled. “Well, I’m glad it’s you…”

“And Dean. Sorta.” You added after a small silence.

The conversation was cut short by Sam’s phone and he quickly answered it. “Anything good?”

You could hear the crackle of Dean’s voice and you felt your heart give a jolt. A jolt that didn’t exactly surprise you. Of course, how could you ever get over Dean Winchester?

You could vaguely hear Dean giving Sam some additional information before Sam hung up, glancing at you.

“You sure about this, Y/N?”

You glanced at Leo before nodding. You planted a firm kiss on Leo’s head, nodding to your friend, Samantha.

“Don’t worry. Sam’s great at what he does. We’ll figure this out.” 

She nodded back at you, assuring you that Leo was in safe hands.

It was your first hunt in a long while, but being a hunter seemed to already be a part of your DNA. 

Armed with the information that Dean had dug up, you and Sam managed to infiltrate the nest, easily lopping heads of vampires off as they were caught off-guard. You were glad Sam was there to have your back, especially when you both made your way to the dead center of the nest. 

“Sharon?” You kept your voice low. 

You headed to where she was huddled in the corner. You didn’t know Sharon well but you’d met once or twice when you’d come up here to meet Samantha.

“Y/N?” 

Her voice shook slightly. 

You nodded. “Yeah. I promised Samantha I’d bring you home.”

Sharon looked around, her eyes flicking to a dead body lying to the side. “They’re…”

You shook your head at Sharon. “Sharon, look at me. We’re going to get you home alright? Trust me.”

“Come on, Y/N.” Sam urged gently. 

Of course, you knew hunts never went that smoothly. 

A growl alerted you that a vamp had joined you and your body stiffened, the grip on the machete in your hand tightening. 

“Sam, get her out of here.”

“Y/N.” Sam’s voice was stressed and you recognized it, the struggle between leaving you here and taking Sharon to safety. 

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him, glancing back at the new arrival.

Sam didn’t answer but you knew the exact moment when he took Sharon and left, their footsteps seeming to echo as they got further away. 

“You hunters are the real monsters.” The vampire droned, staring at you. “Here we are, just trying to survive and you break into our home and kill my entire family.”

You tried to stifle the sarcastic laughter that was at the tip of your tongue.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

You knew it was coming before the vampire twitched, and you swung your machete upward as he rushed toward you. 

The vampire sidestepped, missing the machete by inches as it growled, even more determined to get you.

You stepped back again as it lunged at you, your heart sinking as you felt yourself lose your footing. 

Fuck. 

You rolled out of the way but the vampire was too quick, pouncing upon you. 

You raised your machete but it was too close, the machete inching closer toward you as the vampire bared its fangs at you. 

You held onto a single thought. You had to get home to Leo. 

Then, as if by sheer willpower, the unmistakable sound of a blade swishing through the air before the vampire’s head rolled off its shoulders. 

“Dean?”

Dean had lasted all of five minutes after the last call with Sam before he’d muttered a “screw this” to himself and torn his way out of the bunker and down to where Sam and you were.

You were still stunned as Dean rolled what was left of the vampire off you and helped you up.

“You alright? Are you hurt?” Dean’s eyes studied you, unable to differentiate if the blood on you was the result of any injuries you might have sustained before he’d arrived.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

The atmosphere sank into awkwardness as the both of you stood there now in silence.

“Sorry, Y/N. I know you wanted me to sit this one out, but I…”

You shook your head and interrupted him. “No, I… Thanks, Dean.”

You fell back into silence, both of you walking out toward the exit to Sam.

“God, Y/N!” Sharon’s stressed voice made her way to you first but you didn’t miss the surprised look Sam gave his brother even as you were assuring Sharon you weren’t hurt.

You looked up to see Dean quietly heading to the Impala, and before you could think through your next move, you were running toward him.

“Dean.”

Dean paused and turned to look at you.

You took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

There was a look in Dean’s eyes that sat somewhere between confusion and intrigue.

You looked down at your blood-stained clothes and smiled. “Give me a few hours and I’ll come meet you at the bunker?” 

The words rolled off your tongue feeling foreign yet welcoming at the same time.

“The bunker?” Dean asked.

You shrugged. “Or wherever you guys want. If you don’t want me there.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not what I…” He paused before continuing. “See you there.”

You watched the Impala drive off before you turned back to look at Sam, who had a small smile on his face, and you knew he’d heard everything.

You’d delivered Sharon safely back to Samantha, who hadn’t asked any questions, just glad to see her sister again. and you even managed to shower and change before Leo even noticed you and Sam were gone.

Now, Sam pulled up outside the bunker and you took a deep breath. 

“Ready?” Sam asked softly.

You gave a short laugh. “Never.”

You felt everything at the same time as you took Leo in your arms and walked into the bunker, the memories seeming to hit you all at once - the way this place made you feel, the laughter in your head that belonged to a memory of the three of you as you sat in Dean's embrace.

Even if this was the same place where things had ended, it was the happy memories that followed you as you walked down the stairs now.

Dean stepped out of the kitchen, freezing in his footsteps.

His eyes took in the sight before him, a kid that looked like a carbon copy of himself except for the eyes that were undoubtedly yours.

“Y/N…”

You cleared your throat and exhaled. 

“Hey Leo, let’s go find you some snacks,” Sam said, reaching his hands out for Leo.

Leo cracked a smile and allowed Sam to pick him out of your arms. “Pie!”

Sam glanced over at Dean, unable to hide a chuckle. “I’m sure we have that.”

The silence that followed was almost loud as Dean looked at you in disbelief and you cleared your throat. “Let’s talk.”

Dean led the way into the library, unsure if he should be pissed or happy to see you.

You leaned against one of the tables, as Dean looked back at you.

“Sorry.” You said quietly, looking down. You knew Dean had every right to be angry and you braced yourself for the rise in his voice but nothing came.

You glanced up at him again, meeting the green eyes you’d sorely missed.

Met with Dean’s silence you spoke again. “I didn’t know how to tell you. By the time I found out about it, too much time had passed since the last time we spoke. I stared at your number but I was afraid. I…” You took another breath. “We never talked about this. I didn’t know if you’d be happy or not and I chickened out.”

“So were you never going to tell me?” Dean finally asked.

You couldn’t really determine the tone of his voice but you shook your head.

“I… I kinda was on the way here.” You said quietly.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I didn’t really have a plan.” You said. “Part of me thought if I just drove here, I wouldn’t be able to back out anymore. Then, that nest of vamps kidnapped my friend’s sister so I…”

“So you called Sam.” It was a statement.

You gave him a tentative smile. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate seeing Leo without an explanation in the middle of a hunt.”

Dean exhaled slowly.

“So what now?” Dean asked.

You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid your eyes would give you away. The eyes that screamed how you were still in love with him and that you’d missed him every single day that you’d been apart. The way your heart crumbled every time Leo smiled because it reminded you of Dean, and how all you wanted was to be enveloped in those arms again.

Even as those thoughts ran through your mind, you felt the prick of tears because this was exactly why you’d put off telling Dean about Leo.

“I don’t know, D.” You answered quietly. 

Your voice cracked slightly and you hoped Dean hadn’t picked up on it.

“Y/N.” He called, forcing you to look up at him, even though the tears blurred your vision.

Dean closed the gap between the both of you, one hand cupping your face as he pressed his lips against yours, his other arm snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“God, I missed you,” Dean whispered, as he pulled away just a little, your faces still pressed together.

You buried your face into his shoulder without saying anything, feeling your tears get absorbed into the shirt he had on.

You needn’t have worried about Leo. You looked at you son clutching the tiny toy Impala while he sat in his father's arms almost triumphantly as they came back in. Dean had brought Leo to see the real thing, and Leo had a ball of a time just sitting in the Impala.

“Mama, can we stay?” Leo asked with anticipation in his voice.

You froze. Dean and you hadn’t talked about anything. He’d kissed you, you’d hugged and then you’d gotten him out of that library to meet his son.

Dean closed the gap between the two of you, putting Leo into a giant hug between the both of you before he reached out for your hand.

“Stay,” Dean said quietly.

You glanced up at him. 

“I’m not going to lose you again.” Dean added, squeezing your hand gently. “Not for anything in the world.”

The words felt stuck in your throat, but you glanced at Leo and smiled. “Yeah, we’re staying with Daddy and Uncle Sammy.”

Dean leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips amidst Leo's triumphant yells.

Sam moved forward to press you into a hug. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

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[barcaatthemoon]

brave || lucy bronze x reader ||

lucy must put on a brave face when you go down during a game.

lucy could count on one hand the amount of times that she had ever been truly terrified. the fear that she felt whenever you went down was the greatest by far. it was almost like a sick joke. lucy didn't have time to be bitter about it, not when you obviously needed her to be there for you more. and so, lucy tried her best to swallow it all back to kneel next to you.

"hey bird, that was a nasty hit you took," lucy said. up close, it was so much worse. lucy had seen you go down, and momentarily had just frozen on the opposite side of the field. standing next to you, there was so much blood. that was nothing compared to the dazed look in your eyes.

"lucy, it hurts," you whined. lucy knew that you were about to start crying. she was certain the only reason you weren't yet were all of the younger players on the field. the one who had knocked into you was recently brought up from a youth team, and you didn't want to scar her.

"it's okay. i've got you. shh, just breathe for me," lucy instructed you. the medics came over and took you straight off of the field. lucy was subbed off as well, a decision that sarina made without second thought.

"keep a close eye on her for all of us," millie told your wife. lucy nodded and gave millie a quick hug as the woman went on for lucy. there hadn't been an official sub for lucy, but everybody knew that millie could handle it for a bit. there weren't that many minutes left in the game, and england managed to pull ahead early on.

"look at me bird." lucy gently grabbed onto your chin, forcing you to look up at her. "that's gonna leave a nasty cut, but i think i can get over it for a while."

"what a saint," you huffed. lucy smiled, glad that you could still joke with her. she knew that it was just an expression, but she was glad that the humor hadn't been knocked out of you. lucy could still remember whenever you had gotten a concussion back in college so bad that your career had almost ended. "are you also going to nurse me back to health?"

"of course i am. i'm not letting you out of my sight," lucy mumbled as she pulled you into a hug. lucy was incredibly gentle with you in a way that you knew meant she was terrified. "how are you feeling, really?"

"well, my head hurts like a bitch, but i am okay. i would be a bit better if you didn't look like you'd just seen a ghost. i got up lucy, i walked off of the field. it's not like last time," you told her. lucy swallowed back some tears. the memories of your injury still haunted her. it hadn't been all bad though. lucy had admitted her feelings for you that night at the hospital, even if she thought you were in a coma when you weren't. "you could have stayed and played on."

"nah, someone's got to give bright those pity minutes. she likes riling up the young ones when she's bored." lucy laughed a little, but you could still hear the tears behind it. lucy didn't let go of you until she was certain that she wouldn't just burst into tears. you laid back until the doctor came back to finish up your concussion tests.

you knew that you were concussed, it was just a question of how badly. your facial cut was superficial and didn't need stitches, which you were grateful for. lucy held your hand tightly as it was bandaged up before you went back to the locker room to wash up. the game had ended by the time you were finished, but the team was all seemingly waiting to see how you were. the fact that you hadn't been rushed off to the hospital was a good sign.

"you know, you just about gave bronzey here a heart attack," mary said as she slung her arm around your shoulders. she tried to pull you away from lucy, who did not loosen her grip on you one bit. "scared the rest of us pretty bad too."

"gotta keep you on your toes. as for lucy, she was very brave. kept a calm head with me through my tests." lucy blushed at your praise, but didn't argue.

"what's the verdict?" keira asked. you could see her, georgia, and leah practically shaking with anticipation.

"i'll be out for at least a month, maybe two. i am really sorry guys, i was hoping to see this through, but it's just the luck of the draw," you told them. almost immediately, you felt their bodies crash into yours. lucy was trapped in the hug as well, but you could tell from the way that her body sagged into it that she needed it.

"you can be our mascot. every time that we score, we'll do it for you," georgia promised. you ruffled the shorter woman's hair a bit before you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. the team seemed to be in complete agreement with dedicating the whole tournament to you, which you knew meant trouble for the other teams.

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future.

PREVIEW

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

ONE

The tension in your hospital room is palpable, Detective Lois and Dr. Mayhew locking eyes as if each were ready to strike. You’re bewildered, unsure of whom or what to believe. But one thing is clear: Dr. Mayhew is your husband. He appears to be the quickest path to recovering your memory—even though Lois seems convinced he’s the reason you’re in this condition.

“Detective Tryon, as eager as you are to drag a statement out of my wife, she’ll be of no use to your scheme of blaming me for your incompetence,” Dr. Mayhew says, running a hand through his hair with a clear hint of tension. “She remembers nothing, and your persistence will only confuse her further.” He sighs heavily, while Lois watches him with a mocking smile, as if her patience has completely worn thin.

“Your performance is so convincing. You must have taken acting lessons at some point in your life,” she says, stepping toward him with a threatening air. “I can’t allow you to harm this woman before she has the chance to tell the world who you really are.”

“Enough!” you exclaim, frustrated by their bickering. Both turn to you, their expressions shifting to something like concern. “Detective Tryon, I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe. But if this man truly is my husband, that must mean something,” you say, almost on instinct. Perhaps you’re being foolish, even hasty. But there has to be something to this. Taking a risk is all you have left—now that you don’t even belong to yourself.

"Are you really willing to risk your life to be near this man, Y/N?" Detective Tryon holds your arm, her grip nearly desperate, as though trying to pull you away from Dr. Mayhew. The force of it makes you uncomfortable, and you wince, letting out a low sound of pain.

“Release my wife, Detective,” Dr. Mayhew snaps, his tone finally sharpened, his calm composure cracking. “I remind you that if we report your misconduct to your superiors, your entire baseless case will fall apart.” He steps between you and Lois, his hands slipping into his lab coat pockets, the stance a clear challenge.

"What would truly please you, right?" Lois challenges, staring straight into Dr. Mayhew's eyes. You watch them silently, still feeling the ache in your arm where Lois had grabbed you.

"Would you like to know what would actually please me?" Dr. Mayhew whispers, moving closer to Lois. "I’d be pleased to have my wife with me again, without the interference of a lunatic so obsessed with her own failures that she needs to ruin my life just to sleep at night. Careful, Lois. You’re becoming obsessed with me." You're uncertain of his intentions, but the authoritative tone in his voice and the way he carries himself is undeniably alluring.

Lois narrows her eyes, her expression darkening as Dr. Mayhew moves closer, his tone laced with mockery and barely concealed venom. “Is that so, Dr. Mayhew? Obsession, you call it?” she scoffs, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “Let’s not confuse dedication to justice with obsession. But perhaps you’re simply too accustomed to manipulating the truth to recognize it when you see it.”

You watch the exchange, torn between skepticism and an undeniable draw toward him. Despite the sharp edge in his words, the way Dr. Mayhew stands his ground, unyielding and unafraid, stirs something within you. Even as his gaze shifts to meet yours, there’s an intensity there that unsettles yet captivates you—a magnetic pull that defies reason.

“Why not focus on your own affairs, Detective,” he murmurs, his eyes still on you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “and let my wife and I… reconnect. Unless, of course, you’ve truly no other purpose in your life than meddling in mine.”

Your confidence is remarkable, Charlie," Lois remarks. "Mrs. Mayhew, if you need me for any reason, here’s my number. I’ll also be visiting again soon to see if there’s been any progress in your memory recovery." She hands you a card with her contact information, then smirks mockingly at Dr. Mayhew. "And don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll let Megan know you’ll be unavailable." With that, she finally exits your hospital room.

Charlie stares at you, irritation burning in his gaze. "Do you believe her?" Dr. Mayhew demands, advancing toward you with sudden intensity. You feel as if the air is being drawn from your lungs with his nearness, his gaze piercing. "Honestly, I don’t know whom to believe," you murmur, leaning back against the hospital bed behind you, your eyes locked onto his.

"Fine!" he exclaims, voice laced with indignation. He turns to leave, but then hesitates, his hand lingering on the door frame as if torn between staying and leaving. After a tense pause, he steps back inside, his tone shifting from anger to something raw and vulnerable.

"Y/N… if you can’t trust me, then at least remember what we once were. Remember the promises we made." His voice drops to a murmur, almost pleading. "I’m not the monster she’s painting me to be." The intensity in his words sends a shiver down your spine, leaving you more conflicted than ever as he finally, reluctantly, exits the room. What makes it all worse is that neither of them is truly thinking about you. Neither one noticed that you’ve only just discovered your own name, that you're lost and confused. They don’t see that you don’t want to be manipulated—you want to be understood.

“You are like him…” you murmur, recognizing that you’re no longer in your hospital room. Everything around you is intensely white—the walls, the bed you're seated on, every corner spotless and untouched. A cross hangs on the wall behind the priest, casting a shadow that flickers slightly, as if from candlelight. The room feels steeped in something sacred, almost otherworldly, like a faint echo of a memory stirring within you. The priest looks at you with a serene expression, though there’s an unmistakable weight behind his gaze. As he steps closer, the almost sacred atmosphere around you amplifies the tension. You try to process the overwhelming resemblance to Dr. Mayhew—even the contours of his face are identical, but the priest’s shorter, more traditional hairstyle highlights the difference. Your mind wavers between doubt and recognition, as if your subconscious is trying to unveil something long forgotten.

“You keep searching for answers outside yourself, yet everything you need lies within,” he murmurs, his deep voice echoing through the room like a quiet revelation.

“Father, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, what to feel,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze. Tears slip down your cheeks, and a quiet, aching desperation fills the space between you. The priest, unmoved yet tender, holds your gaze.

“Faith moves mountains, and as long as it resides within you, you will be safe,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle command that resonates deeply. “Find your faith, and you will know what—and whom—to believe.”

Despite the haziness, a strange comfort wraps around your heart, soft yet unexplainable. His words, laced with a familiar warmth, guide you into a calm acceptance, though the reason remains unknown. Then, leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “Now, kneel and seek forgiveness.” Almost instinctively, you find yourself on your knees before him, grasping the folds of his robe at his knees, your head bowed as though in reverence.

“Father, forgive me,” you whisper, your head bowed. His fingers lift your chin gently, compelling you to meet his gaze. “How can I grant you absolution, when your hands are stained with blood, my sweet sinner?” he murmurs, lowering his face near yours, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

You’re shocked, frozen beneath his intense gaze, but unable to break away. As you glance down, horror floods your senses—you see your hands smeared with blood. Stumbling backward, you gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. The priest rises from the bed, stepping slowly toward you with an unwavering gaze, a faint trail of blood marking his face. You’re overwhelmed with fear, a scream building in your throat until it finally erupts, piercing the silence. And then—just like that—you awaken from your haunting dream, heart racing, as the unsettling remnants of the nightmare fade into the dim light of your hospital room.

Dr. Mayhew, startled awake in the chair beside your bed, immediately reaches for you. “Hey, Y/N, are you alright?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he stands and wraps you in a firm embrace. His arms encircle you with a warmth that feels protective, grounding you in the present moment, as if he’s trying to shield you from whatever haunted you.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whisper once you catch your breath, the tension beginning to ease as you lean into his hold. And everything feels like déjà vu. Just like before, you wake from a nightmare involving the priest, and once again, Dr. Mayhew is by your side. You can't help but wonder if there’s a connection between his presence and the terrifying, bloody dreams that haunt you each night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Dr. Mayhew murmurs softly, his hand tracing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. The warmth of his embrace gives you an unexpected feeling of lightness, as though he’s holding you together amidst the lingering fragments of your nightmare.

“Can we leave this place?” you ask, your voice trembling as you try to stifle the tears that have flowed since you woke. He holds you a little closer, and you feel a subtle tension in his grip, as if considering your question carefully.

“We will, soon,” he assures, his tone steady, though a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face. “For now, rest. I’ll be here.”

"Stay here; I need you to answer me—while looking into my eyes," you insist, tugging at Dr. Mayhew's clothes, almost dislodging his tie. Though he’d intended to return to the hospital chair, he remains by your side, his gaze steady yet guarded.

“Will you even believe my answer?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a hint of doubt, as though unsure anything he says would hold weight with you. His eyes search yours, wary yet attentive, as if weighing what he’s willing to reveal.

"You'll have to take the risk and believe that I will," you say softly, though you're unsure if you can truly trust anything he says. Dr. Mayhew's hand reaches gently to touch your face, but you instinctively pull back, murmuring, "I’m sorry."

“Ask me whatever you wish, Y/N,” he says, his voice tinged with impatience, perhaps confused by your conflicting actions—clinging to him, pulling him closer, yet retreating from his touch. You, too, are struggling to understand what you’re feeling, torn between wanting him near and pushing him away.

“Do you love me?” you ask, your gaze unwavering, trying to find answers in the depths of his eyes. His stare holds yours, as if the question should be irrelevant, as if he has already shown you everything you need to know. His expression softens, but the weight of his response carries something more.

"I’m your husband, Y/N," he replies, his voice steady, but there's an intensity in his eyes, a depth of meaning that you can’t ignore. "Doesn't that answer everything?" His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken emotion, and for a moment, you wonder if the truth lies somewhere in the space between his claims and the confusion that churns in your heart.

"Answer me, Dr. Mayhew, do you love me?" you ask, using a more assertive tone, making it clear that you are not satisfied with his previous answer. He smiles, as if he can't believe it. "I love you, Mrs. Mayhew. I would die for you if necessary," he responds confidently. His eyes are fixed on you, as if waiting for something.

"Then even if the truth disappoints me. Even if you think it's going to hurt me, I need you to be honest. About these murders, about Megan, about everything." You speak firmly, staring into his eyes.

Dr. Mayhew's expression hardens as you mention the two things he surely wishes you would forget. For a moment, he looks at the hospital room wall without saying anything. "Honesty is a double-edged sword. As you inflict it on someone, someone can inflict it on you," his gaze darkens, his demeanor heavy, almost demonic. "If honesty is what you want; honesty is all you'll get."

He stands up, lifting his face to yours, now standing directly in front of you. "You think the truth will set you free, but sometimes it only binds you to something far worse," Dr. Mayhew says, so close to your face it feels as though he's about to kiss you. His words are heavy, yet his gaze is devilishly captivating. For a moment, you sense that he's savoring the expression of fear in your eyes. "Then let the truth bind us both, if that's what we deserve," you reply, challenging him, even though a part of you trembles with fear.

He straightens his coat, his hand running through his hair with a sharp, almost angry gesture, as though attempting to pull himself together. "Rest, Y/N. The truth will find its way to you, sooner or later. But I can promise you this: I am, and will always be, honest with the woman I love—even if she doubts me." With those words, Dr. Mayhew places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, a gesture of tenderness. Then, without another word, he exits your hospital room, leaving you in a heavy silence.

[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[sharuruwrites]

Another

I'm in love with the idea Of dying with you in my arms But not like this - The Bird song by Noah Floersch

Tags: Osamu Dazai x Fem!Reader, Angst, inspiration from BEAST manga, unedited, Reader works as a florist, lots of deaths, Dazai being a Yandere in one of his past lives?, Unalive oneself, fluff

A/n: haven't read the manga, but hearing these specific lines from that song two days ago while driving to home, made me write this. I do recommend to look up hanakotoba or Japanese Flower Language after reading this one shot.

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

The ability to experience and remembered all past lives sounded a good idea in theory. However, one must expect that not everything would be the same as one hoped it'll be.

Unfortunately, Osamu Dazai was blessed? or perhaps cursed? He really didn't know at this point as he lost count in how many lives he started and ended. Dazai was too busy studying the lady's beautiful features behind the glass window of a flower shop.

Someone was so lovely and brimming with life, but so far within his reach. The carefree smile on your face never changed either.

Yes, this wasn't his first encounter of you. In fact, in every life he experienced, a very special constant existed. He unexpectedly believed he would get his desired ending.

You.

Despite your profession being the same through the many lifetimes, you always have a different favourite flower and a different ending.

In the first book, the scent of red roses was constant to him as you always greeted him with it. It was a fall at first sight. Stolen kisses, intimate conversations, and silence filled with affection. Love and Passion -- those two words described what his first relationship was like with you. Just the existence of you was enough to fill the void he found in his tiring world.

Yet, his enemies found out his 'weakness', and the last thing he remembered from that life was rage and anger directed at everything after your corpse was delivered to him.

In the next book, your first meeting, Dazai brushed his fingers against yours as you were reaching for the soft hydrangeas. Memories from the previous book haunted him, and swore to himself that he would do everything to keep you safe. The moment you fell for him he ensnared you, and locked you up in his apartment like a caged bird.

Dazai took advantage of your kind heart by threatening to take his life if you dared to go outside. His fear of losing you and his stubborn pride drove you to insanity. Instead of an obedient and dependent beloved welcoming him home, he found you dead with an empty bottle of sleeping pills.

In one of the books and after many more tragedies, Dazai vowed to not fall for you, but fate was a such a cruel mistress to suffering. Everywhere he went, you were there, wearing a metallic spider-like flower brooch.

Since when fucking Yokahama city became a small town for him to see you so easily?

Dazai avoided you like a plaque, but it's unavoidable as you were somehow acquainted with the agency's mad doctor, Yosano. During your visits in the agency, longing still filled him as he caught glimpses of you. Dazai yearned to be the one who makes you smile effortlessly.

After he gathered the courage to approach you, he witnessed a car crash as your body flung across the busy street of the city. His mind screamed at him to get close to you, but he stood still as his eyes locked onto the bloodied flower brooch on your dress.

That's where realization hit Dazai. Whether it be from the start or from the end, you and him were doomed. He's enamoured to a dream -- to die alongside of a beautiful lady. But, if it meant a countless partings with you attached to your tragic end, why would he wished for it?

Although all hope may seemed lost, Dazai dreamt of a very peaceful scenery last night that ignited his hope of a happy ending with you.

"I know we just got married," Dazai cupped your face, and his thumb caressed your cheek. "But, will you marry me in our next life?"

You leaned further to his touch with your eyes getting misty. "Well, as long as you hear me say yes."

With a deep breath, Dazai walked into your flower shop. The bell rang, and the flowers' scent filled his senses. He took a moment to enjoy the sight before him—the roses, carnations, and lilies, all so pretty. He felt himself smile at the sight, as if he hadn't seen them in years. He had never thought much of flowers, but after he met you, he found himself falling in love with them.

"Welcome!" you called from behind the counter, greeting him. "How may I help you?"

"Instead of help," Dazai plucked a cluster of small blue flowers from a nearby vase. "Can't I just give a beautiful lady like you a flower?"

"Oh," You meekly accepted the flower. "How did you know that forget-me-nots are my favourite?"

Dazai chuckled. "A lucky guess?"

[sl-vega]

04; next door nuisance

project: love liason! - a scaramouche smau

Standing outside your new neighbour's house was an oddly daunting task, it was only a few meters away from your own, but there was something so...intimidating about it.

Maybe it was because of how put together the home seemed, even from the outside, maybe it was because she told you the lady next door was a doctor and successful people were inherently and utterly terrifying to you.

Or maybe it was because she had a child, and children were the absolute bane of your existence. But here you were, about to become free labour while your mother talked to Dr. Raiden about whatever mothers gossiped about.

Part of you wished you had agreed to Navia's invite to the movies a few weeks prior, sure you would be third wheeling her and Chlorinde's god-awful attempts at flirting but at least you wouldn't be tagging along with your mother and her new friend while probably babysitting some brat.

But alas, here you were, now on the doorstep of your new neighbour's home, your finger trembling as you reached out for the door bell. Before your mother promptly pushed it herself, clearly growing weary of your hesitation.

Hell, you would've taken doing that boring project with Childe's tag along over this. What was his name again?

From inside the home, you could here a woman's muffled voice call out something; "Kuni? Could you go get the door?"

The sounds of footsteps neared the entrance, and the lock slowly clicked as the door swung open. You had expected to be met with a snotty child, maybe around eight years of age, but you weren't.

Instead, you were met face-to-face with the same indigo eyes that seemed to constantly haunt you everywhere.

"You?!-"

"Oh, it's you."

The pair of you especially emphasized the 'you' part, you more so due to the shock and him more so due to disappointment. He glanced at you, looking you up and down for a few moments, clearly trying to recall some details about your identity.

"You're...Mona's friend right..?"

He quickly turned behind him to let his mother know that you were here before finally letting you and your own mother into the house, she promptly walked in to greet Ms. Raiden in the kitchen leaving you and Scaramouche to your own devices.

"Yes, I'm Mona's friend."

Part of you wanted to admonish the guy for not even bothering to call you by your own name, but then you remembered you had been referring to him as 'Childe's tag along' for the past few weeks so it was honestly fair.

Suddenly, a woman had entered the entry way, where you and Scaramouche were currently in.

She had dark purple hair, much like her son, and had it styled in a loose braid that was draped over her left shoulder. She had a beauty mark right underneath the corner of her right eye, and her faced seemed to be in an eternal state of stoicism.

She finally flashed you a warm- though slightly strained-smile, before gesturing to the dining room.

"You must be Mrs. (L/N)'s daughter, she's told me so much about you! I'm Ms. Raiden, but you can just call me Ei."

She introduced herself formally firmly shaking her hand and escorting you to the dining room.

"Kunikuzushi, you didn't tell me you knew each other."

She laughed quietly, though there seemed to be an off putting undertone to her words, you remained quiet however.

As did Scaramouche.

Making your way to the dining room, you took in your surroundings, noticing several photographs of what you assumed to be a younger Scaramouche, he was smiling in just about all of them, but there were hardly any of him and Ei. You held your tongue, not wanting to pry about his family life just yet.

The three of you sat down at the dinner table, the place being chock-full of a variety of dishes. Though a tense atmosphere surrounding the room nonetheless, most notably between Scaramouche and his own mother.

God, this was gonna be a long night...

Quickly sneaking your phone back into your pocket, you decided to take Lynette's advice and promptly decide to strike up a conversation on your own accord.

"The food is really good Miss Ei, are these your own recipes?"

The woman chuckled as she set her spoon down, giving you the same warm-yet still strained nonthesless-smile, as she patted her lips with one of the napkins at her side.

"Oh no! Not at all! I can't cook to save my life dear, Kuni does all the kitchen work."

She said as she gestured to Scaramouche, still referring to him as 'Kunikuzushi' despite you never hearing of the name until now. Yet once more, you still decided not to press about the topic.

"Oh really? Cool..."

You muttered as you glanced over to the quiet boy sitting across from you. Other than a quick short answer to your prior questiong regarding Bluey, he was extremely quiet, seeming to dread every second of this dinner. Upon further observation, he was constantly eyeing the staircase towards the upper floor of their house, clearly looking for any excuse to leave.

And honestly? You wanted just that too.

For what felt like the next few hours, the dining room was only filled with the sound of both of your mothers' chatter and the ever so occasional clinking of forks filled with brief interludes of silence for each respective person to chew their food.

After a while, dinner finally came to an end...or so you thought. Because next thing you knew Miss Ei had pulled out the wine and charcuterie boards, and you knew you would be stuck here for an eternity.

With the only two adults in the vicinity now in the living room, that left you and Scaramouche alone in the dining room. Part of you was waiting for him to finally retreat upstairs, you would probably be a little bit hurt, but it was better than the awkward silence that was currently in action.

But he remained at the table with you, looking awfully intently at the ceiling.

Suddenly, the floor became incredibly captivating to you, so you too, found a new fixation, you'd honestly take anything over the only sentient being in the room with you.

But... you would have to be working on that project together anyways, so maybe getting to know this new guy wouldn't be so bad after all?

So steeling your resolve, you decided to ask the first question that came to your mind.

"So what's the deal with your mom calling you Kunikuzushi? I thought you went by Scaramouche?"

He seemed to flinch at the question, didn't take a genius to tell that you struck a nerve.

In your defense, saying the first question that came to mind didn't necessarily mean said question had to be a good one.

"The first one is my legal name, the latter is just a nickname that Childe gave to me when we were kids. It just stuck, I guess. Plus it's slightly easier for teachers to pronounce."

He answered, still avoiding eye contact with you. Though not in the sense that he was avoiding your gaze because he was shy, more so he was avoiding it because keeping up with something as simple as eye contact was beneath him.

"I didn't know you and Childe were childhood friends."

"I didn't know my relationship with Childe was so interesting to you."

Shit.

He finally met your eyes, the same piercing indigo gaze that always sent chills down your spine. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic of sorts.

"You like him, don't you?"

He asked, though, it was more of a statement than a question. There was an underlying tone of 'you weren't being slick' that practically echoed in the back of your mind.

Your mouth was slightly agape, barely a few hours into properly knowing each other and the conversation was already heading in that direction?

Tonight was going to be a long night indeed...

additional notes:

the scarayn is scarayning chat

i fear I cooked with this chapter 🤭

(or maybe my standards are just low cuz I haven't written a proper written fic in a WHILE)

anyways as y'all know dark mode = scara pov // light mode = yn pov

^^ little refresher once more

and taglist is always open!

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS: you're head over heels in love with childe, and scaramouche is (begrudingly) smitten with his "rival" mona. and, by sheer divine coincidence, you both happen to be the best friends of each other's objects of affection, so you strike a deal with each other. if scaramouche helps you ask out childe, you'll set him up with mona. so with the annual spring formal right around the corner, the two of you vow to be each other's wingmans so you can end your junior year on a high note (and maybe even kick off your senior year with a new relationship!). between, scheming, planning, and researching, you and scaramouche find yourselves developing a new relationship via helping each other out. now the real question is whether this friendship will remain as a pure platonic bond, or blossom into something more?

<PREV ll MASTERLIST ll NEXT>

🎀 - taglist!;

@agaygothicmushroom @035814 @freyao7, @sketcheeee @tsukimara @shyentsmissingink @peachystea @aries-afk @lxkeeeee @sakiimeo @sugxryratz @shutingstar @lalaloveallmydays @bellflower1257 @haruumei @kichiyosh1 @littlemisssatanist @dee-zbignuts @candyescapism @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @h3ll0-kitty-4lly @franaby @la-cursii @heusalettle @automaticpatroltragedy, @c4ttheart, @meigalaxy @misswetty @introvertaku02, @daiyunjin @trulyylee @lily-lmao @kazumiku @kunikuzushis-darling @vitanye @livelaughlovekuni @imnotyizhuo @akagi0021 @rook-kisser @mitsuribe @scaraenthusiast1 @chemiru @193i3 @matolka @tamikahoshiko @jayzioxx @samyayaya @dontmindtheevie @v3ntis-lyr3

[jolalibrary]

joel miller [the last of us]

↩ back to main masterlist all works contain a female!reader. 18+ only, minors do not interact.

oneshots.

↦ you should be my only girl

joel miller giving birthday head in a car (18+) in many ways, Joel is aware that you’re too good, too lovely. it has become the reason why he wants to give you nothing but pleasure, in the hope it’ll be enough to smother the pain he knows he must inflict.

↦ comfort came against my will

smut. it’ll begin with a little beg, a whispered plea—fingers wrapping around his chin, mouth ghosting over his: Let me ride you, Miller.

↦ but he does have you

because he hasn’t got a lot of anything, but he does have you.

↦ be good, be quiet

(smut) bill tells you both you're sleeping in separate rooms when a thunderstorm doesn't allow you to leave. but joel isn't planning on getting any sleep.

↦ under the stars

(smut) joel finds that you become a thing of unnatural order, all ethereal as the moonlight kisses your curves.

↦ him. he. joel.

(pre-outbreak!/smut-ish) you don't know his name. he doesn't know yours. yet.

↦ don't move, honey

no outbreak! smut. joel doesn't want you to move or touch until he comes back to bed.

↦ you're a prize

no outbreak. fluff. it's date night, and joel takes you to the fair

↦ give me a sign

no outbreak. fluff-ish. Joel Miller walks into a bar... and meets you, an ex-doctor now bartender who is adamant she won't fall in love with him.

_

series.

⇉ honey stained hands [COMPLETE - 18+]

He knew what Jackson was when he arrived the second time. A communal, a place where everyone chips in. It's why he doesn't turn his nose up when he's given menial tasks. One of which, is fixing his neighbour's porch. His neighbour, who is pretty and smiles too sweetly, bakes cakes for special birthdays, and stares at the toolbox he's been given with a haunted look, one which raises more questions than answers.

_

drabbles.

⤬ soft!joel taking care of you ⤬ hiding in a car with joel miller ⤬ it’s a scratch (joel: hurt/comfort) ⤬ when his eyes open - joel wakes and admires you and the morning.

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

The reader is a Marines daughter she runs to work every day. Tony asks why she doesn't drive as she should be able to afford a car now. Embarrassed she tells them she has her permit but her father never had time to teach her to drive (a lie). He tells her tobuy a bike to her horror she Embarrasses herself more by letting it slip she doesn't know how to ride one that her father only taught her life saving things not stuff for "fun". Everyone just kind of moves on as she hides her embarrassment well from everyone but Gibbs who sees right through it. Later she asumes everyone left she mumbles to the picture of her father "hey dad do you think a bike or driving lessons are useless now"

You Ain't Alone

Word Count: 1k+

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this up! Hopefully this is okay! I went at a more father/daughter aspect between Gibbs and the reader! I loved this suggestion though!

Your alarm blares loudly, and you jolt awake before letting a heavy breath out. You reach over, silencing the loud alarm as you know you have to get up and get ready. As much as you craved to sleep in, you couldn’t because you had to get to work on time. You got home later last night due to the case you guys got. Gibbs seemed more irritated and was insistent on getting justice for these female petty officers who have fallen victim. 

You get up and quickly get dressed in black yoga pants and a cropped long sleeve white shirt that is almost like spandex. You put your hair up into a ponytail before stuffing your outfit for the rest of the day into the backpack you bring to and from work. 

You lock up your house before you begin your normal run to work. It was pretty therapeutic although you do wish you could just drive to work in the mornings. It meant you could leave your house later for work which would be nice. 

You reach the familiar Navy building and slow down until you're walking. You get in the building and curse quietly after realizing that you had gotten here about ten minutes later than normal. Gibbs holds the elevator for you, your entire team must have gotten here at the same time.

“Y/N, why don’t you just drive to work instead of run? Surely you have the money to afford a car now.” Tony asks and your cheeks flush red.

“I-erm, well I-I only have my permit. My dad never had time to teach me to drive.” You stutter out, your face growing even more hot in embarrassment. 

“Why doesn’t your dad have time to teach you to drive?” He asks, confused.

“Oh…my dad…he wa–he is a Marine. My entire life…he’s been mostly overseas. It’s been me and my aunt and even she wasn’t there a lot because she was a doctor.” You explain quietly.

You were mortified and you just wanted this elevator ride to end, but it seemed like it wasn’t ever going to end. 

“So, buy a bike.” Tony says.

“I don’t know how to ride a bike.” You say before you squeeze your eyes shut and sigh.

You heard the familiar headslap as Tony whines, asking Gibbs why he got smacked and you were the first off the elevator, rushing to the restrooms where you go to a stall and start to change. You let a puff of air out and shake your head as you pull the black dress pants up before buttoning the white blouse. You pull on your boots and tie them before walking out of the stall with your bag. You fix your ponytail before spritzing yourself in perfume. 

“God, you just had to embarrass yourself.” You grumble, grabbing your face and shaking your head. 

You were eager to start working, thankfully they all had disregarded the elevator which was nice. The day passed slowly and you were sitting at your desk even after everyone had gone home. The entire day the elevator conversation seemed to haunt you. 

You look at a picture of your father and you frown. He wasn’t around much in your life and when he was, you were to refer to him as “sir” and he would give you life saving lessons, never anything fun in life. You begged and begged for him to teach you to drive, but he said no. He thought that was a fun thing, not something you’d need later in life. 

Gibbs stood on the second level, watching you. He could tell that you were embarrassed all day. You tried to hide it from the rest of the team, but he could see right through you. He quietly makes his way behind the bullpen and you sigh. 

“Hey dad, do you think bike or driving lessons are useless now?” You mumble as you grab the picture of him. 

He frowns, watching you. He casually rounds into the bullpen, hearing your startled gasp. He goes to his desk and works on some files before abruptly looking up. 

“Y/L/N?” He asks. 

“Yes?” You ask softly. 

“How tired are you?” He asks. 

“Not tired at all actually.” You say confused. 

“Didn’t you say you have a permit?” He asks. 

“Erm, yes.” You murmur, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Alright, come on. I’m going to teach you to drive.” He says, grabbing his coat.

Your lips part in surprise and he sends you a grin, walking towards the elevator. You eagerly get up, following him to the elevator as excitement fills you.

You couldn’t believe it…you were officially a licensed driver. You had yourself a car and here you were, sitting in it in the NAVY yard parking lot. This was real. 

You knew you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Gibbs. He has taught you several things in the past few weeks like, driving, riding a bike, fishing, how to cook the best steaks, and how to build a boat. This man has been more of a father to you than your own. The bond you have with Gibbs has tripled these past few weeks. On top of that, you always feel a little emotional thinking back on these past few weeks. He didn’t have to help you, yet he did. 

“I saw your new ride.” Tony says as you step in the elevator and you blush.

“I’m officially a licensed driver.” You say excitedly.

“That’s good!” He says with a grin. 

You walk off the elevator together, heading towards the bullpen and Gibbs looks up at you.

“How’d the driver’s test go?” He asks.

“I passed…got my license and I might’ve finally got myself a car with what I saved up. Look!” You exclaim excitedly, showing him your license and he grins.

“Good job, Y/N/N.” He praises and you smile softly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Gibbs. Thank you so much.” You say.

“Y/N/N, you ain’t alone. We are a family. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for something. My door is always open.” He says, softly smiling at you.

“Literally.” Tony laughs and both of you roll your eyes before you hear a headslap.

You turn back and see Ziva laughing as Tony glares at her. You look back at Gibbs, not before seeing Tim hunched over laughing as Tony tried to make a defense against Ziva. Gibbs had a big grin on his face and you smile, this was your family.

[mynameismckenziemae]

All of Me

Part 14

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x You

Summary: You hire a nurse and Jake takes you on a real date.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, teasing, exhibitionism, handjob, oral sex, (m receiving), etc. This chapter also has discussion of domestic violence/abuse, please message me if you have any questions prior to reading.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

The next few days are busy for you and Jake both. Feeling like two ships passing in the night, with only having lunch once and a few texts here and there. But you’ve made plans to spend the weekend together again.

You smile as his name appears on your phone.

Jake: Our hop was rescheduled to this morning, lunch with me and Bradshaw today?

Reese: 👍🏻 I’m interviewing a nurse at 11:00, usually takes 30-45 minutes.

Jake: Perfect, we’ll grab lunch on the way to your office.

Jake: Do you have anything planned for tonight? Can I take you out?

You snort as you realize you two haven’t actually been on a date yet.

Reese: I’d like that. Maybe I’ll even put out if you’re good.

Jake: I’ll be on my best behavior.

Reese: Quit crossing your fingers.

Jake: I’m not.

Jake:…anymore.

Reese: 😐

Jake: Gotta go, we’re suiting up. See you in a bit.

Reese: 😘

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

“Hi, you must be Shae,” you smile as you shake the hand of your third interviewee. “I’m Reese, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she replies.

“Please,” you gesture to the chairs across your desk, “have a seat.”

The sunlight catches her pretty face as she sits, making your stomach turn as you notice the yellow under her eye of a healing bruise.

While she did a good job of concealing it, it’s all you can see as she hands you her impressive resume.

“I also have letters of recommendation from my nursing instructor and a few of the doctors I’ve worked with,” she hands them over too, cheeks flushing.

A quick overview of the information provided shows she’s an excellent nurse and her answers to your questions are well-spoken and appropriate.

Her calm, gentle demeanor is like a breath of fresh air in this often-hectic environment filled with loud, testosterone-fueled men.

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” you smile, “you can expect to from HR soon for the formal offer,” you continue. But your brow furrows slightly when you glance down again at her resume, “Oh, is this current?”

She pales as her hands begin to twist nervously in her lap, “Yes, it’s current.”

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, her anxiety palpable, “HR will ask why it has been 2 years since you worked last. What should I tell them?”

A haunted look crosses her face before she dissociates, looking out the window blankly. “My husb-I mean, ex-husband…he didn’t want me to work.”

You nod as you piece together where the black eye came from. “Shae?”

She flinches slightly as her eyes snap to yours.

“I’m just going to tell them it was due to family reasons,” you say, watching her sag in relief. “Are you safe though?”

“I am,” she replies hesitantly as she brushes the slight discoloration under her eye, “I am now. He’s…a few hours away, and I got a dog.”

“Okay,” you reply with a small smile as you reach for a pen and notepad.

You know it’s unprofessional, but a little voice in her mind tells you she needs someone in her corner as you write down your number and hand it to her.

“Here’s my number if that changes okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, before meeting your eye. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, rising to your feet. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too,” she smiles genuinely for the first time.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

“HR will be in touch soon,” you tell Shae as you escort her from your office, smiling at Jake and Bradley approaching down the hall. “Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks, you too,” she replies, following your eyes, blushing when Roo flashes her a grin before ducking her head and rushing off.

“Who was that?” Roo asks, nearly breaking his neck as he watches her walk away.

“Hopefully my new nurse, Shae,” you reply, stepping aside to let Jake in, who presses a kiss to your lips as he drops a package of peanut butter cups in your scrub pocket.

“Wow,” Roo says, smiling again when she glances back, “she’s…” he trails off, seemingly speechless for the first time since you’ve known him, “really fucking pretty. Is she single?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his choice of words as you follow him into your office.

“She is,” you reply, hesitating before you continue. The last thing you want to do is betray her trust, yet he needs to understand why pursuing her isn’t a good idea. “Newly though. Sounds like she’s recently divorced and I don’t think it was a good situation.”

“How so?” Jake asks, handing you your lunch.

“I asked about the gap in her employment history and she said he didn’t want her to work,” you answer, “but I think he didn’t allow her to.”

“Why not?” Bradley asks.

“I’m not sure,” you reply, “men like that are usually paranoid and want complete control.”

“Men like what?” Jake asks quietly.

“Men that beat up women,” you answer, watching as his eyes close at your words. “She covered it up well, but she’s healing from a black eye.”

“Fuck,” Bradley curses, shaking his head, “is she okay? Is he around still?”

“I think so,” you reply, looking at Jake who’s now white-knuckling his fork, “she said he lives a few hours away and has a dog. I gave her my number too, and told her to let me know if she needs anything.”

“Okay, good,” Bradley says, noticing Jake too. “Hey, you okay?”

Jake releases the breath he’s holding, opening his eyes as he sets down his fork. “There’s nothing I hate more than men that lay hands on women.”

You and Bradley both nod in agreement as you wait for him to go on.

“My dad…he used to beat up on my mom,” he continues, looking down at his lunch. “He was mean as hell so me and my little brother avoided him, and he was thankfully gone a lot for work. I was around Drew’s age when I started noticing she had a lot of bruises and split lips and it was always around the time he was home. Woke up one night to a crash in the living room, he had hit my ma so hard she fell into the glass end table.”

“Oh Jake,” you whisper, tears filling your eyes as you reach over, placing your hand on his while Bradley squeezes his shoulder.

“Her eye was already swollen shut and her hands were all cut up but she told me to go back to bed…and I just lost it. I don’t really remember, I think I launched myself at him, and he backhanded me so hard my ears rang. My ma always took the abuse so that was the first time he ever hit me and the last. We left the next morning. Never saw that fucker again.”

Now you know why Jake never talked about his dad, just his mom and younger brother, Matt.

“I’m so sorry man,” Bradley says while you nod.

“I’m okay now,” Jake sighs, finally looking up at you, “Mom made us go to therapy and it helped, but hearing about it still makes me so fucking angry.”

“I get it,” you say, “I hope she doesn’t need it, but she has my number now.”

“I’ll keep my distance too,” Bradley says, “well, I mean I’ll talk to her if she’s around 'cause that’d be dickish but I won’t like, flirt with her. Wait-should I? I don’t want her to think there’s something wrong with her because I’m not-“

You can’t help but smile; Roo has always been so cool and smooth with women so you’re enjoying the way he’s second-guessing himself.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

Bradley does a good job of lightening the mood and soon the lunch hour is over.

“I’ll be over around 6,” Jake murmurs before kissing your cheek, “should I pack a bag?”

“Yes, bring your laundry over too,” you reply, leaning in so Bradley doesn’t overhear, “I’m not letting you out of my sight this weekend.”

“Alright, alright. Get a room,” Bradley scoffs.

“I have one,” you tease, “you’re in it.”

“Ha-ha,” he rolls his eyes. “Come on, lover boy. We better go get our post-flight docs done.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

Jake rings the doorbell like he hasn’t already spent the night several times, handing you a bouquet of daffodils when you open the door.

He holds your hand in the comfortable silence of the drive and you light up when you see where he’s taking you.

“The drive-in movie theater? I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” you smile as he parks.

“You’ve never been?” He asks, continuing when you shake your head, “Me either.”

You settle in while he gets popcorn and he’s back just as The Shining begins to play.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

The sun sets halfway through the movie and you snuggle into his shoulder after setting aside the half-eaten popcorn.

There are vehicles on both sides, but the darkness and the blanket draped over you two give the illusion of privacy to trail your fingers over his thigh.

His leg tenses under your touch but you pretend not to notice when he looks down to see what you’re up to.

Eventually, he relaxes, and his attention returns to the movie, you strike. You kiss his neck and he’s already hard as your fingers slide over his groin to undo the button then the zipper, giving him a slow stroke once you pull him out.

“Can you be quiet for me?” You murmur against his skin, just like he did to you when Bradley was asleep just steps away.

He nods his head once and you get to work, jerking him steadily. Precum eases the glide of your movements as you kiss up his neck to his ear.

“Tell me when you’re close,” you whisper, smiling at his soft, strangled groan. He thinks you’re going to stop.

Your hand begins to move faster on his cock; as you want to draw this out, the movie is nearing the end.

His hips start to thrust up into your strokes as he grits out, “Close-I’m close.”

“K, stay quiet,” you nip his jaw before ducking below the blanket to suck him into your mouth.

“Fuck!” He wheezes, jerking when you moan at the taste of his cum filling your mouth before swallowing it greedily.

His hand snakes below the blanket, and you squeak in surprise when he tugs you out by your hair to meet your lips in a deep, bruising kiss.

The way he groans from tasting himself on your tongue sends another pulse of heat between your already slick thighs.

“I need to touch you, taste you, be inside you,” he murmurs against your lips, “let’s go hom-back to your place.”

Even in the dark, his cheeks pinken with the Freudian slip.

“Let’s go,” you agree, smiling as you realize it’s felt more like home than ever since he’s been staying over.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

A/N: this chapter was kind of all over the place…fun in the beginning, a little heart breaking when we meet Shae and then find out a little more about Jake, then an official date and a little smut ending with some sweetness.

I haven’t decided for sure, but I may end up tandem writing Bradley and Shae’s story while finishing up this one.

Also, Shae and Bradley’s story will be dedicated to my sister, who nearly lost her life in a domestic violence assault with her ex-husband.

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs!

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my taglist!

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[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Remember You and Me Part 7/8

Ruben done f*cked up, is all I can say. 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Summary - After a traffic accident reader is left with no memory of her life with Ruben, who desperately tries to get her to remember him.

Enjoy!

"Maybe it's better if she comes and stays with us?"

The headaches and memory shocks, not even the doctors had predicted how it would affect you. Your parents came to visit you while you were in the hospital. They were convinced that you should go back to live with them in the Netherlands.

"What do you say Ruben?" They asked.

He looked pale, grey bags visible underneath his eyes. You had been hospitalized for the past week. Ruben had been staying with you every night, leaving for training in the early morning and returning to you late in the evening.

"It's her choice." He mumbled.

Your parents turned to look at you, cradled in your hospital bed. "What do you say honey? Kom met ons mee? (Come with us?).

You were staring blankly into space, like you had been for the past week. It wasn't the memories that haunted you. It was the sense of loss. You had lost somthing that you never even remember having. But one thing was clear to you, somthing wasn't adding up. Someone wasn't telling you the truth, weather it was Ruben, your parents or Rachel. For all you knew all of them were keeping things from you, things like what actually happned to you on the day of your accident.

"I want to go home." You said, your dry lips parting slowly, the words barely making it out of your mouth.

"Home?" Your father questioned. "With us?"

You looked to Ruben. He looked on the verge of somthing, tears, collapsing, verbal confliction? It was hard to tell. Your gaze shifted back to your partners. "Yes." You nodded. "With you. I want to go home with you. "

Ruben bowed his head in defeated, in a way, accepting your choice.

"Okay honey, we'll get the doctors to sign you out."

Your parents left the room, leaving you and Ruben to an endless silence. He approached your bed, at first a bit hesitant to touch you. He then grabbed your hand and pulled up a chair to sit next to you. Your fingers rolled in the palm of his hand. He examined them, taking turns to press each one of them to his warm lips. You watched him. That was all. You just watched him with the sense of loss still devouring you from the inside out.

"Tell me...." Ruben said, gently putting your hand down. He raised his head to hold your gaze. He was unrecognizable, fatigue covering his face like a mask.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what you remembered." He asked.

You watched him, his eyes read your soul like an open book.

"You remembered her, didn't you?" Ruben restrained his lips from quivering. "You remembered our baby girl."

You closed your eyes, tears escaping you lids. "I remember her, but I don't remember her. How is that Ruben?"

He shook his head. "I....I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know how to..."

"So you chose to lie to me?"

"Forgive me, Y/N. But I almost lost the both of you that day. I just couldn't..."

"Tell me." You pleaded. "Tell me what happened."

He shook his head, low sniffles leaving his mouth. "I can't,  I can't go back to that night."

"You must."

Ruben looked down, watching your hand in his, however he was inconsolable, refusing to talk, refusing to tell you the truth.

"Then it's decided."

You let him go, creating distance between you.

"Y/N, please."

"I've tried so hard to remember Ruben. So fucking hard. And all this time you have been the one wanting me to forget."

"Y/N, I never..."

"Don't touch me!"

You drew your hand back.

"Y/N?

It was too late. You withdrew to lay in a cradled position, your eyes staring blankly into space. You felt nothing. All that was left was the loss and the pain.

Tags list:

@christianpulisic10

@urmotheris

@magicalfundragon

[blogurlnotfound]

Drumming - Doctor Who x Reader

hiii this is my first fic in about 4 years probably :) this is obviously a new account, so yeah that's why there's nothing else here. um anyways, i definitely got incredibly carried away with this, did not have an idea going into it (still think it ended up great), 12 is probably out of character, and i somehow wrote it in under 3 hours??

anyway, I hope it's enjoyable! and please let me know your thoughts :)

12th Doctor x Reader

(really student/professor but can be romantic or platonic, whatever vibes you catch.)

Word Count: 2,600+

Summary: You have been hearing a drumming in your head. One, two, three, four. It's been affecting your mental state, and you haven't been to class in a while. Maybe your professor, The Doctor, is able to help figure this out?

Warnings: mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts. any gender reader, but makeup mentioned.

A drumming had been haunting you for months as you slept.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

It would sound non-stop until you couldn't bear it any longer, and woke up. Every time you would wake up the same: in a cold sweat, panting, with tear streaks running down your face.

Each day the drumming's effect on you grew. It was affecting your mental state immensely. You felt a deep pain and sadness hanging over you like a cloud most days. You wouldn't be able to get out of bed, much less go to classes. You weren't hungry often, and couldn't eat when you were. You avoided your friends and your schoolwork, occasionally texting your parents to keep them from worrying.

You weren't sure if your professors noticed your absences. They hadn't reached out to you in any way. It's not like they'd notice you in the sea of students. They must see hundreds a day anyways.

It's not like anybody would notice you anyway. At least that's what the drumming would whisper to you.

One, two, three, four.

You keep to yourself. Don't have any close friends in your classes, and not many close friends at school in general. Nobody really knew who you were. Your favorite color. Childhood pets. How long it takes you to sleep. How often you're awoken by the drumming.

One, two, three, four.

Nobody would notice if you're gone.

One, two, three, four.

They don't even notice when you're there.

One, two, three, four.

-+-

You wake up. In a cold sweat. Panting. You reach both your hands to your face and rub your palms on your cheeks. Tears were cleared from your face and now sat on your hands. You sit up and release a heavy sigh. It's like the sigh has been waiting to escape all night. Like your body was relieved to be released from the nightmare drumming.

You decide to get out of bed, an easier decision than previous day's had been. You stretch your limbs and yawn. You walk to the bathroom and face your reflection. Today was going to be okay.

Or will it be.

One, two, three, four.

"It will be. Today will be okay." You affirmed to yourself in the mirror. You let out another sigh, smiled at yourself softly, and began your morning routine.

You do your make-up while watching a video. You found that taking the time to do your make-up gave you time to relax, breathe, and be yourself. You felt better about your days when you take this extra time to yourself in the morning. So, whenever you manage to get out of bed, you try to manage doing make-up too.

The video you watched was just of some guy unnecessarily analyzing a TV show you liked. He went into extreme detail about small details from the show and created theories about why certain things happened and what might happen next. You enjoyed his content. He reminded you of one of your professors.

He was a very kind old man who you can tell cares deeply about everything he talks about. He has a Scottish accent that somehow grows stronger with excitement. He's enthusiastic and rambles, and never really has a set course of taking points. He just lets his mind and his heart lead him. Saying whatever he finds most awestrucking and veering off topic drastically. In fact, you weren't really sure what the class was meant to be about.

The course description when signing up simply said, "Discussion-based class, humanities topics." The syllabus was no extra help, practically said the same thing with all the extra school required information listed. But it fulfilled your humanities credit, and the first day was interesting enough, so you stayed in the class.

Thinking about the professor, The Doctor, just The Doctor, made you want to go to his class. You checked the time on your phone. It did start in a little over two hours. You finished getting ready and then waited.

You waited maybe fifteen minutes before getting bored. You quickly put your bag together and walked out your door, then your building, into the outside would. It had been at least thirty-two hours since you were last outside. The air felt cool against your skin, reviving your senses and making you softly smile to yourself. You could hear the wind rustle the branches of nearby trees that swayed. Somehow, these trees looked the same as ever, and more beautiful than ever.

You turn around in a full circle and take in the Earth around you. She really is beautiful. You don't sit with her enough.

With new energy in your body, the dark cloud caused by the drumming smaller than ever, you walk around your campus mindlessly. Every step you take grounds you to the Earth, reminding you that the drumming can't be real.

One, two, three, four.

It isn't real.

-+-

You take a seat in the auditorium where The Doctor's class is held. You gently place your bag on the floor next to you and wait as the seats pile up. Five minutes later the room is almost full, and the tall man with short grey hair walks in, greeting the class with a Scottish, "Hello!" as he places his bag down and immediately starts writing on the chalkboard.

"Music." is written on the board. He swiftly turns around on his heel. He stops and makes direct eye contact with you. He stares for a moment, a twinkle in his eye. He diverts his attention from you and begins speaking,

"So," he clasps his hands, "who wants to tell me the importance of music to humanity?"

Hands shoot up all around you. You had been missing a fun class.

-+-

The class ends and you have a beaming smile on your face. You hadn't realized truly how fun and entrancing The Doctor was. Every student was hooked on his every word, waiting for what insane piece of information would come flying out of his mouth next. Every student including you.

The class was packing their bags and leaving around you. You heard groups starting to chat. Friends laughing loudly.

You don't have friends like that here. Your smile falls.

One, two, three, four.

A tap on the wooden desk in front of you wakes you from your thoughts, a Scottish voice accompanying it, "Are you okay, y/n? I noticed you haven't been to class in a while."

You looked up at The Doctor, no doubt admiration for him and sadness from your thoughts filling your eyes. He could read your eyes. He could read the pain and the sadness. He's felt it before.

"You noticed?" You stifled out.

"Of course I noticed." His face softened, "All of my students are important to me."

"But there's so many of us?"

"So?"

You didn't have a response to that. You suppose he was right. You just looked down at your bag, grabbed it, and started to stand up.

"Would you like to come into my office?"

You looked at him, confused and shocked.

"Just for lunch and to discuss whatever is going on. If you'd like." You look at him, still confused. Your head cocks slightly to one side, and your mouth begins to open, but The Doctor beats you to it, "I lost a student not too long ago. Her name was Bill. Bill Potts. I miss her a lot, you see, she was more than just my student. She was also my friend. She made me better. I can see her in you, and I would hate to... " He pauses, "I'm just worried about how many classes you've missed. You may not be able to pass my course."

You're really confused now. The gears are turning in your head, processing his confession of loss turned into you not passing the class. The Doctor can see the gears turning on your face, in the way your eyebrows scrunch intensely and your pupils move back and forth. You close your eyes, relax your face, and look at him with a smile.

"I would like to go to your office, yeah. Thank you." Your eyes are sincere, and when you meet his, so are they.

You follow him a short ways through campus to his office. His steps and your steps opposite. Like the drumming.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

You try to ignore it. You try really hard but can't. You stop walking, and the drumming stops. You sigh in relief, The Doctor looks back at you with concern.

"Sorry," you say, catching up to him with a smile, "I thought I saw something."

"Like what?" He asks, curiosity filling his face.

"Oh, nothing." You weren't expecting him to ask. You didn't know what to say.

He hums in response, picking up pace until you're at his office. It's a huge room with a desk in the middle, you take a seat on one side of it while The Doctor sits opposite. He has many picture frames on his desk, and a mysterious blue police box in the corner you can't take your eyes off.

One, two, three, four.

"What's that?" you ask, pointing at the box before you can help yourself.

"A police box. It's from London in the 60's. I'm a bit of a collector of sorts."

He had this lie down pat. But you could tell he wasn't being truthful, you didn't know how, but you knew. You didn't press on about the box. You just nodded and smiled, "That's cool."

He nodded too. "Let's talk about why you've been missing class. Is everything okay back home? Anything I can do to help?"

One, two, three, four.

Something compelled you to be honest with him. Again, you didn't know what. He felt familiar. Of course you've known him the whole semester, but it felt more than that. You feel safe. You feel seen. You feel known. You knew when he lied to you just a second ago, but why?

One, two, three, four.

"Can I be honest?" you make eye contact with him, "Like, you won't lock me up in the looney bin for being crazy?" He's about to say something but you interrupt him, "And won't get me kicked out of the school or, or, I don't know, send me off to get government testing?"

He's confused now. But curious too. You can tell he's interested in what you're saying, he wants to know more. It doesn't feel like he's going to judge you. "Yes, you can be honest. You can trust me."

"Promise?" You hold out your pinky. Sure it's silly, but silly makes it more meaningful, more powerful, somehow.

He chuckles and interlocks your pinkies, "Promise."

"Okay." You stop to think.

One, two, three, four.

"So I have this noise in my head."

One, two, three, four.

"It's like drumming. One, two, three, four."

One, two, three, four.

The Doctor stiffens. "And it won't stop, Doctor." you continue. "And it's like it's affecting my thoughts. They're all negative and I'm depressed and it hurts. It really hurts, Doctor." Tears are streaming down your face. You weren't even aware talking about this would make you cry. And you didn't know why you told The Doctor about it.

After a moment of thinking, The Doctor moves from his chair and towards you. His movements are stiff. As if he's nervous. He knows something you don't. He leans down and wraps his arms around you, your head at his chest. You cry harder, and he pulls you closer in comfort.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

The drumming was louder than ever. In your head and in your ears. It's not scary anymore though. You move your head away from The Doctor to release you from the hug. The drumming stops. You reach out to his chest without asking, without thinking.

On your hand you feel two heartbeats.

One, two, three, four.

You put your other hand to your own heart. Only one heartbeat. One, two.

Why did he have two heartbeats. One, two, three, four. Why was his the drumming.

"Why-" you start, but need to close your eyes and breathe, "Why does your heart sound like the drumming. Why do you have two heartbeats?"

"Follow me." He walked to the blue police box, opened the door and went inside. You sat there for a moment stunned. Then you cleared your face from your tears and got up. You made your way towards the box, looking at the door before walking inside.

You looked around in amazement. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your face broke out into a huge grin. You ran outside and back inside. "This defies all laws of physics! How is it-? It's?" You looked at him expectantly.

"C'mon, I know you want to say it." He had an equally bright, shit-eating grin.

"It's bigger on the inside!"

He laughed with his whole chest and body. His laugh was contagious.

"This," he gestures around the room, "is my T.A.R.D.I.S. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. And I'm a Time-Lord from the planet Gallifrey. We have two hearts, hence the two heartbeats."

You look at him; confusion, amazement, admiration and more displayed on your face.

"Now I don't know why you're hearing my species' heartbeats in your head, but I'm going to figure it out." He looks at you and smiles, you can't help but smile back, "If you want to come with me?"

"With you where?" you ask.

"Anywhere! In the whole wide universe. Not really sure where to start to help you though. Or when for that matter?"

You've never been so confused so many times in the span of one day. "But I have other classes? And don't you too?" Something clicks in your brain, "And what about my parents? And I barely know you! No offense, Doctor. I can't go traveling with someone I don't know."

"If anyone can help you, y/n, it's me. There might not be anyone else in the whole universe." You look at him, desperate now after hearing his words. "And as for your other classes and your family- TARDIS, t," he said, dragging out the sound, "stands for time. She's a time machine. Can take you right back to this moment." He smiled confidently, and made his way towards the center of the room where some sort of console was. He puts his hands on a lever, and looks at you again.

"What?" You asked, awestruck.

"Let me show you." Mischief flashes across his face, but you can tell it's more childlike than malicious. Which is odd for a man who is likely in his sixties.

A whirring sound comes from the center. The door slams shut and the lights start fluctuating. You find it hard to steady yourself as the floor becomes unstable.

"Grab onto something!" The Doctor yells. You do, a railing a few feet away. You grab on tight and try to stand up right. The Doctor is laughing with joy.

One, two, three, four.

The drumming in your head is drowned out by the TARDIS whirring. The whirring sound would soon become a new comfort. And the TARDIS a new home. And The Doctor, he would soon become the most special and fantastic person in your life.

You knew today was going to be a good day. And there are thousands more to come. Thousands more with The Doctor.

He was going to stop the drumming in your head, no matter what he had to do.

[deanstead]

Model Husband

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

Requested: yes, by @lelaartt

Summary: Stressful day, but at least there's Connor.

Word Count: 819

Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, mentions of death

A/N: I know I haven't posted in a while, but this has been sitting in my drafts for... forever lol. Please bear with me, this semester is kinda crazed.

CONNOR RHODES MASTERLIST

It had been a long day. A long draining day and Connor was just looking forward to seeing you and having a quiet night together.

Figuring he’d check if you were ready, Connor left the doctor’s lounge still in his white coat, taking the lift right up to the ICU.

As he stepped in, he caught sight of you immediately, running towards one of the rooms where there was an obvious code blue, a rush of staff heading towards the room.

Connor stood to the side against an empty side of the station, quietly watching as you worked quickly to assist the doctor standing next to you.

It must have been a tough day for you too, Connor caught himself thinking as his eyes followed you. Anyone else would have missed it - the slight droop in your shoulders, or the way you stood telling him you had that persistent ache at that one point on your shoulders that kept coming back to haunt you.

Connor looked down as he picked up on the sounds of “Clear!” from the doctor that was working on the patient. But Connor also knew well enough the chances…

He held back an audible sigh as the faint sound of a flat line made its way out to him. Now, the look in your eyes told him he really needed to get you out of there.

You looked up, catching sight of your husband now. Even just seeing him from afar made you want to cry, so you gave him a small smile and he nodded, telling you not to worry and that he’d be right there waiting.

If anyone asked how you’d gotten from the hospital back home, you’d have to ask them to ask Connor.

You were drained, both physically and mentally. The knotted ache in your shoulder that was consistently giving you issues was acting up again, you felt dead on your feet and the ICU had lost three patients today.

You weren’t exactly emotionally attached. You were an experienced enough nurse to handle that well, but even so losing patients was draining no matter what.

“Here.”

Connor handed you a plate and you smiled up at your husband from where you were seated with your legs crossed on the couch.

Like a model husband, Connor had insisted on preparing dinner while you took a hot shower which had definitely made you feel a lot better even though the knot in your shoulder was still there.

“Thanks, babe.” You answered, not realizing how hungry you were until the smell of pasta reached you as you took the plate in your hands.

The both of you ate in mostly silence, but Connor sat close by and that in itself made you feel better and you glanced at your husband, who returned you a smile.

Connor took the empty plate out of your hands and you frowned.

“You already cooked.”

Connor shook his head. “Just fulfilling my husband duties.”

“I knew I married you for a reason.” You announced in a sort of teasing fashion that would have been more convincing if you weren’t so exhausted.

Connor just smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before you heard him patter off to the kitchen, flipping on the stereo on his way.

Music was now playing softly in the apartment and you closed your eyes for a while, the faint sound of running water from the kitchen mixing together with the soft music tones. This was the kind of evening you needed, especially today.

You opened your eyes again when you felt Connor’s hands touch your shoulder from behind you and you glanced up at him.

“What’s going on?” You asked with a smile. “Is today a special day I don’t know about?”

The words were barely out of your mouth before your brain started working, trying to figure out if you had forgotten a date or something.

Connor shook his head. “Relax. The ache’s been bothering you today, hasn’t it?”

You felt his thumb press firmly against the knot, and you exhaled, the stress seeming to leave your body almost instantaneously.

You closed your eyes, feeling Connor’s fingers seemingly press out all the negative feelings and stress from the day.

Angling your head upwards again, you reached up for his hand. “You must be tired too, come here.”

“You sure?”

You smiled, tugging gently so that Connor would make his way back around to the front of the couch and next to you.

“This is the best way you can help me recharge.” You said, fitting yourself right into his arms , both of you sprawled on the couch.

Connor smiled, his arms looping around your body. “Me too.”

You chuckled, resting the back of your head against his chest, feeling the edges of Connor’s stubble against your temple and knowing this was the perfect way to end a stressful day.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

If you want to support me, buy me a coffee!

[thoscheienjoyer]

So the master has always been a little suicidal let's be real, and 90% of the time he tries to drag the doctor with him: spy telling 13 to blow them both up, ainley telling 7 to fight him on a collapsing planet, ainley snapping and trying to blow up the universe on purpose, Delgado trying to go back and time and risking fucking up him and 3's current life, Missy and Saxon unleashing Cybermen despite themselves etc.

So I wrote a story about koschei also having those thoughts and asking theta to join out of devotion, I assume most of the examples of the master are out of bitterness but with koschei is out of wanting an end to the constant drumming

Theta and Koschei sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking Gallifrey, the twin suns were low, coating the landscape in a golden glow of colors. The Academy loomed in the distance, but here they were free from the pressures and expectations they had. They often escaped to this spot to take in the beauty of their home planet, however, the usual tranquility was gone. Koschei had been unusually restless, his eyes were distant, like he was focused on something else. Theta noticed but didn't want to press his friend too soon, he knew about the drums, the relentless pounding that haunted Koschei’s mind, and had done everything he could to help, but they never fully went away so he assumed maybe this behavior was related.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the cliff, Koschei finally spoke, his voice showing no sign of how he felt, it was matter of fact. "You know, if we jumped off this cliff together it would prove what great friends we are, wouldn't it?"

Theta's hearts skipped a beat and he turned to look at Koschei, trying to read the expression on his face. Was this just a morbid joke, or something more? He chose the first for some peace of mind. "Would we hold hands?" he joked uncomfortable, trying to keep his tone light but his concern was evident.

Koschei met his gaze, his eyes filled with a seriousness that sent a chill down Theta's spine. "Yes," he replied softly. "We would."

Theta swallowed hard, "Koschei, why would you ever think about something like that?"

Koschei crumbled and began to shake like a leaf from trying to hold back the emotions spilling all at once, "The drums, Theta, the drums! They're unbearable! But what's more unbearable is the thought of leaving you all alone. I can't bear the thought of a life without you so you must feel the same about me, if we die together, maybe... maybe my next regeneration won't hear them anymore?"

Theta felt a wave of sorrow and fear wash over him. He reached out, taking Koschei's hand in his own, holding it tightly, his other held his face. "Koschei, listen to me. I know it's hard but this isn't the answer. I promise you, one day, I will find a way to fix it. I will help you, but you have to hold on. Please, don't ever think about doing something like that again?"

Koschei's composure broke, and he began to cry, his body trembling more with the force of his sobs. "I just want it to stop, Theta! I want it to stop so badly!"

Theta pulled him into a tight embrace as he cried. "I know, Koschei. I know. But you have to stay with me. We’ll get through this together. I won’t leave you alone with this, I'm right here. "

They sat there for a long time, long enough for the suns to set. Theta continued to hold Koschei, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. As the stars appeared in the Gallifreyan sky, Koschei's sobs gradually subsided. He remained in Theta's arms, exhausted from all his emotions . For now, that was enough.

In the quiet of the night the only sound was their breathing, it was soothing to them both, to Theta because it was a reminder his friend would stay alive, and to Koschei because it was a reminder his friend wouldn't leave him to deal with this alone.

Oh the angst of knowing his friend WILL indeed leave him to deal with this alone

[unabashegirl]

Vicious 6 || Harry Styles x Mafia

Summary: Harry Styles, the cold and calculating son of a powerful mafia don, must consolidate power after his father's passing. He faces challenges from his unpredictable younger brother, Silas, and navigates a complex world of alliances, ruthless decisions, and family loyalty. Amidst the intrigue, the elegant and alluring Y/N Castellano, the daughter of an Italian mafia boss, attends the funeral and finds herself drawn to Harry. As power dynamics shift and the future remains uncertain, the story explores the dark and dangerous allure of the mafia, the weight of family legacies, and the potential for unexpected connections in a world defined by secrecy and ruthlessness.

Author's note: here is a new chapter of vicious. let me know what you think and if you would like to get tagged!

— vicious masterlist —

Word count: 1.8K

Exhaustion gripped Y/N as she continued to run, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The fear of capture propelled her forward, the urgency echoing in her heartbeat. The crunch of fallen leaves beneath her shoes added a surreal soundtrack to her escape, while the chilling autumn air hinted at the approaching night.

Desperation compelled her to glance over her shoulder, seeking reassurance that she had eluded pursuit. As the woods seemed to grow quieter, Y/N cautiously slowed her pace, hoping the pursuit had ceased. In a moment of respite, she retrieved her phone, intending to contact Giana for guidance. The realization of no signal sent a wave of frustration through her, quickly overshadowed by the distant barking of dogs and the flickering glow of flashlights. They were closing in.

With dread seizing her, Y/N sprinted once more. The haunting echoes of the pursuing dogs and distant voices added to her terror. Tears welled in her eyes as she ran, the urgency intensified by the proximity of the search party. Then, with a sudden and violent lurch, one of the dogs sank its teeth into her ankle, sending Y/N crashing to the ground, the pain radiating through her like a lightning bolt.

Y/N's cries of pain resonated through the woods as she clutched her injured ankle, tears streaming down her face. The loyal dog, sensing her distress, barked incessantly, calling the attention of the approaching men. As they swiftly gathered around, her heart sank at the sight of her soon-to-be husband.

"Boss," she heard, looking up to find Harry leaning over her with an unreadable expression. His command to bring her back echoed in her ears as he turned away, retracing his steps toward the house. Y/N winced, realizing the extent of her mistake.

Harry seethed with anger. He had been summoned from his office by Charlie, only to discover Y/N's disappearance. What could have been a chance to mend their earlier interaction now seemed lost. His thoughts darkened as he contemplated the corrective measures he would take.

"Where, boss?" Charles inquired as he lifted Y/N's body, ready to transport her back to the house.

"In her room," Harry ordered, then turned to Lex. "Get the medic to her room." The gravity of his impending actions hung heavily in the air.

As Charlie gently laid Y/N on the bed, she couldn't help but voice her questions, her eyes still red from crying. Her soaked sock bore witness to the dog's bite, a painful reminder of her ill-fated escape. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked, and the room filled with tension. “Why would. you let your dog bite me?”

Harry, standing at the foot of her bed, didn't mince words. "Someone needed to take you down. Either the dogs or one of my men with a bullet," he explained, watching her grimace in pain. "Where were you going?"

Y/N retorted with defiance, "That’s none of your business," just as the doctor entered the room. "Boss," the doctor acknowledged Harry with a nod before turning his attention to Y/N. "May I?" Harry gave a quick nod, permitting the examination.

The doctor efficiently assessed the wound, offering a glimpse of relief. "It’s not that deep. We’ll just need to clean it and pack it and give her some antibiotics and painkillers."

"Do it," Harry commanded, "let me know when you are done," before leaving the room in search of a drink.

Left alone with the doctor, Y/N saw an opportunity. Whispering her plea, she hoped to find an ally. "Please help me." She dared to suggest an escape, but the doctor merely chuckled, dismissing the notion. "What is everyone so afraid of?" she asked, her eyes searching for understanding.

“You know this could be way worse. You are lucky,” the man said as he applied antibiotics to the wound, hoping to prevent any infection from the dog’s saliva. “Most people that escape don’t have your same fate. They are usually diseased by the time I get there.”

That didn’t make her feel any better. Y/N was shaken. She had seen him almost kill her brother, who shared blood and parents with him. She barely knew him, and she was just an obstacle in his life, a means to rise to power and live the life he had always dreamed of.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling immediate relief as he dressed her wound.

“I am going to administer the antibiotics by IV. Let me see your arm.”

“Can you just get a pill?” She was scared to get drugged. Perhaps she was just being paranoid, but she couldn’t help thinking that the doctor was going to drug her from keep her from escaping, obeying Harry.

“I don’t trust you to take them,” he truthfully said as he changed his gloves and prepared everything to find a vein and canalize it. Y/N hesitantly stretched out her arm. He tied the tourniquet, cleaned the area, punctured her. “You might have an upset stomach. I suggest you have dinner.”

“I am not hungry.” The doctor didn’t respond; he was used to it. He had seen and taken care of many things within the walls of the house. He didn’t feel sorry for her. Harry had given her a room and hadn’t dragged her downstairs, which meant he cared for her in a way. The dogs would usually tear people into pieces when found.

“Right. I’ll be back tomorrow to administer your meds and change the dressing,” he informed her as he hung the bag and adjusted the drip. “Liquids, food, and rest.”

“What’s your name?” Y/N asked as he finished packing everything that he had taken out and threw away everything else.

“Cameron,” he said before leaving the room, leaving the door wide open.

Y/N looked around, searching for her phone. She looked at the door, wanting to just run out. Unfortunately, having an IV prevented her from escaping. Before she could get up for her bag and search for her phone, Harry walked in. He made sure to close the door behind him.

A cigarette between his lips and a glass of scotch on the rocks. He had discarded her blazer. His hair was messier from running his hands through it. He wanted to drag her downstairs, chain her to a chair, and have his way with her. He wanted her to regret ever leaving but hurting her would only cause issues with the Italians.

He just knew that he needed to punish her.

“Where were you going?” Harry asked again as he opened the window, the same one she had escaped through. He lit up his cigarette and sat down on the small futon by it. She didn’t say anything. “Are you deaf?”

“I already said it was none of your fuckin' business.”

"Watch your mouth," he sharply said, pointing at her with the cigarette held between his fingers. "You keep thinking this is all a game. I am very tempted to take you downstairs and punish you the only way I know how to. You are not down there merely because of your father."

“I was doing us both a favor,” she shrugged. “You don’t want me here. You’ve made that very clear.” Y/N hoped that Harry continued to believe her father loved and cared for her. The only reason he hadn’t killed her was the consequences he thought it would bring. However, she was sure her father wouldn’t care if she were dead.

“Where were you going? To your father’s?” Y/N laughed and shook her head.

“I am not telling you.” Y/N didn’t want to get Giana in trouble. She still wasn’t sure how far Harry would go to make a statement. Giana’s husband was just as crazy or worse, and she knew he would do crazy things to Giana.

By not telling him, her silence led Harry's mind to a different place. He couldn't help but think she was escaping for a man.

"A man," he said out loud as he took the last drag out of his cigarette. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of his exhale. The air was thick with tension as Harry tried to process the implications of her silence. “Don’t play games with me. Don’t ever, ever think you’re capable of that” He warned her as he banged his hands against the feet of the bed as he stared at her.

“You think you can intimidate me?” She giggled, “My father terrorized me my whole life. You are just a rookie in this game”

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her injured ankle throbbing with pain. The dim light in the room cast eerie shadows, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Harry extinguished his cigarette, the embers glowing in the darkness as he approached her. His eyes were cold and calculating, and a sinister smile played on his lips.

"What game are you playing, Y/N?" Harry's voice was low, a dangerous edge cutting through the air. He towered over her, making her feel small and vulnerable. "You think you can just run away? Escape? You're mine. You were promised to me and you don't get to decide when this ends."

Y/N swallowed hard, her gaze shifting away from his intense stare.

"This is your home now," he sneered, pacing back and forth like a caged predator. "You belong to me, whether you like it or not. Trying to escape will only make things worse for you.”

“What do you want from me?” Y/N's voice wavered, but she mustered the courage to meet his gaze.

Harry leaned in, his face inches from hers, and the smell of his cologne mixed with a faint hint of smoke surrounded her. "I want your obedience, your loyalty. You'll do what I say without question. And if you think running away will save you, you're mistaken.”

Y/N's heart raced as she felt the weight of his threat. She had seen the brutal side of him, the violence he was capable of, and the thought of being at his mercy terrified her. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself.

"I won't be a pawn in your twisted game.”

His hand shot out, grabbing her jaw forcefully. "You don't get to talk back to me," he hissed. "Remember your place, or I'll make sure you regret every moment you thought you could defy me.”

With that, Harry released her, leaving Y/N breathless and shaken. As he walked away, she couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come, and the walls of her gilded cage closed in around her.

chapter 7

[blogurlnotfoundwhoops]

Doctor Who x Reader

PLEASE READ HERE :)

hiii this is my first fic in about 4 years probably :) this is obviously a new account, so yeah that's why there's nothing else here. um anyways, i definitely got incredibly carried away with this, did not have an idea going into it (still think it ended up great), 12 is probably out of character, and i somehow wrote it in under 3 hours??

anyway, I hope it's enjoyable! and please let me know your thoughts :)

12th Doctor x Reader

(really student/professor but can be romantic or platonic, whatever vibes you catch.)

Word Count: 2,600+

Summary: You have been hearing a drumming in your head. One, two, three, four. It's been affecting your mental state, and you haven't been to class in a while. Maybe your professor, The Doctor, is able to help figure this out?

Warnings: mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts.

A drumming had been haunting you for months as you slept.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

It would sound non-stop until you couldn't bear it any longer, and woke up. Every time you would wake up the same: in a cold sweat, panting, with tear streaks running down your face.

Each day the drumming's effect on you grew. It was affecting your mental state immensely. You felt a deep pain and sadness hanging over you like a cloud most days. You wouldn't be able to get out of bed, much less go to classes. You weren't hungry often, and couldn't eat when you were. You avoided your friends and your schoolwork, occasionally texting your parents to keep them from worrying.

You weren't sure if your professors noticed your absences. They hadn't reached out to you in any way. It's not like they'd notice you in the sea of students. They must see hundreds a day anyways.

It's not like anybody would notice you anyway. At least that's what the drumming would whisper to you.

One, two, three, four.

You keep to yourself. Don't have any close friends in your classes, and not many close friends at school in general. Nobody really knew who you were. Your favorite color. Childhood pets. How long it takes you to sleep. How often you're awoken by the drumming.

One, two, three, four.

Nobody would notice if you're gone.

One, two, three, four.

They don't even notice when you're there.

One, two, three, four.

-+-

You wake up. In a cold sweat. Panting. You reach both your hands to your face and rub your palms on your cheeks. Tears were cleared from your face and now sat on your hands. You sit up and release a heavy sigh. It's like the sigh has been waiting to escape all night. Like your body was relieved to be released from the nightmare drumming.

You decide to get out of bed, an easier decision than previous day's had been. You stretch your limbs and yawn. You walk to the bathroom and face your reflection. Today was going to be okay.

Or will it be.

One, two, three, four.

"It will be. Today will be okay." You affirmed to yourself in the mirror. You let out another sigh, smiled at yourself softly, and began your morning routine.

You do your make-up while watching a video. You found that taking the time to do your make-up gave you time to relax, breathe, and be yourself. You felt better about your days when you take this extra time to yourself in the morning. So, whenever you manage to get out of bed, you try to manage doing make-up too.

The video you watched was just of some guy unnecessarily analyzing a TV show you liked. He went into extreme detail about small details from the show and created theories about why certain things happened and what might happen next. You enjoyed his content. He reminded you of one of your professors.

He was a very kind old man who you can tell cares deeply about everything he talks about. He has a Scottish accent that somehow grows stronger with excitement. He's enthusiastic and rambles, and never really has a set course of taking points. He just lets his mind and his heart lead him. Saying whatever he finds most awestrucking and veering off topic drastically. In fact, you weren't really sure what the class was meant to be about.

The course description when signing up simply said, "Discussion-based class, humanities topics." The syllabus was no extra help, practically said the same thing with all the extra school required information listed. But it fulfilled your humanities credit, and the first day was interesting enough, so you stayed in the class.

Thinking about the professor, The Doctor, just The Doctor, made you want to go to his class. You checked the time on your phone. It did start in a little over two hours. You finished getting ready and then waited.

You waited maybe fifteen minutes before getting bored. You quickly put your bag together and walked out your door, then your building, into the outside would. It had been at least thirty-two hours since you were last outside. The air felt cool against your skin, reviving your senses and making you softly smile to yourself. You could hear the wind rustle the branches of nearby trees that swayed. Somehow, these trees looked the same as ever, and more beautiful than ever.

You turn around in a full circle and take in the Earth around you. She really is beautiful. You don't sit with her enough.

With new energy in your body, the dark cloud caused by the drumming smaller than ever, you walk around your campus mindlessly. Every step you take grounds you to the Earth, reminding you that the drumming can't be real.

One, two, three, four.

It isn't real.

-+-

You take a seat in the auditorium where The Doctor's class is held. You gently place your bag on the floor next to you and wait as the seats pile up. Five minutes later the room is almost full, and the tall man with short grey hair walks in, greeting the class with a Scottish, "Hello!" as he places his bag down and immediately starts writing on the chalkboard.

"Music." is written on the board. He swiftly turns around on his heel. He stops and makes direct eye contact with you. He stares for a moment, a twinkle in his eye. He diverts his attention from you and begins speaking,

"So," he clasps his hands, "who wants to tell me the importance of music to humanity?"

Hands shoot up all around you. You had been missing a fun class.

-+-

The class ends and you have a beaming smile on your face. You hadn't realized truly how fun and entrancing The Doctor was. Every student was hooked on his every word, waiting for what insane piece of information would come flying out of his mouth next. Every student including you.

The class was packing their bags and leaving around you. You heard groups starting to chat. Friends laughing loudly.

You don't have friends like that here. Your smile falls.

One, two, three, four.

A tap on the wooden desk in front of you wakes you from your thoughts, a Scottish voice accompanying it, "Are you okay, y/n? I noticed you haven't been to class in a while."

You looked up at The Doctor, no doubt admiration for him and sadness from your thoughts filling your eyes. He could read your eyes. He could read the pain and the sadness. He's felt it before.

"You noticed?" You stifled out.

"Of course I noticed." His face softened, "All of my students are important to me."

"But there's so many of us?"

"So?"

You didn't have a response to that. You suppose he was right. You just looked down at your bag, grabbed it, and started to stand up.

"Would you like to come into my office?"

You looked at him, confused and shocked.

"Just for lunch and to discuss whatever is going on. If you'd like." You look at him, still confused. Your head cocks slightly to one side, and your mouth begins to open, but The Doctor beats you to it, "I lost a student not too long ago. Her name was Bill. Bill Potts. I miss her a lot, you see, she was more than just my student. She was also my friend. She made me better. I can see her in you, and I would hate to... " He pauses, "I'm just worried about how many classes you've missed. You may not be able to pass my course."

You're really confused now. The gears are turning in your head, processing his confession of loss turned into you not passing the class. The Doctor can see the gears turning on your face, in the way your eyebrows scrunch intensely and your pupils move back and forth. You close your eyes, relax your face, and look at him with a smile.

"I would like to go to your office, yeah. Thank you." Your eyes are sincere, and when you meet his, so are they.

You follow him a short ways through campus to his office. His steps and your steps opposite. Like the drumming.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

You try to ignore it. You try really hard but can't. You stop walking, and the drumming stops. You sigh in relief, The Doctor looks back at you with concern.

"Sorry," you say, catching up to him with a smile, "I thought I saw something."

"Like what?" He asks, curiosity filling his face.

"Oh, nothing." You weren't expecting him to ask. You didn't know what to say.

He hums in response, picking up pace until you're at his office. It's a huge room with a desk in the middle, you take a seat on one side of it while The Doctor sits opposite. He has many picture frames on his desk, and a mysterious blue police box in the corner you can't take your eyes off.

One, two, three, four.

"What's that?" you ask, pointing at the box before you can help yourself.

"A police box. It's from London in the 60's. I'm a bit of a collector of sorts."

He had this lie down pat. But you could tell he wasn't being truthful, you didn't know how, but you knew. You didn't press on about the box. You just nodded and smiled, "That's cool."

He nodded too. "Let's talk about why you've been missing class. Is everything okay back home? Anything I can do to help?"

One, two, three, four.

Something compelled you to be honest with him. Again, you didn't know what. He felt familiar. Of course you've known him the whole semester, but it felt more than that. You feel safe. You feel seen. You feel known. You knew when he lied to you just a second ago, but why?

One, two, three, four.

"Can I be honest?" you make eye contact with him, "Like, you won't lock me up in the looney bin for being crazy?" He's about to say something but you interrupt him, "And won't get me kicked out of the school or, or, I don't know, send me off to get government testing?"

He's confused now. But curious too. You can tell he's interested in what you're saying, he wants to know more. It doesn't feel like he's going to judge you. "Yes, you can be honest. You can trust me."

"Promise?" You hold out your pinky. Sure it's silly, but silly makes it more meaningful, more powerful, somehow.

He chuckles and interlocks your pinkies, "Promise."

"Okay." You stop to think.

One, two, three, four.

"So I have this noise in my head."

One, two, three, four.

"It's like drumming. One, two, three, four."

One, two, three, four.

The Doctor stiffens. "And it won't stop, Doctor." you continue. "And it's like it's affecting my thoughts. They're all negative and I'm depressed and it hurts. It really hurts, Doctor." Tears are streaming down your face. You weren't even aware talking about this would make you cry. And you didn't know why you told The Doctor about it.

After a moment of thinking, The Doctor moves from his chair and towards you. His movements are stiff. As if he's nervous. He knows something you don't. He leans down and wraps his arms around you, your head at his chest. You cry harder, and he pulls you closer in comfort.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.

The drumming was louder than ever. In your head and in your ears. It's not scary anymore though. You move your head away from The Doctor to release you from the hug. The drumming stops. You reach out to his chest without asking, without thinking.

On your hand you feel two heartbeats.

One, two, three, four.

You put your other hand to your own heart. Only one heartbeat. One, two.

Why did he have two heartbeats. One, two, three, four. Why was his the drumming.

"Why-" you start, but need to close your eyes and breathe, "Why does your heart sound like the drumming. Why do you have two heartbeats?"

"Follow me." He walked to the blue police box, opened the door and went inside. You sat there for a moment stunned. Then you cleared your face from your tears and got up. You made your way towards the box, looking at the door before walking inside.

You looked around in amazement. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Your face broke out into a huge grin. You ran outside and back inside. "This defies all laws of physics! How is it-? It's?" You looked at him expectantly.

"C'mon, I know you want to say it." He had an equally bright, shit-eating grin.

"It's bigger on the inside!"

He laughed with his whole chest and body. His laugh was contagious.

"This," he gestures around the room, "is my T.A.R.D.I.S. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. And I'm a Time-Lord from the planet Gallifrey. We have two hearts, hence the two heartbeats."

You look at him; confusion, amazement, admiration and more displayed on your face.

"Now I don't know why you're hearing my species' heartbeats in your head, but I'm going to figure it out." He looks at you and smiles, you can't help but smile back, "If you want to come with me?"

"With you where?" you ask.

"Anywhere! In the whole wide universe. Not really sure where to start to help you though. Or when for that matter?"

You've never been so confused so many times in the span of one day. "But I have other classes? And don't you too?" Something clicks in your brain, "And what about my parents? And I barely know you! No offense, Doctor. I can't go traveling with someone I don't know."

"If anyone can help you, y/n, it's me. There might not be anyone else in the whole universe." You look at him, desperate now after hearing his words. "And as for your other classes and your family- TARDIS, t," he said, dragging out the sound, "stands for time. She's a time machine. Can take you right back to this moment." He smiled confidently, and made his way towards the center of the room where some sort of console was. He puts his hands on a lever, and looks at you again.

"What?" You asked, awestruck.

"Let me show you." Mischief flashes across his face, but you can tell it's more childlike than malicious. Which is odd for a man who is likely in his sixties.

A whirring sound comes from the center. The door slams shut and the lights start fluctuating. You find it hard to steady yourself as the floor becomes unstable.

"Grab onto something!" The Doctor yells. You do, a railing a few feet away. You grab on tight and try to stand up right. The Doctor is laughing with joy.

One, two, three, four.

The drumming in your head is drowned out by the TARDIS whirring. The whirring sound would soon become a new comfort. And the TARDIS a new home. And The Doctor, he would soon become the most special and fantastic person in your life.

You knew today was going to be a good day. And there are thousands more to come. Thousands more with The Doctor.

He was going to stop the drumming in your head, no matter what he had to do.