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candycandy00 · 1 year

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The Experiment - A Mr. Compress x Reader Fanfic

Part of the League of Villains Halloween Horror Anthology! Featuring Mr. Compress as a Mad Scientist!

Smut. 18+. Oral sex, blood, implied gore/death/torture (“offscreen”). Mr. Compress in glasses. F! Reader. Zombies. Horror.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Eerie red light flooded the room. You squinted and held your hand over your eyes, not quite used to the emergency beacons flashing wildly as a siren screamed from overhead. It was only the second time you’d experienced such a thing. Working in the top secret laboratories on the island was certainly not boring.

At least a dozen people in long white coats were running back and forth, scrambling to gather up weapons and shouting into communicators. “Another one got out!” someone screamed, and you shuddered. The thought of one of those things running around loose made your skin crawl.

A woman stopped beside you. “Hey, what are you doing?! Don’t just stand there, grab a gun and help us find it!”

You blinked at her, thinking she couldn’t be serious. I’m only an assistant. This wasn’t in the job description. I don’t even know how to use a gun.

The woman huffed angrily and ran off. You were relieved. You glanced around the room, watching the chaotic scene. People appeared and then disappeared into the hallways, through three separate doors. Monitors along the far wall displayed every possible nook and cranny in the building as the cameras searched frantically for the missing experiment.

One of the doors flew open yet again and a familiar voice yelled, “I found it! On the third floor!”

Your eyes fell on the man standing just inside the room, panting as he tried to catch his breath. A rifle was in his right hand. He looked up and noticed you, then grinned at you from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “I found it,” he repeated in your direction.

You nodded, smiling. “Good job, Doctor.”

“Would you like to come help me catch it?”

Your face turned red. “You... want me to come with you?”

The doctor looked at you, puzzled. “Sure. I’ll need all the backup I can get!”

You lowered your eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry, Doctor, but I don’t know how to use a gun.”

He looked surprised. “Really? We’ll have to fix that. Sit this one out then!” And with that he waved and headed back into the hall. Several more people ran after him.

You flopped into a nearby chair and sighed. So much for being alone with him. But I guess hunting down one of those things wouldn’t really be that romantic.

You had been Doctor Sako’s assistant for the past two months, from your first day on the job. It was love at first sight. He had stepped out of one of the experimentation rooms, splattered from head to toe in blood, and given you the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. Like he was genuinely happy to see you. Like he’d been waiting for you. All his life.

He was handsome, in an unconventional way. Wavy dark hair, warm brown eyes behind large glasses, a perpetually stained white lab coat worn over a button up shirt, suspenders attached to black pants. He wasn’t exactly Prince Charming, but his smile lit up any space he walked into.

The room had gone quiet. All the scientists involved in the search had followed Doctor Sako to the third floor. You looked up at the monitors, where you saw them all standing around in the hall. The floor and walls were covered in gore. Blood, clumps of flesh, battered internal organs, all splashed across the hall as if someone had just exploded. A few minutes later Doctor Sako returned, so covered in guts that his messy hair looked completely red and you couldn’t find a single spot on him that was clean.

He smiled at you again. “Well, that’s done.”

You laughed nervously. “You have an exciting job.”

“Yes, but now we have to get back to the boring work,” he said with a chuckle.

You were happy as you stood up and followed him to his office. Your small desk was across the room from his, facing him. You spent a great deal of time filing papers and organizing files and helping him go over test results. You didn’t have clearance to go into the experimentation rooms with him, and so you never knew exactly what was going on. But you had seen some of the test subjects and always waited just outside the door for him, ready to fetch anything he might need.

“Do you need some coffee?” you asked, walking toward the door to get some for yourself.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” he said, eyes quickly scanning a document in his hands.

You left the office, closing the door behind you and heading for the meager kitchen area. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, then another for the doctor. You hummed happily to yourself as you added cream and sugar to his cup. You couldn’t explain why, but you felt extremely pleased to know exactly how he liked his coffee. He liked sweet things, you had realized within a week of working for him. And so you occasionally brought chocolates to work with you and always made sure to offer him some.

The lady scientist who had yelled at you earlier appeared in the kitchen, filling a glass of water. She looked at you with disgust. “What are you so happy about?”

Your faint humming stopped suddenly. “Excuse me?”

The woman frowned. “Today was a disaster. Three weeks of work just went down the drain. Millions of dollars wasted. Anyone who cares about our work here would be devastated, not humming and grinning like an idiot.”

“That’s not true!” you found yourself saying a little too loudly. “Doctor Sako cares about his work more than anyone and he’s still smiling!”

The woman stared at you. “The way you talk about him, the way you look at him, is highly inappropriate for a working environment. Besides, you have no idea what kind of person he is.”

“I do know! I know he’s a sweet and friendly person. I know he’s brilliant and kind and always makes time for others!”

“But have you seen him working? Have you been in the experimentation rooms?”

You reluctantly shook your head. “Not yet, but he says that after I’ve been here long enough, I can.”

The woman laughed. “You’re in for a big surprise then. Doctor Sako is a monster in those rooms, a butcher. He has absolutely no regard for human beings.”

You hesitated for a moment, not sure how to respond. You glanced at the doctor’s sugared coffee and remembered his smile. “You’re wrong,” you finally said. “He’s a gentle person. I’m sure he has to hurt people sometimes for his work, but it’s important to him.”

The woman chuckled again, highly amused. “Whatever you say, honey.”

You grabbed the two cups of coffee from the counter and hurried into the hall, nearly colliding with two people before reaching the doctor’s office. You sat his coffee on his desk and he looked up at you with a smile. “Thank you, my dear.”

You nodded and returned to your own desk, but you couldn’t focus on your work. You couldn’t stop watching him, thinking about what the woman had told you. Doctor Sako was cute and charming. He couldn’t possibly be that bad. You finally spoke up.

“Doctor?”

He looked at you. “Yes?”

“What exactly do you do... in the experimentation rooms?”

He stared at you blankly for a few moments, as if the question surprised him. “Well, we test our products on them. See how their bodies react to the different strains we’ve created.”

“Strains?”

“Of viruses. To use for biological weapons. And of course we’ve been trying to create reanimated corpses that will serve as soldiers in the future.”

“The zombies?”

The Doctor held his hands up immediately and made a shushing motion. “Don’t let the others hear you say that! They really hate that term.”

You were embarrassed. “Oh, sorry.”

“But yes, the zombies. We’ve been able to create twelve so far, but none of them have lasted very long and we’ve had varied results on their motor functions and cognitive abilities.”

“I see,” you said. “So... the work you’re doing... it’s for a good cause then.”

“Oh, absolutely! It’s the most important thing in the world for me!”

The doctor was beaming with pride, and you decided he had earned the right to do so. He was the head scientist over the whole lab, the top paid employee of their mysterious company. He only answered to a select few people, men in fancy suits who showed up once a week to check the progress of their work, dish out money to fund more experiments, and occasionally fire someone who wasn’t doing their best.

The doctor suddenly smiled at you. “You want to visit the experimentation rooms, don’t you?”

You were taken off guard by his question, but nodded slowly. In truth, you were a little uneasy about seeing what went on behind the locked steel doors. But the thought of getting to know Doctor Sako better, of being able to understand his work and his goals, overcame your fear of the unknown.

“I’ll ask Shreve tonight. He’s coming for the weekly meeting.”

Your heart fluttered. He really wants to show me his work. He wants to share it with me.

A clock chimed somewhere in the building and the doctor stood up. “Time to do a check-up,” he said cheerfully, grabbing a pair of latex gloves from a nearby dispenser as he left the room. You followed him into the hall and stopped just outside a large shiny door.

“I’ll be waiting here, doctor, in case you need anything.”

He waved in return and closed the door behind him. You stood quietly for several minutes before sliding down the wall into a sitting position on the floor. A few scientists walked by and gave you dirty looks. I don’t care. I’m Doctor Sako’s assistant, not theirs. As long as he’s pleased with me, nothing else matters.

You’d been waiting for nearly two hours before the door swung open and the doctor peeked out. “I need some assistance!” he yelled, but his voice was nearly engulfed by another sound.

Screaming. Someone was screaming from within the room. It was so loud and high-pitched that you couldn’t tell if the voice was male or female. As the doctor stood in the door way, you stole a glance into the room behind him. Something laid on a table, something that took you several seconds to realize was a human being. You could see an arm and two legs, but everything in between was just a big bloody pile of goo. At the top, you could almost make out a face. But it was so distorted and twisted with shock and horror that it did nothing to help you distinguish the gender.

“What is...”

“Listen, dear!” the doctor suddenly yelled, and your attention was snapped away from the grizzly scene inside. You realized then that in Doctor Sako’s left hand was an arm. A bloody, mangled arm. In his right hand was a saw.

“Yes... doctor?” you managed to say, feeling a little dazed.

“I need some buckets right away!”

The bizarrely serious look on his face made you scramble to your feet and dash off without another word to the supply closet to grab the requested buckets. They were large and bright orange and you couldn’t carry more than two. You reached them to him and he immediately dropped the arm into the first bucket with a disgusting thud and thanked you as he shut the door again.

He emerged another hour later, covered in a fresh coat of blood, and this time there were no sounds coming from the room. The lights were off and you couldn’t see anything before he closed the door and locked it with his personal key. He pulled off his glasses and pulled back his soaked lab coat, holding up the collar of his shirt to wipe the lenses.

He looked at you and grinned. “Second time today,” he said with a laugh.

You watched him uneasily, not sure what to say after having seen something so disturbing. You finally decided to just ask him about it. You took a deep breath. “Doctor, what was that?”

He replaced his glasses. “Oh, you saw? Just another reanimated corpse. After we lost one today, I thought we’d better try to create another one quickly to replace it. You know, the meeting tonight and all.”

“Did it work?”

“The subject didn’t respond well to the virus. We had to terminate the experiment.”

“I see,” you said.

“I have to go clean up. Shreve will be here any minute.”

You nodded and watched him disappear around a corner. You returned to his office, sitting down and laying your head upon your desk. Maybe the other scientist was right. Maybe he does do horrible things in those rooms. But it was just a zombie. It was already dead. You can’t hurt something that’s already dead.

The terrible screams you heard earlier flooded your mind and you closed your eyes tightly, trying to force the memory out. It’s for his work. This will make our military stronger. It’ll make our country stronger. He’s doing good things. He’s a good person!

Doctor Sako came back to his office with a fresh lab coat and most of the blood washed from his face and hands. Stains still littered his pants and clumps of stuff you didn’t care to identify still clung to stray strands of his hair. He sat down in his leather chair and began typing at his computer. You watched him intently.

He suddenly caught your eye. “Is something wrong?”

You hesitated for a moment, then stood up and closed the distance between your desk and his. “Doctor, I... really enjoy working with you.”

He was staring up at you and looked a little confused. “I enjoy working with you too,” he said.

Your heart was pounding furiously and your cheeks were beginning to burn, but you’d made up your mind. You had to tell him how you felt, before your mind became any more clouded with doubts. You swallowed hard and looked him in the eyes. “Do you have anyone that you love?”

He looked even more confused. “I, uh, love my work.”

“I’m in love with you.”

His eyes widened. His pale face became pink. “Oh... I...”

You felt like your knees would give out at any moment, but it was too late to turn back now. “I don’t expect you to return my feelings, but I wanted you to know how I feel. I don’t want you to treat me differently. I don’t want this to change our working relationship. I just...” you trailed off, taken surprise by how adorably embarrassed he looked, like a school boy. You wanted to laugh, but realized how inappropriate that would be. Had no girl ever confessed her love for him? Had he never been in a relationship?

You felt a little more confident as a smile tried to creep onto your face. You walked around his desk and stood over him. You leaned down, inching closer to him. You were moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop you or pull away or push you back. But he seemed to be frozen, watching you with shock. When you were close enough to feel his breath on your face, you paused. “Could you accept my feelings, Doctor?”

“I... uh... think you’re very pretty and... I’m flattered, really.”

You blushed, extremely pleased to receive the compliment but now fearful that he was preparing to reject you. You were just waiting for a ‘But’.

“But...”

You quickly pressed your lips to his, effectively cutting him off. You couldn’t bear to let him finish, to hear his rejection. You wrapped your arms around his neck and within seconds you were in his lap. You eventually became aware of his hands on your back, pulling you closer to him and somewhat clumsily creeping beneath your lab coat. He does like me! He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t like me. He’d be pushing me away.

You didn’t dare to break the kiss, even as he pulled off your lab coat and slid his off his shoulders. He was so warm and soft and his mouth tasted sweet like the candy and cakes he was always eating. This was a dream come true. This was what all your fantasies were made of. Just this moment in Doctor Sako’s arms.

After a few moments, you slid from his lap and onto your knees in front of him, looking up at him as you unbuckled his belt. He was breathing harder as he watched you, his dark eyes wide behind his glasses. He looked flustered, but he made no attempt to stop you as you opened his pants and slid the waistband of his boxers down far enough to free his cock. You were surprised that he was already hard, and when you glanced at his face, a light blush had dusted his cheeks.

You couldn’t help smiling. You leaned forward and licked gently at his tip, and you heard his breath hitch. Feeling emboldened by his reaction, you took him into your mouth, using your tongue to circle his length. His hands were gripping the arm rests of his chair, and his eyes never left you, seeming entranced. You moved your head back and forth, sliding your lips up and down him, using your saliva to keep him slick.

He made quick, stilted moans that turned you on as you continued sucking his dick, determined to get him off. It didn’t take too long. He was probably even more inexperienced than you were. His entire body went rigid when he came into your mouth, a shuddering groan filling your ears. You swallowed every last drop, locking eyes with him as you licked up any remaining drops.

You got back to your feet and he pulled you back into his lap, his hands tugging your skirt up as you wrapped your arms around him.

A harsh knock came at the door, causing you to practically leap from Sako’s lap and retreat back to your desk. He looked nervously at you, his face red, then stood up and straightened his lab coat, making his way toward the door. He reached up and tried to smooth out his ever messy hair before turning the knob.

Shreve, a stuffy looking business man in a black suit walked in. “Did I interrupt you, doctor?”

The man’s eyes very pointedly shifted to your discarded lab coat on the floor. You blushed and sank lower in your chair. Doctor Sako laughed uneasily and picked it up. “Not at all, sir. I was expecting you.”

Shreve made no attempt to participate in small talk. “Let’s step into the meeting room. I want a full report on what happened here today. I’ve heard some disappointing things about the newest subject.”

“Of course, sir,” the doctor replied, draping your coat over his own chair and giving you a weak grin before leaving with Shreve.

You were left alone in his office, your face still burning with a combination of embarrassment and excitement. I can’t believe it. I kissed him. He kissed me back. It was so perfect! Why did Shreve have to ruin it?

You spent a few minutes sulking before an idea hit you. Doctor Sako had said he would ask Shreve about giving you clearance to go into the experimentation rooms. If he’d found your behavior inappropriate, he wouldn’t ask. But if he liked you, and wanted to spend more time with you, he would.

You quietly exited the room and crept down the hall, toward the meeting room. You arrived at the door and stood beside it, trying to listen. You could hear Shreve’s raised voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. You very carefully reached down and twisted the knob, sliding the door open just a little, enough to allow sound to escape.

“You’re wasting our money and our time! If you can’t start producing real results, we’re going to have to cut off funds.”

Doctor Sako’s voice sounded strained, worried. “We’re doing our best. We just don’t have enough subjects to work with. You were supposed to send us more. As of today, we have no new subjects in the entire building.”

Shreve’s voice sounded like a roar. “Then find your own subjects! I want results this time next week, or there will be serious consequences!”

You slid the door shut and silently walked back down the hall. You felt guilty for listening in, and felt sorry for the doctor. How could he possibly ask about getting you clearance when he was already in trouble? Things had went from amazing to depressing in the course of ten minutes.

You stopped beside Doctor Sako’s office and leaned face-first against the door. You felt so stupid now for saying such silly things to him, for putting on such a shameful display. He had enough on his mind. How could you face him now?

You started to turn around when you heard a loud, sudden cracking sound, almost like a bat hitting a baseball. White light flooded your vision and you felt the sensation of falling backward. All sound then melted away, and you lifted your eyes to see the ceiling above you. Through the haze of light, you thought you caught a glimpse of Doctor Sako’s face. And then, nothing.

When you opened your eyes again, the first thing you noticed was that you hurt. Everywhere. It was as if someone had simply poured a bucket of pain over your entire body. Your eyes seemed blurry and you strained to see in front of you as objects started to become clear. You could see a plain white wall at first, and slowly the rest of the room came into view. A tiny video camera sat in the far corner of the ceiling, pointing at you. To the left, you could see a large metal door. And to your right...

“Good morning, my dear!”

You turned to the voice and blinked. Doctor Sako smiled at you, the same smile he had given you the day you met, the smile that told you he had been waiting for you all along. The smile you fell in love with.

“What happened?” you asked, and you realized your voice was tiny and weak. Your whole body was aching severely and you couldn’t move anything. It took you a while to realize that your arms and legs were tied down with leather straps, and you were completely naked.

You jerked wildly, your first instinct to cover yourself, then cried out when sharp stabbing pain shot through your arms. The dull aches became unbearable stings. “Doctor, what’s going on?! What’s wrong with me?!”

He reached out a latex glove-covered hand and patted your head. “Calm down. It’s alright. Your body adjusted to the virus wonderfully. The first part of the experiment has been a great success.”

You heard the words but your brain couldn’t seem to process them. “Experiment?”

“I explained it to you before, didn’t I? Creating reanimated corpses. Wait, what was the term you used? Zombie? Yes, you’re a zombie now.”

You stared at him in horror, not able to believe what he was saying. All the more terrible was that he was still smiling. “No... please... you can’t do this to me!” you cried, “I’m your assistant! You’re a good person, you wouldn’t do this!”

The smile faded slightly. “I thought you understood. This is a very important experiment. In fact, today we’re going to start the second phase.”

“Second phase?”

The smile returned. “You’re the most successful subject we’ve encountered so far. Judging by your reactions since waking up, you’ve retained all your motor functions and have incredible cognitive abilities. You can still think, talk, and feel. You’re a perfect specimen to study.”

You tried to shake your head, but your neck was so stiff that the pain was too great. Tears fell down your face. “I don’t understand... I can’t be dead! I’m not dead!”

Doctor Sako seemingly ignored you. “The next phase of the experiment is to find out just how much damage a subject can take before it finally dies a second time. Oh but don’t worry, you’re quite durable now. I think you’ll last quite a while!”

Your vision was becoming blurry again from your tears. You tried to control your sobs, as each time your body shook you were racked with excruciating pain. “Please... please don’t do this.. I love you. I thought... I thought you...”

He patted your head again. “I told you, I love my work. Now you’re my work.”

You gaped at him, still not able to get over the shock of what he was saying. He even turned a little pink, as if he were confessing his love for you. “Oh God... she was right... the woman in the kitchen...”

But your voice broke off when you spotted the large saw in the doctor’s right hand. He held up his left hand and grinned. “Look, I remembered the buckets this time!”

And anyone unfortunate enough to wander by the experimentation room as Doctor Sako entered or left would find their ears overwhelmed by the sound of screaming. And some would wonder what lurked beyond the door, perhaps even catch glimpses of a bloody mess that vaguely resembled a once beautiful young woman. But the doctor would smile and lock the door, cheerfully returning to his office.

End

#mr. compress x reader #mr. compress smut #mr. compress #lovhalloweenhorror #atsuhiro sako x reader #atsuhiro sako

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adamwatchesmovies · 1 year

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Sahara (2005)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

On paper, Sahara sounds like a slam dunk. It’s Indiana Jones meets James Bond with big stars like Matthew McConaughey and Penelope Cruz and armed with a budget to make all the stunt-filled adventure come to life. In practice, it’s devoid of any joy or excitement. Director Breck Eisner makes 124 minutes feel so much longer than two hours.

In 1865, the ironclad CSS Texas disappeared with the last of the Confederacy’s treasury gold. In present day, Dirk Pitt (Matthew McConaughey) has finally found a clue to its final resting place: Mali. With his longtime bud and fellow treasure-hunter Al Giordino (Steve Zahn), he investigates. Along the way, the meet WHO doctor Eva Rojas (Penelope Cruz) as she investigates a mysterious plague she fears will soon ravage the country.

Based on the novel by Clive Cussler, this film adaptation tries to do too much. Sahara is essentially two movies slammed together. The first is a swashbuckling adventure in the vein of Indiana Jones. Boat chases, car chases, fist fights, impromptu survival techniques in the desert and a long-lost treasure? There’s no mistaking it. The other movie has an inconspicuous, beautiful doctor embroiled in a plot that begins as a threat to Africa but could endanger the whole world and includes a solar-powered laser beam, a mad dictator and businessmen devoid of morals. The problem is that these two plots exist independently and are not well blended. In one scene, Dirk and Al are dodging entire clips’ worth of bullets with big smiles while coming up with crazy ways to take down the villains on their tail by blowing up their own boat. In the next, a single bullet is treated with enough gravitas to give you a headache.

Also problematic are the actors. Matthew McConaughey and Penelope Cruz are talented actors. Here? they’re awful. They’re even worse together. They have no chemistry whatsoever, which makes their plots feel even more akin to a mix of oil and water. You know they’re going to fall in love from the beginning but you’ll believe a metal boat from the American Civil War will make it across the ocean on no rations before you’ll believe that romance.

From the unfunny humor meant to endear you to the characters to the action scenes that prove the actors couldn’t throw a decent punch if their lives depended on it, Sahara suffers from major problems. It also gets the little things wrong. When Commander Rudi Gunn (Rain Wilson) approaches the United States Embassy for help, he's warned it’s unlikely aid will arrive in time because “No one gives a shit about Africa”. They're not wrong. Even this movie doesn't care about Mali or its people because moments later, we learn the thing that’s gruesomely killing en-masse will soon spread to the entire world. So it wasn’t enough that Mali would become the world's biggest graveyard; the entire human race has to be at risk? Yikes.

Then, there’s the climax. This is one of those movies where the villains must have the greatest employee benefits package of all time because the baddie's top bodyguard decides to get into a fistfight on top of a building that’s rigged to explode in a few minutes. How was he going to get out of there once he got the job done?

I can give a movie slack and accept a preposterous story but you’ve got to give me something in return. When your actors have no chemistry between them, the bad guys are completely forgettable, the humour falls flat on its face, the action scenes are badly shot & choreographed and none of what you see is interesting, you want to find some way to entertain yourself, perhaps by having some laughs at the film’s expense. You'd think it'd be easy when the Los Angeles Times listed this film as one of the most expensive flops of all time but you'd be wrong. Sahara is too dull to provide any form of entertainment. (Full-screen version on DVD, January 29, 2021)

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multifan2022 · 2 years

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Too little Too late part 5

Masterlist

HERES THE LINK FOR PART 1! Please make sure you read all of it! PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 SO this part is just to try and give some context to the relationships between the reader and the brothers. Hope this part doesnt flop, sorry if you hate it!

It had been hours since anyone had heard anything, your parents had been called and showed up screaming. Screaming at Tommy because they found out about your pregnancy. Screamed at John and Polly for ever getting you involved with the Blinders. Screamed at Tommy some more for anything they could think of. It had to have been 45 minutes of them screaming before a nurse told them they needed to calm down or leave.

So that left them all to just sit and wait. And waiting, panicked minds never do any good. Tommys mind started replaying all the times you were there for him, and the first time he realized he messed up.

*Flashback 5 months earlier*

You were sitting at the bar, in the only high top chair there, talking back and forth with Harry when Tommy made his normal dramatic entrance that day. You rolled your eyes with a small smile on your face as Harry filled your water glass while sitting a bottle of whiskey down. You didn't even have to look away to know who was next to you.

"On the house Mr. Shelby." Harry said before walking away to help others. Tommy set money on the counter, even though he wasn't required to pay for it. He looked around the pub before looking at you, watching as you sipped at your water.

"You know your drinks here are free.. You can drink something stronger than water." He said leaning against the counter as he held his glass. You nodded, turning to face him. You were one of the few people who always looked him in the eye. He was a beautiful man.

Really all of the Shelbys were, but you had always thought Tommy was just a little better looking. His sharp jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes so blue they were the color you imagined icy sea water to be, always so cold to those around him. His love and comfort was only afforded to a few.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby.. But I prefer water you know that. No smoke no drink and an apple a day.. Keep the doctors away." You said smiling at him, he shrugged before turning back to the bar. He lit a cigarette and went to say something when you caught Freddie Thorne walking towards them.

He set his glass down and requested a refill before turning to Tommy, completely ignoring your presence, while Tommy ignored his. Then in a brave move, he leaned over and took the coin Tommy had set down to pay for his own drink. Harry looked at you, then between the two men as Tommy chuckled.

"Cheers, Thomas, good health to ya." Freddie said as you reached out, laying your hand on Tommy's arm. You weren't exactly sure what had happened between the two during the war, or since but knew there was friction. "Tommy.." You said under your breath asking him to not make a scene.

But knew the chances of that were slimming when Freddie leaned back and picked up Tommy's cap. Inspecting the razors you had sewn into the seams, "Crown of a prince." When he flung the cap back onto the bar, your hand slid down and into Tommy's. He gave it a squeeze, letting you know he would keep his cool. "Soon to be king, I'd bet.."

Tommy's voice was low as he held your hand, staring down at his cigarette "You dont bet." You were nervous, there were no other Blinders in the pub. None of the other Shelby boys, and while you could hold your own you didn't want to fight today. You hated showing up at the school covered in blood.

"No but these last few days I've been speculating." Freddie said looking now at you, then down to were your hand was holding Tommy's. Both of them could tell the man was just trying to bait Tommy, he had no choice but to finish the conversation. "About what?"

Freddie smiled now, looking back over the pub. "Well first, easy to see you've already found your queen. Wonder how your brother feels about that.. Or her parents, heard they don't much like ya."

You tightened your hand around Tommy's again. It wasn't exactly a secret that the two were close. Anyone with eyes could see it. You two were not together, just so close that it seemed like it. Tommy wasn't in a place to have a significant other in that way.

But you provided him the comfort of love without the daily responsibility of a relationship.

Tommy waited for his old friend to continue, knowing that the woman next to him wasn't what he wanted to talk about. "One of my union comrades has a sister, who works in the telegraph office at the BSA factory. She says, over the past week, they've had messages coming up from London to the brass. From Churchill himself."

Tommy sighed as he kept his gaze on his smoke, not removing himself from where he was in anyways as Freddie moved closer. Freddie was getting braver in Tommy's silence, as he kept speaking, "Something about a robbery."

"A robbery of National significance, it said."

At Freddie's words you felt Tommy stiffen just a little, not noticeable to those around them. Only noticeable as you were still touching him. Tommy raised his eyebrows, blowing out smoke and nodding a bit.

"She found a list of names left on the telegraph machine. And on that list was yours.. and mine.."

"What kinda list would have the name of a communist and a book maker side by side?"

Freddie smiled at you, then looked back at Tommy who had now turned just enough to shield you. He feigned confusion on his face to mask his irritation. "Perhaps it's a list of men.. Who give false hope to the poor. The only difference, between you and me, Freddie.. Is that sometimes my horses stand a chance at winning."

You turned as Tommy did, sipping at your water to hide your smile. Tommy's backhanded comment only annoyed Freddie more as he watched Tommy. When he stood, he walked around and leaned between the two of you, causing you to stiffen as he spoke softly.

"You know, there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings, that I really wish I'd let you take that bullet in France." Freddie seethed, threw his teeth as you closed your eyes. You knew that this would be the moment Tommy would make the choice of how this would end.

When he chuckled you thought for sure it was the end. He clicked his tongue before speaking without looking at Freddie. "Believe me, there are nights I wish you had."

Before you could jump in, tell Tommy that you were glad he didn't. Tell Freddie to fuck off, the doors slammed open scaring everyone. Danny stormed in yelling, throwing tables and glasses. Tommy pushed you back further away from him as both he and Freddie moved to grab him.

You felt horrible when this happened, shell shock was something many of the men that came home had to deal with. And unfortunately a bullet to the brain was the only way to treat it. Some people were forgiving of the soldiers who were messed up, but others were not.

You watched as Danny screamed, as Tommy and Freddie got him to the ground. Both yelled at him to calm down, that he was home and alright. Tears had started to form in your eyes as Danny started sobbing.

The pure terror on Danny's face as the two pulled him up hurt your heart. You physically felt pain in your chest watching it, knowing that it could have happened to any of your boys. It could be worse than nightmares, and sometimes worse than death.

Danny turned and caught your face, looking back to Tommy and then back to you. "Ah, hell.. Did I do it again?" Tommy looked over at you, then back to Danny and nodded "Ya did it again Danny." Danny started sobbing, Tommy leaning their heads together "Ya gotta stop doing this man."

As Danny started trying to apologize, you moved away from the bar. Grabbing your glass of water and heading for the broken man. You hated how the other men ran and cowered from him, like he's some kind of monster. You lightly pushed Tommy away "Take a drink Danny.. Then lets get you home to the wife ya?"

Danny held your wrist keeping eye contact as you lifted the glass to his lips. You felt Tommy lean his forehead against your shoulder. You knew how much it pained him when this happened. Danny was a good man, he was just broken into pieces during the war.

When Danny finished the water he nodded looking to the ground, "I'm sorry Miss, I'm sorry I scared ya." Danny wiped his forehead off, sweat dripping from him as a result of the panic attack.

You took his face between your hands after setting the glass down. Looking him straight in his eyes, so he could see you were being truthful, you spoke with a small smile. "It'll take a lot more than you Danny to scare me." You pressed your lips to his now dry forehead before pulling away, "Now let's get ya home."

You looped your arm around Danny's, who was still shaking lightly. Pulling him from the pub as you turned back and looked at Tommy who nodded. Everyone started putting tables and chairs back in place as the doors shut behind you.

Tommy turned back, slightly nervous for you to be alone with Danny. But he knew that you were smart enough to stay in the streets, where there would be plenty of people. He knew that as soon as you dropped him off you would head to the school.

"She deserves better than you." Freddie said as he stared at the doors. His words made the room fall silent again, as Tommy's hands found his hips. He tilted his head back, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"She deserves better than all of us, Freddie."

*End of flashback*

Tommy could remember how proud he felt of you in that moment. That you had walked up to a man who had just lost his mind, and there was no fear played on your face. Your steps were not nervous or timid, you didn't look to him for help or permission. It was moments like that that reminded him of how strong you were. That you were no longer the little girl he grew up with, but a woman who had forged her way into his world.

He remembered the times you lied, and stood next to him next. But the memory was bittersweet, because it was also when you had started to drift away from him. When he started getting deeper into the business and started leaving you out in favor of a blond bartender.

*Flashback 5 months earlier*

As you walk into the Shelby home you see Finn peaking through the crack in the door, listening to Arthur's loud words. Snatching him gently by the ear you pull him away, "Finn! You know better than to be down here listening! Go up to your room now before I get Polly!" Finn's eyes widened, not realizing that the other room had fallen silent.

They had heard the scuffle outside the door, before they could investigate they heard your soft voice scolding the youngest. John chuckled while Arthur just shook his head. The door opened again allowing you to walk in, you kissed Arthurs cheek before moving to sit next to John.

Tommy stood behind your chair, having left it open for that reason. "Anyways, they are recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as specials." Arthur finished pushing the door with his heel. Ada tried to look at the flyer but John snatched it out of her hand.

You snatched it out of his once he was done reading and looked it over. You knew what this meant, what it meant for the family. It would make things more difficult. Ada asked what the men were being brought to do in her soft voice as you handed Polly the paper.

"To clean up the city, Ada." Tommy said, offering you a smoke again. You rolled your eyes and pushed his hand away, you were inhaling enough smoke just being in the same room with them all. Second hand nicotine, didn't need it first hand. You knew Tommy was just playing with you. "He's the chief inspector."

You sigh, leaning back, looking up at Tommy before turning back to Arthur. "The last four years he's been clearing the IRA outta Belfast" You said tapping your fingers on the table. You heard Tommy mumble that you should've let him finish. Arthur caught this and looked down his nose to glare at you, "How do you know so bloody much?"

You laughed looking away from Arthur at the others, he was trying to intimidate you. It wouldn't work. "I think you forget Arthur, that we still needed information when you boys were gone. Men.. Especially foolish men are easily tricked by a pretty face and a few well placed giggles."

John chuckled, but covered it with a cough and Polly smiled at you. Tommy was less than pleased with your flirting but knew it needed to happen. "After Tommy asked the Coppers on the payroll, I went in and talked to a few. If you pretend to be interested in their hard life, they tend to spill their guts. Add a few drinks and a few touches and you'll know everything.."

You looked Arthur up and down, annoyed with his attitude before adding on "Well maybe not you.. But me, sometimes it helps that my last name isn't Shelby."

This time John didn't cover his laughter, leaning over and kissing your temple as you kept your glare on Arthur. "Why did you tell me?" He said, still trying to be the boss, you shrugged "I told Tommy."

Arthur moved his glare to Tommy who just shook his head a little "Tellin ya now."

Polly was proud that you were standing by Tommy, that you both were standing up to Arthur. So she turned to Tommy as well, "Why are they sending him to Birmingham?"

You knew the real answer wasn't the one that Tommy was going to give. So you stayed quiet in your seat, trying to not wiggle. Tommy could almost feel your hesitation, so he stepped forward and laid his hand on your shoulder. Trying to relax you in a small way, hoping you wouldn't give anything away.

"There's been all these bloody strikes at the BSA, and the Austin works lately." He said looking between Polly and Arthur. But you caught a weird look on Adas face, when she caught you watching her she quickly looked away. "Now the papers are talking about sedition, and revolution. I reckon it's the communists he's after."

You kept watching Ada, noticing how uncomfortable she got as Tommy said the last sentence. Deciding right then and there that she was hiding something. "So this coppers gonna leave us alone then?" Polly asked looking at you for an answer, she trusted you more than Tommy.

"There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who cross him go missing in the night." You say trying to avoid really answering the question, because you didn't think he would. You thought him coming only meant more trouble for you all.

But Tommy didn't want them to know that yet. You couldn't betray his trust by slipping up in your answers. John clicks his tongue next to you looking back at Tommy "Yeah but we ain't the bloody IRA, we fought for the king!"

"Anyway, we are Peaky Blinders, we're not scared of coppers!" He said, chuckling a little before looking down at you. He could read you almost as well as Tommy, he could tell you were nervous by the way your fingers were drumming. After Arthur agreed he kept on talking.

"If they come for us, we'll cut em a smile each."

Tommy squeezed your shoulder, knowing you wanted out of here as badly as he did. "So Arthur is that it.. We have somewhere to be." You almost turned to give him a questioning look but thought better of it. If it seemed like Tommy was lying it would only cause more problems.

Arthur shook his head, looking down at his aunt "What do you think, Aunt Pol."

She lit her cigarette, looking around at everyone "This family does everything open. You have nothing more to say at this meeting, Thomas?" The air suddenly filled with tension as she looked up at him. She wouldn't question you, would never put you in the position to undermine Tommy. But she would question him.

He shook his head, removing his hand, knowing what he was going to say next would set you off. "No. Nothing that's women's business." You clenched your jaw as you turned to look at your best friend, who was now staring at the ground. John didn't want to be stuck between you and Tommy.

Polly scoffed "This whole enterprise was women's business while you boys were at war.. What's changed?" You shook your head standing from your seat, ignoring all the men in the room "They came back." That was all you said as you made your way to the door, not bothering to slam any of them.

It was scarier to them when you were calm and angry.

*End of Flashback*

That should've been the first sign to you that things were going downhill. But your love for Tommy and the Shelbys in general was so deep, and your loyalty so thick that you were blinded to how hurt you were getting in the situation. Because after that, all that happened between you and Tommy was fighting. The make up sex and sweet lies he would whisper afterwards were amazing, but they never stuck more than a day or two.

John remembered the day he decided to start playing his hand. Remembered the panic that filled his chest as they drove through town. But also remembered how much he loved how you cared for his kids. How you took them to the fair, treated them like your own and never asked for anything in return.

*Flashback*

It had been almost eight days since you had spoken to Tommy last. It was the day of the fair, so you took Johns kids to see the animals and ride a few rides. It was something you enjoyed doing, taking them to spend time as real kids.

You would've brought Finn, but he was supposed to be meeting you here. But as of yet, none of the Shelby brothers had turned up. The boys Bobby, James and Warren had run off to play games with the money their dad had given them. While you and Katie looked at the baby bunnies someone was selling.

You knew where this was going to lead.

"Auntie.." Katie started slowly, looking up at you with big doe eyes. "Instead of playing games.. Could I buy a bunny.." She looked up at you with a look of innocence, one you knew was fake but at least she tried.

You sighed "Sweetheart, pets are a lot of work. Daddy and your nanny are already busy with the four of ya."

Tears welled in the little girls eyes as she looked back down at the small animals in front of her. When her head swung back to you, you looked away. Technically John had told them they could spend their money on whatever they wanted..

While Katie didn't quite have enough to cover the bunny, you most defiantly did.

Sighing again, you nodded down to her "I guess, if you promise to help me take care of it, Ill help you get one." Katie squealed as she knelt down to look harder, threw the fur, trying to pick which one she wanted. Eventually she picked up a fluffy gray and white one, and held it to her with a toothy smile.

"Your dads gonna kill me." You chuckled as you helped her pay the lady. Katie cooed and baby talked to the little rabbit as you walked around to find the boys. The sky was starting to darken so you knew it was time to head home. It was clear the Shelby's wouldn't be coming.

The whole way back to the car, the boys were complaining about how unfair it was that Katie got a rabbit, while they played games. And won nothing. You laughed, it amazed you every day how much the boys were like the older ones.

"Lesson learned early boys, look around. Don't settle for the first thing that excites ya. Sometimes there's something better."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in town, the cops were breaking down doors. The door of Y/n Y/l/n was knocked off the hinges. While ripping things apart the police were disappointed to realize there was nothing there. A few of Thomas's shirts, some toys for John's kids, books she was making Finn read.

Normal things one would find in a house. None of them realized that down in the floorboards of her closet were all the old books from the betting house. Old documents that would've had them all hung. All hidden under shoes and dresses, under a few kinda loose floorboards.

Polly was placing candles when she noticed someone walk into the church behind her. "A gentleman would take off his hat.. And put out his pipe.." She rolled her eyes as Campbell loudly smacked his pipe against a pew. " I see you specials only dare come here when you know the boys are away at the fair."

Campbell looked around, "You mean your nephews? With their guns and razors? Is it them you're lighting candles for?" He asked as he moved closer to Polly.

She continued to light candles as she answered him "No, I'm lighting candles for the boys from the Garrison who lost their lives in France. There's a list there." Polly blew out the flame she was using as she continued to taunt him. When he slammed her into the wall, she took the moment to press her lips against his.

Forcing herself not to gag as he stepped back. She chuckled "Sorry! Misunderstood your intentions when you pushed me against the wall."

Campbell wiped his mouth in disgust, "There's only one woman in this disgrace of a town I've liked so far. And she definitely is not you." He walked past her and started looking around, searching for the guns.

Polly smiled a little, "And who might that be, Inspector?"

"Didn't give me her name. But she doesn't belong in a hovel like this one." He says as he opens the door, allowing the police inside. He goes to leave, but not before telling Polly that Arthur said they would help him. That he's clearly not talking to the boss, and he wants to.

Polly can't help but be proud, she knows the woman Campbell is talking about has to be you. It doesn't take her long to start thinking about how to use this to the families advantage.

~~~~

When the boys walked into the house Polly looked annoyed. Arthur was the first to say "What the hell happened Pol?"

Polly shook her head "The coppers told everyone Arthur agreed to it when he was arrested.. They said the Peaky Blinders cleared out to the fair to let them do it."

John filled glasses from a bucket of beer as Arthur denied agreeing. John's mind was elsewhere as he handed Tommy his glass. Thinking about if you were home with the kids yet, if your house had been turned out.

"They turned out all the pubs that pay you for protection.. All except the Garrison, and our homes. It's to make sure people think we were in on it. He's smart, this copper." Polly explained "So go on, Drink ya beers and get out. You'd better show people you're still the cocks of the walk."

The blinders moved out, besides the three brothers, Polly lit a cigarette and looked at Tommy. "He knows you're the boss, he wants to meet with you."

Tommy nodded, blowing out his own smoke "When did he talk to you?"

"In the church, will you meet with him?"

Tommy shook his head "No. You don't parley when you're on the back foot. We will strike a blow back first." As Tommy stood again, John went to leave. "Where are you going?" Tommy said grabbing his arm, "I need ya to go hand out some cash to the landlords of the pubs."

John pulled his arm back before shaking his head "What I need to do is go check on Y/n. She's had my kids all day, I need to know if she was home when everything got smashed. What she needs my help with, wheres shes gonna stay tonight. It's more important to me then handin out money. Your the boss Tommy.. You do it."

John stalked out as Arthur and Polly just watched, Tommy clenched his jaw. It annoyed him sometimes how much John cared about you. How you had become one of his top priorities, right under his kids.

John valued you and the kids more than he did the business. It was something Tommy couldn't wrap his head around. One of the very few things that held him back from moving forward with you. In his mind, money was power, and power was the way of the world.

As he walked out of the room without a word the last two shook their heads.

"Who do ya think is gonna marry her? John Boy or Tom?" Arthur said, chuckling. Polly shook her head, because for the first time in a long time, she really didn't know the answer.

*End of Flashback*

He remembered watching Tommy flirt the day away with Grace while you were spending the day with his kids. That was the day he decided to start feeling things out. If he was going to marry again who better than his absolute best friend? He wished more in the moments he spent sitting in the hospital that things had worked out differently. That Tommy had bugged and given you up, but everyone knew he wouldn't. But that didn't mean that John didn't try.

*Flashback 4.5 months ago*

You spent the whole next day at John's house. Let the nanny have the day off and forced the kids to help you clean up. It took literally the whole day to catch up on laundry and dishes. You were still slightly annoyed with Tommy and Arthur.

The pair constantly acted like you and Polly couldn't handle 'mens' business. They ignored the fact that said business stayed afloat during the war because of you two. You would love to add Ada in there as well, but she really doesn't do much but complain.

Plus you're pretty sure she's hiding something. Something that made her uncomfortable at the thought of a copper coming for communist. Which leads you to believe it probably had something to do with Freddie Thorne. The one person the girl was told to stay away from.

You're drying the last dish, the kids already asleep in bed, when the front door closes. John walks into the kitchen, but leans on the door frame watching you. "Ya know, I ought to just marry ya. You do everything around here anyways."

You chuckled, "You get permission from your older brothers, Johnny. And I'll marry ya."

You thought he meant it as a joke, which he had a little. But really it was him testing the waters on how you would feel, if you didn't think it was funny as a joke, you really wouldn't if it happened. You knew that he would probably never get Tommy's permission. And if he did, then you would stay true to your word.

You could do much worse than John Shelby.

He was in every way your best friend. And if Tommy let you marry him, then that meant that Tommy had no intentions of marrying you himself. You would get over it, and learn to love John in a different way than you did now.

Plus he was right, you already picked his kids up from school. Did most of the house work, bathed his kids every other day. Cooked meals when you were free. You lived in his home, raised his kids with the help of a nanny after John's wife died. Katie had even asked once or twice if you were her mom, that's when you had to step in with the Auntie thing.

John nodded, looking down a little before speaking again. "Arthur got jumped by that new copper today. Took em right out of the theater they did. Beat him pretty bloody. Said something about a robbery, sounded pretty big."

Your body stiffened as you put dishes away. "He wants the Blinders to work with him. Arthur called a family meeting, took a vote on it. I said we don't work with coppers." John felt guilty that there had been a family meeting, and a vote held without you.

He didn't want you to find out from someone else, so he told you the truth. "I left after that, didn't want to stay and listen to Arthur and Tommy argue. Shoulda seen Tommy's face though when I told him you were at home waitin for me." John laughed, remembering the doubt and irritation his brother's face had held.

You shook your head while you listened to the description of the rest of Johns day. You stayed that night at Johns, something that happened often enough. Slept next to him, in one of his button downs. Cuddle up next to each other he whispered to you, "Did you really mean it? If Tommy gave me permission that you'd marry me?"

You closed your eyes as his arm wrapped around your waist. "Yeah John, if Tommy said yes, I would marry you. You're my best friend."

The room was silent as the two of you fell asleep.

*EOFB*

That next morning Tommy was fuming, not only because he had heard from a Blinder that the same copper they were worrying about was in town. But he had also given you a ride home two nights prior. It didn't help that you were still pissed at him, and it really didn't help when you walked into the kitchen in his brother's clothes.

*Flashback*

When you opened your eyes, the sun was shining brightly into John's bedroom. The bed was cold and empty behind you, which was normal. John never woke you when he did, that was something beyond your relationship. He just quietly got ready and slipped out to walk his kids to school before work.

So normally, you could walk about the house in your underwear and his shirt that barely hit mid-thigh with no problem. So as you padded barefoot down the stairs humming to yourself you didn't see the jackets thrown over the couch.

The smell of smoke in the air wasn't something you questioned being so used to it. It didn't register in your still sleepy mind that it wasn't just the smell, the air was actually smokey. So when you turned into the kitchen and the three Shelby brothers all turned their heads towards you, it caught you off guard.

But you knew by this point, there was no turning back. So you kept on your mission, which was to make yourself coffee. You ignored Tommy's eyes on your legs. Ignored the nervous look on John's face as you placed a kiss on his cheek. Ignored the amused look on Arthur's face as his eyes bounced between the three of you.

"Aye, why aint I gettin any sugar this mornin'" Arthur complained as you reached up for a coffee cup. It caused Johns shirt to ride up, almost to your panties, which made Tommy clench his jaw. You kept your back to them all as you answered "Well John is the only one who hasn't pissed me off. So when you apologize for being an ass, I'll think about it."

Tommy rolled his eyes before he noticed Johns trailing down your still bare legs. His irritation kept growing as you turned, crossing your ankles and sipping at your drink. "Im sorry for bein a wanker love. Please forgive me." Arthur said dramatically causing you to smile and nod at him. You still avoided looking at Tommy as the three of them started talking about the copper again. Tommy remembered something, and decided to bring it up.

"Y/n, Andrew told me he saw you with a man the other night. Said he gave you a ride home, anything you want to share with the family?"

John sucked in air loudly through his nose, knowing where this was going to go. The way Tommy said the sentence would set you off in a way his older brothers didn't realize yet. You chuckled, finishing your drink then washing, drying and putting the cup away in silence.

You kissed the top of John's head, then Arthur's cheek.

Then you walked over leaning down to speak into Tommy's ear "Maybe I'll tell ya at the next family meeting. I mean, if I'm invited."

*End of Flashback*

Things just went downhill from there, because a few days later not only were they robbed but John dropped a bomb that shook the foundation of their family. It caused riffs between John and Tommy, between Tommy and Y/n, and between Tommy and Polly.

*Flashback*

When Polly and Tommy entered the private room at the Garrison, John and Arthur were already waiting inside. Arthur looked annoyed and unhappy to be there, but it could have just been because he was sober. John looked like he may puke as he puffed his cigarette.

“All right John, there's only one man –No – guarding the house.” Tommy said, tripping over his words as Arthur tried to offer Tommy a drink he knew the man would need. But when he turned it down, the older brother slammed it back himself. He knew this wasn't going to be pretty. “Whats troubling ya?”

John cleared his throat, nervous because Tommy was standing behind him and he would much rather be able to see his reaction. But he turned to his Aunt, the Matriarch of their family and started speaking. “Uh.. Aunt Polly, you know what its been like since Martha died.” Tommy rolled his eyes a little as Polly spoke “God takes the best first.”

John nodded, feeling sweat bead on his hands. “Truth is, my kids have been running bloody rings around me. Running barefoot with the dogs at all hours. Only you and Y/n can keep em under control. I mean.. She took em to the bloody fair and they were angels for her, but not me..”

Tommy was exasperated. “Pol, give him 10 bob for some new shoes. Is that it John?” Really Tommy didnt care what the problem was, he just wanted John to leave and get back to the house. He didn't like just having one person there to watch things. Polly sighed “Tommy, we would be better to do this without you!”

Tommy scoffed and tossed his pack of cigarettes down. He really didn't understand the whole family thing, having kids running around. A wife to nag at you all hours of the night. But he knew he needed to try for his brother, at least for a moment. “Now whats your point John.” Polly finished leaning her elbows on the table towards John.

John cleared his throat again, staring down at the table. “What the kids need is a mother.. So that's why I'm getting married..” The room was quiet as Polly looked over at Arthur who sat up a little straighter in the booth. He knew the bomb was coming, and he wasnt prepared for it at all. None of them were.

Arthur looked at John, then at Tommy who looked like he wanted to hang himself just to get away from the conversation. He was looking up towards the sky, like he was waiting to be struck down as Polly spoke. “Does this poor girl know your going to marry her? Or are you just gonna spring it on her all of a sudden.”

John took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. Biting his lip before speaking, “Yeah.. She and I talked about it a lot the other night.. She uh.. She gets along great with my kids, know she'd be a good mother. She just said I had to get everyone's permission.”

Polly looked back up at Tommy, who was pulling a cigarette out to smoke. “I think theres a shell about to land and go bang.” Arthur stayed so quiet the Tommy forgot he was there for a moment. John took a long drink of his whiskey, then wiped his face with his whole hand. This was the worst part, the part he kept getting stuck in his throat when he was rehearsing. The part that would probably get him shot.

“Its umm.. Its Y/n..”

Everyone chuckled and snickered for a moment, before realizing that he was serious. Polly's heart was pounding as she watched her nephews. John kept his eyes on her, while Arthur looked between the other three. Tommy was staring at the back of John's head like he was telling himself not to bash it in.

“John.. I thought.. I thought Y/n was.. Ya know, Tommys..” Polly said trying to figure out how in the world to handle this. John scoffed and stood up “They sleep together yes. He treats her like dirt the other half the time. Constantly here flirting with the barmaid. Telling her ‘it's not women's business’. He didn't go check on her when coppers busted everyone's doors down did he!”

Polly and Arthur were shocked by how upset John was about this whole thing. But before either could say anything he kept going. “He's not the one who cleaned up her house and got her new things. Not the one who goes shopping with her, or goes to her parents bloody dinners! He calls on her when he needs someone to sleep with, or when he needs a pretty face to get information. I care about her. I would take care of her. Just say yes Pol. She's already agreed to it as long as the family says yes.”

The two older Shelbys knew what that meant. If TOMMY said yes, you would marry John. Because that would mean Tommy really didn't care deeply for you. Everyone's breathing could be heard through the silence in the room. Tommy knew he should say yes, give his blessing and let you move on. He knew that John was 10 times the man he is.

But even though his words were true, Tommy couldnt let go. You are the only light pulling him through the darkness of his world. So he spoke simply and firmly before he walked out of that room and out of the Garrison.

“No.”

It was after that conversation that Tommy decided it was time to stop the games. If John had gone to your parents instead of the family a wedding would be happening. Your parents hated Tommy so much that they would get a sick thrill out of marrying you to off to his brother. So when he walked out of that room, ignoring the calls of the blond behind the bar, he set off to find you.

To tell you hes ready.

Ready to be yours, as you are his.

*End of Flashback*

The sky was completely black now. It was far into the morning hours but none of the Shelbys had left. Sudboat had brought Finn a change of clothes, and the boy now slept on a makeshift bed of the mens coats. Arthur dozed back and forth in a chair while Tommy and John stared blankly into space. Esme had come by and brought them some food, but no one had eaten.

John despite his love for Esme didn't want to even talk to her. He didn't blame her, but he knew Tommy had seen her as a means to an end. Not only did it solidify an alliance, but it gave John a wife. That meant you were no longer staying the night at his house.

No longer were you chasing his kids around, cleaning his house or cooking for him. Of course John still made time for you, that would never change. Thankfully you and Esme got along well, so you were at the house plenty. But things couldn't be the same anymore.

Tommy had made sure of that.

But that led John to wonder what wouldve happened if he had just gone to your parents. Would you still have ended up bleeding out on the road? Or would you be perched in his lap, drinking at the Garrison right now. Would you be pregnant with his child instead of Tommys?

He at least knew you would be happy. Which was more than Tommy could say.

Y/ns parents sat to the side, whispering back and forth in words none of the Shelbys even tried to hear. Polly just kept looking at everyone, then back at the doors as she prayed over and over and over again. And when the doors finally opened, and your name was called out the doctor was rushed by 6 adults.

He held his hands up, hushing and trying to quiet them down so he could speak. He understood that the group was panicked and in shock and very very worried. So he waited a moment, and then spoke in a quiet voice.

“I have good news.. And bad news..”

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#Tommy Shelby x reader #tommy shelby #Thomas Shelby #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #Peaky Blinders

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

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topazy · 3 years

Text

The Fierce And Broken

2.05

Masterlist

“What do you mean I can’t come?”

“Y/N we have been over this,” Abby sighed. The good doctor was still avoiding eye contact with you. “You aren’t well enough to join us. I’m still very concerned that you might develop an infection, and we need you here.”

You frowned. Octavia, Raven, Clarke, Bellamy, Finn, a few guards and Abby were leaving on a mission because Raven figured out that Mount Weather had been jamming the signa. “What about Raven? She’s injured, or does that not matter because she’s expendable?”

“I never said-”

“But you think it?”

Abby’s face twisted as she stepped closer to you, she looked ashamed. “What did Raven tell you?”

“Nothing,” you scoffed. “She told me nothing but I saw you.”

Abby let out a sigh of frustration as she packed the last of the first aid kit she was taking with her. You weren’t usually willing to confront someone about a situation that didn’t involve you, but you had been seething all night. Raven was your friend and didn’t deserve to be slapped across the face regardless of how Abby felt.

“Tensions have been running high recently, and-”

Shaking your head you cut her off, “I don’t care. Raven is the only reason your daughter, and the rest of us are still alive. She saved us from the grounders and you’ve thank her by treating her like dirt.”

“Y/N...”

“This isn’t the ark,” you shook your head.

Abby cleared her throat and finally looked you in the eye. “I meant what I said before, we do need you here. How would you feel about being trained further in the medical field?”

Her question took you aback, it was unexpected. “I...what would I need to do?”

“Once you are fully healed you can shadow me and Jackson,” there was an awkward pause before she continued. “Regardless of what you think of me, don’t turn down this offer. We need all the help we can get and you have a lot of potential. Think it over and we can talk about it again once I return.”

You awkwardly left the room without saying a word before heading towards the gates of camp where you knew the group was. You needed to say bye to Raven and Octavia before they left. Being so preoccupied with your own thoughts you didn’t notice the person in front of you until it was too late. “Shit, sorry I never seen you.”

Finn shrugged, “it’s okay.”

Despite the fact you didn’t agree with what Finn did in the grounder village seeing him look so lost did pull at your emotions. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, you weren’t an expert but you thought Finn was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, or something similar. So far you’d based your opinion on him from how he’d treated Raven previously, but you’d survived being taken by Anya together. You knew he was a good person and something must have caused him to snap.

“How are you feeling? I heard what the mountain men did to you.”

“Sore but I’ll survive,” you sighed. Finn nodded and began to walk past you when you stopped him. Gently you squeezed his shoulder, “whatever’s happened will sort itself out, okay? Stay safe out there.”

—

“Reyes!” You shouted while walking towards the gate fast as you could knowing they were about to leave at any moment. Raven spun around to face you and the nervous look on her face concerned you. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, “yeah, everything is peachy.”

You opened your mouth to reply when Octavia stepped in front of you with a frown on her face. “Alba, you should be resting.”

“I don’t need to rest O,” you chuckled lightly. “What I need is for the two of you to be safe out there.”

Octavia briefly filled you in on their plan as as she spoke you couldn’t help but notice the way Raven’s brown eyes darted between the two of you. Looking over Octavia’s shoulder you could see Abby and the guards walking towards the group. It was time for them to go. As you watched them leave you couldn’t help but worry with how distracted Raven seemed. It wasn’t like her, she was usually on the ball with everything.

—

It seemed you weren’t the only person Abby had told about her offer to train you as Jackson had found you to give you a gift. An atlas of human anatomy.

You had taken notes of things you didn’t understand, and would ask Jackson about later when the flaps to the tent opened. You were surprised to see Murphy standing there.

He entered the tent as you stared at him speechless. You didn’t know if you should scream at him or hug him. Murphy didn’t give you a choice as He pulled you into him, your head rested on his chest as his arms wrapped around you tightly. Eventually you stepped back, and he brushed strands of hair out of your face. “I thought you had died, then I thought I was going to die.”

You let out a deep sigh, “everything is so messed up.”

Murphy flopped down onto the makeshift bed and let out a loud groan. You noticed a few cuts and bruises that seemed to be decorating his body, “who did that to you?”

“Bellamy. I thought he was going to beat me to death, again.”

“You almost hung him, I could see why he’s mad...this time anyway.”

Murphy chuckled at the expression on your face, before pulling you to lay down next to him. “Yeah, yeah everybody hates me. I know that.”

“I don’t hate you,” you turned to face him. “I still love you John, even though you acted like a psychotic fool.”

“A psychotic fool? That’s probably the nicest thing I’ve been called. Aren’t you going to ask me?”

You were confused. The two of you had lots of things to catch up on, so it wasn’t obvious what situation he was talking about. “Ask you what?”

“If I meant to shoot her?”

A horrible feeling of guilt settled in the back of your throat. This was the tent you shared with Raven and the person who almost killed her was sitting in it with you, but you also knew it was an accident. “You’ve done some stupid shit, but I know you wouldn’t have harmed her deliberately.”

“You must be the only one.”

A comfortable silence filled the tent until you decided to break it. “My dads dead.”

Murphy sat up fast, “what?”

“Uh yeah...” you felt your voice break, “he volunteered himself on the ark.”

Murphy must have known what you meant as he linked his fingers with your own. You shared the story Clarke had told you before explaining what happened in Mount weather. You were more interested in learning what happened in the drop-ship before the grounders attacked, and what happened in Tondc.

—

You woke to the sound of shuffling close by. With a groan you opened your eyes to realise you had fallen asleep while sitting on the ground with the damn book on your lap. Craning your neck in the dimly lit tent you were able to make the figure out.

“When did you get back?”

Raven froze and looked over to you, “just now.”

You sat up and threw the book down onto the bed before stretching your stiff body. Raven didn’t look her usual self, something was off. “What happened out there?”

“I was able to break the encryption on the radio and we can now hear the mountain men. They keep talking about something called the veil.”

Your mouth curved into a smile, “you're a genius Reyes.”

Raven didn’t answer you and continued to get changed. The atmosphere between you wasn’t good, you could tell she was pissed off. She looked extremely uncomfortable when you spoke to her. You wracked your brain to try and figure out what you could have done when you realised Abby could have filled her in on your conversation.

Raven picked the book up off the bed and sat it on top of a bag so it wasn’t on the ground, “I guess I’m not the only genius here.”

“I got asked if I wanted to train more in medical stuff, I think I’m going to go for it.”

“That’s good.”

Sighing you stepped towards Raven, “what’s going on? Whatever it is you can tell me?”

You and Raven had shared a lot and had become close friends since the first night you shared a tent with each other. It hurt to think she was in pain and didn’t feel she could share it with anyone, especially you.

“Just leave it Al.”

The tone in her voice told you everything you needed to know. She was mad. “I shouldn’t have said anything to Abby but I did. She doesn’t get to hurt you like that.”

Raven stepped closer to you, “you spoke to Abby about me?”

You stared at her wide eyed. Shit. “I thought you knew,” the brunette shook her head. “I know you asked me not too, so I’m sorry if you think I’ve betrayed you in some way.”

“Why?” She asked softly, “why did you do it?”

“Because I care about you, and you're going through a lot. The last thing you need is-”

Raven cut you off by pressing her lips against your own.

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q-gorgeous · 3 years

Text

Fallen Star

fanfiction

ao3

The events of Doctors Disorders reveals that humans CAN have ghost powers. How does the public react to this? What does this mean for Phantom? prompt by @mystyrust

prequel to Ghost Farm

word count: 2665

warning: character death, experimentation, kidnapping

i need you guys to know that agent z sounds like either e boy or fix it felix from wreck it ralph

A glowing mosquito sat in an ecto-proof jar on a pristine white counter. It bounced off the sides of the glass, desperately trying to escape. A black, gloved hand reached out and grabbed the jar and shook it.

“So humans can have ghost powers.”

An agent in an all white suit studied the mosquito.

“How was this any different than possession? Why did this kind of possession grant the students ghost powers instead of overshadowing them?”

He put the jar down and pushed himself away from the counter, facing another man in a white suit who had been standing behind him.

“Agent K. If we can figure out how these mosquitoes gave the teenagers ghost powers, we can use it in our fight against the ectoplasmic scum.”

“How would you suggest we go about that, Agent O?”

“We’ll have to reopen the old research compound. We can’t have the people of Amity Park finding out we’re doing this kind of research. The old compound is further away from the city so they won’t be able to trace it back to us so easily.”

“What about the test subjects?”

Agent O smiled darkly.

“We’ll have to go find some, now won’t we?”

QQQQQ

Star was walking down the street, on her way to meet Paulina at the mall. They were supposed to go pick up some dresses for a fancy dinner at Paulina’s house. Star had told Paulina that she already had something she could wear at home, but her friend insisted Star let her buy her something.

She turned around a corner heading down another street. The sidewalk here was pretty empty. The only person she saw was an old woman walking into her house and when her door shut, Star was all by herself.

That’s when she felt it. There were eyes gazing into the back of her head and she quickly picked up her pace.

She could hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind along with the crunch of gravel underneath tires. Looking over her shoulder, Star saw a man in a white suit behind her and a white car trailing behind him. For a moment, she felt a small relief. It was the GIW. They couldn’t possibly be after her. They must be tracking a ghost.

But the man had nothing in his hand and the way he stared at Star said otherwise.

She turned back around and was about to start running when a hand grabbed her long blonde hair. She cried out as she was pulled backwards towards the man. The car stopped beside them and another man left the car, pulling a bag over her head and tying her wrists together. They both lifted her up and she heard one open the trunk and then she was being thrown in.

“Help!” She screamed before the trunk slammed shut above her.

She heard two doors open and close before the car revved up and started driving away. Panic wormed its way into her chest and she started trying to pull her hands free.

Luckily, the rope around her wrists loosened. She didn’t know why these agents couldn’t tie a knot, but she had to be grateful for it. She pulled the bag off of her head but she still couldn’t see anything from inside the trunk.

Feeling around, Star tried to find a corner of the trunk where the tail light would be. When she found it, she turned around and started trying to kick into the spot. It took a couple tries, but she finally felt it start to give. With one final kick, a hole was made and she could see light coming into the trunk.

She turned back around and started pulling material away from the hole, trying to make it bigger. When it was big enough she stuck her hand through and started trying to wave it around in the daylight.

Suddenly, Star could feel the car turning. She hadn’t noticed they were slowing down until the turn and her heart rate began to pick up. Did they hear her kicking?

After another couple of turns, the car came to a stop and she could hear a door open.

The pop of the trunk sounded and she was blinded by the sunlight that shone behind the man who was staring down at her. She held his gaze in fear for a few moments and the next thing she knew he was swinging at her and she was gone.

QQQQQ

Star slowly woke up. The world came to her slowly and through her blurry eyes she could see white tiles, white walls, and a glass with a different man standing outside it.

She yelped and suddenly she was falling into the hard cot beneath her. She looked back up towards the ceiling. She had been floating? But how?

“What did you do to me?”

The man finished taking notes on his clipboard before his head tilted up to look at her. His dark sunglasses glinted in the light of the bright room. From somewhere to his left, he held up a jar with a bug in it. Was that…?

“The ghost mosquitos?”

“We are currently studying the causes and effects of ghost powers in humans. Our first study involves introducing one of the ectoplasmic specimens to a host and observing.”

Star took in a sharp breath. “You put one of those inside me? On purpose?”

The agent continued without acknowledging her. “You have the honor of being our first test subject. We would have never thought of the possibility of humans having ghost powers until half the high school was quarantined. We can guarantee this information to be invaluable in the battle against ghosts.”

A mounting horror was beginning to gnaw its way into Star’s chest. “What are you going to do to me?”

“We will be performing a series of tests, starting with measuring the effects of long term possession and then moving onto introducing ectoplasm to the host.”

“Ectoplasm?! Isn’t that toxic to humans?!”

“Yes, but we’ll introduce it in small amounts that increase over time.”

Star stared at the ground below her, horrified. “You guys are crazy.”

“Not crazy, innovative.”

Her head snapped up to look at the agent. He had a sly look on his face, like this was the best possible thing he could be doing at this time.

“You’re crazy!” Star shouted.

She shot forward faster than what should be possible and slammed her fist into the glass in front of the agent’s face. He didn’t so much as flinch. He just lifted his clipboard back up and began to write another note.

“Promising progress.”

Then he began to walk away.

“Come back!” She pounded on the glass again. “Come back, you son of a bitch!”

He continued walking away down the hallway until she couldn’t see him anymore. Alone in her quiet room, Star’s anger faded back to fear. She looked down at her shaking hand.

How much worse could this get? What kind of changes were they expecting to happen to her? It was just possession! Overshadowing! Albeit, a different kind. Normally people don’t remember what happened while they were overshadowed, she didn’t know the difference between this and that. She wasn’t even in the batch of kids that had been quarantined.

But she had been flying. Moving faster than she should be able to. She’d been so much stronger than what she actually is, and she still couldn’t get out. Couldn’t break free.

Star took another look down the long hallway and dread filled her stomach.

She didn’t think she’d be getting out of here.

QQQQQ

With no changes in her powers via mosquito three days later, the agents went onto the next part of their plan.

One minute Star was floating above her bed counting the ceiling tiles, the next she was on the floor clutching at her head as something pulsed in her room. By the time the pulsing stopped, she was already strapped into a chair. She could feel the full weight of gravity and she knew the mosquito was gone. They were moving onto the injections now.

She looked up and sitting in front of her was another different agent. This one looked younger than the three she had seen already.

“Hi! I’m Agent Z!”

She hasn’t met any rookie GIW agents before, but that must be what this guy is. The newest addition.

“Today we’ll be starting the introduction of ectoplasm trial! Today we’ll start with a small amount of ectoplasm, which will increase in amount each day! As the days go by, we’ll start doing two doses of ectoplasm per day.”

Maybe she can work with this.

“Uh. You seem real chipper. Are you new to the GIW or something?”

“Yep!” Agent Z said brightly. “This is my first special assignment!”

“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re experimenting on a human though? Isn’t that a terrible thing that they’re making you do?”

“They’re not making me do anything!”

Star paused. “What?”

“I was the only agent who volunteered for the position! I think this is all very exciting!”

“What the hell.” Star whispered. “You’re all insane.”

“It’s not insane if you’re benefiting the rest of humankind!”

“That-”

Star let out a cry of pain as she was interrupted. The needle plunged into her arm and Agent Z pushed the ectoplasm out of the needle and into her veins. It burned as it flowed into her arm and was kind of cold, but it was nothing compared to the pins and needles sensation that began to cover her entire body.

“There we go!” Agent Z said chipperly. “I’ll see you again tomorrow for your next dose!”

He got up and walked to the door, scanned his keycard, and left.

What happened to the observation part of their research?

Suddenly the straps holding her wrists and ankles in place opened and she shot up away from the chair. She hobbled her way to her bed, the pins and needles sensation crawling faster through her legs and feet with each step she took.

She flopped onto the bed and cringed as the sensation crawled over every inch of her body. She looked up at the ceiling, intending to continue counting the tiles again, when she saw something new.

A small camera was fastened to the glass on the outside of her room, staring at her.

She stared at it for a few moments before she lifted her hand up and flipped off whoever was watching her.

QQQQQ

Four days later and she was starting to feel sick from the ectoplasm injections. Today was the first day they’d be giving her two doses and the pins and needles sensation still settled in her limbs, never having gone away from when they woke her up with the prick of a needle at seven am that morning.

She was starting to face constant nausea and her hands had been clipping through the things in her room for two days now. She could barely stomach the meager amount of food they were giving her anymore and she knew she wouldn’t last much longer if this kept up.

Star heard the door slide open from where she laid on her bed. She knew they could tell she wasn’t doing well. They no longer used that horrible pulsing thing on her before they came in. She didn’t have enough energy to fight back anymore.

Agent Z quickly approached her and sat her down in the chair, positioning her wrists so that the straps locked firmly around them. He roughly grabbed her arm and stabbed her with the needle. She screamed as the ectoplasm flowed into her arm, hot and burning all the way in.

“There we go, all done!” Agent Z said as he pulled away. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

She glared at the man through her greasy hair. He was talking to her like she was a child getting a shot at the doctor’s office.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for your next dose!”

With that, he swiped his keycard and walked through the door and out of the room.

The straps released her wrists and she collapsed to the floor. Shivers wracked through her body even though she could still feel the hot ectoplasm flowing in her veins.

Star didn’t want to die, but she hoped to whatever deity might be out there that this would all be over soon. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

Suddenly, her stomach rolled and she was gagging and throwing up the little bit she had managed to eat earlier. Spots lined her vision and she slowly crawled her way to her bed, just wanting to fall asleep. Almost as soon as she got on it and curled up, she was gone.

QQQQQ

When Star awoke the next morning, she realized she was already strapped into the chair with Agent Z standing before her. The two agents that had first picked her up were standing on the other side of the window.

“Due to your worsening condition, today will be the last day of the ectoplasm injection trial, you’ll only receive one dose today. Starting tomorrow we’ll begin testing the effects of ectoplasmic charged electricity. We will take a few days break in order for you to gain some semblance of stability.”

“Why not just stop the trials altogether then?” Star rasped.

“The information we have gathered this far is invaluable. We’ve learned that some ways to attain ghost powers are safer than others, while others are more dangerous but much more potent. If We can find that balance between these then we’d have the ultimate weapon in our hands.”

“You guys are monsters.”

“Your participation will do much to protect your friends and family in Amity Park.” He nodded at Agent Z. “Go ahead.”

Agent Z plunged the needle into Star’s arm.

With that last injection, Star screamed. The sound reverberated around her room over and over again, Agent Z covered his ears to protect himself from it. And then suddenly, Star’s ghost was ripping itself from her body, which fell limp against the chair it was strapped to.

Her ghost form flickered brightly, like a star in the sky. She turned her brightly glowing eyes on Agent Z who was looking up at her with wide eyes, his hands still covering his ears. Star dove for him.

Lifting him by the throat, Star picked him up and started throwing him into every wall as she flew around her small room. The ghostly trail she left behind her looked like the tail of a sparkling comet and soon blood was spattering onto the glass.

Agent O pressed a button on the outside wall and the room lit up in a bright green flash and Star was falling to the floor, a beaten agent falling from her grasp into a heap.

“Call in the sanitization and disposal team and have them come clean up this mess.” Agent O said to Agent K, who was staring at Agent Z inside the room.

“Our Agent Z’s never last long.” K said sharply. “What should we do with the girl’s ghost?”

Agent O had a thoughtful look on his face. “We’ll keep it here for study. Her ghost must be a powerful one, that act it displayed immediately upon death is one I’ve never seen before.”

He turned around to face Agent K. “We’ll need to go gather another test subject. We’ll plan to go in two days once this mess is cleaned up.”

“Sir, I respectively ask how will we get any conclusive data if all of our subjects keep dying?”

Agent O barked out a laugh. “Who cares if they die. All that matters is that we get our answers in the end. What better way to get ghosts for research and dissection than by harvesting them ourselves?”

“Like a ghost farm, sir?”

“Yes.” Agent O Smiled wickedly.

“Like a ghost farm.”

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #star #agent k #agent o #giw #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #phic #phic phight #team ghost #phic phight 21

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anightflower · 4 years

Text

Come and Find Me Chapter 5: The Game

Sorry this chapter is a bit short, I am in the midst of finals and final projects. Thank you for sticking by my side, despite the crazy schedule

Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Stalking, Swearing, Violence

Spencer made his way to the counter, a smiling Ava greeted him.

“Spencer! I’m surprised you’re not with (Y/N), not that I’m not happy to see you of course.”

Spencer returned her smile with a slightly nervous one, “She’s still in bed, I thought I would bring her some coffee before I head to the office. I also wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh Spencer, if you’re confessing your undying devotion to me now, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late, I have my own sexy superhero boyfriend now.” Ava said, doing her signature eyebrow waggle, causing Spencer to laugh.

“I do have a confession, but it involves (Y/N).” Spencer said, a smile spreading across his face.

Her expression became more serious. “Wait is (Y/N) pregnant?”

“I- no, that’s not what-” Spencer stuttered, Ava let out a giggle out Spencer’s flustered face.

“I want to ask her to move in with me.” Spencer said finally.

“Oh my gosh Spencer, that’s fantastic! And I’m honored that you’re asking me, as (Y/N) was mine first, so it’s only right you ask me permission.” Ava grinned, pressing a hand to her heart.

“Do you think she’ll say yes? I don’t want to rush her, I know we’ve been only dating for 8 months, but it just feels right. I love her so much and I want to wake up to her every morning and kiss her goodnight every night. Besides it will be so much easier because she basically lives at my apartment now and I just want to make it official, you know?” Spencer rambled.

Ava’s face radiated pure joy. “Oh Spence, she’ll definitely say yes! God (Y/N) will be over the moon are you kidding? You two are the cutest fucking thing, oh my god this is so exciting!” She squealed.

“I’m going to ask her when she gets back from Florida, I know her lease is almost up so that will make things a lot easier too. I’ve been looking at different apartments that are slightly bigger because I know she wants an at home office and I’m sure it will be nice to have her own space-”

“Spencer, I am so glad she has you. You make her so happy and treat her so well. I know she’ll be happy with whatever. But beware, her full interior designer will come out if you guys get your own place.” Ava warned teasingly.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Spencer grinned.

________________________________________________________________

His hand shook as he opened the door to his apartment. As he slammed the door shut, he met the worried face of his roommate, who was putting on his jacket to leave.

“You okay man?” His roommate Nick asked, eyes filled with concern.

“Don’t worry about it dude.” The Boy said with an angry shrug making his way to his room.

“Uh, okay dude, if you need anything shoot me a text. I’m meeting up with Ava, I’ll probably stay at her place for a couple days.”

“Cool bro, have fun.” The boy said flatly.

Nick looked like he was about to say something, but he shut his mouth and shrugged.

“Later.” Nick said quietly, grabbing his bag and fleeing out the door.

The Boy didn’t respond. He just stomped into his room, red filling his vision.

The Doctor was going to take you away from him permanently, he could feel it.

Moving in leads to marriage, then kids. How could he have let it get this far? The Boy should have intervened earlier, opened your eyes to the truth.

The Boy let out a scream and punched a whole in the wall. It felt good to let his anger out. He pictured the Doctor in place of the wall, the image brought of that man bloodied and pleading sent pleasurable shivers through him. The Boy made his way to his bed and pulled out a box from underneath it. It was an obvious spot to keep it underneath there, but Nick respected his space, so the boy had not been worried.

He pulled out his pictures of you. Each image lovingly taken of you, images of you getting ready for work, smiling with Ava, and then his favorites, the ones of you sleeping peacefully in your bed. He had to resist reaching out and caressing your face. He knew he couldn’t risk waking you up, it wasn’t time for you to see him yet, but now it was.

The boy had started to calm down, until an image of you kissing Spencer fell out of the pile. Red filled his vision once again. He had purposely taken this picture to remind himself of his goal; being in the Doctor’s place.

He ripped the image to shreds, and threw the box of goods causing your pictures, some of your old coffee cups and Drew’s home videos to fly all over his room. His rage filled him as he flipped his desk. He couldn’t stop himself as he ripped his rooms to shreds, breaking things and tossing various items at the wall in rage.

When his breathing finally returned to normal, the boy grabbed a bag and began packing. He threw in all of his essentials and grabbed the tapes and photos he could of you. He wasn’t coming back here after this. You and him were going to start a new life in Florida, he had already set everything up. He had his own secluded place and sent ahead some of the things he needed ahead.

He would leave tonight and be down in Florida a day before you. He had planned to arrive a day ahead of you so he could get your home ready. He had even made a little room for you to adjust to everything, knowing how this big of a change would affect you. But he knew you would do it once you realized that you two were meant to be.

Joy filled the boy as he looked around his mess of a room, he felt relief at the thought of never seeing this place or the Doctor again. Yet in his happy stupor, he failed to see the photos and tape he had missed to pick up.

________________________________________________________________

Present Day

Reid had reached speeds of nearly 110 as he raced back to the precinct with Emily. SHe had not chastised him for his speeds, too worried about the sorrow in Penelope’s voice and what that could mean.

They raced into the precinct and found Penelope, JJ, and Morgan in the meeting room.

“Hotch and Rossi are still talking to Curtis, but they should be back in 30.” Morgan explained.

“There is no time to wait.” Penelope growled. “I can show this to them once they get here.”

“Any luck at Special Delivery?” Emily asked JJ.

“It shut down 5 weeks ago apparently. So whoever we saw, still had access to a uniform. They probably did it to copy Curtis.” JJ explained, her face solemn.

“Shit.” Emily said, flopping down into a chair.”

“I received this ten minutes ago.” Penelope explained, drawing everyone’s attention to the screen at the front of the room. “Reid, you aren’t going to like this, I’m so sorry.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold as he prepared himself for the worst.

The screen was black for a few seconds and then an automated voice rang out from the speakers. “Ring! Ring!” the deep voice said. “Have you figured it out, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s heart stopped as images of you flooded the screen. Photos of you and Spencer flashed across the screen. None of which either of you had taken yourselves, each of these was taken from afar. He felt ill when he saw the ones from outside of your apartment. He nearly vomited when the screen switched to photos of you inside your apartment, peacefully sleeping, completely unaware that a completely crazed man was inches away from you.

“I’ve been to your lectures, Dr. Reid.” A voice narrated from the screen. “I know you’ve studied men like me. It’s very fascinating to hear someone talk about you like they’ve known you since birth, when the two of you haven’t even met once. You took one of my dearest friends away from me. But we adapted, your small victory didn’t stop him from guiding me to my love and taking her from you. Do you think with all your knowledge, all of your cases, all of your team, that you can find her in time?”

A timer appeared on the screen, counting down from a minute.

“What?” Penelope cried out, “That wasn’t there before, how in the hell is it there?” She rushed to her computer and began messing around on the keyboard.

Spencer shot out of his chair and raced over to Penelope’s side. “Penelope, what does this countdown mean?” He asked, panicked.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It didn’t appear before this. The email didn’t even mention a countdown! I tried to track the email, but it was a throwaway.” Penelope looked ready to cry.

“Spencer, it could mean anything.” Morgan said, trying to calm him down.

“Oh yeah Morgan?” Spencer spat. “Well considering it was showing images of my girlfriend before it, my hopes aren’t too high!”

“Spencer.” JJ snapped, “Yelling isn’t going to solve anything.”

“What if it was Will JJ? Would you be calm?” Spencer growled back at her.

The timer was quickly reaching its end.

“Penelope do something, please.” Spencer begged, his voice breaking.

“I’m trying, I don’t know what to do.” Penelope cried out, horrified at her helplessness.

Tears began to flow down Spencer’s face. The room watched in horrified silence as the timer reached zero.

It was silent for a moment and then Spencer’s phone rang.

He looked down at it to see it was an unknown number. His heart stopped as he realized “Ring! Ring!”

“(Y/N) promised to call me after her meeting, if she had been there, she would have called me now.” Spencer said quietly.

“Spencer, if you answer it, I can try and track the number and centralize the area it could be coming from.” Penelope explained urgently.

Spencer took a deep breath and answered the phone. They all jumped up in shock as a video feed came on at the same time he pressed answer.

His heart swelled with relief, you were alive, you seemed unharmed, but god you looked terrified.

“Penelope, scan the room, see if you can find any recognizable items.” Morgan mumbled quietly.

As Penelope’s keys began clacking a way, a voice that sounded eerily like the one in the video of you smugly said, “Hello Doctor, so nice to finally talk to you. Or have we talked before? You never know, let’s see if that big brain of yours remembers.”

“Who are you?” Spencer hissed into the phone.

“Someone who you’ve taken so much from. My mentor, the woman I love- but luckily this ends now.” The voice purred.

“What do you want?” Spencer tried to keep his voice calm.

“I want to play a game with you Doctor, let’s see if that genius brain of yours is as good as they say. You have 24 hours to find your girl. If you are so smart you’ll be able to find her. But when you don’t, and you won’t, it will prove that you don’t don’t deserve her. That you never deserved her. If you can’t find her in time, you will never see her again.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi @iifloweringnightsii @mggsprettygirl @bravegirl221 @messyhairday-me @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @abbeypaw7 @findmedontlooseme @hiiwouldlikesomesleepplease @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @ajeff855 @astronomynous

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #Come and Find Me #anightflowerwrites #anightflower writes

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aperrywilliams · 3 years

Text

Maxcer HC/Blurbs: The First Call

Here is another one for Maxcer HC/Blurbs/Mini-fic! Anon, I hope you like it!

Request: “Soo I wasn’t expecting a mini fic when I asked you who got who number first but I loved it. How do you think the first phone call went? I bet Michelle had some involvement.”

Word Count: 1.2k.

Warnings: None.

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

Five days. Five harrowing days. Spencer Reid had let pass five days with Max’s number in his cellphone and didn't dare to call her yet. Maybe he has the perfect excuse: he had been in a case in California since Monday. But that’s enough to not even texted her?

The habit of overthinking everything usually led Reid to constant auto sabotage. Enough remembering how difficult it was for him to ask for Max’s number in the first place.

Now he was in the jet seat, looking at his no-so-tech phone. A frown visible on his face. Something that JJ noticed immediately.

“If you keep looking at that phone like that, the poor device will combust,” she told him, sitting in the seat in front of him. Reid looked at JJ, pursing his lips.

“That’s quite impossible. You know, the heat to make a device like this combust is more than you could expel from your body. Even if I grab it with my hand with force, administering all the heat I could on it wouldn’t be enough.” Spencer explained. JJ shook her head, and chuckled.

“Thanks for the explanation, but that wasn't what I mean with my remark. What's wrong, Spence?” The young doctor frowned, pondering his following words.

“Did I told you about the girl I met in the park last Saturday, right?” JJ nodded.

“Yes. You were pretty enthusiastic about it.”

“Yeah. I asked for her number, and she gave it to me.”

“That’s great, Spence!” JJ congratulated him. But then, when she saw Spencer's gaze fixed in his lap, she knew. “And you haven't called her yet.” She finished. Spencer nodded, a blush rising from his neck to his cheeks.

“I thought it could be easy at first. I mean, waiting one or two days. But now I don’t know if I waited too much and she thinks I lost interest, or if I call her now, maybe she will not be interested. Or perhaps it's too soon?” Spencer rambled. JJ gave him a reassuring smile.

“Spence. If she gave you her number, it's because she expects you to call. And it isn’t too late either. Five days it's not a long time. The question is if you want to make that call.” JJ pointed. Spencer cocked his head, narrowing his eyes.

“I do want! I mean, I want to see her again. But I’m nervous. What do I say? How can I start the conversation?” The poor boy was a mess, and JJ could tell.

“Don’t overthink. That’s all. Just say what you feel you need to say. Don’t worry, you already talked before. Just say what you feel you have to say,” JJ advised. Spencer sighed.

“Yes. You’re right. I’ll do it.” He spoke. Determination in his voice, although he internally wanted to scream.

*************

“And you gave him your number?” Michelle questioned.

“Yeah. I did.” Max returned, sipping her coffee in Michelle’s kitchen.

“And he hadn't call you yet.” Max’s sister pointed.

“That’s right.”

“And you’re freaking out for that?”

“C’mon Michelle! Stop teasing me! I told you, the guy seemed shy, but I don't know. Maybe he lost interest?” Max offered.

“I don’t think so. He looked very interested that day in the park,” Michelle winked at her sister. Max blushed. “Maybe he is working. Did you say he’s an FBI agent? It could be his job keeping him busy,” Michelle reasoned. Max pondered her sister’s words.

“Yeah. You may be right.”

Max didn't want to sound too much eager, but she really wanted Spencer to call her. What if she had been the one asking his number? She wouldn’t be waiting right now.

That night, Max returned to her apartment and flopped on her couch. Turning on the TV, she watched whatever rom-com she found first. Her phone goes off, and Max jumped from her spot. The number was unknown. Max’s heart started pumping faster and faster.

“Hello?” She answered. In the other line, someone cleared their throat.

“Hi - Hello. Max? It’s Spencer. Spencer Reid, we met in the park the other day,” the doctor clarified. Max grinned with pure excitement. Of course she remembered. Thank God he couldn't see her right now.

“Spencer, hi! How are you?” Max asked casually.

“Good. I’m good, really good, actually. Uh - I want to apologize for not calling before. I was in California for a case,” Spencer explained.

“Oh, it's okay. Don’t worry.”

Then awkward silence.

Spencer didn't know what much to say. Listen to her voice made him mush and forgot the speech he prepared because, of course, he prepared a whole speech in the jet before touching land in Virginia. For a moment, Max thought he hung up, but she can hear him gulping.

“Are you still there, Spencer?” She asked. Spencer sough in defeat.

“Yes! I’m - I’m sorry. I don't know why I’m so nervous...” the young doctor acknowledged. Then he remembered JJ’s words: ‘Just say what you feel you have to say.’

“I mean, I really wanted to call you before. But these things make me nervous, you know? I’m not used to meeting beautiful girls in the park and asking their numbers, even if that took me hours to do so,” Spencer said, making Max blush and giggled.

“Well, since we're being this honest, I have to say that I'm a bit nervous too. I'm also not used to meeting cute, adorable guys at the park and giving them my number,” Max offered. This time Spencer blushed, and now it was him thankful that she couldn't see him. “I was looking forward to your call,” she added.

“Oh, did you? I’m glad to hear that.” The smile on Spencer's face couldn't be erased in weeks for now.

“So, can I ask how your flight was?” Max questioned.

Now that both were relaxed, the conversation flowed like that day in the park. Max told Spencer what happened with her car after the clamping incident. They laughed, and Spencer offered some facts about the tow-away system. Spencer told Max about his last case - skipping the gore details, of course. They overlooked the time until an hour passed.

“Well, for our first phone call, I think we did it pretty good, don’t you think?” Max asserted, hearing Spencer chuckle.

“Definitely,” the young doctor agreed. “Now I’m looking forward to knowing if our first coffee date will run the same.”

Spencer was amazed at himself and at the sudden confidence that arose in him. Max thought it was charming, but couldn’t help but to tease him.

“That was a bold move, doctor Reid. Are you asking me for a date?” Spencer cleared his throat.

“I do only if you are interested, of course. I really would like to see you again. Very bold of me?” Spencer stammered. Was he out of line?

“Oh no. Not at all. And I’m interested. More than interested, actually. But you have to ask,” Max teased. Spencer snickered.

“Okay. Max Brenner? Would you like to go on a coffee date with me... this Saturday?” he asked solemnly. Max giggled.

“I would love to. I know a place I‘m sure you would like.”

“Perfect. Eleven works for you?” Spencer asked. He tried to disguise his excitement.

“Sure. I’ll text you the address. Good night, Spencer.”

“Good night, Max.”

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

Permanent Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine @andiebeaword @calm-and-doctor @mind-of-a-girl @katelynnwrites @sassymoon @parahmur @band-of-losers

Maxcer’s Army: @dreatine @andiebeaword @ironwoman18 @ole4kamgg

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #maxine brenner #maxcer #spencer x max #spencer reid x max brenner #spencer reid x maxine brenner #spencer reid fluff

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twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years

Text

10x22: Here’s Negan - Details

All right. Here are a LOT of details.

***As always, spoilers abound below for 10x22. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

We start with Maggie and Hershel walking around Alexandria early in the morning. She calls him “a little rat” affectionately, which I’m side eying. Because of Carol’s rat last episode and because we already established parallels between Hershel and Beth from ep 17 in that he went missing and Maggie and Daryl searched for him.

Then they sing “you are my sunshine” together, which is the same song Carl sang Negan. Because the sun is a Beth symbol, we’ve always seen her in that song. I also wonder if it foreshadows Maggie losing Hershel in some way. I don’t mean him dying, but rather being kidnapped. A lot of us have thought about one or some of the kids being taken at some point, and their parents having to search for them.

Carol looks out a broken window (Broken Glass Theory) and sees the exchange. So, she leaves Alexandria and takes Negan with her.

Actually, the next thing we see is a dead rabbit she pulls from a snare. The rabbit is SUPER interesting. I answered an Ask HERE about the moon rabbit, and I really love this explanation of the symbol. It makes perfect sense for Beth because the moon rabbit sacrificed itself, which is exactly what Father Gabriel said cryptically in 5x16. “How you sacrificed one of your own….”

Plus the Moon rabbit is resurrected and combines the moon symbol and the rabbit symbol.

So what does it mean in this context?

Well, I still don’t want to go into too much detail, though I will soon. (I promise.) But if rabbit = Beth, I think this is yet another example of symbolism that points to Negan and Beth having a big arc together later. (And Carol will probably be thrown into the mix.)

That evening, Negan drinks by the fire. What he’s drinking is clearly moonshine. It’s from one of those big glass moonshine bottles. I don’t know where he got it. I looked a second time at the stuff they left for him, and it might be in there, but if so, it isn’t visible. It would certainly be interesting if Daryl left him moonshine, but I don’t see any super-obvious hint at that. If it’s already there in the cabin, well, that’s Leah’s cabin, so….

This is where he sees his old self from the trailer. Some of the dialogue jumps out at me as things Daryl might say about himself. Evil Negan says to his good self, “You are nothing without her.” That sort of thing.

The next day he goes back to the tree with the stained-glass windows where Rick cut his throat. One of the plate glass windows has a hole in it and the other one is lying on the ground.

My go-to explanation of course is that the one with the hole represents the bullet hole in Beth’s head. (We actually said this of the stained-glass window in Father Gabriel’s church that Sasha shoots a hole in in 5x16 as well.) And I always see someone falling down as a serious injury. So, when Beth belly-flopped in the elevator shaft with Noah, that was a foreshadow of her getting shot. So I’m kind of seeing the window lying flat on the ground in the same way.

Of course, Negan digs up Lucille, and then it goes into the flashbacks.

It starts of course with him being a prisoner of the biker gang. We do think this gang is a parallel of the Claimers from S4. Remember that I said, overall, Negan = Daryl, right? So, this guy (Craven) even kind of looks like Joe Claimer. They dress in a similar fashion, are rough-and-tumble kind of dudes. But also, Negan runs into them after he loses Lucille. He doesn’t realize she’s died at that point, but she has. Just like Daryl ran into the Claimers after being separated from Beth in Alone.

And we immediately see a blue cooler with IV bags inside. They’re Lucille’s chemo treatments. So blue cooler/Frosty Cola symbolism. Plus this can parallel to 6x06 when Daryl accidentally took off with Tina’s medicine when he met Dwight. Basically, these are both pointing to the same thing: a future arc involving Daryl and Beth. There are also 22s on the IV bags. So, 22 theory.

I will say that the format of this episode is a lot like 10x18 because so much of it is flashback. They even use the same font to show the time jumps. The main difference is that with Daryl, they started 5 years ago and then jumped forward, toward the present. Here, they actually move backward first and then forward again.

So it’s like a swinging pendulum. They go back 12 years to where he’s a prisoner of the bikers. Then it goes back 6 weeks to when he’s with Lucille in their home , and then it jumps back again to before the apocalypse when she first found out she had cancer, which was right about the time the turn happened. And then it moves forward to the two of them together in the house, and then back to him with the bikers.

Okay, so, “12 Years Ago” he’s telling his story to the bikers.

Then it actually says “Two or Three Days Ago” and it’s odd to me that they don’t specify which one it is. Negan says he found the mobile medical clinic 2 or 3 days ago, but there’s got to be a reason they don’t just go with one or the other. Anyway, this is when he found an RV with supplies. He tries to hold the doctor up and Laura (Savior) comes up behind him with a bat and hits him.

We also get a bit of a hallucination theme. When Negan looks at the RV and the dummy guards on the roof, his sight sort of warps in and out like he can’t tell for sure. When he wakes up, he’s also hooked to an IV. (Parallel to Beth at Grady.) The doctor says he was dehydrated, malnourished, and exhausted. So maybe, in addition to all the mental break stuff we’ve already said about Daryl in 10x18, we should add these to the list.

“Six Weeks Earlier” and it shows him and Lucille. The first thing we see is that she tells him he’ll have to kill the walker but he doesn’t want to. He just turns off the generator, hoping it will go.

So, she makes him read Pride and Prejudice to her. The Pride and Prejudice thing is really interesting. He only reads a line or two, but anyone familiar with the story will be able to pick out the scene. Basically, in the story, a man asks Lizzie to marry him and she rejects him. He doesn’t love her or anything. He’s just looking for a “suitable” wife, and she can’t stand him. After she rejects him, her best friend marries him instead. And this friend doesn’t care that it’s not a love match. She just wants to be settled in life.

So the scene Negan reads part of is where the friend, Charlotte, is coming to tell Lizzie that she’s marrying him instead. This is the part Negan reads:

"I see what you are feeling," replied Charlotte. "You must be surprised, very much surprised--so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it over…”

Here’s the thing. No way they’re putting dialogue from such a well-known book like this into the show without reason. And I know they said on TTD that it’s supposed to be an Easter Egg for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Fair enough, but it’s not enough of an explanation for me. In the past, there have been things Nicotero has labelled as homages to various horror films, and I’m sure that’s true, but they’re also clearly Beth symbolism.

So, you could say that Pride and Prejudice and Zombies applies to Negan and Lucille. It’s a true love story, but zombies are thrown in. That works. But why this particular passage? It’s about NOT marrying for love, or the passing of a man’s offer of marriage from one woman to another. None of that applies to Negan and Lucille. It would have made more sense to have him read a different passage between Lizzie and Darcy, you know?

So, what does this mean? We’re not entirely sure, yet. For me, I tend to think it foreshadows a future arc (I’m sure you’re shocked) and I’ll get more into that in the next few days.

@wdway suggested perhaps we could apply it to the Leah situation. Daryl is in love with one woman, but hallucinating a relationship with another. I think that works, too. For now, let’s just keep it in mind, shall we? ;D

Dialogue parallels include Lucille saying, “we’ll have to kill it,” which parallels Beth saying the same thing about the walker at the moonshine shack.

And of course then we get that all important scene with the green wig, “serious” mention, IV stand and bag, and walker in the eye.

We see Negan going out to look for more gas for the generator, siphoning it out of cars.

We also see them having fun together. Obviously them playing darts is a callback to Still. The part where they play darts is actually just like half a second in the show, which just goes to show that they did the promo shot because they wanted us to see the symbols in the scene. I want to draw everyone’s attention to the fact that the British flag is printed on the darts. This is part of the template I’ll talk about in a day or two as well. For now, I just want you to notice it. It’s important.

When they do the candlelight dinner (*coughs alone*) they eat DOG food. Sirius reference. She suddenly says “happy anniversary” and pulls out a present for him. He says, “You know what day it is?” and she says, “no, I just wanted you to have this.” So I think the idea is that it’s not really their anniversary. She just said that as an excuse to give him a present. It reminded me a little of the “New Years Eve” theme we saw around the Claimers. Not exactly the same, but a similar vibe. It’s not REALLY New Year’s Eve. They’re just saying it as an excuse to do something else (in that case, kill Rick). Here, it’s not really their anniversary, but Lucille is saying that as an excuse to give him the jacket.

When Negan says she doesn’t owe him anything Lucille says, “I stuck with you because I could always see the man you are right now, even when you weren’t.” So again, kind of a Beth theme of seeing the best in him even when he doesn’t see it in himself. That’s a huge theme throughout this episode.

There’s more refrigerator/cooler symbolism when the fridge defrosts, ruining the last of Lucille’s treatments.

Then it jumps back to before the apocalypse. There were some symbols here as well. The main ones I noticed were specifically around Lucille. After her diagnosis, she gets in the car and hears the broadcast about the virus victims eating human flesh. Kind of a callback to hearing the Terminus broadcast in 4a.

Then she gets mad and says, just play some g**d*** music. (Music reference.) When the car pulls out, you have to check out this license plate!

XVD-1144. The 1-1 you should recognize from @frangipanilove’s 1-1 posts. The 44 references the comic book issue where Andrea was shot in the head, and survived. And of course there’s the X. So then @wdway had the ingenious idea to ask what roman numerals X and D stood for. X=5 and D=500. So we basically have “X, 550, 1-1, 44.” Yeah, series number 55 was Slabtown. Beth was on the 5th floor. And all the rooms around them in the hallway at Grady were in the 550s. If that’s not proof that Lucille is a Beth proxy, I don’t know what is.

Plus, notice the type of car: mustang. We’ve talked about this before, but horse symbolism, and the type of car is always important.

Another thing @wdway with her eagle eyes picked up. Lucille is scrolling back and forth between Negan and Janine’s numbers, right? Notice the date:

November 12. Recognize that:

Yeah, not kidding. It’s a reference to the headstone in Alone. 👀

Back in the future again, Lucille asks Negan to stay with her. You don’t realize this the first time watching it, but clearly she’s ready to die, and just wants him to be with her, but he’s bound and determined to save her, an goes anyway.

A couple of things to point out. Negan looking for meds parallels to Daryl looking for meds at the veterinary college in 4a. Also, on TTD they pointed out that Negan is constantly putting Lucille in a position to be alone. Before the apocalypse, he left her alone to fool around with another woman, who was her best friend. He made her go to the doctor alone. (Lucille alone at the hospital could = Beth at Grady.) We see him constantly leaving her here to get supplies. And he leaves for like 6 six weeks to track the mobile clinic.

I think that’s mostly an anti-parallel to Daryl. Daryl never left Beth intentionally. But I also think it could be a future theme, not in the sense that Daryl will leave her, but I’ve always thought he would feel super guilty because they left her behind and now she’s been “alone” for 8 years. And again, not physically alone as we know she’ll be part of other groups and such, but without him and her family.

Back with the medical people again, Laura gives Negan her bat, the one she first beaned him with, since he doesn’t have any other weapons.

All they said about Laura on TTD was that they wanted to use her—someone the audience would recognize—but also someone who had a relatively minor role. So they talked about how they could have brought Austin Amelio on and had Dwight give it to him, but because Dwight is a bigger character, and because his onscreen relationship with Negan was much bigger, it would have made it a Negan/Dwight moment and they wanted to keep this episode focused solely on Negan and Lucille. So they used Laura.

And sure, that’s fine. But they could have used any Savior they wanted. And why did they even WANT a familiar face? Why the return of the Savior with the blond hair, you know? I’m just saying. ;D

Of course Negan tells the biker gang where the medical RV is and then goes back to Lucille, but she’s already dead. This really was a very tragic episode.

We obviously have a suicide theme here, and the fact that Negan never actually shoots or stabs Lucille in the head, both of which parallel Beth.

On TTD, YNB even pointed out that she’s wearing the same clothes as she was the day he left, which means she committed suicide the day he left. Most of the 6 weeks he’s been out looking for medical supplies, she was already dead. Super tragic, no?

We also see keys, matches, the blue cooler again, and Negan wrapping the barbed wire around his bat.

So, a couple of preliminary thoughts here. The 6 weeks was bugging me because they said it 2 or 3 times, really emphasizing it. I’m kind of wanting to equate it to 6 seasons. Because if Beth doesn’t show until S11 (and clearly now she can’t, unless she shows in Fear or something, but I’m not holding my breath for that) then it will be 6 seasons since Beth left the show.

And again, it’s more anti-parallel than parallel. For 6 weeks, Negan thought Lucille was alive, but she was dead the entire time. For 6 seasons, Daryl thought Beth was dead, when really she’s been alive the whole time.

And, of course, Negan burns the house down, much like Beth and Daryl did in Still.

But here’s the other thing @wdway noticed. Check out the similarities here:

Similar colors and structures, and both seem to be on fire at some point. And I don’t think the cabin in 5x09 was pointing toward Negan and Lucille. Rather, I think the symbolism in both instances point toward something we haven’t seen, yet. But the parallels and repeated symbolism are there.

When Negan leaves, he gets on his bike with Lucille (the bat) and drives away from the burning house. And interestingly, we see him smack his mailbox with it and knock it off it’s post.

Couple of things here:

The name “Smith” is written on the mailbox, so apparently that was their last name. And they mentioned it on TTD. Smith is such an everyman sort of name. It might be one of the most common surnames on the planet, so there’s definitely some interesting symbolism there having to do with Negan.

But I’m side-eyeing the actual mailbox, as part of the Communication Theme. And, on a very basic level, I’m thinking that the mailbox was intact when Lucille was still alive. He destroyed it after he lost her. So maybe it represents something along those lines, or even represents the person they lost. So mailbox = Beth.

The scene that keeps flashing in my head is from 6x03 when Daryl is riding around on his bike, searching for Rick, and he’s passing all these mailboxes in the background.

Then in 10x21, we see him walking toward the military walker on the train tracks (*coughs CRM, *coughs Rick*) and he passes the blond, Beth walker, but doesn’t actually look at her or see her. Do you kind of see the similar theme there?

Negan brutally killing the biker gang can parallel Rick doing the same to Joe Claimer in 4x16.

Negan tells Craven a story about how he lost his job. He got in a bar fight. It was their favorite because it had a JUKE BOX. And they loved the juke box because it played their favorite song (You are So Beautiful to Me.) He even talks about “seeing red” and how he now realizes he can do anything he wants (read: kill anyone he wants) so we kind of see his evolution into S6 Negan here.

And honestly, they leave a lot of loose threads here. We never learn what happens to Franklin (he’s still alive at this point) and obviously Laura stays with Negan long term, but they really could do more flashbacks about how he started gathering people and found the Sanctuary.

So then we come back to the present where he’s just dug Lucille up under the stained glass window tree. In the first scene at the beginning, we see a walker making its way toward him. Yes, it’s a blond, female walker, and I’m pretty sure she’s wearing Daryl’s shirt from when he was at the Sanctuary. Here at the end, Negan has been lost in his own thoughts so long, the walker comes up behind him and he turns around and kills it with Lucille.

When he does, the bat splits down the middle. Yet another symbol of Lucille’s death.

He goes back to the cabin and sits in front of the fire and talks to Lucille (both the bat and his actual wife). He says, “I’m sorry I left you…I made myself not feel anything…I miss you.” See how we could apply that to Daryl?

He also says, “I’m going to do your fighting for you,” which I take to mean he’ll honor her memory better, now, rather than go back to the old, evil Negan he was. Which was really just years of him avoiding his feelings about her death. (Kind of like Daryl has with Beth, hence the Leah situation.)

Then he covers the bat in a white cloth (clearly meant to be a shroud) and puts the bat in the fireplace, burning it. On TTD, they do say this is meant to be the funeral she never got. 👀

Oh, and at the end of the “in memoriam” on TTD, it actually says, “Negan is burning down his past.”

So, at the very end, he actually goes back to Alexandria. Maggie, Carol, and Daryl are near the entrance and he asks where the “A” team is going. Carol warns Negan that if he lives at Alexandria, Maggie will kill him at some point. I actually really liked this ending. It was a good way to kick us into S11.

That’s the end of the episode. So, I’ll say this again and it will be a good segue into my next post about what I think Beth’s arc will be in S11, and how she’ll appear. I’ll post it either tomorrow or Thursday.

Without getting too much into the weeds, I think Negan and Beth will have some major, future interaction. And I really think the symbolism here backs it up, for various reasons. The symbolism itself wouldn’t prove anything, as we’ve seen this stuff repeated with lots of different characters and especially true love couples, which Negan and Lucille clearly were, despite his cheating.

But on TTD, Hilarie Burton talked about how strong Lucille was. She said she liked the character because so often when cancer victims or victims of other prolonged diseases are portrayed on film, they’re seen as angelic, ethereal beings. And while that’s fine if that’s truly who they are, you don’t lose your personality just because you become sick. So she liked it that Lucille was a little rough around the edges. She says that even before the apocalypse, Negan was just fussy enough that he would need a strong woman to rein him in, and he would also be attracted to exactly this kind of strong woman.

Strong woman = Beth.

So, I’ll just leave it there.

Anyone find any symbols I missed?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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mchalowitz · 4 years

Text

the woman is the king, part two

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened.

thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part of this story! writing again has been so great and i’m excited for everyone to read where it goes from here!

part 1: melissa

part 2: dana

———

The exam room is harshly lit, brutally overclean. When the doctor gives the diagnosis, it knocks the breath out of her, and she has the audacity to declare her gratitude. How could she.

The fragility of her age comes to mind on the drive home; her eyes prickle watching her copy of her oncology referral slide across the dashboard.

Dana is only thirty-three. Melissa was only thirty-three. She ponders her mother, Maggie, at thirty-three. Her destiny already decided; along for the military ride. She was carrying the fifth Scully child that year. Their matrarical line is cursed by the thirty-third year.

She simmers with the news for a few days; plotting methods of delivering impending doom. Mulder, the usual harbinger of bad news, is the one she tells first, and she believes using a clinician’s touch might soothe her.

The pronoun that binds them, the “we” travels from his vocal cords to their air between them. When he pauses, she can fill in the blanks of how he wants the sentence to end. We can do something about this or we can fix this. The problem is, there isn’t anything to be done.

Inside her head is a glass and cancer is the water from a faucet turned all the way on. They are merely waiting for the overflow.

Tara is pregnant; she is having a boy. Her brother’s wife is thirty-three. It must be so nice, to be dubbed a Scully, and yet remain so blessed at this foredoomed age.

An appointment to be pumped with poison and Tara’s baby shower fall in the same week. What a scheduling nightmare, she jokes, when she declines the invitation with warm regards. Bill does not laugh and he buys their mother a plane ticket.

The total lack of skeletal structure takes her over, has her melted into the couch. Scully finds the initial nausea passes quickly this time. It is the wave of self-consciousness from Mulder bearing witness to this betrayal of her body that lingers.

“It must be kind of exciting,” Mulder comments. She is watching him wipe down the counter and she doesn’t remember a single time she has seen him willingly clean anything. He is not half-assing any of the responsibilities bestowed upon him by the Mrs. Scully.

“It might be more exciting if it were someone else,” Scully responds, forgoing her usual diplomatic response on the subject.

Mulder pauses, focuses in on her eyes, and in unsaid words, he nods in agreement. He throws the wet rag into the sink with a stomach-churning squelch and falls beside her on the couch.

“You know,” she adds, “Melissa always said she wasn’t going to have kids until she was forty.”

Melissa would goad her into increasingly ridiculous futures; nothing is more ridiculous than futures that will never exist. Neither of them could have predicted such an outcome.

When they were young, one Scully sister was rarely found without the other. It was only the intricacies of adult life that would split them apart. Melissa yearned for adventure; to shed ideals and expectations from their youth in far off places. Their parents envisioned a certain fate for their children, and Dana followed it, until she didn’t.

As she conjures up those conversations about where their lives would go, she realizes she cannot even remember her voice. It rolls over her like a wave, the awareness of fading memories, and it cracks her guise held barely together.

Her glassy eyes brim and she finally crumbles, feeling wholly pathetic. She lacks her usual resiliency that he is accustomed to seeing from her as she weeps, “My sister is gone and I have cancer, Mulder.”

“I know,” he says.

“I’ll miss everything,” she whimpers. The weight of mortality hits her; the decades worth of wasted holidays and the lost memory of her nephew’s birth. Scully will never stand in resolution with her partner after their tireless work for the truth. The loss of an uncomplicated life feels enormous.

She laments what she was never sure of even desiring; the two-story in the suburbs, the babies of her own, the one true love...

“Let’s get married.”

His offer hangs in the air. Scully cries a bout of nausea and bolts for the bathroom. When she emerges, Mulder is there to tuck her into bed.

The sun sets and it rises again on a new day. She comes out of the bedroom apprehensively. Finding Mulder on one knee in her hallway isn’t an idea she can rule out completely. It wouldn’t even come close to the craziest thing she has seen him do.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Mulder rubs circles into his forehead with his cell phone pressed to his ear. She gets close enough to vaguely hear the caller on the other end, listen to the outrage behind, “I couldn’t even put the kettle on without her standing right behind me. In my own home, Fox,” and making it seem as though this is the only issue in the world that matters. And Scully kind of wishes that was true.

“That’s her job, Mom,” he replies. The tone of his voice almost makes her laugh. A polite but clear get me out of here she knows well that comes out during conversations with authority figures, midwestern cops, and not unsurprisingly, mothers.

Their eyes meet, he looks at her as though she is his unsurpassable savior. He begs off the phone, making the usual adult child promises, and sets his cell phone down on the table.

Scully commends Mulder for trying to be more involved with his family since his mother’s stroke. But what a fate he has, caring for the medically and emotionally broken women in his life. He gives her a tight lipped smile and she asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Jury’s still out,” he declares with a shrug. He stands and starts walking toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water, toast, a ring?”

A certainly interesting turn of events for them, a question that could develop into an actual conversation about the night before.

“Mulder.”

“We could get married, Scully.”

“This is so like you, Mulder. This is your stream of consciousness decision making,” she counters. Scully flattens her hands on the table, takes a breath, and attempts to change her tone to sound a little more kind. “I know the idea that I’m dying is bleak. But there are implications to getting married. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Scanning Mulder’s eyes, Scully can see he understands what she means by implications. “Don’t think about that,” he tells her finally, “If you really believe this is the end, what do you still want to experience?”

Scully’s eyes flash away, toward the door. Four years ago, she stood in that spot, and assured her sister unequivocally of her absolute disinterest in dating her new partner. Even if he were just a guy.

Selfishness has often forced a wedge between them; a precursor to many experiences they would have as partners. His brilliance and humanity drew her in then, not unlike the way it does now. When the question was posed--just any guy--their debates were thrilling, a little flirtatious even, and now they can absolutely infuriate her, but she respects his ideals, and she knows that sentiment is reciprocated.

On occasion, Scully is even a little selfish, and allows herself to appreciate just a guy with a little flop of hair that falls onto his forehead, and with the most charming smile.

Whether it be guilt or admiration, Mulder wants her to experience everything before it gets taken away. She can admire the altruism.

Mulder doesn’t ask again, he only suggests. And she accepts.

The commencement of their marriage is without fanfare in a government building on a Friday afternoon with grocery store flowers and a safe kiss on the cheek to clinch the deal. There are no rings but he holds her left hand as they bound down the courthouse steps. During their late lunch at a local diner, the waitress notices their attire, and offers them a free slice of pie, any flavor they want, because it is a special occasion.

A few paces ahead of her on the way to the car, Mulder opens her door. “Your getaway car, my bride,” he teases. The smile on her lips quickly fades. His jovial face morphs to confusion.

But it’s the drip. Blood splatters on the clean, clear plastic protecting their chocolate cream. She tries to maneuver for her purse but he quickly procures tissues from the inside pocket of his jacket.

He squats next to the passenger side of the car and holds tissues to the nose of his bride.

Something is weirdly, intangibly incorrect.

It starts with weekend plans. Mulder is already well aware of her singular escape, her monograph for the Penology Review, with its looming deadline coming up.

He normally makes comments about her unwavering professionalism. It is a mutual agreement to keep their marriage to themselves. The federal government has no investment in the inner workings of their lives; they are legally married and they both know that could easily mean reassignment for both of them. It doesn’t stop him from sneaking in a few witticisms for his own amusement.

Mulder knocks. That’s weird.

The wine is truly suspicious. Except for the occasional beer, Mulder was never much for alcohol to begin with, but what is especially bizarre is the sudden lack of concern over her doctor’s recommended meal plan. He had been following it down to the last letter, and while a glass of wine is not exactly forbidden, it is not the first item on their shopping list.

“We never really talk much, do we?”

Admittedly, the shared looks and delicate touches of silent communication is where they excel, but the question is still somewhat puzzling. Since beginning a routine of casual marital cohabitation, she believes they talk quite a bit. The minutiae of everyday life is often a topic of conversation in ways it never has been.

Scully still plays along by agreeing that, no, they don’t talk. She sips wine and tells him true-ish stories of Marcus, the prom date of a Scully, but not herself, and the infamous pumper truck scandal involving her brother Charlie.

Romantic intimacy has not exactly been a component of their marriage and she has found that cancer does not make one feel like the most desirable of specimens. He has never expressed anything to make her believe he feels anything for her beyond friendship, despite the deep affection they share.

He leans in now; his eyes closed and head cocked. Kissing him isn’t a repulsive idea, but it just seems off, because Mulder is acting so strangely out of character.

Scully scrambles off the couch to get away from the man that is so clearly not her partner. Absolutely horrified, she stares at Mulder, and has no reservations when he steps forward to cuff the pathetic and vile man that invades her living room.

Many lines have still not been crossed and she doesn’t think they ever will be. The cancer is still aggressively present with the treatments doing very little.

Scully prepares herself for the eventuality of hospitalization, potentially for good, and it is very tempting to keep that from Mulder, to allow them to remain in their bubble, but she knows that isn’t fair.

Her car idles on the street outside Harold Spuller’s care home and three soft raps sound on her driver’s side window. She sucks in air deeply and wipes the tears from her cheeks before rolling down the window.

“I didn’t mean for things to get so heated back there.”

“Me neither,” she agrees. When her eyes flash up to his, so guilty and fond, her words fall out in a tumble, unable to prolong this evasion of the truth any longer. “I don’t know why I lied to you. I’m not fine. My treatments aren’t working and my doctors don’t think another round will change that.”

“I’m in this with you, Scully.”

“I know you are,” she affirms. She ducks her head down toward the steering wheel, like a little girl caught eating dessert before dinner. “I’m tired, Mulder.”

“I’ll follow you.”

His headlights shine in her rearview mirror, trailing behind all the way back to where they began this night in Georgetown. Arriving in the apartment, she shuts the door behind them, and informs him, “I’m going to take a shower,” and he nods, reaching forward to squeeze her shoulder. He loosens his tie and starts meandering toward the bedroom.

The phantom ghost of his touch remains on her shoulder and it reminds her of his romantic soul that she is only now been introduced to. Mulder is more emotionally open and affection than she is. He treats her like a wife. They are married, after all.

Their marital bliss is of their own design; enjoyably innocent with its lack of certain intimate elements left largely undiscussed. However, there is delight to be found in mere shared company. With a no-work policy now enacted in her home, the opportunity to see funnier, more relaxed, and domestic sides of each other often makes it feel as though their marriage could be real.

An unspoken agreement to live this arrangement without rules creates something representative of authentic matrimony. Ignoring the initial awkwardness when sharing a bed leads to the normalization of pressing into his warm side each night; falling asleep faster and deeper. Leisurely playing with his hair while reading on the couch one evening introduced a few form of relaxation they both enjoy. He even calls her “honey” occasionally, and she must admit, it makes her feel pleasantly warm to hear it.

It wasn’t right to keep him out of the loop.

Sitting on the tile shower floor, Scully washes the last six hours from her skin. In an attempt to prove to herself, to everyone, that she can still do this, she pushes herself too far. The best decision for the case was to take down the nurse. For her fragile body, not as much.

A small box sits on top of her towel. She picks it up, weighing it gently in her palm.

Mulder already lies innocently under the covers and appears deeply enthralled in his nighttime reading. He looks very youthful and sweet in his wire-framed glasses and his large feet poking out at the end of the bed. She presents the box in question and inquires, “Mulder, what’s this?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs. He glances up briefly, taking off his glasses. “Oh. Wedding present.”

Eyebrows drawn together in confusion, she sits down on top of the comforter, and cautiously opens the box. Her eyes fall on a gorgeously dainty bracelet with a small diamond affixed to a silver chain.

“I don’t know what to say,” Scully finally admits. Mulder smiles, wordlessly leaning forward to close the distance between them. His kiss finally comes with soft lips and firm resolve.

A keen ear kept on the exchange occurring in the hallway, Scully hears the malice in “let her die with dignity,” the intense intent to guilt. Since childhood, Bill has been masterful at identifying a scapegoat.

Appearing at her bedside, Scully takes her brother’s hand. It has been quite some time since they were together in person and she is aware she should focus on the grand gesture of his presence. But they have always sparred on injustice and she just witnessed him as the purveyor.

“I don’t want you to talk to him like that,” she tells him.

It takes almost nothing to generate a quarrel between the two of them. “You keep defending him, Dana, and I don’t see what there is about him to protect,” Bill argues. “You wouldn’t even be in this situation if...”

“Fox has been very helpful,” Maggie interrupts. Their mother is well versed in deescalating the disputes of Dana and Bill; the oil and water of the Scully children. “Bill, sit down and be civil.”

Where Mulder pushes, Bill pulls, and Dana is left somewhere in the middle. Something akin to a jealous feud brews between the two men in her life; each vying for the role of ultimate fixer. It is only when Mulder orchestrates the impossible that her brother cannot deny the miracle.

Most conversations were plans for a comfortable end or perhaps a prolonged, managed experience. The concept of remission, a life without the dark cloud of cancer, was a possibility never even considered.

The day of her discharge finally arrives after a final weeklong observation of her progress, and Mulder, as a now regular fixture of the post-critical care ward, shows up to her room early as usual. He drops a bag on her empty hospital bed. “I brought you some clothes from your apartment,” Mulder informs her. “Unfortunately I couldn’t find anything as uniquely versatile as the hospital gown.”

“I appreciate the effort,” she smiles, ripping open the plastic bag.

Scully can feel an awkwardness emanating from him with three feet between them. She is taking stock of the items he provided when he finally speaks, “Listen, I can be out--”

With a week to discuss the topic, neither of them were brave enough to allow it. The last thing Scully wants Mulder to believe is she married him to take advantage of a kindness he extended to her. It was done with such a different outcome in mind; a selfless act with an outcome to be bathed in heartache.

Now, there is no plan on how to approach where things will go from here. Scully didn’t ever think she would be in a position to have to consider it.

At the very least, they deserve time to enjoy a lack of this particular impending doom.

“Should we get dinner tonight?”

If there is anything they deserve more of, it is time.

It is health.

It is stability.

#x files #xf fic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr

67 notes · View notes

berensroadhouse · 4 years

Text

(ao3 link)

Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

“I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

“Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

“Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

“No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

“It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Want to get married?”

“If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

“I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

“When we already live next to the beach?”

“A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ‘delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

“Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

“Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

“Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

“Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

“Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

“But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

“Cold spots?”

The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

“Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

“Cas!”

Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

“He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

“Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What’s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

“No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

“Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

“Dean!”

“And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

“What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

“Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

“It did, at first,” Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

“You don’t know that.”

“I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

“You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

“I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

“But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

“That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

“Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

“Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

“I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

“What about us?”

Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

“Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

“No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

“That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

“Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

“Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

“It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

“The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

“Cas –“

“So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

“Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

“Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

“You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

“Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

“Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

“Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

“I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

Berens’s is in good hands.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fanfic #destiel wedding #destiel honeymoon #berens's roadhouse

12 notes · View notes

totiredtowrite · 3 years

Note

To the unidentified anon, I looked for some ways to support your friend and found some things you should/should not say to your friend;

Let them stay in control

Sexual abuse, rape or any kind of sexual violence can make a person feel powerless and 'out of control'. Survivors want and deserve to feel in charge of their own lives again.

It's important to resist the temptation to 'take over', for example by arranging and doing things that you think are best. Instead, support her/him to explore their feelings and options and make their own decisions.

Respect their decisions

Respect their choices, even if you don't think they're the ones you'd make in their situation.

Doing things for a survivor (like making an appointment on their behalf without checking that's what they want first) can end up making things worse, even when you were only trying to help.

Be patient

Many survivors find it difficult to trust others because of their experiences, especially if they've not been believed in the past.

At the same time, if someone you know has told you that they were abused or raped, they've put trust in you. Try to repay that trust by being patient and don't push for them to tell you anything before they're ready.

It might not be easy for them to start talking about experiences they might have stayed silent about for a long time. It might be difficult because their abuser told them not to tell or threatened them. They might feel ashamed or responsible. They might be traumatised.

If it's your partner who's experienced sexual violence, whether recently or in the past, they might find intimacy and sexual contact difficult. Sometimes they might not even want you physically close, and other times they might seek extra physical comfort from you. Try to remember that this is not a reflection on you or your relationship. It's about your partner's experiences and feelings.

Reassure them, respect their wishes and be patient.

Believe them

People rarely lie about rape or sexual abuse. Why would they? It's important to believe what they're saying even if it's difficult for you to hear.

Remember it's not their fault

No-one asks to be abused, assaulted or raped. No survivor should ever be blamed for not preventing their own abuse. The blame lies with the perpetrator.

Recognise their courage

It takes a lot of strength and courage to survive and to talk about experiences of sexual violence. Acknowledge that.

DON'T

Don't ask why they didn't say anything sooner

They might have tried to tell before and been ignored or not believed. They might have been threatened or too scared to say anything. They might have felt ashamed or blocked out events too painful to think about.

Don't judge

It's important to be accepting of the way they are reacting, even if it's not what you were expecting or not the way you think you'd respond to a similar experience. It's best to get rid of any ideas you have of how a person who has been raped 'should' behave and accept their reactions as their own and valid.

Don't ask them why they didn't fight back

This will only make them feel judged or even blamed for what happened.

Rape and sexual violence can be terrifying experiences. People react in different ways. It's very common to freeze, or for our bodies to 'flop' or go limp.

Try saying:

“I am so sorry this was done to you.”

“This was not your fault.”

“I’m honored you trust me and told me this.”

“What do you need the most right now? How can I help?”

“Would you like me to take you to the hospital for an exam?” (If the assault happened within the last 10 days.)

There are also things you should avoid doing:

Don’t say “I can’t believe that person would do such a thing.” It implies you do not believe the sexual assault occurred.

Do not ask for details.

Don’t try to “fix it.”

Don’t minimize it.

Don’t ask “why” questions. They are interpreted as blaming. Fear of being blamed is a huge part of why victims/survivors do not seek help.

Don’t tell others what the survivor tells you. Let the individual decide who they will tell. It is important not to share information with others who are not involved;

If you do need to share information for your friend’s safety, get permission by letting your friend know what you will share and with whom it will be shared;

Don’t confront the perpetrator. Though you might want to fix the situation or get back at the abuser, this could make things worse, for you and your friend.

-Reassure the person that they are cared for and loved, and that you will do your best to provide unconditional support. This could include helping the person find and get access to campus resources such as counseling, medical attention or reporting.

-If the assault just happened, help the person preserve evidence. They do not have to decide right away if they want to talk to the police or press charges against the person who assaulted them, but just in case they do, it is important for them to take precautions to preserve any evidence that may have been left behind after the assault. This includes not showering or brushing their teeth. If possible, they should not go to the bathroom, eat, drink, smoke, or comb their hair. If they want to change their clothes, be sure not to wash the clothes, and put them in a brown paper bag and bring them with you when you see a nurse or doctor.

(Don’t know how to bring this up? Try these: “I know all you want to do is shower, but perhaps you should wait until we see a doctor. There might be evidence that could be used later if you decide to report,” or “I know you said you aren’t sure if you want to report, and that’s fine. I encourage you to consider not showering and bringing the clothes you were wearing with you when we see a doctor. This could help preserve evidence if you decide to report later.”)

-Encourage (do not force) the person to report the assault. Sexual assault is a crime, and they have the right to report what happened to them to the police—but only if they want to. If they do decide to report, you can offer to be there with them when they do. What do you say? Try: “What happened to you is a crime, and you can report this to the police if you want to,” “If you want to report what happened to you to the police, I will be here with you every step of the way,” or “ It is up to you if you want to report this to the police. Do you want to talk about how you feel about this?”

Remember, you can't rescue your friend or solve their problems.

But being there to listen, believe and support your friend in a positive way can greatly influence their healing process.

- 🌙 anon

(Also these were all scrunched up from different websites so some might be repetitive)

!!!!!!!!

#bam linking this on my navigation #(🌙).anon

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midnighttmarauder · 4 years

Text

Good Enough

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Prompts: “I can take care of myself.” & “I’m never going to be good enough, am I?”

Warnings: wrist injury (fracture) and mentions of self-doubt

Tags: @evyiione @quokkatrash @accio-rogers

Based on #6 and #11 from my 3k celebration prompt list which can be found here! I’m still accepting requests from it, so send them in!

***

Training with Natasha was like volunteering to get beat up. You thought that you were a skilled fighter—maybe not skilled enough to beat Nat, but at least good enough to hold your own. But as your back hit the mat for the third time in ten minutes, you realized just how wrong you were.

“You keep leaving your left side open. You’re relying too much on attacking and forgetting about your defense. Try again,” Nat said, holding her hand out to help you up. You grabbed it with a huff and let her pull you to your feet. You tried not to wince as a sharp pain shot up your spine. That was definitely going to hurt in the morning.

“I’m going easy on you,” you panted.

“Oh, you’re letting me win, right?” Nat asked as you circled each other.

“Of course. My mom did teach me to be polite to the elderly. It’s only fair, after all,” you replied. You heard Sam laugh from where he was training with Bucky and Steve on the other side of the gym.

“I’m only like a few years older than you. Wait, how old are you again?” she asked. You didn’t answer as you used her moment of distraction. The look of surprise on Nat’s face almost made you laugh as you shoved her backwards and launched your attack.

You only had the upper hand for a few glorious seconds before Nat was jabbing your side and throwing you over her shoulder. You hadn’t expected her to recover so quickly, so you didn’t have time to flip onto your back before your chest slammed into the ground, knocking the air from your lungs. A crack echoed around the gym. Somebody swore as hot pain flared through your left wrist and up your arm.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath as you rolled onto your side, cradling your wrist to your chest.

“Oh my God, Y/N, are you okay?” Nat asked. Her hands hovered over your body, unsure of where she could put them that wouldn’t hurt you. The boys rushed over to you, and Steve immediately kneeled by your side in full Captain mode. Bucky kneeled beside him, reaching to push your hair away from your face.

“Where are you hurt?” Steve asked.

“My wrist. I think it’s broken,” you replied.

“C’mon, sit up,” he said. He helped you, and you felt Bucky steady you as a wave of dizziness washed over you. “Lemme see.”

Steve reached for your wrist and took it gently, but even the slight pressure of his fingers caused a jolt of pain to shoot through your hand. You hissed and tried to pull your arm back, but Bucky put a soft hand on your elbow.

“It’s okay. Doing that will only make it worse,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t look broken to me, but we can’t be sure without some scans. Bucky, why don’t you take her up to see Dr. Cho?” Steve said.

“I can just go by myself. It’s not that bad,” you replied.

“I don’t know, Y/N. It sounded pretty bad,” Sam said. You hated the way they were looking at you. Like they pitied you. Like it was a stupid, rookie mistake that would mean at least a month off of missions if it was actually broken.

“Well, it wasn’t,” you snapped. “Nat just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“C’mon, Y/N-” Bucky began.

“I can take care of myself, okay?” you interrupted. Something flashed in his eyes, and he nodded.

“Okay. F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you please make sure that Y/N gets to Dr. Cho safely? If anything happens, alert me,” Bucky said.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them as you struggled to your feet and hurried out of the gym. Tears pricked the back of your eyes, but you didn’t know if they were from shame or guilt. You stumbled into the elevator and rested your back against the wall as the doors shut, closing your eyes with a sigh.

“Idiot,” you mumbled under your breath.

“Should I call Mr. Barnes to come assist you after all?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked. You thought about it for a moment, all the while cursing the AI’s perceptiveness.

“No thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y. I can take care of myself, remember?” you replied bitterly.

“Of course. But you don’t have to,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. You cradled your wrist closer to your chest and sighed.

Yes, you did.

***

Dr. Cho said that you were lucky. If you had fallen from a greater distance, your wrist would have been shattered—the way you had landed had put all of the weight from the left side of your body onto your wrist. You thanked whoever was listening that Nat was as short as she was. Dr. Cho put you in a temporary cast and said that the healing would take a few weeks. It didn’t really matter though—you were off missions until the cast came off and she deemed you fit to return to the field. The way she had said it made you feel as though it was about more than a simple bone fracture, but you pushed the feeling aside. There was no way she could know about the doubts that kept you up at night.

Walking back to your room made you tired. You didn’t know what it was and chalked it up to the shock of fracturing your wrist. You didn’t know why tears were stinging your eyes or why there was so much pressure on the back of your head. You pushed the door to your room open and almost started at seeing Bucky already sitting on your bed. He looked up from the thread he had been picking at and smiled weakly at you. You struggled to return it as you turned your back to him, closing the door and wiping at your eyes.

“So, what did the doctor say?” Bucky asked. You cleared your throat and turned back to face him.

“Just a fracture. She said I was lucky though. If Nat was just a little bit taller, I would’ve been screwed,” you replied. You tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow.

“Are you doing okay? You don’t seem like yourself,” Bucky said. You nodded and busied yourself with arranging things on your vanity. You cursed how just the sound of his voice made you want to curl up in his arms and cry and tell him everything.

“Yeah. Just a little beat after today,” you replied.

“I get it. It’s scary when you get hurt…I mean I get scared when I get hurt, but even more when you do,” Bucky stammered. You met his gaze and tried to read the emotion behind it, but it was hard to understand.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you. In the gym. I know that you were trying to help, and I shouldn’t have talked to you or Sam that way. It’s just, I’ve been feeling so-” You stopped and blew out a breath as your voice cracked. Bucky patted the bed and gestured for you to sit. You flopped down beside him and tried again. “I’ve been feeling useless lately. I dunno what it is. I just think that I don’t fit in here. That I’m not good enough to be an Avenger.”

“Y/N-”

“I’m never going to be good enough, am I?” you muttered. Bucky put his hand on top of yours and stroked the back of your palm soothingly with his thumb.

“When Steve first found me and we were working on getting rid of whatever HYDRA put in my brain, I felt the same way. I thought that I wasn’t worth all the trouble they were going through, and that it was my fault that the team was falling apart. I thought I wasn’t good enough to be on the team because I didn’t deserve to be part of it,” Bucky explained.

“But you are good enough,” you said as you squeezed his hand. “You’re more than good enough.”

“How come you’re so quick to assure me that I’m good enough, but you can’t see that you’re good enough too?” Bucky asked. Your lip wobbled as you looked down at the floor with a shrug.

“I dunno,” you mumbled. Bucky put a finger under your chin and lifted it, his gaze flickering between your eyes.

“You are good enough, Y/N. You have always been and will always be. So what if you didn’t beat Nat today? It’s hard for me and the guys to beat her sometimes. Having an off day or losing to someone who’s a little more skilled than you doesn’t reduce your worth. It’ll take time for you to realize it, but you will. Hell, I’m still working on it myself. But on the days where it’s a little bit harder to see, I’ll be there to tell you. I promise you, Y/N, everyone on this team thinks that you’re good enough to be a part of it. The only person who doesn’t is you,” Bucky said.

“Thank you. I…thank you,” you replied, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. Bucky hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tight.

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s the truth,” Bucky said. He pulled back and saluted. “Sergeant’s honour.”

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, I want to thank you anyway. How about a movie night, your pick?” you asked.

“Oh, you won’t be thanking me after the movie I pick. Get ready to cry your eyes out,” Bucky replied.

“Please tell me it’s not a rom-com. Does it involve dogs?” you asked. Bucky only laughed in response, getting up and rushing out of your room. “Is it Marley and Me? You know I don’t like sad dog movies. Wait!”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #marvel drabble #3K celebration

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sachigram · 4 years

Text

Truss

((click here to read on ao3!!))

When Shizuo was little, before he ever lost his temper at his brother and lifted the fridge, he learned about soulmates in school along with everyone else. He didn't have much interest in it— no one in his class really did. All of them were too young to understand, and romance in general was far less interesting than running around outside and skinning their knees up. Shizuo thought to himself, if soulmates were really something, and lots of people had one, then he wouldn't have to work too hard or think too much about it. Everything would work itself out in the end.

As he got older and his fuse got shorter and shorter, he realized how difficult soulmates actually were to come by. Most people never met their soulmates— Shinra would often babble about the actual statistics, but he'd shut up when he saw Shizuo getting pissed off about it. Probability aside, even if someone was fated to be with Shizuo, he knew they likely would never approach him even if they found each other. People avoided Shizuo, and as he grew into himself, he started avoiding them, too.

And then. Then, there was Izaya.

The day he met Orihara Izaya, Shizuo immediately got a headache just from looking at the guy. Izaya was ethereal looking, a mischievous smirk planted on his pretty face, his hair dark and messy, yet falling in artful waves like it was styled that way. His eyes seemed blood red in the orange light from the sunset, and Shizuo hated him instantly. It really was as simple as that.

They fought; Izaya slashed at Shizuo with a knife, and then Shizuo got hit by a car while chasing after him. Things only got worse as they got older, and to this day, Shizuo can't even look at Izaya without being filled with the need to chase him down and bash his pretty face in. Nothing else really ever seems to matter.

After a particularly bad fight of theirs, Shizuo ends up at Shinra's, blood soaking through his shirt. He's pissed off about it for multiple reasons: Izaya slashed him up again, his white shirt is completely ruined, and Izaya got away. Shizuo is chewing a hole in his cheek when he flops onto Shinra's couch and lets the doctor patch him up.

“Oh, wow,” Shinra says, dabbing at Shizuo's wounds with a little cotton ball. “It looks like he carved his name in you.”

“What?” Shizuo barks, looking down. Sure enough, the characters of Izaya's first name are slashed into Shizuo's chest, right across the first scar Izaya ever gave him. “What the fuck!”

“I'm surprised you didn't notice until now,” Shinra says.

“He did it so fast! I was too busy trying to hit him. Fucking flea!”

“Relax, it's not deep. I doubt it'll scar. He probably did it just to make you even madder.” Shinra dabs something that stings over the gashes, and Shizuo grumbles low in his throat, imagines going to Izaya's apartment and yanking his head off.

“He really is the worst.” Celty's PDA says exactly what Shizuo is thinking, and Shizuo nods in agreement. Shinra sighs.

“He goes all out for Shizuo-kun, that's for sure.” He applies an ointment before he digs around in his kit for some bandages. “You know... The way you guys are with each other... Have you considered you might be soulmates?”

Shizuo waits a moment before responding, because he's pretty sure Shinra might be making a shitty joke, but when Shinra just keeps right on working, Shizuo flicks him on his forehead.

“Ow! What the heck was that for?!” Shinra yelps, looking at Shizuo with teary eyes. “I'm patching you up, and this is the thanks I get?!”

“Don't pair me up with that rotten louse! I get enough of that from the girl who hangs out with Kadota!” Shizuo huffs before reclining back into the couch. “Izaya's just an insane little fucker who hates me. There's no romance involved.”

“Well, yeah, but...” Shinra frowns, rubs his forehead, and goes back to bandaging Shizuo. “He's literally all you think about. That's a sign.”

“He makes my life hell! Of course I think about him! If I stop paying attention to him, he'll do something even worse.”

“Hmm.” Shinra doesn't seem particularly convinced. “Well, there's nothing I can do about it if neither of you will listen to reason. I'm only saying, if it is that you're mated, letting it go to waste because of some rivalry is childish.”

“Rivalry?! He— You!”

“Just keep it in mind. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to ever happen around here.”

Shizuo begs to differ. The thought alone of being Izaya's soulmate is strange enough that Shizuo feels a little nauseous. They can't be near each other without fighting. Shizuo thinks being alone is much better than being matched with someone who clearly wants him dead.

***

Shizuo doesn't see or hear from Izaya a few weeks after their fight.

At first, he revels in the quiet. He goes to work, hangs out with Tom and Vorona, sees his brother. Shinra has mentioned Izaya is busy with work or something, and that's why things have been running so smoothly.

After the first week, Shizuo begins to feel uneasy.

Izaya being quiet can't be a good thing, right? He's got to be involved in...something. He'd never allow Shizuo a moment's peace, and if he's letting it happen now, it means something worse is around the corner. Shizuo feels antsy and jittery, waiting for something he doesn't know for sure will happen.

By the second week, Shizuo is physically ill. He tries to carry on as usual. He's never been one to get sick, as his immune system is excellent, but he hasn't been sleeping much, and he thinks maybe he caught something because he hasn't been taking care of himself.

Tom takes one look at Shizuo and shakes his head, pointing to the door.

“No way, you look terrible. Vorona and I can handle things today. Go home and get some rest, man.”

“It's nothing,” Shizuo mutters, though he does feel terrible.

“You have plenty of sick days since you never use them. C'mon, go relax a little. I'll call and check in on you later,” Tom says, and Shizuo accepts defeat. Tom is hard to argue with, especially since he's never sent Shizuo home before. Shizuo must really look as bad as he feels.

“Would you like me to send you a list of remedies proven to alleviate cold symptoms?” Vorona asks.

“No, thanks though. I'll just try to sleep it off.”

He's lying on his couch later when his phone rings. He expects it to be Tom, but it's Shinra. Sighing, Shizuo answers, knowing Shinra will just keep calling.

“What?” he snaps.

“Shizuo-kun? You sound weird,” Shinra says.

“I'm sick.” Shizuo doesn't really want to tell Shinra that, as Shinra will likely use it as a reason to come bother him, but if he brings medicine along, Shizuo will tolerate it.

“Sick? You?” Shinra pauses. “You never get sick.”

“Yeah, I guess I'm due. I just feel shitty. I'm tired but I can't sleep and— ugh, my head is fucking throbbing.”

“Hmm. Did this just start today?”

“No, a few days ago. It's just been getting worse. Why? Is there something going around?” Shizuo asks. He hopes he didn't expose Tom and Vorona to the flu or something.

“You could say that!” Shinra laughs a bit, and Shizuo tenses up. He hates when Shinra does this, acts like he knows something no one else does, and then refuses to share. It reminds Shizuo too much of Izaya.

“Is there a reason you fucking called me? Your voice is making my head hurt worse,” Shizuo growls, and Shinra's laughing stops abruptly.

“Ah, sorry! Yes, Celty ran into Tom-san and Vorona-san today! She noticed you weren't there and asked me to call. I'll let her know you're fine.”

“I'm not fine. Do you have anything for headaches? All I have is ibuprofen and it's not doing shit.” Shizuo doesn't keep many pain remedies around. He's never really had a use for them.

“I don't think I have anything that'll help. Just get some rest and, uh. Let me know how you feel by Sunday.”

Shinra hangs up then, and Shizuo is left glaring at his phone. He's thankful it's the weekend. Hopefully, if he spends his off days lounging around and taking medicine, it'll pass by the time he's supposed to return to work.

Throughout the weekend, it only gets worse.

Saturday night, his head is pounding so bad he can't keep his eyes open. He tries to go to bed early and wakes an hour later feeling feverish. He gets out of bed to get some water, and then he winds up running to the bathroom to vomit. He's never gotten sick like this before. He calls Shinra, who promises to visit him in the morning.

Sunday morning, Shizuo is wrapped in two blankets on the couch. He's starving and exhausted, but he can't seem to eat or sleep. Even smoking isn't an option for him right now. He's miserable enough to relent to Shinra examining him. Shinra, of course, looks thrilled.

“So, you say it's been getting worse throughout the week?” Shinra asks as he takes Shizuo's vitals.

“Yeah. Every day it's just harder to deal with it,” Shizuo mutters. He's wearing his sunglasses inside because the lights are torturing him.

“I see,” Shinra says, and he studies the results he's written down. He frowns a bit, and then he pulls another chart from a file in his briefcase. He holds the two together in front of his face, and his face pales.

“What? What is it?” Shizuo asks, a little worried. He's been thinking this might be something bad, especially if his extremely powerful immune system can't fight it off.

“It's, uh. It's nothing,” Shinra squeaks, putting the papers away.

“You don't look like it's nothing,” Shizuo says. “What, am I dying or something? Aren't you legally obligated to tell me if I'm dying?”

“A simple check-up wouldn't tell me if you were dying,” Shinra says with a laugh, and then he's rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Look, I have an idea of what it is... But if I tell you now, you'll only get pissed off at me, and I don't want a fist in my face, especially if I'm wrong. I need to do something before I tell you for sure.”

“What the fuck?” Shizuo asks. “There's a test involved?”

“Yes! A test. We should know for sure by tomorrow!”

“I have to work tomorrow!” Shizuo protests.

“I'll give you some pills to take the edge off the headache. It won't get rid of it, but knowing you, you can power through.” Shinra packs up his things, and Shizuo scoffs at him.

“What incredible medical advice. You're telling me to deal with it.”

“I'm telling you it's nothing to worry over! Well...at least not at the moment. Worst case, you miss work tomorrow, too. Surely you have more than enough sick leave to use since you're never sick.” Shinra gives him a smile, and then he reaches in his pocket before tossing a pill bottle at Shizuo. “Take two of those. They might help you sleep, too.”

“Thanks,” Shizuo says dryly. “Do I need to do anything for this test of yours, or am I supposed to just wait around for you to get back to me?”

“Ah...” Shinra looks sheepish again. “I have to make another house call, and then... Well, if I survive, we'll figure it out from there!”

Shizuo doesn't bother asking for an explanation. Shinra never gives straight answers, especially if he's trying to avoid giving Shizuo bad news in person. Shizuo closes and locks the door behind Shinra when he leaves, and then Shizuo goes to the sink, puts two pills on his tongue, and chases them with water straight from the tap.

That night, Shizuo feels groggy and manages to sleep in waves, though it's always a fitful, shallow sleep. It's better than no sleep at all, and Shizuo feels well enough to heat up some canned soup and keep it down. He still feels feverish, so he's walking around his apartment with blankets draped over him. Tom calls a little after Shizuo washes his dinner dishes.

“Yo. Feeling any better?” Tom greets.

“Yeah, a little. Shinra came by and gave me some pills,” Shizuo says. He moves back towards the couch.

“If you need tomorrow off, just let me know,” Tom says. “We don't have any major targets anyway. Vorona can handle them.”

“I know. I'll wait till the morning to decide for sure. If I don't feel well, I'll give you a call.” Shizuo chats with Tom a little longer, and then he passes out in front of the TV.

Right after three in the morning, Shizuo wakes once more.

He feels terrible, but more than that, he feels ravenous, like he hasn't eaten in days. Technically, he hasn't, as soup doesn't count for much, nutrition wise. He groans and gets up from the couch, deciding to just walk to the convenience store down the street and find something to fill him up, as he doesn't have anything else to eat aside from rice.

There isn't anyone else on the street this early in the morning. Shizuo passes a few cabs, but he doesn't walk by anyone. It smells like rain, and the breeze feels good on his skin, though he shivers a bit as he walks. He's always enjoyed walking, especially when it's dark out. The way the lights illuminate everything around him make him feel relaxed, though his headache has him wearing his shades to keep the worst of the lights from exacerbating his already throbbing temples.

He grabs a few snacks and checks out with the clerk, who looks half-asleep and wary of Shizuo, who probably resembles a zombie at this point. Shizuo exits the store and lights a cigarette as he walks, knowing a good portion of his headache might be withdrawal. It drops from his lips and hits the ground when someone steps in front of him, the last person he'd like to see.

“Izayaaaaaaaa,” Shizuo hisses, tightening his hands into fists. He has to stop himself from throwing his snacks at Izaya, who doesn't seem well in the least.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya lilts, waving his hand in greeting. He looks almost waifish, and the dark circles under his eyes make Shizuo wonder how bad his own must be. “You're up late.”

“I can't fucking sleep,” Shizuo says, and then he grumbles. “Why are you in Ikebukuro?”

“Oh, you know.” Izaya shrugs. “I can't sleep either, and it's been a while since I came this way.”

“You're too fucking close to my building,” Shizuo says, and Izaya feigns a surprised expression.

“You're right! I am awfully close to your hovel, aren't I? I must be delirious.”

“Are you sick? You look like shit.”

“So do you,” Izaya says, and then he crosses his arms. He sniffs a bit. “Are you going to break my arm if I go into the store? I was going to buy a bottle of tea.”

“They have tea in Shinjuku,” Shizuo says.

“Yes, but I'm already here!”

Shizuo expects his head to pound again, because out of everyone in his life, Izaya pisses him off the most. Weirdly enough, he feels...better? Maybe those pills Shinra gave him are starting to work.

“Whatever,” Shizuo mutters at last. “If you do anything, I'll kill you later. I'm too tired to deal with you right now.”

He walks towards Izaya, who stiffens a bit. He doesn't know why he does it, but Shizuo bumps shoulders with Izaya as he passes, and Izaya doesn't do anything in retaliation.

Both of them must really be sick and delusional.

***

When he wakes up again, Shizuo feels great, like he was never sick at all. He doesn't question it too much, since this is usually how colds work for him. He'll feel a little sluggish, and then perfectly normal again. Maybe this was just a bad flu or something. Either way, it's over now, so Shizuo goes to work as usual, and he doesn't think about it again until Shinra calls him a little after he gets back home.

“Did you see Izaya-kun last night?” Shinra asks as soon as Shizuo picks up the phone.

“What the... Yeah? I ran into him at fucking three in the morning.”

“Did you...interact with him?” Shinra asks.

“A little bit. We didn't fight. Is Izaya sick, too? He looked like a skeleton. I didn't feel right about attacking him.” Shizuo has a bad feeling in his stomach, and he doesn't know why.

“This might sound odd, but please don't get too angry,” Shinra says. “Did Izaya-kun touch you at all? Even in passing?”

Shizuo freezes in his tracks. He was going to his fridge to get a beer, but now his stomach is lurching uncomfortably.

“He... No. No, I brushed against him. I think I was threatening him, or... I mean, I didn't think about it.” Shizuo swallows. “Why?”

Shinra sighs, and Shizuo knows he isn't going to like what comes next.

“Your symptoms matched with Izaya-kun's. Everything on your chart, your heart-rate, your temperature, your maladies—everything matched. You both got sick at the same time, right when Izaya-kun was too busy with work to interact with you. It got worse and worse for the two of you until you saw Izaya-kun again, and as soon as you touched, even brushing past, both of your symptoms went away.”

“...huh?” Shizuo's voice sounds small even to him. Shinra clears his throat.

“Do you understand what it is I'm getting at? I know I...mentioned before about being mated to Izaya-kun. You refused to entertain the idea, and so did he. I couldn't do any tests without your consent. But now... Shizuo-kun, this is more than being mated. This is... Are you familiar with a soul bond?”

“A what? You're... Are you saying Izaya is my soulmate? This is— You're sure?” Shizuo wants to feel angry. He wants to refute this and prove Shinra wrong, but as it is, he just feels empty inside.

“I've told you before about the rarity of soulmates. Some people have marks, and every now and then, mated pairs will find each other. Neither you nor Izaya-kun have marks, so it was hard to tell, but when you both got sick from being apart... This is deeper than a normal soul-link, not that those are anything to take lightly. A bond is extremely, extremely rare. There's only been one case in the last year, and it's been over five years since any in Japan have been reported.”

“I don't... I don't get it. I have a soul bond with Izaya? What's that mean?”

“You and Izaya-kun are essentially two halves of one whole. You can't be apart from him without feeling the effects. As insane as it sounds, the two of you were able to keep yourselves sated by fighting—hitting each other, touching at all, even with ill-intent. The moment you met, this started, but it wasn't until you stopped seeing Izaya-kun that the withdrawal crept in.” There's the sound of shifting, fabric rustling. “I'm saying Izaya-kun is more than your soulmate, Shizuo-kun.”

“I don't believe you,” Shizuo says, though he does. He wondered, at least a little, why he felt better as soon as Izaya crossed his path. “You don't know for sure.”

“It's not one-hundred percent,” Shinra relents. “There are a few more tests I can do, if the two of you cooperate.”

“Fine, whatever, anything to prove you wrong!”

Shinra comes by the next day with a sheet of paper filled with questions. They're strange, it's by far the weirdest test Shizuo has ever taken. It asks about dreams, intrusive thoughts, sudden cravings he's had that he's never had before. He fills it out honestly, knowing that lying won't get him anywhere. When he's done, he looks expectantly at Shinra, who is reading them over.

“So?” he barks. “Do they match or whatever?”

“Izaya-kun hasn't taken his test yet,” Shinra says. “He's taking this much worse than you are.”

“Why?!” Shizuo growls. “He's the one who starts everything! He's the awful one! It should be me who refuses to cooperate!”

Shinra shrugs. “Tell him that.”

Five days go by, and Shizuo doesn't hear anything from Shinra. He also doesn't see or hear from Izaya, and by the sixth day, the headache is back. In a fit of rage, Shizuo finds himself opening Izaya's contact. He sends a text.

Does your head hurt?

An hour passes. Shizuo is about to stomp all the way to Shinjuku, but then his phone goes off.

Don't tell me you're actually entertaining this. Izaya sends.

What the fuck else am I supposed to do?

No response. Shizuo waits another fifteen minutes before sending another message.

What if he's right?

Izaya responds right away.

He's not right.

You must have thought he was a little since you came to see me at 3am.

No response. Shizuo roars in rage, which only makes his head hurt worse. He sends another texts, his thumbs pressing so hard against his phone screen, he worries he might crack it.

Take the fucking test or I'm going to tie you up and make you do it.

Kinky ;) Izaya sends.

TAKE THE GODDAMN TEST

Oh, fine. When he ends up being wrong, you can stop acting so pitiful.

The next day, Shizuo doesn't hear anything from Shinra or Izaya. Usually, he'd welcome the quiet, but at the moment, he wants to hear something, anything. His head is beginning to pound unbearably, and he has to take sleeping pills to even scrounge up a few hours of sleep. When he wakes, he has a missed call from Shinra, as well as a text message.

Izaya-kun's test matched yours exactly. I'm sorry.

Shizuo wants to throw his phone against the wall, but he doesn't. As angry as he is, he thinks he already knew. He knew as soon as Shinra mentioned it the first time, he just didn't want to accept it.

He lasts one more day before he's marching to Shinjuku. His head hurts, and he's feeling feverish, but he manages to make it through work. Tom asks where he's going in such a hurry.

“I'm going to kill Izaya,” Shizuo mutters, and he ignores the look Vorona and Tom give each other.

Shizuo bangs on Izaya's door until it opens, and an irritable woman looks back at him. His words die in his throat as she glares at him.

“He's in his room,” she tells him, opening the door. “It's right up the stairs.”

“Uh... Thanks?”

“Tell him I'm leaving for the day, please. I'm tired of dealing with him.” He watches as she gathers her things and leaves, and Shizuo waits only a few moments before he goes up the stairs.

Izaya is buried in blankets, looking as miserable as Shizuo feels. He glowers at Shizuo and rolls away, putting his back to Shizuo.

“Go away,” he moans.

“Izaya—“ Shizuo starts.

“No, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about this.”

Shizuo growls. “Why are you being so shitty about this?! As if I'm happy about it! Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?”

“Shizu-chan, even if Shinra is right, what do you propose?” Izaya asks, and then he turns to look at Shizuo. “Do you know what soul bonds mean? You being here at all is going to make it worse.”

“What do you mean? I thought it would help?”

“It will, for a while. Every time we're in proximity, it's like a patch over the problem. It'll help a while, but the next time we feel this way, it'll be worse. We lose days every time.” Izaya rubs his hands over his face. “It's like it got even worse once Shinra opened his fat mouth. We were doing just fine before.”

“So what, then? You want to ignore it?” Shizuo asks.

“We can go on as normal, right? We can fight, and maybe if we draw out how often we see each other, we can lengthen the amount of time it takes before we have to see each other again. We'll...build a tolerance.”

“Fuck that! I feel like shit, and so do you! I'm not gonna just build a tolerance to feeling shitty! Who does that?!” Shizuo stomps towards the bed, and when Izaya meets his eyes, Shizuo freezes. Izaya looks scared. No. Izaya looks terrified.

“Don't touch me!” Izaya shouts, and Shizuo's entire body goes cold. “You idiot, just... Just leave, okay? You're making it worse.”

Shizuo runs his tongue along his teeth, counts to ten. He shakes his head.

“I'm not leaving. I'm not letting you ignore it.”

Izaya laughs, and it sounds completely hollow.

“Do you even understand what you're saying? It's not as if you want to be here. If you don't leave, and you insist on touching me, it's only going to get stronger.”

“Ignoring it isn't an option. It's gonna get worse even if we build a tolerance to it. So then what, it takes a month or so before we feel like this? We're gonna have to interact anyway.” Shizuo moves towards the bed, and Izaya watches him warily. “Might as well get it over with.”

Izaya rolls as far as he can when Shizuo sits on the edge of the bed. There's a large space between them, and Shizuo sighs before reaching out, his fingers skimming along Izaya's shoulder.

“I-za-ya,” Shizuo murmurs. “Come on. Meet me halfway here.”

“I hate you,” Izaya says, but he reaches his hand above the covers. Shizuo touches Izaya's hand timidly, and the instant their skin touches, their headaches vanish completely.

“Oh...” Shizuo breathes. He's close enough to watch Izaya's throat bob as he swallows, close enough to see Izaya's eyelashes. He traces his fingers along the soft skin of Izaya's knuckles, and they aren't holding hands, but Shizuo finds he wants to.

“You've only made it worse,” Izaya says. “The closer you get, the worse it'll be next time.”

“We aren't very close,” Shizuo says. “We don't have to get close. We can manage this much. Just...whenever it's bad, we can touch hands or something. It's not the end of the world.”

“You don't get it,” Izaya argues.

“So then tell me.”

Izaya just shakes his head, and then he pulls his hand away. Shizuo knows he isn't going to get anything else from Izaya, so he stands and leaves, the skin on his hand burning more and more with every step he takes away from Izaya.

***

It takes three days for Shizuo to understand what Izaya meant.

The next time the headache sets in, it's terrible. Shizuo's sunglasses do nothing to help his light sensitivity, and he winds up vomiting right in the middle of the sidewalk, Tom and Vorona on either side of him. They each take an arm and lead him to Shinra's, and the entire time, Shizuo is moaning in pain, trying to explain to them that it won't help.

They're at Shinra's for about fifteen minutes before Izaya stumbles in, looking haggard. Vorona and Tom stand instantly to defend Shizuo and tell Izaya Shizuo is in no shape to fight, but Shizuo shoves past them and hurries to Izaya, taking the informant into his arms like they're lovers.

“You fucking idiot,” Izaya murmurs, but he holds Shizuo just as tightly. “What have you done?”

“I'm sorry,” Shizuo says, and he presses his face into Izaya's hair. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

“Ah. Tom-san, Vorona-san, why don't you let me make you some tea?” Shinra asks, and the sound of footsteps leading from the door alerts Shizuo that he's alone with Izaya. He presses Izaya into the wall of the hallway, still hugging him tightly.

“I don't know what to do,” Shizuo admits. He's breathing Izaya in, and he wants to hate it, to feel as angry about Izaya's scent as usual, but he can't. He feels nothing but relief and comfort with every breath he takes. “Tell me what we can do.”

“There's nothing,” Izaya says, his voice muffled by Shizuo's shoulder. “You've doomed us both. It's only going to get worse.”

“Fuck,” Shizuo hisses. He nuzzles into Izaya's hair, can't think about why he's doing it. “Don't go away again. If it's worse every time, next time, I'm just gonna fucking pass out.”

“Shizu-chan...” Izaya's voice is small, unlike him. Shizuo offers a groan in response, letting Izaya know he understands completely. They don't let go of each other for quite a while.

“Man,” Tom says later when he and Vorona are walking Shizuo home. “Talk about a tough break. Being bonded to someone you hate? It's almost better not to be bound at all.”

“Statistically speaking, being bound at all—“ Vorona starts, and Shizuo grunts at her.

“I don't wanna hear the numbers. They only remind me how unlucky I am.” Shizuo is used to being an anomaly, but the universe really cursed him this time around. Vorona only shrugs, and Tom makes a face.

“Sorry, man. You wanna get drunk?” he asks.

“I'll just wake up hungover. Thanks, though. I'll keep it in mind,” Shizuo mumbles, and Tom and Vorona don't speak again.

The next day, it's all over the news that a couple in Japan are soul bound. Names aren't used, as neither Shizuo nor Izaya agreed to be named, but it seems like everyone is talking about it no matter where Shizuo goes. He wants to be pissed at Shinra for reporting it, but he knows why Shinra had to. If it's really so rare, it's kind of like some breakthrough case, and it gives other people hope. Shizuo is only glad his name wasn't used, and the only ones who know aren't blabbermouths, aside from Shinra, who fears Shizuo and Izaya both too much to say anything.

Part of Shizuo worries Izaya might try to work this to his own advantage, but Izaya seems every bit as displeased about it as Shizuo is, and Shizuo thinks Izaya won't want his name bound to someone's publicly either. They agree to meet the next day so they can fend off the sickness, and Shizuo goes to Izaya's place to make sure Izaya doesn't try to weasel his way out of it.

It isn't like the last time. Neither of them feel sick yet, so they're able to sit close to each other and touch hands while remaining far apart. Izaya scrolls his phone, not looking at Shizuo, and Shizuo tries to do the same, but it annoys him to be treated so impersonally.

“What are you doing anyway?” Shizuo snaps after a while, and Izaya turns to him with an eyebrow raised.

“Working,” Izaya says shortly.

“On what?”

“Sorry, I don't think that's your business?” Izaya says, smirking at Shizuo, and Shizuo tosses his hand away like it's diseased.

“God, I detest you. Whatever, I'm leaving.”

“Fine. Leave, then,” Izaya says, waving him away.

“I will!” Shizuo shouts back.

“I'm not stopping you! The door's right there,” Izaya says, and they glare at each other for a few moments before Shizuo stomps to the door and leaves, slamming it behind him.

They last one day.

Shizuo feels the headache settling in the second he arrives home from work. He vomits an hour later, and before he can even contact Izaya, Izaya is knocking on his door, a defeated look in his eyes.

Again, Shizuo takes Izaya into his arms. He doesn't think anything of it. The more he tries to rationalize it, the worse he feels about it, so he just listens to his body. He wants to be close to Izaya, wants to keep Izaya safe, wants to breathe Izaya in, so that's what he does. They stand at the door for a while, and then Shizuo carries Izaya to the couch, arranges them so Izaya is sitting on Shizuo's lap. If Izaya has any reservations, he doesn't voice them. He's silent as he hugs Shizuo around the neck, and Shizuo appreciates the lack of argument. They're stuck together in this, so he thinks the sooner they accept it, the better.

“Fuck,” Izaya says after a few minutes. He pulls away, and Shizuo makes a soft noise of protest before he pulls Izaya back. Their foreheads touch, and Shizuo closes his eyes, careful to swallow the moan that threatens to escape his lips. It feels so good to touch Izaya like this, to be this close. It's like a drug.

“I didn't mean to make it worse,” Shizuo says, his eyes still closed. He doesn't want to look at Izaya this close, worries he might try to kiss Izaya if he does. Izaya hums in response.

“You were right. It would've gotten worse no matter what we did,” Izaya says, and his hands settle on Shizuo's cheeks. Shizuo does moan then, can't help it. He feels Izaya go rigid against him.

“Did Shinra tell you the results of our test?” Shizuo asks. He has to say something to stop himself from opening his eyes. Izaya surely notices Shizuo is trying to distract him, but he goes along with it.

“He didn't tell you?” Izaya asks.

“Not about the test test, no. He told me our vitals were the same, but I didn't really understand the next part.”

“Mm. You described an odd dream I've been having. And you said you were craving ootoro despite not liking it much.”

“So?” Shizuo asks.

“That's my favorite food. As for the dream, it was about destroying some woman's shop. I had no idea who she was, but it was recurring.”

Shizuo inhales sharply, and then he laughs. He can't help it. His life is so incredibly odd.

“You really are my soulmate, aren't you? Fuck. This is insane. So we can share thoughts?”

“I think so. If we worked at it.” Izaya's nose presses against Shizuo's, and Shizuo opens his eyes, shivers at way Izaya is looking at him. “It's not uncommon for soul bonded pairs to be linked mentally, though I doubt either of us wants that.”

“Isn't it kind of inevitable at this point?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya laughs softly.

“Maybe. It's so rare that I don't know for sure.”

Eventually, Izaya untangles himself from Shizuo, and though Shizuo wants to yank Izaya back into his arms, he refrains. Izaya waves before ducking out of the apartment, and Shizuo just knows he isn't going to sleep well that night, whether their bond is satisfied or not.

He dreams of a big house, empty aside from himself and two babies. He's left to care for them, and he isn't good at it, but he has to be. He's all they have. He's cooking and then the smoke alarm goes off, and it wakes him up. He knows miles away, Izaya must be up, too.

Shizuo fights it as long as he can. He can feel Izaya fighting it, too. They last an entire two days before they wind up back together. Shizuo finds Izaya in a cafe, where he knows Izaya will be despite the fact they aren't talking. He takes one look at Izaya hunched in a chair, and then they're embracing, ignoring the looks of the other patrons.

“This place has excellent hot chocolate. Do you want some?” Izaya asks. Shizuo is entirely helpless to him, is resisting the urge to kiss Izaya silly.

“Yes. Fuck, whatever you want,” Shizuo murmurs, and Izaya trembles. He calls their order to the girl at the counter, and Shizuo takes Izaya's face in his hands, brushes his lips over Izaya's.

“Shizu...” Izaya breathes, and then their mouths are meeting. Shizuo groans against Izaya's lips, kisses him softly at first, and then brushes his tongue across Izaya's lips. Izaya resists, and Shizuo growls lowly in warning, and then their tongues are meeting, and Shizuo loses his mind at the taste of his mate. Izaya melts against him, and Shizuo's hands move under Izaya's shirt, span the soft skin of Izaya's back, and it takes the sound of the girl announcing the hot chocolate is ready for them to break apart. Shizuo tries to go retrieve it, but Izaya whines and pulls him closer, silently begging Shizuo not to let go of him. Shizuo carries Izaya to the counter, and then back to the table. He holds Izaya in his lap and lets the drink go cold in favor of tasting Izaya to his heart's content.

“Come over,” Shizuo pleads later. He's pressing Izaya to the wall outside. He knows they shouldn't make a spectacle of themselves like this, but he can't resist the call of Izaya's lips, and he knows Izaya feels the same.

“Shizu-chan... It's not a good idea,” Izaya says, trying to turn away from Shizuo's mouth. Shizuo yanks him back, licks inside Izaya's mouth with a low groan.

“I can't be without you anymore. I don't care what that makes us,” Shizuo says when they break apart again. “We can just sleep. I don't need anything but for you to be beside me.”

“Okay,” Izaya agrees at last, and he mewls enticingly when Shizuo licks at his neck. Shizuo doesn't know how he lived so long without the taste of Izaya on his tongue.

“Thank you,” Shizuo says, feeling pathetic. If Izaya tries to leave, he thinks he might go insane. He carries Izaya back to his apartment building, and he holds Izaya's hand while Izaya orders them takeout on his phone.

They wind up sharing lo-mein from the Chinese place nearby, Izaya feeding Shizuo a bite before taking his own. They pick at everything else, their eyes on each other as they try to eat, but eating isn't what their bodies are screaming for. Izaya just barely manages to set the takeout containers on the floor before Shizuo is pressing Izaya's body into the couch cushions, kissing him hungrily, desperately. Izaya wraps around Shizuo, kisses Shizuo back just as ravenously. Their bond sings between them, and when Shizuo grinds down against Izaya, Izaya gasps and rolls his hips up to meet him.

“Izaya... Izaya, fuck...” Shizuo manages, panting against Izaya's neck as they move together.

“Shizu-chan... We...nnn... We should stop...” Izaya breathes, and Shizuo whines in response.

“Do you want to...?”

“No,” Izaya says, and he looks up at Shizuo, his pupils blown wide. “What do you want?”

“I want you,” Shizuo says, and the second the words leave him, he feels the truth in them. Suddenly, the fact they've waited this long is ridiculous. They're mated. Mates can't be apart like this.

“Are you sure?” Izaya asks, and he runs his hands through Shizuo's hair. “If we do this, there's no going back. We'll never get away from each other.”

“So? I don't want to be away from you.” Shizuo turns his head, catches Izaya's wrist, and pulls Izaya's hand to himself, kissing the soft skin of Izaya's palm. “It's already too late for that, isn't it?”

Izaya breathes deeply, and then he shakes his head.

“It's not you talking. It's the bond. You need to think about this and what it means.”

“How am I supposed to think about it?” Shizuo asks. “If you go away again, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind. And when you're next to me, you're all I want.” Shizuo looks into Izaya's eyes. “What's left? What do I have to do to convince you that I need you?”

“I don't know,” Izaya says. He looks upset, and Shizuo hates it, wants to fight whatever is hurting Izaya like this, though he gets the feeling it's Izaya himself. “No one's ever... It doesn't make sense...”

“Izaya,” Shizuo says, and he hears the desire in his own voice.

“I'm supposed to go to America in a few days,” Izaya blurts suddenly, and Shizuo freezes above him. “I have a few clients there... I'm supposed to be gone for a month.”

“A month?” Shizuo asks, his mouth dry. “You can't. Izaya—we won't last a month.”

“I don't want this!” Izaya sits up, and Shizuo willingly backs away from him. “I don't want to be tied to you! You don't even fucking want me! You need me, and I don't...” Izaya pauses before looking down at the couch cushions. “It'd be different if it was anyone else, but you hate me. You've always hated me. We're only together because it stops you from feeling like shit.”

“That's the only reason you're here, too,” Shizuo says, and he can feel the despair coming from Izaya. It doesn't make any fucking sense. Neither of them want this... Izaya hates Shizuo just as much as Shizuo's always hated Izaya, right?

Izaya stands and hurries out the door. Shizuo feels the pull of their bond, but he doesn't chase after Izaya. He doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to say.

***

Two days later, Shizuo is completely bed-bound.

Shinra comes by to give him painkillers and a lecture, but Shizuo shoves Shinra out the door before the doctor can say something too stupid. Celty stays behind, and Shizuo doesn't mind talking to her about it. She's his best friend, and she has his best interests at heart.

“So he's just going to go across the ocean for a month?” Celty asks. She fidgets. “I don't know much about soul bonds, but I don't think the two of you would survive that.”

“Izaya doesn't seem to care,” Shizuo mutters. He has his sunglasses on inside again. He knows Celty won't find it rude.

“Izaya knows he can't do it. No one could be away from their soulmate for that long.” Her shoulders sink with a sigh. “I love Shinra, but even we aren't soulmates. Shinra has a human lifespan, and... He'll die never finding his soulmate.”

“Does he have a mark?” Shizuo asks. He's often wondered this. It wouldn't make sense for Shinra, a human, to be bound to Celty.

“Yes. It's faded, grayed out on top. It means the person bound to him is already dead. He says he doesn't care, that he wouldn't love them anyway, because likely they'd have a head.” Celty doesn't have an expression to read, but Shizuo can read it all the same. She's looking at him imploringly, hopefully. She wants him to understand her meaning.

“What would you do, if you were me?” Shizuo asks. Celty has been around for a long time. More than that, he trusts her. She wouldn't lie to him.

“For starters, I wouldn't let him leave. It's basically a death wish for you both.” She pauses, her shadows swirling thoughtfully from her neck. “I don't know Izaya very well, but Shinra does. Shinra says Izaya is afraid of rejection, and that he's scared to be himself around anyone. I think Izaya just wants to know that you want him for him, and not because some otherworldly force is telling you to.”

“How am I supposed to convince him of that if I don't even know the answer for sure?” Shizuo asks, and he can tell she's sighing.

“How can you expect him to stay if he thinks you're doing it in spite of your hatred of him?”

“Fuck,” Shizuo murmurs, knowing she's right. “This is why I never talk to you about stuff like this. You're too smart.”

She whacks him on the shoulder, and he laughs, knowing she's laughing with him even if he can't hear it. When she leaves, he thinks about what she said, what Shinra said, and what Izaya said. He decides to go to Izaya's the next day. He'll make Izaya hear him.

In the morning, Shizuo wakes up to his alarm blaring, and he can barely move. Making it to Izaya's will be impossible, and he knows if he calls Izaya, Izaya won't answer. He considers calling Shinra and having Shinra intervene on his behalf, but there's no need. Shortly after noon, Shizuo hears clicking in the lock, and then the door is opening. Izaya stumbles inside, and Shizuo thinks that maybe Izaya was always the stronger of the two of them, because Izaya is still standing.

“I'm leaving later today,” Izaya says. He leans against the wall, his complexion slightly green.

“So why are you here?” Shizuo asks. “Even if you come over here with me, the effects won't last a month. You'll be overseas, and we'll both be too sick to function.”

“I'm here to tell you goodbye,” Izaya says, and he's inching closer, still tilting into the wall as he goes. “Maybe I'm here to take the edge off the pain until I'm too far for that to be an option anymore.”

“Izaya,” Shizuo says. He balances himself on his elbows as he lifts to look at Izaya. “Don't go.”

“Why not?” Izaya asks, halting in his tracks. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Because we need each other, because we're bound. Because every second you aren't around, I sense what you're thinking, have the same dreams as you, crave the same foods as you. Fuck, Izaya, I don't know. I love you, okay? Isn't that reason enough for you to stay?” Shizuo asks. He rolls off the couch, managing to stand on his knees.

“I've loved you since high school,” Izaya says, and Shizuo doesn't have to look for the truth in Izaya's words. He can tell they're honest. “I loved you before I knew of any bond. But you hated me. You hated me when we met, before I even did anything.”

“I was a pissed off teenager, and we both fought so much it never occurred to me I'd be bound to you. For fuck's sake, Izaya, have you ever considered I hated you because you were too fucking pretty to look at?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya's eyes widen.

“Is that a reason to hate someone?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo laughs bitterly.

“Yes. I hated myself and my strength, and you showed up next to Shinra, looking perfect. I didn't think I'd ever even deserve to be near you. And then you slashed me across the chest—“

“After you charged at me,” Izaya interjects.

“Yes. After that. I'm not denying my part in our feud, okay? I'm not denying any of it. I love you. I don't care what's making me love you, and I don't care if I need you, because I want you, too. I've wanted you longer than I've needed you. I've wanted you since we met.” Shizuo looks up, and Izaya is in front of him now, still standing. Shizuo wraps his arms around Izaya's waist and buries his face into Izaya's stomach.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says. His hands settle in Shizuo's hair.

“Izaya, please,” Shizuo breathes, and Izaya drops to his knees, his arms flying around Shizuo's neck before their lips meet. Shizuo pulls Izaya to him, kissing him as if his life depends on it, and with their bond satisfied, Shizuo is able to stand and pull Izaya along with him to the bed.

“I have lube in my pocket,” Izaya says, his eyes wide as he looks at Shizuo. “I just thought... I thought if it worked out, you wouldn't be prepared, so...”

“I don't need a condom, do I?” Shizuo asks, though he knows the answer already. Izaya is pressed against him from head to toe, and Shizuo can feel in their bond that Izaya has never been touched by anyone else.

“No,” Izaya says. “I... I've never wanted anyone but you.”

“Neither have I.”

It's not perfect. It's fast, clumsy. Izaya prepares himself because Shizuo is too afraid of hurting him, and once Shizuo is pushing himself into Izaya, neither of them lasts long enough for it to be thoroughly enjoyable. Shizuo thrusts once, twice, and comes inside Izaya with a whine. His hand circles Izaya's dick and barely pumps Izaya at all before Izaya joins him.

It's not great sex, but they both know as soon as it's over that they'll never be able to be apart again. Shizuo leans down and kisses Izaya's cheeks, his eyelids. He tastes tears on Izaya's face and feels in Izaya's feedback that Izaya is happy, comforted. Neither of them has to say anything at all.

They have each other a few more times that night, each time getting better. Izaya eventually cancels his flight, saying he knew all along that Shizuo wouldn't let him go. They fall asleep joined together, and they share the same dream, but in the morning, neither of them remembers it.

Shizuo wakes early and nuzzles into Izaya, who moans quietly before tugging Shizuo closer.

“Don't you have to work today?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo kisses him gently.

“I have a few sick days left.”

“Mmm,” Izaya hums, one of his hands moving over Shizuo's chest. He giggles suddenly and moves closer.

“What?” Shizuo asks sleepily.

“I'm tracing my name,” Izaya says, moving his fingers over where he carved his name in Shizuo before.

“Oh, fuck you,” Shizuo grumbles, but he doesn't really care much. He's far too pleased with their bond resonating between them, and he can feel Izaya is, too.

“You were always mine,” Izaya murmurs, and he kisses his name across Shizuo's chest, marks that won't scar, but are settled over a scar Izaya carved in the past, their first meeting, in fact.

“I was,” Shizuo says, and though he didn't always know it, he knows now that it's true all the same.

#shizaya #Shizuo Heiwajima #Izaya Orihara #soulmate AU #soul bonds #separation anxiety

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