#something something brute forcing your way through a panic attack !!!!!!!

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

something something being in a situation that you know isn't dangerous but your mind is screaming at you to run run run hide fight run get away get out of there . but you don't want to make things worse so you sit there and close your eyes and let it happen !!

[jasmines-library]

👀 'tis me, i loved the other one so much ❤️❤️❤️, and am back with this wAcky idea muahahaaa:

batboy (you choose) x villain!reader

they are supposed to hate each other because of circumstances (you choose) BUT they got caught in a fight and are working together. after that fight, batboy finds that reader is actually a HUGE softie, and has never really had relationships, and when batboy does find out, he teases reader to embarrassment. they end up falling in love they kiss and fluffy things, under the moonlight, but then reader goes spiraling. like- is it safe to do this? is it okay to show weakness like that? will they put batboy in danger? and they are on the verge of a panic attack. they run away from batboy, which breaks both of them 🥹. reader avoids batboy for months, not really coping with their feelings, having panic attacks every night and all. and then one night, batboy sees reader fighting in an alley. reader takes out the thugs quickly and batboy approaches, and he can see through reader's eyes a whirlwind of emotions and it breaks his heart... and then they somehow make up and a lot of fluff pleeasee <3 (omg it's not totally angst 🥹)

ilyyy muah! (platonic ofc 😘)

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

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Note: This is so cute! I love this idea and I hope you like it. I just wanted to make a side note and say that i am queer, and whilst I am very happy to write romantically for the batboys, It may not be super great (which is why most of my work is platonic tbh) so apologies in advance for that. I also chose to write for Jay so I hope that's okay!

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Minor injuries, self doubt, manipulative parent (bane) but only brief, swearing teasing, kissing but no smut (SFW)

Word Count: 5k (it took me 40 years but it was worth it)

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Jason Todd was your enemy.

That is what you have always been told. It had been ingrained in you since you were very young. Batman and his band of proteges were a nuisance. Bothers. Vermin that needed to be exterminated from Gotham. Your father had countless rivalries: and that had extended to you. Your whole life was dedicated to training to cause havoc and trying to remove Gothams vigilantes.

Jason Todd was your enemy. And you despised him. He despised you too. Not that you cared, he had every right to. Your father had broken his many times.

He had always been tricky. He slunk around the shadows and always put a stop to your fun. His brothers weren’t much better. So when he was killed… you should have been ecstatic. You should have clenched your fists in rage when he returned…but instead you felt…lost.

Jason Todd was your enemy. So why were you helping him…?

You had heard the commotion from nearly a block over. The cacophony of shattering glass, the ricochet of bullets followed by the screeching of the building's alarm: you were over there speedily, tugging your pistols from your holsters as you weaved towards the orange glow of the flickering lights.

The building was completely destroyed. The windows were smashed in, spidering where the bullets had passed through them or jagged where what looked like a brick had been lobbed into it. The frames of the windows were completely broken too, splintering under the brute force of the coloured bandits that had weasled their way inside. Dressed in unsubtle colours, they seemed to be searching for something; they overturned desks and sent an array of papers scattering to the ground. It was that or they were just looking to have fun. You smirked, taking a step closer to the building ready to join them but then you caught a flash of the triangular emblem they had haphazardly spray painted on the back of their jackets and cursed. Safe to say that they weren’t going to tolerate you being near them. Your father had royally pissed them off. More than once. But who were you to back down from a fight?

Shouldering your weapons, you stepped closer crouching to try and keep out of their sight. It was going to be much easier for you if you could take them by surprise. Much more entertaining for you too. Though it seemed that luck wasn’t on your side because one of them, a tall girl with blonde hair she had tied back in a braid, turned her head just before you could dash out of the way and with a cry of your alias, all heads turned to you.

There was no use hiding now your cover was blown so with your guns raised high you aimed and fired. They were quick to retaliate and with their the sheer number of them it was difficult to predict their movements and stay out of their line of fire despite all of your training. The whole ordeal was a mess, bullets and punches flew left, right and centre. The whole ordeal only got a fuck ton more complicated when he arrived. The knight in fucking black and red armour. He perched on top of the roof, teetering dangerously to the edge, before landing on his feet only a few metres away, no doubt with a smug grin hidden behind his red mask. It didn’t do him much good. You knew exactly who he was and it hadn’t taken you much to figure it out. But perhaps that was because you were much more perceptive than most. Perhaps it was because you spent far too much time thinking about him.

Red Hood stood towering over you, glaring at you through his brows. He tutted. “Y/N Bane. Should have known you would be here.”

“And miss the chance to beat your pretty face?” You mocked. “You should know better.”

Red Hood rolled his eyes, shifting his weight as he reached for his weapon. He looked as though he was going to say something; another jest or sly remark, but the moment was ruined when one of the bandits ran up behind him bearing a weapon he intended to plunge into the vigilantes side. However he was much quicker, twisting around to grab the boy by his wrists and flinging him over his shoulder. He landed with a grunt before trying to grab at Red Hood's legs. You beat him to it though, landing a harsh blow to his back and sending him slumping back to the ground.

That seemed to set the rest of them off and all of a sudden the pair of you were surrounded. The street quickly became a flurry of punches and rounds of bullets that lodged themselves in the crackstone bricks or ricocheted off of the metal pipes with a cloud clang. None of them found their mark. Strange for a group of people who wielded their weapons so confidently.

It seemed to be going well. Some sort of unseen rivalry seemed to bloom between you and Red Hood, trying to see who could take the most thugs down. Those that didn’t flee dropped like flies. But you were outnumbered. And even though the pair of you were twice as skilled as them combined, you began to find it difficult to push them back.

Darting into the building to shelter from their hail of bullets, you managed to take down the pair that were hurtling things at Hood. And then it all fell silent.

Exhaling heavily, you wiped the sweat from your brow and holstered your weapons after checking the coast was clear. Smirking, you slid out of the doorway ready to jest to the vigilante. But he seemed to be nowhere to be seen. You rolled your eyes. Coward.

“Given up already?” You jested. “Honestly for a man of your size it thought that you would last a lot longer than-”

Your stomach sank when you turned the corner and saw the vigilante hunched up against the wall, his one hand pressed firmly into the wall, the other pushing hard up against his right side. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps as he tried to catch his breath, his back still turned away from you. You furrowed your brow, taking a hesitant step toward him. It was then that you noticed the crimson that oozed between his fingers.

“Here to finish me off?” He spat, words laced with a thick and potent venom.

“I’m thinking about it.”

He turned toward you, his body jolting in agony as he twisted. From there you could see the two small but ragged circles that jutted out from his suit; one above his left hip and the other a few inches to the right of it. Only one of them seemed to have an exit wound.

“Get on with it then.” He grumbled trying to keep his composure. You could see the way his legs trembled as he tried to keep his composure. “They’re not coming any time soon.” He gestured to his coms. The screen was blank. Broken. “Comms are down.” his voice was torn up by a sickening cough. “But I'd get it over with quickly so you can leave before they catch your trail.”

Your fingers twitched as you reached for your pistol. Instinct. You should finish him off. It would make your father proud. It would end your years of resentment and it would bring you oh so much glorious fame. He was already practically cowering on the ground; an easy kill. Jason Todd was your enemy. You should have pulled the trigger. But instead, you found yourself darting forward as Jason as his body careened forwards.

~

When Jason awoke, he did so in a panic. His eyes were wide and his heart pounded in his chest. It was only when he tried to push himself up and was met by a sudden pinch in his side that everything came back to him. He didn’t recognise his surroundings. The walls were decorated in artwork that he didn’t recognise, and he was laying in a bed with streets that belonged to a stranger. He scrambled for his pistols only to realise that they weren’t there. And that his mask had been removed.

“Lay back down, you idiot.” You scolded from across the room. “Your wounds are still healing, And relax.” You gestured to his mask and the top half of his suit that you had folded up and laid on a chair. It was then that he realised that he was not wearing his shirt and that the eternity of his torso was wrapped securely in bandages. “I knew who you were.”

Jason had to do a double take. But he soon turned sour. “What the fuck am I doing here?”

You scoffed, placing the glass of water you had brought in on the bedside table. “A thank you would be nice.”

“I’m serious” he narrowed his eyes on you.

You faltered, eyeing him cautiously and pursing your lips. Truthfully, you had struggled to get him back to your apartment. You had to move fast with the amount of blood he had lost. You were glad that he lost consciousness when he did because although you should have left him there to rot… you couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him writhe beneath you as you dug a pair of tweezers under his skin to dig out the bullet.

The vigilante eyed you cautiously, still confused as to why you had decided to drag him all the way back here. It couldn’t have been easy for you. He watched as you dug around in one of the draws in your bedroom. He had never seen you properly without your suit on. And he could fully see your face now it wasn’t obscured by the black and white mask that sat comfortably around your eyes. Jason stared for a little too long and found his thoughts wandering a little too far for his liking. He was supposed to loathe you. He was supposed to think you were vile. But yet again…you were the furthest thing from what he had convinced himself to believe.

“You’re staring.” You could feel his eyes on you.

Jason’s cheeks flushed and he turned his gaze away. Rolling your eyes you tossed him a bottle of painkillers that you had pulled out of the mess of your draw. They rattled as they hit the side of the plastic container when he caught them.

“Take some of those. They should help with the ache.

He gave you an unamused look, hand hovering on the seal.

“Relax, bird boy. If I wanted you dead you would be.”

Jason popped two in his mouth hesitantly and swallowed them down with the water you had left on the side. A loud buzzing sounded from out of the room. You disappeared briefly out of the doorway. Not being able to see you made him nervous, but you returned soon with two items in your hand. The first, his phone and the source of the incessant buzzing, and the second his comlink which was no longer dark like it was before but instead was lit up around the crack on the screen. You handed the two to him.

“You might want to let them know that you’re alive. That damn thing’s been going off all night.” You told him.

“You fixed it.” Jason gawped, turning the small device over in his hands.

You shrugged. “Had to make sure the GPS was off. Besides, I had nothing better to do.”

After sending a quick message to reassure his family that he was alive, Jason frowned at you. “Why are you helping me?”

You faltered. Why were you helping him? It went completely against everything you had been taught. But you hadn’t really thought much about what you were doing. It was like your body was on autopilot, moving without thought of feeling and just following someone’s orders blindly. You shrugged at him. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

Jason practically laughed. “But doesn’t that go against your entire image?”

“There is a lot you don’t know about me, Todd.”

The vigilante smirked, the corners of his lips creeping upward. Snarky. He liked you. “Then perhaps I should get to know you more.”

~

No matter how hard he tried, Jason couldn’t take his mind off you. Even once he had long returned home, he couldn’t get the image of your face out of his thoughts. There was something about you that was just so enthralling to him. And that bothered him greatly. His hours passed by quickly as he thought of you. What you had done. And god he was so conflicted. But the part of him that seemed to want to inch closer to you won.

After struggling to pull on his hoodie, no thanks to the dull ache that still emimated from his wounds, he slipped on his shoes and trudged down the stairs. He was just about to slip out of the door when a voice stopped him.

“Jay?” Dick asked, scowling at his brother. “Where are you going?”

“Out?”

“Again? You’ve only just got back after completely wiping off the radar and now you’re sneaking off?”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

Dick cocked his brow.

The younger Wayne sighed and with a roll of his eyes told him defensively “It’s nothing, Grayson.”

Jason slipped out of the door.

Even though he had only been there once, Jason seemed to practically have the route to your apartment engraved in his mind. After all, he had walked in over and over again in his head as he thought about returning to see you. Although he was confident on how to get there, when he stood in front of the door with his fist poised to rap against the panel, a very rare occurrence happened to Jason. He was nervous. His stomach fluttered and churned underneath the bandages and then the door flew open.

And there you stood. You looked more awake than before. Perhaps because you had actually managed to get some sleep since he had left. It had been a well needed rest. The ache in your bones from the previous night had nearly vanished once you awoke. However, similarly to the vigilante, when you awoke you too had found your mind wandering back to the boy you had dragged back into your home.

There he was. Standing in your doorway.

“Todd?” You darkened your brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to get to know you.”

Gripping his wrist you pulled him inside and shut the door behind you.

~

You and Jason had grown close very quickly. After he had slunk up to your apartment, the pair of you exchanged numbers. This led to many rendezvous and you began to actually enjoy spending time with him. He was an intricate person. He had so many layers to him, each one more interesting than the next. He had also discovered that there was much more to you than your facade let on. You were kind, funny, and deeply compassionate despite your history. It was ironic really. But that made Jason love you even more. He loved the way you smiled with your eyes and the way they lit up when you saw something you adored. He loved the curves of your cheekbones, your nose, your jawline and your figure. He had grown to love your laugh and the way your voice softened when you were tired. He loved all of you. But he wasn’t sure if you so much as even liked him back.

It would be a complete lie to say didn’t. Slowly, the pair of you began to open up to each other. You knew little about his past and hearing him open up about it brought tears to your eyes. That was the first time that you had hugged him. Wrapping him up in your arms seemed to come almost naturally and despite the fact that Jason wasn’t a huge people person, he found himself leaning into your embrace. The two of you began to learn things about each other very quickly. You would tell him something and he would exchange the favour. Countless hours were spent as the two of you messaged back and forth or lounged around on your couch as you talked over the movies you tried to watch but failed because you couldn’t tear your eyes off of him. He was smart and he was kind and it was nice to have someone to really open up to. You had never really had that before Jason. Of course, when he found out about that and your lack of relationships, he couldn’t help but tease you. He thought it was adorable the way that your cheeks flushed and you shrunk into yourself.

Tonight, you were sitting on a hillside. It was a little far out of the city, but Jay had insisted that it was going to be worth it. Reluctantly, but with a little grin, you had followed him up the small hill.

The view was truly magnificent. From here, you had a view of the entire city. You could see all of the lights flickering throughout the skyscrapers and the neon lights of the signs as they reflected off of the dark windows. But what was even more magical were the stars. They twinkled above you brighter than a thousand diamonds all at once. It made your breath catch in your throat. With all of the light pollution in Gotham, it was hard to see the stars. But out here you could see them in all of their beauty. So as you lay back in the grass, basking in the moonlight while Jay pointed out the constellations, you twisted your body to sit face him. He returned the motion, looking at you with gentle eyes and a smile touching his lips.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Jay.” You told him. “It truly is beautiful here.”

He nodded, speaking softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’ve never seen so many stars.” You said, inching yourself up so that you were sitting. “Though I suppose that’s because I’ve never really been out of Gotham.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. This was something new. “No?”

You shook your head as he too sat up. “Never. My father never let me.”

This surprised the vigilante somewhat, but he remained silence and let you continue.

“He’s… protective. And somewhat controlling.” you trailed off. “I know he just wants me to follow in his footsteps but for my entire life I’ve been following his command blindly. It’s always what he wants. He’s never once stopped and thought about what I want.”

Jason reached out a delicate hand to brush away a stray hair, tucking it back behind your ear. “And what is it that you want?”

“This.” You breathed out.

Tenderly, he leaned forward to interlock his lips with yours. They were soft and gentle and he kissed you with a gentle amorous touch. His hands brushed the back of your hair, tangling in your locks as you returned the kiss, leaning into his touch.

~

Being with Jason was more than you could ever have imagined. It was a different kind of love. Something you had never really experienced before. It was filled with gentle exchanges of touches, reassurances of your love for each other, gifts and small trinkets that you would buy for each other when it reminded you of them and so so much more. With Jay, you could just be yourself and he loved you for it. There was no more trying to keep up a facade that perhaps was much more of an act influenced by your father than you thought it was. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You and Jay had been going out for a few months when it happened. You had returned home after a late night stroll with him to find your father sitting on your couch. He was angry, face contorting with dark lines when he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Dad?” You asked, trying to hide the evidence of your outing from him. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t play coy with me.” He spat standing to tower above you. “I know exactly that’s going on with you and that little bird.”

He took a step forward, intending to intimidate you but you held your ground.

“How long did you think you could keep that hidden?”

“I don’t see what that’s any of your business.” You grit your teeth.

“I am your father. I made you who you are. Without me you would be nothing.” His words dripped with venom as he backed you into the wall.

“That’s exactly the point! You've never once stopped to consider what I want!”

Bane's face hardened and he leaned forward to speak to you in a scarily hushed tone and he gripped your wrists so hard you were sure it was going to leave a bruise later. “Now you listen here you insolent little girl. Either you stop running around with Bruce Wayne’s little protege or I will end him and I will make you watch. You understand.”

You didn’t meet his eyes. Instead you found a spot on the carpet to burn your gaze onto.

“I said, do you understand?” He raised his voice and you could feel your heart pounding against your rib cage.

“Yes, Father.” You admitted with defeat. He released his firm grip.

“Good.” Bane moved back towards the door. “Because I mean it.”

Without another word he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

You crumpled to the floor, your body wracked with sobs that forced their way out from your ragged gasps.

And then your phone buzzed. His name displayed brightly on the screen.

Jason: Hey baby. D’you get in okay?

It was one of his usual messages. He sent them often when he couldn’t walk you back to your door. Sometimes even when he had walked you back and made sure you got inside with a parting kiss. You couldn’t blame him for being cautious. You had seen eachother fretting for the other when you came home with injuries. It was normal for Jason. But now it felt so wrong.

Opening the message your fingers hesitated over the keypad as you thought about your fathers warning. Was he right? Were you putting Jay at risk. Would it just be better if you. No. You tried to clear the thought from your mind.

You: Fine. Sorry for keeping you waiting.

You replied, waiting for the small bubble to finish typing.

Jason: you sure you’re okay baby?

You: of course. Why wouldn’t I be?

Jason: No reason. I just had this feeling.

You: Oh? Well I’m fine I promise. Night Jay.

You were in fact, not fine.

~

The next time you saw Jason your heart was racing. And not in the good way. In the “I think I’m going to hurl” way.

You had been thinking about him nonstop. About how much joy he brought you. How you could never fathom leaving him. But Bane's words kept replaying in your head. Seeing him had brought a part of your old self back. The part that you had long since tried to move past. Was being with Jason making you weak? You had told him so much that it felt as if he knew you inside and out. Was it okay to show vulnerability to him like that? You had been thinking a million thoughts at once. But the one that stuck out most to you was ‘am I putting Jason in danger?’ Would your selfishness of wanting to be with him cost him his life. You had tried to tell yourself that you were being silly. That Jason could handle himself. He was the infamous Red Hood. But you knew Jay. And you knew Bane. So you knew that if he put his mind to it, Jason Todd would die.

And that was why you needed to leave.

When Jason arrived he greeted you with a bright grin that only made your stomach sink deeper into your abyss of guilt. You took a deep breath, trying to hide the tremble of your body and the tears in your eyes. You could not bring yourself to return his mannerisms.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” He frowned as he approached you.

“Jay…. I-I” your voice caught in your throat: a reminder of how little you wanted this to happen. But you had to. For his sake “I can’t do this anymore.”

Jason’s face dropped. “W-what?”

You honestly don’t think you had ever seen him look more hurt. Another wound to add to the collection.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You gestured between the two of you. “ I love you, Jason. But I can’t carry on being with you.”

You took a step back and Jason reached out to try and touch you but stopped, cutting himself off short. “Y/N what’s happened? Please tell me baby. What have I done wrong?”

“Nothing, Jay.” You shook your head, blinking away the tears that fell. “That’s the worst part. Nothing at all.”

~

You avoided Jason Todd like the plague after that. No matter how much you mourned his face and playful smile. His flurries of texts and calls went unanswered until they slowly thinned out. Never stopping, but as the summer turned to autumn, there were less and less of them.

You could tell it broke him as much as it broke you.

You hardly left the house after that fateful day. Everything seemed to remind you of him and his stupid voice. You didn’t want to run the risk of seeing him because you knew the second you did you would break down again completely.

Your father stopped by occasionally. He would tell you that he was proud of you but you knew he was just trying to manipulate you back into his little copy of himself. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t go back there, but after a short while you grew desperate. Perhaps it was because you had grown bored of staring at the same blank spot in the wall and the empty space on your bed, or perhaps it was because you secretly hoped that you would catch a glimpse of that infamous red suit.

It seemed that your wishes do come true.

You heard the fighting from around the corner. The cacophony of fists finding their marks. When you rounded the corner you saw him. The red of his suit outlined by the dark of the black to contrast. Your first thought was to run. To bolt back down the alleyway. But you weren’t a coward. You had had enough of hiding. You longed to see him and this was your chance. Red Hood was loosing.

With one swift action, you leaped towards the thugs grabbing one and sending her careening towards the ground. Red Hood had to do a double take when he saw the flash of your suit in the light. But there was no doubt that it was you. After months you had appeared.

Motivated by you appearance it didn’t take long of the two of you to take out the thugs. And when the last one dropped to the ground. Your first thought was to run. But then he said your name and you were glued in place. God you had longed to hear that voice.

“Y/N? Y/N please look at me” you had never heard so much softness in Jason’s voice before. He too was scared.

He was right behind you. Close enough to touch. You could sense him. His hands itching to reach out and gather you up in his arms.

Slowly you turned around to face him and your gaze met his for the first time in months. And his heart wanted to break. Jason had always been good at reading people, but he could see the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your gaze.

“I'm sorry.” You blurted out.

Jay hummed. Although he would never admit how much he had hurt during your absence, he had a feeling that you weren’t not thinking properly and had likely been influenced by someone else. The fear in your eyes confirmed his suspicions. “I know.” Jason wanted to reach out and snatch you up to pull into his embrace. “I know it was your father.”

You felt as if the whole world had been lifted off of your chest when he breathed out those words.

“Truly, I didn’t want to do it, Jay. But he threatened to- I couldn’t let him hurt you.” Your voice broke and your lips trembled as your eye filled with tears. And that was the final straw for the vigilante. He took another step forward and wrapped you up in a tight hug. He had missed you so much.

“Shh.” He hushed. “I forgive you.”

You sniffled looking up at him. “Really?”

“Of course I do.” He nodded, tucking your head under his chin. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too.” You muttered.

“So what do you say?” He asked. “You want to give this another go?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Oh darling, I would trade the world for one night with you.”

And with that, Jason Todd leaned down and kissed you once more.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS:

@hearts4robs

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@aestheticdasies

@mamapucket

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

side note in case it bothers anyone: I'm somewhat aware that Bane has a daughter canonically, which is sort of why I went with him. If you wanted to you could interpret this as the reader also being created in a lab, or being his biological daughter (how I imagined it) but it doesn't really matter. I also chose bane because I didn't want to go with the joker again, but this this also doesn't really matter as the reader kinda just becomes her own villain.

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 8: Does it still hurt?

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 8: Does it still hurt?

Wordcount: 5,9k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Panic attack, Alcohol

Description: Simon takes you to the doctor in the morning, while Soap takes you to a bar in the evening.

A/N: My wrist is starting to flare up again, this shit is so hard to manage, ugh :( but I finally got the chapter finished. Almost ten chapters, I'm rather impressed with myself how far I've gotten already. My usual friend who reads through my stuff was unfortunately unavailable this time around, so I hope it's not too bad. Hope you all enjoyed <3

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The sterile smell of the medical office is enough to make you want to collapse into a ball of an overstimulated mess. You felt guarded the second Simon had dragged you out of the house this morning, and here at the clinic it was no different.

The office itself is cosier than you'd thought it to be, there hadn't been a lot in the waiting room, and even the receptionist was exceedingly nice. And still, you couldn't find it in your heart to be as nice back to her. Your tone earned you a glare from Simon, but the man wasn’t one to talk, he hated trips like these as much as you.

"There we go...you're all good, let me just go finalize your file, and you'll be good to go," the doctor smiles at you. He'd been nothing but gentle and caring ever since you entered his office. Not that he had much of a choice with the imposing figure that was Simon, and your own death glares sent his way.

He rises from his chair and leaves the two of you alone in the medical office.

You slide your legs off the medical table, getting back up into a sitting position so you could shrug your pant leg back down. As you had suspected, you really hadn't needed to go here, but Price's insistence was something you couldn't get around.

As long as you took it easy, didn't do too much running, then it'd heal just fine with no extra help.

"I don't like him," you mumble to Simon when he hands you, your boots.

"You don't like any doctors" he grumbles right back at you.

You give him a glare that he remains unfazed to. "Am I wrong?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow, a knowing look on his face that made something inside your heart twitch.

He was wearing a black surgical mask; one Soap had shoved in his hand before he left the house. Price kept on insisting that he not be an idiot, and actually try to blend in a bit more. There hadn't been much protest from him, but he did seem more tense without the usual skull mask covering his features.

It was easier to hide behind a mask. To not let people see any humanity in you when you take them down. Every cruel act would be confined to the mask, it would a separation of who you truly are.

They had tried to force a mask upon you, create an identity they could shape and mould. They had failed with the mask, so they took something much more personal from you.

His mask was a choice.

Yours hadn't been.

Carved with tooth and nail, wooden and strong, it had been strapped to your face. Only a knife could cut it away the meaning it held even after you put it to rest. You could almost imagine it, the flesh peeling down from your face as you try to cut away the sins beneath. You could cut all you wanted; no amount of blood would wash you clean.

It would be so easy too.

The doctor had so many tools in here, each and every one could be used if you knew how, and you did.

Cut cut cut

Wash away the sins

"Spider?"

Ignore him

Your attention is brought back to him. It still feels foreign, that nickname on his lips so easily, as if he'd never stopped. It sounded different, with his voice being deeper, more brute. 

He always kept his voice a tad quieter when he addressed you, compared to how he addressed someone such as Gaz. It was different, yet still lacked the warmth he held for Soap.

You try to see past the cover of his face, but it all remains hidden to you. Even with the smaller mask. You should be able to see his face, the smooth skin beneath, his locks of hair. Instead, it's all covered in black shadows, creating a terrifying display of limbs and mass.

He reaches for you again, a steady hand to support you down from the table. You flinch away.

He tucks his hand back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A defensive manner you'd say, but there are more layers to it. He lets out a deep-rooted sigh and turns away from you, picking up the backpack he'd brought.

Essentials, Price had said when he shoved it into his arms.

Essentials for what you can't quite imagine, you weren't planning on being out long. Simon unzips the bag, placing it on the table next to you to rummage through it. He picks out a wrapped sandwich, shoves it into your hands so you have no choice but to take it. He gives you a pointed look.

"You didn't eat breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry," you protest, but by the growl of your stomach, you aren't given much choice than to accept it. He keeps staring at you, and you realize a little late that he intends for you to eat it now. With a huff, you open it up and take a bite. It's actually not too bad.

The doctor comes back in soon after, forcing your muscles to tense up once more. He gives you a few painkillers, on the house he says, despite how you protest to it. Simon takes the bag for you, probably to make sure you actually kept eating your meal.

"Bloody hell...cold is starting to get annoying," Simon grumbles when the two of you exit the clinic.

"At least this place actually gets snow...most places I've been to recently have just been cold and wet...no snow," you tell him quietly while looking over at a young family of four going further down the street, probably on their way to the market.

"If we're lucky we'll have a white Christmas here too" Simon says in the same grumpy tone. He didn't seem all that excited about it. Maybe he'd rather be at home, and not out here. You'd understand that, not that you had anything to look forward to yourself.

"Lucky?" you raise a brow he doesn't get to see, your attention still darting between the people walking by and in and out of stores.

"Gotta look for the positives Spider..."

Simon gains your attention back with a wave of his hand, he gestures towards the store just opposite of the clinic.

"We should pop in before we head back...need a couple of things for dinner," He starts walking without much of a confirmation, forcing you to pick up the pace to keep up.

"Didn't Soap say he had a surprise for dinner?"

He lets out a rumble of a chuckle and shakes his head, "Yeah but something tells me it's not going to include a lot of actual dinner"

Soap has an eager smile when he leads the flock of you to his most recent discovery. He'd insisted the lot of you needed even a moments' relaxation, to do an honoured tradition within the group. It had been in your suspicions, but somehow you still find yourself slightly disappointed that it's just a bar.

"Beautiful corner piece of the town...or well...that is what ah was told," he takes the step down to the dark wood door. He opens it paying no mind to it's creaking in complaint; quiet music lures the lot of you closer to the dim lighted bar. He gestures with his head towards you, beckoning you inside.

You step forward with your question as you descend behind him, "are you sure this is really a good idea-"

An abrupt hand grabs your arm and saves you what could've been a nasty trip down the extra two stairs that comes after the door. "Easy! Watch your step," Soap chuckles, quickly letting go of your arm when you find your footing and take the last steps fully into the bar.

The rest follow close behind, some more eager than others at the prospect of a drink and some downtime without the stress. Someone answers your question, but you don't hear it. You're too busy looking at where Soap's touch had been, as if you expect burn marks to suddenly appear.

Three of the men walk past you, not minding your little stop in the middle of everything. They go to find a table in the back, taking in the rest of the bar. It's small and quaint, not room for many, but not a lot seems to even frequent this place.

You feel Simon's looming presence behind you. He's refusing to move past you, intent on not letting you be the last, for whatever reason.

You follow after the others. No need to hog the space and attract more attention than you undoubtedly already do.

The booth they've found sits up against the wall, close enough to the bar but also in the lower light of the back. Price and Gaz have taken a seat inward, Soap takes a seat at the edge next to Gaz and Simon next to Price.

You stop for a moment, contemplate where to squeeze yourself in. Soap moves further in and makes space for you next to him. You sit down with little other choice, but quietly appreciative of not sitting in-between the burly men. There was space to make a quick exit should you ever need it.

Simon's eyes meet yours briefly before you rip them away, putting your attention to Gaz and Soap who are already collecting the group's orders to go get them all some drinks.

"And what about you, Spider?" Gaz asks, an excited smile on his lips; he has a pretty glint in his eyes.

Of course. Alcohol.

When was the last time you drank any? Hard to say.

"Uh...yeah, whatever you're having," your mind is only been half there since the morning. Your thoughts occupied, as they often are. You survey the area, looking for the familiar faces, but your own mind sabotages your attempts.

The shadows are persistent.

You could only hope that the alcohol would silence them, even if only somewhat.

This was going to be an interesting night, that was for sure.

He set off enough time. A proper goodbye.

It's time to go. Simon knows it's time, the only way out of here is waiting for him, yet he can't get himself to move. The suns coming down, and you're still not here. He looks at his watch, the ticker going at a steady rate. It couldn't be his timing that was wrong. Despite your usual punctuality, you're late. 5 minutes he can handle, 10 even, but you're still not here and it's been 20 minutes.

And you were missing it.

Maybe you were still angry with him. Still too huddled up in your own thoughts of childish betrayal. He understood why you were upset, but he didn't understand why you were so hell-bent on resenting him for it.

He was getting his way out; you should be happy, right? It's what the both of you have been wanting for years. Since you were little kids and barely even knew each other. It was his only way out; he wasn't going to pass on it to keep you comfortable.

He would come back. He'd swear it to you, to any god that's never answered his prayers. He'll come back for you, to take you with him. When he's got enough money, a place of his own and a secure way out. He'll come save you.

He'll promise it as many times as he needs to, until you believe him, until you have enough reassurance to wait just a little longer.

But he can't wait for you forever.

He lets out a sigh, tugging his coat closer around himself. It's getting colder, the night air can be relentless.

"Where are you, spider..."

The graveyard looks lonely without you. It's hard to believe this is the place you've spent so many years, a morbid refuge only the two of you truly know. He could walk around blindfolded here if he had to, one time you even made him for a fun game. Perhaps it wasn't the most respectful thing for the dead, but you two kept them company in their cold, dark graves.

You'd all end up in the ground eventually, some sooner than others.

He had to go.

If you wouldn't come to him, he'd come to you.

He'd walked the way to your place countless times. Had sneaked around just the way you showed him. A rule the two of you had whenever you didn't come, typically you'd gotten grounded, because you never missed your hangouts, never. You showed him just where to step to not be seen, just where to hit the window to your bedroom to get it loose. A faulty lock that never got replaced.

He used his own precision to crawl into your room with as little noise as possible. A skill he hoped to refine when he got his place in the military.

He did it like clockwork, crawled inside like it was nothing.

But you weren't in your room, either.

It's not often Simon allows tears to rise to his eyes these days, but this hurt. It really fucking hurt. He was going to miss you way more than you knew, and you didn't even seem to care. Where the hell were you.

There had never been a whole lot to look at in your room. It was pretty bare-bones, always neat and clean because there were consequences if it wasn't. Too white and bare for his own taste as well. He might not be much better in decorating, but your room still seemed to be overkill in the amount of nothing it exuded.

Simon sat down on your bed, wincing at the creaking springs. He could only hope your absence meant that of your families as well. They'd never quite taken much of a liking to him, something about his lack of faith, something about his lack of showing it, or just about the family he came from. The reasoning never stayed the same for long.

"Oh, spider...what am I going to do with you..." he runs a hand over his face, following an exhausted huff.

He couldn't ignore it any longer. The time ticked on, and he didn't have forever. He didn't time, he never had enough time.

In a last effort to contact you, he grabs a page of your notebook, scribbling down a parting message for you. Hopefully you'd find it, hopefully you wouldn't hate him or blame him for how this is turning out. He tried.

He places it on top of your pillow, staring at it longer than he should. He knows he should get a move on, that the world won't wait for him, but part of him can't get himself to move. He still hopes you'll walk through the door any moment now. That you can get some time together, even if it's just a few seconds so he can kiss your lips and apologize a million times over.

The sound of the opening door makes his heart skip a beat; he turns around with a haste he didn't have before. He's disappointed to see it isn't you, only to be panicked at the knowledge that it really isn't you.

Simon is frozen in place, looking at the unfamiliar adult before him. He's got a piercing gaze, there's no question in his eyes, as if he already knows who and why Simon is here.

Simon's eyes dart up to the man's hair, something unnatural about the blonde colour, too bright and too slicked back to give off any comforting vibes.

"They're not here," his voice is icy cold, stating the obvious.

"I know-"

"You should leave, they don't need you here."

Simon's brow furrows at his words, taking offence to the near insult thrown his way. Who the hell even was this guy, and why did he care that much. One look at the time, and he reminds himself that it's not a fight he has the time for, not even to question the man.

"Yeah...whatever... I'm leaving...tell them I'm sorry I missed them," he walks towards the door, intent on leaving on more conventional means than he came in. He stops In front of the man, only now really realizing how big he was compared to Simon himself.

"Excuse me," he tries to walk past, but only receives another glare from him.

The message doesn't need to be spoken aloud for Simon to get it, but it doesn't make him any more happy about it. "Bloody hell, man, are you serious," he complains and crosses his arms.

"Get out."

The air has a crisp sense of the oncoming dark winter. Hell, it was practically in the middle of winter already by all the damned snow that just kept falling everywhere. It made for pretty scenery but came along with a cold Simon wasn't a fan of.

Still, it wouldn't keep him from ruminating by himself, smoke in hand, as he took time away from the stuffy atmosphere the bar started to adopt.

Unfortunately, Simon has a habit of stewing on old memories when he's left to his own devices. Typically, he goes over things in his past, painful memories like the good ones. Of his younger days in the military, of when he met Price, of how he became ghost, newer additions being his early relationship with Johnny and how it's evolved.

He finds it gives him a sense of peace to ruminate over his choices, whether good or bad. To analyse situations and prepare for similar ones, no matter the circumstance or person. Though ever since being shipped out here, his thoughts seem to only ever be on who his spider used to be.

Trying to piece together the puzzle of your mind and figure out how you became so. It's one of the greater puzzles of the universe. At least to him.

He exhales the smoke from his lungs one final time as his thoughts come to a close over the last memory. How he left you behind. Not a fond memory, and even then, his mind is a muddy walk to go through.

He pulls his cigarette away from his lips, lets the smoke run its course. There's not much left of it, and it was his last light. He'd be damned if he didn't savour it. He could likely bait Price into buying some more for him when he makes his own run to town for more cigars. If they even have any. The captain did have a particular taste, as much in people as his smoking habits.

This place hadn't been much help when it came to gathering intel. He was getting restless in the lack of progress. He knew it to be a delicate process, but normally he'd been able to probe somebody about something by now. He'd have a goal to focus on, instead he's left to wondering about too many things.

The only thing that was keeping him in somewhat of an amenable mood this evening was the towns’ ability to provide a decent drink.

If he was being fair to his own faults, he'd even allow himself to acknowledge how nice it was to be out with the entire team again, with you again. He'd been surprised to see you eager enough for a drink, finishing it off even faster than Johnny or Gaz.

It was nice to see you comfortable, to see you smile. Even if the alcohol likely had a part in getting you to be more open to them. You got a lot more daring, that was for sure, a lot more talkative. Not many of your stories made much sense, changing course and directive half-way through, but you did speak rather fondly of the old team you'd been with a few years ago.

Even if he hadn't been in on your life in a long time, he was glad you'd found comfort in others when he wasn't there to provide it. Even if you had changed, deep down you still kept the same quirks from when you were young, though of course more muted.

He exhales the smoke from his lungs along with a deep sigh. He wanted to get closer to you, but it felt like an impossible prospect. He didn't understand how Johnny made it look so easy, he could be at the ends of the earth, and he'd still make friends wherever that would be.

His attention is lured back to the door at the sound of the little bell ringing above it.

He watches as you come stumbling out of the little bar, almost tripping over your own feet as you take the three steps up. He raises a brow at your form, you definitely hadn't looked that drunk when he was in there. What the hell did you drink.

"You alright there, Spider?"

You garble out some nonsense before coming to stand beside him, leaning all of your weight back on the wall behind you. "Yeah...M'fine..." you said in the most unconvincing voice he's ever heard. He keeps his eyes on you, surveying your expressions. He wasn't about to let you barf all over him.

"You know... I wish I'd found you a bit earlier...you're all so nice..." you let out a little huff as if you'd been running for a while. You let out a quiet giggle, something he truly doesn't think he's ever heard you do, at least not like that.

"Yeah... It's good to have you back, Spider..." he almost allows himself to spout out how much he's missed you. It hangs in the back of his throat, right along with his emotions. It's not the time. He doubts you'll even remember this conversation in the morning. But maybe that was all the more reason to do it.

"Why did you even join up, spider?"

You don't answer at first, and he thinks that maybe you've already clocked out mentally for the night. Your head turns to look at him, something unreadable in your expression. "You never came back..." you sound sad, small in your voice.

His brows furrow, his mouth slightly open before he snaps back to reality and takes another puff of his cigarette. He realizes this is probably the first time you've seen this much of his face without the mask. He'd been lucky enough that it was late and not many around to stare at his ugly mug...but you.

He feels out of place under your gaze, an odd need to crawl away and hide in the darkest corner he can find. It's a foreign feeling with you.

"Figured I needed to do something with my life, and it's not like I had many other opportunities waiting for me back home," you turn your head away once again. For a moment, you sound completely sober, the conversation doing more for you than any amount of cold air ever could.

Then again, the more you seem to stand there, the more your grimace widens. In a swift motion, you push yourself away from the wall, putting your weight back onto your unsteady feet. You push past him, to the edge of the building, the little alley gap in-between.

"Hey where are you going!" he shouts out confused. You turn the corner of the building, disappearing into the darkness. His brows furrowed as he took another puff of his cigarette, hoping you'd emerge shortly after. Maybe you just needed to walk it off?

When he hears the horrid sound of your retching, he knew he was wrong.

"Oh, bloody hell," he throws his cigarette to the ground, crushing it against the pavement before hurrying over to turn the same corner. Surely enough, there you are. Bucked over and barfing up your insides, which seems to be more stomach acid and alcohol than any food.

His movements are as gentle as he can make them, not keen on having you flinch away from help when you're like this. He places his hand on your back, the other supporting your shoulder so you don't fall over. You don't seem to react at all.

"Steaming Jesus, ah was wondering where ye ran off to."

Simon turns his head, seeing Johnny come closer to the two of them. "How much did they drink..." Simon grumbles in a worried tone. When you seem finish puking, he helps you back up, steadier on your feet this time. With a groan, you lean back against the wall behind you.

"Ffffuck..."

"Didn't think ye drank that much...don't hold ye alcohol too well," Johnny gives you a cheeky grin.

You tip your head forward, losing your balance like a newborn foal. Simon is quick to act, gently cupping your cheek to hold up your head, so you don't hurt yourself. "You need to get back to the house and sleep this off..." he didn't think your tolerance would be this shit, but he doesn't recall you ever having much of a tolerance to begin with.

"Help me with them, will ya" Simon moves your arm, helping you use him as support. Johnny takes your other side, helping you lean on them both before they embark on the way back. They help you stumble back out of the alley, where they're met with the questioning stare of Kyle.

He lets out a low chuckle at the sight, "time to go, then?"

  

He'd found it amusing then, more frustrating now. "Spider- no- do not-" he puts a firm hand on your waist so you don't trip over your own legs down out of the car. You lean all your weight on him, and he has to do a mental double take to not keel over right along with you.

Getting you inside is a struggle and a half. Simon isn't sure where your little spouts of energy are coming from, but they surge through you at a random pace. You're almost worse than when you had just gotten freshly drunk in the bar itself.

"No, no... we need to.... ffgh-" you try to tell him something, but he doesn't have half a mind to listen when he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. You refused to wear a jacket, and he will not have you freezing out here without you even realizing it.

Johnny comes up next to him, helps walk you inside, despite your little protests and seeming urgency to be somewhere else. "C'mon, let's get ye inside" he hooks an arm around yours and together the two of them manage to get you in.

The way to the bedroom is just as annoying and long as it was to get you to the car and back home in the first place. And then as the three of you reach the door, Price calls Johnny away intending on talking to him about something important, leaving Simon to bring you in and into your bed.

"There we go," Simon huffs as he gets you to lean on him again so he can close the door with a click. He tries to walk you in the right direction, but fails to steer you towards your own bed, charting a course for the one he and Johnny shared instead.

It didn't matter too much for one night, the three of you could switch if needed.

"C'mon love onto...the...bed," he manages to walk you backwards until the back of your knees meet with the bed and makes you fall down on to it with a huff. You mumble something incoherent again, writhing a little bit until you seem to deflate on the mattress.

Simon lets out a deep huff, standing back up to look at your dishevelled form. He'd dealt with Johnny drunk enough times by now, but at least he wasn't trying to run in ten different directions as if you were either late to something or running for your life.

Seeing as you'd clearly be incapable of taking care of yourself before you fell asleep, he might as well get to it. "Okay Spider...let's get you ready for bed," he mumbles and crouches down to take off your shoes, one and then the other.

"Mh...no..." you writhe a little bit.

"It's alright...you can sleep in a minute," Simon assures you, but he's not entirely sure if you even hear him. He walks over to your closet, rummaging through for something else to wear. He's stunned by how little you have, it's barely a hunt for it, it's right there within eye height.

He brings the other set of clothes over to your bed, not paying too much attention to your mumbling. He leans back again, running a hand over his face. How exactly was he supposed to do this. He doubted that you would change clothes if he asked you.

"M'sorry love but...well...you gotta," he lets his words trail out realizing you were definitely not listening to any words of assurance he was trying to give you.

Just gotta get it over with, and quick, you were starting to rile up again, and he wasn't about to go chasing after you again if you got another sprout of energy.

He leans over you and unbuttons your pants, but he hesitates as he pulls down your zip. Something in him feels awkward, and he switches his course of direction to your shirt instead. His hands gently reach for the edge of the white fabric.

"No-....m'not......can't....ready...."

His hands take a hold of it and with just as gentle movements he starts to pull it up your torso.

"No- NO! Father, please! Not again-"

He lets go like he's been burned. His eyes wide as he takes a firm step away from you in pure shock. His own heart pounds, his mind reeling to understand what just happened. You clutch your shirt around your abdomen, your body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Your body scrambles to lay further away from him on the bed.

His own hands shake, the worst-case scenarios running wild in his mind of all the possible ways he could've just hurt you.

And still, he doesn't understand your reaction.

"Spider..." he says quietly, carefully. You don't respond to it, so he calls your name even softer.

Your breathing is too rabid for his liking, but he doesn't want to risk touching you again. He doubts you'd react positively to it, and he knows that feeling.

At first, he's at a loss at what to do, how to make you calm down, but he realizes it's really so painfully simple. There's nothing much he can do, but he can do what he had wished someone had done for him way back.

Careful to not collide with your shaking form, he lays down beside you. You instinctively roll onto your side and curl up even further, but you don't turn away, so he takes it as a good sign. Your eyes are shut tight, and your body still trembling just as bad as before.

"I'm here..." he whispers quietly, without knowing if you can even hear him. He extends his hand between the two of you, he doesn't touch you, but it's there whenever you're ready. He doesn't know how long the two of you stay like that, and whatever Price needed Johnny for, he's glad it's taken longer than expected.

He doesn't move, almost doesn't dare breathe any more than necessary as he keeps his eyes on your form. His little praises and words of encouragement doesn't seem to do much, but his heart feels desperate.

Simon takes notice of every little movement, of every twitch and hitch in your breath when you slowly open your eyes to meet his. They're glassy, tears threatening to spill over, but they never fully come.

His hand grabs unto the sheets beneath to not reach out and touch your cheek, to be ready to wipe away any tears that may fall.

"M'sorry..." your apology is quiet and raspy, and for a moment it feels like you're still just the scared kids from back home, trying to survive in a world that's not built for them.

"It's just I-"

"You don't have to explain yourself..." he cuts you off sharply. He doesn't know if it was the right call from the deflated look on your face. You nod, biting your lip softly.

"Simon..." your voice is soft and searching. Your shaking hand bumps into his, and he takes it in his, feeling the coldness of your skin.

"It's okay..."

"Please don't go."

"I won't."

His answer is firm, it's the truth, and he would swear it to you if you asked. He's not going to leave. Not again. Never again. He's here to stay whether you push him away or not, he's here by your side, watching. Always.

He makes a decision on a whim without forethought. Simon's arm hooking around your waist and pulling you closer until he can envelop his arms around you and keep you close to his chest. You tense at first, before you relax in his hold, resign your drunken state to him in favour of falling asleep in the arms of the only person who's ever truly made you feel safe.

"M'not going anywhere, Spider..."

Simon doesn't dare move as you lay your head to his chest, and feel his heartbeat beneath his skin. He doesn't dare move when he hears your breathing even out. He especially doesn't dare move when he can feel your body go lax, and sleep take over you.

The door to the room opens with a quiet creak, and Johnny's footsteps comes closer to the bed. "Mh ah see ye got a head start then..." Johnny's smirk is too wide on his lip, and Simon could easily wipe it off if he wasn't holding something more important at that moment.

"Should ah be offended? Jealous even?" Johnny is merely teasing, but it still elicits a groan from Simon.

"Get in here, dumbass."

Johnny lets out a quiet chuckle, looking down at him with a fond smile. "Let me just...scoot in here..." he crawls unto the bed, struggling to make room for himself, but with a bit of adjusting to your sleeping form, Simon manages to make space for him.

"Are you done wiggling around trying to wake them?" Simon mumbles with a thick layer of sarcasm.

"Ah am not trying to-"

"Ssh!"

Johnny settles in, unashamedly cuddling up to your sleeping form and peeking at Simon over your head. "Goodnight, grump" Johnny whispers quietly, reaching over you to squeeze his arm. He lets out a quiet sigh, letting his own body relax down into the mattress.

"Goodnight, Johnny" Simon murmurs, watching Johnny ever so slowly join you in the realm of dreams.

As he lay there with two of arguably the most impactful people he's ever met, he can't help but feel a sense of warmth within him. Not a physical warmth, but a warmth that blooms in his heart. It's unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. The thoughts that occur with them are dangerous, unsure, things he'll undoubtedly have to entertain when the sun rises again.

But for now, he's content with holding his unknowing world in his arms, and let the warmth lull him into a peaceful sleep.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @kaoyamamegami @lilynotdilly @chickennn-soupp @spicyspicyliving @ellabellabunny123 @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @haipasa

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

The Trouble With George (Part 3)

Hello! I love your writing, you are so talented! I especially love the little George fic and was wondering if you’d consider writing a third part where Arthur gets in a bit of a pickle, maybe a visiting noble is being especially mean to him or something, or is plotting to hurt Arthur, and George rallies all his servant friends to aid Arthur (someone maybe getting hurt in the process im a sucker for h/c) bc Arthur is so nice to him and he wants to return the gesture? You don’t have to of course! I just love your writing. Thank you for your time xx – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: panic attack, disassociation

Pairings: merthur

Word Count: 1561

There is a unique feeling that comes from knowing with the utmost certainty that you are about to cry and having the simultaneous realization that you cannot, under any circumstances, allow yourself to cry in this moment. Arthur is no stranger to this feeling, despite what his father has tried to impress upon him about stoic dignity, but it has been quite a while since he has felt it so keenly.

The lord in front of him, long ago drowned by the glassiness in his eyes, moves as a blur. Swaths of color as that poisonous voice drones on and on, stabbing into his gut anew, as the rest of the chamber watches in stunned silence. Rarely does someone have the nerve to talk directly to the King with such open and flagrant disrespect. Hardly does Arthur allow his walls to retreat to an extent that they can see how deeply their words affect him.

And yet, here he stands, blocking out everything save for the voice he cannot stop hearing and the tears he cannot allow to fall.

Distantly, he hears a sharp cry and a mumble of another voice. There's movement in front of him but he dare not blink lest something actually fall from his face. There's a hand at his elbow and he turns towards it instinctively, spotting the familiar tunic and neck scarf as Merlin tugs him from the head of the table. In those few precious seconds where his back is turned and the attention of the chamber is drawn elsewhere, he blinks and scrubs at his face.

"You clumsy oaf! Have you no brain between your ears?"

"I'm very sorry, My Lord, I did not anticipate you turning so quickly—you must allow me to clean you up, please—"

"This shall not stand! This is exactly what I was talking about, the standards of Camelot—"

"Have been adjusted to reflect the values of a new era," Arthur interrupts, his voice as stern and solid as steel. He raises his chin and stares down the lord. "If you take umbridge with the fact that we are actively choosing to protect our people by way of kindness and compassion instead of brute force, then I suggest you re-frame your criticism in the way you intended it: you do not care for the safety of the people, but rather their subjugation."

"You cannot hope to protect people with mere kindness alone—"

"There is nothing foolish about kindness. There is everything foolish in pointless cruelty." He turns away. "I've heard enough. This meeting is over."

The lord splutters and frets as the chamber slowly empties. Arthur strides past him without another look, steadied only by Merlin's hand on the small of his back and the knowledge that once he's away from this wretched room, he can be alone, with Merlin, and he needn't fret about his tears falling. Merlin's pace matches his own as they stride through the halls, his heartbeat never settling until the doors thud closed behind him.

He's on the floor in the next instant, cradling his face in his hands as Merlin's fingers undo his cape and tug it away from his gasping throat.

"Shh, shh, shh," Merlin whispers, scooting next to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, "it's okay, you're safe, he's not here."

"Merlin—Merlin—"

"I know, it's alright. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you." He keeps murmuring reassurances, stroking the crown of his head, until Arthur lets out another ragged breath and sags into him. "Hey, hey. You with me?"

"I'm with you." He grunts and heaves himself into a more comfortable sitting position. "That…hasn't happened in a while."

"I know. Are you alright?"

He stares at the floor. The sunbeams illuminate the cracks in the boards, bits of dust dancing in the light. Part of it glints off of the metal at the edge of his gauntlet and he winces. For a moment, he hears another voice in his ears, a voice that makes him feel endlessly small inside his armor and he turns his cheek to rest against Merlin's shoulder. Merlin's hand rests solidly between his shoulder blades and it feels just the slightest bit warmer.

"It's over," Merlin whispers, "it's all over now."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"I know."

"Why…"

He trails off before he can finish his question. He knows the answer and he knows he'll never truly know the answer. There is no point in chasing the reason behind his father's cruelty to him, nor to the people, and there's nothing to be gained by trying to get closure from a ghost. But a part of him is still young, trembling, with tears shining on his cheeks.

"Here."

"Thank you." He takes the handkerchief and swipes at his face. "I…do you think any of them noticed?"

"Gaius and Leon, for certain, because those two have eyes in the back of their heads, but you know they won't hold it against you."

"And aside from them?"

"I don't think so. Well—I mean, aside from George."

Arthur frowns, glancing up at Merlin. "What do you mean, George?"

"He's the one who spilled the wine on the lord to get him to shut up."

"He—George. George was there."

Merlin's brow furrows in concern and he runs his thumb lightly along the curve of Arthur's jaw. "Did you really not notice?"

"I was a little preoccupied at the time, Merlin."

"Yes, he was there. He came in about…halfway through, and he's the one who spilled the wine, yeah."

Arthur's mind starts to spin. "Why—why would he do that?"

"Probably for the same reason I would've. Because you were very obviously not alright—obvious to us," he says quickly when the color drains from Arthur's face, "because we were looking and it's our job to pay attention to you, you prat."

"'M not a prat."

"You are," Merlin says with all the fondness in the world, "and you're the King."

"Why is that now you're alright with saying it?"

"I'm always alright with saying it, it's just that normally you're the one saying it so I have to remind you that you're also a part."

He shoves Merlin's shoulder lightly and Merlin just chuckles, ruffling his hair and taking the handkerchief to pat his face dry. They sit there in the quiet for a long while, until there's a knock on the door. Merlin gets up to answer it, leaving Arthur sitting on the floor, worrying the handkerchief in his hands.

"Ah, George. Yes, come in, please."

Arthur turns, seeing George standing there, as pressed and polished as anything, holding a glass of wine.

"My sincere apologies, My King," he says smoothly, "for delaying in fetching you that glass of wine you requested."

The smallest of smiles touches the corner of Arthur's mouth and he heaves himself to his feet, holding out his hand. George holds out the wine glass and he takes it, setting it on the table and shaking his hand instead. George's eyes widen momentarily in surprise.

"Thank you, George," he says quietly, "I owe you a great favor."

"You owe me nothing," George says just as quietly, "you are a man of great kindness. It is not your fault if others fail to see the value in that."

"Camelot is a better place with you in it."

"And it is all the better for having you as its King."

"Don't tell him that, his head'll get even bigger and then we'll never find a crown that fits," Merlin grouses, but even he can't stop the smile spreading over his face. "How is the lord settling back into his chambers?"

"I wouldn't know." George folds his hands politely behind his back. "He has informed me that he needs no muddling kindness from someone so lowly as we. We, of course, obeyed."

Arthur blinks. "So—he's—"

Merlin cackles as George turns back to him. "If his lordship would prefer to conduct his business without the meddling of low-borns, then he should be free to do so."

"None of the servants are helping him with anything?"

"What use does he have for foolish kindness?"

"George," Arthur says firmly, "remind me never to piss you off."

"Duly noted, My King."

"Oi, what about pissing me off?"

"You'd get bored if I didn't."

"I'll show you bored."

(Leon comes later to inform them that the lord has not only gotten wine on every single item of clothing, but also that he's somehow managed to set the sheets in his bedchamber aflame. Arthur takes one look at the slightly singed edge of the apron of the servant behind him—who Leon said came to inform him of this development—and they wink.)

(Arthur grins.)

[eunicemiddleton421]

How to Get Back into Hacked Instagram Account

In today's digital age, our online presence has become a significant part of our lives, and social media platforms like Instagram hold a special place. However, this also makes us vulnerable to hacking attempts that can compromise our personal information and disrupt our online activities. If you find yourself locked out of your hacked Instagram account, don't panic. With the right approach and some patience, you can regain control over your account and enhance your cybersecurity practices.

 Understanding Instagram Hacking

Instagram hacking is a persistent issue, driven by the allure of gaining unauthorized access to personal profiles and sensitive information. Hackers employ various methods, such as phishing emails, brute-force attacks, and exploiting vulnerabilities in third-party apps. While some hackers are driven by financial motives, others might simply seek to cause chaos or access private data.

 Signs of a Hacked Instagram Account

Recognizing the signs of a hacked Instagram account is crucial for swift action. Keep an eye out for sudden changes in your profile information, unauthorized posts, or interactions that you didn't initiate. If you notice unfamiliar login activities or strange messages sent from your account, it's likely that your account has been compromised.

 Immediate Steps to Take

The moment you suspect your Instagram account has been hacked, take immediate action. Change your password to something strong and unique. Enable two-factor authentication (2FA) to add an extra layer of security to your account. Additionally, log out of all active sessions to prevent the hacker from maintaining access.

 Recovering Your Hacked Instagram Account

If you're locked out of your account, don't lose hope. Instagram provides a way to recover hacked accounts. On the login screen, tap on "Need more help?" and follow the prompts to report that your account has been hacked. Provide the requested information, such as your email address, phone number, and other account details.

 Working with Instagram Support

Recovering a hacked Instagram account often requires interaction with Instagram's support team. Submit an appeal through the designated form on the platform's website. While waiting for a response, refrain from submitting multiple appeals, as this can slow down the recovery process. Exercise patience, as account recovery might take some time.

 Preventing Future Hacks

To safeguard your Instagram account against future hacking attempts, adopt proactive security measures. Create strong and unique passwords for all your online accounts, including Instagram. Regularly update your recovery information, such as email addresses and phone numbers, to ensure you can regain access if needed.

 Cybersecurity Best Practices

Beyond Instagram, following general cybersecurity practices is crucial. Use strong passwords that combine uppercase and lowercase letters, numbers, and special characters. Be cautious of phishing attempts, which often involve malicious links sent via email or direct messages. Always verify the authenticity of the source before clicking on any links.

 Educating Yourself and Others

Take the opportunity to educate yourself and those around you about Instagram security. Share the knowledge you've gained from this experience with your friends and followers. By raising awareness about hacking risks and preventive measures, you can contribute to a safer online community.

In conclusion, recovering a hacked Instagram account might seem daunting, but it's entirely possible with the right approach. By understanding the signs of a hack, taking immediate action, working closely with Instagram support, and implementing robust cybersecurity practices, you can regain control over your account and prevent future breaches. Remember, your online security is in your hands.

 FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

1. How do I know if my Instagram account has been hacked?

 If you notice unauthorized changes to your profile, unfamiliar activities, or inability to log in, your account might be hacked.

2. Can I recover my hacked Instagram account on my own?

While you can initiate the recovery process, working with Instagram support is often necessary for successful recovery.

3. What should I do after recovering my account?

Secure your account with a strong password and enable two-factor authentication to prevent future hacks.

4. Is two-factor authentication really necessary?

 Yes, enabling two-factor authentication adds an extra layer of security by requiring a second verification step.

5. How can I avoid falling victim to phishing attempts?

Always verify the sender's identity before clicking on any links, and avoid providing personal information through unsecured channels.

[buckysfaveplum]

sputnik

summary: while on a mission, you discover a terrifying part of Bucky’s old programming

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, idk if it’s a trigger but fainting, panic attacks mentioned, hydra being hydra

a/n: so every time i read into bucky and his history and stuff i always eventually come across sputnik and it makes me literally so sad. like it makes me wanna vomit…. so here’s this🥲

masterlist

“Y/N, have you guys cracked that code yet?” Sam’s voice buzzed through the comms in your ear. 

“Working on it,” you said. 

You were so tired of Hydra missions. So fucking tired. Every time you thought you’d eradicated the last of the baleful group, another base began to spike with activity. It was exhausting. But you couldn’t imagine what it was like for Bucky.

Technically you didn’t have to go on the missions. Hell, if Bucky had his way, you’d never set foot in a Hydra base again. But you couldn’t sit by and watch Bucky tear himself apart over these missions. You’d demanded Sam add you to all missions involving Hydra after a particularly bad one. You couldn’t shake the image of Bucky trembling and hiding in the corner of the jet, how he flinched as you came over to try to coax him out. How Sam’s voice cracked as he called you and begged you to come to help his friend. Since then, you vowed Bucky would never have to go on a Hydra mission without you.

Bucky leaned over you, gun loaded and ready to defend, as he watched you work at the codes in the computer system. Sam and Bucky had gone off to rescue hostages and take out the few agents in the building. You’d taken off to wipe the systems and shut down their communication lines. After the hostages were safe, Bucky took off looking for you. He’d found you deep in concentration in the computer room. 

“Doll, we gotta get moving soon. I got a bad feeling some agents are headed this way,” Bucky said, a hand resting gently on your back.

“I’m almost done, one second,” you said.  

You could feel Bucky fidgeting behind you. How his vibranium fingers clanked against the cool metal of his gun. His foot tapping relentlessly on the floor. You didn’t have to turn around to know his eyes were darting around the room, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed. He hated being in these bases, all the memories of his days at Hydra flooding back. He hated you being there even more.

“Got it!” you said finally crashing the system. You stepped back and adjusted the gun strapped to your hip before turning to Bucky. You were ecstatic to leave. 

Bucky leaned forward, examining your work, before taking his gun and smashing the end into the screens. You watched as he tore through each computer before finally being satisfied. With a smug look, he made his way back to you.

“What’s that gonna do?” you asked, chuckling.

“Just being thorough,” he said, flashing you a quick smirk.

“Okay tough guy, come on.”

You led the way out the room, Bucky covered you from behind as you both stalked down the halls. Bucky always admired how smooth and stealthy you were. How you could easily slip in and out of places undetected. How you fought with skill and elegance, well as elegantly as one can while shooting a Hydra bastard in the back of the neck. He couldn’t have been more opposite; all force and brute strength. Acting before he thought. He loved how you balanced him out.

You hadn’t made it more than a few doors before alarms filled the building. The ominous glow of red lights colored the hallways as they flashed in time with the sirens. You turned to Bucky, taken aback and anxious.

“Guys, get out of there now!” Sam said through the comms. “Some agents are headed your way.”

“Shit!” Bucky said, pushing past you and pulling you behind him. 

He moved with an urgent speed, navigating the two of you through the tattered brick hallways. Something seemed to overtake him. His grip on your arm was strong, a bit too tight for your liking, but you wouldn’t say anything. His breathing seemed to grow rapidly as he searched for an exit. 

It was times like these you cursed his super-soldier abilities. His enhanced speed in combination with his legs, much longer than your own, had you stumbling to keep up behind him. Something was off. You weren’t supposed to see combat today, he made sure of that. You could see the dread wash over him as he realized you were in danger.

“Buck, slow down,” you said, struggling to keep up.

“I gotta get you outta here,” he said, slowing only enough to pull you to his side under his arm.

“Relax, it’s gonna be o-” you couldn’t finish your sentence before Bucky stumbled back, freezing in place. You would have nearly toppled over were it not for Bucky’s firm grip on you. His arms showed you behind him slightly, still keeping an arm firmly wrapped in front of you. 

Now on sturdy ground, you looked up, the sight before you explaining Bucky’s halt. Six agents stood before you, sizable guns in their hands. Their harsh gaze focused on Bucky. Two had their guns up, aimed straight at you. You could feel Bucky’s muscles tightening as he stared them down, contemplating his next move. Slowly, as to not alert the agents, you slipped a hand up Bucky’s back, gripping tight on the straps of his jacket.

A large man emerged from behind the agents, stepping forward with a sly smirk on his face. His hands rested clasped behind his back. His stance was cold and haunting, staring straight ahead at Bucky. You watched Bucky’s jaw tighten as the man stepped forward. Did he know him?

“I heard from my men you were in the building,” the man said. “Welcome home, Soldat.”

Bucky stood frozen in front of you, ignoring the man as he tried to figure out how to handle the situation. He had one goal, get you out unharmed.

“Don’t call him that,” Bucky’s head jerked to stare you down at your outburst. You met his eye and were crushed by his look. He was begging, pleading with you to stay quiet. To stay out of this and let him handle it.

“Ah and who is this?” the man said, turning his attention to you. 

Bucky forced you further behind him, his grip on his gun tightening. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to stay calm. His fingers dug into your hip and wove into the straps on your pants, trying to ground himself.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, his eyes shooting daggers at the man.

“It’s a shame you brought her here, Soldat. It’s just gonna make this harder,” the man said.

“I’m not coming with you.” 

Bucky’s breathing was growing erratic. You needed help, now. Slipping further behind Bucky, you ducked to press your comm. Sam, we need help, now! You sent him your location, telling him to come as fast as he could.

The man smirked as he began to rattle off Bucky’s trigger words. You didn’t let him get past furnace before letting out a scoff.

“Those days are gone. Your words don’t work on him anymore,” you said, grabbing at Bucky’s arm.

“Oh, really? All of them?” the man asked, cocking his head towards you. Your eyes narrowed, confused. You looked up to Bucky to see him beginning to shake. The man turned back to him with a smirk.

“Please, no,” Bucky said timidly. You’d never heard his voice so small.

“sputnik”

Nothing could have prepared you for what followed. You heard his gun clatter on the floor before you registered what happened. Bucky collapsed before you, falling with a loud thud to the ground. He laid before you motionless, eyes closed, limbs heavy, and face pressed into the concrete. You were feral. 

“Bucky!” you shouted, falling to the floor beside him. Gently, you hauled him over onto his back. His face was slack and relaxed, too much to be normal. You always wished to see Bucky calm without the worried creases he always wore. But not like this.

“Baby, baby, wake up,” you said, shaking him softly. He was heavy in your arms as you held him close. Your body was trembling, terrified. Desperately, you cupped his face, trying to will him back to you.

“What the fuck did you do?” you shouted, turning to look at the man. 

“He was disobeying orders,” he said, his agents circling around you, trapping you.

“You don’t own him.”

“Don’t we?”

You turned your attention back to Bucky, still slack in your arms. Your grip was firm, holding him close to you, shielding him from the agents that circled him like vultures. Gingerly, you tucked his face into the crook of your neck, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other wrapped around him. 

“Buck, please. Please, sweetie, come back,” you whispered. Sam rang on the comms earlier, he would be there any minute. But Bucky still wasn’t conscious.

“Okay boys, let’s get a move on,” the man said. The men began to move in, one making a reach for Bucky. Another came from behind, trying to pry you off him.

“Stop! No, don’t touch him!” you screamed, pulling free and dragging Bucky from their trespassing hands. “Stay away from him!”

An agent came up behind you, smashing the back of his gun between your shoulder blades. You howled in pain, your grip loosening as you fell forward. Quickly, two agents pulled you back. You cried out as they blocked Bucky from your reach.

“Y/N!” 

You looked over your shoulder. Sam came running forward, 3 Sword agents behind him. Relief flooded your chest as you saw them storm in, attacking the agents. Sam rushed to your side, noticing the scraps and blood across your face.

“Y/N, you okay?” he asked.

“Help Bucky,” you said, frantically.

-

The jet was quiet as you made your way back home. Sam sat at the front, writing up a mission report, while you tucked yourself away in the back. Huddled up on the benches, you sat with Bucky pulled close to your chest. He hadn’t woken yet, still limp in your arms. After Sam cleared the situation, he carried him back with you close behind. You were frantic to have him back in your arms. To keep him safe. You kept him close, your arms tight around him. It was horrifying seeing the man you loved, the man who was always so strong and resilient, weak and silent in your grasp. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. One second he was fine, standing and ready to fight. The next he was on the floor, motionless. The sight of him falling was burned on the back of your eyelids, replaying over and over again.

You carded a hand through his hair, trying to keep him as comfortable as possible. His large limbs were spread across the bench, you trying to hold as much of him as you could. Trying to encase him in your love. Slowly, you began to feel his eyes twitch against your jawline. You pulled back, cupping his face softly. After a moment, you were greeted with your favorite blue eyes.

“Doll?” he asked, his voice groggy. 

“Hi, baby,” you said, a smile spreading across your face. Your fingers brushed along his cheekbone and up through his tufts of hair.

“Fuck,” he said. Gradually, he began to regain control over his limbs. The loose and limp feeling of him in your arms was now gone as he began to stretch. His arms wrapped around your middle, pulling him closer to you.

“What was that, Bucky?” you asked. He looked up to see you staring down at him, concerned and scared.

“An old trigger word. Guess I forgot to tell Shuri. Still works apparently,” Bucky said, a dry laughing coming out at the end. Your brows furrowed at his response.

“You just fell, Buck. You just collapsed. I was so scared. You weren’t moving or answering me. The thud when you hit the fl-” he cut off your rambling, sitting up and pulling you to his chest.

“They used it as a fail-safe. If I was too erratic or didn’t listen. It makes me go unconscious,” he said. A shudder ran down your spine at his words. How had you never known this? Something so terrifying that left him so vulnerable.

Bucky sat quiet, the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. He didn’t know what to say, how to comfort you. Truth was, he was terrified himself. All that work, all that time thinking he was finally free, just for one word to bring him back.

“I’m never gonna be free of them,” he said, tucking his face into your neck.

“Don’t say that,” you said frantically. “We’ll call Shuri, we’ll get it out of your head. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“They’re never gonna stop coming for me. And I’ll just keep putting you in danger. I can’t do that anymore,” he said, his grip on you beginning to loosen.

“I don’t care, you don’t put me in danger. Okay, baby? I’ll always be here. I won’t let them take you.” 

You pulled yourself back, taking his face in your hands. He looked so tired.

“I love you so much. I love you so much. Do you get that? I was so scared when you- I will do anything for you, Buck. We’re gonna call Shuri. We’re gonna fix this,” you said.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Your hands caressed the sides of his face, holding him close to you. 

“Don’t apologize, my sweet boy,” you said. 

“I love you Y/N, so fucking much,” he said, resting his forehead to yours. “And I fucking hate that you go on these missions.”

You chuckled at his statement. 

“Yeah well after today, I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

You pulled him in, capturing his lips with yours. Your hand rested on the back of his neck, rubbing gently as your lips moved together. You were desperate to feel him, to feel his move and breathe and just be okay.

Never had you felt more petrified, more helpless. You were fully in love with this man, your Bucky. Something that left the two of you vulnerable, each other's weakness. But nothing would keep you away from him.

Your kiss was short-lived as you heard a cough from the front of the jet.

“Hey Romeo, Juliet, if you too could stop sucking face for a minute, we’ll be landing soon,” Sam said.

You just laughed, pressing your face into Bucky’s chest, trying to hide the pink hue blooming across your cheeks.

—

taglist:

@baby-banana @mattymurdocksbitch @themorningsunshine @skyfullofinfinities

[lialacleaf]

Chief and the Intern -It Begins - Master Chief X Reader

You’re almost to the finish line with your masters degree, when things take an unexpected turn during your internship with the UNSC

@embarrassedauthornerd well I’ve finally started on this idea~

This was not how things were supposed to happen. When you base your friends and family farewell before heading off to the Syndee Spaceport, you had assumed things would go smoothly from start to finish. You’d be on a UNSC ship in a short trip of only a few hours, and from there the galaxy awaited.

You’d spent most of your adult life studying at one of the most prestigious universities Earth had to offer and had been thrilled when you were presented with the opportunity to finish your studies abroad with the UNSC. You were so close to having a Masters Degree in Fine Arts, and this internship was going to solidify your career for the future.

At least that’s what you thought was going to happen. That was before the outpost was attacked. A group calling themselves the Banished took an interest in your team’s work reviving one of the many glassed planets and attacked with more force than you were prepared to deal with. You were taken prisoner fairly quickly, being that you were a civilian and unable to put up much of a fight.

Which brought you here, running for your life through the newly transplanted forests that you’d been photographing and documenting for an article on the efforts of the UNSC to revive the colony planets that were lost during the covenant war. The group of marines around you began shouting all of a sudden, and you felt the panic in your chest spike until you realized they were cries of joy.

“What’s happening?” you shouted, but the sound of engines grooming overhead was answered enough. A UNSC pelican was closing in on your position. You hadn’t been sure if the UNSC was planning to send backup, or if you were going to spend the rest of your life a Banished prisoner.

The ramp dropped, and you nearly tripped over your own two feet at the sight before you. Marines rushed out of the pelican, followed by two figures, both of them larger than life and encased in metal. Spartans. You recognized one of them. Clad in green, the Master Chief rushed out of the pelican, past your group of marines, and began firing on enemies left and right.

You were actually rather amazed at just how efficient they were, and you were stupid enough to stop and watch in awe, as the rest of your group rushed onto the pelican, grabbed ammunition, and rushed back to join the fight.

You were so lost in the heat of the battle, that you forgot that you, a civilian, were standing right in the middle of it. At least until a plasma shot whizzed past your head, drawing a yelp of surprise out of you.

You stumbled and had to roll to avoid being stomped on by one of those gigantic brutes, and in a moment of sudden panic, you realized you were at the very center of the battle with no way to defend yourself.

Not having a better idea, you proceeded to curl up into a ball right there on the ground, like a little turtle trying to hide in the safety of its shell.

~

The Chief was dropping enemies the moment he was off the pelican. The marines they’d been sent to rescue were ecstatic to see him and Kelly exit the pelican, knowing that the presence of a Spartan meant they were going to make it out alive.

However, John quickly noticed something very odd occurring amidst the battle. That something odd being you, curled in on yourself on the ground as plasma shots and bullets whizzed over your head.

“Aw crap, we didn’t secure the intern.”

The chief’s visor whipped towards one of the marines nearest to him, and he found that his gaze was also pointed towards you. Intern…INTERN? John felt panic rise into his chest as realization set in. There was a civilian in the line of fire.

The Chief watched a grenade roll far too close to your position and took off in a sprint at top Spartan speed, but he didn’t make it in time, and the blast sent your body flying backward. Your head hit the ground, and your world suddenly went black.

~

The first thing you heard when you began to regain consciousness was a deep, gravel voice shouting. “I need a medic. Injured civilian inbound.” You slowly became aware of the large pair of arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to an armored chest.

The air around you felt cold and tasted dry. Recycled air meant you were on a UNSC ship. You managed to open your eyes just long enough to catch a glimpse of that orange visor looking down at you.

“Hang on. I’m going to get you help,” he assured you, and the confident tone of his voice sounded believable enough. You groaned softly, letting your head fall to his shoulder.

[luvvewan]

promptsssssss!!!

13: “Just listen to the sound of my voice.” 🥺🙏❤️

Thank you for the prompt, @sanerontheinside ! I went full Obi-whump, so I hope you like it.

—

The healer crouched at the edge of the bunk and took Obi-Wan’s bare feet in his hands.

Obi-Wan cried out, trying to pull away from the touch, twisting in the blankets.

“Caht, nah.” The elderly man, Hagit, said softly. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Numo.”

Qui-Gon had garnered only a handful of words in the native tongue, but he didn’t need to know what the healer said; he could see it in his eyes. Pity. For Obi-Wan, yes. But also for him? Fear lodged in his throat.

“Evvi, eh. Uh…here. Boy…numo.” Hagit motioned to Obi-Wan’s foot.

“Keep him still, Master Jedi, please.” Evvi, their young interpreter and Hagit’s grand-niece, translated. “He sees the spine in the left heel.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a shudder and turned away, leaning over his insensate student. Obi-Wan’s face was covered in sweat, eyes half-lidded, lips cracked and quivering. His Learner’s braid had plastered itself to Obi-Wan’s pale neck and chest. Qui-Gon smoothed it carefully between his fingers. “You are doing very well, Padawan. Just stay still. I know it’s difficult but you must not move,” he used a gentle voice better suited for younglings, despite the fact Obi-Wan was twenty three years old and a newly senior apprentice.

He watched Obi-Wan try to look at him, but another wave of pain erupted through their connection in the Force, and his eyes rolled back. Qui-Gon absorbed what he could, wanting to take it all, though even the echoes of Obi-Wan’s agony were enough to make him briefly light-headed.

He noticed Hagit was speaking again, a distant noise. Evvi said something back to him, then Qui-Gon heard several small, hesitant steps. A hand touched his arm.

“I’m sorry, Master Jedi. Removal is very painful and delicate. He does not want the spine to break apart while still in the foot. It will release more poison.” Evvi explained. “Can you hold him down?”

Obi-Wan was more powerful than his small frame would suggest. The pain and delirium made him combative, and when Qui-Gon gripped his arms he thrashed and snarled. He had never seen Obi-Wan, obedient and self-possessed Obi-Wan, untethered this way. Fingernails raked down his forearm, tore at his robe sleeves.

Sedation was not possible. The medical supplies were limited anyway. They were lucky to have Hagit, who was old enough to remember when the stone-fish were plentiful, before a plague wiped them out. Now it was exceedingly rare to catch a stone-fish on the shore, due to both its near-extinction and impressive camouflage. Obi-Wan had accompanied some of the village’s children to the water, or really they had accompanied him, starry-eyed at the presence of an offworlder, a Jedi. He had been stepping along a path of craggy rocks leading to the ocean when his foot landed on a stone-fish, its spiny, algae-crusted body hidden amongst the rocks and sand.

The pain had been immediate. The children had run, screaming, for help. By the time Qui-Gon found him, Obi-Wan was screaming too.

Other villagers had come. Among them was Hagit, helped along by Evvi at his elbow, his grey eyes milky and grave. Obi-Wan was administered a general anti-venom there on the beach, already overwhelmed by the agony that radiated from his foot through his entire body.

Evvi had told Qui-Gon the poison was brutal and quick. It was not always fatal, but it triggered something nearly as cruel: most victims were gripped by an unbearable sense of dread, demanding to be killed before the poison could fully take them.

From his admittedly foggy calculations, it had been close to an hour since Obi-Wan was attacked. Qui-Gon’s stomach lurched. He did not look behind him, where he knew Hagit was hovering at the wound site, arthritic hands shaking, preparing to perform a task of great precision.

“Still, Master Jedi. He must be still.”

He brought the Force to bear down on his Padawan while using his own brute strength to pin Obi-Wan’s wrists back onto the bunk. Obi-Wan whimpered and moaned, whipping his head to the side. Tears streamed freely down his face, snot and sweat dripping from his nose.

“Help!” He kicked his legs, trying to free himself from the healer’s grasp.

Hagit made a sharp noise under his breath, likely a swear.

“Obi-Wan, listen to me! We’re trying to help you!” He barked hoarsely, wiping sweat from his own brow before straddling his Padawan and laying over top of him, using his weight to hold him down. Their heads were pressed together and Obi-Wan wept and keened in his ear.

Qui-Gon’s heart found new ways to break. The Force was overrun with panic and hopelessness. Obi-Wan twitched and fought under him, desperate to get freed. Qui-Gon tried to use a sleep suggestion but his Padawan’s aura was clouded, elusive.

And time was draining away. He imagined the spine lodged in Obi-Wan’s tender heel, the poison seeping into his blood and causing more damage. “Just…breathe with me, Padawan, alright? There is no pain, there is the Force.”

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan whimpered.

He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Leave it to me, then. Trust in me, young one. Whatever else is happening…it doesn’t matter. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

He knew it was a risk, to appeal to the dutiful instinct in Obi-Wan that very well might be overridden by poison-fueled anxiety. But what else could he do? Hold his delirious student down with every last bit of strength he possessed, and possibly break his bones in the process?

Obi-Wan bucked against him, sniffling and gasping. “It won’t stop it won’t stop oh gods…”

“Shhh,” Qui-Gon smoothed his damp hair. “You are so far away from that, aren’t you? Safe with me. Safe and very tired. Only you and only me, far away.”

Nerveless fingers clutched at him. “M-Make it stop make it stop I can’t—“

“Of course I will. Hold onto me and keep your legs very still. You can do that, I know you can. Put your arms around me and hold on, as tight as you can.” Qui-Gon blinked back the sweat pouring into his eyes, body vibrating with hope and dread as Obi-Wan slowly obeyed. “That’s it. Now I want you to keep the rest of your body very, very still, Padawan. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan heaved an exhausted sob, but nodded. His arms gripped around Qui-Gon’s back while his legs gradually relaxed on the bunk.

Hagit murmured to himself. Evvi touched Qui-Gon’s leg.

In the stuffy little room, everyone tacitly understood what would happen next.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan begin to tense. “Far away,” he continued, as if there had been no interruption. “We can go anywhere, can’t we? We’ve been to so many places together.”

“Nuh, Evvi.”

“Uncle says now, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and released his fear to the Force. “Where do you want to go, Obi-Wan? I remember you enjoying Alderaan, with all the beautiful trees. The people there were so kind, weren’t they?” He did his best not to think of the fragile procedure happening inches away. His muscles shook, ready to react if necessary. He knew once Hagit began removing the spine it could not be halted. “I can’t remember…did we visit in the summer or winter?”

Obi-Wan was holding onto him for dear life, strangled moans catching in his throat.

My brave boy, Qui-Gon thought to himself. The pain was unreal. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what it felt like for Obi-Wan.

“Kill me Master Master oh Force I can’t…”

Qui-Gon squeezed him close. He thought of what Evvi had said--the poor victims who begged for death. He had not thought Obi-Wan would reach that point. But even the Force could not insulate the young man from such all-encompassing agony.

Obi-Wan wept openly against Qui-Gon’s neck. “Master, Qui-Gon...it’s moving..what….what is it doing..?”

“Don’t move,” Qui-Gon warned. “Do you want to go to Alderaan? Or someplace else? Someplace warm?”

They had just finished an extended mission on a frigid planet, yet Obi-Wan shook his head. “N-No deserts.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. Obi-Wan sunburned easily, returning from desert assignments with pink cheeks and ears. “Of course not. No, someplace cool enough to sleep out under the stars. Kodasta, perhaps? Remember how the stars seemed so close, as if we could nearly touch them?”

Obi-Wan clutched at the robe on Qui-Gon’s back. “Y-Yes…ahhh…”

“What was the constellation you saw? I can’t remember. It was quite rare, wasn’t it? I’m never any good at that but you spotted it right away. What was it called?”

“…Th-The El…usive Mage.”

“Oh yes. That was it.”

Obi-Wan moaned into Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon held him steady. The pain was beyond excruciating and Qui-Gon could only feel the edge of it; Obi-Wan had long since given up any attempts at shielding from him. It was a testament to Obi-Wan’s endurance that he had not passed out.

“Nearly done,” Evvi said.

Thank the Force. “You’re doing so well, Padawan,” Qui-Gon praised him quietly. “Keep right here with me, can you see the Mage? Close your eyes and see if it’s there.”

“M-Master…”

“I know. But we are so far away from that, aren’t we? Among the stars on Kodasta. I see them when I close my eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see them too. No, no, you can’t twitch like that. Squeeze me instead. That’s better. Now look for the Mage with me. Help me see it.”

“Ugh…” Obi-Wan groaned and panted. “Mmmmph…”

Qui-Gon could not let their progress unravel, not now. “Is it there, towards the left?”

For several strained seconds, Obi-Wan made harsh, pained sounds and struggled for breath. Then, finally: “Y-Yes. You have to…un…ah…unfocus your eyes to see. Look for the hat f-first.”

Qui-Gon smiled, blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes. “Ah, of course.”

“It’s out, Master Jedi.”

“I see it now, Obi-Wan. It’s beautiful.”

His Padawan sagged under him, unconscious.

—

Qui-Gon went to the shore and walked along the rock paths, fingers hooked in his belt. The stone-fish had been immediately killed, its remaining spines safely collected and the rest of it burned by a few of the villagers. Evvi told him some of the men searched the beach until dawn, out of caution.

They had not come across a single other stone-fish. Obi-Wan’s foot had apparently found the only specimen on the entire beach.

But then, Obi-Wan had always been blessed with a particular sort of luck.

He came to the place where Obi-Wan was stung. Specks of blood stained the rocks there. His instinct was to throw them into the ocean.

Instead, Qui-Gon left everything as it was, sea spray misting his cheeks as he turned back towards the village.

—

When he returned to the little cottage, Hagit was sitting at a sun-bleached wooden table in the kitchen. The red-tinged spine, still full of venom, was sealed in a plastibag and held loosely in his liver-spotted hands.

Hagit looked up at Qui-Gon. He was quite old, skin sagging and eyes permanently wet.

“Boy…yes.” Hagit nodded firmly at him.

Qui-Gon found it difficult to swallow. He bowed before the healer. “Graz-ta,” he said. Thank you.

—

Obi-Wan was curled up on the bunk. A heavy blanket was wrapped around him, his bandaged foot sticking out from the bottom. Though he had improved since the day before, his face still looked drained of its color.

Qui-Gon glanced around the quiet, dark room. He noticed Obi-Wan’s clothes and boots tucked under a chair. Evvi had done it, probably, but it was still a familiar sight, reminding him of how Obi-Wan tended to neatly fold his tunics, no matter where they found themselves. His heart tightened; he let it pass. He knew he would feel this way after such a close call. Small, tender things about Obi-Wan were going to strike him at odd times—he knew that, unfortunately, from experience.

Like the way he would hold his braid between his fingers when he slept. Qui-Gon could not recall Feemor or Xanatos ever doing that.

He sat on the bunk beside Obi-Wan and listened to the quaint sounds of life beyond the door. He appreciated the borrowed sense of domesticity that came with staying in family houses: home cooking, careworn sheets, a calmness and mildness in the Force. He wished they could stay here until Obi-Wan fully recovered from his ordeal, but the Council had already sent them their next assignment.

Qui-Gon brushed his fingers against Obi-Wan’s forehead. Glassy grey eyes fluttered open.

“Only a slight fever now,” Qui-Gon told him.

Obi-Wan kept his braid laced between his fingers. He looked swallowed up by the thick weave of the blanket and the night shirt that was several sizes too big. Or was it simply the absence of Jedi trappings that made it more obvious that he was young, human and fragile? “Well,” he croaked, voice ruined from prolonged screaming followed by prolonged silence, “I didn’t die.”

Qui-Gon tried to laugh, but it came out as an awkward huff. He touched Obi-Wan’s cheek. “No. You seem very much alive to me.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his eyes already drifting closed. “I didn’t sense it. The…ah…thing.”

“Neither did I,” Qui-Gon admitted, gazing out the window above Obi-Wan’s head. The villagers had searched the beach, but who could search all of the sea? He began to think of other dangers on other worlds, the unnamed masses of threats that awaited Obi-Wan in his life, on their next mission, even tomorrow. “If we could sense everything, our lives would be much easier.”

“Mmmhmmm. Less interesting?”

“I’m slipping. You’re guessing my lessons before I can give them.”

“Mm, but I can…always sense you, Master.” Obi-Wan mumbled. He would be asleep soon.

Qui-Gon leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “May the Force be with you, my Padawan.”

—

They rarely dreamed together, but that night they did, climbing through constellations in the dark sky, safely above the sea.

[hunterofthemist]

Strength of the Meek

Carrying a paper bag Dave walks into the cafeteria. He looks around the room and sees Kotzal waving him over. He walks over to him and sits down with Kotzal at a noticeably empty table.

"Hey Dave, how are you?" Kotzal asks with a grin. "You dont have to rub it in, I had no idea you were a natural," Dave grumbles.

"It's just that when you showed me the rules I realized how similar they were to a game I used to play on Geon. Thrum If I remember correctly." Kotzal and dave talk for some time, the topic changes quickly from poker to physical ability.

"How strong are humans anyway? I've seen your movies but you said they aren't a good representation of human strength." Kotzal asks intrigued.

"Were strong enough. Enough to take down something bigger than us, at least with some planning that is." Dave answers. "I mean back when humans still dwelled in caves we took down wooly mammoths, which were beasts around three times the size of a human."

"Oh, I didn't know that. It's pretty impressive to hear." Kotzal says more than intrigued at this point.

"What about when a human has to do something impossible, just to keep the ones they care about alive. What do you do then?" He asks, his face getting a bit more solemn.

"We push on, do whatever it takes, even if it means we tear ourselves apart doing so," Dave says with a look of sincerity. He then breaks the look and smiles warmly. "What's got you asking a question like that?"

Kotzal laughs nervously and scratches the back of his head. "I dont know, I just heard stories over the Ether."

The conversation ends as the buzzer goes off on everyone's watch. "Shit thought we had more time for lunch break. That blows." Dave sighs.

Dave and Kotzal start walking down a hallway towards their respective stations. Halfway towards Dave's station, the alarm sounds, as well as an explosion in a nearby hallway.

"What was that!" Kotzal panics, immediately hiding behind dave and shaking. Dave reacts accordingly, not to the explosion but to Kotzal hiding behind him. "Woah dude, you good?"

"Oh sorry, my species is a prey species on my home planet. We get jumpy when stuff like this happens."

Dave chuckles at the thought, "you know if you did this around the others im pretty sure they wouldn't be able to see you." His attention focuses back on the sound. " We should go check out what happened, we're engineers after all."

Kotzal steps out from behind dave nervously and agrees. They walk down the hallway towards the commotion. Smoke billows out of the walls, embers pour out of the holes as well.

A hulking beast pulls its way out of the hole, it had to be around 8 and a half feet tall. Just as dave gets a look at it, several more come out of the walls. Kotzal grabs dave and pulls him around the corner, away from the beasts.

"Get down! Those are Tarvok pirates. We need to go, we do Not want to pick a fight with those." Kotzal is freaking out, likely having a panic attack. He tries to pull Dave with him. Dave doesn't budge, instead, he stares at the wall and puts his hand on it. "I cant."

Kotzal gets more anxious and frenzied, pulling harder on Dave. "No We have to go, David dont do this." In response, Dave grins and puts his head on the cold metal wall. "I said I cant, This station is my baby. I've fixed her more than anyone else. I can't leave her."

Dave turns to Kotzal and continues. "Not to mention the number of people these guys could hurt. You know how far the nearest guard post is, and how understaffed it is. If I turn tail and run countless people will die. But If I distract them, buy us some time. Maybe I can save a few lives."

"But you'll die! You'll get killed, I can't have you do that. I can't lose you, You're the only one who even respects me, let alone is nice to me." He says as tears start to form in his four eyes.

Daves grin breaks and he pulls Kotzal into a hug, Kotzal's small stature causing him to look like a small child not wanting their parent to leave. "That's not happening. I ain't gonna die." Dave thinks for a moment and goes on. "How about you help me, I dont buy this scared child Schtick. There's something there, something strong. I can see that."

Dave breaks the hug and pulls a knife from his belt, and hands it over to him. Kotzal stares at the blade for a second and takes the knife and nods in agreement. "Use your speed and stature to your advantage. there's a lot of smoke, try to use that."

Dave and total talk for a minute discussing plans and strategies after they're done he grabs a pipe on the wall and rips it off, but not before speaking to the station itself. "Sorry about this."

Walking around the corner Dave bangs the pipe on the wall, getting the army of Tarvok's attention. "Hey you brutes, eyes on me." He says, resting the pipe on his shoulder.

One of the Tarvok's starts walking over to Dave with a look of hunger and anger. Dave grins, this being a part of his plan, and stomps on a jagged and sharp piece of metal, launching it into the air. To which Kotzal leaves cover from behind Dave and grabs the piece of metal and throws it into the eye of the Tarvok.

"See, I told you no one would be able to see you back there." Dave jokes. He takes a step forward and inspects the now corpse of the Tarvok. "Oh damn, straight into the eye." Kotzal meekly responds to the compliment. "Thanks, it was heavier than Im used to so I didn't think it hit where I wanted to."

"You're a good shot, keep it up." Dave compliments. For a split second, Dave swore he could see Kotzal's cheeks turn blue.

Dave starts walking forward towards the rest of the army, beckoning them to come to fight him. One soldier takes a step forward to fight. The hulking beast throws a punch towards Dave but he sides steps it and slams his weapon into a pipe next to the Tarvok.

The soldier notices this and started to laugh but a second later the pipe bursts and hot steam starts to burn the soldier and causing it to fall to the floor.

The next one rushes Dave and throws a punch at him, he absorbs the blow into his shoulder and uses the force to spin himself around and slam the pipe into the soldier's skull.

At the display of force, the rest of the Tarvok's take a step back from the carnage. "Hey Kotzal, I think I fucked my shoulder up. It's your turn. " Dave says quietly so the brutes in front of them won't hear. "Yeah, let's do it." He responds, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

Dave starts to run towards the group of Tarvok's with Kotzal following. Before he gets too close he ducks down and arches his back and Kotzal jumps off his back and launches himself toward the enemy.

With one hand he throws a sharp piece of metal in the neck of one of the soldiers and with the other he stabs another with the knife Dave gave him.

The last one is in front of them, he's bigger than the rest. Probably the leader. "Let me handle this one," Dave says as he blocks Kotzal from moving forward with the pipe.

Looking at the pipe in his hand, Dave realizes that the pipe is way too damaged to continue to be useful. He takes a step forward and throws the thing as hard as he can. The pipe flies through the air and when it's about to hit, the leader catches it.

As soon as he threw the pipe Dave started running towards the beast but only noticed that he caught the pipe when he was too close to do anything. The Leader propels his knee into Daves's gut, the spike on it spearing into dave.

"Oh fuck!" He screams as the spike goes through him. He falls back and tries to stop the bleeding. Another scream is heard, not of pain but rage. "You Fucker!" It's Kotzal, with the look of pure rage in his eyes.

"I'll kill you!" He screams as he starts running towards him. As he reaches him he jumps at the leader to get a clear shot at him. In retaliation, the Tarvok grabs him by the neck and holds him in the air. Kotzal doesn't seem to notice, the anger blinding him. He starts slashing wildly at the beast in front of him, a good majority hitting their targets.

Kotzal gets a good stab into the arm of the beast holding him, causing him to be dropped.

While on the ground he stabs the blade into the back of the knee of the Tarvok leader making him fall to his knees, lining him up for a stab to the side of his head, killing him.

He keeps stabbing the now dead Tarvok, more out of rage than him being unsure he's dead. After a few dozen stabs he stops and takes a second to breathe and remembers Dave. He turns around and sprints towards Dave.

He starts trying to help him staunch the bleeding and stabilize him. "No, no-no-no. Dont do this, you cant." He starts tearing up trying to help him.

"It's okay, you did well. Didn't expect the fucker to catch the pipe. I think this is it" Dave says as he rests on the wall, trying to do whatever he can to stop the bleeding.

"Dont say that! You'll be fine, I know what im doing. I can help you." Kotzal says frantically.

Dave looks at him and puts his bloodied hand on his shoulder. "You can't save me, an injury like this is impossible to fix up."

"Shut up!" Kotzals shouts as he slaps dave. "We aren't in the medical dark ages, You know how strong modern medicine is." a grin forms on Daves face as he shrugs. "Whatever you say," he says as his vision fades to black and passes out.

Daves eyes open and the bright light blinds him, "hey your awake." a familiar voice says. His eyes adjust to the light and he sees that Kotzal is sitting on the chair next to his bed.

Dave groans in pain as he tries to sit up. Kotzal puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him. "Dumbass, you can adjust the bed." He laughs, handing him the switch.

"How long was I out?" He asks as he raises the head of his bed. "About two days. You had us worried for a little while." Kotzal responds with a smile.

"You can't kill me that easily, its gonna take a lot more than that, I still have work to do here." He smiles back.

"Oh yeah, like what?" Kotzal asks. "The engines been making a thunking noise for the past week, I still figure out what the hell the problem is." They both start laughing for a minute and after they stop a silence is formed between them, which is promptly broken ten seconds later by dave. "Hey after they discharge me, do you wanna go to the bar and get a few drinks? I'll buy."

"Sure thing, I'd love to."

[curiousconch]

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 7)

Part 7: Round and around we go

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The attack in McGraw Byrne's offices reveals a deeper conspiracy that runs to the top of the law firm, which Alex pursued head on. But when the dust settles, she is forced to face the music of her own troubled mind.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.1k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / themes of violence, and trauma, language. Reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A week after, New York City

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The gunman panted as he ran through the dark and unfamiliar side streets of New York, the covering on his face not helping alleviate the sense of panic overtaking him.

His current state of mind paled in comparison with how calm he walked into the offices of that freakishly bright law firm.

The task was simple - get the phone and get out.

But when he found himself face to face with the woman who'd sent his life into a whirling clusterfuck, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

He missed.

A brute of a man rammed into him right before he took a shot. Who knew corporate slaves can be combative? By then he knew he was fucked. He snatched the phone then ran.

An earlier scope of the building gave him an easy way out, but the shitty maze of the streets of the business district didn't give much of a reprieve.

I fucking hate this city.

He didn't know how long he'd been running, not until he had to stop by the dead end wall in front of him.

Blue and red flashing lights caught him in a daze, his breath heavy, realizing he was boxed in by police officers in an alley.

"Freeze!" one had shouted. "Raise your arms over your head!"

He didn't have a choice. He's not willing to die for his uncle, nor take another sentence in prison. That scumbag wasn't worth it, regardless of how many times that man tried drilling the thought into his head.

I'm tired of this shit anyway. Though I'll miss the perks.

He raised his hands, then felt his knees buckle when someone kicked him from behind, forcing him to the ground. Someone pulled the ski mask off his head, his face now exposed for everyone to see.

He was the younger, spitting image of Koenig's CEO. Except for those piercing blue eyes.

Now everyone will know, he thought. Poor uncle Peter will be burned to the stakes after he spill every single sordid detail of all the crimes Max was ordered to do.

From that pretty little celebrity in L.A., the poisoned man from Oklahoma, the researchers from Massachusetts, and all of those other victims in between.

Good thing he kept all those souvenirs. He will prove to them that he was just a pawn.

The pawn that was Maximilian Koenig Cornell.

**

A few days after, Rooftop of McGraw Byrne

Alex took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette between her fingers, standing by the edge of the fancy rooftop lounge. She exhaled a plume of smoke, the friction in her throat giving herself a temporary reprieve from her chaotic state of mind.

By the rest of the world's standards, it should have been a beautiful day. The skies above her was indigo, filled with streaks of orange from the setting sun. The peacefulness of it a far cry from the storm that was brewing inside her.

Success shouldn't feel this way. She was having a hard time basking in her recent victories.

Alex was just named junior partner this morning, after successfully taking Peter Koenig and Sadie McGraw down. Max Cornell, who turned out to be Koenig's nephew slash hitman, had confessed. He revealed who really was pulling the ropes, all in the form of well-kept call logs and text messages.

The backlash of it all reached McGraw Byrne's founding partner. The same form of proof exposed Sadie's hand on the Koenig class action suit, as well as her involvement in tipping off authorities to paint Marcus Sharpe as Aliana's murderer. The intent was to veer suspicion away from Koenig, making thousands of dollars along the way.

Alex had completely unraveled the conspiracy, with the help of Aislinn and Gigi. Beau, surprisingly, was more than participative. But it was obvious for everyone at the firm who led the crackdown, and it didn't take long for recognition to come to pass.

In everyone else's eyes, she emerged the winner.

And now, when all is said and done, there was nothing to escape to.

Alex can no longer disassociate herself from the sight of the gun barrel held by the ghost she tried to forget all these years.

The sound of applause, soured only by Martin Vanderweil's display of pain-in-the-ass arrogance, should have made her want to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Instead, here she was, wallowing with herself to be overcame by old bad habits.

What happened in the library was etched in her mind, clear as day. The memory of that close encounter with death, being brought up to life by the lack of distractions, made her shudder.

Every waking hour was consumed by the man with the haunting blue eyes that meant death. Those same eyes from the past that suffocated her for so long.

A decade spent running away from them, yet they still caught up with her.

She worked so hard not to remember, not to let it bring her down, for it not to be her end game. She's at the top of the fucking career ladder, yet why can't she still have a sense of freedom?

Everything just felt wrong. She felt out of place.

Lost in her frustrations, she didn't hear the whirring of the elevator and the approaching footsteps that followed.

"Thought I'd find you here," Gabe said, stopping inches away from her.

It took everything of her not to swivel and look at him, opting to curse at herself for how her body quickly relaxed by the softness of his voice.

The storm clouding her mind instantly dissipated, leaving her bare. Gabe's presence made the oceans within her stand still, as if awaiting to be stirred.

"Didn't want to be found," she mumbled, closing her lips on the still burning stick of nicotine. Alex struggled to keep her gaze steady at the slowly darkening skyline.

I know. Gabe wanted to say. He knew that finding her here, seeking out the comfort of isolation screamed her desire to be left alone. He had seen her internal turmoil, hiding behind the air of stoicism she projected for everyone else.

That's why he was never more determined to find her. He wanted, no, needed, to be there for her.

Gabe knew he'd been a dick to walk out from her that morning in L.A., right after he admitted what he felt for her.

But there was rarely an opportunity to make it right. Whenever there was, there was no getting through her. No matter how much he tried to reach out, to make her see that he regretted his actions that day, she wouldn't let him in.

He couldn't blame her.

Gabe told himself he'd give her time, to give her space. However, fate had other plans.

He almost lost her that night, and it was a wake up call. When he watched helplessly as Cornell aimed at her, something in him shifted. He's no longer stuck in a limbo questioning who Alex was for him, or why he constantly wanted to be near her, wanting to make everything right.

He was decided to run after her, to stay with her, no matter what. He was done chasing after dreams of the past.

Alex was his future.

"Can't get rid of me easily," he settled on that reply, leaning on the glass railing beside her.

"Really?" she quipped sardonically. "I honestly didn't take you to be the staying type."

That had to sting.

He knew he'd hurt her by leaving, so he deserved that. It wasn't enough to make his resolve waver.

"I am," he insisted. "It just takes me some time to find my footing."

She lifted a hand to him. "Don't go there, Gabe. Just don't - "

"I'm not walking away from you again, Alex," he professed.

She whirled to face him with a look of sullen resignation. "I know."

Deep down, she wanted him too. But not in the fucked-up state she was in. She needed to think, she needed to recover, she needed to get a grip on herself.

But she needed to do it alone.

"I can't deal with us now, it's just.." She sighed. "Everything else that's happened is too overwhelming."

Gabe deflated.

It was the first time he heard her admit defeat. He's gotten used to seeing her fighting every step of the way, that finding her in this state of hopelessness felt alien to him. His chest tightened, hating himself on taking part of what pushed her to breaking point.

"I need to take a step back from everything, Gabe," she said, almost begging. "That includes you."

"What do you mean?"

"Can I to take some time off?" she pleaded, wrapping herself in her own arms. "I have to hit pause for now."

"For how long, Alex?" Gabe's voice was strained. She just made it clear that he wasn't what she needed.

Still he hoped. So he held his breath.

Alex thought quietly for a few moments, before looking back at him in determination. He found a semblance of the Alex he knew.

"A couple of weeks," she answered with a tone of finality.

He didn't want to. But in his heart of hearts, he had to respect her decision. He understood that even the strongest needed to heal. Even the brave Alex Keating.

"I'll arrange it," he relented, closing his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching out to her. "Anything else?"

She hesitated, biting her lower lip before she continued. "Actually, there is one more thing."

"What is it?" Gabe watched intently as she raised her head to look at him, her mouth curved into that familiar signature smirk that he'd grown to chase after.

"Will you wait for me?"

As per her usual modus operandi, Alex took his breath away by her unpredictability. Almost immediately, Gabe wrapped his arm around her to pull her close. He raised his free hand and let his knuckles brush against her cheek.

He smiled softly, a tad afraid that by holding her this close could break her. And yet, the effect she had on him couldn't be stopped from spilling out, as if it was what he wanted to say all along.

"I've waited my whole life for you, so what's a few more weeks?"

Alex beamed at him, relieved. "I knew you'll be up for the challenge."

"Because I care about you, Alex," he whispered.

"I care about you too."

Alex then dared to take it forward.

Before he had the chance to move away, she tiptoed and surprised him with a tender kiss on the cheek.

Gabe wasn't able to react as quickly, the contact catapulting his senses. Just as his mind plunged back to the ground, she was already walking away, the clicking of her black heels syncopating along with the beating drum inside his chest.

His sight followed her until she stood by herself in the employee elevator, her brown-eyed gaze melting him with earnest affection. As the doors shut closed, so did the heart of Gabriel Ricci.

It shut down in anticipation of her return.

**

Two months later

Mind hazy and craving for Chinese food, Gabe had asked the driver to take a quick detour.

He had just flown from Los Angeles, spending two weeks to assist on a big hotel chain M&A. He got out of LaGuardia at around 10pm, and now his jet lag and empty stomach were taking its toll on him.

The car stopped at the familiar block, and he got out of the vehicle, grabbing his suitcase. He walked the rest of the way, enjoying the craziness of New York City on a Friday night.

For a minute, it reminded him of her.

He heard rumors of her coming back, but HR had been heftily secretive on all things concerning her. With the firm fidgety over Vanderweil's recent harassment lawsuits, he erred on the safe side and didn't poke further.

It didn't take long for him to find Hoi On. Once inside, he greeted the servers in flawless Cantonese, striding straight to the counter.

As he gave his order, the kitchen crew brought out a bag of hunger-inducing takeout box. He was almost tempted to bargain for it instead of waiting for another 20 minutes. Until...

"Order complete for Alex!"

Gabe froze.

His senses were instantly filled by the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla and the echoing beat of heels hitting the floor.

There was no doubt about who was approaching the counter.

He found her standing beside him, the woman he'd missed every single day since he saw her last. The powerhouse junior partner with the easy smile and confident aura.

The woman whose return Gabe eagerly waited for.

"So," Alex began. "I take it tinsel town's fusion of cuisines can't match authentic Brooklyn takeout?" she teased, smiling at him in the same red dress she wore the first time she walked into his office.

He looked down over her - closely looking at the tiny changes in her features. Regardless, she looked more beautiful, taking note of the longer, loose tendrils of brunette hair framing her face.

"No," Gabe shook his head in amazement, his lips breaking into a lopsided grin. "Everything else couldn't compare."

She chuckled. The radiance of her laughter showed Gabe she was really back, and that she was finally ready.

"I bet they couldn't," she winked.

In an instant, Gabe's heart awoke from its slumber. It's as if it knew that this time, the wait was over.

The chase has come full circle.

Author's Notes: This may be the end of this series, but Alex & Gabe will return.

How did you find it? Let me see in your comments/reblogs! Thank you! 💖

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[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

[treenahasthaal]

Luke looked at Vader, seeing the man's icy blue eyes fixated on him. "Your father is not dead, Luke", he said, "I did not kill him".

Thank you for this ask, and my sincere apologies for not answering sooner. It’s been a strange and difficult year. I hope this wee scene was worth the wait. 

ooOOoo

Weapon

Luke looked at Vader, seeing the man's icy blue eyes fixated on him. "Your father is not dead, Luke", he said, "I did not kill him".

Panting from the effort of the duel, Luke took a step backward, his lightsaber wavering slightly at the unexpected mention of his father, a shiver of confusion rattled through him and he narrowed his eyes at the Sith Lord.

Vader saw the confusion, felt it. “Isn’t that what Obi-Wan told you? That I killed Anakin Skywalker?”

Luke shook his head, little droplets of sweat falling from his hair. “No,” he grated, finding his stance and lifting his sword. “It isn’t.”

Now it was Vader’s turn to feel confusion, to be caught off guard. “Then you know what happened to your father? You know who is at fault?” He stepped forward, lightsaber low, dragging it behind him and cutting a groove through the dirt.

Licking his lips, Luke stood his ground, refusing to yield any more ground. His eyes were fixed on Vader’s; so different just now to the red rimmed yellow that had stained them at the beginning of their fight.

They were blue now. So blue...

What did that mean?

“I know,” Luke told him, his voice wavering with exhaustion, emotion. “My father was at fault, my father chose his own path.”

Snarling in anger, eyes turning once more, Vader attacked. He gave no quarter, no mercy. Luke struggled to hold him off; taking all of his strength to maintain his grip of the hilt against the bludgeoning blows. He was beaten backward, feet sliding in the loose dirt of their battlefield.

He wasn’t just fighting against Vader and his brute strength, he was fighting his rising panic, his rising hopelessness. They had been wrong, they had put too much faith in him and his abilities, they had thought him ready to face the Sith, they had...

With a twist of his wrist Vader caught Luke’s blade with his own and tore it from his palm. With a step, with a pivot, Vader backhanded the young man sending him to the ground with a spray of blood, and a cry of pain and horror. When he turned over he found himself staring at the tip of Vader’s sword. Heat and light scorched his bruised and split face.

“Your father,” Vader was breathing heavily, rage searing his words, “was betrayed by those closest to him and...”

“Liar!” Luke roared back, pain and grief underscoring his words. He spat blood from his mouth. “Obi-Wan kept the temple recordings,” he told his foe with grief and distress. “I saw them,” he shouted. “I saw... I saw him kneeling to Palpatine. I saw him kill the children who looked to him for help! I saw what he did. I saw...”

“Luke...”

“Obi-Wan told me the truth,” Luke cried, tears mingling with sweat. “The Force...,” he gulped in air, gagged with fatigue and fright. “The Force told me it was the truth. I could feel it.”

He flinched as the blade shimmered and hummed centimetres from his face. He dragged his eyes away from the red, and glanced up hoping to see blue.

Yellow irises glared down, fired with ire and loathing.

Luke swallowed. “My father,” he said to those burning eyes, “was deceived.”

“By Obi-Wan,” the Sith sneered, “by the lies of the Jedi.”

“No,” Luke shook his head as the first patter of rain drops fell from the darkening sky and a distance thunder roiled the air. “By himself.”

“You were not there,” Vader scoffed, lips curling in scorn. “You do not know.”

Lightening flashed.

“But I was,” Luke screamed out in despair. “I was...” and quieter, “I was with my mother.”

Thunder crunched. Echoed.

Another flash and Luke could see hesitation and understanding crash home and again blue began to bleed into Vader’s eyes.

It began to rain in earnest and emboldened Luke pressed on. “All my life I heard the voices; the echoes of it all, in the Force.”

The sword wavered, moved back.

“I heard my father, I heard his urgency to save my mother, his desire to be free. I heard my mother, I felt my mother. I felt her...”

“You felt...” and was there horror in Vader’s voice? “... No... You were unborn. Unaware...”

“I have always been strong in the Force, like my father. Even within my mother’s womb the Force was with me.” The ground was turning to mud beneath him, he shivered with cold, with fading adrenalin.

“You lie!” It was feeble denial.

“No. Even Sith can sense the truth, no matter how much they wish to deny it!” His voice was raised, fighting against the growing storm. “I grew up with the dreams... Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan had to help me, had to teach me to make sense of them.” He glanced away then, blinking rain from his eyes, remembering. “Dreams of fluid warmth, of dull voices, of feelings of love and security and then...” his voice choked, he grimaced, and looked back up at the Dark Lord towering over him.

“I felt everything. I felt everything my father did and yet...” he hesitated, blue eyes on blue, “...my mother died loving my father. My mother died with the hope of there being good within my father still.”

The blade retracted, deactivated. Hair dripping wet, Vader stared down at the boy at his feet. The boy was right, even a Sith could not deny the truth. “Then your mother was a fool.”

There was something about that reproach that gave Luke hope and he smiled. “You know she was not.”

Luke was unsure what he saw within those blue eyes and on that pale face as the light flickered and flashed and as the thunder rumbled...

regret?

remorse?

love?

...but it lifted his heart and banished his fear.

Grunting with effort Luke picked himself up from the mud and stood unarmed in the rain before the Sith Lord.

“No,” Vader agreed, finally, “she was not.”

He regarded the boy, taking in the blue eyes, the cleft chin. He was so like his father in many ways, and so like her in many more. Luke’s life had not been the easiest; moved from place to place, hiding and running with the last of the Jedi, and always with the Empire and its Inquisitors on their trail.

Luke sang with the Force; his presence was like no other he had ever sensed. Luke radiated light and goodness. Luke radiated power, and Vader suddenly understood what Qui-Gon, all those years before, had seen in him as a child; what Palpatine had seen and coveted in Anakin Skywalker, for he coveted Luke and the Sith’s entire being longed to just reach out for the boy and take him. However, he knew that was the wrong approach given their battle.

He nodded at the youth. “Tell Obi-Wan he has crafted a fine weapon.”

Luke quirked his head, frown lines creased his brow. He shook his head, wiped rain, mud and blood from his face with the back of his hand. “No,” he said, simply. “I am a Jedi,” and he nodded in Vader’s direction, “like my father before me.”

Luke lifted his arm, reached out his hand, and offered his father an open palm.

ooOOoo

[bluemoonbeam15]

After whatever happened with the bird, Hopper awakes somewhere as a human guy. What will happen now?

Okay, so I was just gonna write out this little drabble but then my brain was like, "WE GOTTA DRAW IT!"

So...here you go XD

My humanized version of Hopper!

This took me so long so I didn't do Flik even though I wanted to. But enjoy this and the fanfiction!

I'm adding Flik in it as well for more plot development.

<><><><><><><><>

"H-Hopper!"

"You think this is over?" The grasshopper stalked toward him, the lightning illuminating his rage. Flik vainly pleaded as Hopper drew closer, eventually trapping him beside the bird's nest. He hoped Hopper wouldn't realize their situation before it was too late. "All your little stunt did was buy them time!" He wrapped his hands around the ant's neck, "I'll be back next season with more grasshoppers...but you won't!"

Just as Flik felt close to collapsing, Hopper's grip loosened when a chirp sounded above them. "Is this another one of your tricks?" he sneered down at the ant.

Flik grinned, "Yep," he choked out.

"Are there a bunch of girls in this one too? Hello girls!" The screech from the bird blew back his antennae. Flik desperately wished he could have drowned out that noise. It would bring him nightmares tonight if he survived this. Hopper screamed and released Flik. The bird jumped before both of them as the grasshopper slipped on the ground to get away.

The ant shrieked when the bird's beak came crashing down just inches away from him. He had to get out fast. The bird straightened a moment and closed in on the two. Flik tried pushing himself off the ground, but Hopper hadn't noticed his form and fell back over him.

"Atta run!" Flik called toward the rock he'd left her behind. The bird's beak slammed down close to them again. Flik was suddenly pulled back just as it tore the ground where he lay. He glanced back to see Hopper scrambling to get up, gripping Flik's arm to pull him up as well. "Let go of me!" He resisted whatever it was the grasshopper was trying to do. Feed him to the bird, most likely.

The bird screeched again and Flik stumbled as Hopper drug him toward the cliff. "What are you doing?" he tried digging his feet in the ground but Hopper was far too strong from build and fear to notice the drag. The bird lifted into the air and sheathed its claws. It grazed against Flik's other arm just as Hopper jumped off the cliff.

Flik screamed when his feet didn't land on anything solid. He looked down at the rising waters, the currents becoming torrent as the wind picked up. At this point, the waters were deep enough to drown both of them. For the first time, Flik was praying Hopper didn't let him go. He grappled the air until he had both arms wrapped around Hopper's, eyes darting between the river and the bird.

It took off in their direction, knocking Hopper off course from its wings. He struggled to keep the both of them airborne while the wind threatened to knock him off balance. Flik felt his grip loosen and he screamed, "Hopper! I'm begging you! Please don't do this!" He was certain the grasshopper was going to drop him into those waters at any moment.

Hopper yanked Flik up by the arms, baring his teeth, "Shut up so I can concentrate!" A drop of water crashed down on his back, causing his wings to falter. The two no sooner went hurtling toward the river, crashing into the waves.

The ant fought to find a sense of direction. Which way was up? Which was down? Where was the bird? Where was Hopper? Something wrapped around his waist, pulling him. Flik screamed. Was he getting pulled to the bottom? He was going to drown! He gasped when air filled his lungs and he blinked the water from his eyes. Flik coughed, whirling his head around to find the bird. It must have flown back to its nest.

Whatever had a hold of him pulled him through the currents until soft sand was felt beneath his feet. He was dropped suddenly onto the ground and the ant tried catching his breath. He held his head in pain, everything still blurred around him. It was then he remembered that Hopper was still around. Hopper couldn't have been the one who rescued him, could he?

Flik turned his head wearily and gasped at the sight. He scrambled back in fear at the monster before him. What was a human doing this far out in the country? The man was coughing, down on his hands and knees as he struggled to regain his bearings. He drug a hand down his face before pausing in the action. He drew his hand back...

It took a few heartbeats before it registered and the man screamed, looking over his body. "W-What happened to me?" Strange, it almost sounded like...

"H...Hopper?" Flik cautiously asked, not daring to move lest the human attack.

The man looked up in response before taking a few steps back from Flik, "You...Y-You're..."

Flik's heart dropped and he hesitated to lift his hand up. His breath quickened as his eyes trailed down his new form, "What's happening?"

"How should I know?" Hopper growled. He looked out over the raging river, "Something happened while we were in that river. Now..." he shuddered as he looked down at his body, "we're...human."

Despite the circumstances, Flik felt anger boiling inside him. The previous events were not lost on him. "What were you thinking? Running off the cliff like that! Are you insane?"

"Hey! I was trying to get us out of there! You and your stupid little girlfriend flew right toward that bird's nest, so don't even blame this on me! You should've been paying attention to where you were going!"

"I knew exactly where I was going!" Flik finally stood with his fists balled. Even as a human, Hopper stood a good foot or two taller than him.

Hopper blinked, reeling back for a second. "You...intentionally flew toward the nest?"

It felt almost like a punch in the gut for Flik. Did...Hopper not realize Flik's plan? Looking at his confused face, it almost seemed like Hopper thought the entire event was an accident. "I...," he lost that rage in him suddenly.

Apparently, it had been given to Hopper. The gras--er...man snarled and stalked closer to Flik, "That was your little idea? Feed me to the bird? What kind of--"

"Now hold on!" Flik had found his voice just moments prior to this freak show, and it was about time he decided to use it. "You're not innocent here! You were going to strangle me! Before that, squish me! I wish you'd gotten eaten by that bird! It's what you deserve after everything you've put this colony through!"

Hopper grabbed Flik by his wrists, coming nose-to-nose with the boy, "Believe me, kid, I could've done worse things to you and your stupid colony," he growled. "The only reason you're still alive right now is because I saved your sorry abdomen."

Flik kept his mouth in a fine line. There were so many things he'd kept pent up over the years that he dreamed of having the guts to say to this brute. Now he found himself struggling to even look him in the eye after he found a backbone. But they had bigger problems than the tension still resting between them, "We need to figure out how to change back," he stated quietly.

The rain was still pouring down heavy, only this time the droplets did no harm to them. Hopper reluctantly let go of Flik's wrist and brushed the wet strands of hair from his face, "I have an idea." Before Flik knew it, he was scooped up in Hopper's arms and flung into the river. The boy spit out the water in a panic before realizing he could now stand in the water.

He whirled on the man, "What the heck?" Flik brushed back his drenched, blond hair.

"Well, so much for that." Hopper deadpanned. "Looks like both of our plans failed."

Flik took his foot and kicked it against the water, splashing Hopper, "You're a real brute, you know that? Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

"What? Like that bird, you wanted to feed me to?" Hopper wiped the water from his face angrily. "The only reason we're in this situation is because of you!"

The boy stumbled out of the river, "You were the one who was oppressing us!" Something was unraveling in Flik. All the events that had transpired were fueling this rage he'd kept stuffed deep inside him. Flik began picking up rocks and throwing them at Hopper, "Every...single...year...we had to go on the brink of starvation! All because you and your greedy hoard of grasshoppers couldn't do it yourselves! A bunch of lazy...good for nothing--!" Hopper twisted the boy's arms behind him, pinning Flik against him, "Let go of me!"

"You don't think we tried getting food for ourselves? How easy do you think it is to harvest in the middle of the desert?"

Flik slammed his foot down on Hopper's causing the man to growl and push the boy to the ground. "Then go live somewhere else!" He struggled as Hopper loomed over him, pinning Flik's arms to the ground.

"There are predators everywhere else! The only place bigger bugs can survive is in the middle of nowhere! In places too dead for anything bigger than us to live! We risked our lives coming here to collect that offering!"

"Well, congratulations, you're such a hero!" Flik snapped back. "I'm sorry you're just a big coward who pushes around anyone weaker than you, just to make yourself feel better!"

With only two arms now, Hopper found strangling the kid more difficult since he was trying to keep him pinned down. "Says the one who was going to let a bird do all his dirty work of killing me off!" Hopper pulled the boy to his feet, keeping his arms pinned behind him. He forced him toward the water, "I oughta drown you right now," he pushed Flik down on his knees toward the water.

"Stop!" he strained against Hopper, "We have to find a way back! I know you don't plan on figuring it out yourself!"

Hopper let go of Flik's head, contemplating his actions. "And who says I need your help?"

"B-Because we have no idea what will happen to us now if we stay like this." He craned his neck to look up at the man, "You really want to risk being out here alone? Humans are monsters, Hopper, you know that. They kill each other all the time. You might end up finding one who can pin you down."

As much as the thought of being subdued angered him, Hopper bit down on his growl. "Fine," he released the boy with a shove and walked back along the shore. "So what's your plan now, genius?"

Flik couldn't believe he was considering teaming up with this guy. Death sounded almost promising as he watched Hopper scrutinize him. "Let's go find Ant Island. It can't be too far from here."

"And do what? Squish them?" Hopper sneered.

Flik took that comment more seriously than Hopper intended it. He rounded on the man, "If you even think about killing them--"

"Relax, kid, learn to take a joke once in a while," he flicked the side of the boy's head. Walking past him, "Let's go find the island, then."

<><><><><><><><><>

This was actually really fun to write! I hope it was what you were expecting, Anon. I kinda didn't know where to go with the idea so I just expanded upon a plot already given in the movie. Sorta like another 'What If' scenario.

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 16! @errorfreak88 @brightlotusmoon

Cassandra was anxious. She had everything— her master had comeback at her side and was freed from the control of that monstrous spider demon. What was left of the Foot Clan was strong! She had the entire, empty city at her whim! But what good was the city if there were no people in it? Nobody to rule or protect or attack or make her life interesting. The turtles and their friends had disappeared into that rift and brought the city’s orb with them. Taken her masters Lou and Brute away from her, and took the rest of her foot clan away away too. Left her alone nothing but a few rouge mutants running amok, and the ruby ring on her finger that gave her control over The Shredder, What a waste…

She twisted the ruby ring on her finger. Like a puppet, Shredder twisted Big Mama harder into the ground under the immense weight of his armor. The Jorogumo screamed her anguish as the sounds of her body popping filled the air.

“I already told you, I don’t know where they went!” Big Mama wailed to the unmerciful duo.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Cass asked, climbing down from her throne made of mystic vines and leaning close to Big Mama’s face. “Where are my masters?”

“I don’t know!”

Another twist of the ring. Shredder grabbed one of Big Mama’s legs and started to twist it slowly backward.

“AH— I can’t tell you where they are! But I know who can and I’ll tell you where to find him if you just STOP!”

Shredder stopped twisting seconds before the limb would have come off. He let the leg fall back down, and it curled under the safety of Big Mama’s rotund belly.

“Then tell me.” It physically pained Cass to be so cruel. As violent and excitable as she was, the thought and action of this type of torturous interrogation wasn’t something she liked. She just wanted her family back. Her masters that had taught her well. Her fellow foot soldiers she had grown to respect. Her father— Her little sister…

Big Mama took a moment to catch a shaky breath. “W… when Yoshi tried to pull me through the portal I saw a little… glimsy-poo of where they were headed.”

“Go on.”

“The… rift stream did seem to… diverge a great bit, don't you know? I counted three separate eh… destinations.” She held up three claws, “And... on one of those little slipstreams I happened to catch sight of an Oni on the other side. Now, how to get to this Oni I… couldn’t tell you—“

Shredder started to crush her abdomen again and Big Mama’s words became frantic.

“But I know who can! Hueso Pirata— a calaca in the hidden city! He is skilled in all things mystic, and he can tell you where that rift went! And if he cannot, then Baron Draxum may be able to.”

Cassandra considered. “How do I get into the hidden city?”

“Why, you can use my charm of course! The spider emblem around my neck! In fact, there is a doorway to the Hidden City just outside this damned stadium— in the statue! I can take you to it!”

“No need.” Cass ripped the tag from Big Mama’s neck and turned it around in her hand. “I can do it myself.”

~~~

“Open!” Cass held the emblem out to the statue but nothing happened. She growled and went at it from several different angles. “Open! ¡Abierta! ¡Abierto! Aita! Ouvrir! I’m running out of languages! Abrir!”

She growled her frustration as the statue stayed a statue. She backed off and pulled out her Naginata.

“Wise guy, eh? GOONGALA GOONGALA!”

She charged the statue and hit it repeatedly, circling around it to strike it at every possible angle. All that served to do was tire her out and make her back up once more with a frustrated roar.

“WHY YOU LITTLE—“ She growled and started to spit off insults at the inanimate object and its dumb, inanimate face. “...pathetic excuse for a statue now OPEN SAYS-A-ME!”

The rift opened. Cass immediately settled and gave an excited squeak. “Oh. Yay!”

~~~

Hueso ran out of the kitchen at the first sign of a struggle. It took only a few seconds for him to locate the disturbance beside the bar and force his way between a startled and confused chupacabra and furious Kudan.

“Oye Oye, calmate! What is the issue?”

“I do not know!” The chupacabra answered in Spanish, cowering behind the calaca. “I sit here, I drink, and he got mad!”

Hueso glanced quickly between the two yokai, and then to the dish before the chupacabra before he quickly put a story together. 

Hueso turned to the kudan. “Ah— sir, you are upset of the Sangre De Cabra, yes?”

The goat snorted, muttering a few choice words in Japanese before switching to english. “Of course I am! He shouldn’t be allowed to drink that in public!”

“It is his nature, he does not understand why you yell at him.” Hueso turned back to the chupacabra and offered him some quick reassurance in spanish before gently guiding the kudan toward the back of the restaurant. “I will give you a private booth and take half off your order for the inconvenience, please no bad reviews.”

By the time Hueso finally got the furious yokai settled down, there came another disturbance in the dining area. This one went far beyond the normal customer disagreement. There were screams, and the sounds of tables being flipped and ceramic breaking. Heavy foot traffic as Yokai raced for escape.

Hueso didn't hesitate. He didn't freeze up or panic or try to run. In this area of the Hidden City, break ins were common, and with his background they weren’t much of a big deal. He could deal with the Mud Dogs like a mother scolding her misbehaving children, and he could send heinous green running for the hills with little difficulty. This was his shop, his livelihood, and nothing could take that.

“Por el amor de Dios, you chose a bad day to mess with me.” He growled and reached to unlatch the macuahuitl from his belt.

He backed up flat against the wall as his eye searched around the corner for the attacker, and found what appeared to be a human girl brandishing a bent naginata and an attitude that was bigger than she was. 

“HUESO PIRATA! I DEMAND RETRIBUTION!” She slammed her weapon into a series of decorations.

“No! My calaca art! So it’s a personal vendetta is it…?”

“SHOW YOURSELF!”

“You should tame your aggression, little girl.” Hueso finally stepped out into the open, holding his macuahuitl at his side. “It may get you in a world of trouble.”

“ARE YOU HUESO PIRATA?!” She pointed her weapon at him.

“Yes, I am, but please spare the decor! It wasn’t cheap.”

Her face remained furiously distorted a minute longer before she switched to an almost calm state as if flipping a switch.

“I understand. My father owns a store. Very proud of it. No more smashing.” She pointed the blade at Hueso again. “Unless it’s you!”

She screamed as she jumped from the table and charged Hueso. Hueso didn't move until the last minute, when he stepped out of the way and brought his club to strike the base of her skull. As she stumbled, she somehow managed to turn the assault into a counter attack, spinning and bringing her blade to swipe at Hueso. Hueso stepped back, though not fast enough, and the blade sliced through his shirt and what appeared thin air where his stomach should have been.

Hueso gave a shout and held up his club against the kunoichi’s blade to keep her from wounding him anymore. From the previous wound inflicted started to flow a type of blue substance, like blood but the wrong color. 

“Little girl—“

“The names Cassandra!” The human growled, finally getting strength enough over Hueso enough to shove him off of her and send him crashing into the wall.

“Cassandra.” Hueso corrected, taking a moment to collect himself while Cassandra circled for an opening. “Could I perhaps ask what fault you take with me to attack me on work hours? And could you not settle for a free appetizer and coupon?”

When the attackers only response was a furious growl, he charged a wide circle around Cass trying to get behind her while she spun on her heels to keep him from achieving such a feat.

“Grrrr hold still!” Cassandra shouted. “Stand still so I can hit you!”

Hueso charged her quite suddenly and landed a quick swipe at her arm, which promptly disarmed her of her weapon. She looked down at the weapon, up at Hueso, then back down and up again. The she gave a primal scream and charged Hueso full force, catching him off guard as she lifted him by his waist and slammed him hard onto the face of a table without giving so much as a flinch as he wailed his weapon against her back. The table gave way under their combined weights and Cass ended up landing on top of Hueso with her knee pressed firmly to his neckbone.

“Your times up, Hueso Pirata, and you’re coming with me…”

[theelvenhaven]

Nightmare Come True

Part 1

Elrohir x Reader

2k words

Please read the warnings that are in all bold for heavy emphasis. This is completely different from what I usually write.

Warnings:

Blood, 

Torture, 

Gore, 

Graphic Violence,

Eventual Fluff (just not much in this one)

* * *

You began to stand as your head pounded and sucked in air haphazardly, your breath having been stolen from you when your horse bucked you off. The earth had been incredibly unforgiving in helping cushion your fall, leaves, and mud caking onto your trousers and tunic. A loud snarling cackle met your ears, prompting you to stumble forward quickly—hands reaching forward to catch yourself as you slipped forward.

You were doing your damndest to regain your balance as the adrenaline began to course through your veins. Hurrying up the trail as quickly as you could, hearing the sounds of running and heavy footsteps just in the distance behind you. Thudding loudly and leaves crunching noisily, sending panic thrumming through you as you began to run off the trail, hoping for a short cut. You didn’t need to look back to know what was after you.

An orc had been trailing behind you for the last mile when he finally spooked your horse enough to send you airborne. You finally regained better footing and began to run as hard as you could, knowing that the creature wouldn’t give up its chase. Not willing to lose such a high and pretty prize, you had heard the horrors from Elrohir… 

Heard the horrors of what happened to his mother, and Eru, you did not want the same fate to befall you. You couldn’t help but feel the tears prick your eyes as you realized that was precisely what would happen if your luck ran out. Your elven ears twitched as it’s pace quickened, inhaling sharply with terror. A vice was gripping your heart, hands shaking, and you pushed yourself. Run harder. 

It was here you felt some relief, easily speeding up and away from the foul creature. But your need to get away rapidly was your undoing as you came upon a small wall of rock and clay that was not climbable. You gasped sharply, the cold fall air stinging your already burning lungs. 

There was no way you could reach the top, being just several feet out of your reach even if you jumped! Just as you were about to turn to dart to the left, you turned to see that your would-be attacker was gaining on you. 

Another coming from the left and a third coming from the right... Two others you hadn’t even heard before. You’d been too preoccupied with just the one! The dread weighed heavy like lead in your stomach as you stared at the monsters before you, wide-eyed and shaking.

“Now we’ve got you right where we want you...” The one before you said, he was scrawny and waif-like. Wearing odd layers of ripped cloth crudely stitched together to form a “tunic” with strange flimsy metal in the shape of awkward armor. The others were better outfitted yet just as grimy and disgusting as the being before you.

The stench of rot met your nostrils, and you repressed the gag, slowly beginning to back away as they started to close in on you. Each was brandishing a long iron sword, blood, and mud-caked from previous use on another unfortunate soul. 

“We are going to have a nice time with this one.” One with a deep and gravelly voice began grinning widely, exposing his rotted and sharp teeth. You were speechless, paling at the insinuation of the torture to come, watching how another pulled a dagger from his makeshift belt. You were silent, unable to give a proper scathing retort. 

Tears began to brim and sting your eyes, your heart pounding so hard in your chest it hurt. Your terror left you paralyzed, and the orcs were quick to take advantage.

With a heavy fist, you were punched in the jaw, sending you stumbling back into the forest floor as you cried out, instinctively grabbing your jaw. Your lip splitting and blood began to pool to the surface before dribbling down your chin. Before you could recover, there came another blow, this time to your eye much harder than the last.

Immediately pain radiated from your eye and around your cheek and brow bone, throbbing hard from the brute force. It wouldn’t be long now before your eye would begin to swell, and you were easily disoriented. You couldn’t stop the tears that started to flow freely as you sobbed out in pain and horror. The sounds of their laughter met your ears as one began to crouch down before you, obviously much larger than you are… 

The horrid stench was wafting into your nostrils, you did your best to try and scoot back, but he snarled. Hand reaching out quickly to grab the collar of your tunic and yank you even closer to him, he smiled wryly when you grimaced, turning your face away from him. His breath was fanning out as he quietly looked you over. 

“Don’t waste time!” The scrawny one began hunched over the big one’s shoulder, another big orc moving to your side where your hand sat. Before he began to step on it roughly. You gasped out in pain, jolting in the hold of the other before the pressure started to increase.

“The other elves will be here soon.” It hissed out before suddenly there was a pop and crunch as your bones began to give way. Immediately you tried to snatch your hand from beneath his foot, but it only made the pain worse, and cruel laughter rang out once more.

“Use the knife… I bet you can make it scream.” The one on your hand laughed, digging his foot harder onto your hand, making you shriek out. You squirmed and whimpered, desperate to get free. 

“Please-!” You finally yelped out, finding your voice though you knew your words fell entirely on deaf ears. They could care less if you begged and pleaded for mercy. It only fueled their insatiable need to continue onwards. To find a way to abuse and ruin you, however, they can.

In an instant, you felt something swipe across your cheek. Your adrenaline was pumping, so you hadn’t even registered what had been done to you. Even as it repeatedly happened until finally, you felt the blade part your lips and a massive handhold your sore jaw in place. You began to fight, kicking and pulling away, reaching out to claw with your good hand and push it away. But they only continued in their twisted laughter. You sliced your other hand, trying to push back against the blade as it began to slice into the corner of your lip.

You whimpered out at the pain before you couldn’t resist the hysterical scream that began to escape your throat as you tried to getaway. But he only held tighter ripping further up your cheek and into the surface slices, cutting against your gums and tongue and the bitter taste of copper filled your mouth. You were met with no relief even as he withdrew the blade finally, having cut up halfway towards your ear. 

Before another word could be spoken, another note of laughter could be hacked out, suddenly a blur of brown and black tackled the orc before you. The sound of metal meeting flesh met your ears, and with wide eyes, you watched them roll away. Elrohir straddled it victorious, slamming his sword down into the creature ending it’s life before he jumped from the beast to face the next.

Finally, the orc on your hand relented, turning to face the figure before it ran to them. With ease, he dodged the first swipe of the orc’s weapon. It went careening forward on the slope, and taking advantage of this, he thrust his sword into its neck. Silver eyes were blazing with unbridled fury, and with a snarl, he ripped his blade from the orc before unsheathing a dagger.

The scrawny orc made its move to retreat, but it was far too slow as you watched Elrohir bolt across the short distance. Slamming the blade into its skull and letting it fall, not bothering to retrieve his dagger.

All you could do was sit there speechless, relieved, and horrified at the same time. Grateful that Elrohir arrived when he did, unable to tear your eyes away from his figure, he finally began to slowly approach you. 

“Y/N…” He began in a gentle but pained voice; you felt so overwhelmed with relief a choked sobbed escaped your lips at the sound of his voice. Elrohir ran the short distance falling to his knees as his hands went to your shoulders as you choked and sobbed. His hands shook against you, 

“I just want to go home…  Elrohir, I just want to go home.” You cried hysterically to him, trying not to fold in on yourself. Elrohir kept you from doing so, and taking his place beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, 

“You are safe now meleth… I promise you are safe now…We are going home.” He whispered soothingly, beginning to gently lift you from the ground keeping his own emotions reigned in, so he didn’t exacerbate your raw ones. Concern radiated through him, seeing how much blood was dripping from your face, but he only cradled you against him snugly. Despite the crippling wounds on your hands, you reached to hold onto him tight, grasping at the front of his tunic as he shushed you softly. More so for comfort than wanting you to stop, he turned around just in time to see Elladan riding up with his horse in two.

“Elorhir! You found Y/N! Have they been harmed?” Elladan asked quickly, unable to see you fully or the blood that continued to dribble down your face. Pulling his horse to a stop, but you only tucked yourself further into Elrohir. Continuing to cry between the pain that you felt, the humility of someone seeing you like this… To the utter disbelief that this had actually happened to you. Were it not for your cuts and broken hand you’d scarcely believe that it was real.

Elrohir didn’t answer Elladan, tensing his jaw at his words and only sharing a grave and intense look with his twin as he approached his horse. With care, Elrohir set you down onto your feet, helping steady you as you put your foot into a stirrup to mount. You didn’t look at Elladan as Elrohir gave you a push so you could swing your leg around. Setting you in plain view of the other twin, whose eyes were on you the moment you were in complete view.

“Did you kill them all?” Elladan asked in a furious voice and could hear him digging around in his saddlebag as Elrohir mounted behind you. His hand was wrapped around your waist to hold you against him tightly. 

“Every last one.” Elrohir practically growled out to his brother, squeezing you to be comforting before you watched as something came sailing through the air towards you both. Still jumpy from everything that happened, you flinched hard, gasping, immediately bringing up your hands to defend yourself. Elrohir quickly catching what he tossed,

“Meleth… It is only rags…” He assured you in a soft whisper, gently bringing it to the front for you to see. Elrohir spoke truthfully as solid white rags sat in his hand before you, yet he didn’t rush you. When you looked back to Elladan, you were met with a concerned expression.

“For your cuts. Let us not waste any more time and get you home.” At his urging, with your cut hand, you grabbed the rags and brought it up to your face and mouth to hold. Once more, making sure you were tightly held in his grip, neither of the twins wasted another moment. Spurring their horses to gallop back to Imladris as quickly as they could, to get you the help that you desperately needed. For Elrohir to finally have you back within the safety of the walls of home.

* * * 

tags:

@saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandom-hoe101​ @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @allinwonderlands​ @red-riding​

[athenasbloodyspear]

Say Something to Stop Me: Chapter Two

Writing Master List | Say Something to Stop Me Master List

Please note: This fic describes depression, anxiety, panic attacks, past/referenced non con and domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion.

________________________

You wake to a slight pounding in your skull right between your eyes and an extremely dry mouth. You groan and flop onto your back, squinting at the bright light streaming through the window. Rolling to glance at the clock on your nightstand you discover that it is 6:30 in the morning. It makes sense, you estimate you fell asleep somewhere around 7:30 last night.

You suddenly shoot straight up in bed, your heart pounding. Oh my god. Bucky. He carried you here last night. You’re still wearing your jeans and t-shirt from the night before. There’s a glass of water and two small white pills on your nightstand and your shoes are laying right next to the bed. He must have put you to bed. You don’t remember anything after he picked you up.

You flop back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling above your bed, watching the early morning light flicker. A small smile fights its way to your lips. You couldn’t stop the growing grin if you tried. Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes himself carried you to bed last night and for some reason your heart is leaping around in your chest. You can almost feel it bouncing around in your rib cage. What the hell is wrong with you?

You put both hands over your face and let yourself giggle for a moment. You feel like a teenager who just spoke to her crush for the first time. Your fingers are a little tingly and you feel like there are butterflies making a nest in your abdomen. After a few moments of this you suddenly decide you have to get your shit together and go thank him.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and standing up proved to be more painful to your brain than you expected. You had to promptly sit back down on your mattress as your head spun and your vision began to tunnel. You hated hangovers. They made you feel so dizzy and weak. You attempted standing again, slower this time, and took a second to orient yourself to your now vertical stance.

You were… giddy. It felt strange to be fully present in your body and feeling something beyond apathy, but it was also the most relieving feeling. You gave another small smile to yourself. You felt more like yourself than you had in months. Immediately upon realizing that, you heard a voice in your head start whispering things to you.

Don’t spend any time being happy. You’re an embarrassment. If he knew who you really are lately he wouldn’t waste any time on you.

Oof. Just like that all the wind left your sails. You could feel your shoulders curve instinctively. The voice in your head was technically right. Bucky would be so embarrassed and disappointed in you. He’d never look at you the same. None of them would. They respect you for your strength and resilience, and if they knew what happened they wouldn’t see you as strong anymore. You’re not the person who you thought you were. Everything about your personality that you loved had shattered into pieces about seven months ago and you didn’t even know what to do about it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. There had been a moment just now. A brief wonderful moment that you saw clarity. That you felt like the person you used to be. It had been months in a row of feeling like your head was stuck under water. The world felt blurry, the sounds around you were muffled. You felt like your lungs weren’t really getting the oxygen you needed. But for a moment this morning, with the sunrise reflecting off the metal beams of the ceiling, your head had crested the surface. You had taken a huge breath of air and felt the sun on your skin for the first time in such a long time.

How did it slip from you so quickly? You were sinking under again, but instead of the drifting feeling you’d had, it suddenly felt like every muscle in your body was kicking toward the surface. You didn’t want to drown anymore. You wanted to feel the sun on your hair and the breeze across the back of your neck. You wanted to run and run and run and actually feel the oxygen in your lungs.

It suddenly felt very dire that you move. That you didn’t stand here with your eyes closed in limbo. You had to move, go somewhere, do something, talk to someone or you’d fall deeper. You shoved your feet into your sneakers and stumbled out the door with no real direction in mind.

I suppose I could just go thank Bucky. That’s a good starting point.

You whip your feet to the right and head farther down the hall toward Bucky’s room. Once you approach his door and knock you have a moment of silence to organize your swirling thoughts.

What are you going to say to him? Thank you I guess. Oh god you were still in your clothes from last night and you’re positive that your breath is probably so rank it would kill flies. You swallow hard and take a reflexive step back from the door. If you’re farther away, he might not be able to smell you. You try to take a surreptitious sniff of your armpit and you actually don’t smell quite as bad as you expected, but you still don’t exactly smell as fresh as a daisy.

Your head is spinning, but he’s not coming to the door. It’s at this moment that you realize that it is in fact only 6:30 in the morning and it’s entirely possible that everyone stayed up much later than 7:00 last night and could still be sleeping. You slap a hand to your forehead. God you’re so spacey lately.

You whip around to head back to your room when Friday speaks into the hallway above you.

“Agent Barnes is not home, Y/N. Agents Barnes, Wilson and Parker left around 6:00 this morning on a short reconnaissance mission. They should be home this evening. Bucky did peek his head in your door this morning before they left. You woke shortly after.”

Ah. Okay then. So the two people you were thinking of trying to talk to this morning are gone. In fact, the person who probably would have been third on the list of doors to knock on is gone too. Shit. You still felt restless, like if you didn’t keep treading water you’d drown. Absentmindedly bouncing on the balls of your feet you chewed on a thumb nail. Friday spoke again.

“Natasha is downstairs in the kitchen making coffee. Just so you know.”

You look up at the ceiling. How did Friday know you needed to talk to someone? Was Tony watching and wanted you to talk to Nat? Did Nat ask Friday to tell you? Did you care?

“Thanks Friday.” You say to the ceiling. You spin and begin your walk to the elevators.

“Anytime.”

~0~

Nat was indeed making coffee in the kitchen. She looked up when you stepped in and smiled.

“Morning Y/N. How’s that head?”

You chuckled at that and shook your head, wincing a little as your brain sloshed around in your head. “It’s… a little painful I won’t lie.”

“Sit. Coffee, water, tylenol and a really messy egg sandwich will help.”

“Thank you, Nat.”

She turned and started the coffee machine before walking to the fridge to grab you a glass of water. You leaned over the counter and placed your forehead in your hands. Suddenly two tiny little pills and a glass of water were pushed into your field of vision. You lifted your head and saw Nat walking over to the stove with some butter, eggs, cheese and bread in hand.

“Thanks.” You swallow both pills and then spend the next few minutes just slowly trying to get as much water down as you can. When your glass is empty you stand up to refill when suddenly an egg sandwich is set down in front of you.

“Sit and eat. I’ll refill for you. Milk in your coffee?”

“Just a splash. Thank you, again.”

Nat smiles. “You’re welcome.” She returns with your coffee and fresh water in hand. As you dig into your sandwich she leans her back against the kitchen island across from you.

“So. It sounds like James had to carry your ass to bed last night. What’s up with that?” Nat tosses casually over her shoulder. There’s something in her voice that you can’t quite pick up on. There’s a subtext you’re missing.

“Um. I was drunk. On accident. I think I was just dehydrated and didn’t eat dinner. I almost fell on my ass so he uh… carried me.” You keep your eyes on your egg sandwich, your cheeks felt like they were on fire with your blush.

“Hm. I don’t remember you being such a lightweight. If I remember correctly, when we were in Vienna you nearly drank Thor under the table.” Nat quips.

You huff a laugh. You nearly had. God you missed that big hulking brute. You really hoped things were okay in Asgard. “Yeah… I just am out of practice I guess.” you say through a mouthful of eggs.

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be out of practice with.” Nat says, turning toward you fully this time. She’s looking at you like she asked you a question even though she definitely did not.

“I suppose” you mutter back. You hadn’t felt anxious since walking in the kitchen, but now theres a small seed of panic in your gut. You shift a little in your seat, shoving the last bite of egg sandwich in your mouth. She’s giving you her Black Widow interrogation stare and you don’t like it.

She breaks the silence. “You’re kinda also out of the ‘talking to your family’ practice.” The last bite of egg sandwich gets lodged in your esophagus. You choke and start hacking a cough as you try to force the suddenly very dry bits of bread down your throat. Nat just leans her elbows on the counter and lifts one eyebrow at you. “What’s up with that?”

“Oh. Um.” You’re sputtering as you try to get air back down your throat. “Uh. It’s nothing personal. Just kinda… don’t feel like talking.”

“Hmmm.” Nat hums as she leans back. She slaps her palms against the countertop. “Well, you better muster up the strength because Tony has a therapist scheduled to start coming here every other week. No ifs, ands or buts. You’re going to spend an hour every two weeks with her whether you ‘feel like it’ or not. Got it?” She turns to go.

“Yes ma’am.” You mutter.

“I thought I told you never to call me that again.” Nat tosses over her shoulder as she picks up her coffee and starts to exit the kitchen.

“It’s a reflex, Nat. It’s hard not to when someone talks to me like a commanding officer.”

She pushes her hips against the door to open it and rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever. She’ll be here at three tomorrow. You can meet her in the conference room. If you’d rather not be around with prying eyes it sounds like it’s gonna be sunny tomorrow. Maybe you could sit by the lake.” With that she leaves.

“Okay.” You say out loud to the empty room.

~0~

Even though your moment with Nat was brief this morning, and rather scathing, you still feel better than you did standing in the middle of your room this morning. You’re not quite on dry land, but you feel your nose and mouth are at least above water and you’re breathing more deeply.

You spend sometime in the gym. You go back to boxing and lifting some weights. You figure that part of Tony’s forced therapy is that he cares about you, and also probably that they need you back on the field. It’s rare that they send Peter on recon missions as they don’t like to pull him out of school if they can help it, so Steve and Tony must be a little short handed at the moment. You should probably start getting back into field shape. Although, with how much running you’ve been doing you could probably hold your own out there.

After working out and showering you decide to wander around the outside of the complex. Nat was right, the weather is pretty pleasant right now so you might as well get some fresh air.

You think about your impending date with a therapist tomorrow. You feel a small twinge of shame twist in your chest when you think of it. Steve and Tony are so busy all the time, and yet you let your own stupid emotions and inability to cope make them worried. They had to take care of you, again. It’s exactly the kind of self hatred spiral that you’d been sucked into lately.  

This was all just so unlike you. It was so antithetical to everything that you held as your core personality traits. The reason that Tony and Steve had hand picked you to be the one that got the final dose of super serum they had uncovered is because you were resilient. Time and time again, mission after mission you had kept a cool head. Rolled with the punches. You’d been knocked down, beaten, stabbed and shot and still stood back up and jumped back into the next mission they’d offer. Sometimes even begging to be sent out before you got your medical clearance.

You’d gotten along with the team instantly. Even back when you were just a basic agent running their com links. You’d been trying to coordinate a million different channels and Sam had made some sarcastic comment about how the new kid was causing interference on the channels. You’d been trying to juggle so many things at once that you hadn’t even registered that you had snapped back that if he could just be smart enough to block his head while fighting and keep his com from being bashed around, your job wouldn’t be so hard.

There had been a moment of silence on the other end of the line and then all at once 4 different com links lit up as laughter spilled into your ear piece. You’d heard Nat ribbing Sam for always forgetting to block his ears and Steve cackling that “the kid just really got you.” Tony was chuckling quietly and Sam was saying “Fair. Fair.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

That was who you were. Managing what felt like a thousand com links, and still making jokes. You were cracking up with Sam on the battlefield. Helping Nat try to set Steve up on dates while you were doing recon. Laughing while you and Bucky beat each other up on the sparring mats.

You didn’t know the person you had become this year. Laying on the floor of your living room for hours on end? Not answering the door when Peter came over after school? Not taking a single mission for nearly 9 months? It just started one day and then just snowballed and snowballed. The more you laid around, the more you just hated yourself for not being able to get back up.

I mean c’mon . You’d been shot once busting up an arms deal in Sudan and all you did was laugh before hopping back up and clobbering the guy over the head with a loose cement block. Bucky had panicked and run your way when he saw you get hit, insisting he medivac you out. You had just winced and put a hand over the hole in your shoulder and said “and miss all the action? No chance.”

It baffled you that you couldn’t pull it together now.

Maybe the therapist would be good. As much as you hated to admit it, you clearly needed help.

A rumble in the distance alerted you that the quinjet had arrived home. You wandered across the grass to the landing pad to say hi to your friends. You could thank Bucky for last night and maybe ask Peter to watch a movie tonight. Or you could help him with his homework, not that the kid needed it. Just something. You suddenly really didn’t want to be alone.

As you rounded the corner of the building and caught sight of everyone, you realized that everyone was running around a little too frantically for your comfort level. You heard Sam yell “Someone get him to the med wing.”

“On it!” That was Steve.

Your heart froze in your chest and you paused mid step. You felt very torn between running toward the jet, and running clear in the other direction. You weren’t sure if you could handle whatever it was that was happening. It was then that you saw Bucky walking down the ramp of the jet with a red suited body cradled in his arms.

Your heart restarted with a vengeance and your feet moved on their own. Sprinting toward the jet. A choked “Peter!” ripped from your lungs.

As you stepped up on the landing pad Sam caught you around the waist and pulled you back. “He’s fine Y/N. He’s gonna be fine. Just needs some stitches and a concussion check.”

You were panting hard as you stood up on your tiptoes to peek over Sam’s shoulder in time to see Bucky pass Peter to Steve. You placed both palms on Sam’s chest and pushed with all your strength to get him out of your way. It was unfair, you used all your super strength against him. His breath wooshed from his chest as he skidded a few feet back. You started your dash towards Peter again before two arms, one warm and one cold, wrapped around your waist and dragged you backward.

“Stop. Stop sweetheart. Give him space. He’s just dazed.” Bucky grunted as you slammed into his chest. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he dragged you backwards away from the retreating form of Steve. Your hands scrambled for purchase over his arms. Pushing with all your strength against the metal and flesh wrapped around your middle. He, unlike Sam, did not budge.

This was your fault. You couldn’t get your shit together and Peter had to go on a mission for you and he got hurt. It was your own damn fault.

“Breathe. Please breathe for me. C’mon baby breathe.” Bucky was lowering you down to your knees now. You were suddenly aware of the concrete of the landing pad beneath your knees. Your breaths were ragged and choked. You felt like you were breathing through a straw. “Whoa whoa whoa sweetheart. You have to breathe for me.”  

Bucky was on his knees now in front of you. He had pushed back a bit so he could look into your face, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around you. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he tried to get you to match the pace of his breathing. You couldn’t tear your eyes off the door that Steve had just walked through.

“I can’t” you choked out. “Peter.” It felt like your throat was closing up. Where was the oxygen in the world?

“He’s fine. I promise. He got a little distracted and someone bashed him over the head with a two-by-four. He probably needs like 2 stitches in his eyebrow. He was also a little panicked and dazed, that’s why I was carrying him. It’s fine.” Your eyes flicked to Bucky. He was scanning your face now. He looked absolutely petrified.

“You’re lying. You’re lying to me right now. I have to get to him.” You tried to stand up. To push him away. Bucky and his damn bionic arm didn’t move.  

Bucky wraps his arms tighter around you and pulls you back down. You’re basically smashed against his chest now. He lets out a frantic humorless laugh “I am not lying to you. I’m terrified because you’re hyperventilating and I need you to breathe. Now.”

All at once your muscles go slack and tense at the same time. You stop fighting Bucky as it registers just how low on oxygen you are. Your heart is pounding nearly out of your chest and your throat keeps getting smaller. “I-can’t” you choke. Your chest spasms a bit as your abdominal muscles clench. You feel tears burning behind your eyes. Over Bucky’s shoulder Sam looks on with an equally panicked look on his face. He has one foot pointing away from you like he’s wondering if he should go get someone but doesn’t want to leave in case you need him.

“Yes you can. I know you can. Just match me, okay?” Bucky murmurs in your ear. His flesh hand is running smooth lines down your spine and he’s rocking your body very slowly back and forth. He takes a very deep breath and you splutter and choke as you try to force your lungs to match his pace. “That’s my girl. C’mon keep following my chest.”

Your body collapses fully against Bucky now. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and hiccup as you try to force your lungs into breathing cyclically in time with him.

The burn behind your eyes increases and you feel yourself slipping backwards. You’re falling deeper into the water the way you were this morning. Falling away from the sun and the breeze.

“I’m drowning. I’m drowning, Bucky. Oh god.” You pant.

Bucky whipped back to look you in the eyes “What?” he breathed. He was scanning your whole face and body, like he was looking for the source of water in your lungs. He didn’t know you meant it figuratively.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me Bucky. I’m so scared.” You whispered. You could barely keep your eyes open. Seeing the pain on his face, the look of pure terrified confusion on Sam’s face was so painful.  

Bucky brought his metal hand up to cup your cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay Doll. I’ve got you. Sam’s here. It’s okay.”

You buried your face into his neck again. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t explain. With your head buried, you missed Bucky throw a questioning look over his shoulder at Sam. You missed Sam shrugging his shoulders. Both of your friends, at a loss of how to help you. All they knew to do at the moment was make sure you were breathing.

The tears finally came. Big, hot, wet tears pouring from your eyes. Your body shaking with the force of them finally escaping after months of holding them in. You were incoherent. Babbling now as you just tried to rid your body of this demon of pain that seized every muscle. “Oh my god Bucky. I just… I let him do this to me. I… I’m such an idiot. I just… oh god” you were practically seizing in his arms now, he was holding tight to you like he was trying to keep pieces of you from cracking off.  

“What?” He choked out.

“Him!” You wailed. “I let him hurt me. I let him destroy who I am and I don’t even know why.”

Bucky was running a hand through your hair now. Softly whispering “Shhh it’s okay. It’s okay” into your neck. Sam had moved closer and placed a hand on your shin in quiet support. He had his head bowed and was looking at the concrete. You stayed in your tableau for a long time. Like a renaissance painting frozen in time. Slowly your heart beat went back to a steady rhythm and your breathing evened out.

Eventually, you sniffled and leaned back to look at Bucky. You were sure your hair was a mess, your face was splotchy and you probably had snot and tears running down your whole face. In fact, you probably got snot all over him. You really hoped it didn’t mess up anything in his arm.

Bucky looked at you quietly. He seemed to be waiting for you to speak, offering you a life preserver in a sea of uncertain emotions. Your voice was raspy when you finally spoke “I want to see Peter.”

Bucky just nodded and picked you up to set you on your feet. He backed away with his hands still on your hips, like he was worried you couldn’t stand on your own. “I’m okay.” you mumbled as you tried to smooth out your hair and use the sleeve of your t-shirt to wipe up your face. “I can stand. I’m okay.”

You turned and started walking back into the compound, the two of them flanking you as you began the trek to the med wing.

~0~

Upon arriving in the medical wing you snagged a tissue from a nearby box and tried to wipe up the rest of your face. You glanced at your reflection in one of the nearby glass panels and winced at how puffy and blotchy your face was. You tried to rub your face to even out the tone of your skin, but there was nothing you could do about how puffy your eyes were.

After walking farther down the hall you spotted Peter. Sitting up on a table where Dr. Cho was shining a light in both of his eyes. As you stepped into the room you just heard her say “A slight concussion. You should be cleared for activity in a week or so.” Before turning to put away all of her instruments.

“Hi.” You squeaked out. When Peter turned his eyes in your direction you nearly burst into tears again. He had brightened and smiled at the sound of your voice, but when his eyes hit your face his smile fell.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Sliding off the table to walk over to you. You glanced behind you and saw Bucky and Sam hovering just outside the door of the room. They were very obviously trying to watch you without looking like they were watching you.

“I think that’s my line.” You chuckle as Peter wraps you in a hug. Over your shoulder, Peter shoots a questioning look at Sam and Bucky.

Sam speaks up. “Someone got a little freaked when you got carried off the jet.”

Peter pulls back to look at you again. “Oh god Y/N. I’m okay. I promise. I just got a little overwhelmed when I realized I had let my guard down and panicked, and then I got dazed when I got whacked on my head. I’m okay.” When Peter notices the water fill up in your eyes he pulls you back in. “Oh please don’t cry. I’m fine. Just four stitches is all.”

“Bucky said you were only gonna need two.” You grumbled into his chest. Peter snorted. In the hall Bucky humphed.

“Four is not that far off, okay? I was close.”

Peter was rubbing his hands up and down your arms and laughing softly. “You know I think I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,” you noted, “this is sort of backwards.” Then all three of them were chuckling. You pulled back from Peter to look at him. “I’m sorry for being a baby, you just scared me.”  

“ I scared you?” Peter questioned “I think normally it’s you who shows up here all bloody and unconscious scaring the hell out of me, so I guess it was my turn.”

You chuckled a bit and grinned at Peter. His eyes lit up when he caught the upward tilt of your lips and he hauled you back against his chest. “I missed you, Y/N.” Peter said quietly.

“I’m right here, Peter.”

“Yeah, you are.” Peter sighed. Then he pulled back to look at you again. “Movie night? Maybe in the common room so everyone can watch? We haven’t finished the Fast the Furious movies yet.”

“Oh god I’m not watching if you’re past the third one.” Sam groaned from the hall. “They just went downhill after that.”

“Good news for you then birdman, we’re on Tokyo Drift.” Peter called out as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the room.

“Who you calling birdman, spider punk?” Sam shot back.

You snorted. All three of them whipped their heads to look at you. “What?” you asked indignantly, “It was funny!”

Bucky reached out and mussed your hair. “There she is.”

You pushed back against his arm. “Oh shut up, Terminator.”

Sam buckled over and held his stomach as he cackled, Peter’s chest shook next to you.

“What’s a terminator?” Bucky asked, making Peter and Sam laugh harder. Peter had to lift his arm off of your shoulder to put his hands on his knees.

You patted Buck on his metal shoulder. “I’ll tell you when you’re even older, you dinosaur.”

Sam and Peter stumbled forward down the hallway together, wheezing through their laughter. Their arms placed on each other's shoulders, quoting the terminator and wiping tears from their eyes.

You and Bucky followed behind them on your way to the common space. When Peter and Sam were far enough out of ear-shot Bucky spoke.

“You okay?”

You glanced over at him. He had his eyes on the two men stumbling down the hall together ahead of you. He was trying for nonchalance, but you could tell he was still on edge.

“Yeah, Buck. I am. I will be.”

He turned to look at you then. His lips curled up into the smallest of smiles, but it was enough to get you to return one. He threw his arm over your shoulder and dragged your head into his shoulder as you kept walking. “Yeah you will.”

And he was right. You would be. Not all at once. Not right away. But you would be. The sounds of your two friends laughing up the hall was proof.